She opened her mouth, mute as overwhelming sensation trapped the air inside her lungs. He seized her upper legs, scraping his rough calloused thumb against her untouched inner thigh. Sound released in a torrent, a long, involuntary, deep-throated moan. This was more than she’d ever imagined. And—he’d been right again—nothing she could control.
He pulled away, his eyes unnervingly unfocused, his lips parted, his cheeks flushed. Awe, if she had to choose a word to describe his expression—as if he’d been stunned and stripped, left frantic and craving and in pain.
“Don’t stop.” She cupped her other breast.
His lip curled into a snarl, and then he gorged.
She hadn’t known.
If she’d even suspected, she’d never have believed.
Breasts? Nipples? No one had ever said they could be instruments of her pleasure. Why, if that were the case, then what else—
His teeth lightly grazed against her skin, and thought vanished altogether.
Her muscles seized. Another moan. His sucking pinch refused to end. She sank her nails into his shoulders, wanting to drag him with her to the edge of pain, but her grip seemed to urge him on. Only when she cried out did he ease the pressure.
Something hot and thick oozed down into the cradle of her thighs.
Tenderly, he teased the spot he’d wounded with his tongue.
“Too much?” he asked, freeing her arms from her dress.
“Never,” she panted. “So. Much. Need.”
“The need you feel?” The mattress groaned under his knee. “I’m dying with it.” His full weight depressed the bed. “I am completely wrecked.”
A kiss didn’t describe what happened next. Somehow, he had her fully caged. His mouth ground over hers as he bore her down into the pillows. They merged—and then merged again—until she was breathless with want. Still, his lips demanded she yield even more.
“I”—his hard cock distended into her pelvis—“ache.”
She did, too…in her nipples and in other parts she couldn’t name. “What can I do to help?”
“What can you do?” His features twisted—half amusement, half despair. “Tiny changeling.” He ran the back of his hand slowly down the side of her face. “Palette of shifting colors.” He moved to cup her chin. “You could satisfy me…” He traced her mouth with his thumb. “In so many ways.”
He paused at the center of her bottom lip, peeled open her mouth, and inserted his thumb between her lips. His gaze fastened there as if his finger in her mouth was the most arresting thing he could possibly behold.
What was he doing?
Why was she feverish and squirming?
And why in heaven’s name did she have the urge to suck?
He abandoned her mouth and, showing neither modesty nor restraint, raised himself to his knees. He thrust his hips forward, bringing his member inches from her face. She followed a line of soft curls from his manhood up through the indentation to his chest.
“The question is”—his still-damp hair clung to his cheeks—“what do you want to do, kitten?”
He was a wide expanse of flesh, a piled plate of sumptuous offerings—she had no idea how to choose.
“I don’t know.” She bit her trembling lip. “I can’t—”
He grasped her wrists and planted her splayed hands against the widest part of his chest. His muscles stretched and rippled beneath her fingers as she roughed one of his nipples, dragged her nails lightly down his torso, and then stopped, one hand on either side of his cock.
“May I?” she stammered.
“Eager, aren’t you?” He tilted his head. “Dare I say, wanton?” His eyes darkened with amusement. “May you what?
Her face heated. She looked away. He growled, threaded his fingers through her right hand, and then wrapped their joined hands around his member.
His cock felt nothing like she’d expected. The protrusions at the bottom were rough, the stem log and silky, and the tip, hooded. He pushed her thumb across, and a sticky substance webbed between their fingers.
She wrinkled her nose. “Wet.”
“With seed—not anything else.” He guided her hand up and down. “A mind of its own, I told you. It wants inside…something it cannot have.”
Wasn’t inside the whole point? She frowned. Now? Now he was going to say no?
“You!” She clenched her teeth. “You wouldn’t!”
“Pull in your claws, kitten.” He guided her fingers slowly up and down his shaft. “I’ll promise you pleasure—just not precisely”—his cheek twitched—“a fuck.”
A hot rush traveled down her neck. “How?”
“Spread your legs and I’ll show you.”
“But your thighs…” She scowled. “You know I can’t move.”
“You can move—down.”
If she—she caught the challenge in his raised brow and then glared as she shimmied down. From this vantage, she could spread her legs, but all she could see—smell—breathe—was his manhood.
“See?” His cock bobbed as he reached behind his back and spidered his fingers up her inner thighs. “Isn’t life so much more pleasant when you do as you’re told?”
She snorted.
He chuckled. “Do that again, won’t you? Feels pretty good.”
“Pleasure,” she reminded. “Mine.”
“Ah, well,” he sighed. “A promise is a promise, I suppose.”
Dipping his fingers between her thighs, he stroked the place she ached most, a part of her body she’d only hesitantly explored before abandoning the task with flustered frustration.
He groaned.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re wet. So wet. No, no! That’s good. Wet means you’re ready…and pleased.”
She gasped as he pushed inside.
“Tight, too, heaven help me.”
His touch caused a flare, a burst of white light that caused her inner muscles to clench involuntarily.
“You’re killing me, Jules.” He grabbed his cock with his other hand. “This wants to be there.”
She tried to imagine how that might work. She had an inkling, of course—but she wasn’t completely sure what was possible. She only knew that from the moment she’d seen him naked, nothing but his weight on hers would do.
The images she created vanished when he thrust his finger back inside.
“You have no idea,” he said, “how much I want to rip apart your maidenhead.”
Her stomach quivered, and though she didn’t entirely understand, she knew he meant to shock with his vulgarity.
“Explain,” she demanded.
“Explain what?”
Damn him. She took a guess. “Explain to me what you told me in French.”
He pinched the tip of his cock and gritted. “You understood.”
“Not everything.” She wet her lips. “Not the part about descending into my cave.”
“Not something ladies allow, I’m afraid.”
“You called me wanton—and you know what? I liked the way you said it.” She sucked in as he fingered her again. “I don’t want to be a lady.” Another white light streaked behind her lids. “I want to be unchaste.” She sighed. “Wicked.”
“Do you know what I want, minx?”
“Maidenhead ripping?” She repeated his words.
He drew her back up onto the bed as if she were as easy to move as a tiny ivory chess piece.
“Maidenhead ripping.” He sat back on her thighs. “Cave exploration.” He grasped her wrists. “Those are mere prelude.” He stretched her arms and leaned over her as he pinned them above her head. “What I’d really like to do is truss you up like this”—he chewed his lip—“and then spend a very long, very leisurely day at play.”
Truss.
He’d used that word
before, hadn’t he?
But he couldn’t possibly mean—“Truss as in tie?”
He nodded. “Truss as in bind. Truss as in render immobile.”
He sucked on the side of her neck until she squirmed.
“Truss.” He lifted his head. “As in mold you into my feast.”
Thoughts slithered behind his eyes. Filthy thoughts, from the sultry dance playing across his lips. Her mind went blank—no arguments, no protestations. A sea of nothing with a sprinkling of wordless, salted fear.
“You see?” His right brow rose. “It’s a very bad idea to believe we can seize everything we desire.”
Was she trembling now with misgiving or was she trembling with an unearthed want?
“Is it?” she whispered. “I’m not sure.”
His brows rose. “Does this”—he yanked on her wrists—“arouse you?”
“You tell me.” She forced a breath. “I’m feverish. I’m tingling where you touched me. I’m achy, and I want to be, well…filled. And I’m not even sure what that means.”
“Don’t”—he yanked again—“lie.”
“I’m not.” Her eyes burned. “I never…I mean I didn’t—Rayne! What are you doing to me?”
His expression softened. He released her wrists and tenderly cupped her face. “Shh.” With his thumbs, he brushed away her threatening tears. “Bold minx.” He ran the back of his hand down her cheek. “You’ve nothing to fear—not from me. I swear. Do you understand? I’m sorry. I won’t hurt you. Ever.”
But he had. He was. And he would. All she could count on was the present moment.
If there was some reward for this overwhelming desire—that’s where she’d place her focus. “You promised me pleasure.”
He closed his eyes, lowered his chin, and twisted his lips into a reluctant-looking smile. “That I did, didn’t I?” He dropped a hand to her breast. “So, you still want to be wicked?”
She nodded.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded again.
“Then let’s see to your cave, shall we?”
He lowered himself onto the floor and pushed apart her knees. He raked his fingers up her inner thighs before spreading her secret parts. This time, he didn’t touch the place she ached. Instead, he heated her skin with his breath. Then, as she was absorbing the sensation, he whisked his tongue against her cleft.
Some sound passed her lips—His name? A gasp? She wasn’t sure. Her lips rounded in shock. Not done? Of course such a thing wasn’t done.
Then again…bliss.
She closed her eyes, giving herself over to a feeling like none she’d ever known. Softness. Wetness. Heat. All of it, captive pleasure delivered with hungry abandon.
She grasped the coverlet, squeezing as he invaded her with only his mouth. Her heart—her body—her desire—everything blended into one. Then, they balled up, tightened, and spread roots, as if she were a vessel that had become too small.
She’d been terrified of bursting. But when the time came, she didn’t resist.
Pieces of her fanned out into the room—little sparks of fire that streaked and crackled, fizzed and burned, until they melted into passion-scented quiet, leaving her wrung out, fully spent. And her liquid limbs and her distant breath were all that remained.
He braced himself on her knee and rose.
“Don’t go.” She reached out.
“I’ll be back.”
That, she didn’t trust. She grabbed for his arm.
He swiveled back and held his hand against her cheek. “I will be back, that’s another promise.” He kissed her brow. “I just…I need to take care of this. I hurt. I just have to—”
“I can help, can’t I?” Her gaze sunk to his cock. “I can touch you. Touching will help you the same way it helped me, won’t it?”
His gaze narrowed. He made a low sound in his throat. And in her boneless, open state, she moved toward him, unhurried but willing.
This time, she took his cock into her hands without asking.
…
By St. George’s bloody dragon, her touch felt inspired. So wrong—he was just about the furthest thing from divine—and yet everything he’d been dreaming about and more.
He’d wanted to restrain her and then ravish her until she was nothing but a quivering mess. He’d wanted to breach her maidenhead, to make her the first one, the only one, who’d ever bleed around his cock. And, right now, he wanted with a desperate, heated, burning need—to place that cock in her mouth.
He forced himself to breathe. He wouldn’t, of course.
Bad enough he’d nearly frightened her to tears.
Bad enough he’d brought her to a shuddering climax with his tongue.
Bad enough he’d sneeringly called her wanton…and she’d liked it.
He was no longer angry…just helpless.
He’d done everything short of walking out to deter Julia. He’d desperately tried to prove that, of all things enormous, lavish, and incomprehensible in this world, he was not something she should want. If he seized her, rent her, claimed her, the way she insisted she desired, he’d bring nothing bright, good, or worthy to her uncorrupted world.
That wasn’t the way these things worked.
Instead, like Persephone, she’d end up cloaked in his endless shadow.
Only Julia—impetuous, tenacious, bold, heartbreakingly enchanting fiend—refused to understand. Even now she showed no fear, walking her fingers down the side of his member, meandering slightly as if she were tracing his veins. He gawked as she learned, inspecting closely, as if to satisfy herself rather than bring him release.
Ah, minx—his mouth spread into a half smile—cocks simply weren’t that interesting.
Adolescent men found them singularly fascinating, of course. But only after the first few times they awoke drenched in sweat, prick hard as a rock and aching. Figuring out erections and ejaculation took some study, naturally.
For men…and apparently for Julia.
She paused, frowned, and then, she leaned forward. Her breath baked his shaft with muggy heat. He opened his mouth a second too late for protestation.
She engulfed his cock in soft, warm, wet, weightless suction.
He dropped his head, gaped at her slick, crimson lips, and groaned.
She glanced upward while she lashed him with her tongue, eyes gleaming with ascendant control. He liked to bind—liked to tease and play…but when she looked at him with that heated flash of possession, he would have willingly yielded to her rule.
Base desires?
She didn’t appear to agree.
She released him. Her glistening pucker nearly buckled his knees.
“Does that help?” she asked through her lashes.
He must have mumbled something in response, because she tilted her head and asked, “More?”
He repeated the incoherent sound.
“You know, Rayne?” She adjusted her position on the bed. “I think I like you better this way. Make that noise if I do something right.”
She closed her mouth around him once again.
Noise? She wanted noise?
He gave her French…and English…and not-quite-scholarly Latin. Any word his fractured mind offered up. She absorbed his babble, altering and improving her technique.
She was a whirlwind. A force of nature. And he no longer gave a damn if she and Farring had purposely trapped him—so long as she never intended to let him go.
He cupped the back of her neck, turned his face toward the ceiling, and closed his eyes. Everything left him except the feel of her soft mouth and lathing tongue.
His lust had crawling vines, weaving around his tendons, tightening in his groin.
“Julia…” He ground out her name as a warning.
Of course, she didn’t fully understa
nd. And he was too far gone to insist.
He came like a man frozen in a direct lightning strike. Pleasure percussed through every vein. A staccato release of sharp, bright notes rupturing into unwieldy pulses that sent signals back through his body as light. And through every excruciating, lewd moment, her hands anchored his thighs.
He sucked in air, as if he were drowning, then expelled a torrent of words—more than a few of them horribly vulgar. Her favorite words. His most demolishing release.
Then his knees gave way, and he tumbled onto the bed at her side.
Chapter Twelve
Julia moved over as Rayne hefted himself onto the bed—a great, lumbering mass of a man, fully spent. Exhausted. He said nothing. And she couldn’t speak.
She didn’t have words for what they’d done or what she’d experienced, just an ache in her jaw and a faint taste on her tongue—sharp and unfamiliar but not completely unpleasant.
She sucked in her lips and ran her tongue over the edge. Had she really put her mouth on his cock? Had she really enjoyed his helpless sounds of pleasure?
She closed her eyes and lowered her head, curling into his side.
Why should she be flustered or ashamed?
The means she’d used to please him weren’t any more scandalizing than the means he’d used to please her. And she wasn’t exactly sorry. She just didn’t want to relive the process in detail. Not yet. Pleasure happened—that was all she needed to know.
Astonishing pleasure.
Jarring, in fact.
So jarring she wasn’t sure if they’d just shared something sacred or if she’d broken some unwritten, protective rule. Was she still a virgin?
She thought he’d preserved the maidenhead he’d been so desperate to tear—whatever tearing entailed—but something inside had torn, anyway.
Something not necessarily physical, but deep.
Though her body lounged, satiated and drowsy, within, she remained needy, desirous, and longing for something from Rayne she couldn’t express.
She rested her cheek against his chest. His heart vibrated in steady pulses. Deep, even beats, filling her ears like the stomping of faraway elephants migrating across a boundless plain.
Diamond in the Rogue Page 15
