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Alexander looked up from his correspondence at the sound of hoofbeats on the gravel drive. Through the study window, he watched Charlotte canter toward the house, her figure a striking silhouette against the morning sky. The deep green of her riding coat emphasized the controlled elegance of her posture, and even from this distance, he could see the flush of color on her cheeks, the strands of hair which had escaped her hat to curl against her neck, the sun turning them to copper.
Something tightened in his chest. It had been his determination to focus on estate business this morning while she rode, but now every pretense of concentration evaporated, his pulse kicking up as he watched her approach, the rhythmic movement of her body with the horse sending heat through his veins.
He set down his pen and left the study, his stride quickening as he crossed the entrance hall. By the time he reached the stable yard, Charlotte had already dismounted and was laughing at something the stable boy said as she handed over the reins.
"Mrs. Colbourne," Alexander said.
She turned, and he saw he had been right about the flush. Her face was pink from exertion, her eyes unusually bright. The dark curls clung damply to her temples, and the thought of how her chest, her shoulders, would look with a sheen of perspiration on her skin heated his blood even further. He appreciated the severe lines of her habit and the high collar underneath framing the delicate line of her throat… the longing to expose the elegant curve of her neck and run his tongue over her nape made him feel slightly dizzy.
"Mr. Colbourne. I did not expect to see you away from your study."
"I saw you coming up the drive." He moved closer, nodding dismissal to Billy, who led the mare away with slightly too much haste. "You seemed to be moving at quite a pace."
She smiled, "The morning was too fine to resist." Her gloved fingers brushed dust from the dark wool of her riding habit and his eye was drawn to the way the fabric clung to her hips. “And you know I enjoy the exercise.”
A low growl emitted from the back of his throat, and her flush deepened as she glanced across at the stable boy, who was suddenly very busy with fastening the stable door behind him.
Alexander stepped closer, close enough to catch the scent of warm wool, leather, and the rosewater he knew she dabbed between her breasts. “And I enjoyed watching you.”
He watched her throat as she swallowed. The white stock at her neck had loosened slightly, and he could see the rapid flutter of her pulse. But her voice was steady when she said, "I should go in and change. This outfit is abominably hot."
"Especially after all your exertion. Allow me to accompany you." He offered his arm.
The maid they passed in the hallway kept her eyes down as they passed, and even though Alexander felt it was unlikely she would have missed the way his fingers lingered at the small of Charlotte’s back, or how his mouth hovered near her ear as he spoke, he was too far gone to care, wanting now to ensure her passion was as aroused as his.
Charlotte drew them to a stop by the table in the entryway, pulling out the pins holding her tall riding hat in place and setting it on down. Her hair tumbled down in disarray, several curls falling loose entirely, and as she moved to repin them, he took hold of her wrists, “Leave them.”
Her gloves were still on her hands, the soft leather warm from her ride. He began to peel them off slowly, letting the fingers slip free one by one, then tossed them aside watching as she bit her lip, her breathing coming a little faster now.
“That habit clings in all the right places,” he murmured as he led her to the stairs. “Especially when you lean forward to urge Artemis on. I can still see the way the wool stretched over your backside, the way your body moved with every stride.”
Charlotte turned her head to look at him as they walked, and he saw her eyes were darkening. “Alexander—”
“I could watch all day the way your body swayed with the horse’s gait, so much control. I was imagining the flex of your thighs hidden under all that fabric, the way your calves would be tensing. Tell me, are you wearing your leather breeches this morning?”
She glanced around the entrance hall, saying somewhat breathlessly, “Alexander! We might be overheard.”
“Then let’s remedy that.” He led her up the stairs, his pace quickening. “And you haven’t answered my question.”
She raised her eyebrow, and he felt his arousal grow at her saucy look. “Of course I am. It would be remiss of me to risk chafing.”
He leaned in closer, then, watching her pulse flutter below her ear, and took her lobe in between his lips before saying, “oh, I can’t wait to see. In the meantime I’ll have to imagine as you walk up these stairs.”
Pursing her lips in a small, pleased smile, and moving ahead of him, she looked down at him over her shoulder as she moved with extra purpose up each step. His erection was already straining in his breeches, and he sped up so that he could press himself against her back, hands on her waist.
“Impatient, are we?” She said silkily, and he growled against her neck.
“Your growing confidence is inspiring, Mrs Colbourne.”
“Oh you mean, when I’m riding? Yes I’m definitely improving my… seat.”
He ground against the curve of her backside and she arched back into him, biting her lip.
“I can’t help but be impressed by your command of your horse. Seeing you so in control out there…” He watched as she shivered deliciously, before he went on, close to her ear, “However, I think it might be my turn to be in control, in here…”
She whimpered involuntarily as he propelled them forward again, and her words when they came were breathless, “Is that so…” His hand had slid up to palm her breast through the layers she was wearing, and hers covered it, as she said more steadily, “It may take you some time and effort, sir, with the complexity of my outfit.”
They’d reached their bedroom door by this point, and he opened it, stepping aside, his eyes darkening as he watched the ride and fall of her breasts in the right fitting coat. “Oh, we have plenty of time…”
—
The last button of Charlotte’s habit yielded under Alexander’s fingers, the wool parting to reveal the linen of her shirt beneath. The fabric clung to her skin, resisting as he worked it free, his knuckles brushing the warmth of her shoulders. The smell of rosewater, and the musk of exertion, arose between them, sultry and intoxicating. He exhaled slowly as the sleeves slid down her arms, her skin flushed where the wool had pressed. The cooler air made her shiver, and he watched the way her breath hitched, the sleeves of her shirt clinging to the ness of her body.
Their eyes locked, and he placed his hands around her waist, feeling her lean into him like muscle-memory, their bodies ready to move together, and he spoke, his voice rough with desire. “Are you ready for something different, Mrs Colbourne? After commanding that horse, are you ready to let me command you?”
She nodded, biting her lip, and looked a little surprised as he sank to his knees before her, the floorboards creaking beneath him. The leather of her boots was still warm from the ride, the supple hide yielding as he eased first one, then the other, from her feet. She watched him as his fingers traced the curve of her calf, lingering at the ribbon tied just below her knee. The silk knot was tight, but he worked it loose with deliberate slowness, the whisper of fabric against skin almost heard in the anticipation of the quiet room. The stocking rolled down, baring her leg inch by inch—her skin flushed, the faintest sheen of perspiration glistening in the slanted light. He pressed his lips to the inside of her knee, tasting the salt of her, and heard the sharp intake of her breath.
Rising, he reached for the fabric of the stock at her throat. The linen clung to the delicate line of her collarbone, the pulse at her throat fluttering wildly beneath his knuckles, his eyes locked with hers. The knot gave way, and the fabric slid free with a soft sigh. Charlotte tilted her head back, her lashes fluttering closed as the constriction fell away. The slide of fabric against her throat was a slow caress, and he watched the way her lips parted, her breath coming faster, following the path of the fabric with his mouth, teeth nipping lightly at her skin and soothing its sensitivity with his tongue.
Pulling back slightly, his fingers moved to the hooks fastening her skirt to the waistband. The heavy wool whispered as it pooled at her feet, and he held her hands as she stepped free, his breath hitching at the sight of her leather breeches beneath, molded to her form. The supple hide hugged the curve of her thighs, darkened with perspiration along the inner seams, the fabric clinging where her body had heated from the ride. He backed her against the bedpost, his hands finding her waist, the heat radiating off her seeping through the fabric that remained. The wood was hard against her back, and he pressed her against it, feeling her softness against his chest.
“I need your arms up,” he murmured, moving her hand above her head so that she wrapped her fingers around the post behind her. Sinking to his knees again, he worked at the fastenings at her knees, his fingers brushing the leather. The scent of her arousal, faint but unmistakable, curled in the air as he undid the waistband at her hips. The leather clung, reluctant to release her, and he took his time, peeling it away until the breeches slid down her legs with a soft sound. Charlotte steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder, her fingers trembling, but his voice was velvety and low, as he said, “I didn’t tell you to move.”
She replaced her hands behind her, her breath coming faster as the leather finally fell away, leaving her in nothing but her shirt and stays. As he lifted her feet one by one to free her from the trousers, her eyes locked with his, and her teeth scissored her bottom lip and gently arched backwards, watching him watch her as her breasts pushed forward. The sight of her lithe body, the curve of her neck as she lifted her chin, made his member pulse against the fabric of his fall, a groan escaping him. She smiled a victorious smile, and he leaned in close, hovering, knowing his breath would be hot on her cheek. “Stay still.”
She raised an eyebrow, minutely, but stilled as his fingers moved to the buttons, beginning at her clavicle, just below where the stiff, high collar was framing her throat beautifully. Undoing the fastenings, he felt the linen slightly rough against his fingertips, starched in a way women’s clothing barely ever was, and this different sensation aroused something in him. “God what you do to me in this shirt,” he said, his voice rough.
“I only wear what is proper, sir.”
“Proper is not how I want you, my love.”
Her breath caught again and he revelled in how her breast swelled against her stays once more, as he pushed the shirt off her shoulders. She moved towards him, but he gently spread his hands over the stiff material of the corset, his tongue teasing along the top of it, before he pulled back from her, smirking at her huff of breath which spoke of her frustration at the space between them.
She watched him from under heavy-lidded eyes, head fallen back against the post, as he slowly began to undress. The waistcoat fell first, the fabric whispering as it slid from his shoulders. His shirt followed, the linen catching for a moment on the rough stubble of his jaw before it, too, pooled on the floor. He toed off his boots, the leather creaking, then unfastened his breeches, letting them drop. His erection strained toward her, the tip already slick, and he saw the way her eyes darkened as she took him in, her breath hitching.
“Turn around.”
She did, leaning against the bedpost, the wood smooth and worn beneath her palms. Her breath came in shallow gasps as his palms followed the path of the fabric, skimming over the curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts above the boned corset. He kissed the nape of her neck, his lips warm against her skin, his tongue tracing the newly exposed flesh as the stays fell away with a soft sigh, his hands mapping the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips.
“Your hands on the reins,” he murmured, his lips moving against her shoulder. “The way your fingers flexed on the leather.” His voice dropped. “I want to see those hands on me now.”
She turned, her gaze dropping to his erection, her hand reaching for him. The first touch of her fingers was hesitant, unsure with these new rules—then bolder, her palm wrapping around his length. “I want you, Alexander,,” she said, her voice steady, her grip tightening.
His breath hitched as her thumb circled the tip, her touch confident now, the slickness of him easing the way. her other hand sliding up his chest, her nails scraping lightly over his skin, she murmured, “I want you to ride me.”
“On your knees,” he commanded, his voice dark with desire. “Just like you were on that mare—only this time, you’re mine.”
Charlotte climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her weight, the linen sheets cool against her bare skin. She knelt before the carved bedpost, her grip tightening as he stepped up behind her. His hands slid over her hips, appreciating the luscious curve of her backside and thighs, the muscles warm. “You’re so strong,” he murmured, his palms kneading the firm flesh. “And every time you wear that outfit, I want you to think of my hands on you, just like this.”
His other hand found her breast, his fingers rolling her nipple, the peak tightening beneath his touch. His mouth found her ear, his breath hot. “The hard leather of the saddle, the pressure on your seat—” His erection pressed against the soft flesh of her backside, and she arched into him with a moan, the sound low and needy. “I want you to feel me when you ride, to remember this.”
His hand slipped between her thighs, his fingers finding her slick, the sound of her readiness loud in the quiet room. She ground against him, panting, her body trembling as he stroked her. “Don’t stop,” she breathed, her voice rough, her hips moving in time with his touch.
His teeth grazed her shoulder, marking her as his fingers moved inside her, driving her higher. She gasped, her body tightening around his fingers. “Alexander—”
“Just like this,” he growled, his voice rough with need. “I’ve been imagining this since I saw you ride—your body moving with mine, the way you’d feel.”
She moaned in response, her body tightening around his fingers, her pleasure building. His hand slid away, and she turned her face to look at him over her shoulder, her eyes dark with desire. He entered her from behind in one slow, deliberate thrust, filling her completely, the sound of their bodies coming together wet and urgent.
Charlotte cried out, her head falling back as he began to move. The bed creaked beneath them, the sheets twisting as she pushed back to meet each of his thrusts, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
She moaned, her body moving with his, her pleasure building. His hand slid down her stomach, his fingers finding the sensitive nub between her thighs, stroking her in time with his movements. As her body tightened, he felt her release coming closer with every stroke.
She cried out as her pleasure crested, her body convulsing around him in wave after wave, the sound raw and unchecked. He followed soon after, his own release tearing a groan from his throat as he buried himself deep inside her, his hands gripping her hips, holding her close as they both shuddered with the force of their passion.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, the warmth of their bodies pressed together, the scent of their lovemaking thick in the air. Then Alexander wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest, his lips pressing a tender kiss to her shoulder. The sheets were tangled beneath them, the linen damp with sweat, the cool air a contrast to the heat of their skin.
“You’re magnificent,” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Every time you go out to ride, I’m going to remember this—the way you feel, the way you respond to me.”
Charlotte turned in his arms, capturing his mouth in a slow, languorous kiss, her hands sliding up his chest. “And every time I ride,” she whispered against his lips, “I’ll remember the way you touched me, the way you filled me.”
His hands slid up to cradle her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks, the skin still flushed. “Then we’ll have to make sure you ride often.”
She laughed softly, her body still humming with pleasure, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I think that can be arranged.”
He kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands roaming over her, already hungry for more, the taste of her driving him on. The room was filled with the sounds of their breathing, the creak of the bed, the whisper of skin against skin—and the promise of more to come.