Page 27 of The Widower Without a Will
Her hand landed on his chest, just above his heart.“Your record is surely better than those who do not try to do the right thing at all.”
He wondered if she could feel his heart thudding through the layers of his wool suit.Then he wondered why he was wearing so many clothes.
Her thoughts must have followed along the same track, for her spare hand tugged at the top button of her neckline.“I’m feeling rather hot all of a sudden.Would you mind if I remove my cape?”
It was a bad idea.The carriage had its natural jostle, yes, but Boyle would surely notice if it suddenly took on a rhythm of its own.Not to mention, anything could happen along the ride—a busted wheel, a horse with a stone in its hoof, a flock of sheep blocking the road—that might require them to step out of the carriage at a moment’s notice.The smart thing to do was wait for nighttime, when they could lock Mrs.Bellamy’s door and enjoy each other in relative peace.
But Martin’s blood responded to the scent of Mrs.Bellamy.With only the slightest encouragement, he unbuttoned his trousers.He pulled Mrs.Bellamy’s soft curves onto his lap.With her lips now above him, they shared fast, messy kisses.Under her skirts, he could feel the raw heat of her quim against his freed prick—which was now achingly stiff.She wouldn’t be wet enough for him to enter her, not after so little time and with no pomade to assist.Martin snaked his hand between her legs to work her with his thumb and fingers.Her quim was plump, like the rest of her, and once activated with desire, it rose sturdily to receive its pleasure.Mrs.Bellamy rested her forehead against his as he worked her ridges, her breath growing shorter and shorter as his hand moved faster and faster.They had been lovers for long enough that Martin knew her rhythm, and in no time, she was gasping in his ear.
The carriage turned, which Martin knew meant they were joining the main road to Thatcham, and Boyle called out a greeting to some vehicle coming their way.
Martin had no need to stop and chat with a passerby.He could ignore them entirely or simply raise a hand in acknowledgment as their horses pulled them in opposite directions.
He panicked anyway.He yanked himself straight from underneath Mrs.Bellamy.Giggling at him, she pulled away—but instead of retreating to her proper bench, she fell to her knees on the floor.
“What are you doing?”he hissed, desperate.
She smiled mischievously.“What do you think?”As the passerby drew closer, she draped her discarded cape over her head and shoulders and bent over his lap.
Her fingers curled around his cock.
She took its tip in her hot, wet mouth.
And Martin found himself suppressing his groan as the face of Mr.Sebright pulled into view.
“Good afternoon,” he forced himself to say, raising a hand in a courtly wave.
Mr.Sebright bowed at the neck.“Good afternoon, Lord Preston.Have you been paying visits today?”
Mrs.Bellamy’s tongue drew circles around Martin’s shaft.He struggled to draw breath, much less come up with a proper answer.“No, I have been attending to business.And you?”
“I am on my way to see about some goats for the rectory,” replied the reverend.
Martin didn’t have the attention to notice whether the man was sanctimonious or earnest or solicitous.Mrs.Bellamy was now vigorously stimulating his cock with both her hands and her hot, hot mouth, taking it more deeply against her tongue than he would have thought possible.He exhaled loudly to keep from bucking his hips.
“Are you ill, sir?”asked Mr.Sebright.
“Headache,” Martin managed to reply.“I had better get home.”
“I wish you a speedy recovery.”
The horses of both vehicles began to move again, and soon, Mr.Sebright was out of view.Mrs.Bellamy flicked her tongue across the tip of Martin’s cock.A hand slipped down to fondle the soft skin of his balls.Martin had never felt so disintegrated, so fully tantalized, and he barely had time to sink back against the bench cushions before he exploded in one of the most intense orgasms of his life.His whole body shook, every nerve crying out with pleasure, and his seed spurted endlessly into the hot back of Mrs.Bellamy’s throat.
When at last he was spent, Mrs.Bellamy emerged from under her cape, smirking like the cat who ate the cream.
“That was dangerous,” he scolded her, breathless.“We could have been discovered.”
“But we weren’t discovered, and now you have quite the memory of me to keep, haven’t you?”
Martin found himself sliding off the bench to meet her on the floor of the carriage.He draped his arms—which still felt like wet noodles after his orgasm—around her and pulled her into a kiss.His heart was full of light peace, like the fluff of dandelion drifting in a summer breeze, and it was all because of her.He wanted to thank her; he wanted to hold her; he wanted to keep her by his side at all times.
He settled for promising her, “That’s a memory I’ll never forget,” and held her in his arms until they reached Northfield once more.
Marthaknewthiswasnot Heaven.That was somewhere distant and unreachable, somewhere that the bliss of fulfilled lust could not touch.Yet, for this handful of weeks, she really did feel that she had been blessed by an angel, so happy was she.
Perhaps it was Kenneth, calling in favors beyond the pearly gates to bring her some peace after all these years.Perhaps it was merely the halo of Lord Preston with all his good deeds casting a little bit of its special glow upon her.
Whatever the cause, Martha did not dare question it.She floated along in this new river of joy: stolen kisses pressed to her knuckles when she handed Lord Preston a stack of correspondence to sign; ankles intertwining under the dining table where the footmen could not see; and best of all, after the household went to sleep, Lord Preston sneaking into her bedroom.
