Passions Out of Time by Chris Lange
“Certainly. Why would you enquire?”
“Let’s say I got to know him since my first visit here, and I have the impression he’s missing out on something. So are you.”
The English beauty’s eyelids fell down as a bright hue colored her cheeks. She toyed with a pebble lying at the edge of the lawn, darted glances all around her, and finally raised her gaze with what looked like a huge effort. “I wouldn’t have the faintest idea.”
So she wanted to do this the hard way. Okay, no problem. As long as Andrew got what he hungered for, may the best woman win.
“Well, I think you do.”
“Miss Richardson, I—”
“Haven’t you already agreed to call me Tracy?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Good. Now listen to me because what I’m about to say might change your life. But you need to work with me on this.”
Wide blue eyes stared at her. In spite of her embarrassment, Miss Perfect might take advice from a lowborn this time.
“I’m not blind, Ashton. I can see Andrew loves you very much, yet he needs something else from you. Just give it to him.”
“I can assure you I am filled with good intentions.”
“I don’t doubt that, but it’s not enough. If you want him to see you as the woman of his life, you have to take actions.”
“Which sort of actions would you refer to?”
Damn, was the girl a half-wit or what? If she didn’t understand allusions, graphic language would mortify her.
“I mean in bed,” Tracy said. “You know, when the lights are on, he’s naked, you’re naked, and he’s having a go at it.”
“Goodness gracious.”
Her carnation shifting to crimson, Miss Perfect joined her hands to squeeze her fingers as though she wanted to wring water out. “When the lights are on, say you?”
Jesus, but what had Andrew gotten himself into? A vague rubbing of bodies in total darkness? No wonder he strove to find more meaning to his life. If she played this well, he might just get it.
“Look, Ashton, watching your partner is very erotic, you know. Sometimes it turns you on more than kisses or caresses.”
“Truly, I cannot speak of such intimate matters.”
“Nobody is asking you to. Just say yes or no, and let me do the talking.”
With only silence and more blushing meeting her words, Tracy drew in a long breath while licking her lips. “Now for the one million dollars question. Do you have orgasms?”
Miss Perfect choked on her own saliva. Cheeks the same color as fire in a winter storm, she gulped in air while wringing her hands some more. Surely, she was way too young to have a stroke.
“Easy question, Ashton. Is it yes or no?”
A whine came out of the beautiful mouth, followed by a pitiful sound that would pierce the heart of any eavesdropper.
“Come again,” Tracy said. “I can’t hear you.”
“No.”
The strangled exclamation matched the red of her face and the shape of her tortured fingers. The woman was in hell, and in a terrible, twisted way, watching her squirm felt like sweet revenge. Because Ashton would have married Garrett if Andrew hadn’t fallen in love with her, and a potential wrong had been righted.
Heedless of Miss Perfect’s embarrassment, she kept talking. “That’s what I thought. Listen, your marriage doesn’t stand a chance if you don’t both take pleasure in the act. Sex is natural and important to build a strong relationship. But most of all, it’s essential to keep the balance between two people in love. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
The English beauty finally ceased tormenting her fingers to grab the top of her dress and fluff it back and forth to refresh her neck. “I believe so.”
“Good. Don’t ever be ashamed of anything that happens between you and Andrew. When he comes to you, relax, take a deep breath, and let yourself feel. Your body knows what to do even if your upbringing stands in the way.”
Miss Perfect swallowed and wheezed, but didn’t avert her gaze this time. Good for her. Great for her husband. A little more guidance and she’d be ready to kick down the last walls formatting her brain.
“I’m going in the house to find Garrett now,” Tracy said, “but if I were you, I’d go to Andrew. He’s in pain and he needs comfort.”
Ashton faltered back as the full meaning of the words seemed to make their way through the threads of her shame, taboos, and interdictions. Then she got a hold on herself and a new light twinkled in her eyes. “Surely not in my husband’s present condition. He suffers and I almost certainly cannot—”
“Hey, chill out, would you? I know Andrew took a hit, but he’ll be fine. I’m not talking about a real sweaty session here.”
“Then what . . .”
Her voice trailed off. She puckered her usually smooth brow while a look of absolute lack of understanding crept up her features. Okay, if the girl really needed the exact terms to picture the deed, she’d get them.
“Suck his cock, Ashton.”
The blue eyes widened to their limits. A blend of fear, denial, and wild excitement swam in their depths as she released the collar of her dress. Her fingers quivered right before she flattened them over her scarlet cheeks. “Dear Lord!”
“Go. Don’t think about it, just go and do it.”
“I have never . . . No, the mere notion is unacceptable . . . Oh, goodness gracious, whatever are you suggesting?”
“To give your man what he craves.”
Despite her shock and confusion, the English beauty glanced back at the door, her mind already racing up the stairs to enter Andrew’s bedroom. Would she find in herself the guts to fuck society and take care of her husband?
“Tracy, do you truthfully believe that he expects me to perform such an outrageous and undignified act?”
“Trust me, he’ll love it. Now quit stalling, run upstairs, get his pants off, kneel between his thighs, and take him in your mouth.”
Miss Perfect puffed out, inhaled, let out a whinnying sound, drew in another long breath, and then took a step toward the door. Her fingers trembled, and a new shade of red colored her cheeks, but she closed the distance to the threshold.
“I know not what to say to you, Miss Richardson.”
“Then don’t. Just go and enjoy yourself.”
After long minutes of torturing herself, Ashton finally made up her mind. She nodded, the whisper of a grin lifting her lips, and disappeared inside the manor. Wouldn’t Andrew be a happy man half an hour from now?
The setting sun brought a golden glow over the lawn. Across the vast expanse, the garden house glittered, offering shelter to her sleeping son. What was he dreaming of? Going back home with his mommy and daddy?
Ordering Ashton to stop stalling was easy, but did she have the courage to follow her own advice? A lump blocked her throat when she dragged her eyes away from the scenery to stare at the dark door.
Time to face her next trial.
Her feet felt way heavier than usual when she forced them to move. One, two, seven shuffles and she found herself at the threshold, wincing from the hammering of her heart. Another mental exhortation and she stepped inside the Burnes’ manor.
The grand hallway stood empty. No sounds of breaking plates, no loud voices roused in anger. She breathed easier, letting her senses adjust to the semi-gloom, allowing herself a respite before the unknown struck at her.
She missed a heartbeat when the dining room door suddenly banged open to let out the woman she never wanted to speak to again. Zeroing in on her at first glance, the dragon queen shot her a hateful glare. “How dare you stand in my presence? Have I not made myself explicit earlier? Get out of my house!”
“Mother!” Garrett’s exclamation prompted the woman to turn
He moved his hand up to her shoulder blade, nudged her into the room, and shut the door. Bye-bye, bitch. Get lost. With the dragon queen locked in the library, Garrett shifted to glance at her.
Oddly enough, her feet seemed dead ever since the lady of the manor spat her venom. Now a tingling ran along her soles while Garrett stared at her, his gaze alive with an emotion still bordering on anger. Didn’t he look even more gorgeous when he forgot his stony composure and allowed himself to feel like a human being?
Would he apologize for his mother’s behavior? She stifled a moan as he suddenly strode to her, flames burning in his eyes.
“Garrett, I—”
His quick move cut her short. Without a word, he clasped her forearm, dragged her across the hallway and up the grand staircase.
Chapter 19
Tracy followed along, propelled forward by the force of his pulling, her uneven respiration the only sound between them. Was Garrett still mad at her? Believing him married to Miss Perfect wasn’t her fault, so why this burst of rage when they’d better sit down and talk things through?
She almost slipped when they reached the landing, but he tugged her harder before pushing her into a room. Fluffy pillows on top of a brown bedspread met her eyes, a large window with the drapes closed, a gray jacket slung over the back of an armchair. The place she’d dreamed of so often.
His bedroom.
“Why are we—”
The door banged shut, cutting her off. She started, her pulse fibrillating. He yanked her arm and she stumbled along, throwing her hands forward when she landed on the bed. The mattress sank under her palms. “What the heck?”
Hands grabbed her waist, preventing her from standing up straight. She struggled anyway but the man behind her was stronger.
“Garrett, what are you doing?”
He popped open the button of her jeans, found the zip and brought it down. Really? Now? Well, she wasn’t in the mood at all. She wanted to explain her side of the story, and horny or not, he would listen.
She twisted her body. If he saw her resolved expression, he’d stop this nonsense and come back to his more composed self. He did see her face when she managed to glance back. Good. So he knew, and he’d let her go.
He slid his thumbs under her waistband, pulled down her pants, and flattened one hand against her back. Gosh, but the one-on-one encounter with his mother must have left its mark because he was flying off the handle. She didn’t want to be fucked. No, she didn’t, despite the hot surge coursing through her belly and the cacophony of her heart beating, beating, and pounding.
She turned her face to the side just in time. He pressed down on her back, pinning her chest to the mattress. Butt in the air, her most intimate parts exposed to his desire, she called out his name while her body didn’t care a rat’s ass about her need for conversation but yearned for the thrusts of his cock.
“How could you, Tracy?” He didn’t utter the question, he growled it. How could she what? Not tell him sooner that he had a son? Surely they’d been over that issue, and if he was in his right mind, he’d just let it go.
“Garrett, I don’t know what . . .”
But the words stuck in her throat as he glided his free palm over her bare skin, and the soft caress terminated all thoughts of debate. Heat gripped her, clutched at her insides so fiercely that she had to press her cheek against the bedcover. Her legs wobbled, but his fingers on her back held her fast.
Although she couldn’t see him anymore, she sensed his violent arousal. His hectic breathing reached her ears and she remained flat, hungering for the sound of his clothes being removed, picturing the exciting motion of his hand releasing his long, beautiful cock. Then he’d ram it inside her.
Desire writhed in her belly. She broke out with sweat, a droplet curling around the flesh of her armpit. Why didn’t she perceive him loosening his shirt or unbuttoning his pants? This was a new kind of torture, excruciating, endless seconds that dissolved her into a quivering mass of desire.
“How could you?”
The same unfathomable question she had no answer for hung between them as she wished he’d stroke her and drive himself inside her. Far from cooling her down, his incensed tone hardened her stomach.
She bent her legs. She pressed her palms on the bedspread, her damp skin needing the smooth feel of the fabric. Mind ablaze with pent-up tension, she parted her lips and willed him to fill her to the brim.
When he finally moved, her own cry shocked her more than his bold action. A brief feeling of pain hit her buttock as he slapped her. Moistness burst out of her at the same time, drowning her outrage into a sea of undiluted pleasure, making her thighs tremble until she expelled a harsh breath.
Had he really smacked her ass? The fiery lust running up and down her veins must be playing with her brain because stuck-up, righteous Garrett would never do such a thing, not even in the throes of anger.
Flames gobbled her train of thoughts, her body straining to retain the sensation originating from her rump and spreading over her lower back. Covered in gooseflesh, she tried to regulate her respiration, but her clit began to throb. Like a muted need, like a slow ache demanding to be subdued.
“Woman of such little faith.”
Oh, for the love of God, what was he going on about? Why didn’t he just come out with it so they might have a chance to . . .?
Another cry filled her throat and mouth when he slapped her for the second time. Wetness coated her pussy, the pang reverberating throughout her flesh, the awareness of his act triggering an unfamiliar enjoyment. She stifled a sigh, acutely conscious of his hand on her back, of the pressure keeping her down while he punished her. Because there was no other word for it.
Of course, she could tell him to stop, but who would she be kidding? She wasn’t even trying to lower her buttocks or escape his grip. She simply stayed there, glued to his bedcover, itching to be struck. Whatever troubled him didn’t matter anymore as long as he kept chastening her.
The next blow turned her nipples to stone and her stomach to a mushy blob. She moaned from the intensity of the pleasure stabbing her whole body. He uttered a noise behind her, his fingers latching onto the stretch of clothes and skin between her shoulder blades. He clasped her, and she raised her ass.
“Have you no decency?”
Nope, that particular feeling had evaporated with his first slap. Was he attempting to justify his out-of-character treatment, or putting the blame on her? Maybe both but in any case, his voice laden with desire didn’t fool her. She wanted more, and so did he. Rapid breaths burning her throat, she remained silent.
His palm hit her a little harder and juices flowed out of her like an enraged river. Delight electrifying her, she rubbed her forehead against the warming fabric and pressed her lips together.
Did he realize how deeply he aroused her? When he yanked down her jeans, he didn’t intend to turn her on, that much she knew. Yet there they both stood, his large body right behind her while he pinned her to the mattress and she struggled to hold on to her last shreds of reason.
“Woman of such . . .”
He spanked her. She whimpered between gritted teeth as a spinning top of fire curled inside her, licking at her core, sucking its way to her clitoris. Her thighs quivered, unable to bear the tension rising from her belly. Did women come while being sexually chastised? Was that even possible?
“ . . . Little faith.”
Yeah, he’d already said that and his sputtered comments didn’t mean more than the first time. Faith in what? In him having a go at her buttocks because he somehow felt wronged? Well, fine by her.
Two consecutives smacks extracted a wail out of her. The clack-clack blended with her excited cry and she bit into the bedspread, eyes closing from the ferocious sensation clamping her senses. Please baby, punish me. Punish me hard. Hands strained, she shoved her ass toward him.
“Dear Lord.”
Was his erection distressing him? Was it hurting him, imprisoned in his pants, thickening and striving to be let out? To touch her vibrating pussy, glide within the wet folds and push. Push until the rigid shaft crammed her, until it went in and out, again and again, and spewed out jets of cum.
The hand between her shoulder blades vanished. Her eyes popped up as she squirmed, wanting to turn her head to the side but unwilling to move, praying he wouldn’t come to his senses just yet, silently begging him to carry on. Whatever she did or didn’t do, she deserved to be spanked.
Ears pricked, she listened to nothing, expecting a rustle of clothes but only hearing the silence of the room. What was he doing? Would he leave her stranded like this, utterly exposed and dying to come? A droplet of sweat found its way down her neck while she hesitated.
He slapped her other buttock. The strangled noise she expelled sounded like the plaintive mew of a cat mating. Saliva doused the textile clinched between her teeth, yet she didn’t let go of it as her limbs stiffened. All her muscles locked, she squeezed her eyelids and buried her nails into the cover.
A surge of heat engulfed her when his fingers struck her ass. Once, twice. The impact made her tremble, her stony nipples grazing against her top. Drowning in the delicious haze each of his blows intensified, she spread her legs as much as the jeans around her ankles allowed her.
“Jesus Christ!”
His heavy tone echoed the wild excitement ruling her body and mind. Would he free his cock now that her tamed position and repentant attitude intoxicated him? Did she have to uplift her bottom some more, or was he well aware that the blaze raging inside her needed to be fueled until it burst?