Her Immortal Love by Diana Castle

of meaning to his existence, he chose to fill that emptiness with the blackest of deeds.”
    “How do you know so much about him? You said he wasn’t famous.”
    “He wasn’t.” He got out of the car then went over to open her door.
    A man came out of the stable. He was short and looked to be in his late sixties. He wore a top hat along with a black jacket and matching pants.
    “Good evening, sir,” he said.
    “Hello, Patrick. May I present Ms. Lydia March.”
    Patrick touched the brim of his hat. “Evening. Everything’s ready, sir. If you’ll follow me.”
    He led them over to a horse and a carriage. But it was not the kind of open carriage Lydia had seen people riding in downtown. This one was closed and looked like something out of a regency novel.
    Patrick went over and opened the door. Taking hold of his hand, she climbed inside.
    “You know the route?” Tristan said.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “I'll let you know when we're ready to return.”
    “Very good, sir.”
    Tristan climbed in through the other door and sat next to Lydia. It was dark inside although there was a window in front, framed by dark curtains. The interior was cozy enough that Tristan’s body pressed against hers. The carriage shook and through the small window she saw Patrick climb up to the driver’s seat. Tristan rapped the top of the carriage with his cane. Patrick snapped the reins. The carriage rocked as it moved, but not as much as she had thought it would.
    “Do you like it?” Tristan asked.
    “Oh, yes, very much so.” Her gaze traveled over his clothes. “You went through all this trouble for me.” Tears threatened to prickle her eyes. She quickly blinked them away. She didn’t want to ruin her eyeliner. “It’s…”
    He smiled and leaned closer. He smelled wonderful. “It’s what?”
    “It’s just that I’ve never done anything like this before.”
    “Of course you haven’t. It’s your fantasy.” He took her hand and squeezed her fingers. “Don’t worry. We’re only going to do what you want. Nothing more.”
    She’d already been intimate with him. Why did she suddenly feel so shy? Was it because they weren’t really alone?
    “Do you want me to close the curtain?” he said as if sensing her unease.
    Outside the window the sun had set, but the sky was still a soft violet. The dark surface of the lake glimmered under the orange lights of the lampposts.
    “No, I’m fine.”
    Tristan lowered his head and brushed his lips across hers. She moved her hands about his waist and up his broad back. He pulled her into his arms, deepening their kiss.
    It had only been a week since she last kissed him, but it felt like a month. She pressed her lips to his, desire moving through her blood like a warm river.
    Breaking their kiss, Tristan stroked her cheek. “I had planned on indulging in some witty repartee appropriate to the era.”
    He lowered his hands and began unbuttoning her blouse. “But I’ve thought of nothing but this night. I want you. Lydia. I want you now.”
    He opened her blouse and cupped her bra, brushing his thumbs across her nipples. Lydia’s breath quickened, her breasts swelling under his touch. She too had thought about this night while at work, at home, in her bed. Thought about what it would be like. Wondered if it was going to truly happen. Afraid that it would not. But it was happening, and she was here with him in a carriage just as he’d promised.
    He pushed down her bra. Her naked nipples quickly hardened in the cool, night air. Grasping both her breasts, he pushed them together, lowered his head and pulled the tight nubs into his mouth, moistly licking.
    Lydia gripped his arms, her cunt throbbing in time with the mad beating of her heart and the steady lapping of his tongue over her nipples.
    “Suck them,” she whispered. “Please.”
    Tristan complied, drawing her nipples deep into his mouth, his tongue working around them both.
    She moaned, pressing her breasts against his lips.