Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Haven blinked as his words settled into the fiery hot, soaking wet hollow at her core.
Holy shit, is he for real?
Shouldn’t I kick him out, act upset, or scream or something? Isn’t that what nineteenth-century ladies do?
His hand slid from her neck along the hyper-sensitive skin of her shoulders, and down over her collarbone.
Screw that. I ain’t no freaking lady. I’m from the twenty-first century, damn it!
She turned from the window and slowly, teasingly, licked her lips.
She dragged her gaze from his erection, to his lips, to his smoldering black eyes.
I’m going to enjoy this.
Her smile deepened at the startled look in his lust-laden eyes. Her practiced expressions and body language turned the tables on this seduction, but his deep, black, burning look told her he wasn’t ready to give over control...yet.
In spite of her sorry life experiences with men, there wasn’t another man who affected her the way Logan did.
It scared her to death.
It brought her to life.
He pulled her closer. Weak-kneed and dizzy with need, she stumbled and fell against him. She brought her trembling hands up to push against his naked chest. She needed space between them so she could continue breathing.
A sheen of sweat coated his jaw, and his chest rose and fell rapidly. Eager to touch more, she looked at him, devouring him from the hollow of his throat to the waistband of his forcefully tented trousers.
Though the room was draped in darkness, but she could still make him out in the shadows—he had the most beautiful chest she’d ever seen.
Hard, muscular pecs met with lean, chiseled abs teasingly bisected by a thin line of coarse golden hair.
Until this point, she’d been a fan of the manscaped male body. After seeing his, her flavors changed.
Running her hand across the width of his chest, she smiled appreciatively at the racing beats beneath her fingertips. The coarse hair covering the tautness of him tickled her palm. Heat and electricity rushed down her arm and speared her limbs.
So sensitive.
Breathing deep, she took his scent into her lungs, hoping to capture its spiciness forever.
She ached to touch more and ran her fingers down over his pec, clipping a hard, dark nipple with her fingernail.
He inhaled sharply. She flicked her nail over first one stiff nipple, and then the other.
His groan was her only warning.
His mouth was on hers before she registered movement.
His mouth—
Oh, Lord!
His mouth was the immoral wickedness of Hell, and the unutterable bliss of Heaven, twined together, making unholy love to her lips.
She moaned.
He nibbled at the flesh of her bottom lip, and sucked the sensitive ripeness into his mouth.
Her knees gave out, but he pulled her closer, and used her utter vulnerability as a weapon—wielded with deadly purpose by a master seducer.
His hands.
Oh, God!
His caress slid along her ribcage. The heat of him easily penetrated the shield of her thin shift. She moaned again.
Too much.
Not enough.
His thumbs brushed the undersides of her swollen breasts, and she gasped at the burst of pleasure rushing to her hardened nipples.
Apparently, her moment of weakness was what he’d been waiting for. She opened her mouth to gasp, and his hot tongue rushed in to lay claim. Caught up in a blistering passion, she threw her arms around his neck and dragged his head down.
Not close enough.
His tongue thrust, hers parried. Though an admitted kissing novice, if she let her desire and passion do the teaching, she’d be mastering the craft in no time.
While his mouth busily turned her brain to mush, his hands turned her body into a flame.
His thumbs against the soft underside of her breasts slid their way upward toward her heated and expectant nipples.
The slow progression made her writhe, eager for him to touch her where she starved for his intimate attention.
She strained, pushing her aching breasts against his hands, begging for more.
He broke off their lava-hot kiss and said, in a deep, passion-heavy voice, “Not here.”
Lifting her as if she weighed no more than a sheaf of papers, he opened the door and strode from her room.
She squeaked in surprise, but pushed aside her mortification at the not-so-sexy sound.
“Where are you taking me?”
He didn’t respond, but kept walking, his eager stride eating up the length of the hallway.
She didn’t mind the hurry, she was burning. No time to rethink, no time for logic and reason to rip this moment from her grasp. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything, and she was damn well going to have him.
No regrets.
It took a few moments to reach their destination; an open bedroom door four or five down from hers.
His stride carried them to the middle of a large, dark room, where he gently lowered her to the floor, taking great pains to make sure each centimeter of the front of her sensitized body rubbed against his.
Desire flamed through her, setting her skin on fire. Every nerve tingled as lightning in her blood.
He let her go to turn and walk back to the open door, and she nearly collapsed. She glanced down at the ornately patterned carpet and steadied her wobbly legs.
The urges plowing through her were so intense she feared she’d never come up for air again.
So let me drown…I’ll die happy.
The door lock clicked. She looked up, and froze.
The dark, ravenous desire pouring from his tense frame overwhelmed her.
His eyes were the darkest she’d ever seen, obsidian burning brightly within the deepest, hottest pits of hell.
He was the Devil, and she was his willing demon mistress, starving for his otherworldly touch.
He walked toward her, and sexual tension rose with each step.
Step. Her knees wavered.
Step. Her thighs quaked at his look of insatiable hunger.
Step. Her pussy wept at the promise of pleasure, making a slick, warm mess between her legs.
Step. Her hands trembled, itching to touch him, feel his tight body, and encircle his hard cock.
Step. Her breasts swelled, and her nipples puckered, screaming for the hot wetness of his mouth.
When he stopped before her, the tension was so thick, desire so high, she knew if she allowed him to speak, she would be lost forever.
Placing her finger over his lips, their eyes met.
“Please, don’t say anything. I’ll die if you speak,” she rasped.
After a moment, he nodded, and satisfaction raced through her.
Smiling, she grabbed hold of the waistband of his trousers and led him to the foot of his bed.
The top of the mattress was so high she knew she’d be crawling into it on all fours, and then pouring out of it when he was done with her.
She turned to him as she reached the bed, let go of his waistband, and grabbed the hem of her night gown.
Watching her movements, his eyes narrowed, his breathing quickened, and his jaw tightened.
Her lips curled in wicked delight. He’d enjoy what she hid under her gown.
Hell, her confidence was well-founded—she was a motherfucking headliner!
With only enough hesitation to make his breath catch, she pulled the sleeping gown over her head and tossed it into the dark. Good thing she didn’t wear panties to bed. They bunched and pinched—and got in the way of tantalizing sexual play with a nineteenth-century duke.
Her smile died a quick death at the look on his face.
Raw hunger.
His gaze devoured her swollen breasts, her dark-rose nipples, the leanness of her waist, the thin thatch of hair along her apex, and the rounded perfection of her hips. She looked amazing naked, but she’d never felt so revered before.
He didn’t just look at her; he looked like he was committing every inch of her to memory, lingering over her most sensitive parts, witnessing what only his gaze could do.
Trembling under the weight of his gaze, she stuck her chin into the air and teased, “Do you like what you see?”
He didn’t nod, his burning stare was answer enough.
She whimpered. So close to breaking. “I’m burning up here, Logan.”
Her plea undid him. Within seconds, she lay face up on the bed and he was over her, his trousers lost somewhere between the floor and the mattress.
She moaned. His naked body against hers felt so good she feared she’d come just from touching him.
His hot mouth finally took possession of her aching nipple, and she threw her head back and cried out.
Kneading each breast in hand, his mouth continued to plunder.
Nibbling, sucking, and pulling at the hardened tip with his talented lips.
His mouth left the peak of one, and she whimpered, feeling bereft of his heat.
He found her other nipple and she threw back her head again, thrashing it from side to side, her hair sliding against the fabric of the bed sheet.
Everything her skin touched brought her closer to climax. The puff of breath from his nose or mouth, the tickle of hair from his chest or legs, the slide of his slick, hot skin against hers made the heat inside her grow.
His hand guided the throbbing, hard velvet head of his cock to her aching, heated opening. When the welcome pressure of his cock pressed against the mouth of her pussy, her sanity shattered to pieces.
The head of his manhood kissed her entrance, and he moaned, the sound rumbling through his chest like thunder.
Unable to keep from thrusting her hips upward to sheathe his cock, she pushed off the bed with her heels, grinding her swollen cunt against his knuckles.
The friction drove her out of her mind. She slid her hands over the hardness of his chest, the tautness of his back, and the rock-hard globes of his ass.
She dug her nails into hot flesh and smiled as his eyes widened, and a devilish grin creased his face.
With a single lunge, he entered her. The length of his cock slid along the hot, tight walls of her sex, and he threw his head back and growled.
The primitive animal sound drove the heat higher, made her burn hotter, turning the sensations sizzling through her into flaming arrows.
He thrust into her again, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, eager to pull him deeper, to experience the thickness of him fully inside her. She dug her nails deeper into the flesh of his ass, and held on as he thrust harder.
She couldn’t take it; it felt so good, so right—so wrong—to lie beneath him as his hard cock rocked her against the bed, her whole body pushed toward the headboard with each thrust. Even the heavy bouncing of her breasts felt erotic—even better when his mouth descended, sucking her nipples into his mouth even as his pace quickened.
Pulling his length almost completely from her, he nibbled her deep rose tips.
He plunged in again, and sucked her engorged breast into his mouth so hard she cried out.
Again, and again, he drove into her.
With each thrust, the heat within her grew.
The sensations burned.
The pleasure built.
And with a final hard, deep thrust of his cock, her world fractured.
Her screams were muffled by the thickness of joyous tears in her throat.
Her orgasm ripped through her as the muscles of her sheath tightened around his cock, squeezing it, hungry for his release.
His whole body tensed as he roared into the ceiling, his hot seed erupting into her, filling her.
His last spurt of come shot from him, and he collapsed atop her, his weight welcomed.
Her utter bliss only lasted a moment. A handful of seconds ticked by before he pulled his still semi-hard length from her. Though he lay down beside her, and gathered her still thrumming body into his embrace, she felt empty.
Throughout the whole mind-blowing sexual encounter, he hadn’t said a word. Though she’d commanded his silence before the fun parts began, she wanted to hear his deep voice dancing across the heated skin of her neck.
Long minutes later, once the chill of the room began to cool her hot flesh, he still hadn’t spoken.
Since the bliss of their bed-shaking fuckery still pulsed through her, she’d let the silence go for now.
If he wanted to keep quiet she would give him that, but one thing kept circling her mind.
“Who was she? The woman in the portrait. Did you love her?” Her questions would kill their post-coitus mood, but she couldn’t lie next to him in a bed he may have shared with the woman he loved.
No woman liked being the ‘other woman’, and if another woman, dead or alive, occupied his mind, she wanted to know.
Silence met her delving question, and tension rippled through his arms. He loosened his hold on her, and turned to his back, leaving her bereft of his warmth.
She sucked in a fortifying breath, and turned over to face him, immediately regretting even thinking the question.
A mask of bitterness, sadness, and disgust flooded his face, he refused to look her in the eye, and a grimace pinched his features.
Oh, God. What have I done?
Time to go.
Mindful of her nudity, but uncaring, she slipped from the bed, and gathered her discarded shift from where it had landed.
She pulled it over her head, and looked over to where he lay, staring at her in the dark.
They’d just had the most incredible sex she’d ever experienced, and now the fire they’d built together was doused by the icy cold water of reality.
What could she say that would take back the terrible questions she’d asked?
Nothing.
She took one last moment and looked him in the eye, telegraphed her regret at her words, and then turned and left.
He didn’t do anything to stop her.
The door clicked shut behind her, and he released a heavy breath and willed his skin to cool. Heat still thrummed through him, and he pulsed with the pleasure of his release.
He cursed, slamming his fist into the mattress, and then rose from the bed.
Pacing, he groaned.
Why did she ask me about the portrait?
He couldn’t understand why the answer was so important to her.
She was still coming down from the highs of her orgasm, and the first thoughts in her head were about a portrait?
Why didn’t I answer her?
He couldn’t.
She’d gone from hot, supple, and satiated, to tense, frustrated, and disappointed.
When he pictured her expression, he cursed again. He’d been so stunned by her question, he couldn’t form words.
He watched in silence as she ran from the room.
Regret in her eyes, and his soul in her grasp.