Sweet Seduction hmtl

by Patricia Pellicane

  Why in the world had she allowed him to choose the fabric? Because she had been fighting with him over the wasteful amount of clothes he was buying, and hadn't paid attention to the material he'd chosen for her sleeping gowns. Meg grinned at her reflection. This was the most modest of the three, and none actually covered her. Till tonight she'd found comfort in Tristan's discarded shirts. They were old and softened from dozens of washings and long enough so that they covered her to her knees.

  Meg's first instinct was to reach for his shirt. Her hand stopped in midair when she heard the door to their room open. She stood nervously biting her lip behind the screen, waiting for Mary to finish setting the small table that had been brought up earlier. "That's fine, Mary. Thank you," Tristan said as a match flared to life.

  Meg felt a moment of panic. She hadn't heard Tristan enter the room. But her fears soon abated as she imagined his reaction' to seeing her thus. Suddenly she knew she wasn't going to cover herself. He wanted her to wear this, and she wanted him to see her in it. She stepped from behind the screen. His back was to her as he put the flame to a dozen candles spread about the room. "You didn't tell me today. How did your meeting with Mr. Bently go?"

  "He thinks I might be ri— My God," he gasped as he turned to face her. His ears buzzed and his heart pounded. He was afraid to blink lest this vision disappear. "Do you know what you look like?"

  Meg nodded. "I never should have let you choose this fabric. It barely covers a thing," she said with an unsure smile as she fingered the flimsy material.

  The gown was cut low over her breasts, but that hardly mattered since the lace was but a thin veil, meant to further entice. It gently hugged her body, leaving almost nothing to the imagination, and Tristan couldn't have been more delighted. His gaze, as it moved over the length of her, grew hotter, darker, more intense as he took in the curve of her waist and the suggestion of dark curls above long, shapely. His gaze burned her flesh. If she closed her she might have sworn she could feel his touch.

  His voice was low, husky with need as he said, "It covers the most important things." Tristan stood before her, his shirt opened to the middle of his chest. Tanned skin and dark hair contrasted sharply with the white material. Again a dark lock of hair had fallen over his forehead. Meg longed to reach for his hair, to feel again the thick crispness.

  Meg smiled. "You sound disappointed."

  "Not disappointed," Tristan's grin was wickedly seductive. "Just greedy."

  His eyes never left her as he poured two glasses of wine. Without another word spoken, he lifted a glass toward her and smiled as she moved to take it.

  All he had to do was raise his hand and he could have touched her, but he didn't. Lord, he didn't dare. "You are without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I've ever known."

  Meg's eyes sparkled under his admiration.

  "Are you hungry?"

  Meg couldn't remember a time when she was less hungry. It wasn't food she wanted, but the touch of this man. He'd seen her naked before. Many times, in fact, but she'd never stood before him, erotically clad in the merest scrap of lace. The thought of his hot eyes on her caused her heart to slam against the walls of her chest. She downed the wine in almost one gulp, suddenly in a hurry to see this meal and its sexual tension done. "Some, yes," she said in answer to his question.

  Tristan thought he recognized her nervousness and smiled. "You should sip wine to appreciate the flavor."

  Meg could have swallowed hay and not have known the difference. The longer he watched her, the harder her heart pounded. She could hardly hear him over the roaring in her ears. "I'll sip the next glass."

  "Sit down. Our dinner will get cold."

  Tristan poured her another glass of wine and placed it beside her plate. She took another sip and settled herself, knowing that he would drag out this moment and that she couldn't do anything about it but enjoy the pain of waiting.

  Meg looked at her plate with some surprise to find no utensils. She smiled as she remembered the last time they'd eaten with their fingers. "No knives or forks? Are you afraid 111 try to escape?"

  "By stabbing me?" Tristan grinned. "I don't think so. I think you want this night almost as much as I do."

  "Only almost as much?" she asked just before she took a bite of her fried chicken.

  Tristan appeared hypnotized by her mouth. He watched her white teeth bite into the chicken and almost groaned as her tongue licked away the crumbs. She chewed, swallowed, and took another and he thought he might die from the pleasure watching her.

  "You couldn't want me more. It's not possible."

  His eyes moved to her breasts, and he smiled as heated gaze alone brought the tips to hard, tight, lovely pebbles, pressing against the lace. He dying to taste them again. God, it had been so long.

  "This isn't any good," he said.

  "What?"

  "I can't eat while watching you. All I can think about is the way you taste, the way you feel."

  "Then why are we eating first?"

  "I wanted you to feel comfortable, to relax."

  "Relax?" Meg smiled. "While you're looking as if I'm the main course?"

  "Does my looking bother you?"

  Meg smiled again and took a deep, calming breath. "No, it doesn't bother me." She bit her lip and forced out her next words, praying she wasn't being too bold. "I want you to look at me."

  "That's good, because I want to look."

  "What else do you want to do?" The words came before she'd thought to stop them. Her cheeks grew red at her daring.

  "God," he breathed. "I don't think we should talk about this."

  Meg nodded and kept her eyes to her plate. She didn't know what was expected of her. He seemed to like looking at her, touching her, but once she had done the touching, the looking, and he had called her terrible things. Maybe a lady didn't talk about this kind of thing, not even with her husband. Maybe it was wrong. Meg tried to smile, tried not to appear offended, even as she felt that familiar pain tightening her heart. She swallowed back the hurt and shrugged. The movement caused her breasts to sway. She only wished she knew the right thing to do. "Then we won't," she said with false brightness.

  Tristan's gaze took in the slight movement, and he groaned. "Yes, we will. I want to."

  Meg looked up in surprise and laughed. "Make up your mind."

  "What mind? I've become a blithering idiot. I can't think but to touch you, to kiss you. I can hardly talk with this constant ache in my belly to make love to you."

  The tension in the room was palpable, a living breathing thing. In another minute they'd come together, their meal forgotten. But Meg couldn't let that happen. Their last time together had left her unsure. She had to know what was expected, how to act. "Tristan," she said, her gaze on the glass of wine in her hand. "Can I ask you something?"

  "Anything."

  Her heart pounded in her throat with fear, but she had to know. She couldn't go on forever and never know. "Don't think I'm terrible, please. It's just that I haven't anyone else to ask."

  Tristan leaned forward and watched her silent struggle. What in the world so disturbed her? "Meggie, I could never think you're terrible. And there isn't anything you can't ask me."

  She couldn't bring her gaze from the wine as she asked the questions that had haunted her for weeks. "Why wouldn't a decent woman do the things I did?" Her cheeks grew bright with color. "If a woman loved a man, wouldn't she want to touch him? Wouldn't she want to kiss him and," her voice grew very small, "do other things?"

  Tristan gasped at her revelation. Did she realize what she'd just said? "And you love me?"

  Meg raised her dark gaze to his. She hadn't meant to tell him, but the words seemed to burst from her throat before her lips could stop them. She nodded.

  Tristan groaned and closed his eyes as if in relief. "Thank God."

  She watched him for a long moment before he managed a sheepish smile. "You know, I've probably never said anything so stupid in my entire life."

>   "You mean it's not true?" she asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

  "I mean there is nothing, absolutely nothing that a husband and wife agree to do that is indecent or immoral or wrong."

  Meg nodded her head as if understanding a delicate point. "I see. And we weren't married."

  He reached for her hand and held on as he felt her pull back. "No. You don't see. I had every intention of marrying you."

  She looked at him in confusion. "Then why did you say those things?"

  "I was afraid of what I was feeling. I couldn't hold back, and I didn't know how else to protect myself."

  "Protect yourself? From what?"

  "From you." He waited until she raised questioning eyes to his again and nodded. "From what you made me feel"

  "What was it I made you feel?"

  "Meggie, you are the most precious, beautiful woman I've ever known. I knew I loved you and I was afraid I'd make a fool of myself."

  "Like your father?"

  Tristan nodded.

  "You haven't."

  "But I have. If I wasn't a fool, I wouldn't have been afraid to love you, to tell you then that I loved you."

  Meg's smile was radiant. He hadn't believed it possible that she could be more beautiful, but she was. "Do you still?"

  "Love you?" He laughed self-deprecatingly, released her hand, and leaned back in his chair. "Only more than my life."

  She bit her lip. "It's all right then, if I touch you tonight?"

  "God," he breathed as he closed his eyes. "You can touch me anytime you want, as much as you want"

  "And I wouldn't be . . . ?"

  "You would be and are the most perfect woman I've ever known."

  Meg laughed. "Hardly perfect."

  "Perfect," he repeated, with a decidedly wicked gleam in his eyes. "Perfect even when you call me names."

  "I haven't done that in weeks."

  "I know," he said, almost wistfully.

  "Don't tell me you miss it."

  "All right."

  "All right what?"

  "I won't tell you."

  Bubbling laughter burst from Meg's lips. "You are deranged."

  "That's better. Now come over here."

  Meg giggled as she rose and walked slowly to his side. He guided her to sit on his lap and took her land, kissing it like it had never been kissed before. His lips brushed over the back of her hand, his tongue stopping here and there to sample again her skin. And then his tongue moved deliciously over her palm, between her fingers, his teeth worrying the tender skin where each finger joined her hand. And then he sucked a finger into his mouth.

  "Goodness," Meg groaned at the thrilling sensations that vibrated through her entire body.

  Tristan smiled. "Do you like that?"

  Meg nodded. "I don't know how, but it makes my stomach feel all fluttery."

  "It's supposed to."

  "Can I do that to you?"

  "You don't have to ask my permission, sweetheart. Do anything you like."

  "Anything?" she asked as a devilish light entered her eyes.

  "Anything," he sighed happily as her mouth joined his. Meg kissed him gently, and when that no longer satisfied,- her tongue darted from between her lips, tracing the curve of his mouth. Tristan instantly responded to the caress. His lips parted and Meg's tongue delved deep into fiery, moist heat. They both moaned as lips parted farther, farther and tongues, teeth, and lips ate in greedy delight.

  They were gasping for air by the time their mouths parted. Meg's eyes were soft with yearning as her hands came to frame his face. "I love the way you kiss."

  "Do you?"

  "Mmmm," she murmured as her mouth joined his again.

  She felt him tremble against her and knew he was holding tight to his control, but it wasn't control Meg wanted. She wanted to know again the thrill of losing herself in his arms. She wanted to experience every pleasure two people could know together, this time knowing their union was blessed by God, this time knowing it was right.

  Her hand ran down his throat, over his hard chest. She pushed his shirt apart as her fingers threaded through crisp dark hair in search of warm flesh.

  She gasped as he tore his mouth from hers and through her gown sucked the rosy tip of her breast into his mouth. "Oh God," she breathed as he bit her, his tongue then soothing the sweet, aching tip. Her back arched, and she murmured encouraging words. Words that spurred him on to further liberties.

  Hearts thundered as he repositioned her to straddle his hips. But Meg realized in time his intent and slid to the floor. "No, not yet," she said as two sets of hands worked feverishly to free him from his clothes.

  "This time," he gasped between ragged breaths, "the first time I can't take it slowly. I need you so badly."

  "I know, I know," she breathed against his heated flesh. "But I need to touch you." She hesitated and looked up to eyes on fire with passion. "It's all right, isn't it?"

  "Oh God, Meggie, yes. It's better than all right. It's wonderful. You're wonderful." And then he couldn't say more because pleasure took control and he was lost in the delicious heat of her mouth.

  "Enough. Oh God, enough. You're killing me," he said as he brought her again to his lap.

  Meg trembled as anxious as he for this ultimate intimacy. Her head fell back, her eyes closed in pleasure as her breath was sucked through clenched teeth and his body filled her to overflowing.

  Her gown was flung over her head to the floor. Naked she faced him, and they moved like wild, hungry beings, each in search of the final moment when nothing existed but the pain and pleasure of mutual ecstasy. And when it came, she clawed at him, demanding all he could give as his hips thrust up and forward. Hearts pounded, breathing ceased as their bodies discovered mindless euphoria.

  They were coated with a fine film of sexual sweat as she fell upon him with an exhausted groan. Her body jerked slightly as aftershocks testified to a delight unequalled. "God, that was so good."

  He groaned in agreement as he cradled her face into the damp warmth of his neck.

  Meg's tongue sipped at the saltiness. "Will it always be like this?"

  "I can't see any reason why it should change." His arms pulled her tighter against him as he waited for his trembling to ease so they could move to the bed.

  "Do you think others — "

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "Because few are as fortunate as us."

  Meg smiled. "Are we fortunate? Why, because we fit together so nicely?" She moved against him and smiled at his low groan.

  "I meant because we love each other. Loving you makes everything better."

  "I love your throat," she said as her lips and teeth trailed a line of fire over the hard-surface. "I love to watch you swallow."

  Tristan blinked the dazed expression from his eyes and looked at her in surprise. "Do you?"

  Meg nodded. Her fingertips trailed down his neck. "It moves when you swallow. The muscles pull together and loosen only to pull together again."

  "I see you've made a study of throats."

  "Only yours."

  "Being a man, I love different things."

  "I know"

  "Really? What do you know?"

  "I know you like my breasts. You touch them and kiss them every chance you get."

  He was playing with them at that exact moment, so it was hard to deny the obvious. "I do," he admitted, "but that's not what I love most."

  "It's not?"

  He shook his head. "What I love most is your knee."

  Meg looked at him with some surprise. Laughter filled his dark eyes, and Meg giggled at the nonsensical remark. "I don't believe you."

  "You should. I'm a knee man." He shifted their positions so that his mouth was hovering over the joint in question.

  She frowned. "What does that mean?"

  "It means that knees excite me."

  "They do not."

  "Yours do."

  "Why?"

  "Because they're attached
to your legs."

  "And my legs are attached to other things. I think I'm beginning to understand."

  Tristan laughed as his mouth brushed against her knee on its way to even more delicious fare. "I thought you would."

  "I know. Should I do it again?" "Yes. Again and again."

  "You're so tight sometimes I think I'm hurting you."

  "You're not."

  "You make the most entrancing sounds."

  "Do I?"

  "Make more," he said as he pushed his body harder into hers. "I love to hear you groan like that." And Meg willingly obeyed.

  "You know what else I love?"

  "What?"

  "Your legs. They're so long and hard and hairy. I like it when you rub them against mine."

  "They're different than yours," he said as if telling her a fact she didn't know.

  "I know."

  "Yours are short."

  "Not short. Smaller."

  "And silky and soft. I could kiss them all night long." He wasn't far from wrong; he'd been kissing them for some time. His mouth moved higher, closer to the heat of her desire. His tongue flicked out, sliding between the folds of her body.

  "Mmmm, that feels good."

  "God, I can't believe I'm loving you." Propped on his arms, his body moved over hers.

  "You mean again?" she asked as her hands moved to his neck.

  "I mean at all. I was beginning to think this would never happen."

  "Did you want to so much?"

  "I never thought about anything else."

  "Never?"

  "Almost never."

  "Tell me what you thought about."

  "I thought about the way you'd feel beneath me in bed."

  "This is the first time we're doing it in bed."

  "I needed the other times first."

  "You mean the one on your lap?"

  He nodded. "And the table." "And the floor?"

  "It took the floor to get you here. I just made a quick stop on the way."

  Meg laughed and Tristan groaned.

  "I love you" he said as his hands cuddled her behind, holding her hips tighter to his sex.

  "Don't you dare" came the muffled reply, for her mouth and nose, like the rest of her body, lay heavily upon him.