His head rose off the pillow, eyes fuzzy, nearly so much as his head from the drinks of the night before. His arm felt weighted, and peering down found it to be buried in a mass of dirty-blonde curls. That sweet young thing cuddled into him, he could feel her nakedness against his own, her mother won’t be happy to know she had gone home with him without a ring on her finger. Perhaps, in spite of his womanizing record, she suspected her dear girl to have more resilience. Well, nothing some cool words and chilled drinks can’t overcome. Still, he thought of that storm that had blown through the building last night. That flurry of outrage and anger, a wild and untamed stallion that had not yet found a rider that could tame it.
She breathed easy against his hairy chest as he stoked the silky flesh of her bare shoulder, his sheets subtly moving as he pitched a tent, his eyes gazing amusedly at the ceiling with thought. This girl that lie with him, as precious and cute as she was, assumedly as good a lay as she was though admittedly he couldn’t remember much of the night before, he’d had many like her before. Teen girls, spinsters in their 20s who seemed content to waste their fertile years for the sake of parties and swinging, and the more advanced spinsters in their 30s a few years older than himself. Never before, he speculated, at least not since the time of Caligula in ancient Rome, had there been such easy access of sex. His most recent acquisition may not have been so liberal-minded in terms of sex, obviously not, but she was smitten soon enough.
The poor girl was not at all well once she had finally awoken, in spite of the beauty she held in her sleep. A mix of emotions; embarrassment, shame that she had given her first in a single night, fear of if she had gotten pregnant, and even the bubbling wonder of if she had been good or not, if she’d be able to satisfy him throughout their marriage while she bears him many offspring. Marriage would come next, right? They had a brief breakfast, he told her to drink much water so that she’ll come to feel better later in the day, and she had wept in his arms in her hormonal turmoil while they awaited the carriage to fetch her, crying out that her mother would have her flogged. He chuckled, stroked her hair, told her no such thing would happen though he didn’t entirely know for sure just how brutal her mum might be, and was happy to wave her off as she clumsily and staggeringly crawled into the cabin, her hair a mess. He could practically hear her groan when it began to lumber off with the beating of horse hoofs.
With a stretch in the cool morning air outside his front door, his luxurious robe rising slightly as his arms were brought into the air, he soon scratched his hidden groin as he went inside, closing and locking the door behind him. She’ll likely be good for another night or to, he thought, before she catches on that marriage was not in the books. Not yet, anyhow, perhaps once his 30s comes around he’ll be more interested in settling down and marrying, but not anytime soon. The 20s, he contented himself in thinking, both the decade he found himself in the century and the decade he found himself in his life, was far too enjoyable to settle down for only one hole to shag. Or two, if she were wild enough. Who doesn’t like a bit of buggery from time to time?
“Emma...” he muttered to himself as he slumped into the swiveling chair of his desk. “Viscountess Emma... the untamed and unconquered.” He licked his lips before tipping the cup of tea to them.