His face was unreadable, giving nothing away. “Oh? What am I trying to do?”
Jamming her fists into her hips, she rose onto the balls of her feet so that she was closer to eye level when she responded, “Bed me!”
One dark brow rose, then his lips twitched as he held back a smile. He leaned in so that his mouth was mere inches from hers. “I know what you’re trying to do, Anne. Avoid me.” His warm breath made her lips tingle. “You’re afraid.”
She dropped back down onto her heels. “Afraid? Of you? You jest.”
“No, not of me. Of you. You want me and it frightens you. Admit it.”
She gave a mirthless laugh. “Good Lord, you are conceited.”
A slow knee-weakening smile spread across his mouth. “No. Just observant. Your body betrays you,” he said with far too much smugness.
She hated it that he was right. Her body was betraying her. This tormenting need and the moisture between her legs were the last things she wanted.
No, the last thing you want is for him to “know” that you desire him.
“If it’s bed sport you seek, I suggest you look elsewhere. I am not looking for a lover.” Her body railed at her words.
“Why not? Do you already have one?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“I’ll assume that means no.” He shook his head. “I am amazed.”
“At what?”
“That such a beautiful woman has a cold empty bed, and no one to fulfill the carnal yearnings her body craves”—her sex contracted, a fresh wave of arousal flooding through her—“especially when it is obvious that she’s so naturally drawn to sexual pleasures. I’ve read some of your work, Anne,” he said. “Those poems were written by a woman of passion.”
“I told you, I wrote those poems a long time ago. I’m not the same woman.”
“Yes, you are. Now that the mask of propriety has dropped, the real Anne de Vignon finally appears. Spirited and fiery—just as your writing suggests. At last I get to see the real you.”
“And why do you care to see the real me?” No one had ever expressed such an interest. Certainly no man. And only after Roland had left had she finally seen that he didn’t care to know her either. “Why would it matter to you who I am?”
He brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I find you as intriguing as you are desirable.”
“Really,” she responded blandly, though her fever spiked at his touch. “Please spare me your flowery words.” She’d heard enough of them from Roland to last three lifetimes. “You are wasting your efforts.”
Anne turned to leave. He caught her wrist. She snapped her head around, ready to deliver up some hot words, when he stunned her into silence by pressing her palm to the bulge in his breeches. “You make me hard every time you walk into the room. I’m willing to admit how much I want you,” he said, his voice low, intoxicating. Anne fought back the strong urge to tighten her fingers around him. Even through his breeches she could tell he was thick and lusciously large, bringing to sharp focus the void between her thighs aching to be filled, and that a very lonely bed was waiting for her upstairs. “I’m not wasting my efforts as long as the desire is mutual. Your nipples are hard, begging for attention. Your pulse is racing and you’re wet for me, aren’t you?”
Wet? She’d soaked her caleçons.
He grazed her palm up his length and squeezed her hand hard against him. She lost her breath.
“Why not give in to the sexual pull between us?” he asked, releasing his hold of her hand. “Neither of us can seem to tame it. A carnal encounter between us is inevitable.”
Her body burned for him … Could she really do this? “You’re my patroness’s grandson.” She knew she was grasping for reasons. Dear God, she was still grasping his erection after he’d taken his hand away.
She released him.
In a quick fluid motion he picked her up and set her bottom down on the desk. She gasped and grabbed his shoulders. His hips were now suddenly wedged between her spread thighs. “That is no deterrence. She has nothing to do with this. She doesn’t own your body. You do. You’re a grown woman, Anne. It’s your decision to make. It’s just sex. Some shared physical pleasures.”
He was right. Love was one thing. Physical pleasure quite another. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been any more successful with sex than she’d been with love.
Nicolas could tell she wanted to surrender to him. She wanted to give in to the demands of her body and this stunning attraction between them that was only growing stronger by the moment. He was so close …
Her procrastination was killing him.
Slipping his hands around her, he gripped her soft derrière and pulled her up against his cock. A small sound escaped her throat the instant he’d come in contact with her sensitized clit. There were too many damn clothes between them. “Are you a virgin, Anne?” He could tell that her sexual experience was rather limited, but how limited, he didn’t know. “It’s all right if you are. I’ll leave you intact until you say otherwise,” he assured her. “There are still decadent delights we can enjoy.” He dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers. “Say yes, and we’ll begin right now.”
The tip of his cock was wet with pre-come. His sac was tight. His body screamed for release. This woman had him so completely undone.
Her hands slid down from his shoulders and fisted his justacorps at his chest, still indecisive.
He ran his tongue along the seam of her mouth and lightly bit her bottom lip. “Say it, and I’ll make it worth your while.” Rolling his hips, he stroked his length along the soft folds of her sex, this time with enough pressure to make her moan for him—a long sultry sound. Oh, yes. That’s it. Mentally, he willed her to acquiesce. “Say yes … Do it, Anne … and we can indulge in some mutual gratification,” he added. Seigneur Dieu, he was practically begging.
He’d never begged anyone for anything.
She pulled back slightly. “Mutual gratification?” She was breathless and flushed. “That’s …” She swallowed. “That’s what men say, but … in truth … in the boudoir they take their pleasure. Then they take their leave.”
Merde. What was Henriette filling her head with? “Not all men are the same. Some of us enjoy giving pleasure as well as receiving it. There’s nothing sweeter than a woman’s release.” Those spine-melting ripples along his thrusting prick when a woman came were exquisite, and something he’d never forgo. “It is a heady rush—empowering—to have someone desperate for you. Desperate for what you can give.”
His words hit their mark. He saw curiosity spark in her eyes. She was intrigued. Clearly, she liked the idea of feeling empowered. It occurred to him just then, She doesn’t want to feel vulnerable.
It was a barrier for her—one he intended to knock down.
To that end, Nicolas yanked her up against him harder and said, “You have me desperate for you. For what you can give—yourself.” It was no lie. “So desperate, in fact, that I’ve got to have your mouth right now.”
He crushed her lips, unsure whether she was going to protest. His kiss was hard and hungry, wanting to be inside her more than he wanted his next breath. She parted her lips and pressed her soft form against him. His arousal spiked, hurling him into a feral state, like none he’d known before. Voracious, he drove his tongue into her mouth. She tasted so good. He needed more.
His practiced fingers pulled at the ties on her bodice, impatiently separating it and yanking down her clothing until at last he uncovered her breasts.
Nicolas broke the kiss, his breaths harsh and rapid. He devoured the vision before him. Her breasts weren’t large or small, but perfect. His mouth watered.
The gold locket dangled between the soft tempting mounds. It was suddenly an annoying distraction. He didn’t want to think about the key inside. Or his mission. Right now, all he wanted to concentrate on was showing her just how good sex could be, knowing instinctively from the first moment their gazes had met that any ca
rnal encounter between them was sure to be hot and intense.
Nicolas pulled the locket off. She made a small sound in protest.
“Shhhh. It’s all right,” he soothed. “It’s in the way.”
Pressing his palm against the nape of her neck, he pulled her forward and kissed her again, slow and deep, dropping the locket with a clunk onto the desk, so that she knew it was nearby.
She returned his kiss, her hands still clutching the lapels of his knee-length coat. He cupped her breast and grazed his thumb over one hardened nipple. She shivered.
Nicolas pinched, then lightly pulled on the pretty pink tip. Breaking the kiss, she tipped her head back with a soft cry, her glorious red hair spilling over her shoulders.
Good God, she was so sensuous.
Hot urgency thundered through him. His sac was so full of come, he could barely stand it. “Anne …” His voice was gruff with desire.
She opened her eyes, her gaze deliciously heated.
“You want more, don’t you?” He rolled her nipple between his fingers. She whimpered.
He rolled the pebbled tip a little harder and was instantly rewarded with a stronger mew. “You like that? You want more?” he repeated.
She trembled. “Yes …”
He released her nipple, pushed her onto her back, then pinned her wrists against the desk. She stared up at him, her sweet breasts rising and falling with each rapid breath. “Good, because I’m going to give you more.”
He lowered his head and sucked her nipple into his hungry mouth.
Anne arched off the desk with a strangled cry, lost to the wet heat drawing on the sensitive tip, each luscious pull of his mouth making her writhe and her sex leak. She’d never known such keen sensations, such engulfing need.
She’d never known a man like Nicolas de Savignac. There were many reasons she shouldn’t be doing what she was doing, but with each silky suck of his mouth, her reasons eluded her and she couldn’t think of one. For once, she didn’t want to think. She wanted to feel. Anne closed her eyes … And this felt so sublime.
He turned to her other breast, lavishing upon it the same wicked torment—teasing licks, hard sucks, and light bites. He had her squirming, moaning, panting, starved for more.
He was giving, not taking. Yet in giving, he was getting something in return—the pleasure of her pleasure. This was all so new. She’d never heard any man refer to sex the way he did. This was the kind of passion she’d imagined when she wrote those poems years ago. This was the kind of passion she had envisioned experiencing one day. This was the kind of passion she’d convinced herself she’d never know.
With a growl, he tore his mouth off her. Her eyes flew open, her breathing sharp and shallow.
Releasing her wrists, he yanked her skirts up, layer by layer, his handsome face etched with heated determination. Her heart pounded away the moments until she felt him untie her drawers and pull them off with a fierce tug.
He tossed them carelessly onto the chair behind him, bent her knees, and pressed them back toward her, opening her wet sex to his view. She was so far gone, she wasn’t in the least bit embarrassed.
His light gray eyes met her gaze. The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “You look delicious. Good enough to eat.” Her insides danced. “Have you ever had a man pleasure you with his mouth?” he asked.
She’d never had a man pleasure her. Period. Her carnal experience was limited to her encounters with Roland. They’d left her disappointed and dissatisfied. What Nicolas was doing to her was already more pleasure than she’d ever known.
Somehow, Anne summoned her voice. “No.”
“Then it’s time one did.” There was such wicked promise in his eyes, her heart lost a beat. She tensed, bracing herself for the thrill of his touch.
He tightened his grip on her knees. “Relax. All you have to do is to enjoy it.”
She nodded. “Good. Fine. Hurry.” She was dying. She doubted she would have objected to anything he wanted at the moment.
Amusement flickered in his eyes for an instant before they darkened with desire once more. “I’m going to savor you.” He lowered his head between her legs.
The first stroke of his tongue tore a cry from her throat. He stopped; his hand flew off her knee and covered her mouth. “You have to be quiet,” he said, tossing a quick glance at the door.
She nodded again, quivering from the inside out.
Gripping both her knees firmly once more, Nicolas lowered his hot mouth onto her needy flesh and groaned. She bit her lip and swallowed down her wail of pleasure.
His skillful tongue licked her along her dewy folds, stimulating every overwrought nerve ending along the way. He varied between soft licks and stronger strokes. She sobbed for more. Nothing in her life had ever felt this good. Her orgasm was building, fast and fierce.
His masterful sucks on her swollen bud sent her rushing to the precipice, but he stopped her from toppling into ecstasy every time by pulling away and lightly blowing cool air against her hot nub, holding her enthralled. Driving her wild.
“Nicolas,” she said, his name a plea.
He thrust his tongue inside her. She jerked. He then began sucking her juices, besieging her body with deep suctioning sensations. She squeezed her eyes shut, each pull of his mouth edging her closer and closer to the release she was frantic for.
He pulled back.
Her eyes flew open, dazed and desperate. She was on the brink!
“You taste so good,” he said and licked her essence off his lips. “You’re going to come for me hard, aren’t you?”
“Yes!” exploded from her lips. “Please, don’t stop.”
Releasing one of her knees, Nicolas slid two fingers inside her. She moaned at his possession.
His fingers glided in and out of her soaked sex. She was instantly lost in the rhythmic plunge and drag making her inner muscles clench and release, pushing her once more toward a shattering climax.
“That’s it, Anne. I’m not going to stop. You’re going to come for me, now.”
He swooped in and sucked her clitoris into his mouth with such stunning force, she lurched with a strangled scream.
Ecstasy burst inside her. Anne stiffened and convulsed, her orgasm rocking her body, as spasms rippled through her core, along his thrusting fingers. He grunted sharply, his mouth still firmly latched onto her, unrelenting. Digging her nails into her knees, she rode out the muscle-melting sensations, the shuddering contractions, until the final one ebbed.
Boneless and shaky, she felt him lower her legs and let them dangle over the edge of the desk. Her gown was bunched at her waist, her lower body still exposed.
Nicolas swiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes ablaze with his physical need. “We’re not done,” he assured her, his voice rough with desire. Already his hands were on the ties of his breeches and he started to open them.
She didn’t want to be done.
Anne rose onto her elbows and was about to tell him how much she wanted to feel him inside her, and that she wanted to bring him to a voluptuous climax, just as he’d brought her, when she saw him freeze. His chin jerked up, his attention directed at the door.
It was then she heard it. Footsteps.
They were getting louder, closer.
Her stomach dropped. She sat up, twisted around and gasped. The door was ajar and had never been fully closed, much less locked.
Nicolas swore, each word a low snarl, laced with frustration and fury at the impending interruption. He raked both hands through his dark hair and let out a sharp breath. “We’ll have to finish this later.” He cupped her cheeks and gave her a quick hard kiss. “I may just kill whoever is about to walk through that door.” He pulled her skirts down over her legs. “Dress. Quickly.” He refastened his breeches.
Her heart thundered as her fumbling fingers went to work on her bodice.
Nicolas picked up books that had been knocked off the desk during their amorous encounter, straightening t
he area around them. She hadn’t realized they’d made such a mess.
The footsteps continued to approach at a strong and steady pace.
Finishing with her bodice, Anne slipped off the desk and onto her shaky legs, then smoothed her hair and her skirts, and checked her bodice again, making certain everything was secure.
Nicolas pulled her caleçons off the chair and stuffed them into the sleeve of his justacorps. He winked at her.
She felt her cheeks warm. “How do I look?” she asked.
He stepped closer. In her ear he whispered, “Like a woman who thoroughly enjoyed some carnal pleasures.” She heard the smile in his voice.
Heat crept down from her face to her chest. He stepped back.
“Don’t forget this.” Dangling from his finger was her gold locket.
“Thank you.” She quickly slipped it on and tucked the pendant into her bodice.
Nicolas dropped down onto the settee, opened one of the books he’d picked up, and was thumbing through it casually when Henriette pushed the door open and swept into the room.
She stopped, glanced at Nicolas and cocked a brow at Anne. Anne managed the semblance of a smile.
“A wonderful poem, Anne,” Nicolas said. “I enjoyed it very much.” He flipped more pages. “Ah, and this one, ‘One Spring Night’—absolutely lovely.”
Henriette cleared her throat.
Nicolas twisted around. “Oh, Henriette …” He smiled and rose, looking as innocent as a babe. “Good day to you.”
“Good day, Nicolas.” Henriette walked over to the desk.
Anne didn’t miss that Nicolas held the book strategically before him, covering his tented breeches. Nicolas met her gaze. His smoldering look weakened her knees. Outwardly, he put on a cool and polished performance. But on the inside, he burned for her.
Henriette pulled her locket out of her bodice and removed the key inside. “I see you are reading Anne’s poetry,” she said as she unlocked the desk drawer.
“Yes, and enjoying it very much. Knowing how much I want to get to know my grandmother, Anne graciously gave me a number of the Comtesse’s favorite books. I’m looking forward to reading yours, too, Henriette.”
Little Red Writing Page 5
