by Sharon Page
Was that it? Hope that she had not lost everything with one stupid mistake? Hope that she could still be desired for who she was? Confused, she blinked, now aware that she had no idea what she had wanted from making love with Devlin Sharpe, except a few fleeting moments of connection.
But they had a connection now. It was undeniable.
“I want you, Grace.”
His voice was molten sin, his lips smiling in conspiracy as though he could read her very thoughts.
Perhaps he could. Perhaps she was that transparent. Lust showed. Desire showed. She’d spent years trying to be proper—to be from her mother’s world, not her father’s—and she’d thrown it all away in one night.
The instant his knuckles skimmed her cheek with tantalizing pressure, she tipped her head back, shut her eyes, and moaned. Lazily, his fingers stroked back and forth, and suddenly all she could think of was her quim. How hot she suddenly was. How tight and tingly she felt. She swallowed hard and touched him in return.
Cupping her palm, she cradled his strong chin, the sort of chin that promised strength a woman could rely upon. Firm, slightly squared, a slight cleft in the middle. Smoother than it had been. Devlin…Mr. Sharpe had shaved this morning.
Where had he slept? In the house, where he was not accepted? He looked far too immaculate and clean and perfect to have slept rough. Where would he find a bed?
A parching tightness claimed her throat. Men who had no bed often seduced their way into a woman’s, as a way to have a roof over their heads, a fire to warm them, and a willing companion to entertain.
He was a highwayman—a man who thought himself above the king’s laws. Why should it surprise her that he might have spent the rest of the night with another woman? He knew she had been with Wesley before him and he did not care.
Oh God—had he only slept with her because he’d hoped to spend the night in her bed?
Brushing her lips, his fingers unleashed fireworks in her chest. “Don’t think, Grace. I can see it in your eyes. You are thinking too much.” He pressed a small, quick kiss to the tip of her nose.
“Where did you sleep last night?”
“I’ve a room at the local inn.”
“Alone?” The word spilled out before she could stop it and she jerked back from his caress, ashamed she had shown how vulnerable she was. But she could not stop thinking.
“Alone.”
“Why?” She could think of so many reasons. It was too late to find a woman. None took his fancy. All were in other men’s beds.
His broad chest lifted on a deep breath, and he gripped the doorjamb tightly. Was he frustrated by her prying question, frustrated to waste the time on a lie? Did women bother to question him—or was that the point at which the pursuit lost its allure? That was apparently the way it worked for men, or so she had seen. At dances, she had seen the quick, desperate look that mounted in a man’s eyes when a woman began to show her possessiveness.
He leaned over her, so tall that she had to tip her head right back to watch his eyes for a glimpse of his true emotions. “I didn’t want anyone else, so I lay awake all night and thought about you.”
An enigmatic answer that told her nothing. His eyes were far too carefully shuttered to reveal a thing. He’d bluffed the Navy, for heaven’s sake, and surely more than a few magistrates. How vain she’d been to think she could see through his words. “What did you think about me?”
“A lot of very naughty thoughts. Would you like to hear them?”
“No!”
“I think you would.” His dimple winked, and she saw his chest move as he visibly relaxed. “Why don’t you undress me while I tell you?”
It was as though an entirely different man had taken possession of this beautiful, broad body. Even his voice had changed—it had been a gruff growl when he’d admitted to thinking about her. Now it was a deep, sensual purr, as though he’d relaxed into the role of unrepentant rake.
She made no move to obey and strip him. He took a step forward, and his sheer size forced her to take one back. The door had only just clicked shut behind him when he sank to his knees in front of her.
Frank, yet playful, his dancing blue eyes teased. “I thought about this—about lifting your skirts in a public place, a place I should never dare take such a liberty.”
“This is not a public place. Not exactly.”
“In June, her ladyship used to hold an al fresco luncheon, an annual tradition. Imagine we are there. Imagine that I found you there, and I turned your chair away from the table, much to the shock of all the gentle guests. Without a word I drop to my knees on the soft grass and I lift your skirts to your hips, just like this—”
Winking, he grasped her hems and pushed up the weight of her sturdy wool skirts and the white petticoats beneath. Cool air brushed her thighs, a sharp and exciting contrast to the heat of her body.
“The whole world is going to know how much I desire you, how damned tempting you are.”
“I wouldn’t—” She was caught up in imagining, until she thought of all the guests looking as condescending and judgmental and angry as Prudence. “Of course you could do that. You are a highwayman—and a man—so you can get away with anything.”
“And with me as your champion so could you, Grace.” He bent and touched his mouth to her drawers, letting his tongue touch the fabric and his hot breath slide through. He opened the lace-trimmed slit and buried his face there, and she almost jumped. His tongue slicked all over her quim, bathing her with pleasure, tasting her most intimate flavors.
“I would sit you up on the table like the sweet, sumptuous dessert you are, and eat you this way. And all I would care about is tasting you and pleasing you. And all you would want is to come on my face.”
He flicked her clitoris with his tongue and sensation streaked through her. Her legs shook, her muscles straining, and she drove her fingers into his hard, wide shoulders. Wet, hot, so shockingly intimate, his tongue circled, stroking the side; then he twirled its tip against the very top of her clitoris and she screamed, “Mr. Sharpe!”
“Devlin,” he murmured against her sticky nether lips. Then his lips played on the swollen, throbbing nub, his teeth grazed it, and she pumped against his mouth and sobbed.
He stopped again and she suddenly found her fists punching his shoulders. “Oh don’t…don’t.”
Feasting on her cunny had mussed his hair, and the dark honey-colored locks tumbled over his eyes. Eyes that gleamed with delight at her desperate plea. “I want to learn what delights you, what thrills you, what you fear to try…I want to learn how to make you come.”
Learn? He spoke as though it took a long time. As though there were lessons. She would be going away today. This was her last time with him…her last chance to look into his mesmerizing eyes and share sighs and moans and laughter.
There was nothing to learn about her. She would be gone.
With a low chuckle, he teased her nether lips with his tongue and gently touched his finger to her juicy entrance. She was so wet his fingers filled her. He thrust them in and out and she moaned over and over. Whimpered when he moved his fingers away.
His big hands closed on her derriere and pulled her to his face. He rocked her and she found her rhythm, stroking her clit against his hot, raspy tongue over and over. Stars burst behind her lids and she could barely suck in breath for moaning.
She was grinding on him, but he worked his mouth against her and she gave her body to the tension coiling inside—
He drew back and she surged forward. He wanted to leave her there, on the brink, but she couldn’t—
Even as his mouth drew back, her orgasm burst inside. She couldn’t stop it. Her body seemed to melt into a puddle of molten cream, and she flowed all over his face, crying his name. Sobbing with thrilling delight. Moaning and moaning until her lungs were empty, her throat was dry, and she was certain that if she spread her arms, she’d fly.
She collapsed but he was there, lowering her into his embra
ce. Her salty, ripe, erotic taste teased her lips as he kissed her. He kissed her hard and passionately, and she was a boneless, silken, languorous puddle held in his arms.
“Grace, love—” Husky, raw, his voice washed over her.
“I thought,” Grace whispered. “I thought I wanted memories that would keep me happy when I went to bed alone—”
Devlin felt Grace change in his arms from a melting, well-pleasured woman to a stiff and awkward lady in an instant. Brushing back unruly strands of her pure gold hair with a jerky motion of her pretty hand, she gazed up at him.
Rigid, thick, swollen to the limits of its skin, his cock was pulsing, and desire and lust and need nagged in his head, harder to ignore than cannon fire. Her head had dipped and he licked his lips, savoring the taste of her wet, hot, fragrant quim. He doubted his selfish half brother had done that to her.
He bent to capture her lips again. It would be better if they did not speak, but she shook her head. “I want—”
She pulled from his embrace, tugged down her skirts. “Oh, but I was wrong. So very, very wrong. These memories are much worse than those of Wesley! These make me hot and frustrated. They will make me yearn.”
He couldn’t help the surge of pride. The bloody grin that came to his lips.
She glanced up. “You would smirk, wouldn’t you?”
“I like to hear that I pleased you, Grace.” Her curls fell about her neck, and he brushed them aside to put his lips to her damp throat. He had not had enough time with Grace.
He wanted days with her. Weeks with her.
With a shudder that went to his soul, he remembered the last time he had been unable to live without a woman. What a bloody mistake that had been.
Grace pulled away, stealing her luscious vanilla-scented skin from his hungry mouth. “You did,” she muttered. “How you must know that you did.”
“I am your champion, Grace, and my world is about sexual pleasure. Free, unfettered carnal exploration. Anything you desire, any way you wish—no judgment, no pain.”
“For you perhaps. It would never be that way for me.” She shut her eyes and groaned. “And my coach was waiting to leave! What will they think?”
Skimming his hand up, he pushed up heavy skirts and lace-trimmed petticoats. Grazing his thumb lazily around her quim, he said, “With me as your champion, Grace, you do not have to worry.”
“But you cannot be my champion, Mr. Sharpe. I can never see you again.”
5
August 1820, Near Brighton
“Wake up, Devlin, darlin’, I’m feeling randy.”
Devlin grunted, rolled over, and tried to ignore the pouting female purr and get back to his dream—he had been at a picnic, laid out on his stomach on a plaid rug, devouring Grace Hamilton’s juicy pussy under her frothy skirts. But even pulling the pillow over his head did not help. His dream was gone, so he shoved the pillow aside and cracked open an eye to be greeted by plump breasts and doe-brown nipples.
Lucy leaned over him, bosom swaying, and gave a wriggle of frustration. “Hurry up, Dev. I’m about to pop, and then ye’ll miss all the fun.”
“If he won’t wake up,” cried another feminine voice, “we could tie him up and take advantage of him. With our clever mouths, he couldn’t resist for long.”
Lucy twisted on his bed and the morning light cast a gold sheen along the sloping profile of her breast. “Hush, Bess, why should he want to resist?”
Beneath his lashes, Devlin saw Bess sashay into his bedchamber. Her dark curls were loose and fell over her bare breasts, but she quickly pushed back her demure hair and thrust her lush tits forward. As usual her nipples were rouged and he wondered which of his men had done that for her.
Bess shrugged. “He’s still obsessed with that hoity-toity girl he can’t have, of course. But I’ve got a few lengths of rope with me, and I think we could finally make him forget her.”
“I’ve no need of rope to capture a man’s interest.”
Lucy’s tone was playful, but he heard the winsome note behind it. Devlin knew she no longer went to the beds of the other men—she waited for him. And that was a bloody bad sign.
She yanked down his sheets before he could catch them. She bent her head and he sucked in a harsh breath as her auburn hair cascaded across his naked stomach. Rigid from his dream, his cock bounced up for attention and his moistening juices leaked out into the hair around his navel.
It was physical need, and he’d buried himself in purely physical lust for two years. That and taking a few mad risks that had resulted in bullet wounds to both shoulders. The bullet that almost hit him in the thigh had proved too damned close for comfort, though. A reminder he was a fool to take risks while his thoughts centered on Grace Hamilton.
Lucy’s tongue flicked skillfully over the head of his cock, and his juice bubbled out in response. Devlin groaned as his balls clenched tight and arousal shot hot and harsh through his body. His cock wanted to get slick and plunge into a willing woman, but his head and heart didn’t want to join in the fun.
Her mouth opened wide, and, before his eyes, his rigid prick vanished between lush pink lips. Lord, her mouth was hot fire, snug and loving around his shaft. Her tongue cradled his cock and dragged a growl from his throat.
“No, lass.” Devlin reached for Lucy’s bobbing head. Like any man, he loved to fuck a woman’s face and loved a woman who let him thrust hard, but right now, despite his raging erection, he was not in the mood for physical oblivion.
Hell, he wasn’t even masturbating to take the edge off. He was beginning to enjoy the pain.
Bess began twining black ropes around her large, bouncing breasts and he gritted his teeth. He shot up in the bed. “Not now, ladies. Go find one of the others.”
“They’re all exhausted,” Bess muttered.
Wrapping his sheet around his hips as he swung around, Devlin got to his feet. “Even Nick? He’s never sated.”
“He was jug shot last night and now he thinks he’ll die if he even opens his eyes to the sunlight,” Bess complained as she roughly rubbed the rope against her hard nipples. “Now, look at yer prick, Dev. Hard as a tree limb and weeping like a waterfall. Ye need to have a good, hard ride, Captain, and I’d be happy to ride ye until ye burst.”
From where he stood, with the sheet jutting out over his rigid cock like a white flag, Devlin could see over the fields leading to his manor house. A lone horseman drove a black gelding hard. The rider’s coat flew out behind him like wings.
Horatio. And the way he flowed with the galloping horse over a hedge told Devlin one thing.
Grace was on her way.
Slender arms slid around his naked chest from behind. Lucy’s flowery perfume rose to his nose. “What is it, Dev? Why could we not just ’ave some fun, like we’ve always done?”
“Not today, love. I’ve a jape to do.”
“In daylight?”
“Ye’ll get caught, ye stupid bugger!” Bess flopped back onto his tousled bed. Wearing a bold smile, she stroked the frayed end of the rope over her glistening quim.
She was tempting and she knew it.
Lucy darted around to his front, with her arms clasped around him. Her breasts brushed along his side, the hard nipples tracing a line that made the hairs on his nape stand on end and his cock jerk. She faced him and looked him in the eye. Hell, she was a pet. A sweet thing, with unruly red hair, an endearing spray of freckles, and blue eyes that blinked beneath thick gold lashes. Normally those eyes were saucy, and Lucy was on the lookout for her next erotic adventure.
Devlin took a step back, almost stumbling over the sheet.
Lucy looked scared. For him? The fear in her expressive eyes wasn’t the kind of fear that meant she was worried she’d lose the roof over her head if he were clapped in Newgate.
She was afraid to lose him.
“Not to worry, ladies,” he reassured. “Now I’ve got to get dressed.”
“Let me help.” Lucy gave his nipples a naughty tweak.
The bed creaked. He glanced to the side, intending to suggest to Bess, who kneeled on his bed, that she take Lucy off to find one of the other men. There were six, for Hades’ sake. Surely one was able to service a pair of lusty women.
But Bess had her arms folded across her chest and eyed him like a governess who’d just caught him with his trousers down in the act of ruining his eyesight. “’As this got somethin’ to do wi’ ’er?”
Christ Jesus, who was in charge here? “I’ve got a coach to rob, ladies, and I need to pull on my trousers and concentrate. So, both of you, hurry your luscious arses out the door.”
Bess stomped out the door, trailing her ropes. Lucy hesitated and turned back. “Dev, we’ve been together a long time now, ’aven’t we.”
He put on a grin that had melted most women he’d met. “You aren’t planning to propose, are you, Lucy?”
She gave a quick shake of her head but the wistful light in her eyes tore at his heart. “Course not, Dev. But I’m worried about ye. Ye’ve been acting right odd of late. It’s not really about some woman ye haven’t seen for two years, is it?”
“There comes a time in every man’s life when he begins to act like a blooming idiot, and it’s my time now, love.”
She frowned. “That’s not an answer, Captain Devlin Sharpe.” Slowly, Lucy let her pretty ivory hand fall from the doorjamb. Her lips turned down and gave a quiver that almost made him take a step toward her. Cursing below his breath, he stood his ground. He had no right to make any promises—even wordless ones—that he could not keep. Waiting, her breasts lifting with a deep, hopeful breath, Lucy finally let her shoulders slump. But then she straightened, and he grinned, knowing she was determined to keep her pride. Radiating that pride, she walked out of his room.
His door shut with a click. A man’s lusty laugh sounded through it, and Lucy gave a squeal—a damned convincing one for a girl who had apparently been wounded by his rejection.
He hoped she enjoyed herself.
In this house, women casually trotted about naked. There would likely be an orgy after breakfast.
