by Darcy Burke
He felt her tongue on his nipple, lapping the water up. He thrust his fingers into her hair and kneaded her scalp. She moved across his chest, trailing her lips over him and repeated the process of licking his other nipple clean. Then she traveled downward, her wicked tongue teasing his flesh and driving him to the brink of his control.
Down, down, she went until he felt the front of his breeches fall away. He’d been so focused on her mouth that he’d failed to notice her undoing his fall. She peeled his garments away, dragging his breeches and small clothes down his legs.
He kept his eyes closed, afraid to break the quiet spell that had fallen over the room. The afternoon was impossibly hot and hushed, like the world had ceased to spin. His awareness was full of her and the things she was doing to his body.
Water trickled over his cock and her hand worked it into his torrid flesh. Like last night, she handled him expertly, her grip precise and intense.
When her tongue flicked the head, his eyes shot open and he tugged at her hair. “Margery,” he growled.
“Shhhh.” Her breath gusted over him, heating him to an even higher degree. She took him into her mouth, her tongue stroking him inside.
He clutched her head and squeezed his eyes closed again, unable to stand the erotic image of her sucking his cock. No, he wanted to watch her, otherwise he might not believe it was actually happening.
He opened his eyes as she moved up and down in earnest, her mouth and tongue working over him. Sweet heavens, how had she learned to do that? Again, he didn’t want to know. He only wanted to enjoy, to surrender to her completely.
She cupped his stones, driving him to lift his hips into her mouth. Lightly squeezing, she sucked him deep until he nudged the back of her throat. He moaned, his orgasm threatening.
He pulled at her head, trying to stop her before it was too late, but she refused to be deterred. He lurched back from her, scooting across the bed as he simultaneously tugged her hair. “Margery. Stop.”
She straightened, her lips full and red, her eyes glazed with passion. “Why?”
He sat up. “Because.” His brain wouldn’t work. “I was too close.”
She looked at him as if he were a lunatic. “And that’s bad?”
“I suppose not if you don’t mind me coming in your mouth.”
Her already pink cheeks deepened with color. “I see. I don’t think I’d mind.”
He moved to the edge of the bed and grabbed her waist, pulling her between his legs. “You’re going to kill me.” He kissed her hard. “But it will be the sweetest death a man could hope for.” He took her lips and devoured her mouth.
She moaned, her hands cupping his head as she returned his kiss with fiery need. “I’m . . . so . . . hot.” She let him go to fumble with her dress. There was a drawstring at the waist. He pulled it loose and she shoved the dress to the floor. The chemise soon followed, leaving her clad in nothing but her stockings and shoes, which she kicked off.
She reached down to undo her garters, but he brushed her hands aside, impatient for his turn with her body. “Leave them.”
He turned her, reversing their positions. “Get on the bed.” Copying what she’d done, he picked up a sodden cloth and sluiced water over her bare flesh. She gasped, her body arching as the coolness met her heat. He twisted the excess over her mound and watched the water slide between her folds. He dropped the towel and licked her, tasting both the water and her.
She twitched and cried out. “Rhys.”
He smiled against her and dipped his fingers into the basin. Then he slid them over her, loving the sound of her rasping breath as he massaged the cool water into her ripe flesh. Her legs parted, inviting him inside. He slipped a finger into her heat and closed his eyes at the way she gripped him.
Opening his eyes to watch the sensations play across her face, he stroked his finger out and then in again, slowly at first. Her thighs widened even more as her body drew him deeper inside. Her hips began to move and he increased his pace, his finger working her with delicate precision.
Her fingers tangled into his hair and she urged him to go faster, but he wasn’t close to being finished with her. He withdrew his finger and replaced it with his tongue, sliding into her. Her cry pierced the silence and it was his turn to say, “Shhhh.”
Her thighs tensed around him as he licked and ate at her, his lips and tongue working her flesh until her hips moved in a mad frenzy. He added his finger back into the storm and sought the spot inside of her that would drive her over the edge.
Again, she made an animalistic sound, low and desperate, and he knew he had her. He sucked hard on her clitoris as he pressed against that spot with his finger over and over again. He splayed his hand against her thigh, massaging her, then slipped it beneath her to lift her into his mouth.
Her fingers tightened in his hair and her muscles clenched around his finger as she came hard into his mouth. She let out a series of moans and cries—he could tell she was at least trying to be quiet, but she was too far gone to control herself.
He clutched her backside and held her firmly, letting his tongue coax her down from the peak of ecstasy. When her orgasm had subsided, he stepped back and used the remaining cloth in the basin to cool himself, wiping his face and chest.
She sat up, her eyes clear and wide. “Thank you. That was . . . even better than last time.”
Her tone was exceptionally calm, and her demeanor equally so. Were they . . . finished? “Are you leaving?”
She glanced down at his erection. “Would you like me to finish what I started?”
God, yes, but not as badly as he wanted to make love to her. “No, I want to bury myself so deep inside of you that I don’t know where I end and where you begin.”
Her lips parted and her gaze softened. She clasped his hand and drew him back onto the bed with her. “Then by all means, please do.”
Chapter 19
Reason told her to end this now, but the desire still curling inside of her demanded she forge ahead. Nothing about this made any sense, but—and maybe it was the heat—she didn’t care.
Rhys came over her, his body hot and heavy, but in the most delicious way. He stroked between her thighs, making her shiver despite the sweltering temperature. Then the head of his cock was there, nudging her open. She lifted her hips and opened to him, bringing her hands low on his back to guide him.
With a gentle glide, he slid into her. “Put your legs around me.”
She did as he bade, curling her legs around his hips, which brought him further inside of her.
Braced on his hands positioned on either side of her head, he gazed down at her, his eyes nearly black with desire. His face was set in tense lines as he began to move inside of her. Slowly at first with a soft friction. Sensitive from her earlier orgasm, every thrust tingled through her. She teetered at the edge of another tumble into the abyss.
He rotated his hips, plunging deeper than ever before. She dug her fingers into his backside and cried out. His mouth covered hers and swallowed her cries.
His tongue mimicked the wicked thrust of his cock and he was right—she didn’t know where he ended and she began.
He drove faster, hitting a spot that made lights dance behind her shuttered eyes. He broke the kiss, his breathing coming fast and hard. She rose to meet him, welcoming him into her heat. His mouth came down on her collarbone, nipping her flesh and she came apart. Wave after wave of ecstasy broke over her as she came again. The tease of orgasm she’d felt last time he’d been inside her hadn’t remotely prepared her for this maelstrom of sensation. She fought to keep her cries to a minimum, but she was a slave to the release sweeping through her.
Vaguely, she was aware that he was still thrusting, his hips moving in a circular motion. Bliss continued to arc over her as he kissed a hot, wet trail up her neck to her ear.
“You’re an adventurous woman, are you not?”
“Yes,” she breathed, unable to give the word proper volume.
&nb
sp; “I’m going to turn you over now.”
She opened her eyes, took in the harsh set of his mouth and the ebony luster of his eyes. She nodded.
He pulled out of her and flipped her over. “Get on your knees.”
She obeyed him again, her body quivering from the multiple releases, yet still eager for more.
He guided her forward. “Clasp the bed.” He pushed her legs apart and caressed the curve of her backside. She moaned as his fingers glided along her sensitive folds. He pressed one inside and pumped her a few times. Then his tongue swept over her and she clenched the headboard as white-hot pleasure burst over her. She didn’t know how much more she could stand.
“Rhys. Please.”
He came into her then, but this time it wasn’t slow and it wasn’t gentle. He drove inside of her, plunging deep and then withdrawing. When he swept forward again, she pushed back, meeting his thrust. Her nerve endings were ultrasensitive—it was as if her previous orgasm hadn’t really finished, or he’d coaxed it back. Whatever the reason, her body quivered with rapture.
“God, yes, Margery.” He gripped her hips and let himself go, pushing into her with frenzied strokes.
His hand skimmed up her side and around to pinch her nipple. The sensations thrumming through her intensified as another orgasm shot through her. She moaned while he worked her breast and continued his relentless assault. He stiffened, and his low groan filled her senses.
Then he was gone from her and she pushed back, looking for him.
“Had . . . to . . . get . . . out.”
Like he had before, right. At last, sanity invaded her haze of delirium. She slowly turned over. He had climbed off the bed and was cleaning himself with one of the towels. He wetted a new one and handed it to her with a smoldering look. “There’s no escaping the heat today, I’m afraid.”
Apparently not.
He turned from her and she tidied herself, but mostly she enjoyed the cool cloth against her heated skin.
He drew on his small clothes and breeches and picked up her chemise. He offered it to her with an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid it’s quite damp.”
She took it from him. “So is your bed.” She pulled the chemise over her head and realized it was also in pieces—drooping over her breast and missing one sleeve. No matter, it would give Jane something else to do and Margery would simply say it had torn when she removed it.
He buttoned his fall, but didn’t move to don his shirt. Not that she blamed him, she couldn’t bring herself to put anything on over her chemise. But she held the corner up to keep it from gapping away from her chest.
“You, ah, seemed to know what you were doing,” he said. “It’s none of my business of course, but I wanted to say you are . . . quite good.”
Feminine satisfaction blossomed through her. “Thank you. As are you. It’s also none of my business, but I wondered if you’d had a bit of practice, since you attend Lord Trevor’s parties.”
He coughed. “Ah, perhaps.” He sent her a provocative glance. “I was a bit more . . . relaxed at Oxford a decade ago.”
She suddenly wished she’d known him then. When he was young and maybe a bit wild. Probably less self-assured. She slid a look at his profile, took in the strong set of his jaw, the ever-present intelligence in his gaze. On second thought, she couldn’t imagine him without his flashes of arrogance, and what’s more, she didn’t want to.
“My aunt told me many things about what happens between men and women.”
He wetted a fresh cloth and laid it over the back of his neck. “Were you to be married?”
Margery shrugged. “Not specifically, no. Aunt Agnes chose a . . . different path as a young woman. She explained to me why she’d chosen to become someone’s mistress, and she was happy to satisfy my inquisitive nature.”
“I see,” he murmured. “I appreciate an inquisitive woman very much.”
“As an academic, I’m sure you do.” Margery redipped her towel and wiped it over her arms. She was still hot, but the inferno their lovemaking had wrought had passed.
Lovemaking.
Good heavens, what was she doing? She struggled to remember why she’d come into his room in the first place. To demand an answer from him about the treasure. And he’d said he was still thinking about it. That he even considered choosing Septon over her—and that’s what it felt like, she realized—threatened to overheat her again. She shouldn’t care . . . but she did. Suddenly she wanted to get as far away from him as possible.
She scooped up her clothing.
He bent to help her.
“I don’t require your assistance,” she snapped, furious with herself for allowing this to happen again.
He stepped back. “What’s wrong? Why are you upset?”
She straightened, her arms full of her dress and stays. “You’re asking that after what we just did again? This heat affected my brain.”
“Your brain? I’m fairly certain that is not the body part—or parts— affected. I can say with ease that my brain didn’t figure into the equation at all.”
He was right. They’d both surrendered to their desire, something they couldn’t seem to avoid. “You’re right. I was angry with myself, not you.” She softened her tone and relaxed the tension rioting through her shoulders. “I still don’t expect or want marriage.”
He looked away. “Neither do I. In fact, I think the sooner our association is over, the better.”
Margery flinched at the harshness of his tone. Did he really mean that? It was what she wanted, wasn’t it, to get back to her life? “Our partnership can end now. You’ve lost interest in the treasure, and I still plan to find it. You may go your way and I will go mine. I won’t need your help to complete my quest and I shall find my own way back to Gloucester.” She’d also have to figure out how in the world she’d sell the treasure, but perhaps Digby could assist with that.
Rhys’s answering stare was disturbingly penetrating. “What about Penn? You promised to visit him when we returned from this trip.”
Oh, dear. She’d quite forgotten about Penn. She was mucking this up horribly, all because she found Rhys Bowen too bloody impossible to resist.
She hugged the clothing tighter to herself. “Penn will understand. I’ll write to him.”
“I’m sure that will appease a young boy whose mother recently abandoned him.”
Margery sucked in sweltering air. Emotions that she kept stringently locked away bubbled to the surface. Turning before she exposed something foolish, she went back to her room, struggling with the door as she juggled her clothes. At last, she managed to get it closed.
Dropping her things in a heap, she went to the open window and vainly sought the slightest breeze to wash away the frustration and desperation curling inside of her.
The door creaked, forcing her to turn. Rhys stepped over the threshold carrying her shoes. “You forgot these.” He set them on the floor gently.
She ought to thank him, but she was still fighting with her own inner turmoil.
“I’m sorry about what I said. Penn is not your responsibility; he’s mine.”
She nodded, appreciating his apology. A slight breeze tickled her neck, but was gone as quickly as it had come.
“Please consider abandoning the search.”
She looked at him sharply, surprised he’d ask her, knowing that she needed the treasure.
“Just listen to me,” he said. “Your safety is in question. I can’t allow you to continue alone.”
His presumption fired her temper. She felt raw, vulnerable. “First, I am not your responsibility. Second, I won’t be alone.” She tried to bite back the words as soon as they left her mouth.
“You won’t?” He scrutinized her a long moment while she attempted to behave as if she hadn’t just said something she shouldn’t. “Do not tell me Digby will be helping you.”
“I won’t.”
“But he is.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Bloody hell, Margery. We still don�
�t know if Digby is a member of the Order who’s gone off on his own.”
He was back to that? “I find it highly unlikely. He’s an Arthurian enthusiast, not some clandestine steward of a centuries-old group like your friend.”
He inhaled loudly, as if he were exasperated with her—and he assuredly was. “Yes, Septon is my friend, which is why I trust him more than Digby.”
“Yet Septon is the one who is actually part of an organization that is seeking to stop us from finding this treasure.”
“For good reason.” His voice climbed.
She fought to keep her tone even. “So he says. He could very easily be lying in order to obtain the treasure for himself.”
Rhys glanced at the ceiling, the muscles in his jaw flexing. “Please consider it. I’ll compensate you for your book.” He held up his hand. “No, don’t tell me you won’t take the money. It’s my fault it was stolen, and my reimbursing you for its loss doesn’t constitute any other sort of lurid transaction.”
She remembered using that word with him after they’d met. That seemed so long ago now, but it hadn’t even been a fortnight. “I can’t abandon the search. I won’t.”
His mouth pressed into a disappointed line. “Then we are at an impasse.”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
“You have to go,” she said.
He hesitated and sweat broke out on her neck—both at the fear of being discovered and because of the tumult in his gaze.
In the end, he turned and left, closing the door firmly behind him.
Getting fully dressed was almost painful in the oppressive heat, but it had been necessary in order to leave the inn. And Rhys hadn’t been able to suffer another moment in his sweltering room—or next door to Margery.
This afternoon had been an avoidable disaster. They’d both succumbed to a fever brought on by the temperature and their unquenchable desire. At least his was unquenchable. He’d wanted her again as soon as he’d climbed off the bed.
But then things had degraded, and it seemed a repeat of today’s blissful events would never come to pass. He scowled, moving into a grove of trees that provided some much-welcome shade. To his left, the inn rose a few hundred yards away. He turned and quickened his pace, eager to put distance between himself and the woman bedeviling his thoughts.
