Chapter 22
“You, madam, have been torturing me all night.”
She watched him coyly from beneath her lashes as he stepped from the shadows and ambled towards her.
“Six dances with other men and only three with me? How shall I ever recover?”
“From what I understand, you English consider anything over two dances with the same gentleman to be a declaration of impending matrimony.”
“If I thought there was any hope of you caring about English etiquette, I would hold you to that.” Christopher picked up a billiard ball and rolled it idly between his hands. “I thought I would be safe from jealousy when you partnered that bookish fellow who resembles an ostrich, but, alas, he seemed to take to the study of your décolletage with the same ardour he assigns to his reading.”
“I had no idea you were the jealous sort,” she teased, sliding close and running a solitary finger down his chest and abdomen.
“As it turns out, when it comes to you and that devastating dress, all of my British charm withers away. I feel like quite the neanderthal.” He smiled and Sofia couldn’t quite determine whether his words were in jest. She looped her index finger into his waistband and gave a little tug.
Christopher let out a deep rumble of approval and the ball in his hand tumbled to the floor with a thunk. “All those slender aristocratic hands trespassing on the swell of your hip. The accidental brushes as they led you about the floor. I ache to banish the memory. To demolish the imprint of their touch. To lick and nibble across your skin until you are mine alone.”
His mouth was slack, pupils dilated. The contrast between his hungry expression and his elegant evening wear sharpened her anticipation, flooding her nerves with tingling warmth. He hadn’t even touched her yet and already her body was alive with anticipation.
“Do you plan to talk me into an orgasm, Christopher?” She meant it as a playful jab, but it came out far needier than intended.
The whispered challenge cut him loose and he claimed her body with something like desperation. Christopher’s hands clamped around her waist where countless palms had rested throughout the night. He squeezed, long and slow. Nothing close to painful, but insistent and absolutely territorial in a way that made her feel deliciously at his mercy. He watched her through heavy lids as he branded her with his fingertips. Again, his grip tightened and released, and desire pooled at her core.
His touch lightened then, drifting across her satin gown, up and down the swell of her hips, then around to her rear. He gripped her possessively, drawing her flush against him. A delicate shiver rippled across her skin but Sofia remained pliant beneath his touch, allowing him the space to satiate himself without distraction. “So good, my Sofia, standing there so patiently when I can see your body clambering for my lips and tongue.” He stroked a finger down the column of her throat to where her skin heated and prickled. “Mmm. And your skin blushes so prettily at my compliment. You like to hear how much you please me.”
My God, but she did. She craved more of that warm satisfaction in his eyes and voice.
He stepped closer, angling to her side, one palm splayed across her stomach, his heated gaze following the rise and fall of that hand with every breath. He was still as he quietly contemplated her body. Her pulse rattled rapidly in contrast. Slowly, as if he had a lifetime to explore her, his touch travelled higher, feather light between her breasts, then stopped when his palm cradled her neck. His other hand joined the first to hold her gently in place.
A ragged sigh tore through him as he caught and held her gaze. “Easy now.”
“I haven’t done anything.” She sounded nearly as breathless as him.
He eased closer, kissing her shoulder, then her jaw, nuzzling his response into the curve of her neck. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
Sofia’s head lolled to the side in invitation and she wrapped an arm around his waist, leaning into his sturdy frame. With the drapes thrown wide, the moon’s determined glow weaved through the low-hanging branches, casting soft silver light through the window and onto Christopher’s tawny locks.
“You are delicious,” he murmured into her neck. “Sweet.” He laved the tip of his tongue across her collarbone. “Soft.” He charted a course to her décolletage and nipped the fabric there. “Exquisitely tempting.”
His hand slid up her sternum and she arched into his caress, shamelessly seeking the stroke of his fingers. Instead, he pulled the creamy material down with his teeth. Lifting her breast to his mouth, he dropped a chaste kiss to her pebbled nipple before parting his lips to play with the pink tip.
“Sweet and delicious. Those are words to describe an apple tart.” Sofia struggled to press the words past her sluggish tongue.
His gaze flicked up to hers, and he smiled. “Argumentative even as you squirm against my tongue for more.”
Sofia moaned as moist heat engulfed her rosy peak. Christopher licked, tugged, and sucked with increased fervour and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight of his ravenous mouth.
“I do not squirm,” she panted. “My feet were simply tired of standing.” His teeth grazed her nipple and she buried her hands in his hair, holding him in place even as she baited him further. “It’s these slippers. Violet has tiny feet.”
With a last languorous lick, he released her breast and stood erect, shooting her an incredulous look. “You most definitely squirm, particularly when you watch all the wicked things I do to your body.” Hands gliding down to her rear, he lifted her up and back until she was perched on the edge of the billiards table.
She shook her head in stubborn denial.
“You fight valiantly to keep those lovely brown eyes open.” He stroked a finger down the bridge of her nose. “So you can revel in my struggle to maintain control.” He kissed her jaw. “An impossible feat with your softness filling my mouth… your delectable peak sliding against my tongue.” He palmed her breast, kneading lightly.
Again, she shook her head in weak denial, enjoying the game they played.
Christopher dropped to his knees, removing one of her slippers, then the other. He squeezed her insole and began massaging into the muscle of her calf with both hands.
“Oh, Sofia. You can lie with your mouth, but look at the way your adorable toes curl when I speak.” She glanced down to find her toes performing in just such a manner.
He roamed a fraction higher and paused. “I’m not a betting man, but I would wager that if I slide my fingers inside your sweet quim, it will clench for me every time I describe the erotic plans I have for you.”
She didn’t doubt it. Every muscle in her body was stretched and waiting expectantly to hear what wicked words would tumble next from his mouth.
“Shall we see, Sofia?”
His hand didn’t budge as he waited for her invitation. All traces of playfulness cleared from his face, and her sweet, considerate Christopher looked upon her without demand or expectation. Her heart thrashed in the confines of her chest, and it had nothing at all to do with arousal. She could not lose this man. Whatever convoluted scheme would keep him in her life, she would figure it out and put it into place. Surely there was a way to keep both Oliver andChristopher without hurting the Ansons. Her entire life felt like a compromise, and she was tired of sacrificing one necessity for the next. She had given up quite enough.
She nodded, and he met her silent response with a dimpled smile, all sunshine and unabashed joy.
“Oh, my love.” He leaned in and nipped the inside of her thigh, chuckling when she jerked with a squeak. Raising up on his feet, he kissed her soundly on the mouth, his hands resting on both thighs. Spreading her legs wide, he rucked her skirts up to make space for his body. Sofia melted against him, meeting his mouth and opening against the nudge of his tongue. She dragged his jacket from his shoulders, sighing at the feel of tight solid muscle beneath layers of linen and satin.
“I need to touch you,” she said. It was as much a plea as had ever crossed her lips, and the answering sound that reverberated in Christopher’s chest travelled directly to the pit of Sofia’s stomach. His fingers flew to the opening of his waistcoat and shirt, tearing clumsily, buttons scattering in his haste to free himself. His clothing wrinkled and wrenched open, Christopher wrapped his fingers around Sofia’s wrists and pressed her palms to the bare skin of his stomach. His breath came harshly as he held her gaze with his.
He nodded, slowly.
“You have to let go of my wrists, Christopher, or I cannot move.” He glanced down only long enough to confirm that his fingers were still tightly clasped about her wrists, but he did not relent in his hold.
Another moment passed, and she nodded her understanding. “I will go slow. I’ll stop if you ask it of me.”
“I won’t ask, Sofia. You have to stop anyway.”
“I will.” She kissed his jaw, then pressed her cheek against his. “I promise it. I will.” Christopher’s grip began to loosen as she scattered soft kisses along his temple.. She continued until his hands fell away, finding purchase again on her legs, thumbs tracing circles along the tender insides of her thighs.
Sofia kept her touch unhurried as she explored his shape and texture, revelling in the velvety warmth of his skin, the latent power of his muscles, the rapt expression on his face. It was like nothing she had ever seen before. His entire body shuddered in response to a light graze across his flat nipple.
“You like that.” Arousal bloomed in her stomach. “Do you want me to use my mouth?”
His forehead dropped to her shoulder, and he nodded clumsily against her.
“Not so talkative now,” she teased between kisses along his chest.
Head bowed, eyes shut tightly, he let out a hiss of pleasure as she teased the peak of one nipple to hardness with her lips and tongue.
“More. Do it again.” His tickling caress stuttered to a halt, his hand jolting to cup her quim, pressing his palm against her slickness with what felt like a raw, primal claiming. Sofia whimpered, digging her nails into his flanks and drawing at his nipple in a long, hard pull.
“Sofia.” The plea echoed harshly off the walls of the moonlit room, mingling with the sounds of the string quartet still drifting down the vacant halls.
With a groan, Sofia slid her hand in a determined path down his abdomen, her knuckles skimming through his lightly curling hair. He adjusted his hold between her legs, curling one finger in a teasing stroke between her sensitive lips. Sofia’s head swam with lust, her skin prickling, reaching towards the flash of pleasure.
“Christ, you feel perfect. What you do to me… my God, Sofi.” His lungs pumped like fireplace bellows.
His thumb grazed her bud and she writhed against him, her own hand forgetting its course.
“Just wait for it, sweetheart. Don’t work so hard. I’ve got you. You’re beautiful the way you open for me.” The tip of his finger slid inside and she could feel her walls clamp and pull at the insufficient pressure.
“Please.” Her legs trembled with equal parts frustration and pleasure as he added a second finger to join the first and stroked inside her with a maddeningly slow rhythm, his palm brushing lightly across her clitoris with every thrust. “Just a little faster. A little more. I’m almost?—”
“No.” The blasted man lightened his touch and slowed his pace, sliding the evidence of her arousal up and down through her folds, revelling in her abundant desire for him. She was unravelling. Frantic for completion. And he was just as insistent in his determination to hold her captive on the brink of madness.
“Can you wait a little longer, Sofi? Let me taste you?”
Her orgasm crashed over her then, tore through her with violent shudders. Sofia clutched onto his solid form. And Christopher did not relent, his clever fingers working to pull pleasure from within her until her muscles subsided into languid softness.
When she opened her eyes again, he was watching her with something like awe. She reached for him without thinking, aware only of her need for more intimacy. More tenderness. More Christopher. He opened his arms, engulfing her smaller body against his own, and held her tightly.
“I believe I promised you multiple orgasms, Miss Lioni, and you found your pleasure before I could even have a proper taste of you. Very unsporting, sweetheart.” He licked his lips.
The evidence of his arousal, pressed between their bodies and blithely ignored by Christopher, kindled a renewed warmth beneath Sofia’s skin. When he moved to drop to his knees between her splayed legs, she shook her head and ghosted the tip of her finger down his abdomen.
“You distracted me,” she chastised between light kisses across his chest.
“Sofia. This is not a good idea.” He nearly groaned as she nibbled a path towards his nipple.
“I disagree. I think this may be the best idea I’ve ever had.” Skating her fingers past his waistband, she trailed up and down the length of his erection and he pulsed against her exploring touch.
“If you loose a single button of my falls, I will have you pinned on your back, sprawled across that billiards table with my face between your legs. And if you free my cock from its confines, Sofia, I will have you in every way. I will bury myself inside you and there isn’t a sound my conscience could utter that I would notice. You are the only person that can stop me, Sofia.” He sucked in a breath. “And I won’t have the fortitude to say this again.”
His face was deadly serious, and she nodded, not wanting to plant any regrets in the perfection of the night. “Then enjoy this for as long as you can last.” She stroked his cock through his trousers and he let out a guttural moan. “And then you can finish without me. Like before. I liked watching you.”
A feral hunger flashed in his eyes at her admission and he pulled her roughly into his body, covering her neck and breasts with ravenous licks and nips. His hands kneaded into her arse and roved over her body with clumsy urgency. Every rhythmic press of his cock against her stomach grew more frenzied.
With some effort, she eased him away, creating only so much distance between them as to insert her palms against his abdomen. She nearly tore open his trousers when he rutted at the air for a beat and let out a savage growl at the loss of contact.
“I distinctly remember you making me wait. You didn’t think I would let you rush off without the same treatment, did you? Foolish man.”
Sofia’s mouth ran dry at the look he gave her. As if he were reconsidering tossing up her gown and having her right there.
His hand defiantly went to his cock, and he stroked long and slow as he watched her through lowered lids.
“Hands off, Christopher.”
“But you like to watch me pleasure myself.” He repeated the stroke, slower.
“Not yet.” She reached for his hand and removed it, replacing it with her own. Sofia toyed with the buttons of his placket and he twitched beneath her fingers. “I want to know more about what you like.”
“Hard. I want you to grip me hard.”
She grinned.
“So, not like this then?” She traced the shape of him with her fingertips, watching his vein throb in his neck. When he began to thrust into her palm, she pulled her hand away, her nails biting into his hips to hold him fast. He let out a choked sob, a drop of dampness from his tip seeping through his trousers. She stroked a fingernail across where it coloured the fabric.
“Christ, Sofi.” He sucked in a breath. “Kiss me. I need… I want…” He shook his head when more inelegant, fractured sentences emerged, then speared his hands into her hair and crushed his mouth to hers. He begged with his touch, pleaded with deep searing kisses and vulnerable little whimpers, but she refused to alter her careful perusal of his cock.
“God above.” His voice was hoarse, rubbed raw by rasping breaths. “No. No. You have to…” He lurched his hips away for a heartbeat then pushed back into her hand. “I’m going to… Oh God, Sofi.” He groaned then, his entire body spasming with his climax, then he curled around her with his face pressed tightly in the crook of her shoulder.
He remained there for a long moment, the only sound between them, the quaver of his unsteady breath.
“Christopher?” She waited. “Christopher?” she repeated when he seemed disinclined to answer.
When he lifted his head, he would not meet her eyes. She caught his chin with her fingers and turned him to face her. His cheeks were flushed red.
“Are you angry at me?” she asked. She dropped her hand away, but he quickly retrieved it, wrapping it in both of his.
“Mad at you?” He shook his head. “No, love. I’m mortified. I’m tempted to hide under the billiards table, but mad? No, anything but that.”
She furrowed her brow, and he let out a shaky chuckle. “You scarcely touched me and I spent. I haven’t had so little control since I was a lad. I’m thirty-six years old, damn it.” He closed his eyes, his cheeks puffing out with air as he exhaled. “I’m sorry.” He met her gaze again and there was such embarrassment and self-reproach that she wanted to take him in her arms and cuddle it away.
“You found pleasure in my touch.” She stroked small circles with her thumb across the back of his hand. “The lightest brush of my fingertips sent your body reeling. Why would you apologise for the way your body responds to mine?”
He instantly softened at her words, a lopsided grin falling back into its usual place. “I’ll just have to hope that if the servants’ stairs are crowded tonight as I make my way back to my room, that others view my sticky trousers with the same romantic notions.”
Romantic notions. When did I become a woman with romantic notions?
He glanced down and wrinkled his nose, then looked back to her, all traces of his earlier embarrassment erased. Sofia felt a bone-deep satisfaction in her ability to find the right words to set him at ease. Shuffling to his discarded clothing, he picked up his mangled shirt and stared mournfully at the linen. A button fell to the floor and rolled into Sofia’s bare foot.
“On second thought,” he said, “I think my trousers are the least of my worries.”
Sofia found his waistcoat and shook it out. “This isn’t quite as bad.”
“Perfect. I’ll just strut back up the stairs bare-chested, with my stained trousers and a hopelessly crushed waistcoat. Surely no one will remark on it.” He winked.
Sofia linked her arms around his neck and kissed his lips. “It’s not so late. Take a walk with me.”
He glanced down at his naked chest, then back to her.
“Not right this moment. A walk with more clothes. We can meet at the entrance to the rose garden.”
It was late, but after the conversation with her brother, she didn’t want to waste a moment with Christopher. She had no idea how to move forward, but every time she thought of passing her days without him, her blood ran cold. If she did have to leave Christopher, she wanted to fill every moment remaining with his warm laughter and smiling eyes.
He watched her quizzically for a moment, then nodded. “A walk.” He slid on his waistcoat and topcoat, wadding his shirt and cravat in his hands. Opening the door, he peeked around the corner then signalled her to go.