The Den of Iniquity

by Anabelle Bryant

  ‘I know about you.’

  She didn’t waver, the little warrior, he’d give her that.

  ‘And what is it you know with such devout certainty that you’d venture into a bachelor’s home, rouse the bastard from his bed and confront him in the parlour while he remained half dressed?’

  The description was meant to point out all the errors in her judgement but instead fanned the flames of desire raging in his blood. Vivienne tangled in his sheets, raven tresses strewn across his pillows to gather in his fist as he wound her closer and tasted her silky skin.

  No one knew she was here save an elusive street urchin. No one would have allowed the breach in etiquette and yet she risked her reputation for whatever reason she deemed worthy to seek him out. Why? He needed to hear the words.

  ‘Well, what do you know?’ He spoke in a quiet tone though his body screamed with desire.

  ‘I know you enjoy kissing me.’

  He struggled not to surrender and take her mouth, prove her words true. ‘Only a dead man wouldn’t, Vivi. You’re beautiful and you taste like heaven.’

  Her expression changed with his admission: anger vanished and her lashes lowered. A tiny curl of her lips hinted at the shift in mood.

  ‘Why did you visit Nettlecombe?’ She flicked her eyes upward and continued before he could respond. ‘My stepfather’s behaviour was rude. I have no excuse for his censure.’

  He laughed. He couldn’t help it. ‘Surely you aren’t that naïve? A guardian who wishes to keep a bastard, proprietor of a gaming hell and poor influence, from his pristine daughter? We’re not living in a storybook. Your level of society doesn’t mix with mine unless a favour is needed or entertainment sought.’ He prided himself on keeping his voice even though he’d eased a little closer during their discourse.

  She hardly appeared thwarted by his explanation. In fact, he watched her straighten her shoulders, the heat between them palpable, their bodies aligned but not touching. Yet. And then her tongue darted out, over her lush lower lip, and he felt the stroke of that caress in his groin.

  Dammit to hell.

  He closed the negligible space between them, dipping his head to fit his mouth over hers in a hard open-mouthed kiss and she moaned, the reverberation against his lips firing his blood white-hot. He caged her in, the same way the rules of society kept him aligned, his palms flat against the wooden shelf behind, some random item toppling with a dull thud where it landed at their feet, the sound lost in the pounding rhythm of his pulse. What was it about Vivi that had him at sixes and sevens, abandoning every vow he’d made to remain uninvolved, detached, until he found—

  He lost that thread of reason as she placed her bare palms under the linen of his open shirt, splayed flat against his chest. One hand covered his nipple, the damp sensual texture of her palm abrading the tip in a rush of unexpected sensation. He deepened their kiss, wanting more. His tongue swept in to curl around hers, exploring the hollow of her hot little mouth, still not satisfied. What was this undoing? He prided himself on unfailing control and yet one taste, one innocent caress from Vivienne, and all he could think about was driving into her sweet curves and losing himself inside her. The realization was a stab in the heart. She evoked every complicated emotion he’d ignored and still he invited them to come.

  The insistent onslaught of their kiss subsided, all at once aware there existed no reason to rush; to savour the moment held greater reward. Pulling back, he exhaled and canted his head to capture her mouth at a different angle, wanting to taste her in all ways, experience and discover every inch of her body.

  Leaving one hand on the bookcase, he turned her chin, cupped her cheek and ended their kiss. Her eyes fluttered open a moment later.

  ‘Vivi.’ His voice sounded unusual, as if he’d run a very long way through the desert, parched and out of breath. Her brows lowered, a question in her glittering eyes. ‘Do you know what I need?’

  He wouldn’t take anything she didn’t offer freely in full understanding of this moment and the lack of any future between them.

  ‘You need to kiss me there.’ Her answer, low and husky, did strange things to him, most of all below, in his trousers where he strained with desire. As her words registered, he dared a smile, more of a grimace, but he doubted she could see it in the shadows of their corner.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Vivienne knew she didn’t dream. As much as Max’s bone-melting kisses insisted she did, the pounding thrum of her heartbeat and incredible wetness between her legs confirmed she was indeed awake. He’d crowded her into a place of no retreat and yet she felt protected above all else. And safe.

  Oh, but that was the easiest perception. So many others, desire, curiosity, invigoration, tangled in her mind until she laid a palm against his heart to see if he experienced the same riot of emotion. When her fingertips brushed the hard muscles of his chest she’d lost all coherent reason, arriving at the troubling conclusion she very much needed to lick him there, discover the smooth skin with her tongue.

  She stood in the dusky shadow of his commanding frame, the shallow glow of the lanterns hardly enough to illuminate the man in front of her. Just as in the looking-glass house, her other senses assumed control for lack of clear sight.

  He smelled like shaving soap, spicy and male, perhaps straight from the bath, his skin too smooth to contain the rock-hard muscle beneath. Her pulse raced at the notion of touching him all over, passing her hands down the tapered line of his lean waist, over the ridges and planes of his magnificent physique, lower where his manhood waited, hard and insistent. What would he feel like? Would he enjoy her caresses? She had no experience to draw from, but was willing to try and anxious to learn.

  He tasted…there was no way to describe the intimate deliciousness of his kiss. It was raw power, command and daring, with a hint of brandy—potent masculinity and strength in all its compelling splendour. His tongue rubbed against hers with suggestive invitation, each erotic thrust a mimic of all the naughty thoughts she kept locked away. Still, she needed more.

  In a bold move, she traced her palm across his nipple and beneath her fingers the muscle twitched. Did he feel as she did when she’d explored her own body: sensitive and anxious? He growled deep in his throat and leaned in all the closer, trapping the heat between them, their mingling exhalations, slow caresses and fervent intentions, magnified by the proximity of their bodies. His scent—warm, strong, male—filled her and her mind clouded with the bold suggestion he kiss her there. There. Where she grew wet and aching. She clenched her legs together beneath her skirts and wriggled slightly, wanting his touch at her core. When he whispered her name in an intimate tenor, the shortened endearment swirled around her ribs, across her heart to settle down where desire increased with each passing breath.

  Anticipation streamed through her. Her body hummed with vibrancy, never so much alive as in this moment—waiting, yearning…hoping.

  ‘Is that what you think about when you lie in bed at night?’ His lips were so close she could feel his breath warm her mouth, brush against the skin in a teasing caress that promised all kinds of sensual pleasure. ‘My mouth kissing you there.’

  It had become a thrilling game, the only way to label their evocative word play. His cunning proposition lit a flame that had burned through her modest resistance ever since he’d spoken in the gaming hell.

  Her hand fell away from his chest, their proximity making it difficult to move, and through that action her fingertips brushed the front of his trousers. He sucked in a sharp breath, released through his teeth in a low hiss. She wanted to lay her palm atop him with purpose. A lick of curious desire urged her to do so. Could she possibly be so bold? She didn’t know what she was doing but inexperience would never become an obstacle, trampled by the increasing need hammering her heart into a rapid beat.

  Their gaze locked and in a daring move she pushed to her toes, pressed a kiss to his mouth and at the same time settled her hand a
gainst his erection, hard and prominent beneath the thick cloth. She could sense his heat, his sex rigid and eager beneath her touch and he groaned, his eyes falling closed for a long moment. She wondered if perhaps she’d gone too far, broken the limit of his patience, and he might pull away, but he stood motionless, quiet, and she waited, breathless between them.

  ‘Vivi.’ The simple utterance gave nothing away. ‘There can be nothing more than this moment. I offer you no future. I have no promises to give you other than pleasure.’ He swallowed hard, his eyes shadowed. ‘I’m not a good man.’

  Her first instinct was to reassure, dismiss his admission and list every reason why he spoke untruths, but something in his tone, the complexity of emotion, warned it would be the wrong choice. She waited, bound by the spell that held them together, her heart open to the explanation she hoped he would provide.

  He shouldn’t. It was wrong, so wrong, like so many acts of conscious error, his life a long list of poor judgement and purposeful revenge. Vivienne, beautiful and enchanting, was beyond his reach, only to become hurt by his continued attention, and yet he wanted, needed her with a longing he’d never experienced nor allowed.

  She stared through him with her crystalline gaze, looked into his heart and touched him there, when to all else he’d always kept emotion forbidden and unavailable. How could he allow it now? He couldn’t bring himself to answer, say the word murderer but it was true. He was hardly better than the three men who’d raped his mother and left her to die.

  The thought jarred. He had unfinished business. One man left to pursue and claim retribution. One life left to end. He would not pull Vivienne down into the dredges, risk her safety by association and stain her lovely, charitable disposition with his bastard heritage and malignant goal. He couldn’t. No matter how much he wanted her, wished for her, and believed she would heal every open wound of his soul. His heart seized with the decision.

  He could only have this one evening. It would have to be enough.

  ‘Come.’ He didn’t say more, cautious with his words the same way he guarded his emotions, unwilling to allow her to draw him into a conversation where promises could be made.

  She slipped her hand into his, trusting and gentle, and he led her from the room, up the staircase and into his bedchamber at the end of a long hall. She had all the time in the world to change her mind, stop his actions and leave, but she didn’t. She followed in silence, their padded footsteps against the imported Aubusson rug the only sound aside from the steady thrum of his heart.

  And then, as if his reluctant consideration transformed into reality, she paused, two steps into the room. He glanced in her direction, attempting to understand her hesitation so close to their goal. His body tensed with foreboding.

  ‘Oh, this suits you. It’s exactly how I imagined it.’

  He released a long exhalation at her fanciful words and watched as she scanned his room, her concentration coming to rest on the large mahogany bed at the centre, the carved corner posts similar to the points of a crown, the plentiful pillows and white linen sheets twisted in disarray from where he’d slept before she’d arrived. He clenched his fists and splayed his fingers in an exercise of control. How he wanted to strip her bare and drive into her lush body, but he wasn’t a monster. He knew enough to temper and pace his unrelenting desire.

  She’d hinted with wonder at his suggestive kiss. How sweet her sex would taste on his tongue. He may not be able to offer her a proper woman’s desires of permanence and love, but he could bring her passion to climax and show how beautiful he found her inside and out.

  ‘Shall I help you undress?’ He was more accustomed to women who lifted their skirts or readily stripped bare before he climbed into their beds.

  ‘If you could…’ She turned, lifting her hair over her shoulder and giving him her back where a long row of buttons waited to be opened. He did not miss how her hand trembled.

  ‘Vivienne.’ The word was meant to reassure, but it came out in an inaudible growl, perhaps from the objecting emotion constricting his throat.

  ‘Don’t.’ She shook her head slightly though he couldn’t see her face. ‘There is entirely too much talking when I’m more interested in feeling, Max.’

  His name from her mouth caused his undoing.

  He came up behind her. His fingers set to work and as he leaned closer intent on the fastenings, his breath stirred the tendrils of hair against her nape and her fragrance filled him. Desire made him clumsy and he concentrated on each button, anxious and at the same time burdened by the tedious task. His cock throbbed, hard and ready, an insistent reminder, no matter that he told himself he must proceed with care.

  At last he lowered the gown to her waist, just one of many layers proper ladies endured. How he’d like to remove the garments in haste, unworried if the seams ripped and the buttons fell, but Vivienne deserved reverent attention.

  With an unexpected twist, she reversed position, shoving the gown and underskirts to her feet, followed by the swift disposal of a short laced corset, to leave her standing in a thin cotton chemise, pantalettes, stockings and slippers, the picture of provocative allure. He watched the colour rise in her cheeks, yet another sign she was too good for him, better in every way; however, she did not cover herself nor avert her eyes.

  Firelight bathed her in a golden shimmer, her skin pale rose and precious, the shadow of her full breasts outlined through the sheer fabric. He swallowed, his tongue dry and body hard. Admiring her courage, he slanted one shoulder and his shirt fell free in a silent whisper. Dare he unbutton his trousers while she watched? The thought had his cock aching for release while a wild, possessive desire fired his blood. He didn’t know what to feel for Vivienne beyond his body’s primitive craving. He wouldn’t dare place a label on the undeniable lust. All he knew was that before him stood an emerald-eyed beauty, full of curiosity and restless desire and he wouldn’t waste the moment, the inevitability of what was about to happen too rare.

  He reached forward, seized her hips and pulled her into a sudden embrace, his mouth finding hers with swift accuracy, locked in a hungry kiss so consuming he stepped backward with the impact, the mattress behind striking his thighs.

  Perfect.

  She gasped as they tumbled into bed, half surprise, half pleasure, but he didn’t allow her to recover, crushing her breasts to his chest, the silky heat of their weight through the thin fabric an erotic tease more stimulating than skin upon skin. With alacrity he reversed their positions, their kiss ongoing. Their bodies rolled in unison so now he lay above. He broke away to view her, wishing to remember the sight, her hair fanned across the sheets like a skein of black silk, her breasts high and shapely, spilling from the ribboned neckline of her thin chemise.

  He snatched the fabric with his teeth, opened the tie and nuzzled a path to one perfectly round breast. She quivered beneath his mouth as he captured her nipple, suckled the tip, and rubbed with his tongue. All the while she wriggled her hips with impatience beneath his weight. He pinned her down, sliding a thigh between her legs, aware he would lose himself completely if she continued to move against him in sensual innocence. There was something intensely erotic about Vivienne, shy and sheltered, yet she was a vivacious minx in his arms.

  He released her breast, rolled to the side and slid the chemise to her waist, a half-smile on his lips as she lifted her hips and swept the fabric from the bed. He took in an eyeful, her arms tossed carelessly across the linens, bare breasts with nipples ruched from his attention, and white pantalettes and stockings. She still wore shoes.

  Hell to the devil. He’d never last.

  Hoping to slack his lust to any degree, he knelt beside the bed and carefully removed her slippers, his fingers gliding upward over fine woven silk to the band of her stockings fastened at her thigh. He brushed over the creamy skin there and she quivered, instinct causing her to jerk her legs closed, but with the precision of a skilful thief he eased them open and rolled the s
ilk down the slope of each leg, past her ankle and then off. So much soft silky skin. Where would he begin?

  She sighed, a delightful trusting noise, and he reclaimed his space on the bed, taking her mouth in a deep kiss while thinking about her sex: wet, hot and waiting for his touch. He fondled her breasts, smoothed his palm down her flat belly, paused over her navel, his fingers on the lace trim of her pantalettes, his body screaming for release. This was madness. Never had he wanted like this, nor waited like this.

  He parted the fabric with his fingers, sliding across the folds of her sex, the caress of soft down and wet heat causing him to tremble with need. She grasped his arm where he leaned beside her, her eyes fluttering open.

  ‘Will you kiss me now?’

  Lost to the haze of sensation, he almost misunderstood her question, ready to capture her mouth in another tantalizing kiss, but with a groan of recognition, he slid down the mattress and settled between her legs. She acquiesced, lovely in all ways, and when the slit in her pantalettes parted, a glisten of flesh was revealed. His muscles ached from the struggle to go slowly. He touched her with his fingertip; one stroke and she quaked, like she had on the night at the gaming hell. The same bloody night he couldn’t get out of his mind.

  He could no longer wait and slid a finger into her wet heat. She was tight, incredibly hot and tight, and he wondered how he’d ever make her ready for him when all he could think about was shucking his pants and driving into her tempting curves. She moaned, her eyes closed, her body boneless, and he withdrew, kissing her inner thigh in way of preparing her for the sensual act she’d wondered about since he’d made the wicked suggestion.

  She quivered again as he removed her pantalettes, her body fraught, and she understood. He rested his hands on her silky smooth thighs, parted her legs, kissed her sex as light as a feather’s caress, but it wasn’t enough for either of them, and with his patience all but spent, his cock heavy and hard, he touched his tongue to her core. She responded with a moan so erotic and pleasure-filled it hurt his heart. He kept it there, locked tight.