No doubt it was a mistake to share a bed with Venetia. He had always lusted after her, and her proximity was trying his forbearance to the limit.
Amusing, really, that he finally had her in his bed but couldn’t honorably do a damned thing about it.
Far less amusing, however, were all the conflicting urges warring inside him.
One was Venetia’s response to him tonight. Her rebuff had pricked his pride, yes. Rejection was a first for him, since women usually craved his touch, but her skittishness downright offended him. He had never had a woman fear him, especially since he gave his lovers only deep pleasure.
Another was his own inexplicable response to their nuptials and the vows they had taken just this morning. Venetia had made a stunning bride—elegant, graceful, beyond lovely. Your wife now, Quinn reminded himself.
The acknowledgment roused a powerful possessiveness inside him.
A possessiveness he didn’t want to feel.
It hadn’t helped that in the firelight tonight, she had looked perfectly enchanting. Her skin glowed with a luminous quality, while her enormous eyes drew him in with their limitless depths. And her hair…long, lustrous, dark. He could easily fantasize about those silken strands skimming over his skin as she bent over him and used her satin lips to bring him to climax.
Regrettably, for now the picture would remain strictly a fantasy.
It was also odd how the most desirable woman he had ever encountered was also totally inexperienced. Venetia’s innocence was endearing, perhaps because he was unaccustomed to consorting with virgins.
Lying next to her barely clad form now, Quinn felt the same rush of hunger he’d felt at first kissing her at Tavistock’s, only this was even more forceful. He could readily imagine what lay beneath her nightdress…the luscious body, the ripe breasts, the long slender limbs.
He wanted Venetia badly, more than any woman he’d ever known.
Yet his strongest urge had nothing to do with the physical. Most of all, he wanted to win her trust. A challenge that would be difficult at best.
And his strongest internal conflict had everything to do with his own past. Venetia not only stirred his blood but aroused long dormant emotions inside him—excitement, fascination, anticipation, to name a few. Emotions that he had worked hard to crush over the past decade and ardently wanted to repress now.
His most dangerous feeling, though, was enjoyment. Even in pain, he was finding unreasonable pleasure in her mere presence and even more pleasure in their verbal battles. Quinn very well knew he needed to keep his distance from Venetia, and he’d thought riling her was one way to do it. But deplorably, their sparring was like an aphrodisiac for him.
Trying to ignore the sleeping beauty beside him, he gingerly shifted his position to lie on his back and shut his eyes while preparing to endure a long night.
It would be damned hard to sleep with the aches in his side and loins, and keeping his feelings for Venetia under strict control might prove futile.
—
Venetia woke to the most enchanting sensations. Warmth. Contentment. Sweet arousal. She had been lost in a captivating dream. Traherne was kissing her, making exquisite love to her….
Her eyes fluttering open, she recognized the inn bedchamber. It was early morning, with golden rays of sunlight filtering beneath the window curtains.
Behind her, Traherne lay unmoving, his front cradling her back beneath the covers, one arm draped casually across her waist. From his slow, even breathing she thought he was still asleep, but his body was hot enough to stoke a furnace.
Or perhaps the heat came from her. Her derriere was snuggled against his loins, her softer curves pressing against his hardness.
She knew enough about sexual relations to realize that he was fully aroused, even in his sleep. His desire was instinctual, of course, the result of primal nature, but Venetia couldn’t help relishing the sinful thrill of being captured against his muscular male form.
Then again, savoring his embrace wouldn’t be sinful if they were truly man and wife.
A strange longing swept over her. For a moment she found herself wishing this was their nuptial bed.
She let her eyes drift shut, pretending for now that Traherne was her husband in more than name. Amazing how the fantasy made such a vast difference in her feelings toward him. She would have no thought of resistance. Instead she would surrender willingly. Better yet, she would turn over and slowly kiss Traherne awake. If he were hers, she would embrace the role as his wife and lover and respond with every ounce of ardor she possessed….
The rush of longing increased. She was quiveringly aware of him, enveloped as she was in his warmth and scent.
When she felt the slightest shift in his position, Venetia went very still. Traherne had awakened, she realized.
In another heartbeat, his hand began lightly stroking her belly through the thin cambric of her nightdress. His lips were very near to her ear. As she debated how to respond, he pressed even closer to nuzzle her hair with his face, burrowing deeper. His mouth was warm, his breath moist at her nape.
When his hand shifted slowly upward to cup her breast, her pulse spiked. His palm molded to the curve of her breast, massaging gently in a slow, languid motion that was unbelievably sensual.
She ought to stop his caresses, Venetia knew. She had no business indulging in fantasies when she desperately needed to keep her defenses strong. But she didn’t want this wonderful intimacy to end. Not just yet.
Heat swelled inside her as he discovered her nipple beneath her bodice. His long fingers gently squeezed the peak, making her arch reflexively into his palm.
He must have taken that as an invitation to proceed, for soon his hand glided downward, sliding over her rib cage, his fingers burning her thigh….
“Traherne…” she murmured.
“My name is Quinn, love,” he urged, his voice rusty and low.
She couldn’t reply, not when this breathless languor had overtaken her and sapped all her willpower. Her body tingled, while her feminine center throbbed with warm yearning. His touch was magical, his strong fingers stroking delicately over her bare skin where the skirt of her nightdress had ridden up.
Her eyes remained closed as she rode a dreamy wave of pleasure. When he raised the hem farther and covered the soft mound of hair at the juncture of her thighs, she gave a shuddering exhalation and grasped at his forearm to stay him.
Despite her response, though, his fingers went on sliding over her already slick flesh, probing her moist secrets with a deliberate pressure. At the same time his knee pushed hers apart from behind, exposing her further to his caresses.
Venetia abandoned any thought of protest. Instead, her senses feasted on the shivering sensations he was stirring in her. She forgot everything else but the erotic feel of his ministrations, forgot even how to breathe. Her body quivered, pleasure racing through her veins.
Then he slipped one finger inside her cleft and fire sparked in her. Venetia gasped softly as another shudder rippled through her limbs.
A second finger joined the first, opening her a little wider. The feeling of his penetration was indescribably glorious. She felt herself melting.
His thumb rubbed the nub of her sex in a repetitive glide while his finger teased her, moving in and out, lingering and withdrawing from her weeping flesh. Of their own volition, her hips strained wantonly to get closer as the coiling tension grew. The gossamer friction was a delectable torture. Her fingers clutched at his arm as her body grew tighter, hotter. The pleasure built and built with his gentle thrusts.
Her hands fisted in the covers and she heard her own shallow, ragged pants as he brought her to the peak of arousal. Suddenly, she could bear it no longer.
Venetia gave a soft cry and shattered. For a dozen heartbeats she shook and pulsed with sweet spasms.
His attentions left her weak and dazed for a long while. The soft caress of his breath stirred wisps of hair at her temple as she lay cradled in his a
rms, wondering at the novelty of passion.
His voice was low, intimate, when he finally spoke. “Did you find that pleasurable, sweeting?”
She couldn’t utter a denial for it would be a lie. The explosive fire had been exquisite, better than she could ever have imagined.
“You know I did,” Venetia eventually managed to say, her voice a hoarse rasp.
“There is far more I want to show you.”
“That would be extremely unwise.”
With a light touch on her shoulder, Traherne rolled her toward him, so that she lay on her back, gazing up at him. “Not at all.”
He stroked her cheek with a finger. In the pale morning light, with his gold hair ruffled and a shadow of stubble roughening his jaw, he looked very male and oh, so sensual.
His eyes had darkened to sea blue. She saw lust there and desire and unmistakable need. His palm cradled her face with infinite tenderness.
“Kiss me, sweet Venetia…”
She wanted desperately to obey. Venetia watched, spellbound, as he bent toward her.
His breath fanned warm against her lips before his mouth settled on hers. Another heated rush of feeling assaulted her. His kiss was languid but took her breath away.
She tangled her fingers in his gilded hair as his teeth nipped at her lips. When he increased the pressure and kissed her more deeply, she opened to his exploration. His tongue penetrated her lips in an intimate invasion, meeting hers, playing in a leisurely dance, coaxing, enchanting her again. She was thoroughly bewitched when, to her surprise, his mouth left hers.
However, his attentions had only moved lower, his lips brushing over the column of her throat, her bare collarbone, the cambric covering her breasts, her belly…as if driven to explore further.
He paused briefly at the apex of her bare thighs. Venetia stiffened at the shocking realization that he planned to kiss her there at her center.
When he parted her curls with his tongue, she gasped at the blatant carnality of it.
His tongue stroked her gently, probing her folds. And then he drew her swollen flesh between his lips.
A soft moan escaped her at the unbelievable things he was doing with his mouth. The sensations were incredible. His mouth moved on her, slow and erotic and extremely thorough. He was driving her mad with his caresses. Yet it was his tenderness that stunned her most. She had never felt anything like this captivating man’s assault on her senses.
An aching torment rose inside her, burning through her body. When he sucked more powerfully on the sensitive nubbin, she jerked, lifting her hips halfway off the blanket.
His hands moved to her thighs to hold her down. “Be still, darling. Let me taste you….”
The soft command was a reminder of her shattered willpower. As her head shifted feverishly back and forth on the pillow, she could feel him reveling in her body’s heated response.
Forcing her eyes open, she glanced down to see Traherne’s golden head between her thighs. She was giving him far too much power, Venetia knew. She was already a melted puddle of desire. If she let him continue, she would surrender completely.
Her hands blindly found his shoulders. “Enough…” she rasped. “Please…”
For a moment he continued his brazen ministrations, until her voice grew stronger.
“Quinn!”
At her plea, he left off and raised his head to look at her. For a moment he remained still, poised above her. But then he gave an almost imperceptible sigh and shifted his weight.
He settled on his side again so that he lay watching her.
Venetia rolled over to face him. She had a greater chance of fending off his advances that way—and more control over her own traitorous desires. He was undeniably wicked, and he made her long to be wicked with him.
When Traherne reached out his hand as if to touch her, she flinched and instinctively drew her knees up in a defensive posture. When she contacted his body accidently, he flinched as well and shut his eyes in obvious pain, his breath hissing through his teeth.
Instantly repentant, Venetia issued a sincere apology. “Oh, did I hurt your wound? I am so very sorry!”
“Not my wound,” he rasped, gritting his teeth. “Just my loins.”
Easing back, she glanced down and saw his swollen manhood thrusting out below the hem of his nightshirt. His member was long and thick—much larger and darker than she thought it would be.
Her gaze fixed on his hard male flesh; she bit her lip. “I did not mean to hurt you.”
“I believe you. Give me a moment and I will recover from the blow, if not from my hunger.”
Her mouth turned down in puzzlement. “Hunger?”
“For you.”
Her gaze rose again to his face. “Your randiness, you mean. Cleo says randiness is in a man’s base nature.”
“Cleo says?”
“My friend Mrs. Newcomb.”
“I know who Cleo is. I am merely curious about her perspective.”
Venetia made a face. “My mother never saw fit to explain to me what happened in the marriage bed, so I have had to rely on Cleo for my education. She has told me a great deal about carnal relationships.”
“Is that so?” He sounded amused.
She felt rather indignant that Traherne was ragging her on so intimate a subject. “Forgive me, your lordship, if I am not as sophisticated as your other lovers.”
“Easy, love. I did not mean to prick your sensibilities. You know much more than is typical of a young English lady.”
“I have studied male anatomy for my art. We drew and sculpted nudes in class.”
“Indeed?” His eyebrow rose.
“The French are much more liberal than the English and more accepting of women artists.”
“But art is different from real life.”
“Clearly. You are…much larger than I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
Realizing that he had noted her intent scrutiny, Venetia felt herself blushing wildly, which was absurd, given the carnal intimacies they had just shared. “I don’t know exactly. I have little firsthand knowledge.”
“Your innocence is appealing.”
Both of her eyebrows lifted. “To a man as experienced as you? You astonish me. Given all your numerous lovers, I should think you would prefer skill.”
His mouth curved. “You vastly overestimate my promiscuity.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, and you vastly underrate your appeal.”
“I hardly think so. You don’t want me specifically.”
Traherne gave a pained laugh. “Of course I want you. I would have to be dead not to want you.”
“What I meant was that you would lust after any woman. I am not so special.”
“You are wrong. You are very special. And I want you very badly.”
Venetia stifled the wistful longing that coursed through her and replied with a laugh. “Flattery comes as naturally to you as breathing, doesn’t it. You use pretty words as tools of seduction.”
“My desire is not mere flattery. Male arousal may be a natural reaction to sleeping with a beautiful woman, but that doesn’t explain the intensity of what I feel for you. Shall I show you how much I want you?”
At his provocative question, her heart leapt in her chest. The absurd thing was, she wanted Traherne to want her. How contrary was that? Perhaps it was womanly pride, or perhaps it was much more personal.
She shied away from that rebellious thought and swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat.
When she remained silent, he gave a faint smile. “I know you want me, too.”
“I do not,” she lied.
“Your body says differently. Your breasts are swollen. Your nipples are puckered….” He raised a finger to brush her throat. “Your pulse is very rapid. See? You shiver at my slightest touch. You can’t honestly say you don’t want me.”
No, not honestly, Venetia reflected. She was keenly aroused, she admitted.
&nb
sp; Traherne was still thoroughly aroused as well. His voice was husky and low when he pressed her. “You feel heat at your core. That is sexual craving, my love.”
He shifted his hand to touch her mouth with his fingertips. The sensuality in even that light contact was like a lightning bolt, but it was his gaze that had the greater impact. She stared into his eyes and felt herself being drawn in.
He was mesmerizing her again, she realized to her dismay.
Inhaling sharply, Venetia visibly pulled back from the spell that held her, and forcibly steeled herself. His confidence was intimidating, and she very much disliked feeling intimidated. Even more, she despised feeling defensive and powerless.
Venetia took a deep breath. It was time she turned the tables on Traherne. She wanted to be his equal, not a victim of his skilled seduction. Somehow she had to prove that she could stand up to him, or he would forever use his knowledge of her weaknesses to trample all over her.
“I understand,” she said slowly, “that unrelieved arousal is extremely painful for a man, but I don’t want to worsen your injury or increase the pain of your wound.”
Surprise lit his eyes. “I could manage if I lie on my back and if we are slow and careful. If you were to straddle me, I could show you how to move.”
“That was not quite what I had in mind.” Her heart thudding in her chest, she reached down to cradle his shaft in her fingers. “I imagined something more like this….”
She had an instant to savor his shock as he drew a ragged breath. “So you mean to service me with your hand?” he asked rather hoarsely.
“That is my general plan. You said you were in pain. I am willing to provide a cure for your lust.”
She had caught him off guard, but his body obviously welcomed her fondling. While she stared, his stiff erection stirred eagerly between his thighs and thrust against her palm.
When brazenly she began to stroke his swollen flesh, Traherne clenched his jaw, yet amusement tinged his tone. “I should have expected you to act in so novel a fashion. Let me guess. Cleo told you how to proceed.”
“Well, yes. She wanted me to be prepared for the marriage bed and warned me how painful it could be. Therefore, she advised me how to expend your sexual urges so I would not have to submit to you.”
The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers #4) Page 12
