The Trouble With Seduction

by Victoria Hanlen

  “Mmm,” was all he’d say as he dipped his tongue into her ear and was rewarded with a hitched gasp. His hand slid down to her mound and pressed through the wet locks, bringing a whimper to her lips.

  Her legs shifted restlessly.

  While his fingers teased, he laved a trail between her breasts, around a nipple, and couldn’t resist sucking it fully into his mouth. A moan forced its way around the plump mouthful. All his senses hummed with delight.

  She shuddered and exhaled raggedly, tightening his groin to pure granite. What excruciatingly sweet torture it was giving her pleasure.

  She sank her hands into his hair. “Does this mean you want to be my lover, Mr Ravenhill?” she purred through an uneven pant.

  His body screamed ‘yes’ while his mind shouted ‘NO’ and again all he could say – with her breast in his mouth – was “Mmm.” She tasted like heaven. A brass band could march through the room right now, and he doubted he could tear his attention from her.

  Perhaps that’s why his shirt and waistcoat slid down his arms before he realized Sarah had finally managed to release every last button.

  ‘Undressing is not an option’ repeated in his mind like sacred words. But with each quiver, each moan, each sigh from Sarah, he could feel another lace of his willpower snap. Now pure steel, his cock throbbed insistently against his trousers. Piece by piece, he’d unraveled until he doubted he could hold out much longer.

  CHAPTER 22

  “It’s time you got rid of these.” Sarah tossed his shirt and waistcoat to the side of the bed. “Mercy!” The sight of his magnificent torso arrowed straight to something deeply primitive in her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I… I… it’s nothing. You have such a – such a powerful frame.” Her cheeks heated.

  “You don’t like my… frame?”

  She blinked and bit her lip. “Very much.”

  Before he could ask any more questions, she pushed him back against the pillows. “It’s my turn.”

  Ravenhill’s clothes looked marvelous on him, but they did not do his magnificent physique justice. The massive ridges of muscles on his torso would have impressed Hercules.

  Now nearly healed, it seemed his face had taken the brunt of the assault. Few bruises colored the skin beneath the sparse lawn of hair scattering in a ‘V’ down his torso. When had he refastened his trousers? Did he know his cock thrust out the top?

  She straddled his thighs, careful not to touch his sensitive groin area and bent to flick her tongue around his flat nipple. His chest jerked and he started to roll to the side.

  “Uh, uh. My turn.” She licked a circle around his other nipple. Air whistled through his teeth. She placed a trail of kisses around his chest and down the center of his stomach toward his groin.

  “Sarah.”

  Her gaze flew to his and locked. In his ragged rumble, her name almost sounded foreign, melodic. The inflection he gave it spoke of yearning and tenderness. Her heart clenched. How she loved the way he said her name.

  And then it struck her. She was in love with him.

  He was the first man to ever make her feel valued for her ideas, and intelligence. He’d given her courage and advised her how to fight the corrupt inspector. He’d assisted her in trying to solve her husband’s murder. He was the only man who’d talked to her as an equal, and his every act and deed showed he believed her capable of making her own way in the world.

  “What do you like to be called, Mr Ravenhill?” She lightly licked the crown of his cock and swirled her tongue around the edge.

  He exhaled sharply. “Good God!”

  “Did I hurt you?”

  He seemed unable to speak, at first, and gasped for air. “What are you doing?”

  She’d got excited and taken a shortcut, but she was prepared. She released the rest of his buttons. “If I’m naked you must be as well. Off with these!”

  He frowned deeply.

  “Now!” she commanded.

  He reluctantly raised his hips and allowed her to shuck his trousers and smalls.

  “I’ve prepared something for you.” She reached over him, opened a little door in the headboard, and pulled out a little bowl.

  Humming to calm herself, she filled the spoon with whipping cream.

  “What are you doing now?”

  She smoothed the cream onto his cock and drew her tongue along the vein down the middle, around the rim and across the stout head.

  “God,” he moaned harshly, clenching the counterpane.

  Opening wide, she filled her mouth and gently suckled, clutched the root with her hand and slowly pistoned.

  He exhaled a string of creative profanity, his body quivering with tension, and finally gave in to the urge to rock.

  Never would she have imagined Mr Ravenhill would be so under her power.

  She licked and swirled and pumped until he sat up with a growl – “Enough!” – pulled her atop him, and clung to her as he came to a shuddering climax against her stomach.

  When he returned to himself, he breathed in her ear, “Where did you learn that?”

  “Did you like it? It’s the modern way, isn’t it?” Usually it took an hour and full bowl of whipping cream to bring her husbands to release. Ravenhill barely needed a spoonful.

  She reached into the headboard’s cupboard and pulled out a damp cloth. Cleaning away the whipping cream had an astounding affect. “Are you already…?”

  “Umhumm,” he smiled roguishly and drew her down for a kiss that sent her head spinning.

  “And yes, I liked it.”

  “Both my husbands were from earlier generations. It is the modern way, isn’t it?”

  His warm hands smoothed up and down her back. “I can only say the old-fashioned way is still in very high regard.”

  By now, her breasts had become so sensitive, his chest hair made them tingle. Since the rookery, when they’d pressed so intimately through tight spaces, she’d wanted to explore the ridges of his muscles, the texture of his skin, the thrill of his naked body against hers.

  Slowly, she dragged herself up his length. Then slid down.

  His cock found her cleft and lodged.

  “Sarah!” He grasped her arms “We can’t!” His eyes had turned so dark and fathomless, she had the sensation she was swimming in their depths.

  “So to do it properly, it must be done the old-fashioned way?”

  His molten gaze seared her as she slid farther, lodging him a little deeper, and rose back up.

  This is how she’d wanted to be with him. She lightly circled his nipples with her thumbs and sank down again.

  “Sarah we can’t!” He reached to grab her hips.

  She seized his hands and locked with his dark gaze. “It’s my turn.” She lowered and felt her body resist his girth. They both shuttered as she slowly dragged herself up again, the raw friction devastating every sensitive nerve ending. “Do you like this?”

  His answer was a stark moan.

  He pulled his hands free of hers, rose to clasp a breast, and sucked it into his mouth. His tongue’s light abrasions bowed her back at an angle, somehow making room for his upward thrust, sliding in deeper. She almost screamed as the tension drove straight to her core.

  The strain made her legs tremble, and her inner muscles quake. She could barely breathe.

  “This isn’t…” He quickly flipped their positions.

  Suddenly, he was exactly where she wanted him – his magnificent torso covering her, weighing her into the pillows.

  The exquisite feel of him, on top of her, had her quivering with delight.

  He stilled and kissed her deeply, tenderly, as if she were the most precious gem in the universe. “I love you, Sarah,” he whispered against her lips.

  His words registered in the pit of her stomach, heating, thrilling, rising like a warm blanket to surround them both. He loved her. Dear God. The thrill of such an admission… the gravity of it. She’d never wanted anything as badly as him.<
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  “Wrap your legs around me, Sarah.” He slid his hands under her buttocks and slowly rocked, groaning with satisfaction. “Is this good for you?”

  The slight elevation tipped her hips to meet him more fully.

  “Yeees,” she whimpered and gripped his shoulders. Her inner muscles grappled with his girth, but managed to accommodate him better in this position. His thrusts soon found a tantalizing spot, making her body quiver and insist on moving.

  “Oh, you like that.” A smile colored his husky rasp and he pressed with more intent.

  Tingling heat shot to her core.

  His skillful awareness of her most secret place made her heart pound with fevered excitement. He clutched her bum harder, directing each heavy thrust to stimulate and possess the locus of her enjoyment, turning her into a writhing, craven thing.

  The musky scent of sex and citrus and sandalwood filled the air, exciting her all the more.

  Her inner muscles quivered with erotic delight. And she couldn’t keep her hands from roaming the muscles of his back. With each thrust, her body felt like a spring winding tighter and tighter.

  All of a sudden, she broke apart, unspooling in a powerful electric euphoria that seared through nerves and tendons and rippled to the ends of every bone and sinew.

  He stilled, holding her close until her climax eased. Then he rocked hard, pumping, gusting, driving hard, driving deep.

  “Ah, Sarah! God!” He gasped and quickly pulled out. The friction of his swift withdrawal left her quaking with loss. He clutched her hard to him as he throbbed and jerked in fierce spasms, releasing against her stomach.

  When he finally came back to himself, he rolled to her side and cleaned her, then wrapped her in his embrace, holding her tight against him.

  Her release left her overwhelmed and near exhaustion. Her emotions felt raw, chafed like some outer layer had been rubbed away, laying bare the fragile center.

  “I love you,” he murmured again against her hair.

  Warmth flowed to her heart and spread throughout her body. Tears, so close to the surface, burned her eyes.

  Neither of her very proper husbands ever told her they ‘loved her.’ On the rare occasion Hardington became amatory, he called her ‘jam tart.’ Edward called her his ‘special girl.’

  She hadn’t even known Mr Ravenhill a month, yet he was more precious and in tune with her than either of her husbands. But it took years for real love to bloom, didn’t it?

  True and genuine love didn’t happen in so short a time. Her emotions were running wild. Once the heat of lovemaking wore off, he might realize he didn’t really mean it. She’d overheard her brother and Lumsley discuss such a thing happening.

  She wanted to tell Ravenhill she loved him, but it risked everything – her heart, her self-respect. What if he was lying? What if he realized later he wanted to take it back? She didn’t want to be a silly fool. She should play it safe, demur, change the subject – for once, not say exactly what was on her mind. She opened her mouth to prevaricate, and her heart filled her throat. “I love you, too,” came tumbling out.

  ***

  The next morning Damen sat in a chair at his brother’s bedside, hunched over, his elbows on his knees. “I’m in agony, Cory. I’ve gone and fallen in love. I know, I know. I’m an idiot. Can’t explain it. The more I get to know her, the more wonderful things I discover.”

  He grinned at his brother. “She’s kind, brave, intelligent, and she has this funny way of making me feel like I’m perfect in her eyes. All right, so maybe she is a little daft. When I’m with her, I am, too.” He laughed.

  “I know it’ll never work between us. Her late husband deceived her and she hates liars. Which is all I’ve done since I met her. Do you know your Mrs Ivanova is so eager to find the plans, she told me to make Lady Strathford fall in love with me? The trouble is, I’m the poor sot who’s fallen in love.”

  A knock at the door silenced him.

  “Enter.”

  “Telegram and an urgent letter for you, Mr Ravenhill.” Perkins, his father’s butler, held out a silver tray.

  Damen ripped open the telegram and read the terse message.

  ‘Dear Mr Ravenhill,

  Delays caused by non-delivery of materials. Workmen’s

  demands threaten both Liverpool warehouse projects.

  Imperative you return.

  Farnsworth’

  He groaned and tore open the letter underneath marked ‘Urgent!’

  ‘My Dear Mr Ravenhill,

  In light of your rapid recovery, I have resumed wedding

  preparations. I will expect you to call on me tomorrow at

  three o’clock to discuss them!

  Eugenia Lambert’

  “Thank you, Perkins. That will be all.” Irritation sank its teeth into him as Damen gazed down at his silent brother. “Your fiancée bellows. How did you ever settle on such a termagant? So now, if you continue to doze, I have less than two weeks to find your attackers. Damen crumpled the letter and threw it against the wall.

  “To catch you up on the rest, I’m making slow progress unraveling who attacked you. It would be easier if I didn’t have to deal with so many women.”

  He held up a hand to point to his fingers. “So far the count is: one mistress, one horseback-riding acrobat, one madam, one alleged murderess, and one fiancée.” He cursed under his breath. “How many more women are set to crawl out of the woodwork?”

  Damen fiddled with the blanket. “On a more entertaining note, Lady Strathford, Miss Calista Collins, Lumsley, and I saw a show at Astley’s. Fine program. Oh, and I met your pretty acrobat. It’s the first time I truly feared for my manhood. She mistook me for you and nearly ravaged me. Then I mistook her for Mary Turner, and she nearly put a knife in my back. I’m afraid I highly offended her – mistaking her for a brothel madam. I’d suggest—”

  Sudden movement caught his eye. Cory’s fingers twitched wildly.

  Damen bounded from his chair to gaze about his brother’s body. “Cory? Are you finally waking? Are you trying to tell me something?”

  CHAPTER 23

  Later that day, Damen scaled a familiar flight of stairs with a box of food for Granny Wilkins. It warmed him to discover her still alive. She’d been a rather odd old duck who’d saved lemon drops for him and made him feel cherished.

  In truth, she wasn’t his grandmother but his great aunt. As a boy, he’d bounded up these very stairs bringing her meals from his grandfather’s pub.

  This building had always been one of the more hospitable in the area.

  Now that he knew his father owned the tenement, he took special notice. Though old and far from level, the floors appeared freshly swept. The walls were not defaced and the latrines did not overflow into the street.

  He knocked on the familiar old door, not knowing what to expect. It had been nearly twenty years since he’d last seen her. He waited and was about to knock again when he heard the lock rattle. After a few moments, the door slowly creaked open.

  Deeply hunched, leaning on her cane, and now completely white-haired, Granny peered out. “Who’s there?”

  He glanced around the hallway, making sure no one was listening before he whispered, “Granny, it’s Damen come to bring you dinner.”

  “Damen? Little Damen Ravenhill?” She squinted up at him. “I may be half blind, but you’re not Damen.” She gave the door a shove.

  He blocked it with his foot. “No. It’s me, Granny, all grown up.”

  She screwed up her eyes. “Come closer, let me have a better look at you.”

  “I’m not very presentable. A few knuckles have worked over my face, Granny. But I did bring you your favorite dessert, berry stickies.”

  Her mouth curved into a toothless grin. “Berry stickies? Why didn’t you say so?” She pulled the door wider.

  The place had changed a little. She’d painted it yellow sometime in the past two decades. Coal smoke outlined where a picture once hung. Different chair
s sat by the window, but the place still appeared the same. He walked over to her table and set down the box.

  “I brought chicken, mutton, onions and carrots, a loaf of bread, and some apples. Are you hungry, Granny?”

  “I’m always hungry.”

  “Then come sit down and tuck in.”

  Pulling herself along with her cane, she slowly made the few steps to the table. Damen helped her get seated and sat across from her.

  “Be sure and thank your mum for sending the food.” She pulled out a berry sticky from the box and chewed happily, humming with enjoyment.

  “Mum died in the cholera outbreak over twenty years ago. That’s when I left St Giles.”

  “You left? No. You’ve brought me dinner these past years, and I am mighty grateful. Mighty grateful.” She ate more of her berry sticky while Damen asked questions, some of which she answered coherently; with others she seemed rather confused.

  “Granny, my father is very sick. I’m helping him sort out some financial problems. He owns buildings in the neighborhood. Since he’s become ill, his rents have gone down thirty percent.”

  “Gone down?” She fished out a chicken leg from the box. “The rents here have gone up twice this year. I’m lucky your father gives me an income. Enough to move someplace nicer, but this is home. I know everyone and everyone knows me.”

  “Who raised the rents, Granny?”

  “Mr Woodley, the manager, of course. Everyone’s been talking about how rents have risen in most of the buildings on this street.”

  The couple at Sarah’s mission had voiced their anger over the rent increases. Granny now verified it. He felt like he was finally making progress. Falgate’s rent declines meant the money was being siphoned off somewhere else.

  And he intended to discover where.

  ***

  Sarah still floated in a cloud of euphoria as the cab pulled in front of a tenement. How she loved Mr Ravenhill. Their night together made her feel whole and fulfilled and strong enough to conquer the world. Today, even St Giles seemed brighter.

  She exited the cab with new vigor and held her skirt in one hand to step over debris in the street. When Mr and Mrs O’Flarety told her about their egregious rent increases, she decided to see what she could do to help.