Nicole Jordan

by Wicked Fantasy

  His eyes sparked with fire, but his expression remained suspicious. “Is this some sort of revenge, princess? Are you taunting me as punishment for abducting you?”

  “No, in truth I should thank you for what you did. You gave me the kind of freedom I have never known before and will likely never know again.” Antonia forced a smile. “Once I return to London, I must start behaving with complete circumspection again. And eventually I will have to set about finding a husband. I will never again enjoy the freedom I have now at this moment, and I want to make the very most of it. Please, Deverill, won’t you teach me?”

  When he still didn’t answer, she took another step toward him. “Lessons in pleasure, Deverill. That is all I want.” She searched his face, taking heart from the indecision she saw warring there. “I know from experience that you make an excellent tutor. And there is no other man I can ask . . . unless you know of someone else who would oblige me?”

  He frowned sharply, as if in jealousy.

  “But I don’t want any other man,” Antonia hurriedly assured him. “I want you, Deverill. And I think you want me.” She glanced down at the thick bulge in his breeches. “In fact, I am certain of it.”

  “Blast it, yes, I want you.”

  “Then what is stopping you?”

  “A little thing called honor, perhaps?” He ran a hand roughly through his hair. “My conscience is already flaying me for taking your virginity. Your father would draw and quarter me if he knew—”

  “I don’t seem to recall you considering my father’s wishes then,” Antonia pointed out sweetly.

  “Because I didn’t. . . . Hell.” His expression grew irritable. “I offered to marry you to remedy my mistake.”

  “You know why I refused. I don’t wish to marry you, Deverill. I only want to know about passion. No obligations, no ties, just simple pleasure.”

  “Dammit, Antonia, I’m not a bloody saint.”

  She dimpled, feeling encouraged. “I know that entirely too well. And I consider it fortunate for my purposes.”

  Taking a steadying breath, Antonia removed her shift, slipping the straps off her shoulders and letting it drop to join her discarded gown on the sand. Deverill’s own breath rushed out at the sight of her nudity; she heard the sharp rasp above the rhythmic murmur of the waves breaking onshore.

  He was staring at her bare breasts, Antonia realized, her confidence rising. She could feel her nipples draw taut and begin to tingle. Yet their situations were highly unequal. Deverill was still fully dressed in shirt and breeches and boots, while she was completely naked.

  She moved to stand before him and reached for his shirt. To her relief, he didn’t stop her when she pulled the hem from the waistband of his breeches and pushed the shirt over his head.

  He tensed visibly when she suggestively trailed her fingers down the muscles of his chest, over the wealed flesh that marred his beautiful, bronzed skin.

  Wanting swelled inside her. Longing knotted her stomach and coiled between her thighs as she closed the final distance until their bodies touched, breast to chest, skin to burning skin.

  Fire arced between them at the contact. Even so, Deverill remained rigid, obviously waging a war with himself. Yet she could feel the heat and strength and growing desire of him.

  The same searing desire that was sweeping through her.

  He would not deny her, she wouldn’t allow it. She needed him. Needed surcease for the unbearable tightness that welled in her chest. For the relentless ache in her body that had sharpened to a delicious, agonizing point. For her quivering woman’s flesh that throbbed and wept for him.

  “Show me pleasure, Deverill,” she implored, her voice a sensual plea.

  His eyes blazed. And in that moment she knew the torment of waiting was finally over.

  Reaching up, Antonia pulled his mouth down to hers, desperately needing to taste him, to assuage the fierce hunger that burned deep within them both.

  Thirteen

  Her soft moan was his undoing.

  Deverill braced himself against the surge of white-hot desire flooding him, knowing damned well that for Antonia’s sake, he should say no to her irresistible request. He needed to protect her from himself, needed to summon some vestige of common sense. Yet he was tired of fighting his need, couldn’t force himself to refuse.

  Surrendering, he returned her kiss ardently, his mouth devouring hers, feeding the fire between them. When Antonia moaned, his hands plunged into her loose topknot, scattering the pins so that her flaming hair spilled free around her shoulders.

  Another hoarse whimper sounded in her throat. She clung weakly to him, yet at the same time he felt her easing backward, urging him with her. Deverill suddenly understood why she had spread a blanket out on the sand. It was to be the scene of his seduction.

  Their mouths still fused, Antonia sank down on the blanket and drew him with her.

  Deverill’s muscles clenched, fighting for control as he covered her nude body. Urgency was sweeping in a tidal rush, hurting and hard and hammering his blood.

  He had to slow down or he would burn them both to cinders. He wanted to give her pleasure this time, incredible pleasure, just as she had asked for. Taking a shuddering breath, he forced himself to end the kiss, then sat back to pull off his boots.

  Antonia’s shimmering blue eyes followed him as he stood to undress. In only a moment he had shed his breeches and stockings.

  When his drawers finally followed, she gasped. He stood over her with shafts of golden summer sunlight bathing him, gloriously naked and gloriously masculine. He was so sinfully beautiful, he took her breath away.

  “You planned this, didn’t you?” Deverill said as if he already knew her answer.

  “Yes. I hoped . . .” The words came out a mere rasp. It was difficult to speak with the sweet, scalding liquid of desire churning inside her.

  She was captivated by the splendor of his body—his wide shoulders, his deep chest, his lean waist and hips, his fully aroused loins, his powerful thighs. She actually ached to touch him, to run her palms all over him.

  Deverill was watching her in turn, staring down at her unabashedly, his gaze riveted on her bare body.

  Dazed, Antonia pushed herself up on her elbows as she stared up at him. Dancing motes of sunlight surrounded them in the secluded cove, drenching them with warmth. It was like being caught in a dream.

  No, it was her cherished fantasy come to life. Yet nothing in her imagination had ever been this sharp, this intense, this hot. She was filled with potent sensations, her nerves twisting and knotting in near painful anticipation.

  Transfixed, she watched the lithe, athletic motion of Deverill’s body as he knelt beside her. Helpless to resist her craving, she sat up fully and reached out to touch him. His skin glowed beneath her fingers, as feverish as her own, burning with a need the ocean’s breeze could never cool.

  Purposely avoiding the scars, she trailed her fingertips over his chest, feeling the smooth, hard, shifting pattern of his muscles. When her hand settled over his breast, she could feel the vibrant rhythm of his heartbeat.

  The pleasure that rippled over her was so keen, she shuddered.

  “You are beautiful,” she said on a choked sigh.

  His slow smile was dazzling. “Not as beautiful as you are, siren.”

  Her gaze dropping to his loins, she reached down to caress the jut of his erection—but Deverill abruptly drew back as if burned.

  “If you arouse me any further, I won’t be able to control myself.”

  “So?” Antonia asked with an unconsciously sensual taunt.

  A muscle flexed in his jaw. “So, I intend to go slowly this time.”

  “That might be difficult for me.”

  “For me as well.”

  The silky raspiness of his voice sent a shiver down her spine.

  He pressed her back on the blanket and held her arms away, so he could view her nudity. Antonia fought the urge to cover herself. She had no secrets from
him; with Deverill she could be as wild and free as she wished, as vibrantly passionate, as sexual, as wanton.

  And she knew she would be wildly wanton. He would see to it. Already she was nearly writhing beneath his brazen scrutiny. Then he bent and pressed a kiss to her belly, his breath sun-warm on her skin. Antonia arched in frantic need, but Deverill was clearly determined to take his time, using his mouth to heighten her hunger.

  And the searing magic of his light, stirring kisses was only enhanced by the deft, knowing movements of his hands. His fingers slid up her thighs, gliding over her in a delicious rhythm, stroking her hips, her rib cage, the swell of her breasts, stopping at the firm, aching tips to circle and probe.

  “Your nipples are ravishing,” he murmured before his warm breath was replaced by the blaze of his mouth.

  He suckled her, his tongue caressing her dusky flesh, teasing the aching peaks, before his tormenting kisses trailed lower once more, grazing her abdomen, then the soft mound guarding her woman’s secrets. His tongue probed the tangle of silken curls to find the slick folds of flesh between her thighs. “And so is the rest of you.”

  With a whimper, she opened her legs, allowing him fuller access. Deverill groaned at the hot, rich scent of her female pleasure. He wanted to sample all the tastes and textures of her fragrant body. Wanted to fill his mouth and hands with the essence of her.

  Antonia gasped once when his tongue slid slowly over the outer rim of her cleft, then again when he laved the already wet bud of her sex. In only moments, she was panting.

  In a vague corner of his mind he heard her breathless murmur as she clutched his hair. “Deverill . . . you needn’t use only your mouth this time. You can come inside me. Isabella told me how to stop a man’s seed.”

  Stilling suddenly, he lifted his head to stare up at Antonia. “Isabella told you what?”

  “How to . . . prevent a man’s seed from taking root. She gave me some sponges and brandy. . . .”

  His eyebrows shot up. He wasn’t surprised that Bella was abetting her. It was Antonia herself who constantly kept him off guard with her unexpected actions.

  “You are wearing a sponge now?”

  A faint blush of shyness rose to kiss her skin. “Well, yes.”

  “You seem to have thought of everything.”

  “I only hoped . . .”

  When she faltered, he couldn’t help provoking her. “What did you hope, vixen?”

  Her gaze remained somber. “I want you to fill me, Deverill. I want you to ease the fire inside me. I want—”

  “Exactly what I want,” he said huskily.

  She took his hand and placed it over her breast. “Touch me,” she whispered.

  His expression softened with tenderness. “Gladly.”

  When his palm curled lovingly over the swollen crest, Antonia closed her eyes and exhaled in a sigh. This was no dream, she knew. She had never had a dream so delicious, so awash in sensation. One that made her shimmer and melt. She was melting between her legs, her shivering thighs clenched tight around a pool of liquid heat.

  Deverill evidently understood her need, for his hand shifted lower, covering her abdomen with slow, erotic strokes, then gliding farther down between her legs to part the lips of her sex. When he slipped two fingers inside her, testing her slickness, creating an exquisite pressure, Antonia’s responding whimper was a wordless plea for him to cease tormenting her.

  Keeping his fingers deep inside her, he eased his knees between her thighs and stretched out over her. His naked chest grazed her nipples, while his sinewed thighs pressed hers wider. She writhed at the delicious intimacy, barely hearing his husky order.

  “Look at me, sweeting.”

  She obeyed, gazing up at him. His eyes seemed lit by raw flames, so hot she was sure they would make her burst into flame herself. When she shuddered, he smiled.

  “I like you trembling for me.”

  “Please, Deverill . . . I want you. . . .”

  “I know.”

  He did know, for he felt the same desire. Deverill clenched his jaw at the sharp, fevered wanting that spiraled through him. The primal urge to ravish Antonia and fill her and claim her. A craving so rich, so potent, so fierce, he thought he might die if he didn’t satisfy it soon. His shaft felt iron-hard and huge—which thankfully reminded him of her near virginal state.

  Spreading her juices with his fingers to ease the friction, he very carefully slid his fullness inside her in a slow, heavy lunge. Involuntarily Antonia’s inner muscles clenched around him, while her body tensed at the large invasion.

  Deverill gritted his teeth, forcing himself to wait until her tender tissues grew accustomed to his penetration. He was physically under control but the

  feelings stampeding through him were anything but calm.

  With herculean effort, he kept still, counting his violent heartbeats and hers, until finally he felt the tension in her body begin to ease and her panting breaths began to slow.

  “Better now?” he asked hoarsely, lowering his lips to press light, soothing kisses over her sweat-dampened face.

  “Yes.”

  “Then wrap your legs around me,” he ground out.

  Trustingly, she twined her slender calves around his thighs, her arms around his shoulders, her blue eyes wide and dark and luminous with heat as she stared up at him.

  Lord, he could so easily get lost in her.

  Instead, he forced himself to remain still, even as he grew so hard and heavy inside her, he thought he might burst.

  Surprisingly, it was Antonia who took the next step. Deverill sucked in a sharp breath when she rocked her hips cautiously against his.

  Holding her gaze, he drew himself out slowly . . . and just as slowly surged in again.

  “Yes . . .” Antonia whispered, lifting her hips to meet his.

  He allowed her to set the pace, allowed her to take him in as deeply and fully as she could. Soon her tentative undulations took on a more urgent rhythm. Deverill arched over her, the heavy muscles of his shoulders taut as he struggled to remain in control. But the wanting between them grew; the explosive pressure built.

  Her body took over completely then, her hips moving in an instinctive dance of passion, her fingers clenching at his back, her lips parting in sobbing cries of pleasure.

  Deverill couldn’t help himself; he took her mouth in a hard kiss, his tongue plunging in deep and ravenous, his blood surging when Antonia responded in kind. Pleasure rushed and pounded through him, hard and furious, as she returned his kiss measure for measure.

  Sunlight poured down on them, a swirling mosaic of light and heat and shifting colors, illuminating their frantic dance of lips and tongues and limbs.

  One more urgent lunge ignited a sensual explosion inside her. Antonia heaved in his arms, crying out. Deverill felt her ripple and convulse in her ecstasy, felt her contractions grip and pull him farther inside.

  Heat poured into his chest and expanded. “God . . . Antonia.” Her name rasped in his throat as the hot, clutching pulses of her orgasm milked him. A heartbeat later, his groan turned to a hoarse shout as he contracted helplessly, pouring himself into her, the searing flood of his release drenching her completely.

  In the aftermath of his harsh, powerful climax, Deverill barely refrained from collapsing upon her. Weakly, he braced his weight on his forearms as the fire slowly receded. His senses gradually returned to awareness. . . . The hot sunlight beating down on his back, the rhythmic murmur of the waves, the incredible softness of the woman beneath him. It had been unique, shattering, to make love to Antonia.

  He’d never been so lost in a woman, never been so profoundly shaken.

  Taking a steadying breath, Deverill lifted his head to gaze down at her. Her face was flushed and hazed with desire, her eyes passion-drenched and lustrous as she watched him.

  “That was . . .” Her husky voice faltered momentarily, and she wet her swollen lips before continuing. “Simply beautiful.”

  Unexpecte
dly, Deverill felt his heart soar. He shouldn’t feel so absurdly giddy at her praise, so much like a moonstruck youth, yet he couldn’t restrain the foolish emotion.

  “It was indeed beautiful,” he agreed, pressing a light, chaste kiss on her forehead.

  Her eyes fluttered shut, and she exhaled a contented sigh.

  Carefully, he eased himself from between her thighs and rolled bonelessly onto his back, carrying her with him. For long moments he simply lay there, savoring the peace.

  Feeling the same tranquillity, Antonia nestled against him, her limbs trembling with aftershocks, her thoughts overwhelmed by how exquisite Deverill’s lovemaking had been. The experience was more beautiful than anything she’d ever dreamed of in her wildest fantasies.

  The memory was still with her. She could feel his muscular, golden body driving into hers, gleaming with sweat, his enormous power leashed for her sake.

  His possessiveness had thrilled and excited her, yet he had made her feel cherished as well. He had taken her as a lover should, tender yet impossibly demanding.

  Her fantasies didn’t even come close to the raw reality of him. The mere feel of Deverill inside her had filled her with such yearning, she had wanted to weep with pleasure.

  She’d never known she could yearn that fiercely, that completely, with every nerve and fiber of her body. Even now she felt it thrumming inside her. She wondered if Deverill felt the same yearning. He remained unmoving except for his light caresses; with sleepy eroticism, his fingers moved over her bare hip, drawing lazy patterns on her skin.

  Antonia nuzzled her face in the curve of his shoulder, breathing in deeply. She could smell the spicy fragrance of their lovemaking, the musky male scent of his body.

  His naked, beautiful golden body.

  Wanting to see him, Antonia slowly raised herself up on one elbow. His eyes were closed, a faint smile of contentment curving his lips. Seeing his expression, she felt a rich, new hunger stir to life low in her center.