Chapter 11 #2
Trapped by his eyes, Chastity took his finger into her mouth, tasting the cream, slick, cool, and rich. She swallowed. When she would have let his finger go, he said, “No. Keep it. Suck on it. Nice and slow . . .”
His head lowered and he licked some cream from her breasts in a long sweep. Dreamlike, Chastity kept sucking on his finger.
She felt his tongue swirl around first one nipple, then the other, and caught her breath at the sweetness of that sensation. His tongue tickled the tip of each one. “Ah, my beauties,” he murmured, “you envy my finger, don’t you?”
Chastity abruptly stilled her mouth.
He leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth and abraded it with his tongue. A thrill shot through Chastity and she did the same to his finger.
“That’s right, sweeting,” he said softly. “Show me what you want.”
Chastity waited for what he would do next. He did nothing. Then she understood him. Tentatively, she sucked his finger. He sucked her nipple. She sucked harder. He matched it. It became strangely as if she pleasured herself. She sucked deep and slow, feeling a fever grow and burn in her.
A throbbing started between her legs and she stirred restlessly. She heard whimpering sounds and realized they were coming from herself. And faith, neither of them was truly undressed yet!
He moved on top of her and rubbed against her. It helped a little, but not a great deal. Desperate, she drew his finger deep into her mouth, but he laughed and dragged it free.
“Sweet heaven, Chloe. One of us will draw blood at that rate. Here, undress me.”
To Chastity’s amazement he stood and seemed to expect her to do exactly that.
She lay for a moment, fevered with lust, thinking he’d have to change his mind.
Wasn’t he as desperate with need as she?
Apparently not. Dizzy, and throbbing, she struggled to her feet.
She looked down at herself. Her open gown hung from her shoulders and from the waist up she was all stained milk, cream, and bare skin.
She hitched the chemise up again over her breasts.
She worked at the buttons on his long waistcoat, her fingers unsteady and clumsy, her nerves burningly aware of his body. She gave up halfway and splayed her hands over his chest, looking for help to his shadowed, intent face.
Thinking to urge him, she reached up to kiss him.
His lips played against hers, but then he drew back. “The sooner you’re done, sweeting, the sooner we can progress.”
The fever lessened a little, though Chastity could have wept to see it go. What crazy game was this? She began to be afraid that he was intent on torturing her, and that they never would make love.
She finished the buttons with great speed. As she unfastened the lowest one, she felt the rigid hardness of him. That reassured her a little. He needed a woman—needed her. She remembered how it had been when she’d been unknotting those laces. Hesitantly she pressed and stroked.
He caught his breath. “Depends whether you want this fast or slow, Chloe.”
Chastity had no way of knowing. She took her hand away.
“Ah,” he said on a long out-breath. “Une connaisseuse. I expected nothing less.”
His tone jarred, but this was all turning out to be other than Chastity had expected, so why should his attitude surprise her?
She pulled his shirt out from his waistband and eased it up over his chest. She found she loved running her hands up the silky muscles.
She paused to circle them there, almost in a trance.
He pulled out of the sleeves himself and worked it over his head.
Chastity ran a finger down the livid scar that slashed across him. “How did you get this?” A woman would be bound to ask.
“A saber. At Quebec.”
“It must have bled a lot.”
“Like a slashed wineskin. Ruined my best uniform.”
Chastity was swamped by memories, bittersweet. She knew it wasn’t supposed to be like this between them, but this was the best they could hope for.
She looked down at her breasts, her bare breasts, still streaked with cream. She gathered the last of the cream and spread it gently down his scar. Then she licked it away. She could see and feel the depth of his breathing, though he stood quite still.
The bulge in his breeches pushed against her belly.
“Come on, Chloe,” he said sharply. “Slow is one thing, but if you drag this out much longer you’ll waste my attributes.”
Chastity jerked under his tone and quickly unfastened the buttons in both his breeches and his drawers. Grasping her courage, she pushed them both down. His penis sprang free against her.
She grabbed it with both hands.
A moment later she didn’t know why. Perhaps it was an attempt to control the thing, but now she had it throbbing in her hands, and no idea what to do with it.
With unsteady lightness, he said, “Kiss it and it’ll be very nice to you.”
She looked at the moist tip then up at him, wide-eyed. He shook his head and peeled her fingers away. She was glad to let go. He quickly stripped out of his nether-wear and stockings until he stood magnificently naked.
Chastity stared her fill. There was only the slightest glossing of softness to Cyn Malloren. He was all taut, beautiful muscle. Reality faded. Her disguise, her masquerading as a whore, her past and future, all became shadows. There was only herself, and Cyn, and this moment.
She gasped when he caught her chin and forced her eyes to meet his. “I need facts, sweet Chloe. You’re not as experienced in all this as you try to pretend, are you?”
Chastity wanted to lie, for fear that he’d throw her out, and go seek one such as Sable, but he demanded truth. “No,” she said.
He nodded and took a steadying breath. “Now this is important, and if you lie to me, I swear I’ll beat you. Are you a virgin?”
Chastity hesitated. She guessed that if she said yes this would all end here and her ferocious hunger would be unassuaged. On the other hand, she wasn’t physically a virgin, so he’d never know.
After the fiasco with Vernham, Chastity had summoned her doctor to examine her and certify her purity.
Her father had found out and brought in some woman—she claimed to be a midwife, but Chastity suspected she was keeper of a brothel.
Her father’s loathsome henchman, Lindle, had held her down while the woman broke her hymen and took away her feeble proof of virtue.
When Dr. Marsden had called, she’d tried to send him away, but her father had forced her to accept the examination by the saddened physician. Chastity had been warned that if she ever tried to tell her story, Dr. Marsden would give evidence of her wickedness.
“Well?” Cyn asked sharply. “It’s not so hard a question.”
“No,” said Chastity. “Of course I’m not a virgin.”
He searched her eyes. “Is that the truth? I meant what I said. I’ll beat you if you’ve lied about this, and I’ll know.”
Chastity swallowed, but met his eyes. “You won’t make me bleed, I assure you, milord. I’ve had a man in my bed before.” Both statements were completely true.
He released her chin. “So be it.” He pushed her open gown off her shoulders and it fell to the floor, then turned her to undo her petticoat laces.
His fingers against her spine sent little shivers through her, and when the petticoat fell he ran his knuckles up and down the cleft of her spine; bone, silk, and flesh. She swayed back against him, and he nibbled gently at her nape.
Then sneezed.
“Damn. Why the hell did you have to wear powder?” But his tone was amused as he turned her.
“I’m sorry. As you have guessed, I am not very experienced at these matters.”
His hands cradled her breasts. “I don’t think experience affects that. I’ve known some women wise in wickedness who don’t seem to realize how creams and hair-dressings can interfere with delight.”
His thumbs lightly brushed her nipples through the silk. The feverish longing built in Chastity again, more strongly for having been denied before. She moved to pull off the chemise. He stopped her.
“No, sweeting, leave it. I’m not sure I’m ready for the full glory of you yet.”
He picked her up and laid her again on the mattress.
“I’m ready for you,” said Chastity.
“Are you? Let’s see.”
He knelt between her legs. He put his hands on her ankles and slid them slowly up her legs, his calloused fingers rubbing deliciously against her smooth skin.
Chastity twisted restlessly, opening her legs willingly to his invasion, but his hands stopped at her thighs.
He flexed his thumbs there against the satiny inner skin.
Chastity pressed her head back. “Oh, sweet heaven, what are you doing to me?”
She felt his head there, between her legs, his lips where his thumbs had been. She jerked up onto her elbows. “What . . . ?”
He nipped her. “Don’t ask so many questions. Does it feel good?”
She felt fingers in the hair between her thighs, sliding in the fluid there. “You are, aren’t you? It’s as if I rubbed more of that cream here.”
His fingers slid into her. Chastity collapsed back with a guttural moan that shocked her with its primitive sound. She pushed against his hand and he met her hard, rubbing against her. He slid up to take her nipple in his mouth and sucked in rhythm with his hand.
Chastity was lost. A part of her brain was still sane, and knew she was probably shouting her desperate need of release. She would rather be quiet and ladylike but found it impossible. She tried to apologize, but instead she stretched herself wide and thrust up at him.
Then he moved. His mouth and hand left her and she felt him hard against her.
“Yes,” she breathed.
He slid into her slowly, almost tentatively. Chastity whimpered and thrust up to engulf him. He was big, she was tight, but the stretching fullness was delicious.
She thought she heard a strange sigh as he settled in her. Then he eased out.
She wriggled after him, terrified he would leave her. He slid in again and she shuddered with relief.