Her gaze wandered lower, to the front of his breeches, where his own appreciation of her was flagrantly apparent. Having her look made his cock swell larger still and press uncomfortably against the fall of his already closefitting breeches. Her blush deepened, spreading over her chest, and he guessed she must be remembering how she’d touched him in the carriage.
“Your stays,” he said, but she shook her head.
“I can’t,” she said. “Martha ties the lace with a knot, and I can’t undo it myself.”
At once he was behind her, sweeping aside the curtain of her hair. The lace of her stays was in fact tied at the top in that cunning knot that all lady’s maids seemed to know, with the thick lace zigzagging between the eyelets along the length of her back. He’d long ago learned the trick of how to tug the loop free, and the rest soon followed.
“How can you do that so quickly?” she marveled as he pulled the freed lace through the eyelets. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t wish to know, any more than I want to know how many of those other ladies in stays you must have brought to your bedchamber.”
“None,” he said, the truth. “Not here.”
She turned her head to look over her shoulder, her diamond earrings swinging gently against her throat. “None?”
Her voice was hopeful, not prying, and he thought again of how important it was that she trust him.
“None,” he said firmly. “I won’t deny there have been others, but never in this bed. They’d no place being here. You do.”
He held aside her hair and kissed the nape of her neck, brushing his lips from there to the side of her throat. He breathed deeply of her scent, sandalwood and roses, a combination unique to her.
“You have the most beautiful skin,” he said. “I’ve dreamed of losing myself against your skin.”
“You’re very … kind,” she whispered, shivering slightly as he kissed her throat. “Considering how sallow I am.”
“Truthful, not kind.” He tugged the lace through the last eyelet and pushed her stays forward from her shoulders. She gasped as the heavy garment slipped away from her body, and shook her arms with relief to free them and let it drop to the floor with her other clothes. “You’re not sallow. You’re ivory dusted with gold, and purest perfection. That is the truth.”
Now the only thing that lay between them was the thin linen shift, no barrier at all. He reached forward and filled his hands with her breasts and she gasped again, arching into his chest. Her nipples tightened against his palms, and as he rubbed them with his thumbs, they hardened more. She pressed her head to his shoulder, and moved restlessly against him, her hair falling around them both. Unwittingly she rubbed her plump bottom against his cock, and he bit back an oath, begging for self-restraint. She’d no notion of what she was doing to him, but his cock was all too eager to return the favor.
Still caressing one breast, he moved his other hand lower, pulling up the hem of her shift to slip beneath it. He followed the curve of her hip and thigh to find the soft pillow of her belly and the dark curling hair beneath it. Gently he cupped her, resting his fingers across her plump nether lips.
“Open for me, my Jēsamina,” he breathed. “Don’t be shy.”
“I am not shy,” she muttered, and separated her legs a fraction as he’d asked.
“Very well, then, you’re not,” he said, smiling. Gently he parted her, and eased a single finger between her lips. Damnation, she was tight, but she was already eager for him, too, wet and slick around his finger. She caught her breath, tensing with surprise. Carefully he pushed farther, and she shuddered at the intrusion, her breathing ragged.
“Geoffrey,” she said, his name more of an anguished sigh. “Oh, please, Geoffrey.”
“Hush, hush,” he murmured, lightly stroking the small knot of sensation near the opening of her passage with his thumb to build the fire inside her. She was so snug around his single finger that he wanted her as wet as possible to be able to accept his much larger cock. “Be easy, and let me in.”
He loved her breathy little sighs, proof that she was enjoying herself.
“That’s it,” he whispered, more encouragement as he pushed deeper within her. “My own sweet Jēsamina.”
She didn’t try to pull away, or cover herself in virginal modesty. Instead she unabashedly writhed against him, her head pressed tight against his shoulder and her back bowed as she moved against his fingers. Swaying toward him for balance, she hooked one foot around his calf, opening herself wider to his caress. Her skin burned over his, the thin shift clinging to her body more erotic than if she’d been entirely naked. There was an innocent wantonness to her motions—or a wanton innocence—that was wildly exciting to him, and made his selfcontrol fray and his cock like iron in his breeches.
He twisted her in his arms to face him, shoving her hair back from her face to kiss her. He had intended the kiss to be a brief respite for them both from the more intimate caresses, but as soon as his lips met hers, he realized how impossible that would be. Unable to help himself, he plunged his tongue deep into her mouth, desperate to possess her however he could. She answered with the same ravenous need, her tongue eagerly dueling with his. She could no more keep still than he, stretching up on her bare toes to be able to reach him and running her hands daringly along his back and shoulders.
And finally it was too much for Geoffrey. For the second time, he scooped her into his arms, and carried her to the bed, his haste making the candle flames dance on the nearby table. Lying crossways on the bed where he’d laid her down, she kept her arms looped around his neck to draw him down beside her.
“I can’t part with you, Geoffrey,” she whispered feverishly, her dark hair fanned out across the white linen. “Not even for a moment, not one single moment.”
He kissed her again, fighting the urge to take her now. For all her eagerness, she was so small, so delicate. He couldn’t risk hurting her, or she’d never forgive him—nor would he forgive himself.
“My Jēsamina,” he said, kissing her lips, her chin, her throat. “Nothing is going to take me away.”
“Then let me touch you,” Serena whispered, sliding her hands down his chest to his belly, and to the fall of his breeches. His body was so strong and lean, and so very different from her own. She was fascinated by the flat, ridged muscles of his abdomen, how the coarse hair that curled on his chest narrowed to a dark trail that disappeared into the top of his breeches. Blindly her fingers began to unbutton the waistband, and he grasped her wrist to stop her.
“Not yet,” he said, his voice harsh with restraint. The black silk ribbon on his queue had come undone, the ends trailing over his shoulders, and his dark hair was pulling free, tousled and unruly around his face. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“But I wish to know,” she pleaded. She twisted her hand so she could stroke his cock as it strained through his breeches, curiosity and desire making her bold. “How can I please you otherwise?”
To her it seemed the most obvious thing in the world, and the most important as well. She thought she’d known what to expect from lovemaking, but already she’d realized that all the picture-books and bawdy stories that she’d heard in the zenana long ago couldn’t begin to explain the mysteries of what she was going to discover with Geoffrey.
But she wanted to discover these mysteries with him, not simply be led. The women in the zenana had been adamant that pleasure bound lovers together, and that one without the other was only half of life’s joy.
She could not fathom why he was holding himself back from her. In the carriage, he’d wanted her to touch his cock, yet now he was pushing her hand aside, and she could tell how much effort it cost him, too. His voice was rough, and his pupils were so dilated from arousal that his blue eyes looked black, the flame from the bedside candlestick reflected in them. It seemed that every muscle in his glorious body was tense and ready for release.
She turned her hand in his grasp, spreading her fingers as far as he woul
d permit over his taut, flat belly, and he jerked back as if he’d been burned.
“Not yet,” he said, his breathing ragged as he retreated to the edge of the bed, on his knees and away from her reach. Even in the wavering candlelight, there was no mistaking the intensity of the desire in his eyes as he studied her, a look that made her feel as feverish and light-headed as his caresses had.
“I have to make sure you’re ready to take me,” he said, “or I fear I’ll hurt you.”
She pushed herself up on her elbows, intending to coax him back. She wasn’t sure how; she was certain she must not look terribly alluring with her hair a tangled mess and her shift pulled down below her breasts and rucked up around her waist, and she tried to wrestle it back into place as she began to sit upright.
“Please, Geoffrey,” she began softly. “Please I—ohh!”
He’d reached forward suddenly, hooking his arms beneath her knees to drag her forward. She yelped in surprise as he lowered his face between her legs. She wriggled to pull free, suddenly shy to have him so close to her most private parts, but he held her fast. He kissed the inside of her thigh, his beard grazing, giving her a little nip along with the kiss, and then suddenly, shockingly, he was kissing her there.
She knew such things were done, but knowing was not the same as experiencing. He held her thighs open, and swept his tongue gently over her lips, her passage, and the small sensitive nub that she’d no English word for. He teased her, lashing his tongue across the tender folds with a magic she’d never imagined. She whimpered and arched upward, unable to keep still as she let herself be carried on the rising waves of pleasure, and he used one forearm across her hips to keep her steady as he increased the wicked torment.
“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, pausing to open her farther with his thumbs. “Every part of you is beautiful.”
His finger glided deep within her and this time she felt herself clutch around him. She was shamefully wet from his tongue and from her own juices. He pushed deeper still, in and out as he began to lick her again, toying with her with just the tip of his tongue. She grabbed at the sheets and pushed against his mouth, at once trying to escape yet wanting more of the delicious tension he was building low in her belly.
She was gasping now, writhing and straining for release, and when he pushed a second thick finger into her passage, all she noticed was the pleasure of it, coming so fast that she could not stop even if she’d wished to. Her climax claimed her, and with a shattering cry she fell back gasping against the pillows, her legs trembling and her body damp with sweat. Her breasts felt heavy and full, her passage impossibly wet and swollen around his fingers.
He held her hips until the last tremors faded, then finally withdrew his fingers from her passage. Instantly she felt empty and chilled in a way she hadn’t expected, and she dragged her eyes open, hunting for him.
“I’m here,” he said gruffly. He was standing by the bed, yanking off his stockings so that all that remained of his clothing were his breeches—the breeches that were being forced outward by the thick, obvious thrust of his erection. “Nothing would take me from you now, Serena.”
“No,” she whispered, coherent conversation beyond her. He was so powerfully handsome and almost primitively male in the candlelight, his broad shoulders and narrow waist carved and defined with muscles, and the sight of him made her breath quicken again. “That—that was unexpected, and very fine.”
He grimaced. “I promise you it’s only a start,” he said, tearing at the buttons on the fall of his breeches.
With one quick motion he shoved them down and kicked them aside, standing before her naked at last. His cock was long and thick, crowned by the blunt head, which glistened faintly. This was what she’d wanted, what she’d imagined, what she’d pleaded for all evening, and yet now that she was confronted with the reality of his size, she caught her breath with trepidation.
She knew she was made to accept him—after all, women were fashioned to bear babies, which were far more sizable then any mere cock—but still she flushed, unable to look away as her heart quickened. She remembered once reading a lurid romance where the heroine referred obliquely to the hero’s “mighty engine of her maidenly ruin,” which had made her laugh at the time. She wasn’t laughing now, not with Geoffrey’s cock before her.
Her anxiety must have shown on her face.
“Have I frightened you?” he asked, obviously forcing himself to pause. “God knows I never meant to.”
She shook her head. “No.” She sighed, and tried to smile, as her gaze once again lowered to his cock. He was so shamelessly, aggressively virile. “Yes. You are formidable, Geoffrey, and I—I am not.”
“Your aunt told you what to expect, yes?” he asked gruffly. “About what husbands and wives do together?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, her smile tight at the memory of the halting, nonspecific wedding-night information Aunt Morley had offered her. “But it wasn’t necessary. You forget how much more frank our household was in India. I was raised to think only of the pleasure that lovers give each other, and not of the duty.”
He winced. “There will be no duty, Serena. Not with you.”
He reached out and brushed her hair back from her forehead, then touched her lips. She smelled the scent of her own arousal on his fingers, reminding her of how those same fingers had felt buried deep within her. Reflexively her inner muscles fluttered and clenched again, as if begging for his return.
“Trust me,” he said, his voice a rough whisper. “That’s all I ask. I can’t pretend that I won’t hurt you in the beginning, but what follows will make it worth it. Be brave, and trust me.”
All he asked was trust. How could he know it was everything to her?
Her heart racing, she pressed her mouth against his finger, a kiss that was more of a pledge, even an invitation. Then she parted her lips just enough to let his finger slip between them and flicked her tongue against it. His eyes glittered in response, his smile taut.
“Wicked lass,” he murmured as he climbed onto the bed beside her. “You do know how to torment me, don’t you?”
“What I want is to please you,” she whispered, searching his face as he came over her. Her smile was tremulous, not the sort of bravery that he was urging. With determination she pulled the shift—her last scrap of a garment—over her head and tossed it aside.
His eyes lit with unabashed desire as he studied her hungrily. She’d a vague memory of the zenana women speaking of how men were helpless before their lust, and that it was entirely in the woman’s power to control how hotly that lust grew. If that was so, then clearly she’d just put the final spark to Geoffrey’s tinder, and to her surpise, her own as well.
“There,” she said, raising her chin as boldly as she could. “I want to give you the same sort of pleasure that you gave me.”
“You will.” At once he folded his arms around her and kissed her, easing her back against the pillows. The way he stroked her throat, her breasts, the sides of her ribs and waist made her tremble with pleasure and anticipation. She could kiss him all night long and never tire of it, and she tried to focus on that instead of what was to come. His mouth moving over hers was lush and seductive and powerful, more heady and addictive than any wine, and the velvety caress of his tongue against hers made her misgivings begin to fade. She would trust him; what choice did she have when he kissed her like this?
While he kissed her, he eased her legs apart, his fingers again stroking and coaxing her to welcome him. She sighed into his mouth and arched restlessly against his hand, and when he nudged his knee between her thighs and eased himself between them, she tensed, but did not stop him.
She tried not to look down, but from the corner of her eyes she still glimpsed his cock, thick and ruddy and veined, and saw him wet the blunt head with spittle in preparation. He was breathing hard, his movements now swift and deliberate, and the faint sheen of sweat on his body gleamed in the candlelight, accentuating every muscle i
n his shoulders and chest.
She gasped as she felt him press against her, her gasp turning to sighs as he slid his length between her swollen lips and against the opening of her passage. She was so wet and aroused that she glided up against him, instinctively seeking more. She curled her arms over his shoulders to hold him as he kissed her again, and then, suddenly, she felt him inside her.
Startled, she tried to wriggle away, but he was relentless, pushing into her in increasingly deeper increments.
“Shh, Jēsamina, we’re nearly there.” He kissed her again to try to calm her. “You’re so tight, but we’re nearly there.”
She clung to his shoulders, struggling to accept him, and she could hear his heart pounding, or maybe it was her own. With each stroke, she felt herself stretched further beyond what she’d thought possible. Finally he was buried deep and thick within her, with no space left between their bodies. She felt ravished, taken, possessed, and keenly disappointed, too, with all the giddy pleasure she’d felt earlier vanishing like an insubstantial wisp of smoke.
“The worst is past, I promise,” he said. He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her, even as he slowly began to move again. “It will only be better now.”
She stiffened at the unfamiliar stretch and tug within her passage. He shifted back, easing his weight upon her, and slipped his hands beneath her hips to raise her up. The angle of his strokes changed, too, pressing against her in an entirely different way. With each slow retreat and return, the sense of invasion lessened as her body accustomed itself to him.
He was watching her closely, responding to her every reaction, adjusting his thrusts, and she’d only to see the tension in his face to know the effort this cost him. But he’d been right: the worst had passed, and with each movement the first discomfort lessened, and the first flutters of the same pleasure she’d felt earlier began to return.
Tentatively she linked her legs around his waist, and began to arch to meet his thrusts as her enjoyment grew. This was better, much better, than when he’d used his fingers and tongue, because with each stroke he was reaching so many unexpected sensitive places within her core.
A Sinful Deception Page 22
