God, he wanted—he had to be inside her. Now.
He was aware that beneath his lust, he was rather angry.
Some at her, yes, for being so irresistible, for having such power over him. But mostly his anger was directed at himself. The feeling of anger and lust—and maybe some fear too, because he had never lost his control like this before with any lover—swirled around and around, making him feel all out to sea, lost. He was drowning, yes, that was it, drowning in the pure self-indulgence of emotion. But he was powerless to save himself.
The only way back was through the current.
He closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. Then he opened his eyes and worked quickly to untie her wrists. He massaged her wrists a moment then caressed his hands up and down her arms. “You feel all right?”
She nodded, her beautiful blue eyes full of questions.
“Go recline on the other seat.”
He heard the resignation, the defeat in his voice. Damn, he hadn’t intended that to show. What would she think? How could she possibly understand what this moment of giving in to his urges, his passion, meant?
It was like a death of sorts. He might never be the same. God, this could destroy everything, all the self-discipline he’d worked so hard to instil in himself.
It could destroy all that he was.
And yet, he still couldn’t stop himself.
In the next moment, she lay there, all kiss-bruised lips and erect nipples. The rich green leather a perfect foil for her gold-brown hair.
She gazed up at him, uncertain, then lowered her eyes.
Bracing a hand to steady himself, he moved over her. “My beautiful girl.”
He tried to make his tone far lighter than the one he’d used with her a moment ago.
She flashed a glance up at him, her eyes glittering now with eagerness. In that moment, she reminded him of the Rebecca of bygone days, with her indomitable spirit.
At the thought, desire surged through him. The pressure was unbearable. “Come, sweeting.” He caressed her thigh. “Spread yourself for me.”
Then she parted those shapely, porcelain-hued legs, spreading wide her light brown mons. She pulled her knees up and parted her legs wider to reveal her glisteningly wet, deep pink inner lips.
He held his breath. The beauty of her—Christ, he had dreamt of this moment for so long.
“Raise your arms, place them behind your head and leave them there,” he ordered.
She moved her arms, slowly, achingly slowly, making her diminutive breasts draw up and her hardened nipples jutted invitingly. He stared at her, admiring her, devouring her until he just couldn’t help himself. He bent and suckled her nipples. Licking them, savouring their firmness. Then he leant back and touched her erect nub, rubbing gently until her hips arched and she bit her lip.
“Don’t come.”
“Oh God…” A shudder wracked her frame.
“Don’t you dare.”
“Have to…have to…”
“No.” He manoeuvred his tall frame and somehow knelt down in the cramped space. He hadn’t considered the need to kneel in the carriage when he had purchased it. Next time he would remember to get a larger one. “If you come, I’ll punish you.”
Chapter Seven
Rebecca watched as Stephen lowered his head. The lamplight played on the blue highlights in his hair, the yellowish glow made his white shirtsleeves appear more like ivory. The smell of the leather seats, of his woodsy-spice cologne, mingled with the unmistakable scent of her own arousal.
He put his hands into the apex of her thighs and pressed them further apart. Then he put his head between her legs.
The stubble on his cheeks bristled against her thighs as he moved closer. He thrust his tongue through her lips, into her core.
Tingling fire flashed up through her cunt, through her belly and then her whole body. She cried out and her hips bucked. Warm wetness slid over her like soft, sick velvet.
He tongued her nub, tracing it with circles. Gradually, increasing the speed. He entered her with two fingers, crooking them and pressing up against the forward wall of her channel.
“Oh…oh…” She arched, trying to get closer and closer to his mouth, to drive his fingers deeper.
He took her nub between his forefinger and thumb. Hard.
Oh, the wicked devil.
Inexorable spasms began to shudder through her body, building and building in intensity. Pleasure crashed through her. She rocked her hips, threw back her head and screamed with the release.
“God, God.” He spoke in a growling tone, the sound vibrated into her bones, sending a renewed thrill into her. He mounted her, the head of his cock slid over her slick inner folds then touched her entrance.
Her heart was racing and racing, and she was quite light-headed. Finally, finally. Oh, mercy. Finally…
He thrust in, with force, all at once.
The sharp, burning pain was brief and only served to heighten the sensation of being impaled, stretched to her limits.
“Oh, oh, oh!” She thrashed her head against the incredible softness of the seat cushion.
His hands tightened on her hips, his fingers digging in. He pushed and pushed against the mouth of her womb.
Pleasure thrummed in her whole body, up into her belly and down her legs, right down to make her curl her toes.
He pulled back then thrust in again with ferocity and force.
She cried out then arched up to press his erection deeper.
He withdrew all the way.
She gave a small shriek of loss.
And he thrust back inside, swiftly, so hard it rocked her bones and pressed her into the seat.
It wasn’t enough. Not anywhere near enough. She cried out and clutched his shoulders, digging her nails into his flesh. She could hear herself begging him. Pleading with him to press her harder, faster.
He took her then with a savage passion, driving in and out of her with speed and skill. She fancied the sounds of their intimate flesh meeting, of her wetness, were loud enough to be heard over the sounds of the carriage, over the pounding of her heart in her ears. His rough breathing shook both their bodies when he paused to rest. Then he was moving again, with all the earlier vigour, maybe more.
Her flesh began to draw.
He leant close, his breath blew into her ear, sending shudders through her, driving her closer to climax.
“Don’t come yet,” he whispered.
“Oh, oh…” She panted, clutching him as though she were drowning and he were her only means to survive.
He paused a moment, adjusting the angle of their bodies and then his lower abdomen pressed her erect, straining nub with each downward thrust.
Her cunt drew tighter than ever then released in spasms that were so strong that she imagined herself shattering into a hundred thousand pieces, burning up with white-hot pleasure.
His harsh groan seemed to echo distantly in her ears.
She came back to herself, aware of Stephen’s weight bearing down on her, pressing her into the cushion. His body convulsed with his deep, rapid breaths.
She was panting herself and each breath made her realize just how raw her throat was. She must have screamed at the end. The absurdity struck her and she wanted to laugh. She’d always thought that women who did that were playing at theatrics and trying to placate a man’s vanity.
She had never been a woman to actually scream during sexual release.
Yet, apparently, she was.
She clung to the humour of that when softer feelings tried to intrude and she resisted the urge to caress the side of his face or to let herself indulge in the nostalgia and tenderness that was threatening to overwhelm her.
She shifted herself.
He moved off of her.
And out of her.
Dazed yet uncomfortable as she lay scrunched upon the squabs, she moved to sit. Fluid gushed from her.
His seed.
The feeling was warm, wet, silky
.
She had forgotten how sensual that could be, for no man had come inside her since she had been with Donald in her early marriage.
What if she were to be with child?
Strangely, the thought didn’t send her heart racing with panic, as it should have. Oh wouldn’t Father be disapproving if she should turn up pregnant at this late hour of her life!
Stephen had recovered somewhat. He was leaning over her. He had a smile as broad as sunshine. He touched her face and murmured. She tried to sit but her legs were stiff.
“Ow!” She froze as a tingling set up in her legs and feet.
Maybe she was too old for games like this.
The thought disquieted her.
He massaged her thighs and calves. “I must get a larger carriage, eh?”
There was something too light about his tone. It rang false in her ears. Her heart contracted with a pang of foreboding.
Was he already regretting their liaison?
But the remnants of that excessive pleasure and release still ticked deep in her belly. And his touch was lulling. Filling her with a sense of well being. Safety.
Warmth enveloped her. Her eyes grew so heavy and she closed them.
Something weighty settled on her and the scent of his cologne and rain-damp wool wafted to her. She struggled to open her eyes.
“You came,” he said.
The understatement made her want to laugh.
She was too tired to laugh.
He smoothed his hand over her forehead. “You know I shall have to punish you now?”
She tried to look at him but couldn’t keep her eyes open. She hadn’t felt this relaxed or sleepy or…yes, safe, in a very long time.
Chapter Eight
You’ll hang!
Maria Seymour’s shrill cry echoed in Rebecca’s mind. She hugged her shoulders and tried to sink a little deeper into the china tub that was already a very cosy fit for her petite frame.
Stephen must have paid the innkeeper dearly for the luxury of the bath. And the warm water had felt heavenly to muscles that had been cramped all the previous night and this morning from the fitful sleep she’d had in the travelling coach. But now, disquieting thoughts had spoiled the pleasure.
During the night, she had awoken several times from intense nightmares of Maria. Of Sebastian Seymour, dead on his ducal bed. Of gaol, a cold stone cell where rats scurried and squeaked in the dirty straw.
Stephen had been all concern, all sympathy and he had told her, repeatedly, not to worry. He would ‘take care’ of Maria. He spoke in that quiet, calm tone that reminded her of the young man she had known years before in the Dragoons. And he seemed so self-assured that she could easily allow herself to believe that he would be able to handle Maria.
Yet, what could he really do? How much power could a baron really have?
Oh, what good did it do her to ruminate on the questions? By running immediately from London, surely Rebecca had bought herself some time. She must relax and enjoy it and save her strength in case she had to suddenly flee England or some such dramatic thing.
In an effort to focus her mind on something besides the uncertainty, she glanced about the chamber. This wasn’t the finest coaching inn that she’d ever been in. But again Stephen had said it was better to stay in a less conspicuous place. At least the food had been tolerable.
She opened one eye, slightly, and watched him as he sat at the small table by the window, writing in a journal. He was so intent. What was he writing about?
She arose from the tub, suds sliding down her skin.
At the sound of water sloshing, he glanced up. And seemed to freeze.
He had been gone from the chamber when she had undressed and entered in the bath. Now it was her pleasure to display herself for him.
She lowered her gaze yet, covertly, she continued to study him through her lashes.
On their journey, she had awoken at one point to find the carriage stopped and Stephen gone. Some time had passed before he had returned, looking quite pale and he’d replied in a curt tone when she had expressed concern.
But whatever had been the matter, he certainly had recovered the colour in his face, as well as his good nature. He had eaten a respectable portion of the beef stew and bread they had been served.
And an even more generous amount of claret.
His boots sounded on the wooden floorboards. He removed his coat and draped it over a chair. Then he picked up the linen towel and approached her. A pulse of excitement throbbed through the centre of her chest, causing her heart to start racing.
He offered her his hand. “Step out.”
She complied and he began rubbing her dry. Pleasure and a sense of well being began to build within her and a smile curved her lips. She had forgotten how nice it felt for a man to tend to her body in the small ways.
He brushed his fingertips over her shoulders, her upper arms, sending the most delightful shivers through her. “Your skin is like satin.”
His voice sounded as though he were truly impressed with the texture of her flesh. That surprised her. Aside from her hands, she didn’t pay attention to her skin any longer. At one time, she had conditioned her entire body daily with all manner of oils and creams. But that had been a time when she had placed such importance on being desirable. There had seemed a certain safety in playing her role as a kept woman.
But it hadn’t ensured her safety. Not emotionally.
He walked away from her and began unbuttoning his waistcoat.
She went to the bed and turned back the coverlet. A strong scent of soap was only partly alleviated by faint lavender. She wrinkled her nose then sat on the slightly worn sheet. The featherbed was decent. She settled in and watched him undress.
He pulled his shirt over his head then off to reveal broad shoulders and a powerfully developed chest and stomach that bore not one single ounce of fat. He was all corded muscle and leanness. So long of limb yet elegantly so.
In fact, long and elegant were the only two terms needed to describe him in totality. She glanced up at his face. Well, perhaps gorgeous should also be on that list.
He folded his clothes over a chair then proceeded to take a bath in the dainty tub. It was a delicate matter for him to do so without sloshing water onto the floor. The tub wasn’t made for his tall, masculine frame.
She watched him bathe and all the while, she wondered if he really intended to spank her.
The little nub between her legs throbbed at the prospect and that feeling of half-apprehensive, half-pleasurable anticipation fluttered in her stomach, dispelling the sense of foreboding and encroaching memories. Why not focus on something distracting? Something altogether more enjoyable than worry?
He had left the tub and was towelling his body dry. He was already partly erect and the sight was magnificent. A stronger surge of arousal swept through her and moisture began to seep between her legs.
Would he really?
He stared at her and she realized she was chewing on her fingernail. Embarrassed at being caught in this sign of nervousness, she dropped her hand to her lap.
Tenderness lighted his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. I told you, I have the situation with Maria all under control.”
She laughed softly and glanced down at her lap.
“Stand, Rebecca.”
This time his voice was firm. A command.
Excitement pulsed through her whole body, tingling into her fingers and toes. Her throat went tight with almost unbearable anticipation.
On legs that had begun to slightly tremble, she stood slowly.
“Show yourself to me.”
Oh my. Already. What would he think of her, displayed in the brighter light that filtered in through the dingy-white, sheer curtains? She was grateful to lower her eyes whilst she turned her body, in a leisurely pace.
“Put your hands behind your head,” he said.
She complied, making her small breasts lift and jut out. Her nipples drew tight. Heat poured int
o her face. From pleasure? Yes, certainly. But also some bashfulness. It had been a damned long time since she had displayed herself in such an intentional, formal manner.
Completing the circle, she glanced at him covertly through her lashes.
His face was impassive yet the pupils of his eyes were large, making his eyes look darker. He approached and as he did, her heart rate increased in a quivering beat.
He touched her left breast, gently cupping the gentle swell. “Christ, but you are beautiful.”
He stroked his thumb over her already erect nipple. It drew into a sharper peak. Tingling waves of heat coursed through her, travelling down into her belly and centring in her sex. She closed her eyes and released a sigh.
He stimulated both nipples and her arousal grew until her knees grew weak and she was getting quite slick between her legs.
He lifted his head. “You may lower your arms.”
She lowered them and then feeling awkward, not knowing what to do with them, let them hang at her sides.
Despite her excitement, a sense of foolishness tried to intrude. And he was so gorgeous, so much younger than herself. Certainly, he must be used to playing with younger women. Women with well-padded figures and statuesque forms.
Surely, she was too old now for such games.
“What’s the matter, Rebecca?” His tone was tender.
She realized she was chewing her lip. She stopped and tried to force a smile.
“Tell me.”
“You must have many young ladies.”
He raised his brows. “This is what is troubling you?”
Heat flashed over her face. “Yes,” she said breathily, then she laughed softly, releasing some of her rising nervousness.
“Young ladies are a dangerous lot. An unwary man may soon find himself wed or staring down the barrel of a duelling pistol.”
She laughed again. “You mean to say that you don’t dally or flirt with the young ladies? As a new baron, you must be highly sought after.”
“There’s only one lady I am interested in at the moment.”
She smiled, feeling a little apprehensive and not sure what he was going to do. What would he expect?
Perilous Risk Page 13
