by Lisa Torquay
The moment he touched her, a rush of hot contempt replaced the malaise, and she turned to him, eyes shooting fury. “What are you doing here?”
He searched her with his darkened eyes. “Checking if you are well.”
“As you see, I am.” She answered brusquely. “You may go back to your flirtatious blonde!” She turned her back to him again, trying to hide her feelings and regretting her outburst.
He laced her waist, leaning hotly on her back. “You’re jealous, my jewel.” He whispered in her ear, causing her skin to tickle all over, not disguising his satisfaction at the fact. His savant lips grazed her neck up and down, turning her into a living torch.
“Of course not!” She denied the undeniable. Her voice came hoarse and seductive
Then he pulled her tighter as his eager erection nestled on her back. “Can you feel it, Lucinda?” He breathed in her ear. “It comes for you. Only you!” He nipped the curve of her neck and her head fell on his shoulder, giving him more access. “The idea of touching another woman disgusts me.” His hand moulded her slim waist on the velvet fabric of her green dress. She gasped and arched more for him.
Her proximity made him as fiery as she. As much as he did not use to behave like this in public places, her presence challenged his social posture. He didn’t bear the idea of spending the night away from her. He needed her as he’d never needed any woman in his entire life. “Come to me tonight, Lucinda.” He murmured with urgency. “I’ll send a carriage.” His other hand delineated her pert hips and thighs over the impending fabric as she sighed with yearning.
Should anyone discover them in this compromising situation, it’d be an un-mendable scandal, she predicted, and reality crashed back on her. With extreme difficulty, she put distance between them. “Unfeasible.” Her voice hardened by her determination. “This is London; everybody watches closely what everyone’s doing.” She looked up at him regretfully, his head bent down, cognac eyes intent on hers. “No one can see us here.” She tore her eyes from him. “Excuse me.”
After that, she danced with anyone who asked, in a foolish attempt to forget his tantalizing invitation. And not allow her mind to fantasise how it’d be to lie down in his bed and let him pleasure her as he always did so skilfully.
As predictably usual, sleep eluded her that night, her body burned for him and she imagined herself walking the dark streets bare foot just to find relief in his arms.
Tariq had watched her leave the ballroom’s terrace. To count every milk-sop who held her in a dance, wanting to shout to whoever would listen that she was his alone. He went home in a state of frustration. It took all his will power not to go to her house, climb her window and sate the both of them. His mood next morning built in the foulest possible way.
Next morning Lucinda got up after a badly slept night populated by steaming dreams about him. Breakfast over, she concluded that if she stayed home, she’d go mad with frustration. Trapped and feverish, she decided to take a stroll at Oxford Street, maybe buy a ribbon or two. After calling for the carriage, she dressed a cream day dress and left her house. She’d go alone, the ride was safe enough, there being a big probability of her meeting acquaintances at the shops.
Lacy gloves in her hand, she entered the carriage distractedly as it started with a nudge. It’d take about fifteen minutes to get there, so she leaned back and watched the streets pass by her window. In less than five minute’s ride, the carriage turned in a driveway and stopped by a strange door as she started to put on her gloves. About to ask her driver what the matter was, Aziz opened the door and gestured for her to step down on the drive. Gloves forgotten, she stared at him quizzically.
“Aziz!” Her brow pleated at the strange situation. “What’s happening?” She asked in Italian since he didn’t speak English.
At that moment, Aziz walked away. Tariq appeared at the door and extended his hand to her. “Just a little change of plans, Lady Lucinda.” A scornful smile in his appetizing lips.
“How dare you do this?” She hissed, her temper flaring. “Where is my driver?”
“We gave him a little respite for the day and Aziz will park your carriage wherever you were heading to, so anyone of import will see it.” Since she hadn’t moved, he came in the enclosed space.
Livid crimson flooded her cheeks at his manipulative act, and she ostensibly crossed her arms, unmovable. “I’m not staying here. I’m going to Oxford Street, so close the door and get lost!” She cared not he didn’t like her giving him orders.
The stubborn, wilful woman liked this foreplay, didn’t she, Tariq thought exasperated. “You’ll do as I wish!” Their eyes met and battled, neither willing to give in to the other. “You have five seconds to come down or I’ll go get you!”
“Not even in five days.” She said in between teeth.
“Five, four, three.” The more she resisted, the more aroused he got.
She lifted her chin and remained seated. Her heart pounded full force. She wanted to come down and walk to his house, his arms. But his arrogance rocketed sky high if he imagined he might just take her carriage and bring her here. “Ok, I see you can count backwards.” In a bored voice, she put on a show of not caring what came next.
“Two, one.” He took her hand and made her come out of the bloody carriage and inside the house, holding her, so that she wouldn’t leave. He didn’t need to be brusque, her muscles had already given in to the force of his attraction and her body followed to him against her own will.
He motioned to Aziz, who climbed up the carriage and started driving away. The helper made a face signalling his distrust on a rebel woman not worth lingering on in the least. Even less one that could shoot. He finally shrugged and followed his orders.
Lucinda’s blood boiled with a mix of anger and arousal, the later making her feel pliant in his arms. “How many times will I have to tell you that we must stop this?” Her fists clenched on his chest, bunching his shirt, as he struggled to close the door behind her, lest they be seen. “Stop abducting me!” She commanded to his further irritation.
He stared hard at her with his fiery eyes. “And how many times will I have to tell you that I’ll continue seeing you?” His edgy velvety voice almost undoing her. “And this is not an abduction, unfortunately! You’ll go back to your family’s house in due time.” Unfortunately again, he concluded.
He caught her in his arms and took her to his bedroom upstairs, resisting her fierce thrashing. Damn woman! Upstairs, he kicked the door shut, his flesh so hard in his breeches he wanted to take her against the door itself. Her feet found the floor though, and walked.
The decoration in dark blue shades utterly masculine. The fire glowed in the fireplace, the curtains drawn; a dim intimate atmosphere involved them.
She strode, pounding feet, to the fireplace and turned pepper-mint green eyes darting vexation at him. Vexation and greediness. Her want for him incontestable.
Unable to wait a second longer, he literally pounced at her, laced her narrow waist and his mouth plundered hers in a searing kiss. Taken by surprise, her hands rested on his muscled chest over his open-necked shirt; her body catching fire, their tongues sparring thirsty. She moaned, her head bending back to meet his lips, and her hands found his sleek obsidian hair, they’d missed so much. She devolved kiss for steamy kiss, devouring him as much as he devoured her.
There. That’s his woman, on fire for him.
His hand flew to her hair, plucking each pin, scattering them on the carpet as her dried-dates tresses tumbled to her waist. He rolled her soft strands of hair around his fist and gently made her head bend lower backwards. “Say you don’t want me, if you have the courage, Lucinda.” He groaned against her swollen lips.
She had neither the courage, nor the will. Or the strength, for that matter. He body became a complacent mass of yearning against his strong one. Her sole answer was to tug his shirt out of his breeches as her hands sneaked under it in search of his warm taut skin.
“Just as I
thought.” He murmured hotly, as his deft fingers unbuttoned her corset-less dress and it bunched around her booted ankles. Her chemise followed and he lifted her, being circled by her booted legs. With her in his arms, they fell on his bed locked in a febrile embrace.
He tore her drawers impatiently, as her anxious hands opened his breeches’ fly. His fingers tested her, provoked her. She was readier than he, and they breathed short and quick. He found his home in her, hot and wet, as he drove long, deep and hungry. Her head fell back and she moaned and arched with the melting pleasure of it. They moved raw, savage, instinctive.
There was something erotic about her being completely naked and still wearing her boots, he observed, as he lifted his head to look at her writhing in pleasure. The scent of her womanly skin against his half-clothed body enticed him.
They were both on the edge. It wouldn’t last nearly as long as they’d like. She moved towards him, taking him in desperately; he thrust hard and fast, blind with hunger for her. Her booted legs tightened their circle around his semi-clothed body, he held her under her back, head dipped in the curve of her neck, in total lack of control. He thrust, she groaned; he thrust, she opened more for him; he drove deeper, she tied him to her with her arms; he lunged, she clawed his shirt; he grunted, she cried her pleasure, gripping him repeatedly. He thrust the deepest and let go of all he had as he moved more and more until completely emptied and spent.
He fell on her, breeches half lowered, shirt bunched up, bare feet, her booted feet on the back of his legs. She held him fully cradled in her body as they had no forces to speak or anything else. They drifted into a doze, minds blown, desire sated.
Tariq opened his eyes and lifted his head to look at her. She was watching him attentive. “I’m hurting you.” He said in a lazy voice.
“No, it’s alright.” She answered, still holding him.
But he disentangled from her delicately and moved to untie her boots one at a time. As if he undressed her, denuding every inch as a revelation. As one boot slid from her ankle, his lips followed it to her foot. Such a sensuous caress awoke her completely. He repeated the process with the other boot, his stubble tickling her pale fine skin.
She repaid in kind as she undressed his shirt, grazing her lips throughout his muscled chest, revelling in the texture of his hair-dusted warm skin. His breeches came off as she caressed his awakening manhood at her leisure. Fooling around a bit was just as fine.
Tariq wished her to lie back against him and that’s what happened, as her hair spread everywhere on his bed.
“How did you know I’d be leaving home?” She asked, her palm caressing his strong arm distractedly.
“I sent Aziz to watch.” He answered casually, his hand also hovering over her narrow waist and pert hips.
“I didn’t stand a chance.” She concluded.
“Did you want to?” His lips caressed her shoulder.
“We won’t go there again, will we?” She sighed. “You know we have to stop this as much as I.”
“I can’t.” He said simply, and it echoed her own limitation. “Do you want to hear about the hell of a night I had?”
She didn’t need to; she understood exactly what he was talking about. “You have this wicked habit of acting on your desires.” She brushed a lock of hair from her face. “We British curb impulses we consider wrong.”
“Poor repressed people.” He nipped her ear. A man so full of life as he would answer precisely this.
“It’s not a question of repression; it’s a question of doing what’s right!” She stated firmly.
“And what do you people have to show for when you get old?” He popped his head from the pillow and directed his cognac eyes at her. “Are you satisfied with the life you lead, on a balance?”
He had a point, she reckoned. Trying to do what was right begot a healthier society, but what about the individual? Wouldn’t she have nostalgic memories of them when she got old? Didn’t she herself deny regretting anything of what she’d been doing for the past few weeks a thousand times? Wasn’t she collecting remembrances for when she had to marry and live a lukewarm life? “The more we do…this, in more danger of falling pregnant I am.” She replied instead.
“I admit we’re…working hard on it, yes.” His naturalness baffled her.
“And?”
“We elope, of course!” In truth, he expected exactly that. If she fell pregnant, she’d have no choice. She’d have to accept him and not marry a watery milk-sop of their bloody ton.
“Elope?” She asked, turning to him in utter amazement. She imagined the reactions of the female population of the ton. Lady Lucinda eloping with the barbarian to live romantically in a tent in the desert. Lucinda wasn’t sure they wouldn’t line up for such a destiny. She’d be envied, to say the least. “You must be crazy!” She completed, and so was she to even consider the possibility. She got up abruptly, in a vain attempt to shake the tantalising idea from her distorted mind.
“You’re right. My crave for you drives me crazy!” Professing his love for her would make him weak before her, he feared. His hands came under his obsidian-haired head on the pillow. He watched her as she moved around his bedroom. Delicious. His body already reacted to her. He couldn’t live without her, so he wouldn’t, he decided.
He talked about wanting and desire. And that was it, she mused. He had no feelings for her as a person. He didn’t love her as she irrationally loved him. The conclusion saddened her. Lust would fade with time. Even the most head-over-hills attached couple had to make their relationship progress through maturing, beyond the urges of body and passion. Nothing stayed the same, growing up was part of the process. She looked at him disheartened. She couldn’t love for the both of them, even if the expression of his eyes made her hot inside right now. “I have to go.” It’s all she could say at the moment. Conflicted emotions duelled in the battlefield of her heart, urging her to find closure.
“Aziz will be here in an hour.” The information got her giddy. One hour of him in his bedroom was self-control suicide.
Absent-mindedly, she knelt down to pick up her clothes and collect her hair-pins. Tariq never quit watching her and the view of the hour-glass figure made him catch fire. He got up silently, stalked to her lowered behind her, making their bodies encase in each other.
“Tariq.” She breathed as a wave of steam took over her.
He held her tightly and his hands sauntered everywhere. On her breasts, at the core of her, while his mouth hovered on her neck, the curve of her shoulders, her upper arm, his breath ragged. Such an attack on her senses rendered her weak and wanton.
“I need you again, Lucinda!” He muttered in her ear. “It’s a torment to stay away from you!” He plunged in her, extracting a surprised moan of pleasure as they dived in their incandesced frenzy all over again.
The unique way Tariq had of showing love was by touching her. A flash of clarity cut through him as he moved in her on the verge of explosion. Physical contact made him express what coursed through his emotions. Caressing, revelling, stroking her came as wrenching essential for him. That’s why he had this mad necessity to be near her. Because he needed to assuage his love for her. The heat of her body on his fulfilled the hunger to give and receive. And give. And give. His feelings for her. It was endless, incomparable, immeasurable. He had to keep on doing it. Or he’d die. Die from the lack of his body on hers, in hers, with hers. Coherent conjectures vanished as he found his ultimate release in her, and she in him.
Lucinda got home just before luncheon. She hoped she’d meet nobody as she climbed up to her bedroom. She found herself in a feverish state of jumbled sentiments and needed her solitude.
“How did your trip to Oxford Street go, my dear?” Lucinda froze on the act of climbing a step at her mother’s voice.
“It was…revealing, mama.” She said without turning her flushed face to the older woman and rushed up.
Her mother looked at her bewildered and shrugged as she strolled back t
o the drawing room.
Revealing, indeed, she contemplated, as she shut the bedroom door with a thud and leaned on it, head fallen on it. He pleasured her in the most innovative ways. A single memory of it got her blood to boil anew.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Her maid knocked on the door an hour after breakfast saying her father had summoned her to his study. Fine, she thought dully, the day had come when she’d have to discuss her choice of suitors. Exactly at this minute, she didn’t know where she stood. If she was pregnant, tragedy announced itself in her life. A cold wash of fear ran through her. She’d have to buy time with courtship in order to be sure. And severe her bounds with Tariq for good. The daunting task hurt bitterly, for pity’s sake!
