Page 125 of Dick Stone, Regency Stud
“Swell with it,” he grunted, working his cock out faster, punctuating his strokes with hard thrusts to shove his spurts of seed into her womb. “Take it all. Take it and make our baby.”
Tabby laid back, her arms having lost their strength as Edward bred her on that magnificent bed where she’d agreed to become his wife.
“We’ll fuck until the sheets are wet,” he muttered, “until you can’t walk and I need to carry you down to meals. I’ll fuck you in the carriage on the way back to London, in all the inns, and even the archbishop’s sitting room as we wait for the special license.”
She imagined her belly swelling with the baby that very minute and wailed again as she spasmed on his cock.
When Edward finally pulled out — ever so gently — he placed a pillow below Tabby’s arse, but positioned himself between her legs to monitor his seed.
“What are you doing, love?” she asked, a hand carelessly tangled in his hair.
“Making sure none gets away,” he said, holding his tongue at a place his spend had escaped her clasp and pushing it back in her. “Hold all of that inside like a good little viscountess working to give me my heir.”
Her neck snapped back when she felt a finger at her delicate nub as Edward used his tongue to plug her hole.
“Why touch there? I just…”
“Did you think this was the only time I’d breed you today, Lady Netherwallop? I’ve a baby to put in you.”
It was going to be a very long day and night.
Chapter 12
London, ten days later,early in the morning
Edward’s father dropped the gazette trumpeting his heroism at Lord Leontius’s house party.
“Says you got shot,” said the old man, gesturing to the newsprint.
“Not harmed,” said Edward jauntily, rocking back on his heels with good cheer.
“Pity.”
Edward could do naught but laugh at his father’s entirely expected reaction. The marquess was nothing if not consistent.
“So the treason rumors have been put to rest. And you’ve come to collect your horse,” said the marquess, standing at the window overlooking the stables while lighting a cigar that seemed to be rolled mostly with moldy tobacco.
“My associate is down there now to saddle Tencendor.”
“And I suppose you think this gossip in the gazettes will restore you to your place in this family? To reinstate your allowance? It took you an age to counter the talk.”
Edward studied the mural on the ceiling of his father’s study, admiring the cherubs despite the fact they’d cracked and peeled in the last century while his family failed to maintain the house. A house that would be his sooner rather than later if that blood-soaked handkerchief on his father’s desk was any indication.
“You are my heir; of that there is no doubt,” said his father. “Heaven help me.”
The old man returned to his great desk and fiddled with a drawer, the lock on which gave his gnarled fingers some trouble. From an inner chamber, he removed a box.
“But before I restore your allowance, I need you to take your responsibilities seriously! No more of this breeding business nonsense! You need to find a gel, preferably young and stupid, and marry her. Get a child on her, and then another.”
Edward merely gazed at his sire with a raised eyebrow.
“Take that,” said the marquess, pushing the battered box to the end of the desk. “When you’re married, I’ll restore your allowance.”
“Restoremy allowance?” asked Edward, picking up the box and stowing it in his coat. “Don’t you think the loss of my business and support of a wife — not to mention those many children — warrants an increase? Wartime inflation—”
“Damn you and your resistance to lawful, respectable matrimony!” bellowed his father. “I should have shot you when the idea first came into my head.” He looked to the open box of twin dueling pistols. They were missing.
Edward lifted the antique guns he had snatched, admiring the patina on the barrels. “The ruling class should really reconsider having firearms lying about,” he said, checking the trigger. “Someone might get hurt.”
