Provoked (Forbidden Crush #2)

Chapter 14

14

Is it crazy of me to be channeling my inner Kitty? The only reason I could walk out of the bathroom with confidence in that little blue number is because I was thinking of Kitty whipping her own nightgown off in front of the arrogant duke.

At least I have this much to show for it — I’m positive Justin no longer sees me as a little girl. Although the look on his face when I suggested he was into age play was pretty priceless. Except he seems to have retreated to prudish behavior. Did I make him self-conscious? What a thought…

I snuggle into his embrace, determined to love him enough to soften those edges. He kisses the top of my head. “Are we friends now, Justin?” I ask curiously.

I can feel him still while he thinks. “We’re married,” he responds slowly.

“And?”

“It changes things,” he acknowledges finally.

“Well, my friends call me Ing,” I inform him softly .

Justin grumbles, “Makes you sound like a part of speech.”

“There’s not much you can do with Ingrid,” I remind him. “Besides, if you get used to it, then I’m always on your mind — kiss-Ing, love-Ing, fuck-I…” I shriek in surprise when he interrupts me by thrusting his hand between my thighs, his blunt fingers teasing my folds. I moan into his mouth, which claimed mine while I was busy being distracted by his fingers. He pulls back just enough to say, “I prefer my own nickname for you.”

“What’s that?” I inquire breathlessly just as his thumb finds my clit and sends me over the edge.

“Trouble,” he growls while sliding his fingers deeper into my pussy. He curls them, pressing expertly against my walls until he finds the magic spot. My head twists back in surprise. “Justin!”

“I want you to cum for me again, sweetness. That’s right. Just like that.”

My whole body spasms with the force of sensations he’s wringing from me with just his hand. I want to ask him when he’s going to fuck me properly, but something in me won’t let the words out. Instead, I stay quiet except for those little moans that keep popping out whenever he shifts his hand. Eventually, he withdraws his fingers and pulls me tighter against his chest. “Go to sleep, baby,” he growls into the top of my head.

I wake up to find myself half sprawled over the top of him. I can tell by his even breathing that he’s still asleep. I’m just about to slowly slide off of him when I realize something else. This must be what they mean by ‘morning wood’. His cock is nestled against my pussy, warm and firm. My pussy starts to pulse in response. Gently, I shift my legs closer together so I can feel him between my thighs. I wish I could see at the same time, but I’m learning him by touch instead. Quite frankly, he feels huge.

“Mmm. Trouble, like I said,” Justin mumbles in a gravelly voice. One hand clamps down on my ass .

I peek up at his face through my lashes. His eyes are still closed. I close my thighs, imprisoning his erection. My clit flares to life and I shift slightly to give it more friction. Justin’s eyes pop open. “What’s my dirty girl up to so early in the morning?” His hand leaves my ass and probes between our bodies until he latches on to my clit. He tugs lightly. I whimper. Justin closes his eyes again with a small smile.

“Justin!” My whole body is now pulsing with need and he’s going back to sleep.

“What?” he inquires mildly, without opening his eyes.

“Why did you stop?” I wail.

He grins. “Did you want something, Ingrid? Use your words,” he goads me.

I grind my teeth. “Please fuck me properly,” I finally ask with saccharine sweetness. I guess not all the conflict has fled our relationship.

“Not yet,” he responds mildly, making me growl with frustration. “But I will put you in a sweeter mood while you reward my cock for his attentions.”

Of all the —

“Now be a good girl and come here so I can kiss you.” He tugs on my braid, only smirking more broadly when I glare at him. But I want that kiss, so eventually I scoot up to where our faces are level. It means leaving the delicious weight of his cock behind. So naturally, I’m pouting when Justin’s mouth descends on mine.

His kiss is mind blowing, firm and decisive, his lips work magic. And yet somehow he can multitask to the point of guiding my hand down to his cock, demonstrating with his hand over mine exactly how he likes to be touched. I admit I’m fascinated. It’s like steel covered in velvety skin, warm and responsive. When my fingers stretch down and back to find his balls, Justin shudders. And that’s when I truly feel like one half of a whole. I have power. Power to make him lose control, to bring him pleasure, maybe even to make him happy.

I’m relishing this new knowledge when his hand slips between my thighs once again. This time, he immediately slides three fingers along my slit, coating them in my juices before wedging them into my channel as far as he can. I moan into his mouth, my hand instinctively tightening around his cock as his fingers continue to stretch me wide. Justin doesn’t withdraw his hand, instead keeping up the insistent, steady pressure. When I whimper slightly, his thumb lands on my clit, moving it gently from side to side. His fingers slide all the way in. He leaves them there for a minute while I stroke his cock more firmly. There’s something about having his fingers stuffed in my pussy that makes me not feel like being delicate. And he doesn’t seem to be complaining!

Something shifts, though. His body tenses slightly and that’s when he moves his hand, in and out, faster and faster until I can’t tell what direction anymore. His mouth continues to dominate mine, his tongue sweeping through with skill and arrogance. Justin grunts slightly and that’s my only warning before his cum shoots out over my hand and stomach. He twists his fingers deep inside my pussy and I see stars. My hand tightens over his cock. Someone mutters, “Fucking perfect.”

My body is all loose and relaxed when I finally descend the stairs to make breakfast. I wince guiltily when I spy the time. It’s not super late, but well beyond normal breakfast time. Fred wanders in from the front room and gives me a knowing look. I blush, but I’m feeling too happy to be shy about it.

“You want some breakfast, Fred?”

“Already ate. Might have a couple of leads on Margot’s whereabouts. Could have this wrapped up later today. ”

I nod absently, but a dual rush of emotions floods my body. Relief at the thought of removing the threat and dread at what that might mean for whatever is going on between Justin and me. The spark is there. Nobody would deny it, but I’m not so na?ve to think declaring my love means it’s instantly returned. His willingness to pleasure my body does not guarantee a happily ever after, even if it is a step in the right direction. So, basically I’m having an affair with my own husband. At that thought, a wicked thrill courses through. Me, having an affair! Okay, it’s a very tame, nobody else would call it that kind of thing but it has me humming cheerfully as I stir the oatmeal.

Just as I’m about to load up the tray, I remember Rose and her baby. Did he or she arrive yet? Surely… I frantically search around for my phone. It would be embarrassing if I had to borrow Justin’s to call the number when it’s obviously somewhere in the house. I finally locate it under a cushion in the living room and click eagerly on the notifications. There’s a picture of a squishy newborn wrapped in a lavender blanket, eyes barely open and looking like she’s thinking the whole thing out again.

Meet your new goddaughter! Aurora Reese McBride. Call you in a few days. Exhausted but happy.

Relief and delight floods my body as I load up a tray with the now tepid oatmeal. I can’t wait to go visit and meet baby Rory. I’m already calling her that in my head. Although, can I leave Justin alone here yet? He’s mobile, but barely. And then there’s the Margot thing. I doubt he’ll be acquiescent to me heading to another state until she’s in custody.

Justin’s grimace when I hand him a bowl only reinforces my unease. He pokes at it with the spoon. “Are we out of real food? Send Fred for more.”

“No, we aren’t out of real food — this is real food and you need to be eating healthy. Bacon every day will kill you,” I answer sweetly. That reminds me, though, that I never did find out who rescued the groceries from Justin’s vehicle. The car itself went to the state impound lot for the rental company to claim if and when they feel like it.

Justin eats the oatmeal without another word, but I can tell he’s not a fan. I make sure he has his phone for entertainment before I gather the dishes and head back downstairs. Maybe a little time on his own will sweeten his mood.

I unpack a few more boxes in the front room — mostly candlesticks and the like before deciding I need a tea and book break. And maybe I’m secretly hoping Kitty and the duke can give me some relationship tips to move things along.

I settle into the window seat in the unused dining room. It’s on the side of the house, so less likely for Fred to yell at me that I’m making a target of myself. I take a sip of the Earl Grey in my mug and settle back to find where I left off.

Her new husband stared at her in shock. Possibly slightly horrified as well, Kitty acknowledged to herself. He tightened the belt on his dressing gown and turned away. She watched in fascination as he stomped from the room. She had gotten what she wanted, so why didn’t she feel more pleased about it? And was she that hideous that he’d rather leave than have relations with her? She stared down at her nude body. She’d always thought she had a pleasing enough figure. And she’d never been one of the young women that had to pad out her decollete to fill out the bodice of her gowns. Neither did she have a habit of overflowing them. All in all she could see no reason for the duke not to take what was on offer, so it must have been her brazen dismissal of convention. But she’d be damned if she was going to lie there like a log while he pretended she was made of porcelain.

She sighed and flung her abandoned nightrail to the floor. She might as well make this a new habit so that Rafe understood she was serious. As she snuggled under the eiderdown, she couldn’t help but wonder how he would act in the morning…

Like nothing had ever happened apparently, Kitty thought to herself as she poured tea for both of them. Rafe was dressed like a gentleman in the country with a stern expression on his face. It deteriorated into a frown when she smiled at him. Did she dare ask how long they would be staying at this remote estate? There didn’t seem to be any reason to linger.

She opened her mouth to ask, but Rafe was one step ahead of her. He stood abruptly. “Stay out of trouble, Kitty. I mean it,” he growled and strode purposefully from the room.

She sat there frozen for a long minute. Was this to be their relationship, then? Or was his pride still smarting? She sighed and gathered the tea things. With only three members of staff, asking one of them to stop doing a more important duty in order to fetch the dishes back to the kitchen just wouldn’t do.

She had yet to explore the rest of the house — the back bedrooms and the attics. Perhaps today was just the day for a little adventure. Cheered by that thought, Kitty carried the breakfast dishes through to the kitchen and set them on the counter for the housekeeper, then headed up the main stairs to the first floor of bedrooms. Obviously she knew the ones currently occupied by herself and the duke, but there were more doors down the dim corridor that she had yet to see open. She stuck her head in the first one. It was an empty chamber save the giant carved bedstead and decorated in green. There wasn’t even a closet to hold any surprises. She shut the door again with a sigh and continued on.

Things got more interesting on the floor above. These were the smaller bedchambers and where someone had decided to stuff the old and discarded furniture from the floors below. Things were in various states of disrepair or much out of fashion, but it was fun to poke through and open drawers to see if there were any abandoned letters. There weren’t .

“Ingrid?”

I look up from my book in shock to see Justin leaning against the doorjamb.

In such a short time, I’ve become addicted to Ingrid’s sweetness. It ought to feel like a weakness, a vulnerability to be exploited by an enemy. But instead I feel ten feet tall. She doesn’t hate me. She never hated me. Quite the opposite. I should still feel like scum for encouraging her attachment now. Not that I have any intention of pushing her away.

But surely, over time, she’ll mature into a woman who can see that the enticement of the forbidden is a very thin veneer indeed. And then what? She’ll pack up and leave without a word. Knowing that only makes me want to bask in her sunshine while I can.

“Show me your designs, baby?” I ask her from the sofa where she guided me. I made a token protest when she gently pushed me into the seat, but truthfully, the trip down the stairs was probably a little too ambitious. I’ll worry about the return trip later, possibly bribe Fred with some baseball tickets.

“You really want to see them?” Ingrid looks doubtful.

I nod. I do. Not because I know anything about jewelry beyond the price tag, but because they’re hers.

With a shy but delighted smile, she flits from the living room and up the stairs. A minute later and three sketchbooks have been placed in my lap. Ingrid stands there, twisting her fingers like she just handed over her firstborn to a complete stranger.

“Would you mind making some tea?” I ask her quietly, mostly to calm her down and give her something to do. She nods hesitantly and sort of backs out of the room with reluctance. I wait until she can’t possibly see me before flipping over the first pasteboard cover.

Whimsy and elegance fill my vision. Some sketches are clearly no more than initial ideas, while others are practically engineering specifications. But Ingrid shines through them all. I don’t need to know anything about design or the industry to know she’s really good. And that her sweetness goes all the way through to her center. I shake my head, trying to figure out what the hell she sees in me, if this is how she views the world.

Ingrid sidles in with a tea tray, casting inquisitive glances my way.

“Put the tea down, Ingrid, and come here.”

Her eyebrows fly up at my gruff order, but she complies. I tug her down on my lap. She frowns at that, angling to slide off it and to the side, but I stop her quickly. “Stay, baby. I’m fine. Now tell me why you aren’t opening up shops on Madison Avenue and Bond Street?”

Her eyes light with laughter. “Does that mean you like them?”

I imitate her classic eye roll, making her giggle. “Is that a rhetorical question? Ingrid…”

She stops me with a finger to my lips. “Thank you. But my designs aren’t even close to being on trend. I’m growing a clientele that doesn’t care about that, that wants unique and timeless designs. But the majority of people want to know they have a guarantee of social envy before they buy.” She shrugs like she accepts this and isn’t worried about it, but I’m frowning in disbelief.

“They should know better,” I grumble, pulling her tighter against my chest.

“You’re a sweet man, Justin. No matter how hard you try to hide it.”

There it is, the pin straight into that festering blister. I sigh. “ I’m really not, you know, Ingrid? I’m not sweet. I’m taking advantage of you…”

She leans against my shoulder, laughing her guts out. “How?” she sputters.

“You’re so innocent and young. Someday…” I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence. Besides, Ingrid is now glaring daggers at me.

“Just because I haven’t gone to bed with anyone but you, doesn’t mean I don’t know how the world works. I do tend to lead with hopefulness, but it’s not like I can’t course correct when necessary. And here’s another thing. I never expected you to show up here, Justin. I wasn’t pining for you. I simply decided that other men weren’t worth the bother.” She sniffs and raises her patrician little nose in the air, leaving me dumbfounded.

“Are you saying I am?” I can’t quite keep the surprise out of my voice.

Ingrid’s expression softens, and she cups my face in both hands. “Yes, Justin. Everyone deserves love. Even you.” Then she bounces out of my embrace and pours the tea.

I watch her movements with half my brain while the other half turns over her words. I never worried about love. My focus from a young age has been money, freedom, and, most of all, agency. And I can’t recall anyone ever challenging that list of priorities. Other than to ask how I did it, of course.