CHAPTER NINETEEN
As the Duke's pilfered carriage rolled up the hill and into view of Norbury Manor again, Isobel savored everything about that perfect moment - the sun had broken through gray-black storm clouds, its yellowed beams shining through the abyss, filling the sky with bands of rainbow color. Thunder growled in the distance, but the patter of raindrops slowed to a stop as the horses whinnied, the axles creaked and Isobel threw the door open, climbed atop the driver's perch and threw her arms around her lover. The rain fell as a faint drizzle, coating their skin, cresting along their bodies, gripped with so much tension and terror after the events of the last few days. Lord Brighton swept Isobel into his grasp, lifting and carrying her through the dewy mist; Werner pulled the doors open for them, pleasant surprise creaking across his grumpy, wrinkled face. Lilian idly cleaned an end table; the sight of the two lovers bursting in to the manor once more widened her eyes in shock. Isobel caught sight of the treacherous maid as Lord Brighton hefted her up the stairway toward the bedroom, and as their eyes met, Lilian couldn't stand to watch; her gaze shot away quickly, shame filling her cheeks.
When they arrived and Lord Brighton laid his wet, weary and relieved lover across the bed gently, laying at her side and kissing her lips deeply, she looked away, catching her breath before she spoke.
"M'lord, you... you do know that Lady Maryweather levied her charges and crafted her lies against us because she has a spy in our midst, don't you?" she questioned him, confused. He smiled confidently against her lips, his hands dragging her gown down her shoulders, pulling the wet garment from her body; she wriggled under his hands, feeling something so visceral, now that she was with him again.
"Of course," he announced proudly; Lady Duskwood's body shivered with a chill as he exposed her soft skin to the air, a draft through the window blustering against her dew-touched skin. She looked at him, still confounded.
"Then... do... you know, the identity? Of the spy?" she asked.
"Of course," he shrugged. "...Do you think Lady Maryweather is the only nobility around these parts capable of engaging in intrigue and sabotage, love?" Isobel blinked, before a giddy sensation surged through her stomach.
"Is that—why—who, how?!" Isobel stammered excitedly. He laid close to her and silenced her with a deep kiss; her eyes closed, and all those memories flooded back to her mind. He ran his finger around the brand he had bruised into her neck - it had nearly fully healed by now, only the faintest, bluish crescent marking remaining on her flesh.
"Have you so quickly forgotten all the rules we have here, Lady Isobel?..." Ellery chided her playfully, his lips widening in a salacious smirk. She quaked; in all the pain and terror and excitement of the day, to once more be here, in his bedroom, bound by his rules - she felt free again, and like a leaf in the wind she shook at the feeling of his fingers running down her body, caressing her skin. "Business is for another time... first, we attend to important matters, like love," he murmured softly at her ear while his hands worshiped her lush, pert young body. She fought to speak, but stayed silent; pliable and submissive she curled her hands behind the small of her back and laid upon them softly, keep her restrained - just the way they both wanted. Unchained by inhibition or society, she arched her back out, pressing her freed breasts and their pretty pink dollops of nipple-skin into his grasp; he squeezed hard, and she absolutely pleadingly ached for him. Her lips parted to moan, but it came out only as a soft, pleasured mewl; she closed her eyes, wanting to feel herself pleased, but so denied; so deprived of senses, that it made what he did to her body feel even better.
She felt his tongue, talented and quick, roll along her curves; it visited her breasts, and they stiffened at the sensitive, sweet stimulation; he taunted them, tip of the tongue rolling in slow circles around her areola. She gave herself to him completely, surrendering; not just loving him, but trusting him, just as she said she did. His lips swept away the cold dew of the rainstorm and replaced it with a hot trail of moist, laborious, loving and passionate kisses, from her breasts, along the dips and curves of her supple feminine form, and gently to the mound of her soft, blushing folds, already pink and soaked from all the powerful, erotic things he did to her. His tongue danced and slipped within her velvet flesh, swirling along her insides as she shuddered; she had never felt anything so salacious yet so enticing; she had never felt so free. She kept her eyes closed, and she quieted her moans, though it felt so impossible to keep quiet when he tasted and taunted her this way.
She shook as his hands grasped her thighs, squeezing them, pushing her wider; his tongue did things to her no body ever had. When it swirled about her femme bead she couldn't stop the intense string of moans raining from her lips, like a shower of intoxicating lust flowing from her veins and her lungs and down every inch of her body. She held her breath, bit her lip, held her hands behind her when she felt his tongue leave, but his body began to loom close, and she knew when she felt his powerful pectorals pressed to her pretty breasts and perking nipples that soon she would feel like absolute, heavenly ecstasy.
"I want you to forget my rules," he whispered into her ear. "I command you." Her eyes shot open in surprise, and his new command - to be free beneath him - made her tremble. Obeying him, she began to scream, to beg; she beheld his handsome face and his wild hair and she grasped at his back, her fingernails scraping along his shoulder blades; she felt him, wildly, wanting to touch every inch; feeling her fingers along his abs, fingers straying down his chest, grasping at his rear to coax him inside of her. Her legs parted wide and he filled her again, free and without worry in this tense moment.
"Master, please, it feels like nothing before," she screamed, "I want to feel you claim me, over and over again, every night of my life!" she pleaded, meaning every single word of it. She could live like this forever - bound by his rules, he her master, commanding her to submit - and commanding her to be free. She grasped tight onto his back as he began to pump hard and hot inside of her stretched depths, pounding against her body as their skin met and the steam rose from the sweat at their brows and the burning desire in their hearts. She began to feel the sensation well up, from her curling toes, to her scraping and gripping fingers, to her shivering and arching spine; her sweet pink inner walls clenched tight around his pumping shaft as his hips carried him harder and hotter each second into her succulent and shapely feminine form. Her breasts bounced and her hair matted against her damp forehead as she kissed him.
His lips found her neck - found that bruise, that memory of their time together; that mark he had left on her. He laboriously lavished praise upon the healing, purplish-blue patch of skin, and when he thrust hard inside of her one last time, filling her to his trembling and thick hilt, he laid his teeth upon the mark again, refreshing it. The pain and the pleasure surged and blew young Isobel's mind completely, overwhelming her with orgasmic pleasure that rocked down her spine and her limbs and left her feeling a tingling like a blast of lightning in all her fingers, toes, arms, legs; even in her mind, as she screamed a symphony of sweet lust into his ear. She was his, again - and not just for a night; not tensely, not tersely, not to satisfy a debt. She had freed herself from so much more than just a debt.
He held her close as he reached his climax, filling her with more sweet and salacious warmth, his spasming climax erupting inside of her and keeping her riding those awesome waves of release. As they each reached their stunning peaks they gripped one another, cradled in loving arms, as the sounds and the breaths and the heat began to slowly subside. Their desire for one another remained - thick and heavy in the air, and their lips met even as the passion slowed. They kissed for a long, long moment, tongues tied; thoughts entwined, their fingers enmeshing as they laid together.
"I love you... and I mean it," Lord Brighton said. "No secrets, Isobel... I've slept with a great many women. I'm certain you're aware of that. But I've never felt this before," he admits. "I don't know what it means. But I want it with you."
"I know," Isobel answered, swallowing deep as she watched him lay close to her side. She snuggled against his chest, sighing along his sexy skin, soaked with sweat. "I love you, too."