The Pleasure of His Bed. Donna Grant

hesitant about approaching my black beard. I’d never guessed you for a man who doesn’t like the taste of—”

      As Damon pressed his mouth hungrily to her warm nether lips, the maid’s outcry gratified him. So responsive she was! So damned silky and wet and ready for bigger things—and his was growing despite the way his pants cramped it. He ran his tongue around the rim of her, nuzzling her soft curls with his nose.

      Sofia panted his name. Her hips quivered, and his fingers closed more firmly around them as he lingered over her sweet, secret places…the opening that closed around his curious tongue and then the stiff little nubbin she rubbed insistently against him.

      “Yes, please…right there!” she moaned. “Oh, captain, I can’t stop throbbing for want of—oh! Oh, I’m clenching and ready to—”

      Damon rose quickly and turned her to face away from him. “Bend over,” he rasped as he unfastened his fly. “I’m coming in!”

      When she flipped her skirts over her back and thrust her buttocks at him, Delacroix nearly shot all over her. What a pale, rounded moon shone before him, lit by the lamp and her playful passion! His finger found her wetness, and her desperation drove him wild. No gentleman in his right mind would leave a lass in such a state of uproar—not that he felt like a gentleman. Sofia had lit a wayward fire, and he wanted to ram himself inside her, ignoring her needs.

      As if that could happen! The little tart thrust backward against him when his tip touched her moist flesh. She braced her hands on her knees, positioning herself to best advantage…pleasing herself with unbridled abandon.

      He had no choice but to go along for the ride.

      Damon gripped her rounded backside and gave her precisely what she wanted. He planted his thighs against hers and rocked in a steady rhythm…the in and out that would deliver the dessert they both craved. Saucy and sweet and warm she was, and if he’d ever had a woman so quickly possess him, well, he was too far gone to recall.

      The urge closed in on him, and he surrendered, thrashed into her wetness until Sofia squeezed and held his cock captive. They surged and bucked and damn near toppled over with the force of their climax.

      “Sweet Jesus,” he rasped. As his after-throbs subsided, the night slowly came into focus again; Sofia was breathing as heavily as he, gripping his hands. They stood in the shadow of the hedgerow, but good God—anyone walking by could’ve spotted them! Had anyone in the Havisham house gazed outside, they’d have seen the pale froth of Sofia’s petticoats raging like a storm at sea!

      “We’d best be righting ourselves, in case—”

      “I will never be right again, sir.” Carefully she disengaged so her skirts fell back over her exposed parts. She then tormented him with a dewy-eyed gaze that could’ve implied utter joy or utmost desolation—or anything between. “How can I ever look at another man, now that I’ve had you, Damon Delacroix?”

      He held her gaze as he buttoned himself in—no small feat, considering he was still half stiff. The tone of her voice made his neck prickle. Where was the wayward wench who’d only wanted a fast fucking? Had she played him for a fool? Expected something more?

      Damon reached into his pocket and pulled out twelve pieces of eight—all the money he had on him. “No doubt you’ll catch a better man’s fancy, Sofia, just as he’ll catch yours. I’ve no time before tomorrow to buy you—get yourself a remembrance of me! I’ve enjoyed our little ‘dessert’ immensely!”

      When he closed her fist around the coins, he immediately regretted it: Sofia’s face clouded over, and it didn’t take a ship’s captain to recognize stormy seas. Her lips, still pink from their kisses, tightened into a line.

      “How dare you pay me like a—a whore?” she growled. And before he could reply, Sofia stalked across the lawn—right out in the open moonlight, where anyone at a window could see her.

      Damon sighed tiredly. He hadn’t intended to offend her, but perhaps it was best. No sense in having a hot-blooded wench cavorting in his wicked imagination during these weeks at sea. No sense in giving her any inkling that he’d leave his post—or relieve Sofia of hers—as they escorted the Havisham brides across the Atlantic.

      Because he was the captain, and he said so, dammit!

      3

      “Mama! Mama, wake up!” Sofia whispered, although her mother was no more asleep than she was. “We’ve had a change of plans!”

      Mama gripped her hand. She glanced around to be sure no one else in the darkened maids’ quarters followed their conversation. “You’re not going to America?” she whispered gleefully.

      “You’re going! In my place! I’ve left room for your things in my trunk—but not a word to anyone!” she insisted against her mother’s ear. “Just play along! When the Havishams ask, you have no idea where I’ve gone!”

      Sofia padded out of the low-ceilinged room before Mama’s questions awoke the rest of the help. She grabbed the clothing she’d bundled into her sheet, and when she reached the bottom of the back stairs, she put her shoes on. A square of light on the lawn told her Daphne was still awake, bemoaning her maidenly fate, so Sofia kept to the shadows. As she stepped between the hedgerows to the street, her thoughts of Damon Delacroix reminded her to be bold—downright brazen! If he thought he could buy her off—

      “Sir! Could you take me to the piers, please?” she called to the driver of a passing wagon. His crates of clucking chickens meant he had business to attend to—but so did she. She tossed a coin onto the seat and scrambled up over the wheel before he could refuse her.

      “I’m to prepare quarters aboard the Lady Constance before the Havisham girls arrive, and I’ve overslept!” she declared. “They’re going to America, you see, to wed Lord Havisham’s partners in New York!”

      The old codger’s hand snaked toward the coin. “And how’s the likes of you throwin’ this silver around, eh?” he grunted.

      “Never you mind.” Sofia leaned toward him with a scowl. “We’d best be getting ourselves along, or you’ll lose your stall at the market. The missus won’t be happy about that, now, will she?”

      A lopsided back wheel jostled them all the way to the waterfront, yet Sophia didn’t care. While she’d been excited about escorting the girls to America, her plans were far grander now. As they approached the piers, where dozens of tall masts bobbed like skeletons against the gray sky, her heart thundered.

      What if she couldn’t find Captain Delacroix’s ship? She’d helped Lord Havisham prepare new ships for his more prestigious customers, but in this darkness before dawn, one large, bobbing vessel looked much like the ones moored on either side of it.

      “This’ll do, thanks.” Sofia hopped from the wagon with her bundle beneath her arm, praying her instincts—and her nerve—didn’t fail her. There was no turning back. No alternate plan if her audacious idea backfired—or if she got left behind because she’d come to the wrong part of the harbor.

      Sofia slipped into the shadows to get her bearings…accustomed her nose to the stench of dead fish and salt air as she tuned her ears to the male voices around her. At this hour, stevedores and sailors grunted beneath the cargo they carted up the gangplanks, their faces slick with sweat in the light from the flickering lanterns. If she weren’t careful, they’d mistake her for a loose woman come hunting.

      But she’d survived that slight already, hadn’t she? Sofia squeezed the cool, hard coins in her skirt pocket and walked slowly along the boarded piers, craning to read the names painted on the ships’ bows. These huge, hulking vessels, stretched as far as she could see along the docks, made her feel small and inconsequential. And the farther she walked, the lower her heart sank. Was that the first hint of dawn lighting the horizon?

      By now, the Havisham household would be in an uproar as Daphne and Beatrix wailed their final good-byes—and maybe whined because their abigail