“Then we must see to that.”
Serena sighed and tipped her face up for his kiss. She felt ridiculously cautious after her outburst but then strangely fearless as he folded her into his embrace. Phillip was her comfort, her rock and her anchor to the version of herself she liked best.
His kiss was not so much a thing that feasted on her touch, but it felt more like a renewal of her spirit. Every pass of his mouth across hers, every taste, resuscitated her will and longing to heal. Serena sighed for more and without a word, he stood to take her hand and led her down the hallway to her bedroom.
He did not kick down the door but she didn’t wish for more than the gentle command of his hand holding hers. He locked the door behind them and Serena smiled at the gesture.
There’s not a servant in this house who will put one foot on the tread of those stairs until Pepper signals them that it is permissible. But it is endearing that he guards my modesty—even now.
There was no rush to the exchange. He undressed himself and watched as she did the same, gracefully making a dance of the removal of each layer. For ties and stays, he became her assistant, willfully using his tongue to trace patterns across her sensitive flesh to pebble her skin with the teasing caress of his breath over each moist line. She leaned against him, shivering, and Phillip pushed the last of her clothes onto the floor.
At last, she was naked before him, shameless and evocative.
And vulnerable.
It was a new trait for her but his throat closed at the bare ghostly hint of it in her eyes. Phillip stepped close to her until they were heartbeat to heartbeat, face to face, like mirrors of each other with their breath intermingling. He waited until there was nothing but a calming heat between them.
Serena tried to guess what he meant, even as her spirits responded to the healing quiet. She’d expected an erotic rush to distract her from the strange agonies of the afternoon, but Phillip just held her.
God, how had I ever thought to push him away?
Chapter Fifteen
“Yes?” he asked softly.
“Yes.”
He bent over to kiss the rise of her breasts, lingering over each to weight them in his hands, kiss the sensitive curves and even to tongue the crease underneath where she imagined she had never been touched. He paid homage to every inch, then suckled at the taut peaks of her breasts until her knees melted at the storm of longing he evoked.
She started to kneel, thinking to repay the favor and demonstrate again that she know how to please him best but Phillip held her up with a smile, his grip gentle on her arms. He shook his head and wordlessly guided her up onto the bed, arranging her at its center to lie by her side.
He kissed her but this time, it was like coming home. She could taste his need and willed him to know hers. Phillip met her every move, countering each change in her mood as smoothly as a maestro bringing a living instrument into tune.
She reached down to seize his sex, determined to guide him inside of her, unwilling to wait but he evaded her touch by capturing her wrists and drawing them up above her head.
“Raven.”
“I need you to ride me until I’m senseless, Warrick. I need—I need you to make me cry,” she whispered.
He slowly shook his head.
“I need to feel, Phillip.”
“I know, my dearest. But not through pain. No more pain today. Come back to me, let me bring you back to me.”
He slid his hand down over her belly, through the dark damp curls above her folds and found what he sought. She bucked her hips upward against his hand, her thighs parting to demand more of his touch, as if to dictate the tenor of the intrusion and lure him into roughly pressing into her, into giving her the ruthless friction she wished. But Phillip refused and instead began the lightest assault, feather soft and tender until his fingertips were coated in the slick honey of her body. He found her clit and danced over the pearl in a circular dance, even as he kissed her throat again and renewed his efforts to win her.
She resisted him at first. The slow gentle pace of his touches, the soft slide of his kisses over her skin—here was the most tender assault that didn’t allow her to silence her thoughts or numb herself to what had happened. He forced her to be present, to be still, and to allow him to simply love her.
“Faster. Harder.” Serena begged him then bit her lip at the alien sound of her own pleas.
“Shh. Wait for it, sweetling. There. Yes?”
God help her, yes! Frustration yielded to the undeniable truth that her body was not complaining of pace, pressure or the philosophy of Phillip Warrick’s approach. She’d habitually expected a rush to her own releases, familiar with the healthy pattern of her desires but this—this was new. Slow and steady was not only winning the race but it was redefining where the finish line might be…
He kept kissing her while his free hand roamed to cup her breasts, pinching and caressing them in turn to heighten her anticipation. But the fingers at her clit never stopped dancing a slow minuet against her flesh—they never shifted pace. Instead her heart began to thrum and pulse to the rhythm he dictated and once they matched up, a chasm of bliss opened at her feet.
She began to come in a molasses fall of ecstasy that mercilessly stripped her of reason. The climax’s grip was so total that Serena feared she would come apart in his arms. She cried out, a mindless keening song of joy that transported her from herself. It was all she could manage to cling to him and pray that she hadn’t bloodied him too badly when she realized that her fingernails had dug into his back.
“Oh, God. That was…impossible!” she sighed. “A bit selfish of me, don’t you think?”
“It’s not a race, dearest.” Phillip shifted up onto his elbow. “But since you’ve so generously offered…”
“W-what did I offer?”
He was up in a flash, moving her easily into position. Her resistance was a mirage, her body still shuddering from the after-effects of an orgasm she had yet to overcome. Phillip moved behind her and Serena gasped at the discovery of kneeling to be pushed over onto her elbows, a wicked offering for her lover.
The tip of his cock was molten hot and so large against her sensitive flesh that Serena squeaked in surprise but a lustful part of her began to keen again, as if the raw hunger could accept nothing less than this—than all of him.
She deliberately lifted her hips to align her body to his and readied for his thrust. It came fast and hard, her channel tighter than tight as the angle gave him the deepest access to her inner core. He filled her completely, so perfectly, she nearly wept but his withdrawal came just as quickly and Serena threw her head back to revel in the sensations.
The line between conquest and surrender blurred and was lost.
Serena took and gave, her world defined by Phillip’s cock pounding into her body, by the greedy tug of her slick channel desperately trying to hold him, by friction and thrust, by everything that connected him in a new feverish dance that neither one of them could stop.
She sat up, so that with every stroke, they moved together. Phillip was lifting her up, gripping her hips, then cupping her breasts, encircling her in his arms until her cries intensified and he knew he might have taken her too far, but he couldn’t turn back. His own need for release was too powerful.
His body tightened in a molten pitch of tension before he climaxed at last, as if electrical arcs were firing up his spine, and he jetted inside of her with a cry of his own. He was grateful that she was facing away from him, for he feared his grimace of pleasure was not exactly his best expression.
Though truly…vanity was not high on his mental list of priorities.
But if I burst into tears—God, let me keep a small shred of dignity, please.
Serena dropped her head, resting back onto her elbows and accidentally sending another wave of shuddering stimulation up his frame.
Phillip instantly gripped her hips to still her with a playful growl. “Don’t. Move.”
She laughed. “As you wi
sh.”
He took a few slow and careful breaths before he could extricate himself without crying out. “Dear mother of heaven—that was…a much better way to spend an afternoon.”
She rolled on her back, a sensuous siren looking up at him in open admiration. “What are you thinking at this moment? I am curious.”
“I am thinking that I will never again forfeit days or nights in your company. If I have the choice, of course.” He added the last to appease her but a satisfied voice in side of him was crowing endlessly. She was his. No matter what games or schemes swirled around them, no matter how many times she bid him to “stand aside”, she was marked for his, in ways that only they understood.
“Of course.”
“Better?”
“Nearly.” Serena sighed with contentment. “I am restored enough to be mortified at that scene.”
He lay back down next to her, stroking the black silken curls from her face. “You are human, Raven. Remember?”
“Yes. That was what frightened me. For a few moments, I feared I wasn’t anymore.” She shuddered. “It is a sensation I have no desire to repeat.”
“Are you abandoning your course?” he asked softly.
“No.” Serena shifted to sit up in bed, not bothering with the modesty of bedding as she faced him. “I want it over and done. It is the anticipation and delay taking its toll on my nerves. I am sure of that now.”
“How close is it?”
“I don’t know. I hope to drive him to ground before the end of the month.”
“And Tillman?”
Serena smiled. “Still jealous?”
Phillip nodded. “Naturally. But I don’t wish the man harm.”
“Nor do I.” Serena leaned over to kiss him, “Bed me, Phillip. Make me feel everything again.”
“As my lady wishes.”
He covered her with his body, conqueror and keeper, protector and slave. He was a warm shield from all that was pain and Serena sighed in contentment and drank in the healing balm of Sir Phillip Warrick’s passion and at last, of his trust.
Chapter Sixteen
Lady Lylesforth walked alongside Serena on the public garden’s wide graveled path, the pair taking a respectable stroll to savor the mild weather of the day. Serena was glad for the company and the opportunity to reassure her Dragon that all was well. Harriet’s confrontation with Trent had rattled her nerves more than she was willing to admit and Serena deliberately did not bring up the earl in their conversation.
She shifted her parasol to take advantage of its pretty interior at showing off her bonnet and face, and sighed.
“You are preening over there, Lady Wellcott.”
“I am.” Serena smiled. “You should try it, Lady Lylesforth. Someone once told me that nothing was more becoming on a woman than well-applied vanity.”
“What a preposterous thing to say! Who told you that?”
Serena’s pleasure in the morning faltered. Trent. Trent said that. My God, and I just quoted him like a giddy idiot. “I meant it as a jest. I apologize. For some reason I am in a nonsensical mood today.”
“No. What a dreary and somber character I’ve become! I marvel at it sometimes, Lady Wellcott. I barely recognize this Widow of Stone, striking men in the face and huffing about every little thing.”
“I like you in any guise, Harriet. You are a good friend. I’m sure it will come to you that you can be any version of yourself that you wish to be. It is the most transforming power in the world, Lady Lylesforth.”
“You say that as if a woman need merely pronounce herself to be a bird and then express what color she wishes her feathers to be!” Harriet laughed.
Serena smiled. “Precisely. Now you are beginning to see the way of it.” She jauntily twirled her parasol. “Today, I am a peacock, Lady Lylesforth.”
Harriet glanced down at her dark skirts, black gloves and matching parasol. “I remain a crow.”
“For now.”
“Are you enjoying the season so far, Lady Wellcott?”
Serena shook her head. “I don’t think pleasure is one of my goals, but I am trying to take hold of what happiness I can. I live in hope, Harriet, that I can accomplish for myself what I do for others; but beyond the next few days, my knowledge of my future is as murky as a bog.”
“Life affords so few opportunities for joy. I marvel that you still possess any hope at all. You take on so many other women’s troubles and heartaches, Lady Wellcott. How are you not crushed under the weight of it all?”
“Goodness, you are melancholy this morning,” Serena sighed. “May I remind you that the Black Rose Reading Society is dedicated to improving the lives of its members? I carry nothing. I do what I can and I move on. I have no dissatisfied customers as of yet and if anyone wishes to lodge a complaint, I defer them to the twins. Though after this outing, I wonder if I should send them your way. Harriet? What in the world is driving this?”
“I don’t know. I am…restless.” Harriet stiffened her spine. “Never mind. It is nothing a turn through the park cannot cure and nothing I cannot manage by simply ignoring it.”
Serena smiled. “How very English of you!”
They walked on, nodding and exchanging greetings with acquaintances as they passed.
“Oh, heavens!” Harriet said under her breath. “Has she seen us? It’s too late to run now.”
Lady Pringley came up the path toward them, a ridiculous amount of dyed ostrich plumage bobbing with each step, her maid hobbling behind her with a large basket. “Ladies! What a pure delight!”
“Lady Pringley!” Serena stepped forward as if eager for the meeting, a smile on her face. “You are a vision of beauty, dear Beatrice.”
“What is that color you are wearing? Is that lilac?”
“Hyacinth,” Serena supplied. “It is a shade of purple perfected by my couturier, Madam Montellier. She has a delightful establishment near Haymarket.”
“I shall descend upon her and see if I cannot steal her from you, Lady Wellcott.” Lady Pringley announced her intentions with the confidence of a pirate. “Ah, Lady Lylesforth. I had heard that you were shepherding Lady Wellcott this season but I could scarcely credit the news. All my invitations to do the same these last few years came to naught and I was convinced that you were going to wall yourself up in a castle somewhere like a gothic hermit.”
Harriet shook her head. “Alas, the masons in Dorset convey that they are working as quickly as they can to seal off a keep but my retreat is not yet finished. I am forced to remain amidst society for a while longer.”
Lady Pringley blinked in surprise as Harriet went on. “Lady Wellcott’s offer was for a companion and chaperone. I knew she had no hidden aims to arrange my next marriage or ambush me with introductions to eligible men. Whereas I’m afraid I did not have the same confidence with your invitations, Beatrice. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“I might,” Lady Pringley stated. “If you at least concede to participating in my croquet tournament next month. Both of you must come! And what’s more…” Lady Pringley’s complete attention shifted to Serena’s face. “What is this?”
“Whatever do you mean, Lady Pringley?”
“You are positively glowing with some inner secret over there, your ladyship! Can it be that the elusive Lady Wellcott is at long last in love?” Lady Pringley pivoted like a hunter seeking prey. “Did you just spot the man in question? Is that why your color ripened so?”
“Beatrice!” Serena exclaimed then dropped her chin, to look at the woman through her lashes. “You are too discerning!”
Harriet gasped. “What?”
Lady Pringley’s expression became one of rapt triumph and raw hunger for the delicious promise of secrets spilled and fresh gossip. “Are you truly in love, Lady Wellcott?”
Serena took a deep breath and ignored Harriet’s open shock and disbelief. “I may well be.”
“Of course you are! I knew it.” Lady Pringley crowed. “I can spot a woman in the throes of
an attachment from a hundred paces.”
Harriet pressed her lips together so tightly they lost all color. “What a remarkable talent.”
“Who is the lucky gentleman who has captured your fancy?” Lady Pringley pressed. “You must tell me! I am the soul of discretion!”
You are the soul of wagging tongues and provocative tales, you old bat. But what an easy game you make of it!
“I cannot say. He has not declared his feelings and I am mortified that I have blurted out my own state or that it is so evident in a single glance.” Serena pressed one gloved hand to her cheek as if to force the color to retreat. “I trust you to keep my confession to yourself. Please, Beatrice.”
“Of course, of course, I will.” Lady Pringley’s eyes shone with excitement to be off with her news. “Come, Dierdre,” she said to her maid. “We must make haste if we are to arrive at our next appointment on time.”
“Yes, your ladyship,” Dierdre said without lifting her eyes from the basket.
“Farewell, Lady Lylesforth and Lady Wellcott. Do enjoy your stroll!”
Pringley hurried off, her maid a forlorn tail.
“Are you mad? She’ll have it all over London before breakfast tomorrow!”
“What will she have all over London?”
“That—That you are in love with…” Harriet’s brow tightened in frustration. “Someone!”
Serena smiled and then elegantly shrugged her. “A vague bit of news to get so excited over, do you not agree?”
“It is too vague by miles.” Harriet closed her parasol as they continued on their way. “My God, that woman will conjecture the worst and name a dozen different possibilities! It is a nightmare!”
“It is a silly squall that will excite only those who hold a stake in the race.”
“To expose yourself to speculation? You have no control over the direction it will take. It is madness. My God, they may even say that it is the Earl of Trent who has ensnared you!” Harriet shuddered.
Serena playfully winked at her friend. “Oh, my! What an imagination you have…”
Lady Triumphs (The Black Rose Trilogy Book 3) Page 14
