“¡Válgame Dios, mister!” Thorne heard Claudia murmur, and seemed to see steam rising up in wisps barely visible amidst the moonlight shafting through the windows. Someone shuddered—he didn’t know if it was Claudia or Sofia. He was feeling so much of both of them; more than he was feeling the heat from the guttering fire. “¡Maravilloso! I feel like such a good whore…”
And she lapsed into a sleep that Thorne knew there would be no waking from, not for quite some time.
“It looks like it’s going to be a long, hard winter,” Sofia said.
Confusion spiked Thorne’s weary mind. He knew it should make sense for Sofia to talk about things being long and hard, but some context was wrong… it took him a moment to clear the cobwebs and realize her meaning.
“I’ll get back safe,” he assured her.
“Por qué? You could just winter here.”
Thorne shook his head and tried to return to his lethargy. “I’d be here until Easter.”
He could feel Sofia brighten in how her fingers traipsed across his chest. “Plenty of time to see if this arrangement can work. And even if it doesn’t… whenever we want it, Mr. Thorne. Jack. Day after day. Night after night. Me and Claudia both. Maybe you could have one of us in the morning and one before going to bed. And if you’ve ever wanted a son, Claudia is just the age to give you one. Between the two of us, we could certainly manage five or six. An entire dynasty, mi amor. And you could tell Claudia was intrigued when it hurt, couldn’t you? We could find out together—all the ways we can pleasure her, and hurt her, and make her so happy she belongs to us. Rey y reina. And our lovely little kingdom that’s just come of age…”
It was such a good dream for Sofia that she could only think of it asleep. Her eyes closed and her breathing slowed and her only noise was the little coos that Thorne knew was her continued satisfaction at the warm cum inside her.
He untangled his legs from Claudia’s and shirked off Sofia’s arms. Collecting the quilt from the bed, he threw it over the two women. Then cushions underneath two chocolate-brown heads. Then he dressed, buttoning himself up as best he could in the light from the dying fire. He ended up with his boots unlaced and his shirt open, his jacket slung over his shoulder instead of put back on, but that was enough.
When in town, Thorne obviously didn’t stay at Sofia’s place. That would be an imposition. There was a boarding house run by a sweet little old lady that he bedded down in. He walked there now, enjoying the cool of the night air before it became the bitter cold of winter. But then, it probably already was winter. He was just too overheated to take much notice of it on the short, two block stroll to his place.
It’d been tempting to stay with Sofia and Claudia. But while the two were mysteries to him, they weren’t such mysteries that he didn’t know how things would end up. They would make him breakfast. Naked, no doubt, enjoying the healthy glow of their own bodies and the view of his. Then, with a meal in their bellies to fuel the fire, they would ask for another round of lovemaking. Maybe introduce Claudia to buggery; maybe show off some lovemaking technique with Sofia for Claudia’s edification. But before he knew it, the whole day would be spent and he’d spend another night with them.
Repeat ad nauseum… well, very far from nauseum… but repeat until the snow was piled halfway up the windows and he wouldn’t be going anywhere. By the time spring came, no doubt one or both of them would be with child, and that would be that. He’d have to give Sofia her marriage and God only knew where that would lead. She might have him leading a cattle drive or clearing out a bandit hideout: there was no telling how Sofia’s mind worked. Except that the only way to avoid being tangled up in her plans was to maintain his independence.
Of course, if they really wanted to entrap him, it might be as easy as avoiding the potions that women of their nature took to avoid pregnancy. Already his child might be growing inside a Vergara womb.
Perhaps I should’ve buggered the young lady, he thought to himself, before shrugging it off. Life was always a gamble. He wasn’t so soundly wed to control that he’d deny himself any and all indulgences. And what an indulgence that night had been.
Perhaps I should take them up on their offer, at that. But not in the first round of negotiations. Swinging the satchel he’d taken with a little more vigor than transporting it called for, Thorne imagined himself writing the girls a love letter… no, two… when he got back home. He could only imagine what inducements they’d think up for him after a few months away. How big a family does Sofia have, anyway?
Thorne entered the downstairs hall of his building well after supper time and proceeded directly to his cubby-hole room—all he needed for a night’s sleep while in town. He came to his door and found it already open, a woman inside with sheets and a pillow in hand.
Once more, Thorne felt like he was half-asleep and had to jolt back to consciousness. “I’m sorry, I must have the wrong—or you must have the wrong—you’ve caught me at a moment when I should not be awake.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” the woman said, speaking in a refined accent Thorne recognized as British. Which both confused and did not confuse him, in his exhausted state, to the point where he thought he might be dreaming the words as they hit his ears. “I’m Elizabeth Hurley. I watch the place while Mrs. Underhill is away, which she is. There’s a funeral in the next town over.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. It wasn’t hers, was it?”
“No. Of course not. A friend of hers.”
“Ah.” That prompted Thorne to shake himself awake, much as he might like to carry this exhaustion to the mattress and pass out as blissfully as he would back in the pile of Vergara women.
The woman, at least, was well worth losing sleep over. Generous, graceful curves competing with her tall, lean frame until it was hard to tell if she was more voluptuous or athletic. Jet-black hair framed a precisely angular face—one whose alluring features almost betrayed the inviting sensuality of her body. How could a woman be so beautiful and so… intoxicating at the same time? How could he be hanging on every word from those full lips and yet want to see them wrapped around his cock just as badly as he wanted to simply stare at their glossy beauty? Piercing almond eyes, nose straight and elegant, a chiseled little chin, pale complexion, and not so much as one freckle. She could’ve passed for a girl of eighteen, though she carried herself with the regality of a woman who’d lived some years… all of them kind to her.
Elizabeth did not seem to take umbrage at or even acknowledge his appraisal of her. Perhaps she didn’t even notice it. The linen seemed to be her pressing concern.
“Sorry for the inconvenience, but I’ve yet to change the bedding. I meant to do it earlier, but one thing led to another and now here you are, needing a bed.”
“I don’t suppose I could use yours?” Thorne said insinuatingly.
“This won’t take long,” Elizabeth promised him. “And I assure you, if you don’t have clean sheets, I don’t have clean sheets.”
Thorne smiled. “What are we both doing to get our sheets so dirty?”
Elizabeth went about her task, the yellow lamp shining through her dress as she bent and tucked to show the curvaceous figure at work. Thorne took it she didn’t object to his appreciation. And if she did, it was her own fault. If she’d changed the sheets earlier, he’d be in bed asleep instead of ogling her.
“I don’t know about you, but I sweat,” Elizabeth said. “At night. I sweat until my sheets and bedclothes are all wet. I don’t know what I’m dreaming of, but it must be somewhere very hot.”
“That’s a shame. All that sweat and you’re not even enjoying yourself.”
Disheveled, a little damp already, Elizabeth gathered up the linen she had stripped from his bed. “It’s not so bad. At least it means I’m used to being all sweaty. Sticky. Having to peel my chemise off like it’s a second skin.”
“Have you tried sleeping naked?”
“What a thing to say. No. Of course not.”
Thorne took a step towards her. “Then maybe you should.”