“Kiss me, please, sweetheart.” His glorious, sensuous smile made her heart skip.
If only she knew more of kissing. She’d only ever kissed one man. Him, and then only twice. If he scorned her lack of skill, she would die of embarrassment. She touched her lips to his and they parted on a gentle breath. Emboldened, she edged her tongue into his mouth. A throat-deep growl of pleasure pierced her core with the sweetest ache she’d ever known.
She moved her mouth on his, imitating him. She flicked her tongue across his lips then plunged it deep into his mouth. He sucked on it gently. Pleasure shot between her legs.
She gasped and drew back, panting.
He was breathing equally raggedly.
“Mercy,” he said, his voice thick. “Don’t stop now. You’re killing me.”
So, she did have some power over him. She smiled and leaned closer.
His hand cradled her head. He gently eased her against his mouth. He moved his lips against hers and she parted them. He caressed her tongue with his. Her eyelids drifted closed. Then there was no reality except his mouth and the sensations storming her defenses.
A good person would fight him off in outraged virtue, but that gate stood open and the horse had gone. Now she was in his arms, she accepted that she had been waiting for this moment for days and days. She pressed closer. She felt his thigh hard against the top of her legs. She rocked her hips and moaned at the heightening pleasure of the hard feel of him between her thighs.
Her body burned, nerves stretched taut to breaking point. His hand slid down then drifted up again. She felt his palm’s rough skin on her thighs, her buttocks. He lifted her shift with steady caresses moving up her body.
He broke the kiss. “Help me take it off,” he whispered.
It? Off?
She glanced down the length of her body. Her chemise rode high above her waist. She glanced back at his face; his eyes gleamed wickedness, daring her.
His hand roamed higher, hot and heavy against her ribs, brushing the underside of her naked breasts. His thumb teased her nipple and the tension in her core tightened.
Trembling, wanting to please him, she sat up and swept the shift over her head.
His smoky gaze, caressed her body. His expression darkened. “Victoria,” he murmured. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life.”
Fire lit her racing blood, yet her wantonness shocked her. She buried her face in his shoulder, ashamed yet strangely thrilled at his lovely words. His musky, male scent filled her nostrils as heat warmed her cheeks.
Placing his hand under her chin, he gently lifted. “Look at me.” Sincerity burned in his eyes. “Believe me. You are glorious. Pure poetry. A goddess.” He pressed his lips to hers.
She surrendered to the delight of his wooing mouth. His tongue flickered on her lips and she opened to him. He explored her mouth and she tasted his in turn. She lost herself in the bliss of his mind-numbing kisses.
His lips moved from her mouth to her chin, to her throat, to the rise of her breasts. A tension built inside her. Too much tension. A flame of desire flared in the pit of her belly and sent her mind reaching heavenwards.
His mouth found her nipple and she gasped, clutching at his hair. Before she could pull him away, his tongue circled and she shivered in torment and delight. He moved to her other nipple and it puckered and hardened under his slick, hot tongue. Her breath came in small gasps. She was going to die of pleasure.
No turning back now. Nor did she want to. He was hers to enjoy to the full.
Careful to avoid his bandage, she ran her hands over his back and shoulders, up through his hair and felt her limbs go languid with longing.
He drew her nipple into his mouth and she spiraled out of control. She could think of nothing but his mouth and the pulsing need between her legs. She arched her hips toward him.
“Will you let me love you, Victoria?”
“Yes,” she gasped, filled with strange physical longings. But there was also the need to be held and to hold that satisfied something far deeper within her.
“Slip between the sheets, so I can touch you more.”
More? There was more? She felt his hand tugging the sheet beneath her and saw his grimace of pain as he tried to pull it out from under her. She scrambled to thrust it down with her feet and saw the way his gaze focused on the triangle of dark hair at the apex to her thighs.
He groaned.
“Does it hurt?” she asked, conscious stricken, backing away. They should not be doing this. His wound would open.
He grasped her hand and pressed it to his mouth. “God, yes, it hurts. Let me show you.”
Gently, slowly, he guided her hand down, across his chest, over his stomach. She looked down and saw his male flesh, rigid, roped by dark veins, thrusting towards her. He brushed the back of her hand against the engorged, purple tip, silky-soft and hot. She snatched her hand away.
“It hurts?”
“Pleasure pain. You feel it, too. I can see you do,” he said. He brought his mouth to her lips.
Pleasure, laced with the pain of needing more, did indeed have her in thrall. She yielded to the temptation of his kisses. Nothing between them, his chest pressed, hard and hot, against her breasts, the rough hair of his leg brushing rhythmically against her hip and his hard maleness pressed against her thigh. His palm caressed her breasts. He brought her to a state of endless, mindless longing.
His kiss demanded, deepened, and enslaved her.
Gliding over her ribs, down her stomach, so lightly her skin flickered at their passing, his fingers explored the curls of her womanhood. She ought to be afraid. But she wasn’t. Not a bit. She wanted him and she wanted this with him.
The sweetest agony Simon had ever endured forced him to lean on his good shoulder to hold her close. He had to move slowly and carefully or he’d be incapacitated by pain.
He’d learned to isolate pain, to ignore it, to cut himself off from all feeling, physical or mental. Blackhurst had taught its lessons well. Years of petty misery interspersed with physical cruelty had honed his skill of stony endurance until nothing could touch him. Nothing until now, when his heart soared with the joy of her yielding and left him defenseless against his body’s hurt. He didn’t care how much pain he was in. Nothing would stop him now. Nothing. She was his and he would claim her.
He ran his fingers through the crisp curls protecting her slick, swollen, female flesh. Wet for him.
The heat of her core pulsed against his hand as he delved his tongue into her mouth. Traces of her jasmine perfume lingered in her hair and mingled with the essence of her woman’s desire.
Her trembles ran the length of her deliciously slender form. She hovered on the brink of ecstasy. His gift to her.
He slipped one finger between the delicate folds of flesh into hot wetness. Her back arched and she gasped into his mouth, a hot rush of moist air he swallowed greedily. Catching her tongue gently between his teeth, he sucked it into his mouth.
His woman. He pressed his thumb against her pleasure nub and eased his fingers deep inside her, seeking the place that would drive her wild.
She writhed beneath his hands and mouth, her hips grinding into his cock. She cried out. Yes, there. Another finger joined the first. Heated, wet flesh stretched to accommodate him. He released her mouth, allowing her to catch her breath. Her gasps and moans drove his own surging want higher and harder than he ever remembered. Control began to slip away.
Shocked, he tried to set himself apart, to watch himself bring her pleasure and take his own, the way he always did, without involvement.
Her puzzled frown revealed she sensed his detachment. It ruined the moment. He wanted to be a part of her, have her blend with him until they became one. He gave himself up to her. He had never felt this close to anyone before and he didn’t want to think what that might mean.
“Open for me,” he urged, nudging her thighs with his knee.
Languidly she parted her thighs, her
gaze fixed on his face, her eyes sultry, her expression so sensual he could hardly bear to see it. He came over her, the bed ropes creaking as he adjusted his weight onto his good arm, his hand beside her shoulder. Carefully, he eased the head of his cock up against her entrance, the path to heaven on earth, to death in life.
He was big and she was small and tight. He ran his other hand over her flat stomach, dipped into her navel, teased her breasts, plucking at her taut nipples, dark with desire, then moved his hand lower, circling the small nub that would bring her close to what she wanted. She cried out for him and he thrust forward. Into blissful heat.
A cry of shock. Her body quivered, her eyes squeezed tight shut.
He froze. Dear Lord. A virgin. She’d told the truth about Ogden, after all. Even as he regretted the pain he had caused her, his heart swelled with a strange kind of pride and tenderness.
“Victoria.”
Her eyes remained shut.
“Look at me, sweet.”
Victoria forced herself to open her eyes. She glared into Simon’s strain-filled face. How could anything with such a wonderful beginning end in such pain?
His weight pinned her to the mattress, while he was suspended, motionless, above her, only the slight trembling of the arm holding his bandaged chest inches from her body indicating he felt any kind of stress. His male flesh stretched her, filled her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, bending to kiss her mouth.
More lying kisses from his sensual lips. He didn’t look in the slightest bit sorry. He looked pleased. She turned her face away.
“Relax, love,” he pleaded. “It will be all right in a moment. I promise.”
Trust him, her heart whispered. She let go her breath. Once more his mouth descended to hers, his hand caressed her breasts, moving from one to the other, his thumb flicking at the nipple as his tongue licked at her lips. A master of the sweet torture of her senses, he turned her blood to fire and made her body melt. Desire surged.
She ran her hands over his back, tried to hold him fast as he began to withdraw. She made a sound of protest. A small smile curved his lips and he eased drove into her, slowly. The delicious friction drove her to increasing heights of need. She cried out, but not with pain. Her body vibrated with passion. She lifted her hips, wanting more.
“Yes,” he said, pushing deep. “Lift your legs around my waist.”
She did and he surged deeper.
“Simon,” she cried.
“Hold on, my darling,” he whispered. “Hold on.”
He began to thrust with steady, ever-increasing urgency.
There was nothing else, just the sensation from their joining. The tightening need within in her seemed to drive her upwards, filling her mind with a darkness and something just out of reach. She clenched her inner muscles around him, barely able to endure the tension.
“Oh, Victoria,” he whispered and reached between them, stroking, pressing the sensitive flesh there, driving her higher. “Now, darling. Come to me now.”
She felt him shudder, saw pain on his face, his jaw clenched in the grip of sweet agony.
A dam broke. She rushed headlong and breathless into a maelstrom of sensation centered at her core. Heat spread through her limbs in bone-melting bliss.
He groaned and pulled out of her body, fixing his mouth to hers as he heaved and shuddered above her. She felt wet heat on her belly where the hard length of his manhood pressed between them.
He drew his mouth away and grabbed for the towel on the bedside table. He wiped her stomach, then lay down beside her, pulling her close. She glanced at him with a question on her lips.
Simon smiled at the misty wonder in her face. “No babies, Victoria. No children, fatherless, lost and alone.” He knew what it was to be alone. How the emptiness of it ate away at the soul until nothing remained. Children didn’t deserve that sort of cruelty. Nor, in truth, did he deserve this with her, but in the end, he hadn’t the power to resist.
His lips touched her temple and her cheek, he nuzzled her ear, stroked her arm. He petted her hair where it lay on her breast. He adored the silky feel of her hair. “So beautiful,” he murmured. “You were wonderful. Kiss me, sweetheart.”
She turned her face to him and Simon gazed at her full lips, bruised and swollen from his kisses, her skin red from his rough, unshaven cheeks. Christ, but he’d been a brute, when she had been the sweetest and most delectable lover he had ever had. Would ever have. He kissed her tenderly and pulled the quilt over her delicious nakedness, knowing she would be sore and not ready for another encounter anytime soon, no matter how much he wished it. After all, she had been a virgin. And she had honored him with a precious gift.
He would do all in his power to ensure she did not suffer any consequences. Deep in his heart he wished he could keep her forever. It wasn’t possible. In the end she would be tainted by him and that he would not allow. He would have to make amends. Let her go.
Her eyes slid closed. She slept peaceful in his arms, her warm breath brushing across his skin, her heart a gentle flutter against his chest.
He didn’t deserve her, never would, but he would keep her safe. Somehow.
He drifted on a gentle sea of satiation that, for once, contained no bitter regrets about the past. Yet the knowledge that she would hate him when she realized this was all he had to give loomed like a dark cloud.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Simon couldn’t tell how long they’d slept. The light streaming through the window indicated a morning far advanced. Pots and pans clashing somewhere below reminded him he hadn’t eaten anything but soup for days.
Victoria’s head rested on his good shoulder. Her ebony hair formed a veil over his chest and the delicious rise of her breasts. A faint pulse beat beneath the translucent skin below her ear and her shoulder rose gently with each peaceful breath. His body became achingly erect, but he wouldn’t wake her. He wanted to enjoy this feeling of being part of something good for a little while longer, because once she came to her senses, she would, no doubt, regret the heat of passion.
The throbbing pain in his shoulder had him breathing carefully. The spreading dark-red stain against the white of his bandage indicated the wound had opened. Another ache to be isolated from his awareness.
Blackhurst Academy had taught him to master hunger, thirst, pain, but pride had always left him vulnerable to the hurt of humiliation. In the end, he’d overcome that, too. He no longer cared what people thought of him or said of him. And yet as he gazed at her, the gentle beauty of her that contained a fiery spirit, he knew she had the power to crumble his pride to dust.
His heart squeezed painfully with a welling emotion he had never expected to experience again. Love. He tightened his arm around her, pretending for a few precious minutes that he could hold onto her forever.
Her eyes fluttered open and he watched as recollection returned. The flush, which traveled up her throat and colored her face enchanted him even as it wounded, for she was embarrassed.
“Good morning,” he said, smiling at her and pulling her close for a satisfying, open-mouthed kiss.
“Good morning,” she said with shyly lowered lashes and a smile warm enough to melt a glacier.
He cradled her cheek against his chest again, anxious not to lose their connection. Not yet. Not yet.
She lay peacefully against him, her hand resting on his belly. If her hand should wander lower and touch him, he would be hard pressed to hold back. His need already throbbed deep within him.
“Simon?”
“Um-hmm.”
“Tell me about Miranda.”
He froze. Cold anger replaced relaxation in a heartbeat. He inhaled deeply. Much as it pained him to speak of his past, considering what Victoria had gifted to him, he owed her some sort of explanation regarding Ogden’s accusations. “What did you want to know?”
“You loved her, didn’t you? You called out to her in your dreams.”
Dream? It was a nightmare that had never cea
sed its torment. How much dare he tell her? He had never spoken of Miranda to anyone except Deveril, and only then because he had drunk too much brandy one night. Neither of them had spoken of it again. “I thought I loved her.” Until he’d realized the depths of depravity into which he’d fallen.
“What was she like?”
Like? How could anyone truly describe Miranda and not be accused of lying? Certainly he had been unable to explain it to his father. “She is Ogden’s older sister. A year older I think. The same fair coloring, blue eyes, blonde hair so long she could sit on it when it was unpinned. I saw it loose many times after she married my father and came to live at St. John’s Hall.”
God. How long ago was it? He first saw Miranda Du Plessy at her wedding to his father. It was the only occasion his father had taken him to London. Parliamentary duties had been very important to his father so he mostly resided in Town and relegated Simon to the care of servants at the Hampshire family seat. As a lad it had been his delight to drive his keepers mad with worry and go racketing about with Philip Garforth.
“She and your father lived with you?”
Simon shook his head. “Not at first. Miranda loved the ton parties and my father was rich, unlike the Du Plessys, who had barely been able to afford to give her a proper come-out. He, on the other hand, gave her everything she wanted, escorted her to balls, held routs and masques in her honor. They were one of the most celebrated couples in London for a time. The London newspapers were full of their doings. They never visited Hampshire in the early days. She wasn’t enamored of the country.”
“It must have been awful for you when your father spent so much of his time with his new wife.”
A wry smile tugged at his lips as he remembered how delighted he’d been when he heard of his father’s impending wedding. His heart had thrilled when he learned he would have a mother just like other boys.
He recalled his hopeful longing for Miranda to love him as her son, his desire to be part of his parents’ life. God, how utterly devastated he’d been when the young Miranda completely ignored him on her wedding day.
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