Owen – Sasha Cottman

The moment Lord Owen Morrison and Lady Georgina Yardley entered her bedroom, Georgina locked the door. Owen pulled her roughly to him, placing hard, eager kisses on her mouth. He was in desperate need to have her under him and writhing with passion as soon as possible. His balls were already half drawn up in anticipation of blessed sexual relief. How many days had it been since he had held a naked woman in his arms? Too fucking many. Greedy fingers tore at his jacket and cravat. “I need to see you in all your glory,” she whispered. He held up a hand. Bed sport or not, he wasn’t going to have his clothes ruined. His valet would kill him. Stepping back from her, Owen undressed with all the skill and haste that years of hurried couplings had taught him. Georgina eyed him off, her gaze slowly starting down from his head to settle on his groin. On his engorged cock. “Always good to know you are pleased to see me, Owen,” she said. “And always good to know you are going to please me,” he replied.

He took two steps toward her, halting mid-stride when a loud voice pierced the night air. “Georgina! Where the fuck is, he? You had better not be naked in bed with him or I shall run him through!” Georgina’s face turned ashen white, and her lips opened on a small O as Owen’s worst nightmare roared to life. The sound of an axe being taken to the locked bedroom door echoed throughout the room. “I thought you said he was out of town,” hissed Owen. “He must have returned early. You have to go. He swore that the next time I brought a lover home he would do bloody murder,” she whispered. A frantic Owen looked around the room. There was only one door and Georgina’s madman of a husband stood on the other side of it. He was not going to risk trying to negotiate with a man holding an axe.

They were on the second floor of the townhouse so jumping was not an option. He would have to try and climb down to ground level. Not an easy task in the dark. A second loud thwack came from the other side of the door. Owen jumped at the sound of wood splintering. “How solid is that door?” he asked. Georgina shrugged. “No idea, but I wouldn’t be standing there waiting to find out. You are going to have to climb out the window; there is nothing else you can do. And you have to go now.

” She raced to the window and threw it open. Then, hurrying back to where Owen’s clothes and boots lay on the chair, she scooped them up and before he could stop her, Georgina had crossed back to the window and tossed them out. He looked at her, aghast. “How the devil am I going to climb down a stone wall in my birthday suit?” He could just imagine how news of his death would be reported in the newspaper if he didn’t make it out of the house alive. The naked body of Lord Owen Morrison was discovered this morning in the grounds of Lord and Lady Yardley’s mansion . Oh, fuck. If the fall didn’t kill him, the shame certainly would. When the axe fell a third time on the door and he heard the lock crack, Owen knew he was out of time. “I’m so sorry, Owen darling. Mind how you go,” said Georgina.

Owen couldn’t muster a reply to her inane comment; his brain was already trying to numb itself from the pain it knew was coming when he inevitably fell. Poking his head out the window, he felt his bowels loosen. It was a long way down to the ground—a really long way. If he didn’t pee himself, or worse, it would be a miracle. And if he did survive the fall but had to be rescued, his father would likely kill him. His evening was quickly descending into farce. I knew I should have left the first party with Reid. He put one leg out the window and sat on the window ledge. As his family jewels dragged over the rough timberwork, he pondered all those years when he could have been out securing the Morrison family line instead of wasting them on wicked liaisons. He sent a silent apology to his forebears for having failed them.

With his fingers clutching to the side of the brickwork, Owen climbed out. The freezing night air grabbed a sharp hold of his naked arse and he shivered. When his balls disappeared up inside him, he wondered if he would ever see them again. He lowered himself down from the window a mere second before it was slammed shut and locked. There was no going back. The muffled sound of a heated argument could be heard from overheard. “Shit,” he muttered. He had made it only an inch or two farther down the wall, before the familiar click of the lock sounded again. Any second now the window would be opened once more, and he would be discovered. Please don’t have a fucking pistol.

At the sound of the window being lifted, Owen dropped to the ground. Right into the waiting arms of a prickly rose bush. Pain screamed through his brain as he landed. I’m alive! And God, it hurts! He lay in the dark, his lips clenched between his teeth, desperate not to cry out and reveal his location. Overhead, Georgina pleaded her case. “See? There is no one there. You are just being a jealous fool. Now come to bed, darling, and let me show you how much I love you.” Owen held his breath, only finally letting it out when the sound of the window being slammed shut echoed in the night. The bedroom curtains were drawn, and he was left alone.

It took quite some effort on his part to extricate himself from the rose bush. Everywhere he placed his hands, a sharp thorn stabbed him. “Bloody English roses,” he muttered. After scrambling around, he eventually managed to retrieve all his clothes. His fine woolen evening jacket and linen shirt both ripped as he fought to free them from the rose bush. He dreaded to think what his valet would make of the state of his wardrobe come the morning. Stealing into the dark safety of the stables at the back of the house, he made ready to dress himself once more. Darting to one side of the open doorway, his bare foot landed in the middle of a hot, wet pile of horse manure. It squelched between his toes. “Horse shit, fabulous.

Just what I need,” he murmured. In great pain, Owen dressed as fast as he could. His whole body was a mess of bloody cuts and abrasions. He knew that tomorrow there would also be many bruises to go alongside those injuries. He could only hope that he made it home without meeting anyone of his acquaintance on the way. But first, he had to make good his escape. He limped barefoot out into the rear laneway, careful not to make any noise, then slowly, painfully headed back to Lowe House, avoiding as many people as he could. After the night he had just endured, the last thing Owen needed was for the rest of London to be laughing at his misfortune. Even rakes had reputations to maintain. Every step on the way home was sheer agony, but he had survived the fall.

He was still alive. He grabbed at his crotch. “And my balls are still intact.” The long line of the Morrison family may yet continue.

.

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