Master of Pleasure

by Delilah Marvelle

  All she had to do was throw a match. “You can kiss me if you want.”

  He gaped. “Now?” he rasped.

  She almost tsked. He was too much of a gentleman. Which was as surprising as it was disappointing. She wanted a kiss. “Later would rather defeat the point, don’t you think? Now go on. You have my permission. Kiss me.”

  Edging back and back, he swung away. Slowly raking back his hair with scarred hands several times, he stalked across the kitchen and paused when reaching the doorway that led to the rest of the house. He crossed himself, as if speaking to God, and then glanced back at her. “I don’t think either of us are ready. I was just thinking about ripping your clothes off and breaking all of the furniture here in the kitchen with our bodies. Is that what you want? Sex, blood and bruises?”

  With that, he disappeared.

  Her eyes widened. Sex, blood and…bruises? She brought her hands together, noting that they were trembling. Was he waiting for her to follow? And if she did, would the ripping of clothes and the breaking of furniture commence?

  She swallowed, her entire body pulsing and fluttering with anticipation.

  Despite all common sense, she trailed right on after him.

  Peering down the narrow corridor, only to find it empty, Leona grazed her bare hand across the expanse of the uneven walls she passed and lifted her gaze to the narrow stairwell she now rounded. She glanced into the darkened parlor which held very few furnishings along with a leather trunk.

  He wasn’t there. He’d gone upstairs where the bedchambers were. He was announcing his intentions and it was now up to her to respond.

  If she was bold enough to do it.

  She doubted it would be tame.

  She doubted it would be polite.

  And yet for some damn reason it felt…right.

  She frantically swiped and rubbed at her cheeks to try to smudge off whatever rouge was on her face, knowing he didn’t like it. She then pertly arranged her skirts, patted her hair to ensure the pins were in place and even checked her breath by cupping her palm before her mouth.

  All was good.

  She dragged in several breaths and squarely faced the stairs. Too many years of sleeping alone with a deflated pillow challenged her into embracing whatever was about to happen next. Gathering her calico skirts, she made her way up the stairs. They creaked beneath each step as if scolding her into recognizing her folly. She winced at each creak that announced to Lord Brayton she was coming.

  On the landing, she pushed out another breath and turned to find only one door was wide open. The second door to her right. She entered the room and paused beside a lumpy mattress and coverings that were unceremoniously laid on the floor without a bed frame. She blinked and was astounded to find Lord Brayton had already removed his coat, exposing the bulk of his muscles that strained his linen shirt and waistcoat.

  It took her a moment to realize the removal of his coat hadn’t been done in the name of seduction but to allow for better movement of his arm. He was carving strange, squiggling symbols into the wall.

  He scraped and dug into the wall with the tip of his blade, his features tight and focused. “You shouldn’t have followed. I’m trying to restrain myself.”

  She knew that. “I’m afraid I’ve been alone too long to listen to common sense.” She edged closer, noting the archaic symbols he carved. “What are you doing?”

  He tightened his hold on the blade with a rigid fist and curved the blade to finish one last marking. He lowered his blade and smoothed a large hand over it, scattering the shavings from the plaster and wallpaper. “In Persia, a man is not allowed to speak to an unmarried woman. Courtship is reduced to signals. Signals that allow each side to decide whether to move forward or fall back without the consequence they will be bound to once real words are spoken between them. I never fully understood its power until now.”

  Leona drew in a half breath, wandering closer.

  Everything about this man was so real and soul provoking. It made her wonder if perhaps there was such a thing as reincarnation. Maybe once upon a time, they had been more than lovers. Maybe they had been each other’s better half, meant to prod each other into remembering how important it was to be sincere.

  When she was finally beside him, she reached out and traced the unknown markings he had made before letting her hand fall away. She glanced up at him, captivated by the unknown world he seemed to be luring her into. “What does it say?”

  He punched the blade into the wall, leaving it impaled, and dropped his hand to his side. He turned toward her, setting his massive shoulder against the wall beside it and captured her gaze. “I’m not ready to tell you.”

  This just got interesting. “Why not?”

  “Because I’m still struggling to accept that I’ve allowed for this much.”

  A hazy veil of unspoken intimacy settled between them. It was obvious he was the sort of man who didn’t seduce a woman with his body, but rather his soul.

  She set her own shoulder against the wall, closing what little distance was left between them and tilted her head to better look up at him. “Why are you allowing it?”

  His gaze drifted to the wall he leaned against. “Maybe I’m doing it for the same reason you are.”

  Such honesty. “Are you saying you’re lonely?”

  His blue eyes now held hers and had a burning, faraway look to them. “Maybe.”

  Her heartbeat throbbed in her ears as her body grew faint at the thought of being touched by him. She wanted those large hands in her hair, on her breasts, on her buttocks, and yes…in between her thighs so she would never have to resort to doing it herself again.

  A part of her was so relieved to know she wanted to have sex with him. She thought it would never happen. She thought she would never be physically attracted to a man after the intimacy she had shared with Ryder. “I’m willing to explore this if you are.”

  His features tightened. “I’d be very careful. Because when I dig my teeth into something I like, I don’t let go. I skip right over chewing and just swallow. Be aware of that.”

  It was like he was trying to scare her into thinking he would shred far more than her clothes. It was incredibly provocative. A whispering shiver of want and need ran through her body and mind as she sidled closer, attempting to no avail to even her breaths. Chanting to herself not to faint, she lifted her hand to his face and grazed a finger across the uneven indentation of his scar.

  He stilled.

  She traced her finger to his hair and brushed it away from his forehead, her heart pounding at the realization she was touching this…feral animal. And he was letting her touch him. A tendril of power laced itself around her.

  “What are you trying to do?” he hoarsely asked, still not moving.

  She could feel her fingers trembling. “I’m showing you that I trust you, Lord Brayton.”

  His broad chest rose and fell more notably. “Malcolm.”

  She dragged in that distinctive scent that clung to the heat of his skin. “Malcolm,” she softly repeated, honored that they were no longer lord and miss. She leaned in, drawing her lips upward.

  He lowered his gaze to her lips, the warmth of his breath fanning her face becoming all the more ragged and uneven.

  Like her own breath.

  They lingered.

  He silently edged in, signaling he was ready for whatever she would permit.

  And oh how ready she was to permit.

  Lifting herself on her slippered toes, she gently touched her lips to his. The warmth of his soft masculine lips made her almost spill into his arms. Everything about him made her want to shatter like shards of glass glittering in sunlight.

  She slowly parted his lips and let the tip of her tongue slide across his.

  He staggered but otherwise didn’t move or touch her or even try to return her kiss. He remained eerily still. So still, one would think he was a statue set in the middle of a bursting fountain.

  She had never met a
man so determined to resist. But then again, she doubted he had ever met a woman so determined to insist. She dragged her hands up the breadth of his solid chest, reveling in its impressive expanse and further dragged her hands up into the softness of his smooth hair, which she had earlier mussed. She yanked him down toward herself, demanding he cooperate, and deepened her kiss, determined to melt that veneer of ice.

  She was more than certain it was all veneer. It had to be. He had to be more than ice.

  Melt, she inwardly whispered to him. Melt for me like I’m melting for you. Show me you’re different from Ryder. He never once tried to throw himself into sharing his passion or his heart with me. Show me what beats within you. Show. Me. That. Beat.

  Malcolm staggered and groaned against her mouth like a deprived man who just realized he needed it even more than she. He widened her mouth with his, now frantically tonguing her.

  Leona clung to him, her fingers pressing into those tense, massive shoulders in disbelief.

  Grabbing the sides of her face with rough, rigid hands that dug and pressed into her skin without mercy, he crushed her body against his own, whooshing the breath out of her and bending her backward. Angling his head in an attempt to open her mouth even wider, he drew her entire tongue into his own hot mouth so brutally and viciously hard, she squeaked from the unexpected sharp pain that pinched her to the jaw.

  He froze, his chest heaving against hers, and released her tongue and her face. He jerked back.

  Her eyes snapped open and numbly flicked her sore tongue in an effort to recover. By gad. It was like he had tried to eat her. Whole. The base of her throat still pulsed, making her feel as if her heart had risen from its usual place. Ryder, even in his most riled amorous state, had never kissed her like that. Ever. This man had kissed her as if his soul depended on convincing her he was worthy of more than what she had in her mouth.

  It was everything she could have ever wanted in a kiss.

  She dragged in several astounded breaths, composing herself from the excitement of knowing what they had just shared: real passion. In his eyes, it was obvious she was no sister. It had actually nudged itself closer to outright prostitution. “That was…quite a kiss,” she breathed.

  “I’m sorry.” He swiped his flushed face with a large hand. “I’m so sorry I did that.”

  Sensing his distress over the fact he had hurt her, she quirked a brow. “I’m fine. Fortunately, my tongue is still functioning and attached.”

  He stared. “I hurt you. And that is unacceptable.”

  Bless his ever magnificent heart. He was like a benevolent giant who realized his size made it impossible for him to be delicate. “I’m fine. More than fine. I…” A shaky breath escaped her. “That kiss was so perfect, I still can’t breathe. Nor do I want to. It made me feel like the woman I always wanted to be. Do it again.”

  “No.” He edged back. “Once was enough.”

  She swallowed, her cheeks slowly burning in humiliation knowing after one kiss he was done. It would seem she, as a woman, had clearly failed to meet his expectations as a man.

  It hurt. But at least he had the decency not to have let it go as far as Ryder had. “I disappointed you, didn’t I?” she managed, trying not to convey any emotion.

  “No,” he rasped. “You didn’t. Believe me when I say you didn’t. This isn’t about you. This is about me.”

  She stilled. “Ryder said the same exact thing to me when he called off our engagement. That his disinterest wasn’t about me. But obviously, this is about me. How else can two very different men end up saying the same thing to the same woman? Am I not attractive enough? Am I not—”

  “Leona.” Malcolm’s blue eyes intently held her gaze. “Stop overreacting. Ryder was and is an idiot. I’m not calling off anything. In fact, you’re going with me to Persia. Both you and Jacob. And I promise, you’ll never have to be a servant to anyone again.”

  Her lips parted, her heart pounding in elation and confusion. Persia aside, he had just called her Leona. As if he were already the master of her heart. “I don’t understand.”

  His voice broke. “I don’t expect you to. I’m simply asking that you and I keep this civilized. All right? It’s important. You have to help me.”

  “Help you?” She blinked. “With what?”

  “We need to control this.”

  “Control what?”

  “Our attraction to each other.”

  “Why would we want to control that? Isn’t attraction good?”

  “No. Not given what went through my head when I kissed you.”

  She paused. “What went through your head?”

  “If I answer that, you would take your child and run. And I don’t want that. I rather like you. Simply know that this can’t end up in a bed. It’s never going to happen.”

  She swallowed. “Why not?”

  “Because I’m overly aggressive in nature.”

  Now she was morbidly curious as to what falling into bed with him would bring. Bruises from too much touching? Or broken bones from falling through the bed and onto the floor? The very thought of all that muscle unleashing that much passion only made her want him more.

  Maybe she was stupid wanting to poke a lion with her bare finger, but she had learned to set aside the sweet, naïve girl who used to wait for the crumbs others would give her. In the name of her son, she learned to be more ruthless and seize what she wanted. Right down to a bear toy. And this was no different. Because waiting for what she wanted only led to disappointment and heartache.

  She was done with that.

  She stepped toward him. “I’m not scared of you. And I’m more than willing to prove it. We have at least an hour. I say we make use of it.” Holding his gaze, she undid the small hooks at the base of her throat and kept opening it, determined to show him far more than a corset. “If I can survive giving birth standing up, I can survive you.”

  His gaze fell to her fingers, his chest rising and falling. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  She stopped unfastening the hooks just above the ridge of her corset beneath. “Would you rather do it?” she asked, uncertain as to what he wanted.

  “No.” His gaze was still on her fingers. “I’ve seen enough. Put it away.”

  Put it away? Was he worried he’d see something he shouldn’t? Like…sagging breasts? “I assure you, my pregnancy didn’t destroy that much. Everything is still fully functional and—”

  “Stop arguing with me, Leona, and hook yourself up.”

  “But—”

  He glared. “I’m not interested in seeing your damn breasts or anything else. Not now or ever. Is that too hard for you to understand?”

  Not now? Not ever? What on earth was this? He was making her feel so unattractive. Which she damn well didn’t need after Ryder. “No. I don’t understand. And I’ll not do anything until you tell me what this is about. I’ve met plenty of men who demand a woman undress, but I’ve never met a man who—”

  He snapped up a hand and then rigidly sliced the air with it to demand cooperation. “Stop talking, Leona, and just hook yourself up. All right? I’d do it myself, but I’m not touching you. So I suggest you hurry up with those fingers and get everything in place.”

  The audacity. No amount of talking was going to help this or him. He was delusional if he thought he could insult her and then expect her to be polite about it.

  Knowing it was silence he wanted, she decided to give it to him.

  Hooking herself up almost to the point of tearing the seams, she glared at him to ensure he knew she wasn’t pleased. When she finally finished adhering the last fastener into place, she pointed a single finger at the now covered throat. A throat she planned to protect right along with a heart that had been through too much to make any of this acceptable. “I don’t plan to ever show you anything ever again, Malcolm. So you needn’t worry in that. It’s fairly obvious you aren’t interested in what I have to offer, and I wish to assure you, I not only regret offering, but
will never offer it to you again. So don’t ask.”

  His earlier dark mood lifted. “Please don’t get annoyed with me. I’m only doing what I think is best. Now listen up. Because I’m only going to say this once.”

  Setting both hands behind his back, he paced back and forth, back and forth, like any military man would, occasionally glancing at her in between his trooping which shook the room. “Given you and I already kissed, and that I respect you and admire you with genuine sincerity that goes beyond anything I have ever felt for a woman, I now have a moral obligation and responsibility toward you as a Christian and a gentleman. We will therefore write up a contract for nikāh in the presence of a lawyer so it can be delivered well before we get to Persia. Expect several ceremonies that will bore us both beyond mental tolerance. The good that will come of it is that you and Jacob will live the sort of lives few get to touch. I will do my best to see you both whenever I can and extend my stay when permissible, but I’ll be at sea most of the time, which cannot very well be helped. Persia may be going to war with Russia.”

  She bit down on her lip until it throbbed right along with her pulse. If she didn’t know any better, she would think he was asking her to marry him. Already? Noooo. Why would he— Their kiss must have rattled her brain and his. “Pardon my ignorance, but...what are you talking about?”

  He stopped trooping. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “No. And while we’re on the subject of my confusion, are you actually admitting to me that you’re an admiral for the Persian navy?”

  “Yes. I’ve been with the Persian navy since I was nineteen.”

  She squinted. “But that doesn’t make any sense. You’re a British earl.”

  He sighed. “It’s complicated. I fell into it when I was young and quickly realized England doesn’t need the sort of help Persia does. England will always have my love and eternal respect, but Persia has become more than my home. It is my way of life. I’m connected to the land and the people. They welcomed me during a time when I wasn’t even willing to welcome myself.”