Fascinated

by Bertrice Small

  Was this what happened to every woman Flynn made love to? Did his seductive skills leave every woman wanting more, wanting the whole man revealed? Or was she just overly impressionable like a grass-green maid, easily infatuated by a handsome face, spectacular sexual skills and a cock like the rod of empire?

  That last indecorous image brought a smile to her face even as she chided herself for such shameful thoughts. She knew very well it would never do to become bewitched. She should regard this brief interlude of pleasure as nothing more than a delightful quid pro quo. Flynn was her angel of mercy tonight in more ways than one, and her amenability would perhaps repay him for his generosity. Or at least marginally, her inexperience a possible deterrent to a man of his sexual expertise.

  Moving toward the door, she was suddenly stunned by her nude image in the mirror. Somehow she had forgotten she was unclothed. Perhaps one had to be removed from Flynn's heated embrace to begin thinking clearly again. Dear God, she nervously reflected. How exactly did one enter a room when one was stark naked? Averting her eyes from the disconcerting sight, she glanced about the small room for a garment. Although, maybe it was a bit late for prudishness as Flynn had so recently pointed out. And yet… she didn't know if she was sufficiently dégagé to face him with equanimity. It seemed as though she were about to walk out on stage.

  This intermission, as it were, from heated passion had restored a modicum too much reason to her brain. And since no shred of clothing had materialized, her options were limited. Drawing in a fortifying breath, she understood she could ei-ther stay in here forever or... brazen it out. The forever option was unlikely to work, so exhaling softly, she reached for the door latch. Forcing herself to smile, she pulled open the door and stepped out into the bathroom. "Such splendid luxury," she brightly exclaimed, her voice brittle with élan. "A person could get used to this. Piles of monogramed linen, magnificent bottles of perfumes, scented soaps-"

  "And champagne." The duke lifted his glass to her from the sunken tub where he lounged, two silver champagne buckets set on a ledge above his head. "The water's warm," he added, wishing to put her at ease, her discomfort obvious. "Are you hungry at all?"

  "After that meal?" She hesitated in the doorway.

  "If you'd like something, let me know."

  He didn't mean it that way, she knew, but the deep tenor of his voice seemed to insinuate itself precisely where she least wished it to insinuate itself. Slowly inhaling, she repressed the ripple of pleasure fluttering through her vagina.

  He noticed, both her response and her resistance. "Try some champagne," he softly suggested, understanding a woman of her background wouldn't easily assume the role of doxy. "And I'll entertain you with an account of my world travels."

  He made it so easy to like him, she thought, the tension draining from her body. "Only if you tell me of the Taj Mahal first." She began walking toward him.

  "Done." Setting his goblet down, he poured her a glass of champagne and placed it on the broad rim of the tub. She reminded him of a shy, skittish kitten, timid but wanting to play. "The first time I saw the Taj," he began, lounging back in the water, "I was eighteen and in love with a beautiful Irish girl who wouldn't leave her husband for me because my father had cut me off without a farthing."

  "I'll bet she regrets it now." A trace of amusement colored Felicia's tone.

  The duke shrugged. "I doubt she remembers me. Her husband was transferred to Calcutta, and I never saw her again."

  "And you never found another woman to love." Picking up the glass of champagne, she stepped into the tub.

  "She broke my tender heart," he sardonically murmured.

  Sliding into the water, she leaned back against the smooth tile. "How convenient to have such a romantic excuse. And when your father died did he leave you a farthing?"

  "He had to or else leave it to a distant cousin who was living in the Australian bush with his native wife."

  "Lucky for you. Now, if only my father had left me a farthing. Although I can't complain. Auntie Gillian did leave me what she had. But tell me about the Taj," she suddenly declared, not wishing to dwell on unhappy thoughts. "Is it as magnificent as it looks in pictures?"

  He nodded. "And what they say about seeing it in moonlight is absolutely true." He then went on to describe the monument to love and several more of the wonders of the world that he had seen in his years of travel.

  They drank one bottle and then began another, adding warm water to the tub as it cooled, their comfortable rapport restored. He related various anecdotes from his life, editing only those portions that would make him recognizable as one of the wealthiest men in England. And she talked of her youth when her world was still filled with joy. "I used to have my own horses, too," she explained. "A beautiful black and a long-legged bay that could run for hours. Although it seems a lifetime ago. My husband sold them."

  He almost said, "I'll give you some," but that would entail a future he was reluctant to envision. So he said instead, "He deserves to be dead."

  "I know. It's terrible for me to say, but it's true."

  "How fortunate for me that Auntie Gillian invited you down. I don't recall ever being to Aberdeen. And I would have disliked missing this evening."

  "As would I." She suddenly blushed, conscious that the nude man sitting opposite her in the large tub had been a stranger short hours ago.

  "No one will know." He didn't have to read her mind; her disquietude was patent.

  "Only the entire staff."

  "They've been well paid to forget."

  "Really? Do you believe-"

  "I not only believe-I guarantee it."

  Something in his tone gave her pause, that soft menace fair warning to the staff, she suspected.

  "Has anyone bothered us thus far?"

  She visibly relaxed and smiled again. "You're to be commended. Thank you for that as well as the great multitude of your other kindnesses."

  Always uncomfortable with praise, he searched for a new topic of conversation. "I still haven't described my trek through Turkestan. Are you getting tired? Would you like to sleep or listen?"

  As if anyone could sleep while in close proximity to the magnificent Flynn. "Since your description is the closest I'll ever get to Turkestan, please tell me."

  He was careful not to make advances. Clearly she was dealing with a bout of conscience. He spoke of his summer ride through the Takla Makan desert, of the scorching temperatures and the tribes he had lived with, of the Russian garrison at Khotan where the only thing to do was drink, and before his tale was finished, she was once more comfortable-asking questions, adding her own observations, laughing again at his attempts to amuse her. In any event, he wasn't in any hurry, having decided to change his departure plans. There would be time enough for sex, if not tonight, tomorrow.

  He asked her about her sojourn in Monte Carlo then-a safe enough subject-and she offered lighthearted accounts of her duties as companion to her elderly aunt as well as thumbnail sketches of her daily life. And much later, when they had finished the second bottle of champagne and the sun was beginning to lighten the horizon, when their conversation had taken on an undertone of expectation, he said, "Would you like me to shampoo your hair?"

  She ran her fingers through her unruly ringlets. "Do I need a shampoo?"

  "No. I just thought you might like it."

  Her gaze minutely narrowed. "I have a question."

  "Only one?" he pleasantly said, in excellent humor after the major share of two bottles of champagne and such affable company.

  "Have you done that before?"

  He feigned deep thought for a moment and then grinned. "Never."

  She giggled with delight. "Then yes, please do. Although I warn you, I seem to have developed a degree of possessiveness after all this champagne."

  "It must be the Cliquot," he drolly observed, "for I find myself with similar feelings."

  "We should stop drinking it, then. Surely it's a most foolish emotion."
r />   "Strange certainly," he casually remarked, capable of ignoring his feelings after a lifetime of cultivating the habit. "So you don't want any more? No champagne for breakfast?"

  "Don't say it's morning already!" All the ramifications of her real life flooded her consciousness.

  "It's not morning," he lied, tossing a bottle of shampoo at her. "Trust me. And since I'm going to play hair dresser for the first time in my life, you may want to take notes."

  It took her only a fleeting moment to be drawn into his play, her anxieties vanquished by his warm smile. "Notes about the shampoo or something else?" she playfully inquired.

  "Either, both-neither. Actually, I'd rather keep you busy with other things." Moving through the water, he glided over her and, balancing above her, took the shampoo from her hand, set it aside and touched her mouth with a gentle kiss.

  She smiled up at him, his butterfly kiss a residual sweetness on her lips. "Perhaps I should take notes. I could sell my memoirs back to you someday and spare you the embarrassment of seeing your sexual exploits in print."

  "I've been beyond embarrassment for a very long time, darling, but I might take notes on my overwhelming fascination with you." His body lightly touched hers as he floated above her. "I've wanted you since you first entered the casino tonight, and that persistent craving hasn't diminished."

  The imprint of his erection was hot on her stomach. "Good, because I wouldn't wish to be alone in my obsession."

  "Have I been patient enough?"

  Regardless of the unspecified nature of his query, she understood what he meant. "You've been extremely courteous."

  "I can't recall ever lying naked in a tub with a woman and doing nothing-for so long."

  "I can't ever recall lying naked in a tub with a man."

  "Lucky me." He moved his hips faintly.

  "No, me," she murmured, matching his slow rhythm. "And I'm quite sure my shampoo can wait."

  "You think so?"

  "I know so."

  "Is your hot little pussy finally ready," he whispered.

  "Oh, yes," she breathed. "I've been wanting to ask you for a very long time; but you were so far away and I'd already asked you so many times tonight and I thought, perhaps, you preferred less aggressive women-so in terms of hotness…"

  He slipped his finger inside her and felt the drenching heat. "You're way past ready."

  "Do you mind if I come right away?"

  "Do you mind if I have sex with you for a decade?"

  "Please do," she whispered, reaching up to kiss him, her small gasp as he entered her warming the duke's mouth.

  The sensation of weightlessness, the velvety friction of their bodies, the gentle lapping of the water as they moved together, the languor induced by the champagne, offered a rare enchantment.

  "This isn't the real world, is it?" Her eyes were nearly shut.

  "It's better…" He eased a fraction deeper, and they both held their breaths, intoxicating pleasure melting through their bodies.

  "Bathing with you is… enthralling."

  "Someday we'll do that, too," he murmured, tightening his grip. He held her up, his arms wrapped around her, his elbows resting on the tub bottom, his feet braced against the tiled wall-for better penetration.

  "I don't think I can wait."

  "You don't have to."

  "I'm insatiable…"

  "Perfect," he breathed, his own carnal urges voracious. "I should keep you naked in my bed." He pulled her closer so his rigid length rammed deeper. "And then I could have you whenever I wanted."

  She whimpered, shamelessly aroused by the licentious image.

  "I could make you come before breakfast and during breakfast, before you dress in the morning-if I let you get dressed. You could lie naked in the sun on the terrace in the afternoon, and I could have sex with you there…"

  Gasping, she climaxed, the flagrant, thrilling rapture ravishing all her sensory receptors in a fierce, flame-hot rush, his words unspeakably carnal, his erection filling her, impaling her, pouring into her.

  And yet long moments later with post-coital bliss warming their senses, beneath the contented glow, unquenched desire still stirred.

  "I'm afraid I won't let you go," Felicia murmured, her arms still wrapped around his back.

  "Good idea." His reply initiated no alarms in his brain, and were he less consumed by covetous need, he might have noticed.

  "We're probably both tipsy."

  "Speak for yourself." He never got drunk.

  "I am speaking for myself," she said with a delicious giggle. "I've found the path to true bliss."

  "Definitely nirvana." He moved faintly inside her as though testing the limits of paradise.

  She arched her back and purred, and he wondered at the degree of fate involved that he had found such a perfect fit for his cock.

  "I could wash your hair." She slid her hands up his back and ruffled the damp, dark curls on his neck.

  "Or you could stay right where you are." He lazily glided forward.

  In perfect accord, she sighed, wrapped her legs around his back, and lifted her hips to accommodate him more fully.

  They made love leisurely, the languor of their recent orgasms adding a drowsy sensuality to the lazy rhythm of their bodies, the water in the tub flowing in faint waves, washing against them, warming their heated flesh. All thought was displaced by sensation. Time disappeared. The centered pleasure, the matched rhythm, the ultimate expression of sexual harmony converged in their blended bodies.

  She climaxed first because she was wildly tasting the splendors of lust while he believed in the merits of waiting-a requirement perhaps for a man who was known for pleasing women. Nor was he as famished; he had not gone a lifetime without sex.

  He gently kissed her when her fevered rapture had faded, and rolling over, he slid upward and lifted her onto his lap. "It's my turn now," he playfully murmured.

  "No…" She buried her face in his shoulder.

  "You always say no." He brushed a gleaming fall of red curls from her face and met her gaze. "You never mean it."

  "I do right now."

  "Sure?" His smile was cheeky. "And here I thought you'd like to ride me."

  "Do I have a choice?" She took issue with the damning fact he was probably right.

  "Of course you do," he pleasantly said, raising her enough to meet the crest of his erection.

  She pushed at his chest. "I dislike undue prerogatives…" Her words trailed away as he eased her down his engorged penis.

  "And so you might if you weren't so wet," he whispered, gently stroking her hips, thrusting upward in slow, measured degrees.

  "You can't-just do-whatever-you want," she protested, breathless at the deliberate, thrilling invasion. Her last bit of scruples jettisoned as he intensified the pressure on her hips, when he made it clear who was doing what to whom, when he penetrated to the very deepest depth and whispered, "You'll be keeping my cock warm until I decide otherwise."

  "No." But her denial ended on a whimper.

  "Sure you will," he softly repudiated, holding her in place so they both felt the excruciating rapture.

  "I should slap you," she whispered.

  She wouldn't, and if she didn't know it, he did.

  "Please me, darling," he murmured, "and I'll see that you get what you want."

  "Or I you." The heat in her voice wasn't exclusively anger.

  "Now, if only you had the patience. But your sweet pussy is always hot and wet and waiting for this"-he ground into her-"and you can't even think beyond your need to climax. Can you?" he whispered, watching her try to stem her imminent orgasm.

  "Maybe I don't want to," she heatedly retorted, arching her back against the exquisite pleasure. "Maybe… I don't… want to at all," she panted, a faint smile curving her mouth as her climax flared, crested, washed over her in flourishing splendor.

  Brought a new degree of meaning to the word gratification.

  And a new degree of satisfaction to a ma
n who was contemplating an extended holiday in Monte Carlo. Restraining his own desires until she was lying calm and passive in his arms, he gently lifted her unresisting body upward and then as leisurely downward, his erection undiminished, his senses still in flagrant rut.

  Pliant, tractable, she neither resisted nor participated, her passions subdued, her hands resting on his muscled shoulders, the rippling movement beneath her palms counterpoint to the smooth motion of his powerful arms. In a gentle, exquisitely relentless rhythm, he raised and lowered her with effortless strength and an eye to sensation, until she was predictably, feverishly panting once more, until he felt as though his body might dissolve from unsatisfied lust. Until he hoped she would come soon because he couldn't wait much longer.

  Suddenly, she caught her breath, shut her eyes, and shuddered under his hands, and gratified, he plunged in that last distance more so they both felt the sweet agony begin.

  Their climax lasted and lasted in prolonged, endless wonder, all the hyperbole, all the brandishing magnificence of soul-stirring passion pulsing, throbbing, screaming down their nerve endings. His ejaculation jolted his brain, his body, the hot-spur, out-of-control spasms brutal, jarring, sublime. She was shaking, shaken, scandalized by the power he had over her and, in due course, gloriously replete.

  He didn't know where he was for a second when he regained his grasp on reality, and then he saw her and felt her. And with a whimsey that would have seemed far-fetched prior to his visit to the casino, he began to contemplate the existence of miracles. She was truly a gift from the gods.

  "You're cold." His transient flight of fancy was overcome by the sudden realization his companion's skin was cool beneath his hands.

  "Am I?" Overwrought, she was simultaneously hot and cold, shamed and shameless, existing in the flagrant wonderland of shock and wonder, uncertain of all but the pleasure he gave her.

  "Let's get you under the covers." He spoke in the authoritative tone she had come to recognize. Shifting her into his arms, he rose and stepped from the tub, pulling a towel from a heated rack on the way out of the room. Placing her on her feet near the bed, he wrapped her in the warm toweling and briskly rubbed her dry. Then he tucked her into bed, covering her with several layers of comforters.