Chapter 7 #2
“And those bits,” she continued, undaunted, “were separated by several feet. Unless a man’s shaft can bridge—”
“With his tongue,” Blaze cut in. “He is pleasuring her with his tongue.”
“And the couple on the other side?”
“She’s pleasuring him with her mouth.”
The longest five seconds of Blaze’s life ticked past as Lady Viveca parsed words and concepts. At last, she met his gaze again. “That must feel very good.”
Could she be real?
He was afraid she was.
And she wasn’t finished. “Have you ever—”
“Viveca,” he said, and he barely recognized his voice.
He might’ve been begging.
Blaze Jagger had never begged for anything in his life.
Well, didn’t they say there was a first time for everything?
Her eyes had narrowed on him. “You have.”
“That’s neither here nor there.” They were words spoken, but their meaning eluded him. Just a spew of nonsense to get from this moment and into a different moment.
Except this moment refused to budge. The intensity within her eyes told him they were still firmly in it. “Mr. Jagger?” She corrected herself, “I mean, Blaze?”
“What is it?”
“Would you like to kiss me?”
It was only now that he realized how close she’d moved.
“No.”
He didn’t like the uncertainty in his voice.
“But isn’t that something you do with ladies on a regular basis?”
He was momentarily stripped for words. He recovered. “One wouldn’t precisely call them ladies.”
She nodded. “Strumpets, then?”
“There are more than two sorts of women, you know.”
Her head canted. “Have you ever seen Titian’s painting, Sacred and Profane Love?”
“Naw.” What did old paintings have to do with the here and now?
“Well, you’ve certainly referenced it. It depicts two women—one virtuous and the other a courtesan. But when you look at their faces, they appear to be the same woman.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“It’s the idea that a woman—and her body—is either a sacred vessel or a profane vessel, and there is no in between.”
“Black and white,” he said. “All right.”
“But aren’t our human lives lived in the gray? Or is it only men who get to live so freely, and women are reduced to being either a saint or a whore?”
Blaze realized something—a few things, actually.
Lady Viveca wasn’t wrong. She made a compelling argument, and maybe he would give it a deep old rumination someday when he had nothing else on.
But it was the other thing he realized that was more pressing.
It would just be easier to kiss her.
He touched fingertips to her arm, and the words stopped in her mouth as it skated up that smooth skin, then slipped around to the nape of her neck, silky red-gold hair sliding through his fingers.
As he drew her forward, his head dipped and he pressed his mouth to those pretty pink lips he’d been craving a taste of.
He only intended it to be a swift kiss.
Just long enough to shut her up.
But now that he was here, and she was in hand, he found it impossible to stop.
How soft and sweet-smelling she was as she swayed forward and her hand caressed his cheek, twined around his neck.
His other hand couldn’t resist trailing around her waist to the small of her back, just above what was undoubtedly a sweet, plump arse.
There were kisses that contained no momentum, that were as easily left off as begun.
Not this kiss.
It created momentum aplenty as it deepened, his tongue sliding across her full bottom lip, then penetrating her mouth. She gasped with surprise, then moaned with pleasure, sighing into his mouth. He breathed it in—breathed her in.
He’d kissed a few women—pleasured a few, too—but this was different.
It was exploration.
It was wonder.
It was the first kiss for her, and he wanted to make it unsurpassable.
He wanted her never to forget this kiss.
When she was in her dotage years, she would remember the kiss Blaze Jagger gave her that made her toes curl in her slippers.
He angled his head and left a trail of kisses down her neck.
“Oh, that feels good,” she said low in her throat. In his arms, she was a woman transformed.
And, oh, the ways he could transform her further, if she only knew.
The couples to either side of them had gone quiet, which meant they’d moved on.
Which meant…he and Lady Viveca could move on.
Or…he could keep that knowledge to himself for a while longer and let his body get out of her what it wanted.
Of course, he would give hers what it wanted, too.
He believed in fair play when it came to bodies.
But, naw.
He and this woman weren’t going down that road.
Then came the fiercest test of his resolve—her hand, wayward and provoking, reached down and brushed along the length of his shaft through his trousers. She gasped, then smiled against his lips. He groaned, and even managed to drag his mouth from her neck.
Her hand, however, was still pressed against his cock, and he couldn’t quite will himself to pull away altogether.
The smile that curled her mouth was new.
The smile of a wanton, it was. And her flushed cheeks, eyes bright with desire, and kiss-crushed lips were those of a wanton, too.
“My, but your manhood is hard as stone, Mr. Jagger.”
“Blaze,” he managed.
“Blaze.”
And didn’t her voice sound like sin itself?
Somehow, he found the will to step back and break contact entirely. “We can leave now,” he said, because he had to.
Eyes bright, cheeks flushed, she gave a one-shouldered shrug that had no right be as seductive as it was. “We could’ve gone at any time.” She took a step forward, as if to reestablish contact. He took another step back. “But the point is we’re here…now.”
And you shouldn’t be, came a voice from nowhere.
Was it his conscience?
Where had it been his whole life, anyway?
And it picked now to make itself known?
But as he took Viveca in, he knew there was no reasoning with her. She was new to lust, and she wanted what she wanted, and she was better at getting what she wanted than anyone he’d ever met.
He didn’t take her hand in his or set it on his forearm, as was proper with her aristocratic folk. Instead, he reached out, tugged her hood over her hair, and started walking. He’d taken a few strides before tossing over his shoulder, “Follow me, if you know what’s good for you.”
A few seconds later, he picked up her footsteps and thanked the benevolent gods who occupied the heavens above that she hadn’t called his bluff.
It was only the matter of a few minutes before they were outside the front gates of Vauxhall Gardens and on Kennington Lane.
Blaze put two fingers to his mouth and whistled for the nearest hackney cab waiting on a fare.
The conveyance had only just stopped before he had the door open and was prodding Viveca inside.
He didn’t even take her hand to assist her.
He couldn’t touch her.
He stepped back and called up to the driver, “Number Seventeen Sloane Street.” He gave the man a guinea. “No stops.” He gave him another guinea. “Or you’ll be answering to Blaze Jagger.”
The driver tipped his hat and accepted a third guinea.
Blaze went to shut the cab’s door, but something prevented it from closing. He looked down to find Viveca’s foot inserted determinedly between door and frame. “I’ll see you next Wednesday,” she said, serious as he’d ever seen her.
He shook his head and tried for his best roguish smile. “But you see the bargain was one for one.” On the walk, he’d given some thought to this argument, and he didn’t see how she could reason around it. “And the way I see it, we’re all square.”
Mutiny shone in her eyes.
He had her.
“Now,” he said, “if you’ll move your foot, this fine gentleman will see you home.”
She didn’t move her foot. At least, not before saying, “I’ll see you next Wednesday.”
Only then did she retract her foot and, in the same movement, reach out to pull the door firmly closed. Her closed fist gave the ceiling two raps, and the carriage lurched into motion.
And that was the last word spoken.
As he watched the hackney cab disappear into the night, Blaze shook his head.
Outmaneuvered by a virgin.
Really, he ought to be hanging his head in shame.
But all he could feel was admiration.
Viveca was good.
And maybe he should spare a little admiration for himself, while he was at it.
He didn’t consider himself to be all that moral of a person, but he did have a code and relieving the sister of his business partners of her virginity in Vauxhall Gardens went head-on against it.
But that self-satisfaction was gone the next instant, because…
I’ll see you next Wednesday.
How long could he hold out against her curiosity and determination and bloody, all-around gorgeousness? For now he knew the taste of her mouth…the feel of her curves…the taste of her skin…
How long?
Not long.
Given time and proximity, she would wear him down.
Then what?
Well, one thing was certain.
He needed to learn how to read—fast.