Chapter 9 #3
“Some gentlemen would decide duty was a good excuse to pluck it back out.” He came closer to her. “You have all but invited me to try.”
She swallowed hard. “But you won’t. Correct?”
No response came. No nod. All she received was that deep consideration to which he so often subjected her.
“I wonder,” he murmured, as if to himself.
“Wonder what?”
“That first night, you came close to trying to bribe me.” He tipped her chin up with his hand. “Have you been trying that, Padua, in more subtle ways? Are you attempting that now?”
“I am not the one showing up unexpectedly in your life. I have not been the one interfering. Do not blame me just because you—you—”
“That is true. You are blameless. I am my own undoing.” He angled his head and kissed her lips, first with a gentle touch, then more fully.
She pretended to suffer it, when in truth sensual sparkles descended in a shower. She turned her head in halfhearted resistance. “Shouldn’t you be showing more fortitude? Thinking of duty and such?”
“I suppose so. And yet—” His kisses enlivened her cheek, her jaw, then the sensitive skin below her ear. He embraced her, his firm arm encompassing her waist. “If I am going to turn a blind eye to one small point of duty regarding that money, I don’t see why I should deny myself on another.”
“I am flattered to know I am a small point.”
“You are not. I have decided that kissing you is, though.”
They both knew that was not true. She did not think he would listen to reason now, however. Nor could she muster enough sense to make the argument. The possessive manner in which he began to caress her became too distracting. Thrills commanded her attention so she could barely think at all.
Still, she really should stop this, except—a touch on her breast made the idea dissolve.
That hand just rested there, on the top of her breast, while his arm pulled her closer to his body.
She looked into eyes like faceted dark emeralds, unable to read his thoughts. Except one. He knew she enjoyed this too much to deny it. He knew he had won without much effort at all.
The light touch on her breast became a deliberate caress that made itself felt through her garments. Luscious pleasure poured through her body and pooled low in her stomach. She thought she would swoon.
“Your eyes are as bright as I imagined they would be when I caressed you, Padua.”
His caress continued absorbing all her attention. She barely managed to speak. “You said you did not believe in seduction.”
“Did I say that? How careless of me.” He nuzzled and kissed her neck. Sensual chills enlivened her skin with a thousand streams of delight. “Although I think you have seduced me, you see. Not I you.”
“You talk so smoothly. However, it is you who lure me.”
“How little you know about your power, Padua.” He brushed his lips against hers again. Her mouth quivered. His fingers found her nipple through her garments. The way he teased at her sent her up on her toes.
“Should I stop? I will, if you demand it.”
Stop? End this bliss? Reject this transformation of her entire being? She did not want it to end, ever.
He waited for her answer. Even his caress stopped, which maddened her. She opened her eyes. His gaze contained everything she knew about him. His wicked side and his kind one. His hardness and his charm. Mostly it reflected that he knew her answer without her saying anything at all.
“Well, then,” he murmured. “Let us do this properly.”
Do what? The notion that she should ask slipped away as soon as it formed.
He moved her, his embrace lifting her off her feet.
The chamber spun. She found herself on his lap, her shoulders cradled by his arm, her body slung across his thighs.
Astonished, she watched his head lower until warm kisses pressed her neck and the skin exposed above her garments.
Each one shot tantalizing streams down her body.
He turned his ravishment to her mouth. He no longer lured, but claimed.
Her body responded erotically. He took advantage of her gasps to invade her mouth.
Shocked momentarily, she quickly submitted to the bold intimacy.
When his caress smoothed over her body, from her neck to her knees, her consciousness submerged under a stupor of sensation striped with feral anticipation.
She felt his fingers on her chest. He lifted the money out of her bodice and dropped it to the floor. She looked down to see him unbuttoning her pelisse.
He sat her up and slid the pelisse off. She turned her head and watched it fall into a green pool beside the money.
Hot kisses on her neck reclaimed her attention.
Purposeful caresses on her breasts beckoned her into delirium.
Her dress was half-unfastened before she realized the hand on her back had intentions more wicked than that on her front.
Even after her bodice lowered, revealing her stays and petticoat, that hand moved back there.
A thread of rationality returned. “Shouldn’t we be negotiating first? You said you always did.”
“To hell with that.” His mouth moved to the soft skin exposed above her stays.
She felt her stays loosen. They began sliding down her shoulders, along with her petticoat. A masculine hand helped them. Through the fog of sensation, she realized she would soon be half-naked.
“I thought—” She turned her face so his kiss could not silence her. “I thought you always ensured women and you were of like mind. I thought you chatted first.”
Warmth on her skin. On her breast. A new caress, a direct one, made her dizzy with pleasure.
“We already did.”
“That was hypothetical, and not very detailed. We may not suit at all in this.”
“You suit me fine. Chat all you want, however. I promise to listen.” He even looked in her eyes, so she could see his attention.
Unfortunately, his caresses did not stop. That made forming coherent thoughts difficult, let alone speaking them. His hot gaze undid her further. She looked down at her now bare breasts and her garments bunched below them. While she did, his fingertips slid to her nipple. He began to gently rub.
The sensation overwhelmed her. Her vision blurred. She could barely sit still. The pleasure became excruciating. If he continued she would die, but if he stopped she would scream.
His breath warmed her shoulder. “You are lovely, Padua.” Lower kisses, on her chest. “Perfect.” Lower yet. Her breast turned heavy and full. Her breathing quickened while she waited for him to . . . She wanted, she needed . . . She arched in offering and frustrated anticipation.
When his kiss grazed her nipple, she spun into abandon. He teased at her, his hand on one breast and his mouth on the other, his teeth and tongue and lips driving her insane. A tempest of sensation built and built. Her consciousness dwelled in the center of the storm.
Of course she noticed when the sensual torment stopped. His arms slid under her body and lifted. Through hooded eyes she saw the chamber swim by. When it settled she was looking up at the ceiling.
The table. She was on the table. On her back. She looked down her body, at her exposed breasts and bunched garments, at her long skirt. At the hips, torso, and head of the man standing between her dangling legs.
She could not bear that he no longer touched her. Her breasts had grown so sensitive that even the air teased them, making her want more. She instinctively pouted, just as her mind found some curiosity about why he had laid her here.
He reached down her body and touched one nipple. She arched. Joy poured through her.
“Do it yourself now.” A caress slid up one of her legs. “I will be busy.”
She frowned at his odd suggestion.
“Have you never touched yourself, Padua? Given yourself pleasure?”
Of course not. What a peculiar question.
His caress rose higher on her leg. Her hem rose too. “It is much the same. Try it. You will see.”
Now? With him there? Watching?
He appeared wonderful, looking down, his gaze warm and dangerous at the same time. She saw no amusement at her expense at least.
She tentatively put her hands under her breasts, to see what it felt like. Nothing special. “You will be busy doing what?”
He raised one of her legs. The hem dropped, revealing her hose to its top, and her knee. “Just kissing you. Touching you.” He turned his head to show her. She wasn’t impressed. The kiss tickled a little, and was not nearly as shattering as those on her breasts.
Then he caressed down on the inside of her leg. That gossamer touch, so light it could be a feather’s brush, sent a deep thrill right down to her— Oh.
For the first time since he first touched her, misgivings wormed through her bliss.
“I think that you are being wicked now.”
His fingers continued giving her vague licks. His mouth more obvious ones. “Not too wicked. Not yet.”
Not yet? “About those negotiations—”
“Too late.” Her skirt fell more, exposing more of her leg.
Almost to her—to where the pleasures he created also fell.
The sensation intensified until it was far stronger than when she sat on his lap.
She barely resisted the urge to raise her hips in scandalous ways.
She bit her lower lip so the begging cries haunting her mind did not leak out.
He glanced at how she still cupped her breasts. “Not like that. Do it the way I did. I promise it will be extraordinary.”
Too far gone to worry about how it would look, she gently rubbed her nipples. Spirals of ecstasy aimed down her body, toward those he created. They met at her— Oh!
“This is outrageous,” she murmured. “Disgraceful.” She did squirm then, but it did nothing to relieve the sensual torment that built with each moment. Her essence begged for relief, but it also demanded she flick at her nipples with the palms of her hands, to deliberately make it worse, not better.
Kisses on her knee now. Hot. Searing. First this spot then that, then lower on her thighs.
Utter abandon made her lose hold of herself.
The most wicked notions lodged in her foggy thoughts—to spread her legs wide, to make him kiss higher yet, to touch herself not on her breasts, but on her—and still his light caresses, those faint, fluttering touches, lured her deeper, and made a hollow need open that even the pleasure could not fill.
He kissed up her thigh, holding her leg so he could reach the softest flesh. A moan escaped her, then another. She looked down to where her skirt now bunched high on her legs. It formed a hedgerow of cloth. She realized that if he turned his head, he would see that which no one had seen before.
He did turn his head. He did see. Then the light masterful caresses moved down until he placed his fingers on the very source and center of her sexual agony.
It unhinged her. She heard her own cries sing through the air. Grateful, hungry cries that gave voice to the need consuming her. You are wicked, wicked, wicked.
“Yes.”
I should not allow— You should not—
“Yes.”
He pulled her hips toward him. She forced herself to look at him.
His body lowered bit by bit as he knelt.
She could only see his head, then only his crown when he kissed her inner thigh again.
Ah, ah, wicked. Too wicked. He knelt higher, and arranged her legs over his shoulders.
An extreme notion entered her thoughts. A hope but also an alarm.
He was not going to— Surely he would not—
She quickly pressed her skirt’s fabric between her legs and held it, scandalized at the notion. He caressed her thigh, soothing her. Only it did not really soothe. It kept the heat and sexual agitation alive and vivid.
“I have shocked you.”
“Now I understand why you normally negotiate first.”
Rebellions in her body created discomforts never experienced before. Disappointment made itself known in visceral ways.
He stood. “You are safe. I promise.” He caught her gaze with his own and slid his hand under the fabric, beneath her pressing palm.
“I thought you said I was safe.”
“From that, for now. Not from me.” He wrapped her legs around his hips. “Move your hand now. I will not take you, if you worry I have put you like this for that. Unless you want me to.”
She stared at him. She shook her head.
“Are you sure?”
She was not sure at all.
“Move your hand. I am good to my word.”
She moved her hand.
“Close your eyes, Padua. Think of nothing.”
That devastating touch pressed again, ensuring she obeyed. Her physicality dissolved until only the pleasure remained. Amazing pleasure. Demanding pleasure. No thoughts meant no restraints. She felt as she never had before. As she never knew possible.
He knew just what to do to intensify the madness.
She knew he watched. Wicked. Wonderfully wicked.
She knew she moaned and cried. When the pleasure became too intense and relentless to bear, she knew she begged.
For something, anything, she knew not what.
She stretched toward it, desperate, insane and adrift in agonizing sensation.
Suddenly it grew worse yet, wonderfully worse. Focused and deep. The locus of pleasure filled, then spread abruptly. It conquered what was left of her separateness. Then it burst, awing her with its perfect bliss.