inflamed his lust and brought on the visions.
He took a deep breath. Thankfully, the horrible images were gone. Vivian’s cry of delight had become a scream of terror in his brain. Instead of her lush, inviting skin, he saw her covered in blood. Bile had clogged his throat.
Even as he ran from her, his desire had not dimmed. His blood scalded, knees shook, pulse hammered. He could still smell her essence on his fingers, taste her skin on his tongue.
A draft whispered about the room, cooled his skin. But not his need.
Ashworth dropped back on the mattress. His heartbeat echoed in his skull. Vivian’s pink nipples graced his daydream as he closed his eyes. He recalled running his tongue across their pert loveliness. She tasted of the wild honeysuckle growing on the hillside. Inside her folds, slick warmth swallowed his finger.
And as he thrust it over and over, he imagined his erection in its place.
Ashworth clenched his teeth, but it was no use. He unbuttoned his breeches and fisted his pulsating shaft.
Instead of his fingers on his erection, he imagined her damp tunnel enclosing over him. He’d sink deep inside her, filling her, driving her.
Yes, he could envision it all so clearly! Her hips rocking against his. His hands squeezing her breasts, thumbs rolling her nipples. Sharp fingernails tracing down his back, reaching lower…
Tingling raced from his spine, circling his toes, tickling his nipples. Ashworth threw his head back, tightened his grip.
In his fantasy, he could hear her whimpers rising to moans. Finally she’d cry out while her spasms wracked his slick flesh. It would drive him deeper. Faster.
Ashworth moaned and pumped his erection to a hot release.
He slid his hand away and stared at the dark canopy above his head. His breathing shattered the stillness of the night.
Vivian…Vivian!
She tortured him so blessedly, so exquisitely, his whole life was in chaos. Did he want her to leave him to his tightly controlled world or stay and absolve him of his delusions?
He wanted her warmth, yet feared her intimacy. He yearned for her body, yet refused her tenderness.
Suddenly parched, he turned to his nightstand. Pinkley had left his nightly potion, a watered-down laudanum concoction. Without hesitation, Ashworth swallowed the liquid in a gulp.
He needed to find peace. Pray God this potion brought him peace tonight.
***
Martin avoided looking at the brick manor as he walked up the drive. A wave of fury rippled through his blood. The entire trip over he attempted to control the rage he knew would surface. With this hunt for Vivian already gnawing at his nerves, facing his mother would only incense him more.
But he had to come. He had to see her. After all, his mother was the reason he’d become who he was.
It was as if he was to blame for her careless mistake in getting pregnant. She never would answer why she didn’t abandon him when he was a baby instead of a young lad.
A crisp breeze lifted Martin’s hair as he walked around to the back of the house. He’d not knock on the front door, allow a servant to turn him away. No, Martin would see his mother today.
She always sat on the back porch, staring at the trees. Even as a small child, he remembered her watching the branches sway out their tiny flat window. Usually she retreated to her private world after kicking him for ruining her life by being born.
The ground squished beneath his feet, the sky swarmed above his head, building to a storm. He didn’t plan to stay long. Just enough time to get what he needed.
Martin slowed his walk as he approached the rear of the manor. He heard voices chattering. Servants.
He pressed himself against a large statue and waited for them to pass.
Finally there was no one but himself and the cool air. Himself and the first woman to abandon him.
A set of steps led up to the terrace, where his mother often drank her tea in the afternoon. He’d come here enough over the years to watch her, to sense her
He took a deep breath. Thankfully, the horrible images were gone. Vivian’s cry of delight had become a scream of terror in his brain. Instead of her lush, inviting skin, he saw her covered in blood. Bile had clogged his throat.
Even as he ran from her, his desire had not dimmed. His blood scalded, knees shook, pulse hammered. He could still smell her essence on his fingers, taste her skin on his tongue.
A draft whispered about the room, cooled his skin. But not his need.
Ashworth dropped back on the mattress. His heartbeat echoed in his skull. Vivian’s pink nipples graced his daydream as he closed his eyes. He recalled running his tongue across their pert loveliness. She tasted of the wild honeysuckle growing on the hillside. Inside her folds, slick warmth swallowed his finger.
And as he thrust it over and over, he imagined his erection in its place.
Ashworth clenched his teeth, but it was no use. He unbuttoned his breeches and fisted his pulsating shaft.
Instead of his fingers on his erection, he imagined her damp tunnel enclosing over him. He’d sink deep inside her, filling her, driving her.
Yes, he could envision it all so clearly! Her hips rocking against his. His hands squeezing her breasts, thumbs rolling her nipples. Sharp fingernails tracing down his back, reaching lower…
Tingling raced from his spine, circling his toes, tickling his nipples. Ashworth threw his head back, tightened his grip.
In his fantasy, he could hear her whimpers rising to moans. Finally she’d cry out while her spasms wracked his slick flesh. It would drive him deeper. Faster.
Ashworth moaned and pumped his erection to a hot release.
He slid his hand away and stared at the dark canopy above his head. His breathing shattered the stillness of the night.
Vivian…Vivian!
She tortured him so blessedly, so exquisitely, his whole life was in chaos. Did he want her to leave him to his tightly controlled world or stay and absolve him of his delusions?
He wanted her warmth, yet feared her intimacy. He yearned for her body, yet refused her tenderness.
Suddenly parched, he turned to his nightstand. Pinkley had left his nightly potion, a watered-down laudanum concoction. Without hesitation, Ashworth swallowed the liquid in a gulp.
He needed to find peace. Pray God this potion brought him peace tonight.
***
Martin avoided looking at the brick manor as he walked up the drive. A wave of fury rippled through his blood. The entire trip over he attempted to control the rage he knew would surface. With this hunt for Vivian already gnawing at his nerves, facing his mother would only incense him more.
But he had to come. He had to see her. After all, his mother was the reason he’d become who he was.
It was as if he was to blame for her careless mistake in getting pregnant. She never would answer why she didn’t abandon him when he was a baby instead of a young lad.
A crisp breeze lifted Martin’s hair as he walked around to the back of the house. He’d not knock on the front door, allow a servant to turn him away. No, Martin would see his mother today.
She always sat on the back porch, staring at the trees. Even as a small child, he remembered her watching the branches sway out their tiny flat window. Usually she retreated to her private world after kicking him for ruining her life by being born.
The ground squished beneath his feet, the sky swarmed above his head, building to a storm. He didn’t plan to stay long. Just enough time to get what he needed.
Martin slowed his walk as he approached the rear of the manor. He heard voices chattering. Servants.
He pressed himself against a large statue and waited for them to pass.
Finally there was no one but himself and the cool air. Himself and the first woman to abandon him.
A set of steps led up to the terrace, where his mother often drank her tea in the afternoon. He’d come here enough over the years to watch her, to sense her
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