The Earl and the Governess: An Erotic Romance by Alison Shaw Page B

her eyes and threw her head back onto the bed and thrust her
hips up to meet his, to drive his cock deeper. He was in so deep
his balls were rammed against her, and he grabbed hold of her waist
and encouraged by her cries, pounded her with a grim determination,
slid his hard cock nearly all the way out and back in again, felt
the hot, tight walls of her cunt grip him until they were both
crying out.
    “Yes, yes,” she
moaned in time to his deep thrusts and leaning back, he pressed his
thumb against her swollen nubbin as he managed to slow his pace a
little and rock into her, finding just the right angle and rhythm
to escalate her cries. He had to make her come. He was determined
to make her come. Wiping the sweat away from his eyes he pulled his
cock out and slid it over her slick lips and clitoris. His rigid
shaft, thick and veined, glided over her until her hips were raised
almost off the bed and her legs began to shake and then he plunged
into her once again and felt her break around him, her spasms
gripping him, and he lifted his hips and fucked her hard, pounded
into her until his cum came firing out of him so fast he was left
slumped on top of her, his head empty of all thought.
    When he came
round, she was cradling his head against her breast and stroking
his hair and then his cheek and he turned towards her palm and
kissed her, breathing in her gentle scent. What was this strange
sensation he had in his chest and throat? And were those tears that
were dampening his cheeks?
     
     
     

Chapter
19
     
    The Governess Succumbs
     
    In which the
governess endures a miserable carriage ride.
     
     
    Justine de
Mornay was every bit as beautiful as people said. She sat opposite
Charlotte in the cramped carriage, glowing in the gloom as if she
were lit from within, her face exquisitely framed by the red silk
of her hood, her lips a perfect bow. Charlotte was suddenly
painfully aware of her own plain grey gown frayed at the hem. She
felt dowdy and insignificant, and a tight knot of despair and
jealousy weaved itself around her heart.
    The weather was
reflecting her mood. The wind howled outside and rainwater seeped
through the rattling door, soaking her scuffed boots. There was
nowhere comfortable she could look. It was too painful to watch
Madam De Mornay’s smiling visage and she dare not even glance at
the man sitting beside her, the man whose presence filled the space
and made her breathing laboured. Instead, Charlotte looked down at
Arthur’s curly blonde head lying in her lap.
    She could feel
Rafe’s eyes on her like a heated caress but she would not look at
him, she must not look at him. But then she thought she heard him
gasp, a strangled moan that shot across her skin like a bolt of
lightning and her eyes were dragged towards him, to his lap where
Madam De Mornay’s hand was stroking an unmistakable and familiar
bulge.
    “We must almost
be there,” Rafe said, suddenly breaking the silence, his jolly tone
not disguising the strain in his voice. Arthur twitched in
Charlotte’s lap and Madam De Mornay pulled her hand away and gave
an unconvincing trill of laughter.
    Charlotte’s
cheeks were red with shame but the woman who should be embarrassed
looked as collected as ever, and merely adjusted her gloves with a
smug little smile. And when Charlotte finally looked at Rafe’s
face, she saw how he shifted impatiently in his seat, his eyes
anywhere but on her, his mouth set in a grim line.
    She knew this
day would come. Rafe was not a man who was accustomed to being
rejected, and it was clear he was finding his pleasure elsewhere,
with someone who had less to lose than Charlotte, with a Lady with
beauty and sophistication and obviously one who was more than
willing to accommodate his lust, wherever they may be, and whoever
they may be with. Charlotte acknowledged with a pang that she had
lost her beautiful outrageous Earl of Langham. In fact, he had
never been hers at all.
    And when the
boys had been roused and the