by Nan Ryan
The first of those incredible kisses had occurred after two full weeks of spending each and every evening together. Laurette, magnetically drawn to him, yearning for the moment when he would finally take her in his arms and kiss her, had begun to wonder if he ever intended to do so.
Then it had happened.
His warm, surprisingly soft lips closed over hers in a sweet, undemanding kiss that lasted for only a few seconds. When he’d raised his dark head, he had looked into her eyes and said, “From the moment I saw you standing before the fireplace at Colonel Ivy’s party, I have wanted to kiss you.”
“You—you have?”
His reply was to kiss her again, this time longer, more intimately. His arms had tightened around her and he drew her into his close embrace. He gently pressed her head back against his supportive arm and kissed her with a slow, sensual deliberation that left her weak and breathless.
Since then, he had kissed her every night. And each kiss became longer, hotter, more stirring. And, as they anxiously kissed, their tense, straining bodies pressed insistently against each other. Laurette, sighing with pleasure, molding herself to Sutton’s frame, could feel her breasts flatten against the solid wall of his chest. And the steely strength of his trousered thigh would wedge persistently between her legs. She was intensely aware of his warm, searching hands as they glided caressingly up and down her back.
When at last they would tear their burning lips apart to gasp for breath, he’d say huskily, “I must go.”
“Yes, yes, you must,” she would hastily agree, not wanting him to leave, not wanting him to stop kissing her, not wanting him to take his arms from around her.
Ever.
Twenty-Three
Sutton was acutely aware of what Laurette was thinking, feeling, longing for, each night when he left her. He had very carefully, very patiently woven a fine web of seduction around the unsuspecting divorcée. He knew exactly how and when to make her surrender. To make her want to surrender.
The time had come.
She was ready.
So, on a chilly night in early February when they’d spent an entertaining evening at the theater with the Ivys and the Parlange twins, Sutton didn’t take Laurette directly home as was his custom. Instead, he took her to his own mansion, although when she realized his intent, Laurette protested.
“Sutton…no…I…” she began.
“Just for a nightcap.” His tone was low, soft, but his deep blue eyes flashed with an unsaid promise of pleasure.
Afraid of what would happen if she went inside with him, Laurette tried again. “It’s very late and I—I—” Snared by his heavy-lidded gaze and helplessly longing to be held in his arms, Laurette sighed and gave in. “Only one. Then I really must go.”
Sutton smiled at her and said, “The very minute you’re ready to leave, I’ll take you home.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” he said.
Once they were inside the silent mansion and the door was securely locked behind them, Sutton turned and looked at Laurette for a long, measuring moment. Then he stepped closer, took her in his arms and began kissing her. After only two or three kisses, she melted against him.
It seemed so natural, so right to be in his arms. As she savored his marvelous kisses, she was struck—and not for the first time—by the uncanny sensation that this handsome man whom she’d known for only a short time was somehow very familiar. She was comfortable in his embrace, felt as if she belonged there.
At the same time she was half afraid of him, uneasy in his strong arms. He was, after all, a stranger about whom she knew very little—a man she didn’t totally trust. Yet from the moment they met, he had effortlessly exercised a powerful hold over her. She felt defenseless against his potent masculinity and had found it impossible to fight her deep attraction to him.
Sutton deepened his kiss and any lingering doubts plaguing Laurette were temporarily forgotten.
Standing directly beneath the chandelier in the center of the black-and-white marble-floored foyer, Sutton Vane began taking the final steps in his well-planned, unemotional seduction of Laurette Howard Tigart.
Overwhelmed by his smooth, slow sensual assault, Laurette felt herself losing control, knew what was going to happen if she was not careful. Suddenly, she was uneasy again. She felt as if she were in imminent danger. All at once his very image was both evil and erotic. Powerfully provocative. This man whose kisses she craved was, she feared, quite capable of making her lose her head, of behaving irresponsibly. Of causing her to surrender to his dark, irresistible sexuality. Should that happen, she would surely suffer for her unwise indiscretion.
She was no fool. She knew that she was not the only woman in Sutton’s life. And would never be. He loved and was loved by many beautiful women.
Laurette abruptly tore her kiss-swollen lips from Sutton’s and raised her hands to push on his chest. He knew she was plagued with doubt and indecision. So he wisely put her fears into words.
“My dear, you’re afraid of me,” he said, as if hurt by the offensive idea.
“No, no I—I’m not,” she said, shaking her head.
Sutton lifted his hands, gently cupped her pale cheeks, skimmed the tips of his thumbs over her bottom lip and said, “You fear me, darling, but there’s no need. You’re safe here with me.” He drew her closer, bent his dark head and murmured, “Kiss me. Kiss me and tell me you’re not afraid.”
Then his lips were on hers again, warm and smooth and persuasive while his hands slid seductively down her back and over her hips to press her closer. Laurette felt his heart beating against hers and trembled with a mixture of anxiety and elation. She wasn’t safe, but she didn’t want to be safe. She wanted him.
Laurette wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered, “I’m not afraid.”
“Then let me make love to you, sweetheart,” he murmured and kissed her again.
His kisses were always stirring, but tonight they were thrilling beyond compare. Between the probing, prolonged kisses, he teased her, brushing a kiss to the left corner of her mouth, then the right. He playfully bit and sucked on her lower lip. He ran the tip of his tongue along the inside of her upper lip.
Then he wrapped a hand around the side of her throat, tilted her head back slightly and kissed her with such passionate aggression, such intimate invasion, Laurette was left weak and half-dazed.
His lips hotly covering hers, his tongue went deep inside her mouth to possess, arouse and dazzle. As he kissed her, he slowly, deftly began undressing her. Her heart racing, wits scattered, Laurette, at the conclusion of a long, heated kiss, laid her forehead on his darkly bearded chin and said, “Sutton, the servants…”
“…are in their private quarters,” he assured her, adding, “and they know better than to come out unless sent for. We’re completely alone.”
Laurette raised her head and nodded, wishing that they weren’t. Wishing someone would rescue her from her own unforgivable weakness. Wishing she had the strength to reject the smooth advances of this dark, debonair man.
She did not.
Nobody had ever kissed her the way Sutton Vane was kissing her. And nobody had ever undressed her with such skillful dexterity. It seemed so fitting, so normal for him to be stripping her clothes away from her overwarm body. She wanted to be rid of the garments. They were hot and bothersome and she no longer wanted to wear them.
She put up no protest when Sutton lifted her free of her dress. And, she shivered deliciously when, seconds later, he tossed her chemise aside. In minutes all her clothing had magically melted away. She was totally nude. Even her shoes and stockings lay on the marble foyer floor with her discarded clothes.
Sutton took a step back, gazed unblinkingly at her and said, “God, you are beautiful. Have you any idea how exquisite you are?”
Pride swiftly overcoming any lingering shyness, Laurette drew in a deep breath, purposely pushing her pale breasts up and out and tightening her already flat belly. She
took the combs from her hair and allowed the golden locks to spill down around her bare shoulders. She bent a knee, let her arms fall to her sides and stood there unmoving beneath the glittering chandelier, inviting his keen examination.
Blatantly Sutton studied her for several long seconds and Laurette blossomed under his heavy-lidded scrutiny. She hadn’t felt pretty in years. This man made her feel beautiful.
Laurette emitted a pleased gasp of excitement when Sutton stepped forward, swung her up into his strong arms and headed for the curving marble stairway. Taking the steps two at a time, he carried Laurette down the shadowy corridor and into his spacious bedroom suite. He walked through the sitting room and into the bedroom where a lone bedside lamp burned low.
Crossing the spacious room, he went directly to the oversize bed and gently lowered Laurette down onto sheets of silver-gray satin. He stood above, still fully dressed in his dark evening attire. Again he studied the bare female body stretched out below him as if she were a divine sacrifice to her appreciative master of desire. Sutton kicked off his black patent leather shoes, got into bed beside her and began to provide ardent physical pleasure, using only his hands and his mouth.
Laurette, stretching, wiggling, sighing, couldn’t believe such incredible ecstasy could be derived from lying naked with a fully clothed man. She tingled from head to toe as his talented lips pressed hot, wet kisses to her cheeks, her chin, her throat, her shoulders.
She was puzzled when, his lips tracing her collarbone, he urged an arm above her head. She shivered when he kissed the inside of her elbow. And was startled when his burning lips trailed downward and settled in the warm hollow of her underarm.
Her bottom lip now caught between her teeth, Laurette couldn’t believe it when she felt his mouth open and his tongue stroke her. She would never have imagined that he would dare kiss her there. Or that it would feel so good. His silky black beard was delightfully ticklish against her sensitive skin and it was all she could do to keep from whimpering with pleasure.
His mouth left her underarm and settled on her parted lips. And, as he kissed her, he managed—she would always wonder how—to turn her over so that she was no longer on her back, but lying on her stomach. It was quite a feat because throughout the lithe maneuver, his lean hands enticingly caressed her bare flesh and his sultry lips never left hers.
Only when the turn was completed and she was lying fully on her stomach, did his mouth leave her lips. She automatically undulated when his hand swept down her back and cupped her left buttock. She shivered from his touch and from the luscious feel of the sleek, soft satin beneath her tingling breasts and belly.
“I am,” he told her, “going to kiss you all over.”
“The lamp…the light,” she said, thrilled by the proposal, embarrassed at the idea of experiencing such intimacy in a lighted room. “Please, Sutton.”
“If you’d feel more comfortable,” he said as he leaned up and blew out the lamp.
He didn’t mind. He could see clearly in the darkness. Years in the pitch-black dungeon had made it possible. His eyes gleamed as an animal’s when he swept her long blond hair aside, leaned down and kissed the sensitive nape of her neck. Then her shoulders. Her slender arms. Her delicate hands.
He moved to her beautiful back, pressing kisses up and down her spine. He gripped her hips lightly and teasingly kissed the twin dimples atop the beginning swell of her buttocks.
Her head turned to the side on a satin-cased pillow, eyes half-closed, Laurette was astounded when she felt the tip of his sleek tongue delve in the crevice of her bare bottom. But she didn’t object. Nor did she object when his ticklish bearded face paid homage to each rounded cheek before gliding down over her thighs. She learned that the backs of her knees were highly sensitive as he kissed them and she was grateful for the darkness so that he couldn’t see the foolish smile on her face.
Or so she thought.
His open mouth descended down the calves of her legs and to her slender ankles. He lifted each foot from the bed and sprinkled kisses over the soft heel, the high instep and each toe.
When at last his mouth had caressed the very last toe, he lifted his dark head and said, “Turn over, sweetheart.”
Laurette felt her heart lurch. Her eyes had become adjusted to the shadowy darkness. She could see better now. The light from the sitting room was spilling into the bedroom. She considered requesting that he turn out all the lamps, but didn’t. She turned onto her back and looked up to see his eyes gleaming in the shadows. His wide lips were gleaming, too, and she tensed with anticipation, eager to have that burning mouth back on her tingling flesh.
Twenty-Four
She didn’t have to wait long.
Seated facing her, with an arm on either side of her body, Sutton bent his dark head and placed a kiss in the hollow of her throat. She swallowed with growing excitement. And then sighed with pleasure as he nibbled and nuzzled his way down to her breasts. His neatly clipped beard and the silky raven hair falling over his forehead were brushing her skin as he kissed her, adding to her stimulation. Flinging her arms above her head, Laurette surged against him, pushing her chest out, drawing her belly in until it was concave.
Soon she was almost sobbing with frustrated need when, pressing wet, plucking kisses all around the circumference of her left breast, Sutton mysteriously left the nipple untouched. Unkissed. Laurette bit her lip to keep from begging.
Was something wrong? Did he hold some deep-seated aversion to kissing a woman’s nipples? She almost panicked at the prospect. She was highly aroused and her nipples were rigid and aching, standing up in twin points of stinging sensation.
Please, she silently entreated, twisting her body in an attempt to position her nipple against his open lips. It didn’t work. He acted as if he hadn’t noticed, moving on to the other breast, kissing a path completely around it, pointedly neglecting the nipple.
Laurette clamped her teeth together to keep from moaning as his lips moved down over her rib cage and to her waist. He brushed openmouthed kisses against her prominent hipbones, to her flat, quivering stomach, to her pale thighs, her tightly closed legs. Laurette’s shoulder blades lifted from the bed and she held her breath as he lingered on her lower belly, his tongue tracing the fine line of pale hair going down from her naval.
But, when he reached the triangle of golden coils below, he moved his hot face over to the outside of her thigh and began trailing his kisses down her left leg. Laurette sighed, squirmed and breathed through her mouth as he slid farther down the bed and his lips languidly kissed a path to her knees, then glided down her shins.
Her heart stopped entirely when his mouth abruptly left her flesh and he sat up. She gave him a questioning look. For an instant she was terrified that the intoxicating lovemaking was over, that he was going to leave her like this. Aroused. Yearning. Hurting. He had meticulously avoided the very places on her tense, vibrating body that most needed his healing kisses.
And then, in one, swift fluid movement Sutton lifted her left leg over his head and was sitting between her parted thighs. He then leaned down, gripped her upper arms and drew her up into a sitting position, facing him.
His eyes aglow, he said softly, his voice a low caress, “What exactly is the old maxim? ‘Always save the best till last.”’
She couldn’t answer, couldn’t make a sound.
He slowly lowered his head and his mouth closed over and captured a pebble-hard nipple. Laurette’s head fell back and all the breath left her body.
“Yes,” she breathed, “oh, yes,” as he kissed the nipple, circled it with his tongue, nibbled on it with his gleaming white teeth, then sucked until she could feel the fierce tugging not only at her breast, but between her legs as well.
He must have known because when he switched to the other breast, he slid a hand down her contracting belly and slipped his long fingers into the blond curls of her groin. While his lips pulled provocatively on her nipple, his middle finger parted the golden
coils and lightly touched the pulsing button of glistening flesh between.
Laurette winced, then whimpered with pleasure. He continued to lick and suckle her nipple while with one dexterous finger, he slowly, gently circled the pulse point of all her raging desire.
When at last his mouth left her breast and he raised his head, Laurette began to sag weakly back to the pillows. But he stopped her.
“No,” he said, his hand still between her legs, toying, caressing, “don’t lie down just yet. And don’t close your eyes. Watch me make love to you, sweetheart. It will increase your pleasure. And mine.”
Her breath now coming in shallow little spurts, Laurette tentatively lowered her gaze to where his hand was touching her. He was right. Seeing his lean, long-fingered hand intimately caressing her made it all the more thrilling. She watched for a long moment, then lifted her eyes to meet his.
“Would you like me to put my mouth where my hand now is?” he asked.
Appalled, she whispered, “Sutton, that’s…inde-cent.”
“But do you want it?”
She gave no reply. While the suggestion shocked her, she was in such a state of high arousal, the shameful idea greatly appealed to her. She imagined that it would feel wonderful to have him kiss her there. Still, she wasn’t about to say she wanted it. She wasn’t that much of a shameless wanton.
“More than anything, darling,” he said in a low, husky voice, “I want to kiss this sweet, most feminine part of your beautiful body. I want to smell you, taste you, pleasure you.” His gleaming eyes bore directly into hers. “But, not unless you want it, too.” He moved his hand from between her legs, placed it on her waist. “Tell me, sweetheart.”
Laurette couldn’t help herself. She supposed such behavior was truly depraved, perhaps even perverted. But he had her at a fever pitch. Her tense, hot body was crying out for his touch, anywhere and everywhere. She wanted what he had suggested. Wanted to feel his burning mouth between her legs. Yes, she wanted it. Had to have it. Couldn’t live another second if he didn’t do it.
