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

into one virile,
stallion of a man who came to her in her sleep and took her
brutally with no mercy, big rough hands grabbing at her, enormous
cock stretching her to the limit, and she would awake unbearably
aroused but unfulfilled, promising herself once again to not give
into temptation as she had that night in the stables. Letting
Johnson fuck her against a wall had been a mistake, a wonderfully
satisfying mistake, but most definitely a mistake. She tried to
convince herself that it was merely a slip in her resolve, one she
was determined not to repeat.
    It was all the
Earl of Langham's fault. If he had never looked at her with those
indigo eyes, she would not be battling with out of control desires.
If he were simply a profligate, selfish rake as his reputation made
him out to be, he wouldn't be causing such confusion. But there was
something about Rafe and the way that he held her that she just
could not ignore. He held her firmly and possessively, as if he had
every right to her body. It was the way she liked to be held, if
she were honest, but there was a tenderness in his touch, a passion
in his gaze that Randall had never shown her. And now he was
ignoring her and she hated to admit it, but it made her horribly
disappointed and bereft.
    Of course,
despite all her best intentions, she allowed Johnson to have his
wicked way with her again. There was no emotion involved with him.
The man was merely a walking erection, and a breathtakingly
gorgeous one at that. She resisted for a few days, in which he
tormented her with salacious winks whenever their paths crossed,
even when she was with William and Arthur, or he was with the Earl.
He would give her his slow, sexy smirk as he sauntered past her and
her eyes would watch his tight backside, stretching the seat of his
close fitting breeches and remember how it felt to have him
thrusting inside her. The Earl may be out of bounds, but Johnson
was not and he was a constant temptation.
    One afternoon,
when Charlotte had a moment to herself she went for a walk and
Johnson followed her, catching her up by the folly on the hill. No
words were exchanged between them. He merely loomed towards her,
his big body enveloping her in its heat, his hands going straight
to her bodice, tugging it down to free her breasts. After so many
nights of writhing frustration and days of Rafe's burning gaze and
silent treatment, she did not have the energy to refuse him, and
certainly not when he ripped at the opening of his breeches and
pulled out his cock, already engorged.  If that erotic sight
was not enough, the growling noise he made in his throat made her
instantly wet and she sank to her knees in supplication and lapped
at the head of his cock until his hands gripped her hair and his
hips pushed his rigid shaft deep into her mouth. His whispered
urges not to stop, to suck harder, to make him come, had her
squirming on the dusty ground and he soon shot hard into her,
holding her head in his tight grip so she was forced to swallow the
full pulsing load.
    He repaid the
favour a surprisingly short time after by leaning her against a
ledge on the crumbling wall, pulling up her skirts, spreading her
legs and ramming into her, fucking her roughly until she came round
his thick cock in wonderful waves of release, all the tension of
the previous days pouring out of her and mingling with his urgently
spent seed.
    Afterwards she
watched him wipe the mess away with his discarded necktie, and
leisurely button himself up again, but before he had finished she
could not help reaching out and running a hand under his untucked
shirt to feel the smoothness of his skin and the rippling muscles
of his hard abdomen. It had been so long since she had been naked
with a man, flesh against flesh and she missed it. Maybe they
should fuck in bed next time, she thought until she realised what
she was thinking and abruptly pulled her hand away.
    “What would
happen if the Earl found out?” she couldn't help