Page 9 of To Tame a Wicked Widow

Chapter 3

“Do share another tidbit from Egypt, I need to replenish my well of stimulating conversation before the musicale this afternoon. There I will be subjected to hours of will-sapping discussion on the weather, the furnishings, and the financial worth of every gentleman present before my ears are assaulted by earnest little misses who lack even a tuppence worth of musical ability.”

“I don’t understand. That sounds exhilarating,” said Ethan, his lips twitching as he glanced across the desk at Madeline. Her disgruntled pout was equal parts amusing and arousing as hell, the kind of expression that urged him to bend her over the desk and administer a sound spanking, followed by a hard fucking.

As it turned out, one night hadn’t been nearly enough. Unable to stay away, he’d knocked on the connecting door the following evening, and she’d opened it not wearing a stitch. They hadn’t even made it to the bed. His hunger for her seemed insatiable, only urged on by her wanton skill and unabashed eagerness, and they’d now spent an exhausting, wildly pleasurable week together. How he was going to leave her, he had no idea, but Faith, Winifred and the damned vicar couldn’t stay here much longer without inviting murder. As he’d brought them, he felt a certain responsibility to transport them home.

Why did they have to be so damned bloody irritating? To be fair, Madeline’s mother, brother, and sister-in-law were also appalling, albeit in a different way. A lazier, more spoilt trio he’d never encountered, and the desire to throw them all out on their worthless backsides was only tempered by his respect for Madeline’s station as hostess.

“Please, Ethan.”

Jolted from his reverie, he blinked, his cock hardening at the soft entreaty. “You know how much I like it when you beg.”

Madeline leaned forward on folded arms, her breasts plumping between them. “Then reward me with something interesting.”

“Something interesting. Hmmm,” he said, flipping through his journal. “Ah, here we go. To prevent conception, a woman blends together honey, finely ground acacia dates, and crocodile excrement, then inserts it inside herself.”

“No! Ugh. Did it work?”

“I believe it did. Although I’m uncertain if the concoction was effective because of the ingredients, or erections being unable to withstand the thought of crocodile shit.”

Madeline giggled. “Good point. However, the Egyptians were miles ahead of everyone else in terms of medicine, weren’t they?”

How he enjoyed her sharp intellect. “Indeed.”

“I wish our English physicians were as bold, they seem forever mired in old ways. At least we have left behind the Tudor contraceptive of weasel testicles around the neck.”

Ethan choked on a cough. “Excuse me?”

“Apparently they were thought to prevent pregnancy. In fairness, such a sight would certainly lead to violent illness or uncontrollable laughter rather than fucking, so perhaps it was one hundred percent effective and I do our ancestors a disservice.”

“Rather unfortunate for the weasels though. Imagine being cut down in your prime so your balls could hang around some scrawny squire’s neck in a darkened bedchamber. Not even sporting.”

Madeline grinned. “I shall say a prayer for their souls. Tell me another tale.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That sounded like an order, madam.”

A faint blush swept across her cheeks. Seconds later she got to her feet and walked around the desk to stand beside him. “Please.”

“Lift your gown, and I’ll consider it.”

Her breathing quickened, and she immediately bent down to hitch up the hem of her peach-striped gown along with her linen petticoat and chemise, until her cunt came into view. “Happy now?”

Leaning across, he parted her nether curls and stroked her rapidly dampening flesh. “Much better,” he replied, as he thumbed further along in the journal with his free hand.

“That sketch? The one you just went p-past? Were they…dildos?”

Ethan paused in surprise and glanced up. Not even a hint of shock on her face, just banked heat. “Yes. Early versions were made of stone or wood. Not overly comfortable, from what I gather, leather is more realistic.”

“I have one,” Madeline blurted out. “Florentine leather.”

“Do you now?” he said softly, circling her clitoris until she whimpered. “Then by all means go and fetch it.”

Dropping her gown, Madeline dashed to her bedchamber, and returned with a small dark brown object in her outstretched hand. “Here.”

He frowned. “Rather ungenerous.”

“I…ah…didn’t purchase it for my pussy,” she whispered.