Her lips moved with his, letting him taste her deepest secrets. Wine sat on her tongue and the scent of honeysuckle filled his senses. She skimmed her tongue over his and he pressed the kiss deeper. Never had he felt so fulfilled yet so starved for more. He needed so much more.
Hand still clasping her neck, he brought up his other to cup her breast. He wanted to curse at the God-awful corset she wore. The one that might make her look like the most sinful creature around but stopped him from feeling the full softness of her breasts.
She moaned into his mouth. He kissed a path down her neck and to her collarbone. He dashed kisses over it, eager to get to his prize. With some effort, he forced a breast up and out of its confines. She gasped and wound her hands into his hair, and he dropped his head to take one pebbled peak into his mouth.
Never had another’s flesh tasted so good.
“Julian.” She said his name on a whisper and rocked into him.
He broke away to look at her, to simply imprint her into his mind with her puffy lips and her breast scandalously escaping her gown. The English mamas could keep their prim little innocents. He wanted this outrageous American woman.
She murmured his name again and leaned into him to kiss his neck. Her hands scrabbled about him, running dangerously close to his manhood which strained for release. The idea of taking her here and now did strike him but never settled. They were in public, she was young and innocent—though he struggled to remember that with her bold ways. And, if the way she fell heavily into him as she tried to nibble his ear was anything to go by, she had drunk too much wine.
Julian clasped her hands and urged her back.
“Julian?”
Then he pulled up her bodice and picked up their gloves. Slowly, he eased one on, then the other. Guilt jabbed him at her stricken expression and he had to reassure her somehow. After he’d drawn on his glove, he stroked her face and gave her a smile.
“You test my honour, Viola. Very much so. Do not underestimate how hard it is for me not to lay you down in the grass, throw up your skirts and take you here and now.”
The beaming smile and the wicked twinkle in her eyes had him wondering if he had said the right thing. He suspected she might test his strength again. And, Lord help him, he wanted to be tested. He wanted to give in.
Chapter Ten
Viola found Julian in the library. It struck her how at home he seemed there. With only the light of an oil lamp by his side and one on a small table in the corner of the large room, darkness shrouded most of him. But the golden glow revealed enough. A fire flickered in the hearth, illuminating the other side of the library. The books watched over them, like birds waiting on a washing line. The scent of leather and old paper wrapped around her and mingled with that of the wood in the fire. She understood why he liked it here. It was almost like being surrounded by old friends.
She noted his ink-stained fingers and how his brow furrowed as he stared at the letter in front of him. He hadn’t seen her come in, so lost was he in his correspondence.
“Who are you complaining to now?”
He snapped his head up and his features softened. “For once, no one. I am writing to one of my brothers.”
“One of your many brothers,” she added with a grin. She had enough to contend with having three brothers. She couldn’t imagine having six. “Which one is it? The gambler? The rake?”
“Neither. This is Gideon.”
“The youngest?”
His brows rose as if surprised she remembered. “Indeed.”
Of course she remembered. She had read his letters over and over again. Viola edged over to the seat currently drawn to one side of his desk. Almost fearful of interrupting his solitude, she eased down into the chair. He had been withdrawn since the ball. It didn’t surprise her. Although he had been wonderful, even for her being around all those staring people was draining.
“What can I do for you?”
“I have word of a ship leaving for America in four days. I received a telegram today.”
“Bramley mentioned one arriving. He did not say anything more, however.” His tone was surly, as though he should have known everything that was happening in his house. Or perhaps...
No, he wanted her gone, surely?
It was all so very confusing. One moment he was kissing her lips and even... well, never mind that. The next he had gone back to be the polite host.
“I shall take the train down to London the day after tomorrow and stop there for the night. Then I shall carry on to Southampton which will give me time to purchase a ticket.”
“I see.” Julian lowered his pen and pushed aside the letter. “Will I hear from you again? I mean, will you keep writing, even though you know there will be no...” He gave her a sideways glance.
“Marriage?”
Fresh heat flowed into her cheeks. She thought she had gotten over the embarrassment but clearly not. However the uncertainty in his eyes quickly conquered any pity for herself. He truly wanted for her to continue writing to him and while the thought of not seeing him again made her chest hurt, she couldn’t imagine not reading his letters again.
“I shall continue to write, I promise.”
“Good.” He gave a satisfied nod.
“I like you better in letters anyway.”
Surprise quickly gave way to amusement and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Yes, I suppose the idea of marrying me quickly lost appeal when you met me.”
“Oh, I don’t know. You still have some appeal.” She nudged him with her elbow.
“Why ever did you wish to marry a stranger anyway? Are there not many eligible men in New York?”
Viola let her shoulders drop a little. Tell him the truth or keep quiet? “There are plenty, but none will have me.”
He turned to face her fully. “They must be mad.”
“Not mad, no.” She looked at her hands and turned them over in her lap, letting her gaze fall to the third finger on her left hand. He waited silently, much as she had two days ago. He intended to work a confession out of her with his silence. It worked.
“I must tell you something,” she spilled out before she could lose her nerve. She had to tell him everything of her. Every little sordid detail. After all he had told her, all he had done for her, she owed him that much, surely?
A crease formed between his brows but he waited.
“I am not a virgin.”
There. The words were out there. The words that had followed her around for so long. Ruined. Spoiled. Broken.
Julian did not move. Did not fling her out by her hair. But his jaw worked and he waited.
“I was engaged when I was seventeen. My father had begun to amass his fortune and it was a good connection to make. The gentleman was twenty-five years older than me and charming. I thought myself in love with him.” She released a small smile. “I am ruined you see? I let him coax me into bed and a few weeks later, he broke off the engagement and went on to marry an older woman. I suspect he didn’t really want a naive girl like me for a wife.”
His jaw continued to work. She heard his teeth grind even over the pop of the fire. A coil of tension wound inside her. Would he think her foolish too? Her father and brothers had declared it her fault. And of course, society blamed her too. Rupert had gone on to enjoy a happy marriage and more success while she had been left behind in the shadows of shame.
“I’m ruined. No one wants me.” Her voice cracked a little. For so long she had tried to forget the humiliation. Marrying Julian would have given her so much. A new life, a restored reputation. Finally her family could be proud of her.
Before any tears could spill, she leaped up from the chair and stalked away. She had embarrassed herself in front of Julian enough as it was. She couldn’t let him see yet more tears. Not to mention the one thing she feared most—seeing the judgement in his gaze, the disappointment at knowing she had given herself away so easily. That had been the one thing letters had shielded her from. He would never h
ave to know the full truth.
Strong fingers latched around her wrist before she could reach the door. He whirled her around and drew her flat against him. The air vanished from her lungs, partly from impact, partly from the sheer shock of having his body pressed to hers.
“I want you.” His lips came down upon hers, firm and demanding.
Viola gasped and he pressed his fingers into her hair. She heard a few pins drop onto the wooden floor and curls fell about her face. Thrown off balance, she staggered until her back struck the bookcase not far from the door. She drew in another sharp breath but Julian merely used it to push the kiss deeper. His tongue twined with hers and explored a part of her mouth no other man had. Never before had she been kissed like this.
Panting, he drew back. “You are worth so much,” he told her, gazing deep into her eyes and holding her captive. “Your fiancé was an utter fool not to see it.”
He dragged up her skirts, inching them higher and higher. Taffeta skimmed the tops of her thighs and fabric crunched. She sucked in a breath when warm fingertips touched the sensitive skin just inside the hem of her drawers.
“I wish you were wearing a crinoline,” he muttered against her neck.
Viola drew in a shuddery breath while his lips traced a path over her sensitive skin. He played his lips up and down her neck. Up and down, up and down, sketching a trail between her ear and shoulder.
“W-why?” she asked, eyes closed. The sensations he summoned were unlike anything she’d ever experienced. The overwhelming need to collapse in his arms and beg him to do whatever he wished with her nearly consumed her.
“It would not make it so easy to touch you.” He drew back and she opened her eyes. Their gazes connected as he slipped a hand inside the opening in her drawers. “Christ, Viola. Why do I always want to touch you?”
She gripped the shelf behind her with both hands and pressed her chest and hips forward, like an offering. Ready for him, open for him. She needed his touch as much as he needed to touch her. She didn’t need to say anything. He knew. He could read her as easily he did her letters.
A finger skimmed her folds. She shuddered. “Again,” Viola demanded.
He repeated the movement, never looking away. In those grey eyes, she saw so much. The man who had written those letters perhaps. The real Julian Cynfell. Eyes dark, breaths heavy, he revealed everything to her as he touched her so intimately.
Simmering pleasure started low down and he swept over her again and again. He traced circles until hitting the sweet spot that had her breaths sticking in her throat. It built slowly, slowly and the desire to close her eyes and concentrate on the sensation struck, but his gaze held her captive. What did he see in her eyes?
When he pressed one finger into her warmth, she arched. Her body accepted the invasion with gratitude. Never had she needed to be filled so badly. With one hand propped at the side of her head, Julian leaned into her and held her in place with his chest. That finger moved with careful patience until she was one trembling mass of desire. His thumb found her nub again and skimmed it. She quaked from head to slippers. He slid forward again, burying his finger deep within her, then out, still using the same measured pace. His clever thumb ran over in similarly cautious circles.
Ecstasy unfurled slowly inside her. He only needed to press home a few more gentle times to bring her near the edge. A trickle of perspiration pricked down her back and her mouth moved in silent pleas.
“Yes,” he urged. One more circle of his thumb, one more slow thrust of his finger. “Yes.”
“Yes,” she repeated, surprised by how distant her voice sounded.
And then, gazing into his eyes, captured by his body, his presence, her peak blossomed. It came in a slow sweep, as tender as his touch. It consumed every part of her. Breathless, hot and as weak as a kitten, she flopped her head forward.
Julian touched his forehead to hers and brought his other hand to her face to cup it. His breaths blew heavily over her face. Why her orgasm seemed to affect him so, she did not know. When he tried to ease away, she latched her hands around his neck.
“Don’t.”
“If I stay, I will...” He trailed off but he didn’t need to say anything. She felt the hard ridge of his desire. Felt the tension in his body. He wanted her.
“Do it,” she begged.
He jerked back and frowned at her. Perhaps he was used to taking charge, or women who never sank so low as to beg. But, at present, all she could think on was how she longed to be joined with this man. If she could take nothing else back with her, she needed the memory of Julian making love to her.
He shook his head.
“Julian, make love to me.” She reached down and cupped him through his pants. He pulsed against her hand.
A harsh breath echoed around the library. Viola gazed up at him, silently pleaded with him. She saw the crack in his restraint through his eyes first, then in his body. Gradually, like a great wall crumbling, his body softened into hers. She smoothed her hands over his shoulders, soothing him. This beautiful man was hurting so badly inside. Oh, how she ached to take away some of that pain, even just for a moment.
Using his body to lever herself away from the bookcase, she flattened her lips to his jaw. “Take me.” She kissed his chin. “Make me yours.” Then the corner of his mouth. “Make love to me.” Viola let her tongue slip over the seam of his lips. “Here. Now.”
With a heavy sigh, he gave into her, taking her mouth in a desperate kiss. His hands found her rear and held her tight against him. Even through her skirts, she felt his arousal hard against her. She rocked eagerly into that hardness while her body inflamed with sensation.
It was almost too much. Hands cupped her. Muscle pressed against her. Lips and tongue teased her. So many overwhelming sensations made her knees shake and she had to cling to him lest she melt like candle wax on a hot day.
Her gown grew too heavy, too tight. She wanted it off. She needed to be skin to skin with him. Hoping he might follow her lead, she slipped her hands between them to pluck at the buttons of his waistcoat. She couldn’t help but giggle when he released her to shuck out of his jacket and help her. Soon he was down to his shirt. Her hands trembled with need as she unbuttoned it. His kept up his firm kisses, laying his lips to wherever he could reach—her mouth, her neck, her cheek, her forehead.
Julian tore off his shirt. A cufflink pinged off the bookshelf. Viola sucked in a breath through her teeth and splayed her hands across his smooth chest. She glanced down and noted the ripples in his abdomen and the small trail of hair leading down into his pants. His skin was warm to the touch and muscles bunched under her palms.
But he didn’t give her long to enjoy his body. Before she could fully explore, he began fumbling with the neckline of her gown, loosening it so that it gaped. With a muttered curse, he spun her around and gripped the back of it.
In one savage moment, he rent her gown apart. Viola released a squeal but couldn’t ignore the pulsing throb between her thighs. He rotated her and tugged down her gown, revealing her low corset and bare shoulders.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, though he didn’t sound terribly contrite.
She helped him shove her skirts from her hips and with the same brisk movement, he had her corset and under things wrenched from her. A chill whispered over her skin and her nipples peaked. In only her stockings and slippers, she felt decadent and wanton in the most beautiful way.
Not for one moment did this feel sordid. Nor did she feel ruined. From the way his gaze roamed her to how his chest rose and fell with deep breaths made her feel treasured and valuable.
Julian’s upper lip lifted in a slight growl—a sort of masculine movement that set her knees trembling. It was as though she was the most succulent meal on the table and he had not eaten for weeks. And, oh how she wanted to be devoured by him.
She kicked off her slippers and peeled down her stockings, aware of him watching her every movement while he unbuttoned his pants. By the tim
e she had stripped, he was standing naked in front of her. She might have giggled at his impatience had his expression not been so dark and dangerous.
Without giving her time to think, he was upon her. Hard against soft. Crushing her to him, consuming her. His kisses stole her mind. They stole her sanity. He hitched her leg up onto his hip and pressed her back against the bookcase. Shelves dug into her back but she didn’t care. The heat of his body eased away any discomfort, and the harried touch of his hands quickly made her forget.
Julian thrust his manhood against her open quim. She bit back a cry. Never had she wanted anything so badly in her life. Not even marriage to an English lord.
“Please,” she begged.
He hitched her leg higher and pressed kisses to her neck. His hips rocked forward again but still his arousal only teased her.
“Damn it.”
Julian lifted her, drawing her legs around his hips and she thought he might take her like that, pressing her back against the hard wood. At the same time as hoping he didn’t, she wanted him inside her so much that she would have been willing to accept any discomfort.
However, he carried her over to the fire and laid her down on her stomach on the soft Persian rug in front of it.
“I’ve been wanting to see this arse for so long...” he said before pressing his body over hers.
The rug tickled her breasts and stomach and his hot body covered her like a blanket. He eased up her hips just a fraction, shifted her legs apart and rested his hands over the back of hers. Their fingers entwined as he took the first lunge. He took her quickly but gently. She gasped as he filled her and his grip on her hands tightened. The fabric beneath her teased her folds. Julian’s breaths blew harshly in her ear. He whispered her name and other endearments. He groaned while he thrust. Thrust, thrust, thrust. All she could do was lie there and accept his love-making with little tilts of her hips.
Sinful Confessions (Cynfell Brothers Book 1) Page 8
