When Love Comes Calling: Two Short Stories Read Free

was nothing here. No rescue, no relief—nothing but silence, and the unrelieved white of the marble walls and floor and ceiling. No color, no desire, no friend to ease her loneliness. She would be locked in this colorless, empty world forever, locked in her life as she knew it.
    She heard him before he entered—heard his booted feet crunch through the fallen twigs outside on the little-used path. His feet hit the stairs, sounding like a death knell to all she knew—the life she bemoaned. But it was a safe life, a secure life. She remembered the encounter with her coachman three weeks ago. It had been a furtive swive in a dark coach on a lonely stretch of road. Over in but minutes, leaving her ashamed and unfulfilled. It, too, had changed her life, but not for the better. Would Edmund be the same? The same shame and disappointment? She didn’t want that for them. She didn’t want that kind of memory to blacken the sweet feelings she harbored for him.
    When he entered the folly she rose wearily, dragging herself from where she lay. She wasn’t prepared for the anger on his face.
    “You little fool,” he snarled, stalking over and grabbing her arm. “You could have hurt yourself. What were you thinking to run from me like that? And what did you mean it is truer than I think? Who else, Sylvie? Who else do you desire?”

Chapter 2
    E dmund was so outraged at her duplicity he was shaking with it. He feared what he might do to her. How dare she pretend a bashful innocence she had no right to claim? Who had she been fucking, damn it, who? He wanted to howl in frustration that someone had been there before him. The feeling was primeval and beastly and he’d never felt it before, but he embraced it. His possessiveness should have given him pause but he was beyond rational thought now. “Who, Sylvie? Who have you been fucking behind my back?”
    Her eyes were wide with fear, and something else. Something that made the animal in him stretch and dig its claws into his cock, making him grit his teeth against the need to sheathe it in her to soothe the ache.
    “Is this what it takes, Sylvie? Do I have to be rough with you? Is that what you like, what you desire?” He shoved her back against the cool marble wall, spinning her around. Her hands flew up to brace herself as her front pressed into the marble. He heard her gasp, felt her struggle and his vision dimmed for a moment he was so aroused by it all—aroused by the chase, the capture, her struggles and the knowledge that she would surrender to him. He would take her here and she would not deny him again. He would mark her as his, and his mark would supersede all previous claims.
    He yanked her skirts up, heedless of the ripping sound something made as he tore at them. Sylvie whimpered and Edmund pressed up against her, nothing between his cock and her soft, lush bottom but his tight breeches and her thin drawers. The contact made him shudder and Sylvie reacted as well, with a moan and a shiver—of desire, not fear. He took a moment to calm down. He was out of control, wild, more wild than he’d ever been before. What did she do to him? He became aware of his ragged breathing and rapid pulse. He felt like an animal. He was acting like one.
    He forced his hands to gentle, to caress and ask rather than grasp and take. He ran them down her hips, his thumbs gliding over the tense muscles of her perfect arse. He wanted to see it, to touch it, lick it, fuck it. Christ! He needed to get more control. His hands trembled with the effort, but he made them move down until they lightly held her thighs, his thumbs tucked into the warm, damp crease between cheeks and thighs. “Let me touch you, Sylvie,” he murmured into her hair. She turned her head so that his lips grazed her temple and she sighed at the contact. “Let me touch you, love you. I only want to love you, Sylvie.”
    She sobbed. “Edmund,” she cried softly, “Edmund.” But he knew what she meant by it. He knew it