Her eyes holding his, she closed her small hand around his throbbing cock.
Her touch—the feel of her delicate, intensely feminine hand gripping him avidly, greedily—almost made him lose control.
Alex groaned and gripped her head and pulled her lips to his. He refused to let her pull back as her hand moved firmly up and down his engorged shaft. In his dream he realized his body wasn’t his own, but hers—hers to command to caress as she wished, to pleasure as she wished…
Desperate, he pulled back from the kiss and, ignoring the pain in his side, rolled her beneath him. He shuddered as her breasts brushed against his chest, the hard pebbled peaks evidence of her arousal, his hands instinctively flexing, fingers biting into her arms.
“You’re mine. Tonight I’ll make you mine.”
“Yes, oh yes.”
She surrendered her control and reached for him, and he came to her, using his weight to pin her to the bed, demanding her lips, ravaging her mouth even as his hands swept down to caress her intimately between her legs. His touch became ever more urgent, pressing further into her slick folds; his body thrilled as his hand became soaked in her juices. In his dreams she always wanted him. His hand pressed further, then, slowly, deliberately he pushed one finger into her. Deep, then deeper still.
His mouth swallowed her gasp.
He refused to let her pull back from his kiss as he withdrew his finger, then thrust it into her again. And again, and again.
Soon one finger became two.
She lifted her hips slightly to his fingers’ rhythm, each slick stroke increasing the intimate penetration.
Her head lolled back from his.
“Keep kissing me, all the way. I want to be in your mouth when you come apart.”
Her lashes rose at his words, and she met his eyes. Their gazes locked for an instant, their breaths mingling, her soft panting sighs raising his ardor further. Her lips rose to meet his as he reached deep between her thighs.
His tongue invaded her mouth, penetrating in time to his fingers; he felt the hot tide of his kiss, of his claiming, rising within her until with a sob he felt her shatter in his arms, her internal muscles clamping around his fingers and her body shuddered against his, only to slump satiated on the bed.
Alex’s nerves coiled tight. Shaking, he gently parted her thighs with his knee, and slowly began to guide the blunt head of his erection to her swollen and slick entrance, easing it between her nether lips and slowly entering her.
The blood pounded in his veins, an insistent beat driving him to action. He needed to be inside her more than he needed to breathe, but he had to go slow. He needed this to last all night. He stifled a groan and forced himself to slow down.
He shot her a glance; her eyes were wide and lustrous with reawakening desire. Gritting his teeth, he held back and bent to claim her mouth once more.
—
This kiss was slow and erotic and extremely thorough; parting her lips, his tongue slid into her mouth while she felt him enter her, inch by incredible inch. He was thick and hard, his tongue and member creating an intense yearning inside her that only added to her light-headedness. She still hadn’t come back to earth from her previous shattering release.
This is what she’d wanted—a joining that scorched her soul. She fought her conscience; it lost easily against the powerful urges of her body. She wanted him. Now. Like this. Damn the consequences. Her only regret was that because of the laudanum, he’d unlikely remember their pleasurable night in the morning.
Alex was a magnificent lover. His body was powerful, steely, yet she knew he was holding back because of his injury. She made sure her knee kept well away from his injured side.
He pressed deeper.
He was large; now that he was partway inside her he felt enormous, but the look on his face was worth every second of the discomfort she felt as he stretched her.
His eyes, dilated with passion, feasted on her as if he’d never seen a naked woman before, never had a woman open herself to him.
Slowly.
He stopped.
His breath above her was ragged.
“This is how it is with you every night. I get to initiate you to passion whenever I like. All I have to do is close my eyes and you’re mine.”
She gave him a warm smile then closed her eyes.
Gripping her hands, he raised them over her head, capturing her mouth. He tensed, then drove deep within her.
She gave one small cry as the stab of pain, sharp but mercifully brief, coursed through her body as her maidenhead ruptured.
He stilled. “Now you’re mine.” His voice was triumphant.
The pain started to fade.
He moved his hips in little circular movements. Other sensations grew and intensified.
She lifted her eyelids, heavy from pleasure, and looked up at him. He was staring at her, his expression a mask of concern and guilt.
“Don’t stop, my darling, I’m fine. I want you more than you can know.”
Something flared in the darkness; his jaw tightened and his eyes blazed.
“You really want this?” The words were low, gravelly, almost pleading. “If this was real you would not. I’m not worthy.”
“Oh yes. I’d want you. I want you deep inside me. Take me. Make me yours. I love you so.” Hestia raised her head off the bed and captured his mouth.
He kissed her ravenously.
His skilled hands found her body and ruthlessly claimed what she offered. Relentlessly possessed every curve, every inch of skin, every sensitive, intimate place.
Then he moved, sliding out and then plunging back inside her. Each thrust a branding possession. He gripped her hips, crushed her body under his, her swollen and aching breasts pressed tight against his chest, her skin searing hot.
He tilted her hips up and thrust farther, deeper. Each plunge forcing her to take all of him.
She felt an indescribable sensation as she assimilated the feel of the thick, hard reality of him buried deep inside her. Her body was hot, flushed, restlessly urgent, and recklessly greedy for all he offered. He filled her thoroughly.
His lips on hers, his tongue dueling with hers, he fed her and blatantly, forcefully, gave her back the raging tide of his fiery desire.
She gasped, trembled, and as he kept his hands locked about her hips, she caught the rhythm and started to lift her hips to meet each driving thrust. He was so deep inside her the force of his possession rocked her to the depth of her soul.
Within minutes, she was reeling. She felt herself floating, her eyes closed and her head lolled back. Her desperation heightened, she moved faster against him, feeling him as he moved matching her need, faster, harder.
—
In the moonlight with the scent of lust and passion enveloping them, her soft gasps and fractured moans falling like a siren song from her lips, he could almost believe this was real. It felt real. It felt—indescribable.
His gaze lowered to her breasts, undulating each time he thrust deep within her. Bending, he set his mouth to the swollen mounds, sought and found a tight budded peak, swirled it with his tongue, then drew it deep into his mouth. He sucked powerfully.
And she screamed with satisfaction.
Her virginal body took him deep as he thrust steadily, powerfully, again and again. Her sheath was a tight glove, scalding and slick, clamping hard about him. He fought his own growing need for release; he wanted to hear her repeatedly scream and sob with pleasure. But pleasure was mixing with pain. His wound was intruding on his dream. He tried to push it away but knew he would not last much longer.
Finally he felt her body start tightening, climbing the final peak. He moved faster, driving her ever onward. He feasted on her breasts, felt the age-old power rise through them both, felt it take them, grip them, ride them, deliver them to the heavens, a maelstrom of passion, of molten heat and raging glory.
The joy raced through him as he heard her cry echoing in his ears and she contracted pow
erfully about him. As she came apart beneath him in a glory so blinding he saw stars. He sank into her body, held her down ruthlessly, felt every last contraction of her sheath as he emptied himself into her.
Before he could catch his breath the dream turned. No, not tonight. Please don’t…but the vision came before he could put up the fortress in his mind to block out his nightmares.
Rising to gaze in her eyes, he looked down at the warm body lying sated beneath him, but all he saw was Tulay, her face battered and bloody. He rose up on his arms, shaking his head to clear the disturbing vision. No, no, not now, not tonight. He didn’t want this dream ruined by a nightmare.
“Tulay, oh God, Tulay.” His voice was bleak.
Tulay tensed beneath him and then reached for him. “It’s all right, Alex, I love you.”
He rolled away from her onto his back and closed his eyes tight, his breathing ragged, his mind screaming with pain.
Then mercifully darkness took him.
Chapter 14
Hestia slowly sat up, not quite comprehending what she’d heard.
Tulay?
Who the hell was Tulay?
A wave of nausea hit and she only just made it to the basin. God, she’d given herself to him and he hadn’t even known who she was. He’d been making love to a woman called Tulay.
She stood rooted to the spot, her feet melding with the wood of the floor. In the dawn’s light she drank in his naked torso, worshipping his form, following the trail of light curls down to where the sheet lay rumpled over his groin.
She’d just had the most magical experience of her life and it had meant nothing to him. No, it had meant worse than nothing. He hadn’t even thought of her at all.
Tears pricked her eyelids. She angrily swiped her hand over her eyes. No, she couldn’t cry; she’d brought this on herself. She’d let herself believe, once again, that there was more to his feelings than there really was. He had never declared any kind of feelings for her; she’d merely let her own love, desire, needs, and wants cloud her judgment.
She stood with her head bowed as the gathering dawn began chasing away the night. Her head dropped to her chest and tears slid down her face, then on down her neck and over her naked breasts. She let them fall. They were her penance, silent reminders of her stupidity.
Thank God he had not woken and seen her in his bed. She would not be able to live down the embarrassment. What would he have thought of her wanton ways?
She hurriedly dressed, not once looking at the bed. Jacob would be here soon to check on His Grace. If Alex had the strength to make love to her he no longer needed a nursemaid, as he’d called her.
Thank God for that. She could never sit in this cabin again without remembering the most beautiful and, unfortunately, the most soul-destroying night of her life.
Wiping the tears off her face, she composed herself as best she could before slipping from his cabin. She met no one as she made her way to the sanctuary of her bunk.
She lay upon the covers and berated herself. Consequences. There were going to be consequences to her actions. She thought she’d learned about consequences from her past mistakes. Her capture by Murad taught her never to put herself in a position of risk again, but it would seem, where Alex was concerned, she’d forgotten her resolve. She wished she’d never come on this trip, and she cursed her father for putting her in this position.
—
Alex’s brain thumped against the inside of his skull as if an ax-wielding Norseman had taken up residence in his head. He gingerly lifted an eyelid; damn it was bright this morning. He shut his eyes and lay still on the pillow. For some reason the wound in his side was throbbing so much he thought he’d gone ten rounds in the boxing ring.
He knew he’d been restless during the night. He sensed the sheet scrunched up at the end of the bunk, leaving him naked, was testimony to that.
His mouth felt like a rag was stuffed in it. Drink, he needed a drink.
Laudanum. He assumed Hestia had given him more in his wine last night. He didn’t really need it any longer, but the dreams were hard to give up.
Then he remembered his dream.
A slow smile formed on his lips as he reflected on last night’s dream of Hestia. It had been so real, so intense, and so erotic—more so than usual. The dream fed his five senses. He felt her, tasted her, heard her cries of pleasure, and saw every inch of her porcelain skin. He even thought he could smell her still on his sheets; her orange-blossom fragrance seemed to surround him like an early morning fog. If all his dreams were this potent, he’d want to sleep all day and all night.
How could he be upset at her continuing to feed him the opium when his dreams had been so fulfilling? He’d disgraced himself like an eager schoolboy. He couldn’t even bring himself to be embarrassed at Hestia’s likely view of his dream. His body heated just thinking about what her reaction might have been. Would she have been embarrassed, or did it make her body burn with desire?
He’d need the sheets changed and his stitches checked.
Risking a stab of pain from the light, he opened his eyes and rose to his elbows to look down the bed. He’d lost weight, and in a fit of pique he noticed he’d also lost a bit of muscle tone.
As he perused his body a splash of red caught his eye. Had he opened his wound? God, he hoped not. They were behind schedule as it was.
He rolled onto his good side and looked at his bandages. No sign of blood. He unwound the bandages only to see that the stitches were all intact. In fact, the wound had almost completely healed. The stitches were ready to be taken out, so he only lightly rewound the cloth.
It would not be long before he regained his strength. A few gentle exercises starting today. Hestia’s warning not to overdo it reverberated in his head. He would heed her and David’s advice, because he had to be fighting fit to face Murad.
He saw spots of red again. If not his wound, where had the blood come from?
Slowly through a haze of memory a thought began to form, a thought so horrifying he closed his eyes on a curse.
No—it could not be.
A terrible cold crept up his spine like impending doom. The past two weeks, Hestia normally waited for him to wake before leaving. He missed her cheery disposition. Where was she?
His eyes flashed open and his blood sparked in his veins. Christ, it couldn’t have been real, but her perfume and the scent of sex clung to the sheets and to him.
It had been real. It wasn’t a dream. He’d made love to her.
Oh dear God, he’d taken her virginity. It was the blood of her innocence on his sheets. And he had not been particularly gentle as he recalled.
She had been heaven in his arms. He swallowed and stilled. Why had she not stopped him?
Unless…He fought down bile. Unless he had taken her against her will? God, please no. I can’t have hurt her. For one moment, blackness threatened as dizziness hit.
What else was he to think? She wasn’t here, she wasn’t curled up next to him so he could gather her close and make love to her all over again. His desire for her was already growing inside him, tightening his balls and hardening his cock, heating his every nerve ending.
He had to dress and find her. There was only one thing to do of course. Damn her father. He had to marry her now.
He tried to stand before sinking down on the edge of the bed. A new thought hit. If he’d taken her by force, would she want to marry him?
He ran a hand through his hair and cursed under his breath again. It would be best if she did refuse him.
Best for whom, a voice in his head whispered.
What if she was with child? His child. He inwardly laughed. Unlikely. He’d never had a mistake happen in his life and the two years with Tulay had not borne fruit. He assumed the issue lay with him.
The problem he did have—well, one of them—was, it was one thing to ask Foxhall to marry her because Alex needed to keep her safe while he dealt with Murad. It was not honorable to expect his friend to do
so knowing Alex had lain with her—if she was with child David would never know whose it was.
Alex could marry her and send her home with Foxhall. Her father would likely kill him if Murad didn’t first, but there was no other way. If Alex died seeking his revenge, Fredrick would have no need to kill her because her wealth came to him upon marriage. Besides, Foxhall would deal with Fredrick.
He needed to bathe and change the sheets before Foxhall arrived. His friend would likely want to beat him to a pulp for taking advantage of Hestia.
He pulled himself to his feet.
Hestia wasn’t a timid girl. He remembered how she’d slapped Murad’s ugly face and more recently fought like crazy to escape from Connor. She was brave. She would have found a way to stop Alex if he took her against her will. Hell, she could have screamed for help.
Heat stole into his face as realization struck. She’d wanted to be in his bed. She’d made no secret of her affections over the years.
Fear crawled along his skin. He didn’t want her to love him. He’d destroyed the last woman he loved and he could very well destroy Hestia too. He could not afford to love anyone. Love might distort his plans—would distort his plan.
After he’d washed in the basin and dried his body, he was just about to pull on his drawers when the cabin door opened.
He quickly drew up the material to cover himself. “Doesn’t anyone bloody knock anymore?”
Jacob merely grunted. “I thought you’d be in bed and Lady Hestia would still be here. She didn’t come to breakfast.”
“She was tired so I sent her off. By the way, I don’t need a nursemaid any longer.”
Jacob looked at him and then the bed. “So it would appear. Best you get rid of those sheets and open more portholes before Foxhall arrives. He’ll likely put you in your grave. I must admit I’m tempted myself.”
With that Jacob turned and left the room.
He threw down the facecloth and with gritted teeth stripped the sheets from his bed and threw them out the nearest porthole, destroying the evidence. He was too exhausted after his wash and sheet stripping to remake the bed, so he simply opened his door and yelled for Ned.
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