The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 5

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  He knew he ought to feel shame, regret, self-reproach for his infidelity, both mental and physical, to the woman he was about to marry tomorrow. But the truth was he could not have stopped himself even if he wanted to. The more he tasted of Juliet, the more he wanted, needed her.

  Her burgeoning desire was evident from her increasing dampness. He replaced his questing tongue with his thumb, which he inserted to explore her. Some women complained that he was too much to manage, but as he tested her with his large index finger as well, he felt her daintiness, but also her ability to withstand him.

  That was the word his some women had used. For not all of them took pleasure in the act, especially not the professional women he had consorted with to keep his personal life uncluttered by emotion or feminine interference. Lawrence would have said 'accept' him.

  Juliet would have agreed with him if she had been capable of rational thought. But ever since he had teased her with his thumb she had been lost. Here were none of the agonizing squeezes and violent wrenchings of her arms and legs as had been her past experiences. All was tenderness, delicacy, and both a sureness of a touch and a tentative exploration, an unspoken question to which only she had the answer. It was yes. She wanted him.

  Juliet decided she ought to make a bit more of a move to convince him, and ran her fingers through his hair, before tugging him up to kiss her full on the mouth. She shared her own taste and scent with him, and found the intimacy most thrilling.

  His heart hammering in his chest, thrumming in time with her own, only added to the sensation. He might be a complete stranger, but she belonged with him. Never had she felt so wonderful, so alive, as if she were floating. He moved his fingers and pressed into her yielding flesh, and she soared.

  Juliet knew she still had time, could still get away. But the prospect of certain ruin was as dust in the wind. The swirling sensations below her waist were budding and spreading outward, leaving all of her limbs beyond her control.

  Lawrence was like an expert rider of haute ecole, guiding her through all the movements of the elegant dressage of love, his hands on the reins of her desire, leading her this way and that. The more he touched her, the more she wanted to vaunt her beauteous charms in this magical display, surrender to his mastery utterly.

  On her back, knees bent, legs wide, she presented a most alluring picture, one Lawrence could not resist. He moved up the bed and cradled her head in his broad hand. He positioned himself to touch her secret place with his huge tip. He rubbed up and down, up and down, until she clutched at him urgently.

  "You are so very lovely. But tiny too. This might be difficult for you at first," he whispered against her lips.

  She would have told him she was not afraid, but his mouth upon hers stilled the words. Even now he was already pressing into her, his hardness going on and on further and further in. He smothered her cry in his mouth as she curved her hips up to meet the stroke.

  He began to withdraw, suddenly unsure, surprised and awed by what he felt inside her. He, who thought he had experienced it all. She was so hot and tight and lovely, he was not going to be able to last more than another stroke. He could spill his seed on her stomach and return for more, he decided, trying to pull away.

  But her body and his evidently had other ideas, for her nails dug into his buttocks as she tried to adjust herself to the formidable pressure which had burst through her delicate tissue and now throbbed within. It was painful, true, but she was certain there was more, all the pleasure she had read about. Lifting her hips up off the bed, she managed to get him to slide in even further. And further.

  Lawrence gasped and shuddered, and gasped again as she moved once more to accept his tempestuous stroke. He was enormous, there was no doubt about it. But the steady pressure forward made it easier for her to take every glorious inch of him.

  By the time he was a third of the way in, Juliet could sense a new dampness deep inside which made his vast maleness slide in the rest of the way more easily. She could feel a slow lapping tendril of pleasure unfurl within, and her body opened to him as she curved her hips up into his.

  A desperate pant was wrung from her as her eyes flew open. "Lawrence!"

  He raised his head to look at her. He had just finished, had been stunned by the sensations, the sheer pleasure, even though he had scarcely lasted five seconds. Her gasp of delight and the tightening of her inner muscles hardened him anew, and he was utterly lost.

  If he didn’t know better, he would have said they were made for one another. For they were certainly the most perfect fit together. He could feel his rigidity press all the way inside her in the most thrilling manner.

  "Take all of me," he begged, now oh so needy himself as her gasps of delight became outright groans, her body shuddering against his in a tell-tale rhythm which propelled him onwards towards both of their peaks.

  "Lawrence, please!" She had no idea what she was begging for, but it was very close.

  Her face flushed with passion, making her blush like a rose. Her nipples begged for his attention. Her body cradled him and begged for release. With a throaty laugh of triumph he gave and gave. He who had always remained aloof, done nothing but remain in control, drive a hard bargain ever since all had been taken from him, threw all caution to the winds.

  He gave himself in a way he had never thought possible, his mouth covering hers to stifle both their ardent and increasingly loud and uncontrollable moans.

  Lawrence moved slightly to look at her, and saw once again her marvelous eyes open to look at him in surprise, wonder and joy. Again, he had encountered many a pair of eyes looking at him after the deed had been done, but none had ever looked at him like that. Or if they ever had, he had not noticed. Or if they ever had, one or the other of them had left and never seen each other again.

  Not even his fiancee had ever looked at him in such a sultry manner, though of course, she had led him a merry dance, advancing and retreating with a skill Napoleon himself would have envied.

  His coup de grace would take place tomorrow when Matilda and he were married. But truly, he could never imagine from the few heated kisses and mild liberties she had allowed him to take as the wedding date had approached, that his future wife could ever compare with this girl.

  He felt a mild pang at his infidelity, exacerbated by the fact that he was already wondering when he would next be in London so he could visit the incredible Juliet again.

  But no. He had vowed he would try to be faithful. Certainly within the first year or so of marriage.

  Matilda was in fact what he had always imagined to be his feminine ideal: blond, with ivory skin and the greenest eyes, like the most spectacular emeralds. Cold and hard...

  He pushed the disloyal thought to one side. As the woman under him kissed him as though she worshipped the very taste of him, he stroked her lids until they opened. Saw their deep violet colour, warm and soft, as velvety as a caress as they shone up at him. Such a contrast... Day and night, but this dark-haired beauty was the more radiant of the two.

  He lifted his lips to kiss her brow, and she sighed. "Thank you. Thank you so much. It was wonderful, a true gift. I had no idea…."

  They stared at each other for several moments, as if frozen in time. He had gone rigid again at her words, and she could feel the change in him in an instant.

  This had never happened to him before. The women he had been with rarely climaxed, still less rarely ever thanked him for his ‘gift’. Lawrence had also never completed himself twice inside a woman with no protection, let alone desired any of them a third time. But his shock was nothing compared with the way he felt when she uttered her next sentence.

  "Can you teach me what delights you?"

  Her innocent inquiry quite unmanned him. With a murmured, "Yes, most certainly. It's all of you, love," he settled her down in the bed once more, gentling her tousled raven hair, before clasping her buttocks with both hands and moving against her powerfully again until her whole body burst into flames.<
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  This time Lawrence found himself actually holding back his unexpectedly raging passions, watching her in awed fascination, the better to enjoy her wild, uninhibited response. Her head thrown back, she cried out low and lustily, fitting her body even more tightly to his as wave after wave of pleasure flooded through her.

  Great, heaving shudders tore through Lawrence until Juliet’s answering sob and desperate raking of his back and buttocks with her tiny kitten nails quickly told him she was with him every step of the way.

  Kiss for kiss and stroke for stroke they gave, and received the most wondrous rapture. Lawrence’s own pleasure was as nothing compared to what he could do for the lovely girl whom Fate had chanced for him to meet.

  He completed himself inside her without a thought of pulling out before it was too late. His almost primitive need drove him on to possess her, feel her softness surround and clench him. He burst forth in a paroxysm of passion and spilled his essence deeply inside her.

  "Juliet, my love," he sobbed into her shoulder, as she took him yet higher. A rainbow exploded in his head, and for the first time in his life, he knew absolute peace.

  "Lawrence!" Juliet gasped, stroking his face and back, tears of joy filling her eyes as he drove into her with a final thrust which rendered her incapable of a single coherent thought.

  She arched off the bed, surging into his arms, her breasts pressed against his chest so tightly, arms and legs clutching so hard it was as if she would pull him right into her completely and make them one forever.

  Which in a sense they were now, Lawrence reflected as he blinked and roused himself to kiss her lingeringly on the mouth. Now that he had known such radiant joy, how was he ever to let her go? Settle for a loveless, commercially based marriage to a hard, calculating widow, and render tawdry and difficult any chance he might ever have of seeing this vibrant, lovely young woman again?

  She began to come down to earth at last and held him tenderly against her breast. "I'm sorry, I got completely lost in the feelings."

  He laughed long and loud. "No need to apologise. I know exactly how you feel. You’re so beautiful, Juliet. That can be my only excuse. I'm lost with just one touch, one...."

  A movement of his hips was enough to complete his sentence. More than enough to send her eyes rolling back in her head as urgent desire roiled through her once again.

  Her tiny sob of caught breath was enough to set him off. Feeling his pulsing hot hardness burgeoning within her once again, her violet eyes flew open. "Oh, no, surely we can’t-"

  "Don't tell me there's anyone else for you tonight. Or any other night to come. You're mine, Juliet. You can feel it too. We fit perfectly, like, like Romeo and Juliet."

  "The world’s greatest lovers."

  "Right now, my darling, I feel like putting them to shame."

  He wove his fingers through her long raven tresses, cupping her head to receive his kiss. It left her in no doubt of what he was about to do again, for as his tongue slowly penetrated her mouth, he filled her below with one deep inexorable thrust.

  Only this time, instead of rhythmically moving against her sparking flesh, he pressed into her more deeply, the large head within swelling, touching her womb with a sultry throb. She didn’t know where her body began and his ended as they became one.

  One with a stranger, she thought with horrified alarm. But her momentary panic evaporated in the face of the bliss he was conferring upon her, truly a present from the gods.

  Juliet didn’t want to flee from him; she wanted to rush headlong into his arms, toward the delights only Lawrence could thrill her with. She tried to move her hips as she had done before, but he untwined one hand from her hair to cup her bottom and hold her steady.

  He lifted his lips long enough to whisper, "Easy, love. We have all the time in the world. There’s no hurry. Don’t move. Just let me love you."

  She drew in a thready breath and placed her palms on his buttocks, forcing her fingers to uncurl and stroke him, hold him to her. "I can’t stop moving. It feels so wonderful."

  "Gently, sweet," he whispered again.

  But it was already too late. Her internal caress was rippling so strongly, he pulled his hips more tightly to hers. Her inner muscles milked him of his essence though he struggled to remain with her. The impassioned kiss he gave her arched her back even further, driving him so deeply into her tautly-poised body that they both felt the earth spin away into the void.

  Never had there been a woman like her for Lawrence, and he knew there never could be again. As he poured into her, his throbbing kiss was a silent plea for love, for help, though he wasn't even sure what he was begging for.

  Juliet had never imagined anything like this could ever happen to her. She had never thought anything like this could exist. But then she had never imagined a man like Lawrence could ever exist, or if he did, that she would ever meet him, become his lover.

  She had no idea what devil was driving Lawrence onwards like a man possessed. All her brother had said about him was true, and more. To all outward appearances he was a calm, sophisticated, witty, intelligent man of the world. Polished despite all his years in India.

  Yet when she had looked into his silvery eyes just before they climaxed, she had seen something frightening. A grim darkness within. Directed at her? She was not so sure. And she did not want to run the risk of finding out.

  At the same time, to leave him in the dark now that she had seen the truth was unthinkable. Only within her could he find the peace he sought, or if not peace then an absence of pain, anger and regret. Regret for the past? For the future, when he was supposed to be marrying?

  Is that why he had come to visit tonight? He had realised he'd made a capital error? Had seen her, heard of her, and been as fascinated with her as she had been with him? Decided to become her lover in order to sabotage the match? Or to have one last hurrah before he put his head in the noose?

  Or still more strangely, and incredibly, had been about to settle for a loveless match, and had instead ended up rewarded with the gift of love at first sight?

  She cradled him against her and whispered, "It’s all right, Lawrence, I’m here. I’m yours. Take all of me. Let me give you oblivion, even if it's only for one night," she offered generously, though the thought of letting him leave to go marry the foul Matilda, or indeed any other woman, filled her with jealousy.

  Lawrence collapsed against her with relief and gratitude, as if all his struggles were completely at an end. Every nerve in his body seemed to coil and writhe with passion as she touched him, loved him.

  Their souls and bodies blending and merging in the dance as old as time, they finished together blissfully. They lay for a time sated and spent in the warm circle of each other’s embrace.

  At last Lawrence managed to ease his heavy weight off her. He grasped her convulsively and clung to her, pulling her tightly to his side so that she could scarcely breathe. He too was still panting heavily from what they had just shared, and his words came out ragged and hoarse.

  "I can't believe any of this. I never imagined-- I know all of this is a muddle. But whatever mistakes I’ve made, I couldn’t bear to see you suffer because of me. I lost all control. I’m sorry. I couldn’t even try to avoid completing myself within you. Not once, several times. Even now you could be with child if you haven't taken precautions. And the truth is, I don't honestly care.

  "I'm not a good man, Juliet. I’ve been a rake, and have known more women than you can even imagine," he found himself confessing. "But nothing, nothing I have ever felt or experienced has prepared me for you. It’s a sign."

  She struggled to sit up. "Of what?"

  "That it's not too late for me. I still have some hours of freedom left before tomorrow. Then I shall have to decide."

  Her jet brows drew down. "Decide? I don't understand," she said, wondering again if this had something to do with her brother's former lover. She tried to tell herself not to be silly, but her heart gave a little lift of prid
e. Was he saying he cared for her, not Matilda, after all?

  Lawrence kissed her, trying to silence her questions and her fears. Suddenly he seemed the most wretchedly low creature on the face of the earth.

  How could he just use women and cast them aside like an old handkerchief? He had been avoiding anyone other than professional women the whole of his life to ensure that things would only be temporary.

  Now, on the eve of his marriage, he had found a woman he wanted to spend hours with, nay, even a lifetime with. Yet she was London's most sought-after Paphian, and he was supposed to be marrying Matilda, a respectable widow, in a few hours.

  He might not have hurt the women the way some men did, enjoying brutality, bondage and all sorts of degrading games he had heard them actually boast about. But still he felt shame. This woman wasn't just a convenient, she was a human being.

  And one he wanted to know everything about. He had thought he was protecting himself from any unnecessary entanglements, involvement of emotions; he had actually only been hurting himself. For he had deprived himself of warmth and affection such as this woman was bestowing upon him with every kiss, every caress of her remarkable hands. She seemed to kiss and touch him everywhere as if endlessly fascinated.