“I’m sure you’re making your ancestors very proud, taking an unwilling woman,” she said, taking deep breaths.
He froze, one cuff undone. His voice was hard and low. “If you are unwilling, tell me now. If you really don’t want this, don’t want me, this is your chance to leave.” His gaze flicked away from her, focused on the other cuff. And then it was undone too and he was working on his cravat, his hands moving deftly, head tilted slightly up, exposing the strong column of his neck. The black silk cravat making a soft rustling sound as he pulled it off, letting it drop to the floor. He was watching her now, gaze slitted, still waiting for a response.
“Helen,” he said softly, and she looked up from his neck and lovely hands, his nails tidier and more clean than hers had ever been in her entire life. The man was beyond fastidious. He wore a knowing half smile, apparently aware of his effect on her. He’d have to be, though, wouldn’t he? She looked at him and drooled or blushed, lost track of sentences and apparently time, because now he was unbuttoning his shirt and all she could do was lay there and watch, her hands tingling with the desire to touch him. She was cold, oddly cold and light, as if her body was just waiting for him to warm her, to keep her there with the weight of his large frame.
“No more games or excuses, Helen. I couldn’t have gotten you out of that carriage and carried you up the stairs if you were not willing. I know how strong you are. Give me the courtesy of at least admitting that you want me like I want you.” His voice was low and commanding, making her heart race. The pulse of it beat through her, settling low in her body, a steady ache for him to finally finish what they’d started weeks ago. The bed was high, so high that it was easy for him to reach out his hand and slide it along her leg. He started at her ankle and went up her calf, her skirts no impediment at all.
He moved closer so he could raise his hand higher, along the side of her knee, then to her thigh. He stopped there, one large, warm hand on her thigh. Her breath slid out of her, taking her willpower with it, her strength and fight.
His words were low with conviction. “I want you enough to make a fool of myself in front of the world, enough to risk my life for you. I thought you were dead, Helen. And it was going to be the defining moment of my life.” He blinked quickly and pressed his lips together hard for a moment, his cheekbones standing out in stark relief. “I would look back on my life as a series of rules and obligations…culminating in disaster and failure. Loss. I can feel how cold it was that night, smell the salt in the air and the weight of the fog…tell me you want me, Helen.”
She looked up and met his eyes, saw the briefest flash of vulnerability in the way he clenched his jaw, the muscle jumping. A crack in the bravado and passion. Of course she wanted him. She wanted him more than anything. He’d saved her life, believed her, was the only person besides Mary that she could trust her life with.
Couldn’t she have this one night with him? Hadn’t she done everything that she could for the moment? She’d left her own time and everybody she had ever known behind; she was willing to die for her mission. If she could have something for herself, some small fraction of time to have what she wanted more than anything else, couldn’t she say yes to him? Just this once?
“I do. I want you more than anything,” she said, and his hand convulsed on her leg in response. She parted her thighs, creating a space for him and reached up, grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him towards her. His hands were suddenly on her bottom, shoving her farther onto the bed before he lowered himself over her.
Her eyes closed and she dragged in a breath, overwhelmed by the feel of his body settling over hers. He was heavy and hard, solid and perfect. His mouth descended on hers, stealing her exhale, his head slanting so he could taste her deeply. His tongue touched hers gently and she could taste the brandy he’d drunk at the gambling den, the taste as intoxicating as him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, sinking her fingers into his hair and breaking away from the kiss with a smile. He looked at her with a raised brow.
“Your hair,” she said. “I remember meeting you for the first time, and I wanted to sink my hands into it and muss it up.”
“You can do whatever the hell you like with it,” he said, then kissed her cheek and her jaw, working his way down her neck. “After I get your dress off.” His hand skated over her breast, the sensation blunted by her corset and clothing. He shifted his hips and she felt the hardness of him, thick and solid between her thighs. She arched up, encouraging the friction.
“You’re a vixen,” he said, voice deep. “Now turn over.”
For a moment, she was confused, every rational thought she’d ever had consumed by desire. “Why? Already? I thought—”
He half squinted at her, as though reading her expression more clearly. The right side of his mouth twitched. “Please, finish that sentence.”
“Well, the…foreplay. Do you call it that? I was enjoying that. It’s a bit soon to…and the position seems a bit….”
The corner of his mouth definitely twitched, turning into a full-blown smile. “I want to take off your dress. Not take you like a barn animal.”
She blushed hard. Of course! Duh! “Oh, I…know that. I was just confused.”
“The day we have an encounter where one of us isn’t confused, will be very peculiar indeed. Now turn over. I want to take off your dress, and I’ll be sure to put it on this evening’s menu – mate you like a farm animal.”
“Har har,” she said and glared at him. “I don’t know what you people do here!”
He made a tsking sound. “I’m trying to show you. Turn over. Hopefully, it isn’t too different all those decades into the future….seems very unlikely.” He moved to the side so she could roll over. She felt him straddle her, felt his thighs against hers as he set to work on the laces of her dress.
The sheets smelled clean, like lavender and maybe a hint of lemon. The mattress was surprisingly comfortable, much better than the one in her crappy apartment. Cool air hit her back and his fingers skated over her skin, from her neck to the hollow of her back. His lips were a surprise, small kisses and nibbles as he worked his way down her spine. She shivered, her breathing uneven.
She felt the bed shift and turned over, automatically clutching the sagging dress and corset to her. He was taking his shirt off, tossing it to the ground. His breeches were next and she couldn’t help but stare, riveted as he stripped.
In the lamplight his skin almost glowed, tanned to the waist, his body lean and defined. He was all strength and definition; his body honed like a blade while most of the guys from the future had been blocky and too muscular. She’d always found it a bit odd to be with a guy whose breasts rivaled her own in size. This was…he breathed in, and she could see the muscles of his stomach bunching. “Why are you in such good shape?” she asked.
“I will take that as a compliment,” he said. And then he was naked, and she couldn’t help but stare at his hard shaft, so engorged it was flush against his stomach. He grabbed her dress in two hands. “Lift,” he commanded and she raised her bottom. The dress slid off of her. He dropped it to the side and reached for the corset, plucking it off of her and tossing it to the ground as well.
“This is a good look for you,” he said, admiring her near naked body. “Just boots and stockings. Another time. Tonight I want you naked.” He slid her a glance, face serious in a way that she knew meant he was going to make a deadpan joke, “Then it’s the animal coupling. And then the boots. We can make a list of all the different things I plan to do to you.”
“What about me?”
“You can make a list too. Do whatever you want to me. We can compare.” He grabbed her foot, undoing her boot and then taking off her stocking. “I spend a lot of time boxing, it’s very fashionable. And especially since I met you. Probably sexual frustration. Now I’ll let myself go.”
He set her bare foot gently on the bed and reached for the other. She raised a brow in question. “This is it, huh? One night and you won�
��t be…frustrated anymore?”
He shot her a look. “I didn’t say that. And it wasn’t what I meant. You know I don’t want you once. Or for a night. And I suspect the truth is that every time I see you I will feel a mix of desire, affection and pure unadulterated frustration that you won’t do what I know is best for you.” He nipped the side of her foot. She tried to jerk away, but he held her firmly. He kissed her calf, her thigh, and she bit back a moan as his intention became clear.
“Has it every occurred to you that you might be a bit overbearing—“ She squealed as she felt his teeth again, lightly on the inside of her thigh this time – a nip to tell her to shut up.
“I know,” he said, the words a rumble against her flesh. “But I’m worth the hassle. Now be quiet and let me prove it to you,” he said, his head descending and settling on her, tasting her and searching until suddenly her back arched off the bed, and he made an inarticulate sound that somehow seemed smug. Her hands sank into his hair, tugging him to her tightly as he continued to work her, her breaths coming faster and shallower, and then she froze, body spasming as he continued to lick her, slower until the shocks passed.
He moved, kissed her thigh and then her stomach. His hand moved to her breast, cupping the heavy weight of one as his other hand went down to his cock, ready to sink into her. Her hand went down to help, and he groaned as her fingers clasped his thick, silky shaft. “Helen, my love,” he said as he worked his way inside of her, kissing her and then pulling back, waiting until she looked at him, “It’s about damned time.”
Chapter 13
Helen felt the covers shift, frigid air surging against her naked body, forcing her eyes open. She’d slept deeply, much more so than she’d thought possible, but she guessed that after the night they’d had it made sense that she’d be tired. And she ached in all the right places. The bed dipped as Edward got back in. Weak light seeped through the curtains and she wondered what time it was. She was surprised to see that he’d shaved. She could smell his soap as he moved closer to her. “Where did you go?” she asked. “And what happened to your hair? Do you know how hard I had to work to get it to stick up?”
“It’s incentive for you to do it again. I went to investigate the kitchen. It was a damned foolish idea to tell everyone to go away. I singed my finger making toast.”
She felt sympathy competing with the desire to smile. The idea of him cooking was amusing. Talk about out of character. She looked around the room, saw he’d lit a fire in the fireplace but it hadn’t had a chance to heat up the room. “I don’t see any toast.”
Edward grimaced. “Ah, well, my finger was mostly unscathed. The toast I’m afraid…we won’t be having toast.” His voice dropped and he moved closer. Her body responded to the sight of him, to the deep timbre of his voice and the smile on his lips.
His bare thigh touched hers and she squealed. “Omigod, you’re freezing!”
“I need you to warm me,” he said and his head descended, nuzzling her neck. His chest came flush against hers. “But don’t use the zappy thing. That would put a serious dampener on things,” he said, and she felt his cock press against her, the meaning clear.
“Oh, we wouldn’t want to… dampener anything. Is that a word?”
He pushed her onto her back, his hands finding hers, twining their fingers together as he settled over her. He pinned her hands lightly near her head and then slid free, the pads of his fingers sliding down her arms, making trails of sensation in his wake.
“You…um…got up, burned the toast, and now you’re wet and cold. Did you bathe?”
“I was a disaster. You wouldn’t have thanked me if I’d returned to bed without washing a bit.”
“Oh. That’s very... obsessive. Do I have to get up and wash? Is there hot water?” Helen flushed, feeling self-conscious. They’d made love several times, her body was sore, and his fastidiousness had her blushing. “I think I smell like a whorehouse.”
He looked at her like she was crazy and made a small noise in his throat, part growl, part dismissive grunt. “Oh no. You can’t wash up yet. Here you are all warm and womanly,” his fingers grazed her hip then he took hold of her leg, resting her thigh against his side. “I’m fairly certain there is no better smell in the world than woman. There is a very risqué saying when it comes to bathing, you know,” he said and he began to kiss her neck. She felt herself responding, wanting him again.
“I’m sure I don’t,” she said on a sigh. His fingers slipped between her folds, dipped inside of her and then up to her clitoris, his thumb moving in tight circles. “You are not going anywhere. I’m not done with you,” he said, and she shivered at the intent in his tone. He kissed her for a long time, his fingers making her crazy.
“It’s my turn,” she said and shoved at him. He laughed, the sound rich and masculine then did what she told him, shifting to his back. She climbed over him, the air cold on her body. She touched his shaft, slick and dark and fed it into her body, pleased when his eyes shut in pleasure. “What’s the risqué saying?” she asked as he thrust up to meet her. His hands went to her breasts, and she arched into his touch.
“Was I saying something?” he rasped, “I’ll tell you later. Whatever it was.”
“No, tell me now,” she said, and stilled on top of him, trying to keep a straight face. His hands settled on her hips, moving her on his cock. She went with it for a moment and then stopped, and he looked at her questioningly.
“Risqué,” she prompted, trying to say it like him. Crisply and decidedly un-French. He blew out a breath and met her gaze. “You are an evil woman.” There was a pause, she could practically see him thinking. He cleared his throat. “You’re going to think it’s ridiculous actually. ‘You wash as low as possible, then you wash as high as possible. And then you wash possible.’” He enunciated the last word slowly.
Helen couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s risqué?”
He frowned. “Well, it’s something ladies usually think is quite risqué. I find it surprisingly sexy that you don’t. You’re done up there by the way, you’ve totally abused the privilege,” he said and he dumped her off of him. She laughed and he settled over her, sinking home in a slow thrust. “Tell me something you consider…shocking,” he said through gritted teeth.
She gasped. “Shocking?” Helen lost her train of thought as he began to move inside of her, his large hand covering her breast, fondling her in a way that sent darts of pleasure straight to her core.
“It’s not so easy to think on the spot, is it?” Definitely smug that time.
“Okay…shocking. Just before I came here we went to a movie. Never mind what that is. It’s like a play. Kind of. And the guy, the man, was cute. My friend said he was so cute he gave her a lady-boner. Now that was risqué.”
He froze, his brow puzzled as he thought about the phrase. “Lady-boner…I can’t even fathom where that starts. What does it mean?”
She wiggled and said, “That’s a boner. Your…possible.”
“I don’t have a possible. Ladies have a possible.”
“What do you have?” she asked.
“I fear giving you this education. I feel like Queen Victoria herself will come charging in and beat me around the head with an umbrella.”
She giggled at the idea. “Really?”
“No, not really. But I love it when you laugh,” he said with a smile. She blushed and he raised a brow, clearly pleased at his effect on her.
“So what is it, if it’s not a possible. A definite?” she asked, gasping the word out as he palmed her hip adjusting her to where he wanted her to be, working to get deeper inside of her.
“You could say pego but that sounds a bit daft. Membrae Villae if you’re feeling scholarly.”
“How about cock?” she asked.
He looked down at her, expression very serious. “Do you think it’s odd that you saying that word makes me want to pound you into the mattress?”
“Which word? About? Why yes, I do think it’
s very odd.”
He barked out a laugh and then kissed her. She could feel the smile on his lips and couldn’t help but smile in return. Her hands cradled his face wanting him to be close to her, closer even than they were. As if she could connect them together with a touch. Her heart felt full. Love. She loved him. She did.
Dammit.
And then he was touching her again, finding her wet and swollen. It didn’t take long before she came, her orgasm spurring him on, milking his shaft until he came in pulses and collapsed next to her, one arm around her waist.
She leaned over him and he opened one eye, watching her warily. “Cock,” she whispered in his ear and reached around to squeeze his perfect butt.
“You’ll be the death of me,” he responded, voice almost slurred with sleep. She moved into him, resting her head against his chest, inhaling the scent of him, clean and warm; wanting to wrap herself around him, keep him safe. Because she could hear his words echoing in her mind—you’ll be the death of me. And she knew he might be right.
Chapter 14
Later that afternoon, Edward came home, and he very much wished he hadn’t. In fact, if there would have been any way, any way at all to avoid whatever was about to happen, he would have. The holy trinity of terror was waiting for him in the sitting room: his Mother, his fiancée’s mother and even his sister Amelia were all sitting around a steaming teapot like witches over their cauldron waiting for him to enter the room.
“Ladies, how lovely to see you…all in one place.”
“Edward, why don’t you sit down and join us.” This was said by his fiancée’s mother, a formidable woman if ever there were one.
He cleared his throat, waiting for inspiration to strike. Surely he could think of some pressing emergency that required him to leave. Amelia knew him too well. “It’s no use; I already asked your secretary, you have nowhere to go this afternoon,” she smiled at him evilly.
A Lady Most Dangerous (Helen Foster) Page 8
