“With strawberries and wine?”
“For starters.”
She wound her arms around his neck, pressed her body up against his, and he went immediately hard. She undid him so easily, and he wanted to have the same effect on her.
“You seduced me from the beginning, Aiden Trewlove, until all I think about, all I dream about is you.” Her voice was low, throaty, sensual.
Lifting up on her toes, she planted her mouth on his and he was lost. He cursed her for being the seducer, cursed himself for falling, then cast all his plans onto the wind. For what did it matter when they were of a like mind, when they each craved the other?
And he did crave her, as he’d never yearned for anything in his life. It was not her beauty but her spirit that drew him. Her adventuresome nature that had her searching for what she’d never acquired after the bonds that held her to an oath had been severed. She’d not hesitated to come after what she wanted. She’d rebelled against a mourning period that would have held her in seclusion. Her strength was apparent.
But it was tempered by her caring and concern, her depth of grief for a kind husband who had left her unsatisfied. Tonight Aiden would satisfy her in every way possible. He would take her, possess her, claim her until she thought of no one other than him, until she was convinced that only in his arms would she ever find complete satisfaction, acceptance, fulfillment.
When he was done, she would leave, but would do so with the knowledge that she would return.
At long last he would be hers. Completely. Absolutely. Totally. It was the only thought racing through her mind as he deepened the kiss, thoroughly exploring her mouth as though he’d not done so before. He tasted rich and dark, dangerous. Whisky, perhaps. Or brandy. She imagined him lounging in a chair before the fire, slowly sipping and savoring the amber liquid, preparing for when he would do the same of her.
The stroke of his tongue over hers was leisurely, yet meticulous. He left no aspect of her mouth wanting. His capable hands closed over her bottom, squeezed the cheeks there, pushed her up against him, and the hard ridge of his desire pressed against her belly. Evidence of his own need for her inflamed her passions. He wanted her, yearned for her. This would not be a cold, mindless coupling. It was not about business. It would not be about results. There was a purpose to it beyond anything she’d ever envisioned. It would be about need, the need to possess, the need to share bodies, sensations, pleasure.
How she had longed to be wanted like this, to know with certainty that she was desired. He wanted to please her. The strawberries told her that. The fact he’d not taken her immediately that first night told her more. Their coming together was not the result of animalistic needs requiring satisfaction, no matter how feral his growls or how demanding his hands. It would not be rutting at its most basic. No, there was caring here. A need to satisfy the heart and soul as well as the body. She’d never felt more treasured.
And that was a danger. To her emotions, to her goals, to her fragile heart.
She should put a stop to things immediately, before it was too late. But she wanted what he was offering. She wanted his kiss that turned her knees to jam. She wanted the taste of him, the warmth of him, the feel of him, the scent of him penetrating every aspect of her being. She wanted him, the man. No other would suffice. He was what she craved.
He trailed his hot, moist lips along her throat. “Lena.” The rasp was that of a man calling for salvation.
“No one calls me that.”
“All the more reason I should.”
He had the right of it there. Everything about their encounter would be unique to him. No memory he gave her would ever be usurped by another.
She pressed her mouth to the silky underside of his jaw where his whiskers were the softest. No pet name seemed adequate for him. Sweetheart and darling were not powerful enough for what he did to her, for the way he made her tremble inside and out. Only one word worked for him, captured his strong and formidable presence. “Aiden.”
His growl was long and low, a rumbling in his chest that vibrated against her breasts. He swept her up in his arms and carried her into the bedchamber where the massive bed awaited them.
He’d never wanted anything in his life as much as he wanted her—all of her, every aspect of her. His name on her lips was an aphrodisiac he’d never experienced. Others had spoken his name, but no other utterance had sounded as breathless, as sweet. A benediction.
He’d wanted her to desire him. How was he to have known his desire for her would eclipse any longing he’d ever experienced? She was a witch, a vixen, a lady knocking on the door to his heart. He was so tempted to answer, to invite her in, but he understood that what was happening between them was not grounded in reality—it was part and parcel of the fantasy world he’d created. She was not a duchess of the realm and he was not the bastard son of an earl. Within these walls, they were not at opposite ends of the social hierarchy. Within his private chambers, they were all that existed and soon they would be supplanted by pleasure.
While he was anxious to see her completely nude, he took his time divesting her of her clothing, making the removal of each item as sensual as possible. He was succeeding if the glaze in her eyes was any indication. He skimmed his fingers slowly over every inch of skin revealed. When her breasts were freed, he felt as though they were old friends returning to visit. He cupped them in his palms, plumped them up, offered them to his mouth for feasting. He kissed, licked, suckled, first one and then the other.
Moaning softly, she wrapped her fingers around his upper arms and dropped her head back, exposing the long column of her throat. God, how could he resist that? So he nibbled and nipped, relishing the way her fingers tightened their hold.
Then he returned to the task at hand, shoving her loosened gown and petticoats down over her hips so she could step out of them. Quickly he rid her of the remainder of her undergarments, leaving her stockings for last. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he rolled the delicate silk past her knee, down her calf, over her ankle, teasing her flesh with featherlike strokes of his fingertips as he went. Her hands folded over his shoulders as he eased the stocking over her heel, her arch, her toes. He rubbed her foot, lifted it for a kiss, before giving his attention to the other stocking. When it had joined the first, he lifted his gaze to her, taking in the wonderful, slender, long length of her. “Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.”
Even though the light in this room was naught but candles flickering, he saw her eyes darken, smoldering with the knowledge of what he would offer.
“I want your clothes removed.”
“Let me pleasure you first.”
Slowly she shook her head. “My passions are certain to be heightened by the sight of you.”
He couldn’t refuse so earnest a request. Still, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the heart of her sex and whispered a fervent promise, “Soon.”
Straightening, he stood before her, holding out his arms in supplication. “I’m all yours.”
She took a small step forward before helping him out of his jacket. Then her fingers ran the length of his waistcoat, pushing buttons free, her movements not as smooth or sure as his had been.
“Have you ever removed a man’s clothing before?”
Her fingers stilled, and she lifted her gaze to his. “No. My husband always came to me already in his nightshirt. Am I doing it incorrectly?”
With one hand, he cradled her cheek. “No, sweetheart. When it comes to lovemaking, nothing is incorrect as long as it’s what we both want.”
Placing her hand over his, she held it in place as she turned her face into his palm and pressed a kiss there. “Everything with you is a new experience, Aiden.”
The knowledge both delighted and saddened him. He never wanted her to have done without, but at the same time, he knew what he delivered would not pale in comparison to another’s. “Finish the chore. Much is still awaiting you.”
She gave him a saucy, but shy smile. “It�
��s no chore.”
He shrugged off the waistcoat. As she went to work unknotting his neck cloth, he touched all the soft areas of her that were within easy reach, skimming his fingers over the silk of her skin. With the neck cloth gone, she began freeing the buttons on his shirt, but his impatience was beginning to make itself known. He loosened his cuffs and as soon as she finished with the buttons, he dragged his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. He dropped onto the bed and tugged off his boots and stockings. Then he stood and waited, watched as she licked her lips.
“I’ve never actually seen . . . we were very proper in our bedding.”
“You are going to find I am very improper.” He dropped his hand to the fall of his trousers, slid it down to the base, brought it back up. Again. Again. Saw her swallow.
Tentatively her fingers neared his. He moved his aside. The length of her hand, from fingertips to wrist, landed against the fall of his trousers, against the bulge housed there. His groan was an entreaty that she answered with a long slow stroke. Down. Up. Then she was loosening buttons, parting cloth, and his cock sprang free.
“My goodness. It’s larger than I thought.”
“Men come in different sizes.” He shoved down his trousers, stepped out of them, and tossed them aside.
“Still, it didn’t feel so big through the cloth.” Kneeling before him, she skimmed her bare fingers over the length of him.
“Christ, Lena.” Her touch deprived him of breath.
“So silky. So hot.”
While she explored, he removed the pins from her hair until the heavy strands cascaded around her shoulders, over his cock. Pure bliss.
Dropping her head back, she captured and held his gaze. “I want you inside me.”
The words were nearly his undoing, almost had him spilling his seed then and there. He’d never ached with such need.
Bringing her to her feet, he clasped her to him and tumbled them both onto the bed.
They were a tangle of limbs, and it felt wonderful. The front of her, every inch, was touching his skin. Flesh against flesh, heated and dewy. Taking her mouth, plundering, he rolled her onto her back, wedging himself between her thighs, his thick cock pressing against her cleft.
It seemed wicked to use that word—cock—but she didn’t think any other would do him justice, would adequately describe that portion of him that would soon be entering her. Never before had she looked so forward to the joining.
But it seemed he was not yet done denying her, tormenting her, because he pushed himself down until he could take one of her nipples in his mouth. His tongue laved the little pearl, causing delicious sensations to swarm through her. Then he suckled gently, before taking his lips on a tour about her breast, kissing the underside, the sides, the top. So much attention given to the one while his hand tenderly kneaded the other.
He reversed his attentions, giving his mouth to the other breast, while his fingers toyed with the one now coated in dew. She loved the feel of his rough palms skimming over her flesh with purpose. He’d touched much of her before, but not all of her, and now every aspect was laid bare before him and was his for the taking.
And he took.
With his mouth, his hands, his lips, his tongue. He scooted down farther and treated her to the same ministrations he’d given her when she’d been splayed out on the billiards table. Where the intimacy of it had shocked her before, now she embraced it with full fervor, tilting her hips to give him easier access, welcoming his throaty moan of approval.
She clutched his shoulders as her thighs began to tremble with want, with need. So close, so close. She thrashed her head from side to side, pressed her feet to his calves, loving the feel of his silky hair against her soles. But then there was no aspect to him that she didn’t love.
Combing her fingers through his hair, she knotted them in the strands, tugged until he lifted his head to meet her gaze. “I want you inside me, part of me, when I come undone.”
With a low growl, he raised himself up and rolled off her. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he opened a drawer in the small table beside the bed, pulled something out, and used it to cover his cock.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting on a sheath.” He came back to her and nuzzled her neck. “It’ll stop my seed from spilling into you without my having to leave you first.”
She tried to make sense of his words, but he began doing deliciously wicked things with his fingers, stroking her cleft as his thumb pressed against her swollen nubbin while circling it. Once more the sensations took precedence, claimed her full attention, had her writhing with need.
He shifted until he was once again resting between her thighs. Taking hold of himself, he rubbed against her with the head of his penis, over and over, and she was frantically aware of how wet she’d become. Stilling at her opening, he claimed her mouth and slowly eased his way into her, stretching her, filling her, before plunging deep.
A shudder of pleasure swept through her. “Oh God.”
She dug her fingers into his backside, holding him as she absorbed the wonder of it all. She was not a virgin, and yet what she felt at that moment was nearly foreign to her. Apparently not all mating was the same. Or perhaps it was because he had caused her to want him so desperately. He made her nerve endings sing, her skin more sensitive to the touch. He’d prepared her as she’d never before been prepared.
He had not taken her because of duty. And he made her forget that it was duty that had driven her to him.
As he began to move against her, leaving her only to quickly thrust back into her, she focused on him, on them, seeking only the pleasure he could provide. She skimmed her hands along his back, taking note of the way his muscles bunched and flexed with his movements. When he rose above her, captured her gaze, and undulated his hips with more force, more speed, more urgency, she fell into the smoldering darkness of his eyes, held on to him with arms, hands, thighs, and allowed ecstasy to conquer, to reign.
When she fell apart in his arms, she welcomed the bliss, knowing he had the power to put her back together.
When he threw back his head, his jaw clenched, as passion overcame him, she held him tightly, absorbing the spasms that rocked him.
And nearly wept for the joy of the joining.
Chapter 13
“Open your mouth.”
With her bare back against his chest and the water lapping around them with his movements, Selena didn’t hesitate to do as he bade. Taking a bite of the strawberry he placed against her lips, she laughed as the juice dribbled down her chin. With his thumb, he turned her head toward him and licked her clean before delivering a kiss that very nearly caused steam to rise from the tub.
After they’d made love, he’d called for a bath to be prepared. With sheets draped around her, she’d sat in a chair in the corner, facing the wall, nearly completely hidden from the servants who brought up the bathwater. Once they left, he shoved a small table against the large copper tub and brought in the offerings that had been laid out on the linen-covered table in the front room.
Reaching for the wine, she took a sip and considered her feelings at the moment. She most certainly could not claim disappointment, as she’d never felt more replete and had never before experienced such intense pleasure, but she was a bit frustrated to discover that Aiden was not going to give her what she needed as easily as she’d hoped. “I was quite taken aback when you . . . sheathed yourself. I wasn’t aware men did that.”
His fingers lazily trailed up and down her arm, sending delicious tingles through her. “No reason for your husband to do so. He’d want to get you with child.”
“Do you always don a sheath when you make love?”
“Always.”
“Even when you were sixteen?”
“Mmm. When we were around fifteen, our mum sat all of us boys down and explained the methods we could use so as not to get a girl knapped.”
She was unfamiliar with the term. “Knapped?”
“Pregnant.”
She took another sip of wine, finding it difficult to believe she was actually having this conversation. She’d never discussed the facets of sex with anyone, not even her mother. “Are there other methods?”
She felt his shrug against her back, then his lips on the nape of her neck. “A man can withdraw right before he spills his seed. However he needs to be quick and he needs not to forget. But sometimes, oftentimes, he’s not thinking at all except about how good it all feels.”
Twisting around slightly, she looked at him, certain her cheeks were flaming red. “Your mother explained all that to you?”
“She raised bastards. She said abstinence was best but wasn’t fool enough to think we’d choose that route, so she wanted to make sure we didn’t dip our wick and come to regret it. If we got a girl with child, we’d be marrying her.”
“Even at fifteen?”
“The age of consent is twelve. Mum believed if we were old enough to fuck, we were old enough to marry. Not that she used those exact words, but she got her message across.”
“So you’ve never been . . . inside . . . a woman without wearing a sheath?”
Her hair was piled on top of her head. He brushed some stray strands away from her cheek. “Never.”
Turning back around, she settled against him. “I can’t fathom it.”
“I didn’t want to marry a girl just because I got her with babe. Nor do I want any bastards.”
She squeezed her eyes shut as her stomach clenched. But if he got her with child, it wouldn’t be labeled a bastard. Surely that would bring him some comfort were he to ever learn of her deception. Deception. She hated the word, the need for it. Unclenching her eyes, she watched the flames on the hearth writhing as she had been a short time ago.
“Open.”
The Duchess in His Bed Page 15
