He walks out of the room, his bare wet cock jutting over the top of his trousers. When he returns, he says, “No sign of him yet.” Then he sinks into me again, this time releasing a moan of enjoyment. “You’re so fucking wet.”
“Let me come this time,” I plead.
He ignores me, but I can tell by the shuddering of his breath that he’s nearing his limit.
“What if Chezney does walk in?” I say desperately. “He doesn’t want to see this. It’s wrong to shock him with such a display.”
“He has seen worse. But I will go and check again, to see if he’s coming.”
“No,” I sob, reaching back and grabbing for his cock. “Stay inside me, please, please…”
But he’s already pulling out, heading for the door.
I wait, dripping and burning and trembling. Then I arch my hips against the table, moaning at the friction against my clit. If he won’t give me satisfaction, I’ll take it.
Beresford returns just as I’m starting to hump against the wooden edge. “Naughty little wife.” He grabs my hair in one fist and drags my head back while he penetrates me so deep that I choke on a gasp. “Chezney is walking down from the house. Shall I finish inside you?”
“Yes, yes, Beresford, please.”
With one hand gripping my hand and the other planted on the small of my back, he starts rutting with a desperate force that sends me over the edge in seconds. A brilliant light bursts in my brain, my body, my very fucking soul, and I shriek at the top of my lungs. The sound fills the greenhouse, and Beresford’s voice joins mine with a roar of conquest as he ejects every bit of his cum into my pussy.
I barely have time to stand up and drop my skirts around my legs before I hear the greenhouse door open in the distance. By the time Chezney gets to the workroom, Beresford is casually lathering his hands with soap at the sink while I pretend to inspect the little tree he was pruning earlier.
“Dinner will be ready in half an hour, sir,” says Chezney, with a respectful nod.
“Thank you, Chezney,” Beresford replies. “We’ll be ready.”
The next few days are a delicious blur of sex, good food, music, and games. I feel as if I’m living in a dream, one that’s too good to be true. I do my best to relax and enjoy it, but deep at the core of my being lurks a pessimistic bitch who keeps whispering, “Just wait. Soon, it will all go wrong.”
On the fourth morning after our wedding day, as Beresford and I are eating breakfast, I realize that I still haven’t invited my family to visit. In fact, I’ve made no effort to communicate with them at all. Worse still, I’ve barely missed them. I’ve been so immersed in my own joy and pleasure.
I decide to mention it to Beresford and suggest that we have Mama and Anne up to the house for lunch or dinner. But before I can broach the subject, he says, “As soon as we’re finished withbreakfast, I’ll have to pack a bag. I must travel to the city this morning and stay there for a couple of days to handle some unexpected business.”
“Business?” I shoot him a look. “What business?”
“Affairs of a mercantile nature,” he replies.
“You’re so secretive when it comes to the source of your riches.” I tap his hand rebukingly with my coffee spoon.
“And you’re so curious.”
“Rightly so. You said we would be partners. Owners of everything, together.”
“And so we are. When I return, I will provide you with more information about my business ventures. Can your gorgeous brain wait that long for satisfaction?”
“I suppose.” I lean toward him and purse my lips for a kiss, and he indulges me with a long, languid one that turns me to melted sugar. When he finally ends the kiss, I have to blink to clear my thoughts.
“I’d like have my sister over to visit while you’re gone,” I say.
“Invite anyone you like,” he replies. “Enjoy the house, have fun, and be sure you feed your guests well. I’ll show you where I keep the money so you can give some to Mrs. Nanterre. She and her team will purchase anything you need for entertaining.”
“You’re going to show me your riches?”
“Why not? As you say, we’re partners.”
The suspicion I was beginning to feel recedes immediately. I’m beginning to realize that Beresford is very good at knowing when I need reassurance. Or maybe he simply excels at diverting me from uncomfortable topics.
Carrying my coffee mug, I follow him upstairs. I’m very familiar with our bedroom and the game parlor, of course, and I’ve been in the other rooms of the north wing, but I never saw any treasure or chests of money.
