by Lenora Bell
She licked her lips, staring at his cock. “Now that’s what I call a good show.”
He fell to his knees and covered her with his body. He needed to feel her soft breasts against his chest. Her hips cushioning him.
Her legs parted slightly. She lifted her hips and pressed her mound against his cock through the fabric of her shift.
He kissed her, finally allowing himself that luxury. Her lips yielding to him, tongue rising to meet him.
His hands were made to shape her waist. His thumbs brushed the under swell of her breasts.
He left her lips and found her breast.
“That was a different sort of kiss,” she said breathily. “We’ve hate-kissed, and evasive-kissed, but that was . . . pure seduction.”
He sucked on her nipple until she gasped. He lavished attention on her breasts, cupping them with his hands, teasing her nipples with his tongue and lips.
She urged him on by threading her fingers into his hair and pulling him closer.
He grazed his teeth over her nipple and she squirmed in his grip.
He ran his hands down her arms. She had lithe muscles beneath the satin of her skin. She wasn’t one to sit in a parlor all day. Her body had been shaped by activity—walking, climbing, archaeological excavations.
He pulled up the hem of her chemise and dipped his fingers into her wet heat and rubbed the moisture over her sex.
“How do you touch yourself, Indy? Slow and gentle?” He matched his movements to his words. “Or light and quick . . .”
From her responses she wanted a firmer pressure. She lifted her hips in little circles.
Her hand brushed his belly. Drifted lower. Settled, tentatively, over his cock.
Gently, he lifted her hand. As much as he was dying to feel the pleasure her hand could give him, he wanted her to come first.
“How am I doing?” he asked. There was always guesswork involved the first time. And he wanted this to be amazing for her.
“A little to the right, a little . . . more forceful . . .” She gasped.
He loved that she was confident enough to give him orders. “Like this?” He stroked faster, harder.
“Y-yes.” Her voice shook and her breathing grew heavy and labored.
“Raven,” she moaned, tensing.
The most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.
Her fingers curled around his biceps, digging into his flesh.
The crackling sound of the fire burning through wood, commuting it to nothingness and ash, filled his ears. Her moans burned through him, melting the ice around his heart to water that ran in rivulets inside his chest.
The feel of her softness and heat beneath his fingers drove him wild. The sight of her face, lips red and swollen from his kisses, black hair wild and untamed around her cheeks, filled his heart with a mixture of pride and joy.
“Come for me, Indy,” he urged.
Come with me. Let’s find a new path together.
He teased her, bringing her close to the brink and then easing off. Indy couldn’t take much more teasing.
She couldn’t speak because they were kissing, their bodies, tongues, minds, intertwined, interchangeable.
Her body. His body.
He was learning her secrets and there was no shame. This driving need, like a hard rain, pelting her body with sensation, little pinpricks and moisture sliding and soaking her.
Saturating her.
The rest of the household slept. Lamps extinguished. Fires dying. Cozy under the covers with bed warmers at their feet and flannel nightdresses against their skin.
While she lay on her back on the carpet in front of a fire with her legs spread and Raven’s fingers inside her, moving over her sensitive flesh, his tongue stroking inside her mouth.
The pleasurable tremors she experienced in her sleep were pleasant little bursts of sensation. This was going to be something much bigger. Perhaps even of earthquake proportions.
She might shake the foundations of this venerable old house.
She didn’t have to tell him what to do anymore, he had divined what she needed and he wasn’t holding back.
He didn’t stint.
Only a few more passes of his finger. Flying now, so fast, massaging more than just her most sensitive spot, manipulating the whole hood of her sex.
Sensation narrowed to a pinpoint concentrated between her legs, pulsing like a star in the night sky.
She reached a plateau and flung herself over the edge, alleviating the nearly unbearable tension, sending pleasure spiraling outward in widening concentric circles.
Her whole body alive with sensation.
Raven folded her into his powerful arms, cradling her head against his chest while she moaned softly, not quite believing how good it had felt, how the pleasure still coursed through her mind and body, fizzing like champagne bubbles on her tongue.
How she wanted to make him lose control as well. She needed him to moan in abandon.
She wanted to cradle his head against her breast as he came apart in her arms.
She nudged her hips against him, feeling her softness and wetness yield around the outline of his hard male sex.
She moved a little harder, experimentally.
He eased backward, allowing her more access to his body. She parted her thighs and shaped herself around him, rubbing shamelessly back and forth, enjoying the sensation of his hardness sliding against her sensitive flesh.
When he caught her hips in his hands and stilled her movements, she let out a small, frustrated moan.
“Indy,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “What are we doing?”
“I think perhaps there’s an attraction between us.”
He grinned. “Do you think so?”
“I have a theory. It’s like an itch I must scratch. It’s like . . . well, I think it’s like the first time I had escargot in a French restaurant and it was brought to the table with great pride, as the most decadent of delicacies, all smothered in butter, and everyone was oohing and aahing. I took a few bites and realized that escargot was definitely not my cup of tea. I couldn’t get past the thought that until recently those snails had been crawling and oozing along the ground.”
He stroked her hair back from her cheek. “Uh . . . what are you saying exactly? I’m not following you. What am I in this story—the slimy distasteful mollusk?”
She laughed. “Yes.”
“I don’t like this analogy.”
“Once I sampled the snails I had no further curiosity about them. I prefer a nice haunch of beef.”
“Indy?”
“Yes?”
“This restaurant’s closed. Time for bed. Separate beds.” He lifted her shift, attempting to put her arms back through arm holes.
“I don’t want to be so damnably obsessed with you anymore, Raven,” she blurted. “I need to sample you to get you out of my system for good.”
He stilled. “If you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, we can’t. I won’t. I mean to say that I don’t think it would be right to take this any further. You’ve proven your skill as a seductress. You won this round.”
“Then why do I feel as though I was the one who surrendered?”
“You didn’t surrender, you gave me a gift. I loved making you come—it made me feel powerful.”
“I want to know that feeling of power.” She rolled on top of him, flattening his torso to the hearth rug with the palms of her hands. “I want to make you come.”
She dipped her head and kissed his nipples, as he’d kissed hers, using her tongue to tease them into hard little peaks.
What would it feel like to brush her sensitive nipples against his? She tested the motion, supporting her weight with her palms and gliding the tips of her breasts over his chest.
“Indy,” he moaned. She’d never heard that voice before. It trembled slightly and the tremor gave her a rush of satisfaction.
Not so impervious. Not completely made of stone.
She shoo
k her long hair over the hills and valleys of his muscular torso, swirling the ends of her hair against his flesh. He seemed to like it, because his hands curled into fists.
He was slack-jawed, watching her every motion with a hungry expression.
She loved this feeling of power.
She was drunk on controlling his responses. She slid down his thighs, trailing her hair along his taut abdomen and lower, over his cock.
He had a very nice cock. Long and thick and hard as iron. She ringed his cock with her fist.
His eyes closed.
She moved her hand experimentally, down, and then back up, applying a light pressure with her fingers. He moved with her, his hips showing her what he wanted her hand to do.
Now then. To the sampling.
She bent her head and kissed the tip of him.
His eyes flew open. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” She kissed him again, opening her lips a little wider, licking the rim with her tongue, watching his expression the entire time. She’d heard about this act from Lady Catherine, who could be quite bawdy when plied with sherry and pressed to tell stories of her misspent youth.
Indy pressed more of her mouth around him, making sure her teeth were covered so she didn’t hurt the soft, thin skin. She didn’t want to injure him.
The muscles in his neck strained into ropes. He watched her with a possessive expression. He wrapped his fingers into her hair, where they rested lightly, his touch making her scalp tingle with sensation.
Her nerves were jangling with desire. Giving him pleasure aroused her more than she’d thought possible.
Maybe he’d been dreaming of her, pining for her. She’d do this so well he’d pine for her the rest of his life.
“That feels so good, Indy,” he said jerkily. “Wrap your lips tighter, I’m not going to break. But I am going to explode. Yes. Like that. Gods. Indy.”
She loved the way he said her name like an invocation. Like a prayer.
Heeding the gentle pressure of his hand on her scalp she moved down, nearly taking all of him into her throat, and then back up.
He reached for her hand, found it, wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock. He was showing her what he liked.
He shifted his body and his fingers moved between her legs. How was he even able to think about her pleasure? But his movements weren’t controlled, not like the first time when he’d skillfully manipulated her to a climax.
His fingers fumbled over her this time. He wanted to give her pleasure and that was sweet but she was in control, although . . . it did feel quite nice when he slid one of his fingers inside her.
She lifted her head. “That feels good.”
“I’m glad. How about this?” He fit another finger inside her. She rocked against his fingers. This is what it would feel like to have him inside her. The act of love that she longed for and feared at the same time. She feared it because she knew that with Raven it would be different. It would be devastatingly good.
She resumed her work, taking him back into her mouth and sliding her lips around his length.
His belly tensed. “Indy,” he said.
She stilled. Lifted her head.
His shaft popped out of her mouth, quivering in the air.
“I’ll die if I can’t taste you as well,” he said hoarsely. “Slide around my body, place your limbs over my chest.”
“I don’t understand.”
He showed her what he wanted, lifting her body and turning her bum toward him, settling her thighs down around his neck. He used his tongue to open her sex. She squirmed and turned her head toward him. “Oh. I see. I’m to . . . pleasure you at the same time you are tasting me.”
She’d never dreamt of anything like this. It was depraved, dirty, and . . . delicious.
There was a moment of embarrassment, to think that her legs were spread wide over his face and her breasts brushing against his thighs. But then she forgot all about the embarrassment because it was so delicious when he stroked her with his tongue, his large hands gripping her thighs and holding her in place.
She took him back into her mouth, her movements less controlled now because it was far more difficult to concentrate when his tongue was doing such wicked things.
Pleasure built so quickly that she knew she must hurry. She redoubled her efforts, taking more of him into her throat.
He swept his tongue across her most sensitive place and she trembled, her intimate muscles contracting. So close now.
On the next down stroke of her lips he rose to meet her, his body bucking in an uneven rhythm. Her pleasure spasm was smaller this time, less earth shaking, but the knowledge that he was so close to finding his own pleasure made her feel powerful and seductive.
She moved upward, away from his mouth, because her body was too sensitive now.
“I’m going to come,” he growled.
He half-sat behind her, lifting her chin away from his sex. He wrapped one long arm around her torso, underneath her breasts, and sat up, pulling her with him. He remained behind her. Her thighs were spread wide on either side of his hips. She had an excellent view as his hand gripped his cock.
Her sex slid against the base of his cock as he pumped himself with his fist. She watched in fascination as he finished with a few swift, hard strokes.
He groaned and his seed spilled over his fist and onto his thighs and the carpet.
He collapsed back and she climbed off of him, turning her body, fitting her head to his shoulder, and kissing his neck.
She should probably be embarrassed by whatever they’d just been doing, but for now she wanted to recline by the last embers of the fire with his arms around her, limp and worn and still fizzing with pleasure.
Chapter 17
The glowing embers of Raven’s orgasm faded, leaving his whole body light and heavy at the same time. He’d been with other women, what seemed like a lifetime ago, memories like ancient manuscripts faded by the sun.
Sex had been just a physical function. Sometimes a means to an end, a way of extracting information, a method of giving pleasure and receiving it in return.
He’d had willing partners, women who traded in secrets.
“Gracious,” Indy murmured against his neck. “My dreams are lewd, but I certainly never imagined simultaneous . . . feasting. Your tongue in my . . . oh. Do you think that’s what Mr. Shakespeare was referring to?”
“You make me want to do wildly inappropriate things, Indy.”
“There was certainly nothing appropriate about it, I must say.”
“We should talk about this . . . about why we keep succumbing to this attraction between us.”
“What’s there to talk about?” She laughed shakily. “I tried the buttery escargot. Now it’s out of my system. I’ll order something else next time.”
“I should have been able to resist. You’re my weakness. I don’t want you to have regrets about this. I swear to you that I’ll be stronger. That it won’t happen again.”
“We keep making these promises, don’t we?”
“We do.”
Probably he should ease her up to a seated position. Find their clothing. Bundle her back to her own bed.
He fit her more closely into his arms, brushing his lips against her forehead.
“Life takes such unexpected twists and turns,” she murmured. “I’m a fallen woman, I have been for years, but I don’t feel as though I’ve fallen. I feel like I’ve been climbing a steep incline, and each one of my experiences shows me where to find the next foothold.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I’d rather be your mountain than your escargot.”
He had to make jokes, because otherwise he was going to come completely undone.
“Was it Beauchamp?” he asked.
“No, it was an archaeologist from Sweden. And only the one time. It was . . . underwhelming.”
Raven hid a smile. He was relieved to hear it hadn’t been Beauchamp,
and that the experience had been underwhelming.
He wanted to kiss her. Fold her into his arms and ask her to sleep with him in the bed with the blue velvet curtains. He had the strongest urge to spill all of his secrets.
But his secrets weren’t his alone to tell. Other lives would be harmed, other covers compromised.
She nestled her head more firmly into the crook of his neck. “At the private girls’ academy I attended in North Yorkshire we were warned so often about the dangers of losing our virtue, of falling from the path of righteousness. I never subscribed to the fear and guilt they tried to instill in my breast.”
“My boarding school was equally manipulative and controlling.” He couldn’t tell her the nature of his training, but he could speak to the topic she had raised. “The instructors believed that harshness and discipline were the only methods that would produce men in their own mold.”
“I’ve always wondered why you went to school in Scotland?”
“Sir Malcolm chose the school.”
“He was almost a father to you, wasn’t he? After your father died.”
“Yes. He welcomed our family into his home for many reasons. He’d been a friend to my father, and he had lost his wife and daughter recently in an accident.”
“I didn’t know about that. How tragic. No wonder he took an interest in you.”
He’d taken more than an interest. Sir Malcolm had groomed Raven to become a spy. At the time, Raven had been eager to follow in his father’s footsteps.
“My mother chose my academy,” Indy said. “She wanted to shape me in her image but I rebelled. I hated the constant preaching on propriety and domesticity. The day I turned sixteen I ran away. I had no plan, I only knew I must leave that place because it was killing my spirit. I wandered over the moors, cold and half starving, until I arrived at a house. It was Lady Catherine’s house. She sheltered me, fed me. She provided a refuge when I needed one most.”
This was the first Raven had heard of it. “You could have died wandering around on the moors,” he scolded. “What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking, I was feeling. I was sixteen. You stopped answering my letters. I hated my life. I’ve always had a dramatic streak. Wandering the moors fit my desperate thoughts. Why did you stop answering my letters?” she whispered. “I thought it was because you’d grown callous, shallow, and selfish. But I don’t think that’s true anymore. I think there’s some reason, some secret you’re keeping from me.”
