He kissed behind her ear, nuzzling her throat, and an idea came to him. With great reluctance, he withdrew his fingers, allowing her night rail to fall back into place. He raised his head to drink in the sight of her, cheeks flushed, mouth swollen from his kisses, eyes glazed with desire. She had never been more beautiful.
He took her hand in his and tugged her toward the chairs settled by the hearth. “Come.”
“What do you intend?” she asked, breathless, as she allowed him to pull her to the chair.
“Sit,” he invited softly instead of explaining.
What he intended required no announcement or warning. He wanted to surprise her. Last night, he had enjoyed a taste of her, but tonight, he intended to savor.
“Gabe?” She frowned at him. “Do you wish to speak with me?”
The smile he sent her brimmed with sensual intent and he knew it by the way her color deepened. “Something like that, hellion. Sit, if you please.”
This time, she obeyed.
He rather enjoyed watching his stubborn minx go soft for him, doing as he asked.
Gabe lowered himself to his knees, his entire body acutely aware of every sensation. The Axminster beneath his bare calves was coarse yet plush. His cock was harder than granite, pulsing and aching to be inside her.
Not yet, damn it.
First, he wanted to make her spend. To worship her.
He settled his palms on her hips and realized he had a problem. “Scoot your bottom toward me, darling. Until you are seated on the edge of the cushion.”
She placed her hands gently atop his. “Gabe…”
He loved the sound of her speaking his name. “Trust me. I want to bring you pleasure.”
Hesitantly, she moved. He pulled her toward him, easing her movement, until she was positioned as he asked. “Lift your hem for me, Helena.”
Her gaze never leaving his, she removed her hands and slowly bunched the material in both fists before hauling it up. The action must have taken her mere seconds, but as he watched, it seemed to go on for an eternity. Each part of her was painstakingly revealed. Slender ankles, shapely calves. Perfect knees. The pale, smooth tops of her thighs.
She pooled the fabric in her lap, keeping her legs closed. He began at her ankles, caressing her there, marveling at the delicate bones beneath his fingertips. Then gliding along her calves. Her flesh was warm and smooth and luscious. He found the insides of her knees and guided them apart.
He lowered his head to press a kiss, first to her right knee, and then her left. His fingers skimmed over her lush inner thighs, parting them more. She needed no further coaxing. She opened wider, and the scent of her desire mingled with citrus and bergamot to create the headiest blend he had ever known.
He caressed upward, lifting the hem of her night rail higher, until she was fully revealed to him. He took a moment to drink in the sight of her, pink and slick and welcoming, the prettiest, most decadent picture he had ever beheld.
And his.
All his.
He slid his hands beneath her bare rump, clasping handfuls of soft, womanly flesh that incited the fires within him to a crescendo, and dipped his head. His tongue flicked over the swollen nub of her clitoris first. The taste of her, as before, was sweet and musky and good. So good. His lips latched over her and he sucked.
She jerked against him, releasing a breathy moan that made his cock twitch. He licked lower, traveling down her slit until he found her channel. When he sank his tongue inside her, she cried out, bucking her hips and driving him deeper. Again and again, he licked into her. Wetness bathed his tongue. He lapped it up and then returned to her pearl, alternating between quick, fluttering movements and suction.
The raggedness of her breaths and the way she writhed against him told him she was already near to reaching her crisis. He nibbled lightly at her, then withdrew to blow a stream of warm air over her glistening flesh. For so many nights before they had wed, he had lain awake in his bed to thoughts of having her thus. Of touching her, kissing her, making her come on his tongue. Always, he had taken himself in hand, only to later wallow in shame for the desperation with which he lusted after his own friend’s sister.
But now, it was no longer wrong. No longer forbidden. Because she was his wife.
“You are so beautiful,” he told her, meaning those words. “I have never desired another the way I want you.”
“Touch me, Gabe, please,” she pleaded softly. “I ache for you.”
And she would ache more before this night was through. But her impassioned pleas spurred him on. He buried his face between her curved thighs once more, gently nipping at her swollen bud, then suckling it and using his teeth to abrade it in slow, steady palpitations.
He knew the moment he found the most responsive part of her, for she stiffened, her body bowing into his, and came on a low, keening cry. He absorbed each spasm rippling through her with his tongue, savoring this moment, the silken warmth of her quim, the sheer decadence of her surrender.
When the last lashing of pleasure had seemed to ripple through her, he withdrew, kissing her inner thighs as he went. His cock had never been this rigid, his ballocks never drawn so tight with the need for release. Hastily, he flipped her gown back into place and then stood, offering her his hand.
He was almost beyond speech, past all capability of rational, coherent thought. If he was not inside her within the next few minutes, he swore he would explode. Wordlessly, he led her by their linked hands to the bed.
She tugged at the sash holding his dressing gown in place with her free hand. But her fingers fumbled on the knot. Her lovely face was a study in concentration.
“I can do it,” he offered as she only seemed to tighten the sash rather than loosen it.
“I want to,” she said softly, almost shyly. “Touching you pleases me.”
He held himself still, heart pounding, as she used both hands to open the sash and then slide the dressing gown from his shoulders. The robe fell to the floor in a puddle around his feet. As they had the previous evening, Helena’s hands roamed over him, leaving fire in their wake.
Her lashes fluttered low, shielding her gaze, as her hands traveled with tentative lightness over his shoulders first. Then with growing boldness as she traced over his chest, down his abdomen. This time, when she neared his aching cock, he did not stay her. He wanted her hand wrapped around him more than he wanted his next breath.
She hesitated, one hand trailing around to his back while the other hovered, her fingertips kissing the skin just above his straining prick.
“Touch me wherever and however you like,” he told her roughly, hoping she would be as daring as he wanted her to be.
She did not let him down.
Nothing, however, could have prepared him for the light grasp of her elegant fingers on his length. She brushed over him, stroking him, her thumb circling the tip where a bead of his mettle already leaked.
“I want to pleasure you as you did me,” she said, shocking him.
Just the notion of her sealing her sweet lips around him, of being engulfed by the welcoming warmth of her mouth, was enough to make him almost lose control. He could not take much more.
A groan escaped.
She stilled, glancing up at him as she caught her lower lip in her teeth. “Does it not please you?”
“It pleases me,” he growled. “It pleases me too much, and I mean to be inside you, hellion.”
“What if I were to use my mouth on you?” she asked softly, giving him another stroke. “Or my tongue? Would it feel as wonderful?”
She nearly unmanned him.
Wonderful did not begin to describe the prospect. This woman was bound to be the death of him. But what a sweet death it would be. Still, he was not about to spend in his wife’s hand on their second night of lovemaking.
He bit back another groan. “That shall have to be an investigation for another evening. Tonight, I want you naked and beneath me.”
“But Gabe,” s
he protested with a pout that made him want her that much more.
He silenced her with a lingering kiss. That turned into another, and then another. Until at last he tore his lips from hers.
“Now you,” he told her, helping her to remove her night rail.
Together, they lifted the gossamer fabric over her head. And this time, it was his turn to trail his hands over every part of her he could touch. He cupped her breasts and dipped his head to take one of her nipples in his mouth.
“Gabe.” His name was a soft, hungry sigh on her lips.
No more waiting. He had to have her. Now.
He kissed her again hungrily, and then he led her to the bed before joining her in it. Her arms opened, her legs parting to accommodate him. He could not help but to feel, as their bodies aligned, that he was coming home. That here with Helena, her as his countess, was what had always been fated.
Like it or not.
He covered her body in kisses first, finding every part of her skin where he could set his lips. Throat, shoulder. The curves of her breasts and belly. Her hard nipples, and when he lingered on them, playing his tongue over each stiff peak as he had before, she moaned, her body bowing from the mattress.
Making love to her was akin to playing an instrument. The sweet melodies he drew from her in response to each touch, lick, and suck, intensified his ardor. And he could not get enough. She trailed her fingertips over his back, sending heat shooting through him.
“Sweet Helena.” He dragged his jaw over one milky swell, abrading her sensitive skin with his whiskers.
Her nails raked his flesh. Her lips pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Her fingers threaded through his hair, tugging.
“Kiss me again, Gabe,” she urged. “Please.”
There was no need to beg. His prick was rigid and throbbing against her sleek folds as he made his way back to her lips, sealing their mouths in a passionate union. Reaching between their bodies, he dragged his cock over her slit, coating himself in her cream. She was slicker than she had been the night before. Hot and welcoming.
As his tongue plunged into her mouth, he guided himself to her entrance. His control had been dashed as a ship upon rocky shores in the midst of a tempest. Licking her, bringing her to spend, her tentative touches, her unabashed embrace of her own sensuality, the sweet musk and perfume of her, the give of her curves beneath him… It all mingled together into one overwhelming sensation.
He scarcely dragged his lips from hers as the tip of him breached her.
“Ready for me, hellion?”
“Always,” she whispered, and then his minx of a wife’s wandering hands swept down his back to his buttocks.
Grasping him, she urged him forward.
And he obeyed. Or mayhap his body obeyed. He was mindless now. At her mercy. His hips thrust, and he was sheathed to the hilt. Her inner muscles drew him deep. The tight, wet grip of her almost made him spill. He could not remain still. There was a roaring in his ears. White-hot desire licked down his spine.
He pumped in and out, starting up a rhythm that only became more intoxicating when she joined him, thrust for thrust. So sinuously they moved together, one in body. Gabe’s fingers glided over her pearl, exerting greater pressure when she moaned into his kiss and arched into him, driving him deeper still.
Their tongues tangled. She tightened on him, her channel constricting like a vise, and he lost himself as the ripples of her second release milked his cock, draining him dry. On a shuddering groan, he planted himself deep, filling her with his seed as he tore his mouth from hers and tipped back his head as blinding pleasure washed over him.
He stayed with her there, pinning her to the bed, and could not keep from falling forward once more for another kiss. Bracing himself on his forearms, he sealed their lips. She kissed him deeply, passionately, their ragged breaths blending.
It had been the most passionate encounter of his life.
Reluctantly, he withdrew from Helena and rolled to his back at her side, staring into the intricacies of the plasterwork in the ceiling as coherent thought returned. Having Helena as his wife was dangerous indeed.
Chapter Eighteen
The strident voices of opposition so often ignore logic.
—From Lady’s Suffrage Society Times
“The utter darkness of woman suffrage,” Lady Jo Decker announced to the informally gathered assemblage of the Lady’s Suffrage Society. Bitterness and outrage laced her voice. “Can you believe it? He also called the politicians in favor appalling in their gayheartedness.”
“Who dared to write such nonsensical tripe?” Callie, Lady Sinclair, demanded. “And in The Times, no less!”
“Naturally, the coward remained anonymous,” Lady Jo said, her lip curling. “His letter to the editor was signed with nothing more than an M.”
“Of course he was a coward,” Helena said, indignation rising like a tide within her until her hands trembled under the force of her reaction. “His opinion is not one which he ought to take pride in. Little wonder he hides behind an initial.”
“There was also another letter supposedly from a woman who opposes universal suffrage,” Lady Jo added. “She was horrified by the prospect of a woman who loses the ‘weakness’ of her sex. Can you fathom it? She claimed all the wrongs which have been done women have already been addressed and that allowing women to vote will do us more harm than benefit.”
The Duchess of Longleigh spoke up then. “Shall I infer she, too, retained her anonymity as she attacked her own sex?”
“She signed her letter as A Woman,” Lady Jo confirmed grimly.
“She should have signed it as A Woman Who Has Abandoned Her Own,” Julianna added fervently.
“Indeed she should have,” Lady Jo agreed.
“Although I dare say you are being kinder than A Woman deserves, Lady Julianna,” Callie added. “In my opinion, something such as A Woman with the Brain of a Trout.”
“Lady Sinclair, that would be an insult to all river-and-lake-dwelling fishes,” Julianna countered, grinning.
Helena was once more gratified her friend had decided to join in the work of the Lady’s Suffrage Society. Julianna complemented their fellow ladies as perfectly as sugar to tea, whether it was for a smaller circle meeting such as this evening’s or a large gathering for all members. The ladies gathered laughed at her sally, seizing the moment of levity, before getting back to the serious nature of their meeting.
“These ridiculous letters have inspired me, however,” Lady Jo continued when their laughter had faded. “In addition to the periodic publication of pamphlets explaining the necessity of universal suffrage, I propose we begin our own journal. Just think of it, a publication written by us, meant for other like-minded ladies. A means of apprising us of the latest news more regularly than the pamphlets are able to achieve. I have already spoken with my husband about the prospect, and he is keen for his publishing company to provide all the printing, just as he has been doing for our pamphlets.”
A chorus of excited agreements bubbled up in Lady Sinclair’s drawing room. The notion of a journal written and printed by the Lady’s Suffrage Society appealed to Helena as well. It was an excellent idea, and a sure means of reaching more ladies than those who could attend their meetings, including working women.
“I wholeheartedly agree with your idea,” Lady Sinclair said. “Jo, you are a marvel, truly. Have you suggested your idea to Lady Ravenscroft and the Duchess of Bainbridge?”
Those two ladies were the founding members of the Lady’s Suffrage Society, though busy with recently born babes and not present for the afternoon’s meeting.
“I have,” Lady Jo confirmed. “They think it an excellent notion as well. My husband will print and distribute it free of cost as well, so that it cannot only be afforded by ladies of means. We want to reach every woman, not just those who can afford the penny to buy it.”
“I would be more than happy to write for the journal,” Julianna volunteered.
&n
bsp; “As would I,” Helena added, thinking it would give her some much-needed distraction from the state of her marriage.
And her inconvenient, hopeless, all-consuming love for her husband.
Which only seemed to increase with each passing day.
Who was she fooling? With each passing hour, minute, second, breath. Gabe filled her days and her nights, but a fortnight into their marriage, her husband still did not trust her. Helena could sense it. Worse, she knew that she alone—with her unnecessary, desperate lie—had caused his lack of confidence in her.
But she must not think of that now, those worries which had been weighing heavily upon her heart. Tonight, she was amongst friends. Their cause was good and right, and it deserved all her attention. Her whole heart.
“What do you suppose we shall call it?” the Duchess of Longleigh asked the room at large.
Petite, blonde, and beautiful yet soft-spoken, the duchess had the misfortune of being married to one of the coldest men in the Upper Ten Thousand. She was, as far as Helena had been able to discern, kindhearted and sweet. Entirely undeserving of the circumstances in which she found herself, tethered to a man she did not love. Though Helena had not often had occasion to speak with Her Grace, she knew from their few informal chats that the duchess was hopelessly ensnared in an unhappy marriage.
“The Suffrage Journal,” suggested Lady Sinclair. “A serviceable, yet explanatory name.”
“The Journal of Equality,” offered Lady Jo.
“What do you think of the Lady’s Suffrage Society Times?” Julianna asked the company. “That way, there is no mistaking the organization behind it.”
“They all sound excellent,” Helena said, keen to offer her opinion. “However, I do believe Lady’s Suffrage Society Times would have my vote.”
“I agree,” Lady Sinclair said.
“Ever so much more cultured than The Times,” Lady Jo agreed.
“Lady’s Suffrage Society Times is the perfect name for it,” the Duchess of Longleigh offered.
Lady Reckless (Notorious Ladies of London Book 3) Page 19
