Waltz of Seduction: A Steamy Regency Novella

by Natasha Blackthorne

  He came back to face her and clasped the sides of her waist, holding her firmly. “I will not let you fall. Do you trust me?”

  “I suppose,” she replied. But she worried about his state of mind. He did seem a little foxed.

  He began to move, slowly. She stared down at her feet.

  “Stop counting the steps.” He pointed at his face. “Look me in the eyes. Feel this in your body, not your head. Trust me.”

  Her feet wouldn’t obey.

  “In my eyes,” he said.

  She took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on this mysterious thing he seemed to think she would see in his eyes. He smiled at her and then she did feel something in her belly. A gushy sensation that did nothing to steady her balance. She returned his smile. He was certainly more handsome than her dancing master had been. More graceful as well. They finished the dance with a few trips and stops. Then mercifully, it was over.

  They rested a moment.

  “I think I have it, will you untie me now?”

  “Oh no, my Lady Lockhart. That was just practice. If you trip this time, you shall owe me two waltzes at that ball.”

  It was an unfair edict. She felt helpless as a marionette in his arms. She didn’t know how she was expected to keep her balance.

  After a time, his steady blue gaze transfixed her. She forgot about her feet and just followed him. He was right, there was something in the stomach. A feeling of connection between what she saw in his eyes and how her feet seemed to move in tune with his as if by magic. He twirled her faster and faster until she was laughing and trying to catch her breath. He slowed down and bent his mouth to her ear.

  “This is waltzing. And you dance beautifully when you forget yourself.” His husky voice sent shivers though her and her nipples drew tight.

  His lips touched hers. His tongue caressed her lower lip in feathery strokes. Her lips parted of their own volition and his tongue swept into her mouth. Hot, wet and wine tinged.

  Dear sweet heaven.

  He had never kissed her like this. She wanted to embrace him but he didn’t seem in a hurry to release her from her bonds. Maybe she should ask. But then, Priscilla said men didn’t like to be directed in the bedchamber.

  His face scraped hers, startling her. He was always clean shaven when he came to her bed. He touched her breasts, his fingertips flirting over the peaks. Her nipples tightened even harder, pressing through the gauzy nightgown. He groaned softly then pinched one nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Spears of delight pierced her and centered low in her belly. She’d never felt anything that powerful, that direct. Wetness trickled between her cunny lips. She gasped.

  He stopped and stared down into her face. His eyes were darkened to a purplish hue, glittering with desire. “I can’t help myself.”

  He bent down, his mouth homing in on her breast. He licked a nipple through the thin cloth. With the hot, wet moisture it felt as if he licked bare flesh. He cupped the other breast, squeezing it lightly and drawing the other tip into his mouth. He drew on her as if he were a babe. Pleasured warmth surged through her and the trickle of wetness between her legs became a deluge.

  He had never been like this with her. Then again, he’d never been in her chamber when intoxicated. Maybe that was what made the difference with a man. Oh, she wished she could move her arms and embrace him. She became aware of her vulnerability and strangely, it sent pleasurable shivers through her.

  He raised his head, his eyes blue and wild. Then he backed her to the bed and eased her down onto it. “I want my rights.” He kissed her neck, open mouthed and hungry. “Can’t wait.”

  Twice in one week? Well, it was certainly a move in the right direction. Maybe the claret gown had helped. Her channel clenched as if in answer to his question.

  “Yes, yes,” she breathed.

  He fumbled with his pantaloons then pulled her nightgown up. He looked at her and seemed to freeze. It was the first time she’d been bare to his gaze in the light and the moment proved more than a little embarrassing. The urge to pull her gown back down was strong but her hands were still tied. She bit her lip, wishing he’d move on to the next part and cover her body with his.

  He traced the outer lips of her cunny and she jumped.

  “Do you mind if I touch you there?”

  “No, I am yours to touch, aren’t I?”

  He smiled. “You’re so very sweet, my darling. And you are correct. You are most definitely mine.”

  Nervousness made her giggle. His finger trailed into her moist flesh and rubbed lightly, starting first on the sides and then concentrating on the central nub. She caught her breath. That part of her began to tingle in the most delicious way. He increased the speed and the pleasure intensified. Moans seemed to bubble up from the depths of her. She bit her lip, harder this time, trying to hold them back. It surely wasn’t ladylike to moan like a cat in a back alley with a tom. But a moan still rose, coming out as a strangled sound.

  He glanced up. The skin was tight across his cheekbones and his eyes glittered darkly. He almost frightened her. A thrill raced over her.

  He knelt and put the head of his cock to her flesh. Dear heaven, she was so wet. He would know. He would know how badly she wanted him there. Inside. How she couldn’t wait for him to push himself deep and stretch her tight, fill her completely. The thought lent a delicious sort of vulnerability to the moment, making her wetter than ever. Her channel contracted, aching and empty.

  But he seemed in no great hurry. He rubbed the head slowly over her nub, tracing it in warm, sliding circles. And it was better, vastly better, than his finger. She arched up and moaned, no longer caring how it might sound. Everything was drawing tight, as if any minute something was going to happen. Something momentous. She moaned and moaned, straining there on the edge.

  The clock chimed two in the morning, startling her. She tried to sit up but couldn’t because her hands were still trapped beneath her, still bound.

  He startled as well, glancing at the clock then back to her, his eyes glazed with desire.

  He smoothed the hair off her forehead. “Pardon me for dawdling, my love.”

  He thrust inside, and then pulled almost all the way out. Then plunged again. She gasped. Dear heaven, it wasn’t just pleasant this time. It was good. Like raspberries and clotted cream good. Each stroke was sweeter than the last. She was wetter than the other times and she could hear the slurpish little noises their joining bodies made. She could smell her own scent on the air. Strangely, these things only ratcheted her excitement higher. The tension began to coil tight and low again. Her breath grew shallow and quick, as quick as his thrusts were becoming. Her heart pounded against her rib cage. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Then she was holding her breath, waiting. She arched up to meet his thrusts, straining to find…something.

  He stopped.

  He groaned. It was so loud, such an uninhibited sound from her husband, that her eyes popped open. He stared at her as if stunned. Then his eyes closed and violent shudders racked his whole body.

  He slumped against her. The bedding smelled of their sweat and stale brandy. Her hair was damp, sticking to her scalp. The chill of the air sank into her bones, making her shiver. An aching soreness was settling into her pelvic regions. She couldn’t help a disappointed moan.

  He kissed her cheek then panted in her ear. Several moments passed, then he kissed her cheek again. “Thank you for indulging me.”

  After a few moments, he rose.

  She tried to reach for him, to draw him back. But she couldn’t move her hands. They were still bound behind her back, underneath her. She couldn’t even feel them anymore.

  “Colin,” she called after his departing back.

  He turned. “Yes, my love?”

  “My hands.”

  He hurried back. “I forgot.” He worked quickly then he examined her wrists, rubbing them lightly. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, despite her hands tingling with pins an
d needles.

  He smiled and dropped a kiss onto her forehead. “Good night then.”

  * * * * *

  Colin had left the house by the time Sara arose. She moped about, saddened that he didn’t come and wake her to say goodbye. He often did, especially on a morning after. But he had grown distant more and more of late.

  At noon, her two closest friends arrived and she entertained them in the parlor over tea and cakes.

  “He hated the gown,” she told them.

  “He could barely keep his eyes off you all night,” Priscilla said.

  “When he came over and took you home early, we just assumed…” Fran said.

  “Well, he hated it. Loathed it. He said it was too bold a color for me.”

  Priscilla laughed softly. “Oh, I see.”

  Fran nodded, smiling into her teacup.

  “What do you mean?” Sara asked.

  “I don’t think he hated the gown or the color, what he hated was other men seeing you in it.” Priscilla tapped her finger against her cheek. “What you need is some nice, French lingerie.”

  “In claret,” Fran added.

  “Yes, and no frills or lace. Your petite shape will not tolerate it. Something silky and simple, sinfully simple.”

  * * * * *

  Sprawled in his favorite chair in their private sitting room, Colin sipped at his brandy. He was determined not to get drunk and lose control the way he had the night before. However, he did look forward to waltzing with his wife again. More than he ought. His cock pressed against his pantaloons, straining at the buttons. He remembered the feel of her firm little nub beneath his fingers. That had shocked her. He’d heard the cry she’d tried to suppress. It had been hard to stop. He’d wanted so badly to take the nub in his mouth, to feel it grow firmer against his tongue. To lick and suckle her until she cried out in bliss.

  But there were things a gentleman didn’t do to a wife and that was definitely high on the list. Would he always be in such a fever of lust around her? Maybe after their children came, when he could see her as a mother, then he would come to respect her more than he lusted for her. Until then, he seemed doomed to burn with fire.

  At the whisper of her feet, he looked up. She was standing there calmly, expectancy etched into her fine features. A deep red silk gown clung to her breasts like a second skin and fell to the floor in a hundred tiny pleats. He put his brandy aside and approached her.

  She gave him a tiny smile, her gray eyes piercing. His stomach bottomed out in the way only she could make happen. He touched one of the tiny ribbon straps. “Where did you ever get this?”

  “Bond Street.” She tilted her head. “Too bold?”

  “No, definitely not too bold for our chambers. You look very lovely.” And he was in for a severe case of blue balls. He handed her a glass of wine. “Drink this and then we’ll waltz.”

  She smiled and put the glass to her lips. He’d never been so jealous of a wineglass and he found himself tossing down another glass of brandy in three swallows.

  “Let’s dance,” he said, setting his glass down.

  She held out her wrists, her eyes veiled by her lush, dark lashes.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Aren’t you going to tie them again?”

  He hadn’t thought about that. But perhaps they did need more of that sort of practice. He untied his cravat then slowly, carefully wrapped her wrists behind her back. A bolt of desire shot through his groin. Her hands bound like that was such an unwittingly erotic sight. Even more erotic was the slide of silk over the curve of her waist as he embraced. Her gray eyes were pools of shimmering silver, holding his gaze while he led her through the dance.

  She was so weightless, feminine and fragile in his arms. Tonight they moved together in a near-perfect rhythm. As he spun her ’round and ‘round, their bodies seemed to move closer and closer, until her breasts pressed his chest, their tips like firm little points of fire.

  Only a saint could resist kissing her and he was no saint. He lowered his head and placed his lips on hers. She opened to him, all wine and sweetness as his tongue thrust against hers. They stopped dancing. He cupped her face, tilting her head so he could drink deeper, unable to get enough of her mouth.

  Eventually they were forced to part and breathe.

  He studied her flushed face and glowing eyes. “What do you think of kissing like that?”

  “I like it. I wish there could be more of it.”

  He chuckled. “I can’t keep kissing you. Not like that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ll want to have you in your bed again.”

  Her lashes swept over her eyes and a small smile curved her soft pink lips. “Yes, perhaps you should.”

  His heart raced. “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “No, I shall welcome it. We must create an heir.”

  “We must be patient. It will happen in its own good time.”

  “Yes, but maybe if you shared my bed more often, it would happen sooner.”

  He couldn’t refute the logic of that. But surely one didn’t treat a wife like a brood mare any more than one treated her like a whore. Yet his cock twitched impatiently against her soft belly and his hands touched her buttocks to press her body closer.

  “Colin, may I ask a personal question?”

  “Of course, you are my wife.”

  A furious blush spread over her face. “Does it always have to go quickly?”

  Her question stunned him and his hands froze. Could he have been mistaken, all these months? Oh God forbid—but please God, yes.

  “No, it doesn’t.” He resumed caressing her silk-clad bottom. “Are you saying you would like for me to go longer?”

  “Well, if it is the proper way to hasten, I don’t think…that is, I want to do whatever is proper.”

  “Here in our chambers, I only care about pleasing you. That’s all I have ever cared about. If it pleases you that I go slower, I will certainly do so.”

  “It would please me. Very much I think.” She bit her lip, still blushing.

  “Is there something more?”

  “The touching, last time…” She took a deep breath. “You touched me, down there.”

  “Yes, and what did you think?”

  “I rather liked it.”

  God, his blood was on fire for her.

  “I think we’ve had enough practice for tonight. Let’s go to your bed.” He reached to untie her hands.

  She looked over her shoulder and frowned. “Must you?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing…”

  “Come now, Sara, tell me what is on your mind.”

  “Must you untie me? Last night,” She cleared her throat delicately. “You kept them tied.”

  “I was carried away, my love.”

  “Yes, well, it did feel as though I were, I don’t know…somehow more connected to you.” Her tongue chased over her lower lip. “More completely yours.”

  At her last word, his cock became painfully rigid. He grasped her by the shoulders. “You are mine.” He brought his lips down on hers, kissing her hard and swift. “Never doubt it. I’d smoke a hole through any man who dared touch you.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “My goodness, Colin, you’re scaring me.”

  “Well, how else should I feel about it? You cut quite a dash at the ball in your red gown. I was forced to watch all those men feasting their eyes on you.”

  “You hated the gown.”

  “I loved the sight of you in it and that’s the truth.” He cupped her soft breasts, grazing his thumbs over the stiffening tips. “So you want to play games, then?”

  “It would be horribly improper, wouldn’t it?”

  “Darling, no one is going to know. But let me untie your hands for now. It must have been wretchedly uncomfortable to have them tied beneath you. I was quite drunk, you know.”

  She nodded.

  He untied her wrists and led her to the bed.

  Chapter
Three

  Sara sat on the bed. He had shed his clothes and her gaze devoured every hard angle and sleekly flexing muscle as Colin approached.

  “We’ll leave the lamps on,” he said.

  “Yes, just like last night.”

  “Here.” He lifted the tiny ribbon straps brushing her shoulders. She shivered with anticipatory tremors.

  “This is lovely, but I prefer if you remove it,” he said.

  The nightgown slipped away.

  “Here,” he said, taking her hands. He wrapped his cravat around her wrists, tying them together. Then he pulled them over her head and secured them to the headboard. “There.”

  He stared at her breasts. She felt too exposed and moved instinctively to cover herself. But her hands wouldn’t budge. She was too securely tied. Her throat dried. Maybe this wasn’t the thing after all. He looked a lot fiercer tonight than the night before. But it was too late to back out. She’d asked him for this. If she asked now to stop, she’d look like a ninny. She already knew he thought she was the biggest ninny for being too shy to waltz in front of other people.

  He still stared. A thrill of helplessness passed through her.

  “They are rather small…aren’t they?” she asked.

  “They are perfect little peaches.” His fingertips grazed her left nipple. It instantly puckered into a tight pebble. Warm pleasure sparked through her and she gasped in surprise.

  He glanced up. His eyes were so dark blue they looked like sapphires. “I am going to kiss them.”

  It sounded almost like a threat. She giggled nervously.

  “I am, Sara. I am going to have them in my mouth whole.”

  He couldn’t really mean that, could he?

  He bent. His lips were soft against her breast. She giggled again. He pressed quick little kisses on her flesh, leaving a tingling trail of delight. She sighed and twisted against her bonds. His tongue flicked her nipple, pure fire flashed through her. “Colin!”

  A fierce look fell over his face and he took her nipple into his mouth and sucked softly. Sensation rocked her. He increased the suction and a warm burst of pleasure suffused her. Oh, she loved him so much. And she wanted him. Just like this.