“Pardon me if I seem slow-witted,” he said. “Are you implying that if I correctly guess your costume, you wish to…go to bed with me?”
“I’m not implying it, sir.” She frowned, some of her giddiness fading. Had she overestimated his intelligence? “I am stating it quite clearly.”
“But I do not even know your name.”
“Anonymity is no barrier to bed sport. Indeed, it enhances discretion.”
“Indeed.” His brows inched upward. “Done this before, have you?”
She hadn’t, not even close. Yet to achieve her goal for the eve, she had to play the part of a woman of experience. One who knew what she was about and what she wanted from a lover, which Bea did…in theory, at least.
Intellectually, she understood the difference between love and sexual pleasure. The scar had done her a favor by tearing away the curtain of modesty that shielded maidens and, frankly, set them up for disappointment. She saw the truth of things: love was an ephemeral emotion, one that could not be trusted. To yield one’s heart and happiness to another was an act of ultimate folly. The pain of losing Croydon had taught her that lesson, as had watching her parents’ blissful union crumble before her eyes.
Sexual pleasure, on the other hand, was more akin to an appetite. Like hunger or thirst. If Bea was honest—and she made it a habit not to lie to herself—she’d had cravings of a carnal nature for years, since her first kiss. While her dreams of love had turned to ashes, her needs still remained.
Tonight would allow her to finally satisfy her curiosity. As long as she was clear in her mind that this rendezvous was a physical thing only, with no expectation of anything more, no harm would come of it. All she needed to do was stay in control of the situation and her emotions, two things she’d learned to do very well.
She ran her finger along the edge of the desk, making the movement casual. “I prefer to be direct in all matters, sir. I am not looking for entanglements, merely an evening of pleasure. If that offends you—”
“Only a madman would be offended to be approached by a beautiful lady. Last time I checked, I’m not a candidate for Bedlam.” His smile managed to be both boyish and sensual. “Although, come to think of it, that is probably what a Bedlamite would say.”
“You seem in full possession of your faculties.”
“Now that I’ve lured you into complacency,” he said with a wink, “may I take a closer look at your costume?”
Here’s your chance. Take it.
Screwing her courage to the sticking place, she left the safety of the desk and went to the door, locking it with a decisive click. If this was going where she hoped it would, she wanted no interruptions. She rejoined the stranger, who was now regarding her with a bemused expression. Waving a hand at her gown, she indicated that he should look his fill.
He circled her without haste. His scrutiny was masculine and courteous. His gaze had a startling effect on her: it felt like a physical touch, a caress that caused her blood to rush in her veins, goose pimples prickling her skin.
When he reached the back of her, she twisted her head to see his reaction. The few men who’d bothered to look at the back of her dress hadn’t spent much time doing so, seeing naught of interest in the folds of plain black silk. Would this stranger be different?
She held her breath as he raised a large hand, stretching it toward her right shoulder blade. Anticipation danced along her spine. His fingers paused a hair’s breadth away from her.
“May I?” he asked.
That he’d asked permission caused something warm to tumble inside her.
“Please do,” she said softly.
Even as she strove to sound self-assured, her lungs pulled for air, fighting against the constriction of her stays as his fingertips grazed her bare shoulder. It was the briefest of touches, yet it conveyed many things about the man. The gentleness of his strength. His knowledge of a woman’s pleasure… and his enjoyment of it.
His fingers trailed lower, her pulse beating a rapid cadence as he unerringly sought out the line of camouflaged fasteners. His touch was as expert as her maid Lisette’s, freeing the tiny ebony buttons from their black silk loops.
He pulled out the hidden panel of silk. In the candlelight, the orange and white-spotted pattern had an otherworldly sheen, deepening her sense that something magical was unfolding.
“A butterfly,” he said in husky tones. “Red Admiral, I believe?”
“You know butterflies, sir?” she asked in disbelief.
“I know beauty.” He released the panel on the other side. Finding the silken loops at the tip of each wing, he attached them to the buttons located beneath the pleats at her shoulders. The rasp of his fingertips sent shivers over her as he spread her wings...literally.
“And the metamorphosis is complete,” he murmured.
He sees what no one else does. Her heart bumped against her ribs. He’s the most handsome man you’re likely to meet, and he’ll undoubtedly be a fine lover. Don’t turn lily-livered now.
Spinning to face him, she blurted, “Would you care to have relations with me?”
His smile faded, his gaze turning intent. “You are certain this is what you want?”
“I wouldn’t ask otherwise. If you are not interested, however, then just say so.” Hearing the defensive edge to her reply, she cringed inwardly.
After all these years, the memories of rejection still haunted her. How her so-called friends had turned their backs on her. How the veneer of acceptance had worn off, revealing society’s malicious core. The fake sympathy had been the worst of all.
It’s such a shame that Lady Beatrice has turned into Lady Beastly.
She shut out the mocking voices. Reminded herself that the man she was dealing with hadn’t seen her scar. If he rejected her offer, it wasn’t because he found her revolting.
Besides, he had every right to decide with whom he chose to spend the evening. His behavior had shown him to be a gentleman; perhaps he was only here with her now because he felt honor-bound to stay after she’d nearly been assaulted by the ruffian.
Her insides knotted at the thought. The last seven years had taken much from her, but she still had her pride. Sometimes it felt like the only thing she had left.
She leveled her shoulders. “Sir, you are under no obligation—”
Her next words were lost in the breath that whooshed from her lips. Shocked, she registered that he’d swept her into his arms and was carrying her to the desk. Setting her on the hard surface, he ran his arm over the blotter, sending its contents thumping onto the rug with thrilling imperiousness.
He moved to stand between her legs. Trembling at the feel of his hard thighs edging hers apart, she stared up at him. At his lazy, sensual, devastating smile.
“You could never be an obligation.” His thumb traced her bottom lip, causing the tips of her breasts to tighten beneath her bodice. “You fall under a different category completely.”
“What category is that?” she managed.
“You, angel, are a fantasy.”
He bent his head. At the first touch of his lips, firm and velvety soft, a swoony feeling swept over her. His kiss was like the rest of him: male and masterful, designed to please a woman.
He was better than a fantasy. Better than anything she could have imagined. And he was hers for the night.
3
She tastes like heaven and sin.
The lady’s lips melted against Wick’s with a curious innocence. At the same time, she returned his kisses with a bold, feminine desire that heated his blood. By God, she was a delightfully greedy wench. Equally delightful was her lack of coyness: she made no effort to hide that she was as hungry for him as he was for her.
Wick tilted her head back and deepened the kiss. He plundered her sweetness, her needy moan burning through him like a fever. He licked into her silky cavern, courting her tongue. She followed his lead to perfection, their flesh gliding and twining in a slick, hot dance that made his trouser
s grow tight.
He was hard…from a damned kiss.
Down, boy. No need to rush things.
Releasing her lips, he nuzzled her ear. Her subtle, flowery scent was as fresh as she was.
“Take off your mask, sweet,” he murmured. “I want to see you.”
She went stiff in his arms. “My mask stays on.”
He lifted his head to look at her. This woman, who hadn’t seemed discomfited holding a man at gunpoint, now had a thread of panic in her voice. Because she feared revealing her identity?
“You may rely upon my discretion,” he assured her.
“I keep my mask on. That is non-negotiable.”
Ordinarily, telling Wick that something was non-negotiable was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. He loved a challenge, and if there was anything that he was good at, it was bargaining. Part of that skill involved being able to read others: to know when to advance and when to retreat. Seeing the unmistakable anxiety in his lover’s eyes, he knew now was not the time to push.
Instead, he untied his mask and domino, tossed them aside. Her gaze roved over his face, her jaw slackening. Before he could decide if that was a compliment, she lifted her chin.
“I’m still not taking mine off,” she informed him.
Why did he find her streak of obstinacy so damned enticing?
“As you wish, angel. What about the rest?” He hooked a finger into the top of her sleeve, giving it a teasing tug downward.
She gnawed on her lip. “Everything else…you may remove.”
If only all negotiations were this easy. He had a foot in the door; he would work to gain more of her trust. For now, he wasn’t complaining.
He kissed her thoroughly while making short work of the buttons at the back of her gown. His erection tested the limits of his tailoring when he discovered that she’d come dressed to fuck: her only undergarments were short stays that ended beneath her bust, a chemise, and stockings. Not only did that mean fewer impediments on the path to pleasure, it also meant that her glorious shape owed little to padding or lacing.
He stripped her of everything save her white silk stockings. A man who’d seen his fair share of naked women, he felt his breath hitch at her splendor. Her arms crossed in reflexive modesty.
“No, don’t cover yourself. Let me look,” he ordered huskily.
He imagined her cheeks were flushed beneath her mask. Slowly, she let her arms fall. The small act of obedience burgeoned his already stiff cock; when it came to bed sport, there was nothing he enjoyed more than a woman’s lovely surrender…especially when the woman was strong and independent, as this one clearly was.
Trust was a gift. One that he avoided in relationships but welcomed in bed. When it came to tupping, he knew exactly how to use sweet feminine submission for his partner’s pleasure and his own.
Her hands balled as she let him look his fill. And look he did, feasting his gaze on charms so abundant that his eyeballs twitched in their sockets, trying to take in all that she had to offer. Her surging breasts, ripe and full, tipped with the palest pink nipples. The sensual dip of her waist, absurdly tiny compared to her tits and the lush flare of her hips. Then there were her long, shapely legs and between them…hell.
He registered three things at once.
First, she had the prettiest little cunny he’d ever seen. Second, she was as hot-blooded as he’d hoped, her shy patch of curls visibly damp with dew. Third, she was not a true redhead.
“Christ, you’re perfection,” he said thickly.
She made a sound, and he swooped down to swallow it as he pressed her back onto the desk’s hard surface. He ravished her mouth thoroughly before continuing his tour of her delights. He trailed his tongue along her downy neck, the graceful slant of her collarbone, the deep crevice between her tits. She gasped when he cupped the mounds, enjoying their firm heft.
“Such pretty nipples.” He teased one taut peak with his breath, enjoying her shiver of response. “Do you like to have them licked?”
Her long lashes lifted, her eyes wide. “Y-yes?”
“You don’t sound certain.” He blew softly upon one nipple, then the other, and her shiver became a full body tremor. “Why is that?”
“Because I…um, I suppose it depends.” She wetted her lips. “My enjoyment would be based upon how well the activity is carried out, would it not?”
Oh ho. Another challenge?
“Angel,” he said, amused, “you do know how to throw down the gauntlet, don’t you?”
Before she could reply, he set his mouth upon her.
Heavens. What he was doing was…indescribable.
A moan broke from Bea’s lips as her lover licked her nipples, going back and forth between her breasts. Prior to this, she’d thought that the sole function of that part of her anatomy was to suckle babes; now she realized there were other benefits. As he swirled his tongue, humid pleasure bloomed at her core.
“Oh,” she gasped.
“Was that a good oh?” He lifted his head. The wave of hair that had fallen over his brow enhanced his boyish yet sensual appeal. “Or do I need to do better?”
Earlier, she hadn’t meant to challenge his expertise; she’d only been trying to cover up her lack of experience. But if this was the result of her inadvertent words, then she had no regrets.
“You can do better?” she blurted.
He gave her a lazy smile. Then he did something with his tongue that made her arch against the desk, panting.
“You’re sensitive, angel. Have you ever come from having your tits sucked?”
She didn’t know if it was his wicked language or his question that caused the spasm between her legs. She surmised that by “come” he was referring to the clandestine relief she’d discovered in the privacy of her bed. If what had transpired thus far was any indication, her self-induced releases were nothing compared to the pleasure this stranger could give her.
Staring up at his handsome face in wonder, she rocked her head against the desk. “No.”
He flashed a grin. “There’s a first time for everything.”
He set his mouth upon her again, this time applying suction. The hot, deep pull tautened some invisible web of sensation inside her. As he suckled, pleasure blazed from her nipple to the apex of her thighs, molten pressure mounting at her core. He left to tend to her other breast, his fingers continuing to play with the nipple he’d abandoned. She whimpered as he rolled and tugged on the stiff bud while his tongue lavished attention upon its twin.
Desire built and built. Her legs moved restlessly, the place between them throbbing with desperate need. He gripped her hips, yanking her down toward him, and she gasped when his thigh hit her exactly where she needed it. Her hips moved of their own accord, rubbing her sex against the rigid column of his leg. The friction opened her floodgates, and she moaned as bliss inundated her.
When she had the strength to lift her eyelids, she met his intent gaze.
“Was it good?” His crinkled eyes and knowing smile told her that he knew it was.
“It was splendid,” she admitted.
“You’re splendid.” His lips skimmed the surging curves of her breasts. “I can’t wait to see if you taste this sweet everywhere.”
“E-everywhere?” she stammered.
He was kissing his way between her ribs, over the rapid rise and fall of her belly. Before she could regain her wits enough to stop him, he pushed her thighs apart, his big hands holding her splayed as he put his mouth…there.
“Heavens.”
She didn’t mean to shriek, but the hot swipe of his tongue on her most intimate place was definitely shriek-worthy. Strangled sounds tore from her throat as he pleasured her in ways she hadn’t imagined, not even in her most carnal fantasies.
“Devil and damn, you’re sweet.” The growly edge to his voice made her tremble against the desk. “As ripe and juicy as a peach. Eating your pussy just makes me want more of it.”
His gaze holding hers, he drag
ged his tongue up her quivering seam. She shuddered at the sensation and at his deliciously lewd language, which was enriching her vocabulary by leaps and bounds. When he licked his lips, shameless arousal poured through her. He was enjoying this as much as she was…well, perhaps not quite as much. Her head fell back onto the blotter as his mouth swirled fire over her senses.
He found her secret spot. Flicked that hidden peak of sensation with his tongue. Her hips bucked, a garbled plea leaving her lips.
“That’s it, angel. Rub your pretty pearl against my tongue,” he said in guttural tones. “Show me how much you like my mouth.”
Whimpering, she obeyed. She rode the slippery friction, faster and faster. Then he captured her pearl between his lips, sucking and lashing it at the same time…and she soared on a crest of pleasure once more.
He lifted his head, his eyes smoldering. He slid a finger inside her spasming sheath, and she jolted—not from pain, but from the startling sensation of having something enter where nothing had gone before. Her intimate muscles squeezed around his thick digit.
“Such a sweet girl, coming in my mouth,” he rasped. “I can’t wait to screw deep inside you, feel this tight, wet little pussy holding every inch of my cock…”
His words stirred as deeply as his finger, releasing a torrent of yearning. Years of suppressed need broke over her. At the same time, she clung to her last vestiges of sense: now that they’d arrived at this juncture, she needed to bring up a critical matter.
“There’s, um, something…”
She didn’t usually fumble with words, but this was an awkward topic, one that no amount of practice had quite prepared her for. As she tried to recall her rehearsed phrasing, he stripped off his waistcoat and shirt…and her mouth went dry at his virility.
His shoulders and arms were corded with ropey sinew, and delineated blocks of muscle paved his torso. Light brown furring covered his chest, the hair narrowing into a line over his abdomen, the trail leading into the waistband of his trousers. Her gaze dipped lower, her heart pounding at the sizeable bulge of his manhood.
The Duke Redemption Page 3
