A Measure of Deceit

by Jess Michaels

  But the control Connor explored was something very different. He asked her to give up everything, to surrender to his demands, to submit herself—her body, her pleasure—to his care. It went against all the restraint she had forced herself to develop over the years as a protection.

  It asked for trust she couldn’t give him.

  And yet when he told her to do these things, that light accent dancing up and down her spine like a feather, a strange urge, an undeniable urge, to obey lit deep in her belly. She wanted to surrender, to be overpowered, to give over pleasure—and trust that she would be protected and rewarded for her submission.

  “Why—why me?” she whispered past dry lips. “Why would you ask me for these things, knowing my reputation and even my treatment of you when we met?”

  He arched a brow. “The correct response is yes,” he said, his tone dark even as his eyes flashed mischief. “But I rather like the question, so I’ll answer it.”

  He leaned in, and she shuddered as the heat of his body seemed to absorb into her own, making her impossibly hot and needy.

  “I ask you, or rather demand these things of you, because of your reputation. Oh yes, you may act as if you are always in control, always calm and collected, but the first time I met you, I saw a flicker of something in your eyes. A want, a need, that you have likely never had fulfilled.”

  “A need to be dominated. By you.” She held his stare evenly, her first reaction to revolt against that statement.

  But a deeper part of her, a darker part, knew that he was right. Her sexual encounters had never been completely satisfying, even when they brought pleasure. Because of her strong will, most men expected her to exert herself in the bedroom and sometimes…often…she had simply wanted to be swept away.

  How Connor could know that about her, she didn’t say. Could it be true he simply saw it in her eyes? And if so, what other secrets could he read there?

  And then there was another point that niggled. This was Connor Sheridan. A man she had written to for years. A man she could admit, if only to herself, that she wanted desperately. If she walked away because she feared the idea of being dominated by him, wouldn’t she regret it later?

  Especially since they were destined to part permanently. Very soon he would return to his world, forget about her, even forget about “the Lady”, and she would return to her normal life. A life without him.

  “Are you finished running a list of positives and negatives to what I propose?” he asked. “May we continue?”

  She blinked, brought out of her tangled thoughts. This was her last chance to walk away.

  Instead she moved forward and pressed her right hand to his chest. “One hand on you, and one on me,” she murmured. “That is the bargain, is it not?”

  His eyes lit with dark, masculine triumph and he smiled. “It is indeed.”

  She pushed his jacket down his shoulders as she dragged her left hand down her body and settled it between her legs. “Then we begin.”

  His touch had already made her wet and ultra-sensitive, so when her fingers brushed through the curls between her thighs and touched her sex, she let out a garbled moan.

  “Don’t come,” he said, his voice sharp with desire. “You must wait for me.”

  She glared at him, but didn’t argue as she wrestled with his cravat. If she was already struggling, this could be a very long seduction, indeed.

  “You could always use your teeth,” he suggested mildly, his R’s rolling softly.

  She returned her gaze to his, and her stomach flipped. Dear God, but he was a handsome devil. She did want to use her teeth on him. And her tongue. But not on his cravat.

  She leaned in, hoping to shatter some of his control as he did hers. Rubbing her naked body along his, she lifted to her tiptoes and tugged at the knot with her teeth. She felt him tense as she unfolded the fabric, his cock nudging her belly, and she smiled.

  Good. So he wasn’t immune even if he was in control.

  She worked on the fastenings of his shirt next, which were easier to undo with just one hand.

  “Are you touching yourself, Grace, or merely resting your hand between your legs?” he asked.

  She looked down. She had been so focused on him, she had neglected her other duties in their arrangement. Slowly, she began to work her fingers against herself, and pleasure immediately began to mount. Her other hand shook as she tugged his shirt free from his waist and finished opening it. Shoving it aside, she froze.

  His naked chest was a sight to behold. Lined with wiry cords of muscle, peppered with a faint line of chest hair, he was unlike any man she’d ever taken to her bed. Even Leo, her husband, hadn’t been so well-formed, and she had always been very attracted to him.

  But Connor was…Connor was in a league of his own.

  She couldn’t help herself—she leaned forward and pressed her tongue to the grooves of his stomach, tracing the lines there, tasting the salty maleness of his skin.

  He arched into her with a grunt, and suddenly his fingers were in her hair, pulling her curls down and tugging to press her closer to his heat.

  “You aren’t ever going to see me naked if you keep doing that,” he groaned.

  She glanced up at him even as her mouth continued to work over his chest. “That would be a tragedy of epic proportions, Mr. Sheridan.”

  She pulled away and found her fingers working at an intense speed between her legs. Already she was shaking, but Connor had told her not to find release. She forced herself to slow down, to breathe, to think of other things, and returned her focus to his waist. His erection bloomed against his trousers and she ached as she worked at the fastenings of his trousers. They were tight from his arousal, making her one-handed job even more difficult.

  “You do not make it easy,” she murmured as she managed to wrestle one button free, then the next.

  He laughed. “If it was easy, it wouldn’t be worth it.”

  She halted her movements in an instant and looked up into his face. He had written that to her once, when she was deep in despair over her book. That statement had lifted her spirits and had been the first time she felt something deeper than mere friendship for the man before her.

  “What is it?” he asked, his brow wrinkling.

  She blinked, trying to regain a bit of composure, trying to keep her thoughts from her face.

  “It—it’s nothing,” she stammered.

  He shook his head. “It’s not—”

  But she didn’t allow him to finish. Raising to her tiptoes, she stopped working at his trousers, wrapped a hand behind his head and drew him down for a kiss. His arms crushed around her in an instant and he nearly squeezed the air from her body as he delved his tongue deep into her mouth, tasting every inch of her as he ground his hips to hers, stimulating her sex just as she had been doing with her hand a moment before.

  “Finish,” he growled, yanking his head away and motioning toward his half-unfastened trousers. “Use both hands.”

  She smiled with a tiny bit of triumph. Not only had she distracted him from his question, but given herself the freedom to undress him more swiftly. Her fingers flew at his trousers and she shoved them down, where they caught in his boots. She would have to deal with that in a moment, but for now she simply stared.

  He was…magnificent.

  There was no other way to describe him. His cock was thick and long, proudly jutting against his stomach in ready arousal. She had felt it within her, yes, but seeing him like this, made so hard by her, was thrilling. She reached for him, but he backed away.

  “The boots,” he reminded her.

  She just bit back a curse and motioned toward one of the chairs before the roaring fire. He laughed as he followed her silent order and took a seat. She unfastened each boot, then looked up his body. He looked so smug, so satisfied. So she slipped one hand back between her legs and began to work her sex as she dragged one boot off.

  He straightened up at the action, eyes dilating with desire
as she opened her sex with two fingers, teasing her clitoris with her thumb. Oh, she was torturing herself, of course, but it was evident her act had an effect on him as well. As soon as she had removed his boots, he kicked his trousers off and grabbed her arms. As he rose to his feet, he dragged her with him and pulled her to her bed.

  “A very pretty show, my lady,” he drawled, leaning in to nuzzle her neck. “Although when you challenge me, it only makes me want to dominate you all the more.”

  Grace shuddered at those words and the images they inspired. “Then I’ll challenge away,” she whispered, watching him carefully for his response.

  His face changed in that instant, hardening to an unreadable mask.

  “Turn around,” he ordered. “Toward the bed.”

  She could hardly breathe as she did as he ordered. He moved up behind her but didn’t touch her. She tried to lean back, to arch her body into his, but he surprised her by swatting her backside hard enough that it stung.

  To her utter shock, she grew wetter.

  “Stop trying to organize this, Grace,” he ordered. “You will have what you want when you stop fighting what you need.”

  She bit her lip to control a saucy retort. “What would you have me do?” she asked.

  “Brace your hands on the bed in front of you,” he said, his voice rough and his accent stronger, as if he couldn’t concentrate on tempering the Scot in him when he was with her.

  A fact she liked far more than she should.

  She bent over slightly and placed her palms on her bed.

  “Spread your legs,” he growled.

  She couldn’t breathe as she did what he demanded, opening herself up to his scrutiny, to his will.

  “Now, do not make a sound,” he said. “Not a whimper, not a cry. If you can obey this very basic request, I will reward you. But if you can’t…”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder and saw the seriousness in his expression. She could only imagine what he was about to do, how hard it would be to keep herself from responding to it. But she nodded despite the impossible task she faced.

  And immediately regretted her acquiescence, for he dropped to his knees and opened her sex from behind. The feel of his rough hands was enough to make her cry out, but she bit her tongue to keep from doing just that. It was harder to control that reaction when he buried his face in her wetness and began to lick her.

  His broad tongue lapped from the tight, forbidden rosebud of her bottom to the tingling, quivering pearl of her clitoris. He was relentless in his ministrations, sucking her, licking her, exploring her slit.

  She jerked at the pleasure that seemed to explode from his wicked mouth and screams of ecstasy rose up in her chest and caught in her throat. She swallowed them back, fighting their insistence and the wild pleasure that threatened to overflow in her aching body. He hadn’t told her to wait, but she doubted he would want her to take her pleasure before he gave her leave. Not when he was so insistent on ruling every part of this erotic encounter.

  She gripped her coverlet in both hands, so tightly that she feared she would rend the fabric in two. But just as she could scarcely take no more, just as the pleasure began to border on pain, he pushed to his feet and stroked the head of his cock over the wet entry to her sex.

  He wrapped his body around her and whispered, “Now you may come, Grace. Now you may scream this house down. Now you may take your pleasure.”

  He drove into her in one long stroke and she buckled beneath the waves of pleasure that overtook her. Her orgasm hit her so hard that all she could do was wail through the powerful release, bucking back against him with no finesse, no thought and no control. Her wildness didn’t seem to bother him, though. He simply pounded through her release, drawing more and more pleasure from her with every expert glide of his heavy, hard cock.

  “Please,” she found herself begging as she arched against him. “Please, it’s too much.”

  He chuckled near her ear and wrapped his arms around to cup her breasts. “It’s never enough, Grace.”

  He stroked a few more times and she gasped with each one. She was weak in his arms, held up only by his embrace. And still the pleasure raged between her legs, spreading until she felt like her whole body was triggered by his touch, that every part of her that could feel pleasure was exploding at once, under his spell and his sway.

  “My God, woman,” he ground out behind her. “You do test a man.”

  Then he grunted out a curse, withdrew and pumped his own release away from her.

  She collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent and weak from him, from what he had demanded and taken, from what she had surrendered. She had never given so much to a lover. And based on who this lover was, she recognized that surrendering so completely could be a very dangerous notion.

  Connor lifted Grace’s limp body and placed her gently on her pillows before he lay down beside her, resting on his side so he could watch her as she came down from the high of intense pleasure. He had never experienced anything quite like what he had with her.

  Oh, he’d had lovers who enjoyed his proclivity for dominance. But with Grace it was different. Her nature on the surface was to buck that desire to submit, so once she gave in, it was a spectacular burst of pleasure and surrender.

  How he wanted to do it again and again, until she could do nothing but submit when she made love. Until she wouldn’t be able to fight what brought her such pleasure.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. Her cheeks were pink with a blush of self-awareness as pleasure faded and reality returned. He frowned briefly, for he didn’t want her to regret what she had given.

  “You cannot be embarrassed,” he said softly, brushing tangled blonde locks away from her beautiful face.

  She hesitated long enough that he understood the answer she couldn’t speak. Finally, she shook her head. “Not embarrassed—perhaps surprised. As you said, no other man has done such things to me. Although I’ve had lovers over the years.”

  He swallowed at the thought of men touching her, tasting her as he had. “Most men wouldn’t think to look past the surface you present,” he said. “Fools.”

  She got a faraway look in her eyes as she murmured, “But my husband should have, shouldn’t he? Leo knew me.”

  “How old were you when you married?” he asked, not certain why he was driven to know about her first lover. Likely her most important lover.

  “Nineteen,” she said softly. “I saw him and I knew. And I suppose he must have felt the same way, for he pursued me and married me within the year we met.”

  “And he was older,” Connor pressed.

  She nodded. “He was closer to thirty. He had sowed his oats and was ready to settle down and make heirs, as was expected. He was—” She stopped herself and turned her face. “I probably shouldn’t talk about him to you.”

  He touched her chin and turned her face back so that he could look at her. “Grace, is this the last time we’ll indulge in these desires?”

  Her lips parted, and she hesitated before she said, “I hope not.”

  He smiled at the response. “Then I would like to know about him. About all of them. I want to know your history, so that I can be a better lover to you.”

  “Most men wouldn’t say that,” she said, eyes wide with wonder.

  He laughed. “Am I like most men?”

  She shook her head without hesitation. “No, you are not. You are unlike anyone I’ve ever known. You never have been.”

  He wrinkled his brow at the odd phrasing, since they had only known each other a very short time, but ignored it. He was more interested in her experiences.

  “Was your husband a good lover?” he asked.

  She nodded. “He was. He always tried to give me pleasure and taught me how to return it. I thought I was satisfied, but…but it wasn’t like this.” She motioned to him, and his body began to ready itself for her again.

  “When did he die?” he asked.

  She swallowed and pain f
lashed in her eyes. “Six years ago. He suffered an apoplexy. It was sudden and very unexpected.”

  He examined her face. Where she had been very open, now a shield went down around her, blocking him away from her emotions about what she said. It was almost remarkable to see the way she could so control herself, hide herself, protect herself.

  “I’m sorry,” he offered.

  She shrugged. “Many women have experienced what I endured,” she said, dismissing what he could tell was something she had struggled to overcome. But she didn’t trust him. Not with these thoughts or feelings, at any rate.

  A fact that troubled him even though he had only just met her. He pushed aside those inappropriate desires and said, “But he wasn’t your only lover.”

  She seemed relieved by his change of subject. “No,” she admitted slowly. “After a year, I was lonely. And as a widow, I had more freedom to discreetly pursue my pleasure. I have taken two more lovers since Leo.” She lifted her chin and gave him a challenging stare. “And I will not apologize for that.”

  He smiled, though he understood her defiance. If these facts became public, she might not be entirely ruined, but she would certainly be seen in a far worse light than she was now.

  “I would never ask you to apologize. I edited a book about women taking charge of their passions, Grace—I wouldn’t judge you for doing just that.” He expected her to smile, but she only shifted uncomfortably, so he continued, “But you said neither of them recognized your desire to submit.”

  She shook her head. “No. In fact, the men I’ve been with have taken my boldness outside the bedroom to mean I want to be in charge behind closed doors. I have always driven the encounters.”

  She bit her lip with a pensive expression, and he realized she was pondering those experiences and realizing how unsatisfying they had been. Good. She was recognizing the truth of the matter that she was built for a man like him. A man who would sweep away the carefully planned life she led and demand she obey, demand she receive, demand she give herself over in every way.