Reckless_Mills & Boon Historical

by Anne Stuart

  But he wasn't going to leave her. If it hurt, so be it. He would take as long as he needed to get her cooperation. He couldn't risk scaring her—all he needed was her adamant refusal and he'd be fucked. Or not.

  He laughed deep inside as he slid his mouth down her throat. "What's funny?" Charlotte murmured, dazed.

  “I am. Going to all this trouble."

  Wrong thing to say. She tried to skitter away from him, to the far side of the bed, but the effort made her robe pull open to expose the thin black silk beneath it. She let out a shriek, trying to pull it back around her, but he caught her hands, stopping her by moving closer, so close that she couldn't reach between them to restore her modesty. He put one arm around her waist, clamping her against him, and with his other hand he cupped her chin, holding her still for his soft, seductive kisses, lulling her into a mistaken sense of safety.

  He rolled her underneath him, pushing her into the soft mattress as he covered her, his erection up against the juncture of her thighs, his mouth leasing hers, her breasts against his chest, nibbing, nibbing, the nipples irresistibly hard. Her hands were on his shoulders again, clinging to him, not pushing him away. It wasn't complete surrender, but it was moving that way, and his arousal intensified, until he knew he had to slow things down or he'd embarrass himself as he hadn't since he was thirteen years old.

  What was it about her that made him so impossibly eager? Was it the adolescent dream of fucking his governess finally coming to fruition? His own hadn't been exciting, but he remembered his cousin's very proper Miss Finster....

  He slid his hands up her arms, and he rose, pulling his mouth away reluctantly, staring down at her through the milky candlelight. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, and her usually sharp eyes were dazed. The scowl was gone. Who would have thought starchy Miss Charlotte Spenser could look quite so deliciously aroused?

  She blinked for a moment. Her gaze came back into focus as she looked at him, and he felt her initial stiffening.

  "What am I doing?" she whispered, horrified. Now she was pushing at him, and he let her go, rolling onto his back to keep from shoving himself into her like a randy bull. It took him a moment to control his breathing, and in the meantime she tried to scramble over him in her need to escape.

  He caught her, of course, as one of her legs straddled his in her attempt to get away. He felt the resistance in her body, and he knew she'd say no, so he simply stopped her mouth with his so she couldn't demand her freedom.

  Not that he would have granted it at this point. To hell with the rules of the Heavenly Host. He didn't give a damn if she was initially unwilling. She wanted him, and he was going to take her, and to hell with the consequences.

  He didn't move his mouth away from hers until he felt her entire body soften. Once more he considered leaving and finding a fast tup to get the edge off. He wasn't going to be able to take the time he wanted to, but at that point he didn't care.

  "What are you doing?" he echoed her, faintly mocking. "You're lying on top of the most accomplished rake in London." The robe was open around her, and he used his free hand to push it off her shoulders. Lovely shoulders, and he could see the gold flecks now that she was closer to the light. Stardust scattered on her skin, he thought, and leaning forward, he licked the skin on her shoulder, just tasting.

  She made a small, worried noise, and he captured it with his mouth. The garment she wore under the monk's robe was thin, black silk, with no corset, no petticoats, and he suspected, hoped and prayed, no drawers. Just the long silk chemise. It would have come from Evangelina Whitmore—it slid against Charlotte's skin like a caress.

  He'd gotten her into the locked room by kissing her into submission. He should be able to get inside her by the same process. He slid his hand between them, catching the silk and slowly pulling it up her long legs. She let out a little shriek of protest against his mouth, and he simply rolled her underneath him again, with the chemise halfway up her thighs, trapped between their bodies.

  He looked down at her. "This is going to happen, Charlotte," he said in a soft voice. "You and I both know it. No matter how long it takes, I'm going to end up inside you."

  “No," she protested weakly.

  No, she'd said. There were rules. The Heavenly Host had a rule of consensuality. A gentleman took no for an answer. No, she'd said.

  "Yes," he said. And he kissed her again.

  Charlotte lay cushioned in the soft bed, with Adrian Rohan on top of her, his weight holding her there, a captive, as he kissed her mouth.

  It couldn't be his full weight. He was a tall man, and strong. She'd have a hard time breathing if he was putting all his weight on top of her.

  And the damnable thing was, it felt wonderful. It had felt good through the thick weave of the monk's robe. It felt even better with only that shamefully thin chemise between them. His legs were long, longer than hers, and she could feel his breeches against her skin, feel the mysterious yet unmistakable shape of him against that place between her legs. She knew she was wet, which felt indecent, and she knew the last thing she wanted to do was have him climb off her, unlock the door and let her go.

  She had to make the effort. This was the culmination of her most secret fantasies, but if she gave in to it she'd be ruined, completely. It was one thing for her cousin to romp in and out of every young man's bed. Lina was a widow, with a handsome settlement and no interest in the very upper echelons of society or in getting married again. Most people really didn't care what she did, what rules she flaunted, so long as she paid her gambling debts on time.

  Why should it be different for Charlotte? It wasn't as if she'd ever contract a marriage, not at her advanced age. And if she did, her loss of innocence would be more understandable.

  And she wasn't about to rival Lina in her conquests. She expected that she probably wouldn't do this more than once. But she wanted to. Just this once. She wanted to lie in a man's arms and let him kiss her, wanted to be naked with him and., .and let him do those wicked things that she wasn't supposed to know about.

  And she wanted it with him. With the beautiful, elegant, unattainable Adrian Rohan. It was his mouth she wanted, his arms around her, his body pressed up against hers.

  If she was ever going to be naked with anyone she wanted to be naked with Adrian, and the thought of going through her expected long life with no knowledge of this mysterious, magic thing was unacceptable. By some strange twist of fate Adrian Rohan desired her. How could she tell him no?

  He'd made it clear he wasn't going to listen. Made it clear that he was going to have her, one way or another, though he'd promised it wouldn't be rape.

  His mouth was on her neck, and it was delicious, delirious, and his hands held her shoulders in place for his kisses. The monk's robe had slipped partway down, entrapping her arms so that she couldn't move them, couldn't put them around him. He pulled back to look down at her, his eyes hooded, as she lay there on the bed, his bed, pinned by the enveloping robe.

  A faint smile curved his usually cynical mouth. "If you only knew how delectable you look, trussed up like that. I don't suppose you'd...no, probably not."

  Calm, she told herself. Slay calm, authoritative. He was nothing more than an obstreperous little boy, and if she just treated him as such he'd quickly lose interest.

  "I'd appreciate it if you'd release me," she said in a remarkably even voice.

  He laughed, leaning down to feather his lips against her eyelids, making them flutter closed. He was holding on to the robe, effectively imprisoning her, and it gave her a strange feeling inside, a wrenching kind of...of want inside her, which was impossible.

  "Truly," she said, trying again. "I'm sure this game must have been great fun for you, but it's time to let me go. My cousin will be awaiting me, and I think I've had enough exposure to the more dissipated parts of life to last me—" Her words ended in a shriek as Rohan leaned forward and ripped the black silk chemise from neck to hem.

  She struggled, and the gown fe
ll open. She couldn't cover herself with her arms, she could do nothing but lie there, pinned by him, that strange feeling moving higher, into her stomach and chest, and lower, between her legs.

  At some point he'd shrugged off the long vest, and he was now wearing only a loose white shirt and a pair of breeches. She knew enough about mating not to look down at the lower half of his body, and her struggles only made the torn silk gown slide off her body, leaving her completely exposed to his dark gaze.

  She had never been naked in front of anyone until today, and now she lay here like some virgin sacrifice for Adrian Rohan to stare at, to judge, to mock.

  "Did you know," he said in a casual voice, "that you have the most delicious skin? Your freckles look like little flecks of gold against the creamy white." He leaned forward and put his mouth at the base of her throat, and she could feel his tongue flicker across her skin.

  Oh, bloody hell, she thought miserably, the strange feeling getting stronger, healing, clenching inside her. "That was Lina's gown," she said, trying for a matter-of-fact tone of voice and failing. "She won't be happy you ripped it."

  "Your cousin sent you out amongst the wolves, unprotected. She's just lucky you fell into my hands and not someone else's."

  “Considering that I am lying naked on a bed, my arms trapped, I hardly think that constitutes lucky," she said. There, that was better. She sounded cool and matter-of-fact.

  He laughed, his eyes glittering in the candlelight. "I think I should demonstrate just how fortunate you are, my precious." And before she realized what he was doing, he'd moved down her body, forced her legs apart and put his mouth...there.

  Charlotte jerked in panic at the touch of his mouth, but there was nothing she could do. He was holding her hips, his shoulders were between her spread legs and her arms were trapped by the half-discarded monk's robe. She felt the warmth of his breath, and then his tongue, his mouth, licking at her, lasting her, and a frisson of reaction danced across her skin, pushing away her initial embarrassment.

  “You shouldn't..." she said weakly, looking down at his golden hair.

  He glanced up at her, a glint in his eyes. "Don't you like it?"

  She was quivering, wanting his longue again, wanting him to continue what he started. But it was wrong. Indecent. "No," she said weakly.

  "Liar." He put his mouth back again, sliding his tongue against her most private places, and she let out a soft moan of pleasure. He was using his hands now, spreading apart the secret folds, and his tongue caught something that sent a bolt through her.

  This was nothing she'd ever witnessed in a barnyard. This was new and mysterious and dangerously powerful, and when he slid one long finger inside her she arched off the bed. He withdrew it, and she let out a cry of distress, only to have him push two fingers inside her, stretching her, filling her, and she wanted more, she wanted him. She wanted what she knew was supposed to go there. Why was he playing with her, why didn't he do what men and women do? What was he—

  A rush of feeling swept over her, sparks dancing across her skin, and she let out a small shriek. And then another, as a second wave hit her, and she pushed down against his fingers, needing more.

  "Good," he murmured against her, the rhythmic thrust of his fingers a counterpoint to the dancing suck of his mouth. "Again, sweet Charlotte. One more time.”

  She could no more deny him than keep her heart from beating. She felt his teeth, and this time she screamed, throwing her head to one side to try to stifle the sounds.

  He was merciless. The moment one wave faded another followed to take its place, stronger and more powerful until she couldn't stand it any longer. She was begging him, pleading with him. "No more," she sobbed. "It's too much.”

  It took her a moment to realize he'd lifted his head, and the crushing, overpowering sensations were slowly ebbing. His eyes were dreamy, half closed, and his mouth was wet, and he wiped it on the shirt he wore.

  ''You could take more," he said. "You quite astonish me—who would have thought such a little prude could be so disarmingly sensuous? So here's the question, my precious. Do we leave you a virgin? Or do we finish this properly?"

  It took a moment for his words to penetrate. "I'm still a virgin?" she asked, her voice not much more than a whisper.

  He laughed. "It always amazes me just how ignorant Englishwomen are. Yes, you are still a virgin, at least technically. We can leave you that way if you prefer.”

  Her brain was slowly returning, and she managed to lift her head. "But.. .but there would be nothing... that is.. .why should you...?"

  "If what you're struggling to ask is how would I achieve the same blissful state I just accorded you, let me assure you there are any number of ways you can take me that would leave your maidenhead intact." His smile was wicked. "Some variations I'm extremely fond of."

  A stray shiver danced across her body, and she realized he still had his long fingers inside her, and his thumb was gently rubbing what he'd been licking earlier.

  "It's called a clitoris, angel," he said out of the blue.

  “What?"

  “That part of you that’s so exquisitely sensitive to my mouth and my thumb. I gather you've lived too sheltered a life to discover it for yourself, which is a shame. Self-pleasure is a lovely way to spend a solitary afternoon if an agreeable partner is not available." For emphasis he flicked his thumb harder against her, and she jerked, fighting the hot, liquid rush.

  She didn't want to make a sound, but she couldn't help it. The low, guttural moan betrayed her, half of pleasure, half of need.

  "So tell me, sweet Charlotte," he murmured. "Where do you want me to put my cock?"

  She struggled to come up with something suitable. "A mousetrap," she muttered. "A guillotine."

  "Ouch," he said, not sounding particularly distressed. "I'm afraid your bloodthirsty suggestions don't have any effect on me."

  "It probably—" flick went his thumb "—made you even more—" flick, flick"—excited." The last word dissolved into little more than a moan.

  "I'm not that perverse, love. Tell me what you want." He'd moved partly up her body, his hand, his fingers, his thumb still riding her to distraction. "Or shall I make the decision for you? The kind thing, the honorable thing would be to take my pleasure and leave your virginity intact." He smiled at her with a peculiar sweetness. "But you and I both know that's not going to happen. I'm going to lake you, Miss Charlotte Spenser, any way I want to. I'm going to lose myself in your delicious body, and when it's over you can go on about your life and pretend it never happened. Or you can try. Say yes, Charlotte."

  "And if I say no?"

  He was wicked and unabashed. "I'll probably ignore you.”

  “Yes, then," she said, an edge of wildness in her voice. She would have him, her golden fantasy lover, and nothing and no one would ever take it away from her. "Yes," she said again. "Yes, I want you."

  His smile was small, almost smug. "Then let's get rid of that damned virginity, shall we?"

  Before she could guess what he had in mind he put another of his long fingers inside her, thrusting hard, and she felt a sudden sharp pain, a tearing inside her, and she let out a muffled shriek.

  Her eyes filled with involuntary tears, but before she could blink them away he'd moved up, over her, his narrow hips between her spread legs. He'd unfastened his breeches at some point, she hadn't noticed when, and she was glad of it. She didn't particularly want to see it, touch it. She just wanted him to make love to her. Let her lie there and feel something other than the stinging pain between her legs.

  She waited, bracing herself for the final act, the thrust, the coup de grace. She could feel him now, smooth and hard against the opening of her sex, and she tensed, prepared for more pain.

  He didn't move. He held himself above her, staring down at her, and all amusement had fled from his face. His blond hair fell forward, across his forehead, and there was a thoughtful look in his eyes.

  "What are you waiting for?" she de
manded finally, moving restlessly on the soft bed.

  "I'm hoping one last burst of sanity will stop me.”

  She held her breath. Part of her still wanted to escape, and if he released her she'd run to safety. Broken, weeping, but she'd run anyway. Self-preservation was bred deep into her bones, and she was on the edge of total disaster. Willingly.

  And then a faint, self-deprecating smile flitted across his shadowed face. "But my cousin assures me that sanity is greatly overrated. Tell me no one more time and maybe I'll listen."

  This is what she'd wanted. He would let her go, and even if he'd broken through her virginity she could still retain some semblance of innocence. After all, no one would ever be near that area of her body to find out otherwise, never again.

  Her arms were still trapped by the monk's robe.

  "Release my arms” she said in a low, determined

  For a moment he didn't move. And then he sat back, pulling her up and removing the entrapping fabric. Stripping away the torn shell of Lina's beautiful silk chemise.

  He was still dressed, of course, his loose white shirt open, exposing his strong, smoothly-muscled chest. His breeches were unfastened as well, and she wondered if he'd lost interest. No. She refused to look—but sitting up like this she could still feel him hard against the dampness of her sex, and it wouldn't take much for him to finish.

  She sank back on the bed. "You'll let me leave?" she asked, looking up at him.

  He reached his hand out to touch her face, pushing the hair out of her eyes, and his fingers were gentle, a caress, as his smile deepened.

  “Good God, no," he said, and he pushed into her, hard, one deep, fierce thrust that filled her.

  She arched, trying to accommodate his powerful invasion, and her involuntary cry was of pain and satisfaction. No turning back—he'd finished it.

  He held himself motionless over her, and she could feel the tension rippling through his hard body. She didn't want to open her eyes, she wanted to savor this moment, this feeling, this possession that should have been something she hated. This possession that felt... completely wonderful.