The Taming of a Vixen Ch. 03

Chapter Three

Jason stared out after her, watching as she turned to peer at the spot he'd just left, seeing the disappointment on her face at finding him gone. She walked back into the open doors of the ballroom. Cat's face was animated as she talked to her friend but Alyssa's was more sedate, perhaps even morose, as she constantly glanced over her shoulder at the moonlit garden.

When she disappeared from sight, he sighed, combing an unsteady hand through his hair. He hadn't expected so much fire in that kiss, so much passion from the young girl. He licked his lips, tasting her upon them and groaning in frustration.

Instead of returning to the gala, he wandered amidst the greenery, lost in a haze of disconnected thoughts that circled around the beautiful vixen in silver. She was passionate, that showed in her actions as well as tonight's kiss. Innocent she might be, but her lips had been warm and yearning as her achingly tempting body pressed against him with naïve abandon.

"Aargh!" he shouted, looking around to see if anyone had heard. He was alone, he noted with relief. Why was he even thinking about her? This was a mistake. With that thought firmly in mind, he walked through the garden to the front of the house and climbed into his coach, ordering the driver to take him home. He would send the coach back for Teddy with a note. Teddy would understand.

The drive home was interminable; the coach seemed too small to handle his thoughts. When it finally pulled up in front of the small townhouse he rented while in London, he jumped out eagerly and jogged up the steps, anxious to be out of his party togs and into something more comfortable.

The butler was at his post, opening the door with his usual reserved, "Good evening, Your Grace." Jason nodded and hurried up the stairs, surprising his valet. Dobbs was reclining in the sitting room of his chamber, reading a book.

"Anything good, Dobbs?" he asked, ripping apart the knot the poor man had taken half an hour and four starched cravats to tie.

"Murder and mayhem, your grace, the usual fare," he said, dropping the book onto the sofa and running over to help his master with the rest of his attire.

"How was the gala?"

"How are these affairs normally?" Jason sighed, sinking down on the side of his bed while he figured out what to do with the rest of the evening. "They are either depressingly boring or interminably long. Neither of which is conducive to a pleasant evening."

Dobbs made sounds of agreement, though his mind was back in his book.

"What does your grace intend to do with the rest of his evening?" he asked, thinking about how long it would take to tie another cravat.

Jason shrugged out of his shirt, handing the barely worn garment to his valet and stretching his broad shoulders. For a gentleman of means, he was very well-formed. The time he spent at his club and working the horses that he loved helped to keep him in better than average shape. His shoulders were wide, muscles curving down his arms and back, his chest broad and well delineated, his body tan from the farm where he kept his horses.

"Go back to your murder and mayhem, Dobbs. I shall dress and go for a ride. It is late enough that I don't believe I shall meet anyone who will die of embarrassment if I'm not wearing a cravat under my coat." He leaned forward and pulled out the plainest of his shirts, buttoning it quickly and tucking it into the breeches he still wore. Yanking out an old jacket that his valet always tried to throw away, he changed from the soft leather shoes he'd worn to the gala into knee-high boots and left the room.

The jacket was a faded black and scuffed from wear. It covered the white shirt he'd left a few buttons open on, exposing his throat and collarbone.

Without his hat, his dark hair was quickly wind blown as he walked toward the stables situated at the back of the property.

No one was present when he entered the building. Instead of causing a ruckus amongst his staff, he went and got his stallion, brushing him down quickly before saddling the big beast himself. The horse, a huge black with a white sock on his front foot, came to him eagerly, nosing at his pockets for the treat Jason normally brought.

"Later, you big baby," he told him, pushing the horse's head up as he went to get his saddle from the tack room. "If you don't watch it, none of the ladies are going to want to look at you. Your belly will get too big."

The horse nickered, turning his head and grabbing a mouth full of jacket, almost knocking Jason off his feet.

Jason laughed, feeling better than he had since he'd nearly been run down by a vixen in the park. He saddled his horse, stepped up and rode off, letting the horse have his head and enjoying the evening air.

It was a pleasure to feel good horseflesh between his legs and to smell the scent of spring in the air. He forgot his worries. So much so that he lost track both of the time and where he was going, finding himself in the middle of a thicket. He knew his horse could find the way home easily, and the huge moon made the evening fairly bright. He was ready to turn around when a shot rang out, startling him.

He ducked before he realized the shot hadn't been aimed at him but was over another small rise. As he was about to turn away, not wanting to disturb a hunter or come upon trouble without his own pistol handy, he heard more shots and a very feminine scream.

Jason kicked his horse in the direction of the sound, tacking around so as not to come unprepared upon whatever drama was unfolding. He snuck up a wide roadway, seeing a coach stopped in the center of the road. Two men lay in their own blood just beyond, presumably dead. Another man was in the ditch closer to him, but just as still. Taking another look at the coach, Jason let loose a whispered round of invectives. He recognized the ornate scrolling and rosettes.

"She's a fine wench. Shall we take her with us?" A man's voice, from the direction of the coach.

"My father shall have your heads if you hurt me," This voice was feminine, very angry and very familiar. The defiance was likely to get her into more trouble than she could handle herself.

Jason raised his eyes to the heavens, muttered a quick prayer that she wouldn't say anything to get them both killed and worked his way over to where the dead highwayman was lying in the ditch. He stole the man's mask and hat, buttoning his jacket so that it covered most of his white shirt. He tied his horse up just out of sight, trusting the animal not to give him away with an ill-timed whinny. Reaching down, he picked up the dead bandit's pistol, silently cursing when he saw that it had already been fired.

He'd have to bluff his way out of this one. The mask covered the top of his face, leaving the bottom half exposed. He moved silently until he could walk around the coach, staring at the scene before him.

* * *

Alyssa kissed Cat's cheek, promising to visit the next day. She thanked Lord Matthew and his wife, Lady Lara, who hugged her warmly.

"Are you sure you don't wish for us to follow you? It is a dangerous place and the roads near your father's estate are menaced with highwaymen." Matthew reached out, tugging on a lock of her hair just as he would his own little sisters.

"No, your grace, though I thank you for the kind offer. My father has sent outriders with me and I am sure they will do admirably to change any highwayman's mind about accosting me."

"Then we bid you good night, Alyssa. I'm sure we'll meet again soon. Especially if Cat has her way," he said, chuckling and handing her up into her coach. She waved at the trio as the coach pulled away and then settled back for the trip.

She closed her eyes, for while it was not late, she was tired; as she tried to rest, a memory of a shadowy figure arose. She could see him, there in her mind's eye; first the outline of his face, then his chin and lips as he came somewhat into the light. Oh, and those lips. The things he'd done with them, the heat of them against her mouth, the way he'd kissed her! It had set her afire with need. She could still feel the ache. Her stomach felt tight, her lower belly strangely empty--as if she needed it to be filled by him.

Him! A strange, anonymous man had given her the first real kiss she would ever know and she didn't even know his name. But oh, God in heaven, what a kiss it had been. Were they all like that? Hot and sweet, his breath pleasant, the taste of his mouth better than the champagne that flowed like water in the gala. His lips had filled her with unimaginable pleasure. Her hand rose to her mouth, her fingers lightly touching the lush flesh as she remembered the way he had kissed her.

And the way his hands had touched her, his palms slightly calloused and rough against the bare skin of her arms, over the soft satin of her gown. She couldn't help but wonder how they would feel on the rest of her body. A shiver of delight shot through her, coiling into her belly, making the lingering ache throb decadently.

With her eyes closed, her mind still on him, she carefully stroked the soft skin of her shoulder, just barely touching with the tips of her fingers. Down and across her collarbone she moved, biting her lip as the feeling grew, need turning into a desperate pulse between her thighs.

Over the soft swell of her breasts, she caressed herself, humming quietly at the pleasure. In her mind, she saw the shadowed stranger's eyes watching her, his gaze following her fingers as she slid them around her breasts, finally pushing her fingers under her gown and shift, stroking her taut nipple. She groaned and shivered, feeling a strange dampness between her thighs. The ache grew until she pressed her legs together, trying to find relief from this unexpected pressure.

Did she dare? Could she press her fingers to that need? She let her palm run over the swell of her breast, feeling the hard little bump her nipple created in the satin, She grew more adventurous. Her hand slid down her stomach, forcing her to bite her lip as little shivers of pleasure burst inside. She cupped the small mound of her sex, pushing her fingers between her legs, rubbing gently but insistently over the top of her satin skirt.

It felt deliciously naughty, especially as her mind still held the figure of the stranger, his eyes moving to follow her hand, his tongue coming out to moisten his dry lips. Or perhaps that was her own tongue. All she knew was that her head was fogged with the unknown feelings that were pulsing under her caressing fingers.

Did she dare touch her bare flesh? It was a sin, or so she'd been taught. She didn't even touch her bare fingers there when she bathed. But at the school, there'd been whispered rumors of girls who did more, girls who kissed and caressed each other in ways too shocking to mention, though some had. It had intrigued Alyssa, but she'd been too scared to bring the matter up to Cat. Was this what they felt, this need, these shivers of heat? What would it feel like if someone else's hand were touching her? She blushed even thinking such thoughts.

Without consulting Alyssa, her body made the decision. Her hands pulled up the skirt and shift she wore, the fabric rubbing against her stocking-clad legs.

The cool air caressed her ankles and calves, then her knees, until she could feel her hand on her thigh, her slender fingers running up the bare skin above her stocking.

Hair tickled the tips of her fingers as she brushed against the deep red silk that curled on her mound. It felt immoral and naughty to be touching herself there. But the ache drew her fingers and with an agonizing slowness she, pressed between the curls to the swollen lips below.

A moan escaped as her fingers sank into wet heat, pressing against the throb that increased in strength even as the scent of her arousal permeated the coach. Her hips jerked when her searching hand found the tender little knot of flesh, brushing against it again and again until she thought she'd go mad with the coiling pleasure low in her belly.

Her untaught fingers flew, circling and flicking until she found the rhythm that pleased her most. Her hips danced against the seat, her other hand reaching inside the tight bodice of her gown, stroking her tender nipple. In her mind, he still watched her, his eyes filled with the fire of his lusts, his mouth parted and waiting for her kiss.

"Oh!" she gasped as pleasure tightened her muscles, forcing her back to arch and her hand to press hard against that taut bud that gave her such wonderful sensations. Her head thrashed against the seat cushion, her hair coming unfastened in her wanton writhing.

So much heat, so much pleasure flowed from where her fingers stroked. With another cry, she convulsed, her body curling into itself.

And found herself on the floor of the coach. A shout outside startled her. The coach was stopping, jostling her around so that she was unable to right herself. A shot rang out and then another. There was a dull thud and Alyssa knew something was wrong.

The coach halted completely and she forced herself to get up from the floor, pushing down her gown even as her body wanted to melt from the pleasure she'd just experienced. She hunted for her bag and the pistol she'd stowed inside of it earlier this evening, finding it just as the door to her coach was flung open and a big hand reached in to yank her out.

"What ho, look what we have here," a loud voice said, jerking her upright as she almost fell on her face. "A right pretty lass, she be, with a penchant for fancy baubles," he exclaimed, reaching up to pull off her earrings and to grab the necklace at her throat.

"What do you say, boys?" he asked the four other robbers standing in a semicircle around her and her captor. "She's a fine wench. Shall we take her with us?"

"My father shall have your heads if you hurt me," Alyssa threatened as her bag was torn from her hands.

"We don't want to hurt you, lass." The man chuckled, pulling her in front of him, her back to his chest. His big hands went to her waist, and he glanced down at her with a pleased look as his hands spanned her slender form, his fingers meeting. "No," he said, yanking her back so that her hips rubbed against his through the many layers of cloth that made up her bustle, "we want you to give us some pleasure."

The men murmured, one stepping closer to touch the pale skin that rose above her bodice. Alyssa struggled, slapping at his hands, kicking and biting in the arms of the man who held her so tightly.

"She's a real wild cat," one of them said, causing a laugh to break out.

"Settle down, wench," the man holding her said, wrapping his arm around and pulling her hard against him. "You don't want to have fun with us?"

"No," Alyssa hissed. "I'd like to see you all burning in a fiery pit from hell."

Her captor threw his head back and laughed. "You are a fine one, that is sure. All right than, since we have little time and must be on the move, maybe if you show us what you can do with that pretty mouth besides throwing curses and spitting, we might be amiable about leaving you here."

"Y...You want me to kiss you?" Alyssa asked, her brows drawing together in confusion.

"Oh," her captor laughed. "Aye, it's a kiss I'm wanting." He spun her in his arms until she faced him. With a nod at one of the other men, he held her with one arm, forcing her head up to look into his eyes. "And this pretty dress," he whispered. She felt the long row of buttons in the back being sliced off.

"No!" she shrieked, trying to struggle. But the knife moved, the tip pressing with a nonchalant ease into her back, pricking her tender skin, forcing her to be still.

She felt the gown fall from her shoulders, puddling into a pool of silver shimmer at her feet, leaving her in just her corset and the thin shift she wore under it. The knife returned, flicking over the restraining laces of her corset.

A tear slipped down her cheek, her hands clenched into tight fists as the last lace parted and she was left in nothing but the sheer shift.

She could feel their eyes on her body. She shuddered in fear. Just moments before she'd been wondering what it would feel like to have another's hands touching her, caressing her. Now she was half nude in front of these men.

"You are a lovely lass," her captor whispered, lifting her face, his hand on her jaw and holding it still as his mouth moved down to capture her lips.

She struggled, feeling his breath on her mouth and then the wet, foul taste of his lips upon hers. His tongue, like a thick little worm, tried to push inside her tightly closed mouth, pressing against the barrier of her teeth with no success.

The bandit's hand came down hard upon the soft flesh of her bottom. Alyssa gasped in pain and that foul piece of flesh pushed inside of her mouth, wriggling against her own until she thought she'd be sick. She moaned her disgust, a pitiful sound. The bandit raised his head, laughing. "I think she likes me, boys," he said, loudly.

His hand played with the thin strap that held her shift in place, toying with it, pulling on it so that the material moved over her breasts. The friction on her nipples, already aroused from being stimulated in the coach, caused her to gasp. They hardened even more.

With an easy twist of his hand, the strap parted. The material fell, the neckline of her shift dipping until only that hardened peak kept it in place.

The highwayman spun her once more in his arms, holding her arms down at her side. The shift dipped lower, exposing one pale, rounded globe of flesh to the hungry eyes of the men surrounding her.

Her skin was perfection, her breast white in the moonlight. The tip, taut and full, was a light pink in color, and seemed to be begging for a man's lips.

Alyssa struggled against the arms holding her, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wild as she fought to keep herself from being molested by these men.

The highwayman held her easily, his greater strength evident. His hand rose from her waist, slowly moving over her ribs as she struggled, tormenting her with the knowledge of his destination. He took his time before finally encompassing the firm globe in his large hand.

Alyssa screamed her frustration, increasing her struggles. His fingers played with her nipple, rolling it between his thick digits, twisting the tender flesh. And then he pinched, squeezing harder until another scream came from between her parted lips, this one of pain. Her writhing stopped and she hung limply in his arms, her hair falling from its pins and obscuring her face.

"That's better, girl. If you relax, we'll all take our kisses and then leave you here. If not, then perhaps I'll be taking you with us and we can find ourselves a quiet little place where we can get to be much better acquainted." He mauled her tender skin, pulling on her nipple until it stood away from her body, cupping the underside of her fragile breast as if checking the heavy globe's weight.

"Then do it," Alyssa said, tossing her head to get her hair from her face and turning to glare up over her shoulder at the brutal man. "Kiss me and get it done with."

"Oh, no, love. You heard me wrong. You'll be doing the kissing, and it won't be our lips that you'll be feeling against them lovely morsels either." He took her slim hand, holding her fingers and bringing them crudely down to the heavy bulge he'd been rubbing against her back. "He be real anxious to make your acquaintance, love."

He released her hand, his hips moving suggestively, laughing as she jerked her hand away as if she'd been burned. She could feel his hand moving behind her and then it was on her shoulder, pressing downward. He turned her easily in his arms, forcing her to her knees, the huge cock she'd felt against her hand now waving in her face.