Story Excerpt

The day of the picnic dawned bright and Emmy dressed with care. It was nearly a week since the remarkable time in Gabriel’s bedchamber and she found herself replaying the night in her mind at odd times. Those two licks of the crop against her bottom caused no lingering pain or marks, to her relief. That meant that she could look forward to Gabriel employing that particular device again.

Setting aside her lascivious intentions, she nodded as her maid finished with her hair. It was upswept and graceful, cunning curls framing her face and trailing over the nape of her neck. Her dress was a delightful confection of summery blush, the coloring heightening the flush on her cheeks and bosom. She would need a fichu today, lest everyone see her desire etched across her breasts. Desire for the two of them. Her mind still boggled over that particular fact.

Yes, Gabriel would find a docile wife to wed, most likely before the year was out. And Stephen would surely find Surrey exceedingly dull and take his fine self from all and sundry once again. She wouldn’t think of how her heart would break when they were separated from her, when they were with two faceless, nameless women whose futures would be tied to her own dear, favored gentlemen. Or of herself, stuck in Surrey to watch Gabriel from a distance and pine for Stephen as well.

“Bother,” she grumbled as her good mood threatened a hasty departure.

Donning a large straw bonnet trimmed in ribbons to match her pretty dress, she went belowstairs to await the carriage.

“Now, Emmy,” her father wheedled from his place at the bottom of the stairs. “Must you leave me today?”

“Mr. Kingley’s picnic is this afternoon, Father.” She pulled on thin kid gloves and fluffed out her skirt. “You’ve known of the event for several days now. We’ve discussed it.” She looked over at Mrs. Waltham, standing ever diligently nearby. “If you would like to join us it would take but a few minutes to see you settled in the carriage with me.”

“Certainly, Mr. Woodson,” Mrs. Waltham said.

“A picnic? Bah!”

She gave a nod, grateful that her father wouldn’t be able to observe her with Gabriel and Stephen. He’d been sharp in his day, and though he seemed vague and disconnected at times she still saw that shrewdness in his eyes often enough. He must never guess what mischief she’d been about.

“I shall return before dark,” she promised, bending to kiss his cheek. “Perhaps the Abbey’s cook will have made berry tarts, Father. Do you think I can convince her to give me some for you?”

He smiled up at her. “You, my dear, could charm anyone into anything. Berry tarts do sound quite good.”

At the sound of wheels on the drive, she bade him and Mrs. Waltham farewell again and climbed aboard the carriage.

When she arrived at Dunwell Abbey she refrained from indulging in the memory of what had transpired when last she was here. Instead she joined the folks gathered at the back of the estate. Glancing down at the sprawling grounds toward the lake, she saw all was nearly in readiness. Tents were up, tables set with linens and chairs set about. It was elegant, comfortable, and everything to be expected at a gentleman’s picnic. Able staff moved about, carting baskets and trays of food, bottles of wine and pitchers of lemonade. As she looked about for the handsome host she heard her friend Harriet call out to her.

Waving madly, Harriet joined her. “Oh, Miss Woodson! Isn’t it all just so lovely? I daresay the Markhams are thrilled to be included.”

“Ga—Mr. Kingley invited Mr. Markham and his sisters?”

“Yes. He is a most generous landlord, I daresay.”

“Truly.” Emmy thought about this development. Harriet was still pining for the gentleman farmer, then. There had to be someone else about to divert her attentions. She glimpsed a familiar golden head and her heart leapt. Stephen.

“There you are,” he said, bowing gallantly. He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “Miss Woodson, you are breathtaking this afternoon.” He turned to Harriet. “Hello, Miss Stoat. Are you looking forward to the festivities? Mr. Kingley has put out quite a spread.”

“Oh, yes,” Harriet gushed. Her eyes lingered on Stephen’s fine figure for a moment too long in Emmy’s opinion. “Will you play the games?”

“Games?” He tilted a glance in Emmy’s direction. “Will there be rules? Goodness knows how some of us balk at rules.”

Emmy flushed hot as she recalled his and Gabriel’s titillating rules. “One must strive to do one’s best.”

Stephen laughed. “Ah, here is our esteemed host.”

Once again Emmy’s heart flipped. My, Gabriel looked delicious today. Outfitted as a proper gentlemen, of course.

He caught Stephen’s gaze before bowing in Emmy and Harriet’s direction. “Good afternoon, ladies. I am so glad you were able to attend.”

Emmy could scarcely form words with the two of them before her. When last she’d been in their company… Shaking her head, she smiled at Gabriel. “I daresay this picnic is all anyone in Highbury has spoken of for weeks now.”

He tipped his head in that condescending way he had, though she now found it quite charming. “That is gratifying, I suppose.” He turned to Stephen. “Good to see you, Churchill.”

Stephen schooled his expression, but she saw the mirth dancing in his eyes. “Good to be here, Kingley.”

Gabriel then went off to supervise the preparations beneath the tents. Stephen leaned toward Emmy. “I daresay Kingley is quite stiff today.”

Once more she flushed hot. She was spared having to make any sort of comment when Harriet babbled something about the day and the sunshine and the company. Stephen offered an elbow to each of them and the three joined the throng teeming on the shore of the lake.

ADULT EXCERPT

“Bring the honey,” Stephen called as he led Emmy to Gabriel’s bedchamber.

Gabriel complied, his body thrumming with anticipation. With a tight rein on his own compulsions he would employ some of the leather items he’d had fashioned for their Emmy today, and given the manner in which she had taken to their lessons the other night he suspected she would be most receptive.

By the time he joined them Stephen had divested Emmy of her dress, stays, and stockings. Her thin linen drawers were visibly damp, no doubt due to Stephen’s play on her gorgeous breasts. Emmy reclined on Gabriel’s bed, moaning and purring as Stephen drew hard on one of her rosy nipples.

“Ah, Emmy,” Stephen growled, his mouth full of her flesh. A look of bliss crossed his face as he gave her breast a slow lick. “Honey, Switch.” He laughed softly. “Not that she needs sweetening.”

Gabriel stepped close to the bed and tipped the honey pot slightly, letting a thin line of the sticky stuff drizzle down over her breasts. She gasped then gazed up at him. “Kiss me, Gabriel.”

He placed a drop of honey on her lips and then did so, letting his tongue stroke hers. He straightened and tore at his clothes, shedding his jacket and waistcoat, boots and shirt. He kept his breeches on for the time being, his cock straining at the fabric. It was the only thing keeping him from rutting on her like a beast. He wouldn’t do that today. No, Stephen would fuck her today.

Stephen sat back on his heels and took the pot from him. “Gabriel gets to taste you tonight, Emmy.”

Her eyes nearly crossed as she flushed in anticipation. “Yes, Gabriel,” she sighed, her eyes gazing dreamily up into his. “Do.”

Stephen placed a dollop of honey on her belly, bending his head to lick her there. Gabriel watched his tongue dip into her navel and noted the telltale twitching of her legs. She was nearly there already, their Emmy. On the very edge of pleasure. He was nearly there himself. Joining them on the bed, he settled himself between her legs.

He’d thought to take his time, to bring her to pleasure slowly, excruciatingly, but he found he couldn’t wait. Stephen had talked of nothing but the sweetness of Emmy’s pussy, and Gabriel couldn’t wait to taste her himself. He tore her drawers from her, earning another delighted gasp from Emmy and a chuckle from Stephen. He grasped her slender thighs and spread her wide open, eyeing her beautiful pussy. The blond curls were dark and wet, the lips swollen. Her clit peeped out at him, and he took in a deep breath. He could smell her, sharp and sweet and Emmy.

“Honey,” he rasped.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Stephen teased.

Gabriel shot him a look of irritation, at which Stephen laughed. “All right, Switch.”

Another dip of the honey pot and a drop of golden honey fell on her flesh. She shivered in response and it was more than Gabriel could take.

Like a starving man, he fell on her. Driving his tongue deep inside of her he began a rhythm that soon had her bucking beneath him. “Gabriel!” she cried, grasping at his hair as she twisted and writhed.

“Bind her hands, Stephen,” he managed to say between licks. “Be gentle.”

Soft restraint tonight, just a taste of how giving up control can heighten her pleasure. He gazed at her, her hands bound with one of their cravats, her arms held over her head by Stephen and her legs held tightly in his own grasp. Heighten her pleasure? And theirs, most assuredly.

He lowered his mouth to her again. He faintly registered her sounds of passion, and Stephen’s of encouragement, as he sucked and licked and ate her like a madman. His cock throbbed as he thrust against the linens and he knew he’d disgrace himself if he didn’t cease. When she came in the next moment, a sharp keening sound coming from her as she climaxed, he drank every drop of her juices. Mingling with the honey, it was like nectar of the gods.

Lifting his head from her, he let out a shout. “My God, you’re incredible.”

Emmy murmured something in response, obviously still lost in the aftermath. Stephen met his gaze, waiting for his signal. Gabriel gave a nod and stood, adjusting his straining cock as he strode to the hidden cupboard in his dressing room.

He could hear Emmy and Stephen kissing, could picture every movement of the two of them, and his balls ached. He set aside a few waistcoats and opened the cupboard behind them, the scent of fresh leather hitting him. Running his hands over the various items within, he chose the short riding crop. It was tipped with a soft popper, slightly wider than one would employ when riding. The leather was supple, the handle well-wrapped and thick. He’d designed the handle as well, schooling his expression when the leathersmith indicated that it was decidedly phallic in shape. The seams were smooth, the leather warming beneath his touch. He flicked the crop against his palm, feeling a sting but raising no flesh. Excellent.

A smile teasing his lips, he returned to the bedchamber.