Too agitated to remain still, she took to pacing the room, looking back at him as she spoke. ‘I’ll be indelicately blunt. Unlike most matrons who indulge in a tryst, I don’t have a husband who could cover up any...unfortunate consequences. I couldn’t bear to shame my father, and it would kill me to bear a child that I had to give up and could never acknowledge. And before you say anything, neither would I want to drag you into “doing the honourable thing”—forcing us into a marriage neither of us is prepared for.’
Sighing, she came back to stand beside him and looked up to meet his sombre gaze. ‘Yes, I still want—more than you can imagine. But for so many compelling reasons, I cannot have. I am so sorry.’ She swallowed hard, fighting back the humiliation of tears. ‘I...hope you will not think too badly of me.’
She tried to look away, but he took her chin and tilted it back to face him. To her surprise, his expression seemed...tender, rather than aggrieved. ‘I don’t think badly of you at all. Rather the opposite! After what my mother suffered, I understand only too well the penalty imposed upon a woman for a dalliance that a man enjoys with no risk of retribution. To deny what one so strongly desires, in order to not shame family or harm innocents, is an honourable act. But a carte blanche doesn’t have to be completely blank. One can write a few rules upon it.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Do you not?’ At her puzzled look, he laughed softly. ‘As I’m sure you know, there are many delightful ways to pleasure other than the...consummation that could put you at risk.’
She thought of how, after a long time apart, Robbie had been able to bring her to her peak with just a kiss, while he stroked and fondled. How at any time, his mouth and fingers could tease her closer and closer to that summit, close enough that she might have reached completion, even had he not claimed her.
But what of his pleasure? ‘Do you mean you could be satisfied with...less than full possession?’
In answer, he bent down and captured her mouth. Her lips acutely sensitive after her hasty journey from arousal to frustration to excitement to disappointment, Maggie moaned, his lips coaxing her immediately to response.
‘You see,’ he murmured, breaking the kiss. ‘So many delightful roads to pleasure. If a sensible caution is all that holds you back, you need resist no longer.’
‘But what if I...want more?’ she asked, by no means sure that, under the mind-numbing drug of passion, she’d have the will to restrain herself.
He chuckled again. ‘I’ll just have to refuse you. For protection’s sake, I shall retain the most essential part of my clothing. But do not worry, my sweet. I shall very much enjoy removing all of yours.’
It was a dangerous, outrageous suggestion—but she so wanted to believe it possible. The consequences for failure, however, would be dire.
Her conflict must have been written on her face, for he said, ‘Shall we try?’ Dropping her hand, he went to the hearth and plucked a poker from the fireplace. ‘If I should forget my resolve, use this.’
‘What if I forget?’
‘When you are satisfied, there will be nothing to forget.’
A tremor went through her at the thought. ‘And what of your...satisfaction?’
His eyes lit, the smouldering blue light irresistible. ‘I can show you the ways. Shall I? Now?’
He bent and kissed her again, unabashedly seductive, his tongue insinuating itself into her mouth, stroking, teasing, advancing and withdrawing. Dizzy, she clung to him, pressing against him, taking the kiss deeper, until they were both panting for breath.
She would burn to a cinder if she didn’t have this. ‘Now,’ she said. Knocking the poker aside, she took his hand and led him to her bedchamber.
* * *
Once inside the room, she pulled him to her. Angling her head up, she wrapped her his arms around neck and brought her lips to his for another sweet, drugging kiss meant to banish every possibility of misgivings or regret. But as they stumbled towards the bed, she realised muzzily that she wasn’t sure what should happen next, if the usual progression from kissing to completion was to be avoided.
Uncertain, she halted, and broke the kiss. His breathing ragged, he looked down at her, ran a finger gently over her cheek. ‘What is it? More doubts?’
‘Just...I’m not sure what to do...now.’ She waved towards the bed. ‘Perhaps better not to go there?’
‘How about here?’ He urged her to the end of the bed, sat her down and took a step back. ‘Now, you tell me what you want.’
‘What I want?’ she repeated stupidly.
‘Yes. How do I pleasure you best, my sweet lady?’
At the idea of boldly stating aloud how she wanted him to make love to her, she flushed scarlet. ‘I d-don’t know if I can,’ she stuttered, need warring with embarrassment. ‘I’ve...never done this before.’
He must have sensed she was on the brink of another panicked retreat, for he said quickly, ‘Let me imagine, then. If I do something you don’t want, just stop me.’
Before she could stutter out a reply, he sat beside her, wrapped his arms around her and leaned her back against him. Acutely sensitive to his touch, she jumped with surprise when, instead of the more intimate caress she anticipated, he began to massage her shoulders.
It felt heavenly, though, so good it quieted, for the moment, the shrill voice of passion that wanted more. After a moment, with a sigh, she relaxed against him, leaning back into the soothing ministration of his hands.
‘Yes, relax, my sweet,’ he murmured against her ear. ‘This is for you, only for you. At your pace, according to your desires. Only yours.’
Like water dripping off a roof after rain, she felt doubt and tension slide away, one small drip at a time, until at last she was emptied of all worry. As those turbulent emotions exited, need moved in to fill the space, until her whole body was smouldering in slow, sweet arousal.
As if sensing she was ready for more, he bent down to nuzzle her neck, then sucked and nipped his way towards her ear. She shuddered as he reached the sensitive spot below the lobe, then licked and suckled the edge. ‘Do you like that?’ his whisper rasped in her ear.
‘Yes,’ she breathed, squirming to turn so she might meet his lips.
But gently, holding her in place, he massaged from her shoulder down her arms and under, stroking along her ribs. With a whimper, she arched her back, straining to bring his caressing fingers up to her breasts.
Seeming to understand, he halted, lifting his hands up to cup her breasts. A long shuddering sigh escaped her as he rubbed his thumbs over each peaked nipple.
‘Do you want this?’ he whispered.
‘Yes!’
‘Tell me,’ he urged. ‘Tell me what you want.’
‘I want you to...to caress my breasts,’ she got out, finding it easier this time to voice the need.
She felt his hardness surge against her, and she realised, in a little flash of awe and gratification, that it aroused him to hear her say the words aloud. Emboldened by the knowledge, she said, ‘I want to feel your hands on my naked breasts.’
Ah, once again she felt that delicious hardness press more firmly against her as he bent to place a long, nibbling kiss on the nape of her neck. ‘Gladly.’
The drum of her heart accelerated as he moved away a bit, and she felt his hands unfastening the tapes at the back of her gown. ‘Hurry!’ she urged, increasingly impatient, now that she’d envisioned it, to feel that intimate touch.
He worked the bodice free, and she helped him shrug it off, but the skirt still held shift and stays in place. ‘Females,’ he said, kissing the bit more of her back bared by the removal of the bodice, ‘wear entirely too many garments.’
Murmuring agreement, she wriggled on the bed, expecting him to unlace and remove the restricting skirt. Instead, h
e reached up to grab a pillow, dragged it down and leaned her back against it.
As she lay back, the stays beneath her breasts pulled the fine linen of her shift tight across her nipples. Before she could think what he was doing, Giles took nipple, fabric and all into his mouth and suckled.
The heat and wetness of his mouth, the friction of the fabric created a sensation both similar, and entirely different, from anything she’d experienced before, when loving had begun only after she’d been completely undressed. The friction sparked a tremor that seemed to go straight to her core, sparking there a similar reaction of warmth, wetness, and tightening the spiral of desire.
His mouth moved to her other breast, bringing the magic of moisture and friction to that nipple while his thumb circled over and rubbed the wet fabric. Tension coiled tighter as the fire within built and built, until she was straining towards the peak.
Her skin flushed with heat, she tossed her head restlessly, tilting her hips, instinctively trying to move in the familiar, rhythmic pattern. As she writhed beside him, he moved his mouth to claim hers, his lips demanding entry, his tongue sweeping in to lave and dominate. At the same time, he swept an arm down under her skirts.
She kissed him back just as fiercely, seeking out his tongue, darting with hers to explore and lave each corner of his mouth. Then gasped, as his hand beneath her skirts caressed and squeezed in a slow ascent...his whole hand surrounding her ankle...two fingers tracing the delicate skin behind her knee...a single finger tracing the top edge of her stocking, sliding under and out, under and out. And finally, finally, while she whimpered her need, he moved the hand up and cupped her.
She wiggled beneath it, wanting him to go further, but for a maddening few moments, he simply rubbed that mound with his whole hand. Finally, when she thought she would shatter if he delayed any longer, he slid two fingers down to caress the tiny bud at her centre.
After so many years of abstinence, it took only this single touch to send her spiralling into the abyss. Crying out, she tensed as pleasure ignited, sending sweet fulfilment rushing outward in waves from her centre through her body to the very tips of her fingers, her toes, her earlobes.
A few mindless moments later, as the tremors faded, she sagged back, replete. In the vastness of the ocean of contentment, one small worry floated forth as, finally conscious of his rapid breaths and the still-hard member pressed against her, she realised he had not yet had his satisfaction.
Before she had recovered enough for speech, he bent to kiss her again, this time light and tender. Murmuring, she opened her mouth to him. But after a minute of gentle caresses, his tongue grew bolder, laving hers, teasing the tip. A spark of arousal flamed up out of the ashes of fulfilment.
Within a few moments, her heartbeat accelerated and she felt the pulse begin to pound in her ears again. And then, he moved his fingers from her little nub and nudged them at the entrance to her passage.
She gasped, arousal building in one giant leap, and pushed against him, wanting the exquisite caress of those fingers to slide deeper, to the very core of her.
But he took his time, progressing deeper ever so slowly, each minute a new bit of flesh igniting as he touched it. When at least he’d penetrated to the depths of her and began a slow advance and withdrawal, advance and withdrawal, she was sobbing with arousal.
But he would not be hurried. Only gradually did he increase the rhythm, and when his thrusting fingers finally reached a rapid tempo, she shattered in a climax so intense, she lost all sense of who and where she was.
When the earth had settled, the stars realigned, and the ability to breathe and speak returned, Maggie gazed up to see Giles watching her, a slight smile on his lips.
She smiled back, tried to lift a finger to trace his lips, and couldn’t quite manage it. He caught her hand and kissed it.
‘That was—glorious,’ she told him. ‘Thank you.’
His smile widened and he made her a little bow. ‘Your humble servant is pleased to serve.’
She shook her head at him. ‘But it’s not right.’
His smile vanished. ‘What do you mean?’
‘That was the most erotic experience of my life—and you are still completely clothed.’
He grinned again. ‘What would you have me remove?’
‘Nothing! Not yet. But if you will pour me some restorative wine—there should be a decanter on the table over there—I will endeavour to do the removing.’
‘I like the sound of that. But remember—the breeches stay on.’
She gave him a long, slow smile. ‘So did my shift.’
She saw him catch her meaning in the widening of his eyes and sharp intake of breath. Bounding up, he soon located decanter and glass, poured a generous amount, and offered it to her.
She sat up and took a long swallow, then handed him the glass. She could see the erection straining against his trouser flap as he carried the glass back to the table, and another spiral of anticipation and delight whirled through her.
She stood, unhooking her skirt, stepping out of it and tossing it away; she didn’t want its clinging length to get in the way of what she planned. When he came back to the bed, she motioned to the place she’d been seated and said, ‘Sit, please.’
He promptly complied, then looked up at her. She could see the rapid pulse beating at his temples and smiled, pleased at this evidence of his heightened desire.
She stood before him and began untying his cravat, slowly unwinding and removing the broad band of linen, then folding it neatly. He wasn’t the only one who knew how to heighten anticipation with delay. After flicking back the edges of his shirt, she moved her hands to massage his shoulders and bent to kiss his bared throat.
He sighed when her lips contacted the rough skin, then groaned as she licked her way to the hollow where the pulse beat strongly. Massaging still, she kissed up his throat to nibble his jaw, evading his mouth when he tried to meet her lips, and continuing to lick and nip from the jawline up to his ears, his cheekbones, across his closed eyes, to his brow and into the hairline.
Reaching down, she lifted his arms and pulled the shirt over his head. She stepped back a moment to admire him, all muscled shoulder and strong arms and broad chest, where the flat nipples puckered.
He hissed between his teeth as she slowly ran a fingernail over each one.
Lifting her skirts, she bared herself to the waist, watching his face as he watched her. He opened his lips, an inarticulate mumble, and she placed a finger over his mouth to forestall any protest. Then she sat down on his lap and straddled him, her naked torso pressed against his trousers.
She felt his member leap as she wound her legs around his back and rocked her hot, moist, naked centre against his fettered erection. With a gasp, he cupped her bare bottom and pulled her closer. Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him hard, rubbing her breasts against his bare chest while he picked up the rhythm, thrusting against her.
He must have been as ready as she had been, for after half-a-dozen such thrusts, he turned rigid in her arms, gasping into her mouth as his completion swept over him. Kissing him still, she followed him down as he collapsed back on to the bed, his chest drenched in sweat, his breathing ragged.
Rolling over to cuddle beside him, she pushed the moist hair off his brow and stroked it, waiting for his breathing to steady and slow, aglow with more peace and contentment than she’d felt since... She pushed her mind back from the thought. This moment was for enjoying now, without tarnishing it with sadness from the past.
At length, with a groan, he pushed himself up on his elbows. ‘Thank you, my sweet. Although if we hadn’t made this...unusual bargain, I should have to apologise for...reaching the finish line so quickly.’
‘No matter. Shall we rub down the horse and prepare him to race again?’
His eyes lit. ‘Absolu
tely. Although for safety’s sake, I should do the “rubbing”.’
‘Absolutely not. When I serve, my service is complete.’
She walked over to the dressing table, poured water in the washbasin and returned with it and a soft rag. He stayed her hands when she attempted to unbutton the trouser flat.
‘It will be all right,’ she told him, going down before him. ‘I promise, my knees shall not leave the floor.’
‘If you’re certain.’
‘I am.’ Pushing his hands aside, she plucked open the buttons and pulled the flap free, exposing his spent member. Gently and carefully she washed it with the rag, then the upper part of his legs and his belly. Once he’d been cleansed, she began pulling the rag slowly over the exposed skin. She bent down and blew a breath over the dampness, watching as he shivered, the little hairs on his stomach standing on end.
Pleased, she moved the damp cloth back to his now-stirring member. Up and down she stroked, alternating the soft caress of the rag with a long exhale over the tightening skin, bending closer each time, until her lips were almost but not quite touching him.
She looked up, into blue eyes locked upon her. ‘Does this please you?’ she whispered.
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me. Tell me what you like.’
He smiled slightly, picking up the game. ‘I like having you stroke me. I like feeling your warm breath on my cock.’
At the words, she felt her own nipples tighten and the moist heat build between her legs. She bent and licked the hard velvet tip, which jerked under her ministrations. He gasped, his hands clutching the bedclothes, his arms rigid.
‘Do you like that?’
‘Yes. I love having your tongue on my cock.’
Forbidden Nights with the Viscount Page 10
