Undercover Sir Page 13

  It happened—coincidentally—the first time she'd gotten drunk in front of someone who wasn't a member of her family, too. She thought he might do more of it—she wanted him to do more of it. But he remained chaste after that, as if he didn't think he could control himself if they indulged themselves again.

  But she was forever changed by what he had done to her—how he had awakened her. She walked around in a sensual haze, made more acute by his absence, especially since he had warned her frequently about not touching herself, which was something she had never considered before. Now that he'd suggested it to her, she really, really wanted to. But he had said that he would know if she had done so, and she believed him.

  It was that Sunday night. They hadn't gone out but had, instead, spent the day at home, helping Daniel and Taffy putter about the house in the morning. Then, they'd enjoyed hamburgers and hot dogs cooked on the grill that afternoon, with all of the usual American side dishes—macaroni and potato salads, chips, pickles, coleslaw, beer, and lemonade.

  Eventually, though, as they all hung around chatting, the beer choice became liquor, and everyone indulged, to the point that Taffy became positively blottoed. When Daniel noticed her bobbing and weaving as she brought out even more liquor, he stood and swept her up into his arms as she "Whooo-hooo'd" enthusiastically. He confiscated the bottle of Crown Royal from her hand and gave it to Douglas, saying over his shoulder as he brought them both into the house, "I think someone needs to be put to bed. Say good night, Taffy."

  "Good night, Taffy!" she yelled enthusiastically over his shoulder.

  "Night, all. Don't stay up too late. Tomorrow's a work day for everyone."

  "Spoilsport," Ia muttered under her breath, only to receive a potent warning look from Douglas, who was stretched out beside her in the next lounge chair. "Well, I can't help it if he is!"

  "Ia, that's enough."

  She sighed but remained silent.

  Douglas, aware that she was almost as soused as Taffy, poured her one more drink, which was half of what he'd been pouring her all evening.

  "You're drunk," he said matter-of-factly.

  "I yam?" She both sounded and looked very surprised at that idea, eyes widening comically, then narrowing again, as if she was afraid she'd seen too much. "Oh, I think you might be right."

  Douglas gave a deep chuckle at that, and it made her stare at him while her body did things she had even less control over at the moment than she did usually.

  "Of course, I am. I've made a study of you, Miss Ia."

  "That is a truly frightening statement."

  Douglas raised his glass to her. "It's a testament to how interested I am in you. I've never been this curious about another person in my life. I feel as if I can't possibly know enough about you."

  "Well," she said expansively, taking a large sip—a gulp, really—of her whiskey. Then, being distracted by it and staring into her glass, she added, "That's good whicksey."

  "It is. Well, what?"

  "What, well?"

  Douglas sighed. "You said 'well' as if you were going to say something profound."

  "I was?" She blinked at him owlishly and thought hard for a moment, which wasn't easy. "Oh, oh yeah, I was! I was going to tell you something you don't know about me."

  "Oh?" he asked, leaning closer to her. "And what would that be?"

  She leaned closer to him, so that their noses were almost touching, and stage whispered, "I'm drunk."

  He laughed at that. "I think that was already established."

  "Yes, but—but—but—this is the first time I've ever been drunk in front of a semi-stranger!"

  "Another first!" It wasn't a great one, but he'd take what he could get.

  She literally sputter-laughed at that, and he took the drink out of her hand. "Wait, but—what—where are you doing? I want my drink!"

  Ia was getting that stubborn look he'd seen before, but he interrupted it by effortlessly lifting her from her chair onto his, stretching her out on top of him.

  As he held her over him in the air, it occurred to Douglas that it might not be the ideal thing to do, since she was definitely drunk, so he put her down quickly.

  It worked nicely to distract her, but now he was the one in need of distraction. She was moving on top of him quite innocently, adjusting herself to his length, but she was constantly brushing up against or pressing herself into his erection. Her innocence was a protection against knowing what a horny devil he was, and he was thankful for that.

  "You're—you're hard," she said, looking down at him, and he very nearly whimpered.

  "Uh, thank you?"

  "But you're not uncomfortable to lie on."

  "That's good to know. Would you mind being still while you lie on me, lovely?"

  "Why?"

  Douglas decided to tell her the truth. "Because you moving on me is making me want you very badly."

  She went stock still, and when she spoke, it was with some weird kind of reverence. "Oh, dear! I'm sorry! What should I do?"

  "Relax, baby."

  "But I don't want to hurt you!" She was close to tears over the idea. "Wanting me makes you hurt? That can't be right, can it?"

  "Well, the part of me that wants you most is right beneath you, and when you move on me, it makes it—makes me—want you just that much more."

  She drew a startled breath. "It's right beneath me? Really?"

  He was about to disparage American schools for not teaching anatomy, but he knew that British schools didn't do a lot better in that department, either.

  "Yes."

  "Can I see it?"

  Douglas hadn't expected to hear that question. And he knew how he should respond. He should not do this. But then he knew how he wanted to respond.

  "Well, I don't think that would be right." He started out saying the correct thing, at least.

  Her lips pooched out as she pouted, and he was hard pressed to deny her, especially since he wanted it more than he wanted to take his next breath.

  "Please? Douglas, please?"

  "You are a wanton temptress, Miss Ia Baldwin," he said, although there was no scold in it. Finally, he gave in to temptation when he knew he shouldn't and moved her a bit to the side. "It's here." Douglas took her hand and put her palm over his very prominent bulge.

  "Ohhh," she sighed, immediately beginning to explore it within the confines of his slacks, but there wasn't much give there at all. Her fingers could discern a long, thick column but not much else, and no real detail. Douglas was almost there already and having a hard time corralling his desires. He wasn't really able to do that before her nimble fingers found his zipper and pulled it down. It wasn't until she already had her small hand around his thick cock that he came to his senses and tried to dislodge it.

  But then she said worshipfully, "It's so beautiful!"

  "It is?" In his experience, that was not what most women said upon seeing their first penis.

  "Yes," she breathed, touching it so gently it was inadvertently teasing him. "It's hard and soft at the same time! No wonder the ancient Greeks sculpted this all the time!"

  He grinned at that. The only penises she'd ever seen—until now—were on statues. At least he was erect, unlike them.

  "How does it work?" she asked eagerly, and he laughed out loud at that.

  "How does it work?"

  "Yeah What do you do with it?"

  "Well, uh, I pee with it."

  "Yeah, I know I've always wanted to write my name in the snow, but I have the wrong equipment. I'd look like I was having a fit and end up with pee on my shoes. But isn't there more? I don't know what more, but more?"

  She was just so dear and cute and pure that Douglas was having second thoughts about corrupting her like this. He could wait until they were married to do so. That would be the right thing to do.

  So, he reached down to take her hand off his throbbing cock, and that was when her hand began to slide up and down it. And she was a natural. She wasn't holding it for a
ll she was worth, as if she wanted to break it off at the root, and she wasn't jerking it around as if it was a stick shift. Instead, her fingers fit perfectly around it, not too tight, not too loose, and she just caressed him, slowly, as if she was expecting it to explode if she touched him too hard.

  It felt insanely, guiltily, amazingly good, and he didn't have it in him to stop her. He would have to bear the guilt if they were found out—and he would. He would take it all on himself—where it belonged—if his best friend or his wife happened upon them with her hand on his cock, jerking him off.

  Luckily—or not so, depending—he couldn't last very long at all. She'd just barely begun stroking him when he stiffened, clamping his mouth shut and shoving his hips up violently, rubbing his shaft against her hand as ropes of cum shot from him like bullets from a gun.

  Ia was fascinated! It was such an unusual thing for him to do—she wanted him to do it again and thus, began to rub her hand up and down him again, although he was considerably smaller than he had been, for some reason.

  "Stop, stop, stop!" he hissed.

  She let go of him as if her palm was seared by the contact. "I'm sorry."

  Ia tried to get up, but he wouldn't let her.

  "Stay still. I want to talk to you."

  Not wanting to be spanked, she did as she was told.

  "Do you have a tissue, by any chance?'

  "No."

  "Hand me that cocktail napkin, please."

  "Here."

  He cleaned himself up as best he could and wiped off what he could find of the evidence, not having any idea of where it might have landed, which was not good.

  "When you go to your room, you are to put all of your clothes into the hamper. Do you understand? It's very important that you obey me."

  She nodded, soberer now than she had been in a while. "Yes."

  "Good." He didn't like the wary look on her face, but he would get to her in a minute.

  When he was done, rearranged, zipper zipped, and as much damage control done as he could at the moment, he pulled her to his side. "I told you to stop like that because a man—and a woman—are very sensitive afterward, and being touched like you were doing is just too much."

  "Oh."

  "And I know there is no way that you would know that, and I'm not angry—I wasn't then, and I'm not now."

  "Okay."

  She was still lying tense against him. "Relax, baby girl. Thank you for doing that."

  Her eyes revealed how amazed she was that he was thanking her.

  "You did something very special for me that made me feel incredible. Thank you."

  "Do you—do you think less of me because I did it?"

  "Absolutely not," he answered emphatically.

  "Are you sure?"

  "I am absolutely sure."

  "But aren't you supposed to think I'm a tramp or something because I did that?"

  He moved the both of them at that point, so that she was more on her back. "I don't think so, because I'm not going to think any worse of myself when I do the same thing for you in a second."

  "What?" she nearly shouted.

  Douglas put a hand over her mouth. "Shh, you heard me. I can make you feel the same way."

  He had looked as if he was experiencing something extremely powerful and pleasant, but she was certain that this was what everyone had been telling her for her whole life that she should never, ever do with a man.

  Her eyes were almost tearfully afraid when she brought them to his.

  "Take a deep breath with me, honey. C'mon. In slowly and out slowly."

  It did calm her, insidiously, against her will.

  "Good. Very good. I want to make you feel extraordinary. There's nothing wrong with it, and it won't hurt you or me, I promise."

  She wanted to. She'd been a goody two shoes for so long, though. It wasn't easy to break the pattern, and when she had, it usually ended badly.

  Her pants were elastic-waist, and he didn't give her a chance to object before he'd slipped his hand beneath them to cup her over her panties. She literally began to hyperventilate, and it took him quite a while to get her to calm down.

  "Deep breaths. Listen to my voice. It's okay. You know me. I'm a straight arrow like your brother."

  "My brother has never done this!"

  "I guarantee that your brother has done this multiple times."

  "No!"

  He had to grin at her ultimate faith in her brother as a good guy. "Yes."

  That had given her something to think—or worry about—that wasn't him. Douglas moved his middle finger, tracing the seam of her slit and whispering against her lips, "Open your legs a bit for me, baby."

  She was trembling slightly but, otherwise, didn't move in the slightest.

  His, "Ia," was deep and somewhat stern.

  Still, nothing.

  Douglas used the same tone as he asked, "Do you need a spanking before you'll obey me, love?"

  She looked at him as if receiving a spanking at a time like this had never occurred to her. Douglas intended to disabuse her of that notion at some point in the future.

  "N-no," she answered tentatively, moving her legs apart, but not a lot.

  That was okay, because although his hand was large, he didn't need a lot of space. What he wanted was right there for the taking. And it was going to be darned hard for him not to take her. But he wouldn't. He'd have to settle for bringing her to paradise, which might well work to his advantage, he hoped.

  Even after she'd opened herself to him, he continued to kiss her deeply and gently explore her over her panties, getting her accustomed to his touch.

  Only when he'd felt her relax some, did he move his hand up to the elastic of her panties. Then, he glided down beneath it until he was again covering her most intimate parts, but this time without the barrier of the plain white cotton.

  Her hands immediately clutched at his shirt.

  "You're okay. Does it feel bad? Am I hurting you?" Her eyes were darting everywhere nervously. "Look at me, Ia." Her eyes found his then moved away. "Ia." His free hand reached down to give a slight smack to her behind, and her gaze went right to his. "That's it. Answer my questions. Am I hurting you? Does it feel bad?"

  She shook her head. "N-no."

  "Good. But this is just the beginning, and it gets a lot better from here. Just try to relax." He stroked her hair away from her face as he moved his hand downward a bit, just enough to see whether he was going to have to spit on his fingers, which he hated to do.

  But his middle finger struck liquid gold. It wasn't a lot, but it was more than enough, and he felt a strange sense of accomplishment at his discovery.

  Dabbing his finger into that small pool of slipperiness, he expertly guided it to her clit.

  There was no evidence of desire there at all—it was hiding from him. But he knew how to coax it out—with slow, sweeping brush strokes of his finger over and around it. The more he touched her like that, the more tribute there was when he needed more of it.

  Douglas felt an inordinate amount of joy when, not much later, she bit her lip and moaned, her hand coming down toward his occupied one.

  He nuzzled her ear at that and whispered huskily, "No, Ia. You mustn't interrupt me when I'm doing this to you. I'll look the other way this time, but you've been told. The next time you try to interfere with me, I will paddle your bottom."

  She whimpered at the imposition of his will, shrinking a bit away from him, her hand going back to crumpling the front of his shirt. But her body rewarded him for his boldness, and he felt a gush of her juices as he threatened to spank her. As he'd said before, she was going to be the death of him.

  The lounge was quite a tight fit for the two of them. He took up most of it. That naturally kept her still, for which he was grateful. As the desires that he was creating within her rose, she began to pant and try to move, but she couldn't, and he was glad of it. He wasn't in his teens any more—far from it—but he was already hard again just at the sigh
t of her, not to mention the delicious sounds she was making.

  "Douglas. Douglas! What—what's happening to me?"

  "The most delightful thing, I promise. You're safe right here with me. Just let it happen. It's the counterpart to the pleasure you brought me a few minutes ago. It's unimaginable ecstasy, just waiting for you at the tips of my fingers." And eventually, my mouth, he thought. "I promise it will be incredible. Trust me, sweetheart, I won't let you come to any harm, ever."

  It was hard to believe him, but she didn't feel as if she had any control over anything that was happening to her at the moment—and she knew she should have been more alarmed about that, but she wasn't. Everything he did—everything he said—made her feel unbelievably good, and she was loath to stop it.

  Douglas watched her carefully, looking for the signs of her impending climax, and they were all there, relatively quickly and easily. Beneath that uptight exterior, she was a wanton, and she was going to be all his.

  "That's it, baby. Just relax. I'm right here, and this is what I want for you."

  Something was happening to her, she could barely catch a breath, her body was tense, and that spot he'd found with his fingers—she wondered what could possibly feel so good.

  It seemed her muscles couldn't possibly get any tighter, along with that something else, deep inside her, that was coiled and ready to spring.

  Seconds later, it did, and she experienced a powerfully ecstatic explosion that ripped through her, making her arch and moan and cry and cling to him as he continued to gently tease that little pearl until he'd eked every bit of pleasure he possibly could from her—and then some. She caught him by surprise when she started to sound as if she was building toward another orgasm, but he wasn't about to stop if she was capable, and she proved herself more than able to come once, or twice. She gushed and shook and spasmed all over him five times before he stopped, pulling her into his arms for a big, tight hug while he smothered her in kisses, running his hands all over her possessively, as if he couldn't believe his luck in having found her.

  And he couldn't.

  He wouldn't let her go now for all the tea in England. He was horrified at himself in realizing that if she turned his offer of marriage down, he wouldn't be averse to kidnapping her, if necessary. He wanted her, and he would have her.