“The mutton is ready right now,” Louise said.
“I detest mutton. And I like the lady the way she is. She doesn’t need any.” His endearing compliment wrapped around her heart. Jules leaned in and near her ear he said, “For the next hour, I’ll make you forget about food and fatigue. Afterward, I’ll have a meal fit for royalty brought to us.” He pulled back. The devilish look in his eyes caused her insides to dance. “What say you? Do we stay down here and dine? Or do we proceed upstairs?”
Vincent and Agnes moved closer to Louise. They awaited Sabine’s reply.
If she chose to dine with him here, their laced meal would soon see Jules unconscious. This ordeal would finally be over. Proceeding upstairs would only prolong the inevitable. An hour alone with him . . . That would only make matters worse. No?
Feeling her family’s gaze bearing down on her, aware they were confident of what responsible, sensible Sabine’s answer would be, her decision suddenly became clear.
She smiled into his handsome face. “Why would I want food, when I can have you?” she said.
He grinned.
Her family’s jaws dropped.
Jules placed her hand on the crook of his arm and escorted her toward the stairs.
“But—But . . . are you certain you wouldn’t rather eat here?” Louise asked, her tone tinged with a measure of alarm.
“Quite certain,” Sabine responded coolly. Without a backward glance, she kept walking. She couldn’t stop smiling. For once she wasn’t self-sacrificing. She was doing something solely for her. What she wanted to do, and what she wanted more than anything was to enjoy him one final time.
Why hasten back to reality when she could linger awhile longer in the realm of dreams?
11
The moment Jules closed the door and removed his baldric, she launched herself at him and flung her arms around his neck.
Unprepared, his back hit the wall. He grunted on impact. She sealed her lips to his and devoured his mouth, starved for his taste. He trapped her face between his hands, angled her head, and possessed her mouth, kissing her with inebriating intensity, making her sex leak and ache. Each tantalizing stroke of his tongue spiked her fever. Her clit pulsed harder. He was more potent than any of Agnes’s aphrodisiacs could ever be.
She had an hour to enjoy her Dark Prince, to lose herself in the fantasy, and nothing was going to distract her from that.
Not even her meddling family.
She’d locked herself in a prison of numbness and hadn’t realized how badly she needed to escape until he’d touched her.
Blindly, she reached for the closure on his breeches, desperate to touch his skin, to run her hands over his solid chest and muscled abdomen. Her shaky hands fumbled. Just as she was about to tear them open, he spun her around and shoved her hard against the wall. Her gasp was muted by his mouth.
Gripping her hips, he lifted her and wrapped her legs around his waist.
His hands were on her bottom. The hard bulge in his breeches was now pressed against her needy sex. He rolled his hips, grinding himself slowly against her private flesh. She whimpered, her head falling back against the wall, overwhelmed by the physical yearnings coursing through her blood. She’d never felt so out of control. So consumed with desire.
“Tell me what you want.” His voice stroked her overstimulated nerve endings. “Let me hear you say it.”
What she wanted . . . She wanted to forget and pretend. She was a great pretender. She pretended she held out hope for a better day. She pretended to have strength and the desire to carry on as one misery-filled year without Isabelle bled into the next. And at this very moment, she pretended he was her Dark Prince. That she was his. And the past had never happened.
Refusing to delve into the error of her actions and thoughts, she cupped his face. “I want you to make the world go away,” she said against his mouth, “just as you did before. Take me. Hurry.”
Smiling, he stroked his solid shaft against her sex again, drawing a moan from her. “Pretty forest fairy, I’m going to show you how to prolong the pleasure. How to savor it.” He kissed along her jaw to that spine-tingling spot just under her ear. “There’s no need to hurry.”
Prolong? She closed her eyes. She could barely form words, her heart as erratic as her breathing. “There’s no time for that . . . I want to do this . . . twice . . . and after that . . . once more. We only have an hour . . .”
His soft laugh tickled her neck. “We have all night. Not to mention the next few days together.”
Her heart sank. No, they didn’t. She turned his face to hers and had his mouth again. Like a moth to the flame, she couldn’t resist its enticing heat and wriggled against his hard cock.
“Jules,” she said between kisses, “we can proceed slower, as long as you define ‘slower’ as ‘quick and soon.’ ”
That drew another chuckle. “Patience . . . I know you want to come, and you will . . . in due time.”
Jules could tell she didn’t care for the words “in due time” or “patience.” Her heels were delightfully digging into the small of his back and her soft derrière was wiggling in his hands, as she tried to rub her clit against his cock. Unable to contain the urge. Famished for the friction.
Jésus-Christ, he loved how fiery she was.
She was determined to hasten matters along. He was determined to thwart her efforts. A sexual contest of wills. How delicious was that?
“Your nipples are hard, begging for attention.” He didn’t need to see them to know. “They need to be sucked, don’t they?” That stilled her.
Panting, her cheeks pink, she shivered and gave him a shaky nod.
He fought back his smile. She loved having her luscious tits fondled. Loved it even more when he had one of those ultrasensitive teats in his mouth.
“Open your bodice and offer them to me.”
In an instant, she was yanking at her clothing, opening, shoving, pulling her chemise down under her breasts.
Her pretty pebbled tips made his mouth water. He gave each one a soft suck, enjoying the sharp arching of her body and her little mew.
“Is your pretty cunt wet, Elise?”
“Open your breeches and find out.”
A chuckle rumbled from his chest. There were so many things he liked about her. He liked her company. He liked how she’d brought sexual pleasure back into his life. Hell, he’d enjoyed every moment of his time with her. She was adorably bold, beautiful, and bright. Though he knew he’d never see her again after they parted, the notion left him with an uncommon sense of regret.
Holding her bottom with one hand, he slipped his free hand between their bodies and under her skirts. “You’re not getting my cock just yet.” Before she could protest, he fed two fingers past the slit of her drawers and into her tight wet core.
She sucked in a breath. Her hands squeezed his shoulders. Her sex was soaked, hot, so soft . . . and deliciously clenched around his fingers. His hard cock twitched with anticipation. His heart hammered harder. Holding back a load of come, his sac felt full and heavy.
Curling his buried fingers, he rubbed that sweet spot inside her vaginal wall. She bucked, the sharp novel sensation tearing his name from her throat. Dipping his head, he sucked her nipple into his mouth, lightly biting and licking the tender peak while he delivered measured strokes over the ultrasensitive gland inside her sheath, driving her straight to the edge of orgasm. Her legs squeezed around his waist. Her feminine walls quivered around his busy fingers. And he played with the pressure of his strokes, holding her at the precipice, her climax rushing forward, then receding.
“Jules . . .” It was a desperate plea. “I need to . . . I have to . . .” Her body was bathing his hand with more of her juices.
He released her nipple from his mouth. “Come? Not yet. Let it build. Hold it back. The longer you delay it, the more intense the release. Concentrate on the pleasure in the moment. Feel how good that is? It feels incredible, doesn’t it?”
&n
bsp; She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his. Her quick erratic breaths tickled his neck.
He gave her two stronger strokes just to make her moan.
“You like that, don’t you?”
She shuddered. He felt her nod.
Jules pulled his hand out. A soft sob escaped her. He walked over to the bed with her delectable form linked around him and sank his knee into the mattress. She let go and dropped onto the counterpane, her breasts giving a sweet little jiggle.
She came up onto her elbows.
Watching her pretty breasts rise and fall with each breath she took was driving him to distraction. He couldn’t get enough of them. Of her. She was the only woman who’d ever challenged his self-control during sex. It was going to require a measure of restraint to hold himself in check while slowing down his fiery forest fairy.
Jules removed his doublet, then tossed it onto the upholstered chair. His purse followed. The item inside was something he’d show her later, when she’d be more receptive. Right now, she was watching him hungrily as he opened his breeches. He pulled his shirt loose and removed it.
She was up on her knees immediately and flattened her palms against his bare chest. Placing his hand at the back of her head, he pulled her close until her lips touched his.
Her palms slid downward. His muscles bunched. Jules pulled off the ribbon in her hair and ran his fingers through the silky pale locks, silently willing her onward.
She stopped at his waist.
“Ah, don’t lose your nerve now,” he urged, his eager cock craning out of his breeches. He took her hand and pressed it to his prick. “Touch me.”
With only a moment’s hesitation, she curled her slender fingers around the base of his erection, her touch soft, her grip maddeningly light, and yet it sent raw heat licking up his spine. Leaving his cock ecstatic and ravenous for more.
Clamping his hand over hers, he tightened her hold. “Like this.” Resting his forehead against hers, he watched as he guided her hand up then back down his thick length, the sensations spine-melting. Dieu, he was actually throbbing in her hand. He released his hold. She caressed him all on her own. Emboldened, she found her rhythm soon after her initial awkward strokes.
The gentle friction was scintillating, sparks of pleasure streaking from his prick to the rest of his body. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, battling with thoughts of tossing her down on the bed and claiming her perfect cunt with one solid thrust.
When he met her gaze again, a smile graced her lips. “You like this.”
He returned her smile. “More than breathing.”
“I like touching you this way, giving you pleasure.”
“Good, because I want you to touch me whenever you like. Now take off your clothes.”
He stripped away her clothing and his with practiced haste and in no time had her sitting with him in the middle of the bed, straddling his thighs. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, kissing her hard. Her heated response was immediate. Throwing her arms around him, she returned his kiss with equal fervor. Impatient, she squirmed.
He gripped her derrière and stilled her, her body visibly quaking with need. “Luxuriate in each sensation.” He pressed her juicy sex tightly up against him. She gasped.
He groaned.
Cream from her core trickled down his cock to his sac, the sensation driving him wild. Thoughts of keeping her locked in their room, naked, until he got his fill of Elise Marquette ran rampant in his head.
“Up on your knees.” His voice was gruff, desire sharpening his tone. Leaning back, he lowered her slowly onto him the moment she complied, watching his cock slip into her slit and disappear past her dark blond curls. She tried pushing down to take him all at once, but he easily arrested her attempt and kept to his slow ascent into her snug moist heat. “Oh no, you don’t, chère. You’re going to feel every inch as I feed you my prick.” His blood pumped hot and fast.
Smoothly he glided deeper, her inner muscles drawing him in, until he butted up against the entrance to her womb. His growl melded with her soft cry.
A bead of sweat rolled down his back.
His cock firmly embedded, he fisted her hair and gently bent her backward over his arm, holding her immobile, and feasted on her breast. He had her pressing into him, rewarding him with throaty moans. Pleasure swept though her form in palpable waves, reverberating through him.
And nothing—absolutely nothing—in his life had ever felt more right, or perfect, than this moment. And this woman in his arms.
He released her hair, cradled her head in his palm, and turned to the other breast, lavishing it with the same carnal attention. Frenzied, she began thrusting her hips, desperate for the climax he withheld.
He released her nipple and pressed her back onto the bed, his weight stilling her. “Not yet.”
“Now!”
Ever so slowly he withdrew and then tunneled back into her warm silky depth. “Soon.” His body rioted for release. Raw desire burned in his blood. And the need to empty his cock was fierce. But he fought against it, basking in the stunning bliss. Each deep plunge and slow and steady drag was sublime.
Frustrated, she clenched her sex around him. The erotic sensation shot through him.
“Elise, don’t do—” She did it again, giving him another jolting squeeze that snatched the words from his throat. Jésus-Christ. “All right.” His heart pounded in his chest.
His control snapped.
He grabbed her hips and plunged his whole length into her. She whimpered her approval. He increased the speed and force of each downstroke until he was driving into her again and again with untamed intensity. “This is what you want, isn’t it? You love being fucked hard like this, don’t you?”
Her body convulsed. She vaulted into a climax so intense, she screamed out unabashed. The sound resonated in the room. Racing to a powerful release, he clenched his teeth, the walls of her sex contracting around him sending currents of hot pleasure pulsing through him. He rode through those wild uncontrollable clenches, unrelenting, reaming her down to the moment ecstasy slammed into him.
Come came barreling down his cock.
Rearing, he clutched her to him tightly and buried his face in her hair, semen shooting from his prick with unrestrainable force. A low groan surged up his throat as the magnificent rush went on and on, his prick pouring out everything he had until he was spent. Weak.
And awed.
Dieu, she was no one, born into a class that made her common, yet she was extraordinary. In a class all her own.
He heard her soft sigh, then felt the soft caress of her hand against the nape of his neck. This gesture should have become irritating by now, but instead, much to his surprise, he found it endearing.
Suddenly, her body stiffened under him.
He lifted his head and looked down at her.
Her delicate brow was furrowed. “Was I too loud?”
He smiled. “You were perfect.”
“Do you think they heard us?”
“They?”
“The . . . ones downstairs,” she explained.
He wanted to tease her and tell her that they’d likely heard her all the way to England, but thought better of it, given the uneasy look on her lovely face.
Her concern with those downstairs was slightly odd, but then, she didn’t have enough experience to have developed a casual attitude toward sexual encounters. She shouldn’t waste a moment’s thought about what people of no account—whom she’d likely never see again—heard or thought.
“They’re busy making our meal. Don’t think more of it.”
He gave her a quick kiss, rose from the bed, and walked over to the bowl and pitcher. He tossed the hand cloth into the bowl and poured water over it. Washing himself quickly, he rinsed the cloth clean and returned with it to the bed.
Smiling, he dropped down beside her and propped himself on his elbow. Softly, she laughed. Giving her one last light kiss, he then wiped her silky b
elly with the cloth.
She watched, chewing her bottom lip.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing.” It was a lie. He could tell there was something on her mind she was holding back.
Her stomach cleaned, he tossed the cloth in the general direction of the bowl, his focus on her. “Tell me what it is you wish to say,” he insisted.
A blush stained her cheeks. “I . . . well . . . like it when you bathe me.”
Jules smiled, lifted her chin up, and kissed the sensitive spot just under her ear. He wasn’t surprised. A lover’s bath was sensual. And so was she. “I have something else I think you’ll like,” he murmured against her neck. What he had in the velvet pouch for her would no doubt stir her further. He pulled away from the soft form.
Seeing she was about to protest, he placed his finger over her lips. “I want to show you something.”
He retrieved the velvet pouch and returned to the bed and stretched out beside her. Dangling the pouch above her by its satin ties, he asked, “Can you guess what this is?”
She glanced at the pouch and then at him. “No.”
With a lazy smile, he gave a shrug. “Then I suppose you’ll have to open it and see inside.” He placed it before her.
Bewildered, she sat up. Tucking her blond hair behind her ear, she picked up the pouch and opened it.
Her eyes widened as she pulled out the item.
“It’s for you,” he explained, lest there was any confusion.
“Me?” The word rushed past her lips in a breathy whisper.
“Yes, I sent Raymond to purchase it. I thought it was the perfect gift for you.” He touched the end of one of her long tresses and curled it around his finger. “A comb for your beautiful hair.”
“But—But it’s . . . made of silver.”
He hadn’t purchased a gift for a woman in a long time. It felt good. Especially since the gift was for her.
“A silver comb for a silver-eyed beauty,” he said.
The stunned look on her face was priceless. He knew she’d never owned anything so costly.
A Midnight Dance Page 13
