Gorgeous As Sin

by Susan Johnson

  Fitz shook his head. “We should wait.”

  “This is smaller than you.”

  “It’s metal though-not in the least pliant.”

  “I hardly think your erection is what you’d call pliant.”

  “It is in contrast to this. I’m not arguing, darling.” He took it from her hand and shoved it in his pocket. “We’ll use it some other time.”

  “Or you could just watch.”

  He looked at her from under his lashes. “Now you’re trying to torment me.”

  “At least he’s interested,” she said softly, shifting in his lap, his rigid length pronounced.

  “Don’t be difficult,” he growled, steeling himself against his cravings, “when I’m trying to be unselfish.”

  “I won’t blame you,” she replied, rubbing against his swelling erection, only the linen of his trousers and her skirt barricade to consummation. “I take full responsibility.”

  He softly groaned.

  “Let me just try this little toy. Please?” She’d take her pleasure where she could as per her carpe diem promise to herself. With Fitz tomorrows were uncertain.

  “I’d rather not. I’m content just to hold you.” After the misery of his day, he was more than content, or maybe the contrast between Madame Rivera’s and Rosalind’s parlor was pleasure enough. “Or we could go out to dinner.”

  “Or I could pout.”

  He chuckled. “As you like to say to me, you can’t always have what you want.”

  “You’re cruel. I had a perfect bill of health. Come, Fitz, give me either the Cellini or you. Consider, you’ve awakened my feverish desires. You can’t just ignore me. Please, please, be a dear…”

  There wasn’t a man with a heartbeat who could have refused.

  And his blood was coursing through more than his heart at the moment.

  “I’m doing this against my better judgment,” he declared, rising to his feet with her in his arms and moving toward the bedroom.

  “I love when you play the gallant,” she purred, raining kisses on his face and neck as they moved through the parlor, his benevolence only heightening her affection and desires. “I find it wildly provocative.”

  He shot her a disgruntled look. “I find everything about you wildly provocative,” he grumbled. “And just for the record, I tried to say no.” A record in every sense of the word.

  “How sweet.” She shivered, anticipating the intoxicating obverse of no, her vagina liquid with longing, well ahead of her in eagerness.

  “I’m not going to be sweet for long,” he growled.

  But his long was less precipitous than hers for once he deposited her on the bed she said, with a strong hint of her school mistress voice, “Do hurry, Fitz-please!”

  It would have been better if his first thought wasn’t Now I know why she wrote erotica. Or if he wasn’t so personally involved, enamored, or stupid that he’d overruled his instincts and habits of a lifetime to come and see her again. Or if she hadn’t added in an imperious tone that set his teeth on edge, “Please, don’t play the dominating male right now.”

  He was unfamiliar with women like Mrs. St. Vincent who were completely devoid of flattery and honeyed blandishments. But perhaps that was why she appealed to him, he more sensibly decided, tamping down his temper. There was no point in being disagreeable when she was flame hot and willing.

  “Sorry, darling,” he smoothly replied, avoiding a contretemps that had nothing to do with her. She was visibly panting; only a fool would take offense at her ready passions.

  “I’m sorry, too, really I am,” she whispered, aware of the brief flash of anger in his eyes. “I can wait.”

  But she was shrugging out of her bodice as she spoke, her skirts were rucked up over her thighs, her drawers untied, and he decided perhaps neither of them should wait for long.

  Sitting on the edge of her bed, he smiled. “You’re an insatiable little puss, but far be it from me to deny you.”

  “Thank you,” she sweetly said, too close to consummation to take a chance of offending him. Dildos aside, his strong body most appealed.

  “Such acquiescence, darling.”

  “I wouldn’t want to put you out of humor,” she said, slipping her drawers down her legs and tossing them aside.

  He grinned. “At this stage.”

  Her gaze was half-lidded, her hips gently swaying. “Indeed.”

  “Then lie down, sweetheart, spread your legs, and let me know when you’ve had enough of Cellini.” It was at least smaller.

  She immediately complied, one arm free of her blouse, the other not, and lying with her thighs open, flagrantly available, she smiled her temptress smile. “You’re such a darling…”

  In a way he was for letting her have her way, when he’d thought better of it. But perhaps his French governess had schooled him too well-or rather, schooled him to perfection, his many satisfied lovers would attest-for he agreed to what she wanted. “Stop me if this hurts,” he murmured, sliding the smooth metal over her sleek cleft.

  She nodded, and took a very small breath as the cool dildo glided over her labia and entered her. How many women had felt the pleasure of this toy in the last three hundred years, she wondered. Were they, too, in illicit affairs? Were they in love or infatuated like she? Was their lover as beautiful? Did they feel this degree of infinite bliss…?

  He saw her smile and smiled himself at the half-undressed woman with tousled hair and pinked cheeks who had lured him into her seductive net. And when in the past he would have balked at being caught, instead, he set out to please her.

  She whimpered once and he stopped.

  Her eyes opened and she looked up at him with a fevered gaze.

  “More? ”

  Her eyes went shut.

  Understanding, he exerted a modicum more pressure, and so it went-he carefully monitoring her response, she softly moaning, catching her breath from time to time. At which point, he always stopped until she gave him leave to continue.

  But orgasms never took long with the ravenous Mrs. St. Vincent, her libido on a very short fuse, her orgasmic impetuosity charmingly predictable.

  But when she came-more quietly than usual-he glimpsed tears seeping under her lashes and panicked. “Christ, I’m sorry,” he whispered, carefully withdrawing the dildo, scrutinizing the gold surface for traces of blood, calling himself every kind of brute for not being more sensible.

  Reaching up, Rosalind brushed his lips with her fingers. “Tears of happiness, darling,” she whispered, knowing the truth would never do. “I’m not hurt.” She was lovesick instead, craving a man she could never have, desperately enamored after a few brief days. Foolish beyond words.

  “Honestly? ”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “Dammit, that’s it,” he firmly said, his heart still racing, not sure he could believe her. “We’re done. We’ll have tea instead.”

  “No we won’t because I want you too much. And if you say no, I’ll cry. Really, Fitz, I’ll make a scene.”

  She wasn’t smiling. God, he dreaded crying women. On the other hand, he daren’t do anything that might harm her. That’s what came from becoming attached to a virtuous woman, he decided with an inward sigh. They turned out to be fragile as hell. “I wish you wouldn’t cry,” he said, testing the waters. “And I also wish you’d wait.”

  “We could wait until we undress,” she offered as if she were actually complying when she was in fact being bloody difficult.

  He groaned. “I’m trying to be virtuous-Jesus, don’t tempt me. I’m not good at resisting temptation.”

  “Nor am I. Perfect,” she brightly said.

  “No it isn’t,” he grumbled. “We might end up dealing with some goddamn catastrophe.” Abruptly coming to his feet, he walked to the window and stared at her blighted garden.

  “I’ll lock you in.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I won’t let you go.”

  He spun around.

  “Come bac
k to bed, darling,” she coaxed, “and hold me.”

  He looked at the irresistible woman who drew him back against his better judgment day after day, her half undress more provocative than nudity, her heavy auburn hair framing the stunning beauty of her face. “Just hold you,” he replied.

  “Yes, yes, that’s all,” she lied, playing Circe without compunction for the first time in her life. Why shouldn’t she seize what happiness she could, when Fitz was no more than a meteor passing through her life?

  He approached her slowly, though, not quite trusting her, trusting himself less, and finally stopped, indecisive and restless, beside the bed.

  “You’re much too nice, Your Grace,” she teased, looking up into his grave gaze.

  “And you’re much too enticing, Mrs. St. Vincent.”

  “Maybe we could come to some agreement.”

  “I wish we could.”

  “I’m sure we can.” She slipped off the sleeve still half draped on her arm, shrugged out of her blouse, and began unbuttoning her chemise.

  He didn’t move, save for his rising erection.

  But when she’d slipped off her chemise, exposing her large, resplendent breasts, and began unbuttoning the waistband of her skirt, temptation was too great for a duke who had commanded the world since adolescence. Jerking her to her feet, he shoved her skirt and petticoat down her hips, pushed her back on the bed, and fell on top of her fully dressed and shod, still unbuttoning his trousers.

  “Don’t say I didn’t try,” he said through clenched teeth, swiftly guiding the head of his cock to her sex. “And don’t fucking say I hurt you.” Goaded past the point of civility, he flexed his quads, swung his hips forward, and plunged into her sleek, ripe body.

  He wouldn’t have had to worry about injuring her, his forward progress unimpeded in the slippery heat of her well-lubricated cunt. Relieved, gratified, mostly lecherous and lustful, he settled into a deft, experienced rhythm sure to please his partner and ultimately himself.

  Today, everything about Fitz intensified her frenzied ardor-his restive need, the wildness in his eyes, his smooth, restrained thrust and withdrawal that brought a thin beading of sweat to his forehead, the erotic sensation of him fully clothed under her hands, over her, the titillating friction of his trousers on her thighs. He was as hot-headed as she, as skittish and high strung. As immune to reason.

  He’d waited for her to return. She knew the feeling; she’d been waiting for him ever since the first night he made love to her. And now he was offering her pleasure as only he could and she wanted it all-every enchanting measure-until he left her. As he would most certainly, she sadly knew. But not right now.

  “You please me, darling Fitz,” she whispered, her orgasm fast approaching, passion and tenderness a feverish, heady tumult that warmed her heart and soul.

  He looked surprised for a fraction of a second at the winsomeness in her voice, then he raised one brow and smiled. “You’re the sunshine of my life,” he softly said in return, braced his shoe soles against the foot of the iron bedstead, and pleased her even more.

  SLIDING OFF HIS jacket and shoes, Fitz held Rosalind close after their first frantic passions had been appeased, her head on his shoulder, the warmth of her body pressed against his. Advising himself against making more sexual demands, he politely made conversation. “Tell me,” he suavely remarked. “How did you like Dr. Swindell? ”

  “She was very nice.” Stretching upward, Rosalind kissed his cheek before resting her head on his shoulder once again. “She’s ever so pleasant. By the way, she sent condoms home with me.” She sat up and smiled at Fitz. “I was warned to be vigilant against disease.”

  Not entirely sure whether she was serious, he said, “If you want me to use a condom, I will.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “At the time, it sounded reasonable, but now I’m not so sure. Am I being incautious? ”

  “If you’re asking whether I’m a threat, I’m not.”

  “What about”-she reminded herself she was going to be adult about their carpe diem relationship-“others.”

  He didn’t immediately answer because he was tempted to say he was uninterested in other women. But he wasn’t quite so irrational. “I’m always careful,” he said instead. “If the circumstances warrant, I use a condom. You decide, though. If the doctor thinks you should, we’ll use them.”

  “I’m angry with you when I have no right,” she said with a sigh.

  “We’re both in no man’s land, darling. I can’t stay away as you know.” He shrugged faintly. “I’ve decided not to think about it.”

  “I did as well until I saw you waiting for me, and then I went crazy.”

  He grinned. “We’ll go crazy together.”

  “I must say, you do have the most delicious methodology in that regard.” Pleased that she wasn’t alone in her lunacy, she dropped back down on his shoulder and tracing a finger along his jaw shadowed with late-day stubble, changed the subject to something less fraught with emotion. “The doctor had the most gorgeous rose garden. It was absolutely stupendous.”

  “In what way? ” He was uninitiated in the merits of stupendous gardens.

  “She had every imaginable color rose. They spilled over her garden wall, ran up trellises, covered the entire yard space like a carpet. It looked like a fairy-tale land. She has a gardener, though, which accounts for the garden’s pristine condition, and of course, she has the money to buy all those gorgeous roses.”

  “Would you like some roses?” Jewelry was unacceptable, he’d discovered, although sex toys were well received. But he would have liked to buy her other things. A novel feeling after a lifetime of having his retainers buy gifts for his lovers.

  “No, no… I don’t have time to take care of a garden in any event. But thank you for asking. It was just so beautiful, that’s all… it caught my fancy. And speaking of things catching my fancy,” she purred. “I do believe its been at least five minutes since I climaxed.”

  “Do you think it’s wise? ” An indication of his affection. He would not in the past have been so altruistic.

  “Don’t even start again,” she said with a delicious pout.

  “Very well,” Fitz replied, understanding there were times to hold one’s ground and times not to. “Let me see to my obligations.” Setting her aside, he sat up and began undressing.

  “That’s better,” she lightly said. It would never do to pretend making love was anything more than a game. “And I have orders for you this time.”

  Chapter 25

  THEY WERE WAKENED early by a loud rapping on the door.

  “I’ll go,” Rosalind said, not about to let Fitz open the door. Still half-asleep, she stumbled downstairs to find a telegram messenger at her door and instantly went pale. Outside of the business community, telegrams were only used in emergencies-generally for deaths in the family. Her hand was trembling as she took the telegram from the young boy.

  After the youth was gone, she stared at the folded sheet, fainthearted. Finally, she shut her eyes, ripped it open, took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and quickly scanned the brief message.

  GROVELAND’S AGENT WAS Here TO DISCUSS Sale Of YOUR STORE WITH MOTHER and FATHER. TWENTY THOUSAND IS a FORTUNE. Very STRONGLY ADVISE YOU ACCEPT Offer WITHOUT delay. ALGERNON.

  Her fear turned to anger, and for a moment Rosalind couldn’t decide where first to direct her wrath: at Fitz for sending the agent or at her brother for meddling in her life. As usual.

  Since Algernon had the advantage of being beyond range, it was left to Fitz to bear the brunt of her displeasure. However, after a night of incredible bliss and given her unquestionable affection for the man who was the source of unalloyed sexual pleasure, she found herself unable to dredge up a suitable rage. After all, only the day before yesterday he’d said again that he intended to do everything he could to buy her property. She certainly couldn’t accuse him of guile.

  By the time she walked through the store and ascended the stairs, she
’d calmed down. If she wanted Algernon’s advice, she’d ask for it. As for Fitz’s attempt to influence her family, apparently neither her mother or father had been persuaded. A point for her side, she decided.

  Entering the bedroom a few moments later, she held the telegram aloft. “No one died I’m happy to say. Instead, my brother sends news of your agent’s visit. Apparently, he met with my family and Algernon instructs me to sell to you.”

  Fitz was lounging on the bed, and as she spoke he closely assessed her tone and expression, neither of which he characterized as lethal. His smile flashed white against his swarthy skin. “A sensible man, your brother.”

  “I should beat you,” she muttered, dropping the telegram on the floor as she moved toward the bed.

  His gaze was amused. “Please do.”

  “Stop, Fitz! I’m very angry with you.”

  “I understand, although if you come a little closer,” he murmured, “I know I could make you feel better.”

  “Damn you,” she grumbled, unable to walk away when she should, when anyone with sense would toss him out on his ear. Dropping onto the bed, she slapped away his hands, leaned back against the headboard, and fixed her gaze on him. “No matter what,” she said heated and sulky, “sex aside, even wild, explosive sex, I’m never selling my store.”

  “I believe I may have heard that once or twice before,” he pleasantly said, his hard, lean body all grace and power beside her, his skin dark against the whiteness of the sheets. “Not that your views or mine should interfere in any way with our carnal interests. Come, darling,” he gently coaxed, careful not to touch her. “I haven’t had near enough of you.” A jarring thought after a night of sex, but shockingly true.

  “Just so you understand I mean it,” Rosalind grumbled, although her body was already opening in spontaneous welcome; he had but to ask and the entire essence of her being was ready to oblige him.