AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Lillie lined up all of the earl’s toilette accouterments on a mirrored tray, placed beside the tub, and then made herself scarce. She couldn’t be sure what madness might overtake her, and despite the way it probably seemed, she really did quite like her job. Still, it’s never too late to stop putting out feelers for something new, especially if he’s going to be remarrying soon. It won’t do to wait until there’s nothing left out there...
When she tiptoed back into his lordships to his Lordship’s door, once more avoiding the squeaky spots on the floor, she hesitated. Perhaps he’s already abed. Pressing her cheek to the board, she inhaled slowly, holding her breath as she listened before exhaling. There was no sound from within his chambers, and she wondered if he had forgotten that he had requested bathwater at all. She received her answer as she edged around the door, entering on silent feet.
He was in the tub, his long, well-muscled arms draped over the sides like great wings, with his head tipped back. “I will require your assistance in shaving, Miss Prichard. Unless, of course, you don’t have a very steady hand.”
She kept her spine straight as she approached the tub slowly. Steam rose from the water, and she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or crestfallen to see the surface was milky and opaque, hiding his lower body from her view. The view she was afforded was enough. His broad chest was dusted in dark hair sprinkled with silver, like that on his head, damp and clinging to his skin, and the wide expanse of lush, mossy green made her mouth water. She wanted to taste his skin, kiss her way down his chest, follow the line of hair that disappeared into the milky surface of his bathwater to its inevitable end, a different sort of mouthful.
“I grew up gutting fish for market. I have quite a steady hand, my Lord. You’ll be relieved to know.”
A short rumble of thunder from his chest, lips twitching around his tusks, an almost smile that she had come to realize was far more genuine than the cheerful flash of teeth other men presented to the world at large. In truth, her hands were trembling as she picked up the straight razor, examining it and judging its weight in her hand. He’s naked. You’re sitting beside his bath, and he’s completely naked, just beneath the water. She’d had his cock in her hand hours earlier, but that at least could be excused away as simply assisting in his dressage. If she were to reach into the water, she’d be able to hold his cock once more, only this time, there was little reason. Unless he needs help washing?
The earl’s eyes fluttered shut when she began to dab the soap onto his jaw, worked into a rich lather with the boar bristle brush. The trust he placed in her to complete such a task made her stomach flip flop like a fish, the intimacy of doing this, of being here in this steam-filled room, pressed close to him ... Lillie remained steadfast, scraping the edge of the blade against his neck with a slow, sure hand.
“It’s ironic, is it not?” He murmured softly as she swished the straight razor in the bowl of clean water on the tray. “So many of my peers believe their fate rests in the hands of those who possess higher titles and property, or in the crown. The reality is, of course, our fate rests in the hands of whoever holds the blade to our necks.”
“Hold still and stop talking,” she shushed him. “Unless you’re that desperate to make the front page of the High Tea after all. ‘Lord Ellingboe, exsanguinated in his bathwater.’ I shudder to think how many weeks the story will be featured.”
His lips twitched and his eyelashes fluttered, but he remained silent as she continued to work. His head was tipped back, almost resting upon her shoulder as she dragged the blade up his throat. She began to enjoy herself. Slow, steady strokes, even and careful, not allowing herself to nick his delicate skin. Every time she pulled the blade away, the fingers on her other hand curled where they held him steady, nails sliding against his hairline or below his ear, lightly dragging against his jaw. When she moved on to complete her work above his chin, she tilted his head, holding it in such a way that allowed her to slide her fingers into the silken confines of his salt-and-pepper hair, scraping against his scalp, earning a swallowed groan from his throat.
As she scraped the stubble from his cheeks, Lillie noticed the way his fingers gripped the edges of the tub and the uneven cadence of his breath. He looked as if he were holding himself down, that if his grip loosened on the edge of the bathtub, he might float away, and the exertion of doing so was making his pulse jump in his freshly cleaned neck. When the last bit of soap was cleared from his jaw, and the straight razor cleaned and returned to the tray, Lillie took stock of the situation for the first time since she had begun the task.
The earl was still reclined in his bathwater, not as steaming hot as it had been when she’d first entered the chamber. His head was still tipped back, and his eyes were still closed, his knuckles tight on the edges of the tub, tendons standing out in relief with the force with which he gripped. From her vantage point behind him, she had a perfect view down the wide expanse of his chest—strong and solid despite his age, the damp hair, his tightly pebbled nipples, tinged pink. Her eyes followed the line of his body, down his chest and solid trunk, until the milky water began. He was invisible to her below the waist. She could not see his hips, could not see his thick thighs and curve of his backside, could not see the well-muscled line of his leg ... But rising out of the water like some Leviathan beast was the pink-edged head of his cock, the silver ring that pierced it gleaming in the bathwater.
It curved upward, nearly kissing his belly, and Lillie decided with the same mad zeal she had possessed that morning that she was not done assisting the earl in all he needed. A man has needs, after all. She might be sacked in the morning, might dismiss herself if he returned from the ball with a betrothed, but on this day, she would be a loyal, attentive servant, accommodating to all his Lordship’s needs.
Plucking a sodden sponge from where it bobbed at his side, she leaned over his shoulder, dragging it up his chest. His immediate reaction left her quaking. A sharp intake of air and a shuddering gasp, his lips parted, and he breathed hard between his tusks. She stroked the sponge down his body—over his neck and down his throat, relishing the vast expanse of his pectorals and catching at his nipples, hesitating for only a heartbeat before continuing on once she met the white surface of the water. She dragged the sponge over the tops of his thighs, as far as she could reach, reversing course until the sponge made contact with his scrotum. Her other hand migrated down over his shoulder to the center of his chest, using him for leverage so that she did not lose her balance and slip forward, crashing into him, and he gave her the opportunity to feel every thump of his heartbeat, every little gasp and jolt of his muscles beneath her.
When she let go of the sponge, she decided there was no coming back. After all, Lord Ellingboe had not stopped her. If she would be sacked in the morning, it was probably all the better—she’d not be around to witness his remarriage, and she would have this night to take with her, something to keep her warm when she was far away from the heat of his eyes. She gripped his full sac with her bare hand, kneading gently, bringing her fingers down the seam that separated each plump testicle. His grip upon the sides of the tub was so tight that his arm trembled, and the slight lack of control thrilled her. He was right. He placed his life in her hands, bared his throat, and gave her the means to open it. The help were the most powerful people in London, not that any of the well-heeled lords and ladies acknowledged as much.
She took her time rolling him in her palm, first one and then the other, giving each equal attention, relishing the way he breathed hard against her arm. His mouth dropped open when she continued her slow journey upward, gripping his shaft. The shape of him in this state was completely different from what it had been that morning when he had been soft and heavy against her palm. Now he was a rigid bar of iron, thick and straining. The soft veins she’d traced this morning with her fingertips now stood out angrily, a furious explosion of flesh from the milky surface of the water as she drew her hand up until she reached the flared edge of his pink-edged head.
She worked slowly. After all, she rationalized, this was likely her only chance to enjoy the experience. His head was still concealed in its sheath, only a small cap of shiny green showing, the silver ring taking up most of the space. Gently pinching the loose pucker of skin, she covered him completely, pulling until she felt resistance and his hips lifted. Lillie thought about his reaction that morning when she’d tugged the piercing. She used the pad of her thumb to trace the shape of it, rubbing through the barrier of his foreskin until he grunted again. The sound made her shiver. She wanted to hear him moan, wanted to bring a bellow of pleasure to his lips, wanted to reenact every page of that damnable book, wanted to make him lose control!
His cockhead was already pearling when she retracted his sheath at last. Domed and silky to the touch, the ring that bisected his tip gave it a hungry look, his slit open like a mouth, threatening to expel its contents upon her. Lillie was eager for him to do so. A hard exhalation when she scooped the milky pearl of his spend from his slit, quickly bringing it to her mouth before she could think better of the action. She wanted to drink him up, right from the source, but for now, this would do.
She pressed her finger back into his slit, rubbing around the dressing ring, exhilarated to learn he was pink around the inside, dark green giving way to the bright pink of a kitten’s tongue. He groaned, low in his throat, when she gave the ring an experimental tug, then another. Upon the third, the earl’s mouth opened, letting the deep, rattling sound out bounce on the marble, a fresh ooze of his spend brimming around her fingertips.
Her own gasp warmed his temple as his head dropped back further. Closing her eyes, she thought back several nights earlier and the sliver of him she was able to make out in the cracked open library door. Gripping his shaft firmly, she began to stroke. He had worked his cock with more fervor than she had imagined necessary that night she watched him, and she replicated the same pace now. Full, fast strokes up and down, carefully twisting her palm over his head, not wanting to catch her fingers on his piercing.
She knew for certain that she had not imagined that night outside his library door, for the moan that emitted from Lord Ellingboe’s throat was the same then. Lillie anticipated the moment when he would spray his seed against his chest, wondered how far it would reach, and she was in danger over his shoulder. She never found out. The hands that had gripped the tub with terrifying tightness were suddenly around her wrist, her elbow, pulling her out from behind him and up to her feet. A rush of heat flamed her cheeks, and she wondered if she was being sent away already, if his Lordship had come to his senses and realized what he was doing and whom he was doing it with, but instead, his hands went to the skirt of her dress. Fumbling, pulling at her overskirt, raising it above her knees to paw at her petticoat beneath until she was obliged to assist him, pulling her skirt high enough so that she was able to untie her petticoat, allowing it to fall to the floor in a heap.
“The people closest to us...” His voice was hoarse, and his eyes seared into hers. When he pushed forward from the back of the tub, huge hands reached out to grasp her hips, a yelp stuck in her throat. He lifted her as if she were no more than a feather, and then she did squeak in surprise, falling forward against his chest, her hands scrabbling against his slick skin. Her dress ballooned out, and the water level searched upward, threatening to overflow, just as Mr. Phip had said.
“Tell me yes.”
She had always thought Lord Ellingboe had a commanding voice. Ever since the first day she had sat before him in his study, her hands folded neatly in her lap, squeezing so tightly that her knuckles were white, she’d been pressed back by that deep rumble. Even if she had met him on the street wearing the clothes of a workman, it would have been no surprise to find out that he was a titled lord. Stern but kind, his voice carried an unmistakable ring of command, one that had always shivered through her, and that moment was no exception.
“Yes.” Her voice came out as little more than a whisper, but it was enough. Her head dropped back the instant she’d uttered the word, gasping.
The hands at her hips slid to grip her ample backside, his left hand tightening on a redolent cheek while the right continued its journey, stroking into her slick folds. She’d never noticed how thick his fingers were before, a single one of his feeling like it had the same girth as several of her own, pressing into her. The new countess would be a lucky woman; indeed, she thought as she sat astride his lap in his rapidly cooling bathwater, her dress billowing up on the surface as Lord Ellingboe stroked her cunt with the mastery of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. His thumb moved over that swollen little pearl—up and down, up and down, around and around until she was dizzy—while two of his thick fingers fucked into her soundly. She would need to imagine what that would be like, hearing him with his new wife, seeing him with his wife, knowing exactly what was happening behind the closed door of his chambers, now that she herself was experiencing it. She wouldn’t last that long. Best to enjoy this moment however long it is.
The room was spinning, and Lillie was certain she was beginning to extend that dizzying peak of pleasure when suddenly his hand withdrew. She didn’t have time to cry out. The thickness of his fingers was replaced by the foreign feel of his dressing ring, pressing to her most intimate spot. He pushed into her slowly, the fat head of his cock cleaving her open, spreading the way for the thick shaft that followed. He was swollen and straining, every push feeling as though it were too much until he slid a little further, stretching her beyond what she’d thought possible. When she was seated flush to his lap once more, Lillie reached down to squeeze his sac. His balls were tight and hard, pulled up close to his body, ready to be emptied. Emptied into her. The thought alone nearly sent her over her peak.
The earl’s hands once more gripped the bottom, raising her up several inches on the swollen club of flesh wedged within her, bringing her down against him solidly, once, twice, until a rhythm had been established. Lillie realized then how ignorant she had been about her own anatomy. Her blood came every month, an indication she was not with child, and if she were, one would grow there in her womb. She knew having a man inside her was pleasurable; knew she could bring herself to an eye-crossing rush of pleasure by rubbing that pebbled little bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. But she’d never known what it felt like to be plumbed to her depths, to have every inch of her inner walls rubbed from the inside, dragging against the fat cock inside her. She gasped as his Lordship raised her up several inches, squeezing her ass as he did so, bringing her down forcefully into the root of his cock. Her eyes rolled back on every jolt of him within her, and soon it was too much.
She felt the moment he erupted. A surge upward, his rhythm going uneven for several heartbeats, and a throaty groan from his chest. Draining his dragon. Lillie held onto his shoulders as he shook beneath her, cock pulsing, wondering if he would tell her to leave now. After all, you’ve served your purpose. She needn’t have worried. He recovered quickly, gripping her hips firmly once again, refinding their rhythm.
“Do you like the way my cock feels inside you, little poppet?” His voice was a throaty growl against her throat, and she moaned helplessly in response. The ring in his cock was touching some hidden recess inside her, and the renewed movement, coupled with his obscene crooning against her hair, was too much to bear. The water in the bathtub had again begun to roil like the high seas, the rolling rhythm of their bodies causing the waves to crest over the edge and splash to the floor, the rocking motion pushing her higher and higher until she came with a gasp. Her spine stiffened as she tightened around him, her muscles clenching around his tumidity, making her eyes roll back. “That’s it, sweet girl,” he groaned into her hair as she wheezed. “Squeeze out every drop.”
