Passion Over Time

by Natasha Blackthorne

  “You weigh nothing. You want fattening up,” he said, smiling down at her.

  When they entered the bedchamber, he set her down on her feet. The walls were painted a light butter-cream color, with wainscoting that matched the Philadelphia mahogany furnishings. A large canopied bed dominated the spacious chamber; the bed curtains and spread were medium blue, dotted with pale pink roses embellished by generous ruffles. Lacy, sheer, cream-colored curtains filtered the sunlight, the heavier dark blue velvet drapes pulled aside. An ornate Sèvres clock ticked over on the mahogany mantle. Such feminine décor. She’d been expecting this to be his chamber.

  She walked over to the bed and a wrapper of sapphire silk and a froth of white lace lay there. She lifted it up, then looked at him and arched a brow. “What’s this?”

  The way he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, a polished Hessian boot braced against the opposite side, his body looked extra long and lean. “I bought it for you.”

  “It’s lovely. But I have no need for something like this.”

  “Won’t you wear it for me?”

  She touched the silk and traced a finger along the lace. Luxurious and sensual, it looked like something a kept woman would wear. Suddenly, the scent of stale perfume seemed to hang in the air. Anger swept through her, senseless, baseless anger—no, hatred—toward the previous occupant of this luxurious house.

  She curled her lip. “Was this your mistress’s bed?”

  He drew his brows together. “What?”

  “I can smell her perfume.”

  He gave her a steady stare. “I smell fresh paint.”

  His expression seemed to say she was as insane as she supposed she must be. But intense emotion fueled her outburst. Still holding the garment, she crossed her arms over her chest. “You brought me here, expecting to fuck me in another woman’s bed.”

  He gaped. Maybe he lost a shade or so of his color. “How dare you accuse me of such indelicacy?”

  “You deny it?”

  “Certainly I do. Mrs. Lefebvre took—

  “You call her Mrs. Lefebvre?” Beth forced a soft laugh.

  He stared back at her sternly for several moments. “Very well, if you insist, Marie.”

  The name rolled off his tongue with intimate familiarity. Intense dislike crackled along the whole of Beth’s skin. She rather preferred the impersonal Mrs. Lefebvre.

  He continued, “Marie took all her personal items and household effects. These rooms were stripped and painted and the floors scrubbed.” He pulled away from the doorframe and pointed. “That’s a brand new bed, delivered yesterday.”

  “But you don’t deny that she was your mistress? That you kept her here.” Her voice dripped scorn, betraying her. Yes, she’d known about his mistress. But somehow it still seemed so heinous of him, exchanging money for sexual congress. But why? That was what wealthy men did.

  Surely she didn’t imagine the man had spent the years since his wife’s death celibate, just waiting for her to come into his life? Why was she responding to this so illogically? Hidden beneath her skirts, she tapped her foot, trying to dispel some of her angst.

  Those silvery eyes bored into hers for several moments, the brows still fierce. “Why must you women do this?”

  “Do what?”

  “This.” He threw his hands out palms up. “Dig so deeply into everything.”

  “So I am not allowed to ask questions of you? Another of your requirements?”

  His expression closed off, hard as stone. “I would prefer to limit our interaction to that which concerns the two of us.”

  His words hit with the impact of a door slammed in her face and she flinched. It hurt. She was pea-green with jealousy, yes. She was stupid to feel that way, yes. But there it was. No matter how illogical, she was hurt that he had kept another woman in this beautiful house. Maybe it did make her insane to feel so, but right at this moment, she thoroughly hated every other woman he’d ever been with.

  But it was more than that, wasn’t it?

  Of course it was.

  Obviously, he had dismissed this mistress. Dismissed.

  What else could a kept woman expect?

  But had this woman had soft feelings for Grey? Had it hurt her to be cast aside for his newest interest?

  Beth had believed that Joshua had cherished her. Loved her.

  Yet he had married someone else.

  Did you really believe the fine Mr. Sexton, one of the three wealthiest gentlemen in the United States, would want to marry you? You? The dirty servant’s bastard?

  She pushed the unwelcome voice down.

  I want to be special. Not just the fleeting interest of the moment.

  Was that so wrong? So unrealistic?

  Yes, of course it was. She had met him in a bookseller’s shop and propositioned him for carnal pleasure before he’d even known her name. But how else was a girl like Beth to ever meet with a gentleman like Sexton? It had been like reaching up at the midnight sky and snatching one of the glittering stars for her own.

  And she’d had her fun. Her adventure. It was coming to an end. She’d known it would end. Oh God, she was acting like a fool, a silly chit. But she couldn’t seem to stop. And she’d just come here to be bedded by him. To say a pleasurable farewell.

  However, she couldn’t staunch the flow of bitterness inside. She reached back and jerked at her gown’s fastenings. “Well, then, you’ve made my position clear, sir. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll strip off so we may get down to our business.”

  “Beth—”

  “Oh, yes, you ordered me to wear this.” She scooped the silk wrapper off the bed and clutched it.

  “Damn it, Beth.” His features softened with concern and he seemed to cross the distance between them in three steps.

  He reached for her and pulled her into his embrace. Her cheek ended up pressed to his chest and his heart beat strong under her ear. He put his lips to the top of her head, a soft, tender brushing.

  Warmth flooded her and sent a safe, comfortable feeling coursing through her veins. Such foolishness! But his touch, oh God, his touch…

  Her traitorous body was so attuned to him. She resisted the seductive spell and held herself rigid. His hands moved to her hair and loosened the pins. The sense of relaxation increased as the weight of her hair eased from her head and fell over her shoulders and down her back. It was becoming harder to resist.

  For long moments, he caressed her tresses in slow, tender strokes. “Your hair is like…champagne touched by moonlight.”

  There was a touch of boyishness in his voice. And even Joshua Wade had never paid her such a lovely compliment. But it meant nothing. Words were meaningless.

  “I wish you would always wear it down when we are here alone.”

  How seductive his voice could be, especially when he was tender with her.

  “Another of your requirements?” she asked, forcing a clipped tone.

  He laughed softly. “Yes, I think so.”

  His hands moved over her hair in slow, steady caresses that seemed in time with the strong thud of his heart against her. Emotions cascaded over her. A desire to melt into him, to allow him to hold her like this forever, snuggled to his powerful, leanly muscled body, all safe and secure. Again, she tensed her body to deny it. What was wrong with her? He was a cold, hardened man who bought, took, and discarded women without a qualm. He wasn’t safe in the least.

  “The British call a beautiful woman ‘a diamond of the first water.’ I always thought it a rather overblown phrase, until a month ago.”

  His voice resonated with such—well, it almost sounded like affection.

  Don’t you believe it, Beth. Don’t lose your head over this man.

  She’d known she was beautiful since her girlhood. Before she had even first put up her hair, men would grow silent when she walked into a room, their eyes widening. Then they would become too talkative. They would take foolish risks to catch her alone and whisper the most outra
geous, scandalous things to her. Make her incredible promises.

  Mrs. Hazelwood had confirmed the truth of Beth’s unusual beauty in frank terms, then warned her of the perils of taking such a thing too seriously. Men would want to possess her, but they wouldn’t care about her welfare or her future or her good name. They would betray and abandon her.

  And hadn’t that worthy lady already been proven correct?

  Why did Beth find it necessary to chase rejection and pain like this?

  Ha! Special indeed! Take your pleasure and then walk away without a glance back—as he will.

  He touched her back, began unhooking her gown. It fell down her arms with her petticoat.

  “Here,” he said, taking the wrapper from her and tossing it aside. “You don’t really need this. I prefer you without anything at all.”

  Deftly, he unlaced her stays, his angular face hard with the determination of a man set to a delicate task. Soon she was completely naked. All right. This she could handle. Sexual arousal and pleasure. It was why she was here and why he wanted her here. Better to just get on with it. She reached to encircle his neck but he pulled away.

  “Would you excuse me a moment?” he asked, all formal and polite.

  Moments later he returned, clad only in a black dressing gown.

  He handed her a flat rectangular box, his expression so serious, she was almost afraid to take it.

  “Well, open it.” Boyish earnestness made his handsome face that much more gorgeous. All thumbs with the latch, she dropped the box.

  He picked it up, unlatched the box, and handed it to her. She opened it. Inside, against plush red velvet, lay a double strand of luminescent pearls, small and perfectly matched. Her finger traced over them. She’d never touched anything so lovely in her life.

  She knew such things didn’t come without a price.

  Chapter Seven

  “I don’t need these.” She stared at the pearls, her heart hammering.

  “But I want you to have them.”

  The edge in his voice made her jerk her head up. “Where would I wear them?”

  “You could start by wearing them for me.”

  He picked the box up, removed the necklace and came behind her. Brushing the hair off her shoulders, he placed the strand about her neck. The pearls lay cool and heavy against her collarbone and chest.

  He traced his fingertips across her nipples. “See how erotic the pearls are against your beautiful breasts.”

  She glanced down. His dark hand contrasted with the twin rope of pearls gleaming against her pale flesh. Her channel clenched and wetness seeped between her legs.

  “Come here.” He led her to the mahogany Chippendale dresser, then cupped her face and kissed her deeply. After several moments, he lifted his head and turned her to face the framed mirror and hugged her from behind. She’d never seen herself like this. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the image of her pale, petite nakedness and his strong arm latched about her waist. His dark head fitted into the curve of her neck.

  He slowly pulled the necklace backwards, the smooth beads a cool, continuous slide along her skin. Snug against her throat, the pearls made an expensive looking collar. He brought a hand to rest beneath it at her collarbone. His other hand rolled the pearls against her back, a slow and steady silken sensation. Her nipples drew into tight pink points, as if jealous of the attention he lavished on the necklace.

  He traced the clasp in front with a fingertip, bringing her attention to it. She hadn’t noticed it before but the latch wasn’t a simple latch. It sparkled with fire. Tiny diamonds surrounded an oblong, deep-blue stone, gleaming with the slightest hint of violet. She sucked in her breath.

  A sapphire—oh, but surely not real. No, it must be paste.

  However, he didn’t strike her as a paste kind of gentleman.

  She opened her mouth to speak but he stroked her breasts in feather-soft circles, driving whatever she intended to say from her mind. Until all she could do was long for him to touch her aching peaks. But he seemed to be purposefully avoiding them.

  Finally, he brushed them. She whimpered for more and he gradually increased the pressure, pinching them between his thumbs and forefingers.

  In the mirror, she watched his hand slide down her belly to the pale blond hair at her junction. He traced her outer lips, an unhurried counterpoint to the urgent throb of his erection against her bottom. At the barest touch of his fingertip to her nub, she writhed, wiggling her bottom against his cock.

  “Plead for me, Beth.” His voice was smooth as sin.

  She laughed huskily. She wouldn’t beg. At least she hoped she wouldn’t.

  She shook her head vigorously.

  “You will,” he assured her.

  “I doubt it, not this time.”

  He sank two fingers into her, giving her what she needed. Pressure, speed—driving her into an unbearable tension. Any moment. Oh, oh, oh, any moment now. She caught her breath, closed her eyes, her mouth falling open, waiting for the perfection to claim her.

  He stopped and she remained there, on the edge of ecstasy. His large, warm hand rested lightly over her aching flesh. She pressed against it, rubbed. But it wasn’t enough. Her desire was too built up now. She needed him inside her, filling her up, taking her hard. A moan escaped her.

  “Plead for me, Beth,” he repeated, his voice deeper, huskier this time.

  He was the source of all pleasure, pain, and relief. She wanted only to feel him inside her. Whatever it took.

  “Yes, Grey, please. Please fuck me now.”

  With the words still leaving her lips, his hand on her neck, he nudged her to lean forward against the dresser. She put her palms down upon its smooth, flat surface.

  His hairy, muscular leg tickled the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and she opened to him. She sighed, her anticipation increasing as the heat of his cock glided along the crease of her bottom, forwards along her slick slit to tease her nub. She’d never felt so empty, so desperate to have a man inside her. Moaning hungrily, she arched backwards. Would he never hurry?

  He lifted her leg and bent it to the side, then his hardness filled her, stretched her. The joy of it made her catch her breath. He lowered her leg, then pressed his face into the curve of her neck. He pulled almost all the way out. She cried out and he thrust in deep again, his hands squeezing her breasts with a glorious roughness. He nipped at her neck and moved in and out of her, a long series of hard, powerful strokes. In the mirror, she watched her body shake with the impact of it, again and again. Never had the sight of anything been so exciting.

  His fingers brushed her nub, sending sparks of fiery pleasure racing through her that cumulated in a swift and violent orgasm. She leaned back against him, cradled in his strong arms, with his lips pressing her temple while she waited for the world to stop spinning.

  This was all that mattered. These stolen moments. Because it was all she could have of him. All she could afford to have of him.

  He hadn’t come. She could feel his stomach muscles still tense with longing against her body, his cock still hard within her. The afternoon was just beginning. He withdrew.

  “Let’s go to the bed.” The passion in his voice resonated deep in her belly. He took her hand, led her to the bed.

  She fell onto it sideways, sinking into a featherbed as soft as a snowdrift. He took her ankles and drew her body toward him until her legs dangled. Kneeling between them, he cupped her bottom, lifted her up. Holding her breath, she watched him lower his head until his face almost touched her sex. Slowly he exhaled, warm moist breath into the pale blonde hair. His tongue stole out, flicked her erect nub. Her hips jerked but he held her still to the warm strokes of his tongue.

  He sucked her tight nub. Ran his tongue round it. Grazed it lightly with his teeth. All while she rolled her head on the pillow, her eyes closed, lost to sensation until her tension grew to the point before pain.

  She tried to thrust her hips, to show him her need, but he held her so
she could not move. Her feet pressed hard into the featherbed, her hands fisted the bedspread and she whimpered. “God…Gre…” She shivered with need. “Please, oh please.”

  He thrust a finger into her and then two, finding that sweet, sensitive spot and giving it repeated determined, delicious pressure. She twined her fingers into his thick, silken hair and let herself go, pressing and spasming against those angular, patrician features.

  When she came back to herself, she was aware of his cheek resting against her mound, his fingertips tracing her hipbone.

  The bed rocked as he moved.

  “Come here.” He motioned to his hard-muscled midsection. “Climb on. I want to watch you ride me. I want to see your pretty breasts bounce while you’re wearing your pearls. I pictured it when I was purchasing them, and it very nearly made me rock-hard to think on it.”

  She crawled to him then straddled him, lowering herself until her cleft brushed his straining cock.

  Arching her back, she raised her arms above her head, displaying herself to best advantage. Aware the whole time of how he watched her, she leisurely lowered her arms then cupped her breasts and pressed them together.

  He motioned for her. “Come down here where I may pay proper attention to your beauties.”

  Holding his gaze, she lowered her head and licked her breast.

  He made a pained face. “Don’t be a tease. Come here.”

  “Beg me.” She licked herself again.

  He grasped her hips and pressed his cock against her. “Can’t you feel me begging?”

  She shook her head with slow, deliberate motions. “I’ll need to hear it.”

  “I could write you a bank note.” His eyes twinkled.

  “Oh, no, that’s not good enough either.” She rubbed her nipples, closing her eyes, letting herself shudder and squirm on his erection. He throbbed against her and she moaned with exaggerated affect.

  “All right, Beth, would you please, please bring me your beautiful breasts?”

  She opened her eyes. He was grinning.

  “These?” she asked, cupping them again.

  “Yes, smother me with them.”