Hunger rang in his voice. She glanced down at the bulge his lap. . “I could please you.”
“You please me.”
Unable this time to suppress a little sound of frustration, she frowned. “Why not, Stephen, why?”
“Shh, be a good girl for me.” He leant close and his claret-scented breath tantalized her senses. “Kiss me, Rebecca.”
She stared at him dumbly. She was offering him a French and he wanted a kiss?
“Obey me.”
The unrelenting edge in his softly spoken words sent flutters into her belly. A little laugh welled up in her throat and she placed her hands on either side of his face. Stubble prickled her palms.
She leant up and put her mouth on his. Again, there was the sense of shock at the lush firm-softness of his mouth. Every kiss with him would be like that. Pure sensual luxury.
But how many kisses would she share with him?
Sudden determination to make this one count spurred her on and she opened her mouth, tracing his lips with her tongue, slowly, oh so slowly.
Did she imagine that he was shaking?
Surely she was shaking. Oh God, she wanted him like she had never wanted anything in her life. Well, maybe if she pleased him with her kiss, he would relent.
She let her tongue snake its way into his mouth, teasing him, leading him into her own mouth.
Wetness flowed from between her legs. She moaned, deep in her throat.
He lifted her skirts to her knees. Plunged his hand beneath them and slid it along her thigh. He touched her mons.
She moaned and grasped his shoulders.
He nipped her lower lip.
“You are so hot and wet and luscious.” His voice was impassioned. The most ardent passion she’d ever heard in a man’s voice.
He entered her with two fingers. Quickly, harshly, almost brutally. But she was so slick, so swollen with hunger, that she spread her legs wider, her flesh clenching and clenching.
“That’s it, sweeting, show me your need.”
She canted her hips. “Oh, oh, oh!” She writhed and the fine leather beneath her bare bottom made soft, sumptuous sounds.
Tension built and built within her loins. “Please, please…”
“That’s it, sweeting, beg me.”
“Oh, yes, please.”
“What will you give me in return?”
“Anything, anything.” She shuddered with a pang of need. “Everything.”
“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.” He withdrew his hand and cupped her entire cunny in his large, long-fingered hand. “You’re going to surrender this to me?”
“Yes, yes, I’ve already done so,” she said breathily.
“Will you give me the right to punish you?”
A laugh welled up in her throat and crossed with a moan. “Gladly.”
He brushed her straining, aching nub with his thumb.
Intense star-bursts of fire shot from that spot, up through her belly and down her legs. She curled her toes, shuddering all over.
“And will you promise me your obedience over the next fortnight?”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Oh, my, I don’t know.”
He rubbed her more intently.
Pure boiling honey streamed from her sex. She curled her toes ever tighter and balled her fists. Oh, God, it was good, oh so good.
And she was close. Very close.
“Just say yes, my darling.” His deep voice vibrated into her bones, intensifying her rising pleasure.
“I think a vow like that is going to take a little more than just your thumb.” She spoke haltingly, between panting breaths.
“Be specific, Rebecca.”
“A promise like that should only be given in exchange for a good, hard rogering.”
He laughed. “You are a wicked girl.”
“Well?”
“When we arrive at our destination and we bed down, I promise I’ll give you a fucking you’ll never forget.”
“That’s hours from now.” She couldn’t keep the anguish out of her tone.
“So?”
“So, I might come to my senses by then, Stephen.”
“Hmm,” he murmured, increasing the speed with which he stroked her.
She writhed, working her hips, meeting his strokes, rubbing herself, frantic with the need to make contact with his hand again and again, faster and faster. Sensation flamed within her. Oh, oh, oh, she had never needed to come so badly. Her tension built to an unbearable degree.
The first licks of release stabbed through her. Feeling herself about to slide over the edge of bliss, she caught her breath.
He stopped and withdrew his hand.
She gave soft, whimpering moan.
“Shh, my darling.” He rested his hand gently against her mons. “You knew my rules from the start.”
She knew a sinking sense of desperation. “You want me to burn.”
“Yes.”
They both remained quiet then, with only the rhythmic sounds of the carriage moving along to fill the silence. Slowly, all that glorious sensation turned into a painful, congested sort of pressure.
Yet, maybe she could seduce him. Hope flared within her.
“Stephen…”
He smoothed her hair off her face. “What, my darling?”
“Let me please you.” Her softly spoken plea quavered with desire.
He caressed her head, lingering over the silken tresses.
Encouraged, she touched his leg. His muscles went rigid and he inhaled sharply. She began to slowly slide her hand up.
He grasped her hand.
Not too gently.
“If you don’t stop that, I will take your hands and bind them together.” His voice sounded so gentle but underneath lay the determination of a serious command.
Anticipation tingled through her, its intensity taking her breath. She took her other hand and laid it on his leg.
“It is not an idle threat.”
She slowly moved her hand with her heart pounding harder and harder and harder.
He grasped her wrist and then brought it together with the other one. He easily held both her wrists in one large, long-fingered hand.
It didn’t seem quite the thing to let that go, so she struggled and pulled against his hold.
But his grip was like iron. She had to exert such force that soon she was panting harshly, sweat rolling down her face, between her breasts and her shoulder blades.
He held her wrists and pressed her back against the carriage seat. His stare bore into hers. “Relent.”
There was something cold, hard, determined about his stare.
Predatory.
That was the word that came into her mind. She supposed she should be very afraid.
And she was indeed quite frightened; she had been under the surface all this time tonight. But the excitement, the lust won out.
God, she wanted to be taken by this man. She wanted to experience all of that hardness, that quiet, determined strength subduing her, pounding into her… Oh, God.
God.
She gave a few more half-hearted struggles.
He tugged at his cravat. When he had it free, he crawled halfway over her, pressing his bent leg across her thighs whilst folding the linen into a narrower strip. “I thought you were going to be a good girl for me?”
“You make me feel—” she took a quick breath and licked her lips—“wicked.”
“Wicked, aye?”
“Aye. Very wicked.”
“Well, it is a good thing—” he took her wrists, his touch was caressing, gentle—“that I know how to deal with wicked girls.”
He pulled her arms over her head.
She let him, though her face began to flame, for it was one thing to play these games with men when she knew exactly where she stood with them. But she didn’t know a damned thing about Stephen’s sexual tastes or where she stood with him.
He adjusted her arms behin
d her head and began to wind the linen strip about them. Awareness of how the position caused her breasts to jut made her nipples grow harder than ever.
He couldn’t help noticing. His gaze kept straying down, his actions slowed.
Hope flared inside her.
He wouldn’t be able to resist her now.
Surely he was a little aroused by the game? Even a man who didn’t tend to favour such games would find it arousing to bind a woman like this. She knew that much about men.
“There.” Did satisfaction make his voice a bit richer?
Or was she hearing that which she wanted to hear?
“Pull for me, sweeting, pull hard.”
She obeyed, tugging against the bindings. Or attempting to tug against them.
He had tied her firmly yet comfortably.
Expertly.
He had done this before.
He was making some adjustment to the binding. “Aye.” Warmth had entered his tone. “There.”
Definitely there was satisfaction this time. It was not her imagination.
He sat back on the squabs and watched her with eyes that glittered yet were dark as the ocean at midnight.
She couldn’t help arching her back deeper, displaying herself under his stare.
God, her arousal kept increasing. Her cunt clenching, her wetness slicking down the inside of her thighs. She had never known she could stay so wet for so long.
Never.
And she had done a great many decadent, carnal things in her time.
But she had never been this painfully aroused, or this wet.
For any man.
Yet, he just sat there. Staring at her. Yes. Appreciating her. Yes. But nothing more.
She ached and ached and ached for his merest touch!
He didn’t care.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She tensed her arms, trying to bring them up to wipe her eyes. But the bindings held fast. Hot humiliation flooded her face.
She blinked hard and swallowed several times, frantically trying to stop the deluge of tears. But her vision grew blurry.
Holy mercy! Never before had she cried because a man wouldn’t fuck her.
No man had ever denied her like this.
Really denying her, not just playing a carnal game.
But this man had denied her always. Refused to share about his family and his private stories with her. Refused to make love with her at Eastwood Place.
Now he refused her again.
He said he wanted her but she had no idea what his game was. It certainly didn’t seem to be about desiring her.
Chapter Six
The springs squeaked. The seat rocked. Rebecca caught her breath.
He was moving close.
Pouncing on her, to be more exact.
He grasped her shoulders. The heat of his breath blew over her face.
“Christ.” His tone was harsh, his grip on her shoulders tightened. His breath blew hotter.
Her heart was pounding. Her mouth was dry. She didn’t dare breathe. She couldn’t move a muscle.
Heated wetness—his tongue!—touched her cheek and traced the track of her tear.
She released her breath in a half-gasp, half-laugh.
He kissed and licked his way down her cheek, laying a trail of fiery, tingling sparks.
His breath tickled her ear. She panted, arching her neck, dying to feel his lips.
He fastened his mouth on the flesh in the hollow beneath her ear.
She gasped.
He sucked, hard.
She moaned.
He pulled back.
“God, Rebecca.”
She opened her eyes.
His look was so fierce, he was practically glaring down at her.
That certainly didn’t help her pounding heart. She took a gulp of air and held it. Waiting. Her gaze searching his face. What the devil was he thinking now?
He took a finger and traced the remaining tear streak on her other cheek. “Crying for my cock?”
It was as though she’d been stripped of all self-protection. All dignity. It didn’t matter. “Yes,” she said softly.
A pained expression crinkled his gorgeous face. He touched her shoulders. “Here.” He moved off of her. “On your knees.”
She went weak all over.
God.
He had relented. God. He had relented.
He helped her off the squabs. With her hands tied and her arms over her head, it was awkward. But soon she found herself on her knees on the carriage floor. The position made her feel girlish, deliciously reckless, wanton.
How many years since she had sucked a man to spending in a moving carriage?
Some time previous to Badajoz… Oh, God, no, don’t think about that!
She swallowed, hard, pushing the shadows back down into their crypt.
It didn’t matter. The shadows ran away as though they had never existed, for there had never been a man or a moment such as this.
Stephen was undoing his fall, jerking at the buttons and issuing several soft curses when his fingers slipped.
She bit her lip, a pins-and-needles type of tingling hummed in her hands and feet as she watched him.
Waiting for him to reveal his cock.
His fall was open. He was on the last two of his inner buttons. She began to shake, so hard she had to tighten the muscles of her legs to remain steady.
He pulled himself out.
Her gaze took him in all at once. The head, swollen and glistening with the seed that already leaked from it. Corded veins that she fancied she could see throbbing and pulsing. His shaft was impressive. Massive.
Her channel clenched, hard. The desire to touch him made her strain against her bounds and she had to ball her fists to keep from trying.
He was beautiful. Simply magnificent.
She was drooling. She couldn’t help it.
He put a finger to the edge of her mouth and drew the wetness across her lower lip.
“You’ll stop when I say.” His tone was resolute.
She nodded, afraid to do or say anything that might cause him to grow cold again. If he denied her now, she would simply die.
He held his erection up. Making himself look even larger.
He put his hand under her chin, gently, whilst urging her with a slight nod.
She leant forward until she placed her lips on the head. At the heated, velvety smoothness over steel sensation, she closed her eyes. He leaked, viscous, silky fluid that wetted her lips. She opened her mouth and licked him clean, lingering over the salty taste.
Heavens, it had been forever since she had tasted a man like this.
She should have teased him but she could hold off no longer. She opened her mouth wide and slid down on his thick length. She moved slowly, very slowly, savouring every throb, every ridge and vein on his shaft as it slid on her tongue.
She was swallowing him, deeper and deeper.
“Christ.” He spoke softly. There was reverence in his tone. He caressed her hair, his touch gentle, barely there.
A smile stretched her lips, making things a bit harder for her. She knew that reaction well from men. They thought because she was so petite, because she had such a petite mouth, that she wouldn’t be able to swallow a man’s entire cock. Especially if he were large.
Or very large.
She made an effort to relax her throat and she took the last inches of him inside. Then she moved back and forth, applying a slight suction, waiting to see how much of that he really liked. Men were different in that. At his low groan, she tried a little more.
He fisted his hands in her hair.
She let his length come almost all the way out then worked the ridge under where the head met the shaft with her tongue and was rewarded when a copious amount of fluid came gushing out. She laughed in her throat as she quickly swallowed him whole on one swift slide.
She redoubled her efforts, moving herself with all the skill and sensuality she possessed.
<
br /> He arched his hips and tightened his grip on her hair, pressing deeper now.
She gloried in his use.
Tears of relief and release were streaming down her cheeks. She had forgotten how much she loved this. How much she loved serving a man’s pleasure.
She had thought herself too old for this—or at least maybe too old to do it for any man worth servicing.
But Stephen was gorgeous, and wonderfully virile, in his prime.
Wasn’t she the damned luckiest woman in the world tonight?
Stephen opened his eyes a slight ways. Rebecca was watching his face, her eyes glittering in the lamplight, their pupils huge with desire.
Her timing, her pace, the nuances and degrees of her suction and pressure—God, she was skilled.
But it was her tears, the gleaming streaks on her lovely face, that threatened to become his undoing. He had never seen a woman be so emotional, so open during an act like this.
He groaned and angled her head this way and that. She moaned, deep in her throat, the vibrations carrying to him, threatening to make him come. He tightened his grip on her hair and pulled himself out. “Enough.”
She rocked back on her heels but kept her eyes down and she licked her lips. “Was it—”
“It was perfect.”
Her chest rose and fell with a deep sigh. “Maybe I am out of practice?”
Her voice was small, unsure, girlish.
He cupped her jaw, gently. “You known damned well you were perfection.”
“But you don’t wa—”
“No,” he said firmly, the quickness and sharpness of his tone more to stop himself from thrusting his hips forwards again and sliding back into her small, hot, wet mouth.
Her shoulders sagged a little and she lost some of that rosy-cheeked radiance.
She didn’t like stopping. He loved that about her.
He bent and kissed her.
She was so sweet, so gentle, just as he had remembered her to be. He caressed her tongue with his own. Her mouth tasted as sweet as strawberries.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about earlier, at the inn, about his fingers exploring the hot slickness of her quim.
It no longer mattered that he didn’t want the first time with Rebecca to be in a travelling carriage.
Perilous Risk Page 12
