In Your Arms (Montana Romance)
Page 18
As soon as it was loose enough at the top, he pushed the edges aside, freeing her breasts. Before she could take in a full breath, he closed his mouth over one hardened nipple through the fabric of her chemise.
“Christian,” she sighed his name, weak with pleasure.
He responded with a primal grunt, hands working swiftly over the remaining hooks of her corset. When he had undone as many as he could, he circled around her waist to unfasten her skirt. With a few deft movements her skirt came loose, sagging around her hips then dropping altogether as he untied her petticoat. Without pause, he returned to the hooks of her corset. As the last clasp snapped free, the restricting garment slumped over her drawers, held fast by her garters.
His hands sought out the bare flesh of her stomach beneath her chemise. His touch felt so good that the dull ache between her legs flared to full, nearly painful want. She pulled at the fabric still tangling her wrists, wanting to embrace him, to touch him as he touched her. He smoothed his hands up her stomach until he cradled her breasts, filling his hands with her.
“God, you’re perfect,” he whispered. His eyelids were heavy with desire, hard, masculine want vibrant in his eyes.
She would have given anything, forsaken everything to have him touch her and fill her and stroke her the way she had only ever dreamed of. The constricting fabric holding her hands was a merciless frustration when all she wanted to do was explore his body and all it had to offer. She moaned in protest, struggling and shaking she wanted him so desperately.
His teasing grin only added to her desperation.
“Are you still stuck?” he whispered, nibbling on her earlobe. His hands continued to squeeze and caress her breasts, thumbs flirting with her nipples.
“Yes,” she panted. “Help me.”
“I’ll help you,” he promised, then danced his lips over hers.
His mouth claimed her once more, hot and searching. She was helpless to do anything but be devoured. He parted her lips, tongue sliding along hers until she couldn’t do anything but kiss him back. His hands trailed down across her stomach to the small of her back to pop the button of her drawers. In one quick movement, they dropped to her feet, the weight of her corset tugging down her stockings with them.
She shivered as his hands explored what they had exposed, her own hands clenched in the tangled fabric of her shirt. He spread his palms over the curve of her hips, then slid down to cup her backside. All the while he continued to kiss her, light and distracted between ragged breaths. When he delved his hands between her legs, spreading the cleft of her buttocks as his fingers reached towards her aching heat, she gasped.
Her reaction encouraged him and he reached further. The tips of his fingers pressed into the wetness between her legs. He hummed deep in his throat in appreciation.
“I knew you’d be wet for me,” he whispered.
He lifted her to the tips of her toes, hands tight between her legs, rubbing her against the bulge in his trousers. She could feel every inch of him, hard and strong, so close to the part of her that wanted him but far enough away to drive her to madness. She worked frantically at the fabric trapping her hands, close to weeping in her need to touch him. His fingers continued to inch closer and deeper to the fullness she craved.
At last her patience snapped. She yanked with all she had, ripping the cuffs of her bodice enough to shake it off. The moment her hands were free she sighed in victory and circled her arms around his back, splaying her fingers across the taut muscles she found waiting for her. He growled in congratulations. His teasing kisses blossomed to full conquest. She reveled in it. She had waited too long for this sweetness not to savor every moment of it.
She was done with playing and so was he. As she dug her fingertips into his back, he let go of her long enough to unbutton his pants and free the hard spear of his erection. She took only a moment to marvel at the sight of his thick, aroused masculinity, already shining with moisture near the tip. Whatever interest she had in looking at him was eclipsed by her need to feel him. She wanted him strong and deep inside of her as quickly as possible.
He broke away to shuck his pants. Before he had tugged them off she sat and then lay back on his bed, pushing her stockings off. She didn’t care how irresponsible it made her, she wanted him as she’d never wanted anything before. The force of that desire was a wild longing inside of her that was tired of being suppressed. She spread her legs, shameless and wanton. When he kicked aside his pants and looked back at her, his gaze went straight to her opening, glistening with moisture.
“And here I thought schoolmarms were supposed to be prissy,” he murmured.
He climbed onto the bed and overtop of her, staff standing out with bold need. She reached out to him, closing her arms around his back as he fit himself between her legs. His weight, his heat, the stiffness of his manhood, everything felt so perfect that she moaned in wordless supplication.
He wasted no time answering her. Without ceremony he positioned himself then plunged into her. She gasped at the sudden surge. He felt impossibly large inside her untested center, splitting her almost to the point of pain. But it was a sensation like nothing she’d ever felt before, so vibrant and real that she cried out with each thrust he made.
He took it slow at first, plundering her with long, controlled strokes as she dug her fingers into the flesh of his back. Her body responded to his on instinct. She drew her knees up to hold his hips between hers as he moved. The completeness of it filled her with peace even as it drove her to heights of pleasure. He was so much bigger than her, so powerful in his movements, and still so gentle, so perfect.
He paused, still deep inside of her, and shifted so that he could look down into her eyes.
“Is this what you wanted?” he asked. Behind his teasing was a hint of genuine concern.
“Yes,” she sighed, breathless, resting her hands on the sides of his face. She stroked the line of his jaw, rubbed a thumb over his lips. “Oh, yes.”
He captured her thumb in his mouth, sucking it. The simple gesture sent ripples of pleasure through her. She shifted, threading her fingers through his hair, and brought his mouth down over top of hers. He knew what she was after and gave freely, kissing her with a passion that enflamed instead of satisfying, with a rumbling groan deep in his throat.
His mouth left hers and trailed heat across her cheek to the top of her neck near her ear. He braced his arms at her sides then began moving in her again. She gasped at the intensified energy of his thrusts. His body was demanding, setting a pace that was hard and deep and so good she cried out in response. All she could do was hold him, hands squeezing the flexing muscles of his back as he moved.
She felt herself rising to unexplored heights as his breathing became more ragged and vocal. He did nothing to hide the intensity of what he was feeling, crying out with groans that were increasingly desperate. She loved it, loved every unfettered, honest sound he made. They told her just how much he was enjoying this primitive act of surrender.
When he cried out as his body tensed above her then slowed in heavy relaxation, she knew he’d spilled his seed inside of her. The wonder of it bubbled laughter through her chest and she smiled. It felt too blissfully good not to.
It took Christian several long moments and deep, panting breaths to recover enough to roll to her side. As nice as it was to breathe, she immediately missed the wholeness of being one with him. Against all logic, she rolled to her side with him, keeping her leg hitched over his hip, her thighs open to him. He settled a loose and heavy arm over her side, fingers tracing the lines of her back.
“Well,” he said, blinking to a hazy smile. “That was something.”
Her core still ached with unspent need and his words, the sated intimacy of his tone, teased as much as his touch.
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” she said, helpless to keep the smile off her face as her heart pounded.
“I did.” He pressed into her, kissing her with lazy movements.
He broke their kiss with a deep laugh, pulling back enough to look at her. “You’re not done yet, are you,” he stated rather than asked.
“I—”
Before she could answer, his hand slipped between her legs. She gasped as he touched her clitoris, sending a jolt of pleasure through her.
“I should have known that you’d be a difficult one to please,” he growled against her ear as his hand worked magic between her legs.
“I’m not—”
She sucked in a breath as he plunged two fingers inside of her. His thumb continued to stroke her and she writhed against him.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered with teasing tenderness. “Come for me.”
She wanted to do just that. Her body ached and ached with a fevered pitch as he played with her, giving her more pleasure than she could ever have given herself. The anticipation was almost as good as the release she felt building. She moaned at the feeling.
“Yes,” his voice was smooth and demanding near her ear. “Let go and come for me. Or would you rather my mouth do what my hand is doing?”
She gasped at the idea, at the sweet pressure of his fingers stroking inside of her, his thumb driving her so near the brink. He was relentless, so much so that she felt herself holding on just so that she could make the moment last. She could match him will for will and keep this fabulous pleasure going forever.
“Would you like me to lick you?” he asked, his deep voice vibrating through her. “Would you like me to slide my tongue along your cleft and taste you?” The images of him doing just that flashed through her imagination, breaking her resolve to hold out. “I bet you taste so sweet. I could suck on you and lick you and—”
She climaxed with a cry, her body bursting into waves of pure bliss at his words and his touch. He hummed along with her, sucking in a breath and pushing his fingers deeper inside of her to feel the grip of her orgasm. It wasn’t something she had ever shared before, but now it seemed only natural. She rode the pleasure out, focusing on how good his hand felt around and inside of the part of her that had wanted him so much.
No, it was more than that. It was more than just the primal urge to mate that drove her into his arms and sated her. Base instinct had been satisfied, but her soul still longed for him.
He moved his hand to embrace her and she relaxed against him, dazed and spent but in no way done with him. Her leg still rested over his and she circled an arm around his back to hold him as he was holding her. They still only lay on top of the bed and the chill in the room was a scintillating contrast to the heat of their bodies pressed together.
“You are perfect,” he whispered, tender now where he had been mischievous moments before. He kissed her, soft but thorough.
She was beyond words. There was so much to say, yet none of it made its way out of her heart and to her lips. She closed her eyes and nestled her forehead against the crook of his neck. A stillness deeper than anything she had known enveloped her with his arms. At last she was at peace.
Her breath had steadied and her skin had cooled when Christian whispered, “Sweetheart, we should be under the covers, not on top of them.”
She nodded and hummed, opening her eyes and extracting herself from his embrace as he twisted to reach for the edge of the quilt at the top of the bed.
Cold reality hit her with the rush of chilled air. She gasped and sat up straight, acutely aware that she was naked and still damp with spent passion.
“Oh, no,” she whispered, looking around at where she was. Christian’s bedroom was as foreign to her as Egypt, the quilt on his bed, his wardrobe standing against the wall as strange as distant monuments. “Oh, no,” she repeated.
“What?” Christian asked, hazy and curious. He ignored the bedcovers and sat up to take her in his arms. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
She wriggled away before he could tighten his embrace and slid off the side of the bed. “I shouldn’t be here. Not like this. Not in the dead of night.” She hugged herself, searching for her scattered clothes. “I have school tomorrow! How could I be so reckless?”
Christian caught up to her train of thought and climbed out of bed. “Lily,” he started, but she ignored him. “Lily. Singing Bird.”
She stopped searching for her clothes and snapped straight to meet his eyes. He rested his hands over her arms, holding her still.
“Calm down. It’s all right.” He took her corset out of her hands and put it behind him on the bed then kissed her.
She wanted to give in and let his kiss pour calm into her, let his body meld with hers again and again. Sense wouldn’t let her.
“I don’t know what I was thinking, Christian.” She leaned back, bracing her hands against the warmth of his chest. “I have a reputation to uphold, a position to maintain. The moment I step out that door and someone sees me here, with you, in a way I shouldn’t be, I could lose everything.”
He smiled and stroked the side of her face, his ease almost lazy and certainly infuriating.
“No one is going to think any less of you for following your heart, darling.”
Frustration boiled up so fast she was hot again in an instant. “It wasn’t my heart I was following, it was lower than that. And yes, people will think less of me. They already think so little!”
A twist of frustration to match her own clouded Christian’s expression for the briefest of moments before he forced it away with a kiss. “I will never think less of you. In fact, after the sounds you made, I think much, much more of you.”
She huffed in frustration and tried to pull away.
He held her tight. “Stay with me. Just a few hours longer.”
She eyed him with itching uncertainty. “I shouldn’t.” She relaxed, letting him pull her closer.
“Just a few more hours. I want to feel you beside me tonight.”
Her soul writhed in protest even as she embraced him. “What will I do if people see me here?”
“They won’t,” he promised. He kissed her then let go long enough to reach behind him and pull the bedcovers down. “No one will see a thing. Wait a few more hours with me. It’ll be pitch black and everyone will be tucked away and asleep. You’ll have plenty of time to get home and you’ll be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in your classroom first thing tomorrow.”
Lily hesitated. She thought of the cellar door on the far side of the boarding house, well away from Miss Jones’s bedroom window. She thought of silent streets and the darkness of the early hours of the morning. She looked at Christian as he slid into bed, his naked body perfect and strong, his staff half-engorged with the promise of more love-making if she stayed. It was madness to even consider it, but the sight of him in all his raw, masculine beauty, sexuality unhidden and beckoning, stirred something in her too powerful to deny.
He held the bedcovers open for her, asking her to join him with an expression that was both ridiculous in its teasing and alluring in its seriousness.
“Reckless,” she whispered, giving in and crawling into bed beside him. Her heart pounded in her chest with danger as much as desire. “Foolish and reckless.”
“Just the way I like it,” he hummed, shifting to cover her body with his.
He kissed her with all the energy of a man who had won a great victory. She reached between them and closed her hand over his hardening length. His breath caught as she stroked him, testing the way he felt. He smiled and laughed deep in his throat. The ache between her legs burned to life once more.
Reckless. There was no way this wouldn’t end in tears.
Chapter Fifteen
The first thought that formed in Christian’s mind when he woke the next morning was that love was an immensely satisfying thing. Lily was beyond beautiful, with soft skin in a shade of light brown that made him think of summer. Her full breasts—topped with dark rose nipples—fit in his hands as if they we
re made for him to touch. She was feisty, never giving in to him because he wanted her to or even because she should. God help him, but he loved that about her.
She was as eager as any woman he’d ever had in his bed. More so. He’d never spent a night so consumed with bliss in his life. She’d wanted him, all of him, so desperately that he’d lost his head and given it to her with an intensity he shouldn’t have let loose on a virgin. She had been a virgin, too, but whatever guilt he was tempted to feel over taking that from her was made up for by all the things he planned to give her. Starting with his name and enough orgasms to keep her crying that name out for years to come.
He smiled from ear to ear at the thought and pulled her tighter into his arms. She was still asleep, loose and warm after a long night of letting locked-up passion vent. He nestled her back against his chest, the curve of her backside against his hips, and draped his arm over her side, spreading his hand over her stomach. She stirred, wriggling closer to him. If they both weren’t careful, he’d be ready to go again, and he suspected both of them were too sore to deal with that kind of mischief.
He kissed her shoulder, unable to hide his grin as pale white morning light revealed a dark spot on her neck that he’d put there. She would rage at him for leaving his mark, he was sure, but the singular satisfaction of seeing it there, knowing she was his in every way, was just too wonderful not to smile. He kissed the spot again, touching it with the tip of his tongue.
Lily hummed, long and lazy, as she came out of sleep. Her body writhed against his as she stretched herself awake. He was more than awake already.
“Good morning,” he whispered, nibbling on her earlobe.
She twisted into him, skin sliding against skin. Her fingers threaded through his hair.
“Good morning,” she said.
Her eyes flickered open. She smiled. Perfect in every way.
A moment later she gasped, her whole body going rock hard.
“What?” He sat up, arms still around her.
“No!” She pushed her long, tangled hair out of her face, glancing around as thought the room was on fire. “No! It’s morning! You were supposed to wake me!”