Chapter 7 #3
"Perhaps I'm merely feeling somewhat... relaxed.
" Folding his long body into the armchair, he extended a hand to her.
Confusion distorted her brow, but she took it, and Lucien drew her into his lap, brushing the tendrils of wispy-fine hair off the back of her neck.
Miss Martin tensed, a half-glance back over her shoulder revealing her nerves.
Revenge had never seemed sweeter, though his means of seeking it had changed. There was just one little problem. Lucien brushed his mouth over the soft skin where her neck sloped into her shoulder, fingers working at one of the buttons that fastened her gown in the back. Pearl, of course.
He'd always enjoyed the mysteries of a woman's body, the sensations of learning every inch of it. One ex-mistress had even accused him of being a sensualist, and it was true.
With a sidelong glance at her, he tugged more of her buttons free as he leaned up to press his mouth against the bare skin revealed. Tracing the edge of her chemise and stays, his lips rippled over the indentation of her spine. Warm firelight set her skin to a softened gold.
Time to confront that little problem.
"You didn't come," he murmured, tongue darting out to trace the sweat on her skin.
Miss Martin glanced back. "Yes, I did."
"No lies," he warned, meeting her gaze. "You gave a good approximation of it, but you didn't gain your pleasure." Which meant she had won. In the moment, he hadn't been certain, but now...
Miss Martin's cheeks burned. "It's not always easy for a woman," she murmured. "I have a lot on my mind. It... It's harder to lose myself in the moment."
"Is it the way I touched you?"
"No." The light struck her fine face as she turned, revealing shadows beneath her eyes. "To be honest, it has nothing to do with you. Your touch is... pleasing. Orgasm simply eludes me at the moment."
He considered that. "I prefer honesty in all things. If you cannot seek la petite morte, then don't pretend you did."
"I won't." It was a bare whisper, but her shoulders relaxed, as if some weight had been eased from them.
"Then I'll continue to seek to wring soft cries of pleasure from you," he murmured, brushing his mouth across the smooth slope of her bare arm as he turned his attention back to her buttons. "I like a challenge, after all."
And everything about her was challenging. Revenge would be sweet, now that he'd fixed his mind on the method of it. I'm going to steal you away, my dear. Make you crave me, just as much as I crave you... I'll make you forget his name. Forget your loyalties to him...
The last button popped free and he slid his hands up the curve of her back, separating the gown over her shoulders. Miss Martin made a soft sound in her throat. "Dinner is cooling," she whispered.
"We shall eat soon," he replied, sliding her sleeve down her slender arm and tugging it over the tips of her fingers. "I'm just making you comfortable."
Soft light revealed the swell of her breasts thrust up by the pale pink stays she wore.
A little tracery of Venetian lace drew his gaze, and then his fingers, absorbing the roughened fibers of the lace.
Lucien let his mouth rove across the bare curve of her shoulder, his cock hard and firm beneath her rounded buttocks, as he drew her other sleeve clear.
She sat in a puddle of skirts, breathing hard.
Desire danced over her skin in flushed pinks and reds, and this time he didn't mistake it.
The problem then, was clearly not with his skills or her interest in him.
Lucien flicked his fingernail beneath the sleeve of her chemise and slipped it from her shoulder, leaving her soft and disheveled.
"Perhaps you are the meal," he suggested.
"I'd rather liken myself to dessert," she replied, and her stomach chose that moment to growl fiercely. Miss Martin flushed a becoming pink and pressed her hands to her abdomen.
Lucien paused, pressing a kiss to her neck. "Eat," he said, reaching past her shoulder and lifting the first tureen to reveal the white soup. "I wouldn't want to compete with your stomach's attentions."
Miss Martin looked thoroughly out of her depths. "Should I fetch another chair?"
"No." He rather enjoyed her right where she was.
"But how shall you—?"
"I'm not overly hungry," he replied, which was the truth.
They'd dined at the Prime's, and he'd only managed a couple of mouthfuls, as delicious as they'd been.
At first, the meals had been of better quality and frequent in his incarceration, but during the last two months, after he'd attacked the prison guard, they'd come barely once a day and were little more than gruel.
Hunger had been one of the hardest elements to deal with, though his body had grown accustomed.
Strange what one could learn to deal with.
He fed her with his own fork, cutting pieces of the minted lamb and sliding it over her plump lips, then spearing a sliver for himself.
The richness of the sauce was delicious, but somewhat overpowering.
Lucien contented himself with the bread, breaking pieces of it off with his fingers and ignoring the butter.
He'd dreamed of hot buttered rolls when he was in Bedlam, but the last thing he wanted was to upset his stomach.
Too used to nothing but gruel and water, he didn't particularly wish to spend his night writhing in pain.
Instead, he took his enjoyment in watching her eat. Most gently bred ladies had the appetite of a bird, but Miss Martin evidently enjoyed her meals. Granted, sorcery burned through a lot of an adept's energy, so she would need it.
Lucien contented himself with stroking the silky texture of her stays and watching her. She finished the lamb and he placed her knife and fork down precisely, as her head lowered. "What's wrong?"
"I cannot work you out."
Lucien let his smile show. "Oh?"
"This hardly seems like revenge." He caught a glint of the blueness of her eyes, smoky and violet-tinged in the near-dark. The type of lower-lashed look that stroked a hot hand through his groin.
And I am working you out, my dear. Miss Martin was an accomplished flirt, well used to taking the measure of men. She didn't like that she couldn't do so with him.
Hands petting her hips, he slid them lower, bunching up fistfuls of her skirts. Miss Martin sucked in a breath as he dragged her gown up over her head and raised arms, before throwing it across the room.
"Are you trying to distract me?"
"Is it working?" he asked.
A faint smile hovered around her lips, but then it died. "Perhaps." Something sad seemed to flicker in her eyes. "Perhaps I want to be distracted."
It arrested him, that small sign of loss in her eyes. He felt jubilant, but she was hiding something. "What is it?"
"Nothing." She shook her head. "Everything. I'm worried about Drake."
Of course. "He'll earn his just reward, I'm sure."
The look she shot him was razor sharp. Lucien tapped her on the nose, and she bit his finger. A reminder that she might have submitted, but she wasn't completely under his control.
And wasn't that just fascinating.
"You've been a very obedient lover," he replied. "If you behave, then you shall be rewarded."
Her eyes flashed fire, and Lucien laughed as he resettled her on his lap, reclining in the armchair with his legs stretched out in front of him and Miss Martin's head resting against his shoulder.
Gossamer fine petticoats danced around her legs.
He seized a fistful, and with a jerk, tore them clear off her.
A gasp. Then she settled again, her fingers twirling in the lapels of his coat. "You're going to owe me a new wardrobe, Rathbourne."
"I'll dress you in whatever you like," he murmured, brushing his lips against her breasts. "Just as long as I get to remove it all."
That earned him a wrathful look. "I'll dress myself, thank you very much."
Flicking one finger under the edge of her corset, he slid her nipple free and smiled at her. "You're proud and independent." Peaked, rosy flesh met his gaze. Watching her expression, he licked it, then drew it into his mouth.
"You would do well to remember that," she whispered, but her defiance died as he suckled hard. Ianthe gasped.
Lucien lathed attention on her breast before turning to the other. Every gasp she gave was just reward. The hand that caught his and began to drag it south made him smile. Then she cupped his fingers over the wet-slick flesh between her thighs.
"What do you want?" Lucien murmured, trailing kisses up her arm.
"Touch me."
"Please," he commanded.
"Please."
And so he did. She was incredibly responsive, incredibly wet. A flush of desire swept through him.
"Fetch another sheathe," he told her, pushing the dinner cart out of the way.
Clutching her loosened corset to her breasts, she did so. When she returned, Luc caught her fingers and directed her to her knees in between his legs.
"I like your obedience."
"Don't presume it will last," she warned.
Lucien smiled. "I don't." Reaching out, he plucked a handful of pins from her hair. "Put it on me."
The look she shot him was dangerous. Easing open the flap on his trousers, she curled her pale hands over his cock. Lucien's hand slid through her hair. With gentle pressure, he directed her down until her lips brushed against the tip of his cock.
"Suck it," he whispered.
Her tongue darted out. Tasted him. Lucien bit his lip. Watching him the entire time, she lowered her head, her warm, wet mouth curling around his erection and taking him almost to the base.
Oh, God. Heaven. His eyes rolled back in his head, his hand on the back of her head controlling the depth of her mouth. Miss Martin was no expert, but she was enthusiastic and that counted.
"Enough," he finally demanded, a shiver running down his spine.