by Diana Quincy
Emotion ached in his lungs. “I see you.” He brushed a loose curl away from her face. “I can’t stop seeing you.”
“See me now.” Her eyes pleaded with him, need and desire shining in those emerald depths. “Please.”
Every last vestige of resistance abandoned him, and he lost all hold on common decency, especially where this lush, desirable woman was concerned. “There are ways,” he said, his voice strained, “to give you pleasure without your losing your maidenhead.”
“No.” She shook her head stubbornly. “I want do it all with you. Edmund has no doubt done it all with Mrs. Dubois. I want everything with you.”
Guilt sliced across his ribs. He, too, had done it all with Marie Dubois, and it had marked him for life. Up until now, that liaison had seemed an indelible part of him—like a tattoo burned into his skin. Yet at the moment, he couldn’t form a clear image of Marie’s features in his mind. “Are you certain?” he asked. “Once it’s done, we cannot take it back.”
“I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.” She’d barely finished the sentence before he took her in another sweeping kiss, deep and intimate, demanding everything of her. Blood filled his groin at the feel of her soft breasts pressed against his chest. He tugged her white linen shirt out of her skirt and broke the kiss only to pull it off over her head. He drank in the view. Her cream stays offered up her pale, plump breasts to his eager inspection. She was temptation itself. Everything about this woman was abundant: her passion, her intelligence, her lush breasts and womanly curves. She was irresistible.
His hands at her waist, he lifted her onto the table, kissing the smooth curve of her neck, nipping gently as he worked down to the delicious curve of her high breasts. “I want to see you. All of you. May I?”
—
Gazing into Sparrow’s hungry eyes, Emilia suddenly regretted all of the extra sweetmeats and tea cakes she’d devoured over the last several weeks. The indulgence had resulted in everything on her becoming rounder and fuller, most noticeably her hips and breasts, which were already too generous to begin with.
Yet Sparrow stared at her as though she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and under his admiring gaze, she felt it was so. She hopped off the table and gave him her back. “You’ll have to unlace me.”
He released a long breath. His hands worked quickly at her back until her stays loosened. Clutching the garment to her chest, she turned toward him. Meeting his gaze, she pulled it away, baring her breasts to his eager interest.
His eyes dropped and darkened. She had no doubt he liked what he saw. “You are magnificent.”
She felt a surge of something that made her both eager and jumpy. “I’m not usually so…curvy…I’ve been eating far too many of Cook’s treats of late.”
“Don’t ever stop.” He practically pounced on her, kissing her deeply. One of his large, warm hands cupped her breast. “This is perfect.” He lowered his head to flick the hardened tip of her breast with his tongue. Sensation shot down deep into her belly. “Everything about your body is perfect.”
He practically feasted on her breasts, tonguing and sucking one and then the other, nipping lightly and then soothing her with an expert roll of his tongue. Her insides felt like they were glowing to the point of eruption. “Oh,” she gasped in pure wonder. “I feel like I’m going to burst from the pleasure of it.”
He laughed—a delighted sound—against her breasts, his breath a warm humid mist against her sensitized skin. “That is the idea.”
“It is?” she breathed. “What do you mean?”
He straightened to look at her, his handsome face flushed, his expression serious. “You do realize what a man and a woman do when they…make love.”
He looked so worried she couldn’t help but laugh. “I understand the mechanics, just not all of the nuances.”
“Well.” He wrapped a loose curly tendril of her hair around his finger. “If a man is a good lover, a woman experiences immense pleasure during the act. That sensation of bursting that you were speaking of is the beginning of it.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t realized. “And are you a good lover?”
He laughed. “I endeavor to be.”
She realized that she was sitting bare-breasted in front of him while he was totally clothed. “It doesn’t seem fair that you are still in possession of your clothing.”
His eyes gleamed devilishly. “I suppose you’d like me to remedy that.”
She nodded, crossing her arms over her breasts. “It’s only fair.”
“No, don’t.” He stepped toward her and gently pulled her arms away so that she was exposed to him. He took in the view with obvious appreciation as though she’d given him a great gift. “Don’t hide from me. Never hide from me.”
She willed herself to keep her hands at her sides. She wanted to be brave enough to give him everything of her. “Very well.”
He kissed her hard and then stepped back and tugged off his boots, one at a time, throwing them behind him without a care. His cravat, jacket, and waistcoat quickly followed. She did not turn shyly away when he pulled off his shirt, baring that strong, well-developed chest. Instead, that hungry, needy sensation began to well in her again, especially when he plucked at the buttons of his pantaloons.
He shoved them down over his hips, his member bouncing hard and thick as he freed it. He stepped out of his pantaloons and small clothes and tossed them away. When he straightened, she perused his form quite thoroughly.
How was it possible to have such a perfect form? The strong curves in his abdomen highlighted every muscle there, ones she was pretty certain she must not possess because her own stomach was one smooth, unriddled surface. His thighs were strong and firm, his calves rounded. She sighed her approval. “I really must draw you.”
He huffed a surprised laugh, and she supposed that was not what women who saw him naked usually said to him. “Maybe later.” His hands went to her waist, tugging her skirt off. “Right now there is something else you’re going to do to me.”
She let him take off her skirt and petticoat until she was completely bared to him. “What am I going to do to you?” she whispered, her voice husky with need in the face of his full masculine beauty.
He swept her up into his arms. “You’ve already slain me.” He carried her to the settee and set her down gently. “God help me, I’m finding it difficult to go slow with you.”
She needed him badly. “Then don’t. Hurry.” She didn’t know what exactly she wanted, but thank goodness he seemed to. He lay on top of her, keeping his weight on his elbows perched on either side of her. He pressed his lips to hers, his tongue dipping in to tangle with hers. She felt dizzy. So many sensations were assaulting her at once from the deep kisses and the delicious press of his hard body against the length of hers.
“Emilia,” he whispered, his lips touching her ear. “Open your legs for me.”
They were pressed tightly together. She hadn’t realized. Relaxing, she let her thighs fall open, cradling his hips in hers. She registered the hard length of him at her entrance. It felt so strange, so illicit and so perfect all at once. He breached her, rocking gently into her. It was a struggle. “Are you sure this is possible?” she asked, worried. “What if we don’t fit together?”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “We fit perfectly together.” He pushed farther in. “You’ll see.”
He rocked in and then back out again, the sensation foreign yet wonderful. He began to move in rhythm and the neediness began to grow in her again, clawing for that something Sparrow had told her about. His fingers nudged between them and he stroked her in a wonderfully sensitive place. Sensation shot through her, intense and demanding. She caught his rhythm and began to move in concert with him, their hips coming together in harmony, the sublime tension in her building with every stroke.
And then it was too much. She fought the urge to scream. Instead, a primal sound tore from her throat. Every muscle in her body clenched an
d a carnal sort of bliss ripped through her body, every nerve ending tingling with it, her body shaking uncontrollably. For a moment, the world seemed to go black and she collapsed back on the settee, feeling wondrously light-headed.
Sparrow had shifted half off of her, and she realized he was spilling his seed into one of the drop cloths she’d left on the floor. Then he was back, drawing her to him, closing his arms around her.
“Are you well?” he asked, the question tinged with concern.
“Supremely well.” She snuggled into him, loving the intimate feel of the fur on his chest tickling her cheek. Her entire body felt strange and new somehow. “And you answered my question most thoroughly.”
“Oh? What question is that?”
“You are definitely a good lover.”
—
Sparrow opened his eyes. Late-afternoon light streamed in from the enormous windows, casting long, thin shadows against the gray walls. It took a moment for him to remember where he was and why he was stretched out on Emilia’s settee, naked as the day he was born.
“Don’t move.”
He peered across the room to where Emilia sat perched in an old red-velvet chair wearing his oversized snowy shirt, her charcoal pencil scratching across her sketch pad.
“What time is it?” His voice was scratchy with sleep.
“Half past four. You’ve been asleep about a half hour.”
He couldn’t believe he’d dozed off. Since Marie, he’d rarely fallen asleep after bedding a woman. He usually swived them and went on his way. Sleeping, which left you at your most vulnerable, required trust. He realized that he did trust Emilia and that bedding her hadn’t been a quick, meaningless poke. He wasn’t sure what this thing between them was, or what the warm, satisfied feeling glowing in his chest meant.
He blinked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Is that my shirt?”
She finally looked up and favored him with a saucy smile. “It might be. It’s ever so cozy and smells divine, just like you. I hope you don’t mind.”
How could he? She looked magnificent in it. Her russet strands, which fell in wavy spirals around her shoulders, were especially vibrant against his snowy shirt. The linen was so big on her that one side fell off of her pale, smooth shoulder, baring it to his gaze. One of her legs was tucked under her while the other dangled down the edge of the chair, her delicate foot pointed toward the floor. She was a vision.
“What are you doing?” He propped himself up on his elbow, cradling his head in his palm.
“I’m sketching you, of course.”
“To what purpose? Unless you plan to hang it on your wall and scandalize all of Mayfair.”
She giggled. “It will only be for me.” She flashed him a naughty look. “Something to remember you by.”
Guilt washed over him. He’d taken her innocence and now she assumed he would desert her. “Emilia, we both got caught up in the moment.” He shifted to sit up. “But I take full responsibility.”
“Don’t move,” she ordered. “The light is perfect, and we won’t have it for much longer.”
He froze in position. “I want you to know I’m prepared to do the honorable thing.”
She didn’t look up as her charcoal pencil scratched the sketch pad in quick, confident strokes. “You’ll fall on your sword for me, will you?”
“Something like that.”
“No, thank you.”
No, thank you? What the devil kind of answer was that? He tried again. “A husband will expect his bride to be an innocent on her wedding night.”
She snorted, her concentration still on her work. “As long as Edmund finds a purse full of coin on our wedding night, I don’t anticipate any issues.”
His stomach clenched at the idea of this splendid woman selling herself so cheaply to Worsely. “You deserve better than him.”
“Maybe I do.” She looked up, her expression thoughtful. “But I also deserve better than a man who once jilted me and now feels duty bound to wed me because of a misplaced sense of honor and guilt.”
“I cannot argue that you deserve better than me.” He was broke and had nothing to offer her, not even his heart. If he were capable of loving any woman, he suspected it would be this flame-haired beauty who had no idea of the depth of her appeal. But that part of him was dead, and he doubted it could be resurrected. “However, we also cannot pretend this never happened.”
“I, for one, never intend to forget it.” She smiled, her expression warm and wistful. “Making love with you is a marvelous experience that I hope to repeat at least once or twice more.”
His heart kicked. He’d give anything to make love with her again. And again. “And then?”
“And then we retreat back to our respective corners, remaining friends while you go about your business and I go about mine.”
“You want us to remain friends.” He stared at her. “After I’ve taken your innocence.” But he’d done much more than that. They’d made love. And it occurred to him that even with Marie, he hadn’t felt the same kind of connection, on both an emotional and a physical level, that he had with Emilia. The lovemaking had been quite extraordinary.
He felt more at ease in Emilia’s presence than he’d ever felt with Marie, who’d always appreciated high drama. He suspected she’d picked fights with him so that when they finally did fall back in bed together, he would be more desperate for her than ever and the sex more explosive.
Back then he’d believed there was no denying their attraction for each other. He suspected now, in hindsight, that it was the game she played with all of her lovers to bring them under her spell, to keep them desperate for her so they’d feel incredibly fortunate once she deigned to bed them after all that drama reached a crescendo.
“You took nothing I didn’t give freely,” Emilia said pertly. “You’ve always been completely honest with me about what you are able to give. I understand marriage is not in our future and I appreciate your candor. I’ve never enjoyed this level of honesty with another person and I treasure it.”
“I am sorry I cannot give you marriage.” His chest felt as though a sharp-edged boulder was pressing down on it. “But I do want you to know the…intimacy…we enjoyed was exceptional.”
Her gaze softened and he could tell she was remembering their coupling. “I feel the same. We are friends because we enjoy each other’s society and, although we are certainly very compatible in a physical way, we would not suit as husband and wife.”
He stifled the urge to protest. He wanted to ask why she thought they couldn’t work as a couple, even though he’d told her as much more than once before. Suddenly, though, he couldn’t exactly remember his reasons why.
She glanced up but didn’t look at him. At least not his face. Her focus fixed on the place between his legs and then returned to her sketch pad, her pencil moving in decisive motions.
What in Hades was she drawing? “Are you sketching every part of me?” he asked carefully.
“Of course, my very own Portrait of a Young Man in Repose.” She glanced at his prick again. “But I must say, even in…erm…repose, your member is far more impressive than the real Young Man in Repose at the British Museum.”
Carnal heat simmered in the depths of his belly. She was killing him. His prick couldn’t help but respond when a woman as tantalizing as Emilia assessed its stature. “Keep looking at me like that and it’s likely to spring to attention in order to impress you with its full length.”
“Truly?” That caught her attention because she looked up with undisguised interest. She watched in apparent fascination as his arousal firmed and grew as though preening for her. She swallowed, her cheeks bright. “Oh my.” She let her sketchbook fall to the floor with a rush. “That’s very…impressive.”
“How long before your parents return?”
“At least another hour.”
“Then I strongly suggest you come over here.”
Her mouth curved up. “Why?”
“You
are the cause of this problem.” He took hold of his erection with one large hand and watched her eyes flare with interest when he did so. “I think you should help me rectify it.”
She rose and came over to him, not bothering to pretend she was too shy or modest to gaze on the naked male form with avid interest. “And how would I do that?”
“By sitting on it.” He shocked himself by being so crude with her. But something about Emilia inspired complete honesty and directness. There was an ease between them he’d never felt with anyone else, man or woman.
She licked her lips and he imagined her mouth wrapped around him. He groaned.
“Tell me how,” she demanded.
His blood broiled in his veins. What a fearless temptress she was becoming. He hated the idea of Edmund enjoying her favors. “Straddle me.” He took her soft, delicate hand and helped her balance as she anchored one knee beside him while swinging her other leg over his hip. He touched the thatch of hair at her mound as she did so. The deep red shade made him even hungrier for her. “Mmm,” he said appreciatively. “The same glorious color.”
“Isn’t it the same with all females?” A quizzical indent appeared between her two delicate brows. “The same color everywhere I mean?”
“No.” He watched his fingers play with the intimate nest of hair. “Some women…erm…of a certain sort, color their hair to make it look like yours.”
Disbelief stamped her face. “Why would they do that?”
“Because.” His fingers slid inside to find her moist and she emitted a soft needy sigh. He suppressed a groan. She was so ready for him to take her again. “Most men cannot resist it.”
Unable to wait any longer, he grasped her hips and lowered her until she was fully seated and his prick was blissfully surrounded by her satin slickness. What a relief it was to be inside her again. He gazed into her beautiful eyes. “Take off your shirt. I need to see all of you.” He wanted to possess her with a fierceness and intensity he hadn’t known before this woman. Somewhere in the recesses of his brain an alarm sounded, but he ignored it. For this moment, at least, he wanted to completely immerse himself in this encounter.
