Lisette

by Gayle Eden

  At some juncture, they both heard Monty say, “No, you may as well stay over. The weather is quite foul. I gather that Haven and Juliette are going to talk weddings and marriage. We’re to be your witnesses, ole man, so I suppose you had best decide if you are having the ceremony in Wheatstone chapel or where.”

  As Haven was accepting, when Deme called out, “Would you mind, Lisette—”

  “No. of course not. You don’t want Haven out in this storm.”

  Haven moaned. “If you two don’t stop coddling me, this will be the last child I bare.”

  “Never say so love.” Deme cried. “You do so love how we get them.”

  There followed chuckling, intimate jesting, from and between, the couples.

  It was soon apparent they were done playing cards. Lisette turned and looked up at Marston. “Excuse me; I’ll help them right the room.”

  He stepped aside his gaze raking her bodice. “You seem chilled. Would you like my jacket?’

  She grinned. “Chilled? Not at all, Marston, quite the opposite.”

  “Elisha,” his soft deep voice insisted.

  She nodded but went on to help assist a maid who came for the cart.

  Lamps were turned down and the couples settled into what seemed like intimate chatting, sharing something only, those who were or soon to be wed, who were lovers, would.

  It unintentionally left Lisette and Marston feeling on the outside, yet Lisette was certainly having carnal thoughts when she eyed the Viscount—and suspected his were not exactly pure either.

  “Chess?” she asked at one point.

  He seemed relieved and nodded, releasing a sigh as he stood.

  Upon learning their intent, Monty insisted, “It is already set up in the study. We shall only distract you—and you’ll need your wits with Lisette.” He laughed. “If we retire, just ask the servants for whatever you need.”

  “Coffee.” Lisette asked and the request was sent. She avoided raised brows from Haven and Juliette when she followed Marston in the study.

  She heard Deme say, “No need of a chaperone with Lisette, she carries a dirk in her garter.”

  She appreciated the Viscount’s quick wit when he returned, “Unfortunately, I shall never feel its prick.”

  From the laughter of the others, they enjoyed it too.

  The chess set was a lovely one of jade and ebony pieces. The table was just back from the fire in the comfortable room, a chamber saved from been gaping, considering its size, by the manner in which it was divvied into library, billiards, desk, and sitting areas.

  “Thank you.” She grinned at the maid who left a cart with pot and two cups by the table they sat at.

  The table was small, only large enough to hold the carved chessboard. The chairs they drew up were winged, because though she may have chosen one of the Queen Anne’s, she knew his size would not bear one.

  He poured their coffee. She watched him, watched the firelight on his pristine shirt, his hair, his jaw. He handed hers, she took it, and while he got his, she eyed the round shape of his muscled thighs, already having admired his carved backside.

  He sat then, knees slightly apart and while drinking; his one hand was on the scrolled arm of the chair.

  She raised her gaze and drank, their eyes holding before he lowered the cup. No effort was made to start a game. The tension was there. The awareness was strong—and growing more so.

  “I noticed that you enjoy sport and games,” he supplied.

  “Yes. They add excitement to life, don’t you think?”

  His lashes dipped slightly. “I regret I have not had much opportunity to form such an opinion.”

  “You’re an only child?”

  “No.” Something flashed in his eyes before he murmured, “Marston’s are—strictly raised.” Then he offered, “I’d prefer not to waste this opportunity we have, Lisette. Or rather I have.” His mouth curved. “I am sure I would like to have no other tutor in whatever sport you choose.”

  Setting her cup down, she scrapped her teeth over her lip before looking over him, half excited by the prospect, but not having a real plan in her head—and taking a close enough look at his dark craggy face to assure herself that he could be trusted.

  She began, “You seem like a man who strictly adheres to rules, Marston.”

  “Elisha.”

  She nodded “Elisha, then. As you have doubtless observed, the Wimberly clan does when it matters. But if we’re speaking of enjoying oneself, then that requires not only impulse but imagination.”

  He was listening closely.

  Lisette leaned up and made a move on the board.

  He leaned up too, and countered it, but also brushed her hand with his. Their faces were close. Lisette was aware of him coming closer still.

  He was a breath away and she boldly let her tongue brush his lips lightly. They tasted delightful, supple and soft.

  His lips parted slightly while he met that teasing with his own.

  After running hers along the fullness of his lower lip, she pulled back, and made another move on the board.

  He countered. So it went for some time, each time they leaned up, met, stroked tongues, tasting lips, breathing terse and warm, and more rapidly as the play went on.

  Her body fully aroused, becoming more so by his surprising sensuality, Lisette offered no resistance when he cupped the back of her head and their partly open lips were touching.

  Irregular breaths came with an ultra-slow easing of their tongues into each other’s mouths. Once fully tasting, she made the first move to taste him.

  He countered.

  Time—became insignificant.

  Her hand cupped his nape. Moving her head while her tongue sensually found the secrets of his mouth, Lisette moaned when Marston took that invitation. Flames licked her insides. She was dizzy.

  He sucked his lean cheeks in and caught her tongue.

  They parted. Lips open now, and panting breaths obvious. His sooty lashes half shielded his silver eyes—yet nothing could hide the aroused glitter.

  She looked down at the board and made a move, and lost her knight to him.

  Lisette laughed breathless. “Were I not enjoying the distraction, I would be a more challenging opponent.”

  “You’re the most challenging woman I’ve ever met.” He sat back and his hands resting on his hard thighs whilst he visually scanned over her.

  She made another move. “When did you meet my mother?”

  “I knew of her.” He looked down and moved his piece. “But I spoke to her after I had seen you at the Salon.”

  Her brow rose. “I’m surprise you went there. It doesn’t seem like a place you’d frequent.”

  “It was my first time. I had gone with Mr. Smith.”

  She watched his face, sensing there was more than he was admitting. “I have gone for years. One thing that I enjoy is watching people, lovers mostly.”

  “A voyeur, are you?”

  “No. I’m not that rude.” She laughed. “I was speaking of body language and looks, that sort of thing. Though, I suppose if one were a voyeur, it would be harmless so long as the person or people they watched were of consent.”

  He stared at her. “I suppose you are right.”

  When they made their moves this time, both on the board, and with their lips. From that point kisses were sometimes closed mouthed, soft touches of lips—but the tension was just the opposite—hot and taut, in her body. In his. In their eyes, when they parted.

  Fortunately, for them, they were at the game when Monty opened the door.

  “We are retiring. You shall be at the end of the hall, Lisette. And Marston, you know your way, by now.”

  * * * *

  Elisha was surprised when Lisette stood and told him. “We shall retire also. We can finish the game another time.”

  Disappointed at the abrupt end to their intimate game, he quipped, “She is losing anyway.” And Monty laughed.

  “See yourselves up or ring for
the housekeeper.”

  “No need.” He heard Lisette say.

  The door was left open. Though Monty left, a maid came to take the cart; thus he was prevented from saying anything or asking—because of that.

  As discreet as he could, Elisha hid the painfully aroused state of his body, and made it to the parlor to collect his jacket, to shield the evident state of his cock. Everyone was saying their goodnights, and lamps were being adjusted. A waft of air rippled over his shirt. His hard nipples felt it.

  Going through mental exercises to ease the tension in his muscle and skin, he said all the proper things, taking up the rear as the couples holding hands as they progressed up the staircase.

  At the top of the landing, Monty and Juliette moved left, and Deme and Haven proceeded up another floor. He was at the very end of that same hall, but hesitated as Lisette had stopped.

  Her eyes were beautiful in the shadows, a translucent aqua blue, and now that he had tasted her lips, witnessed her sensuality, he looked over her body, also partly in shadows, knowing she was feeling what he was.

  She supplied, “I shall doubtless have a restless night.”

  He knew he would. However, judging if that was what he hoped, he offered low, “I often find myself suffering the same.”

  Her tongue wet her lips and she turned, walking to her rooms, and he was standing there when she opened the door, looked back at him, and then entered.

  He continued up to the apartment offered him, breathing several long breathes before he went to the bathing closet and stripped. After cleaning his teeth, he made use of the water and pan. He bathed his warm body, hearing the rain batter against the windows, but when he emerged with a towel on his hips, he also detected the faint intimate creak of a bed in a rhythmic pattern from the upper floors.

  It did not help his own state.

  In his bare feet, Elisha went to the wardrobe and took down a fresh shirt, leaving it undone while he searched out trousers. He dropped the towel, donned trousers, and then used the long mirror to comb his hair.

  He was setting the brush down when he saw the knob turn and Lisette entered.

  She had obviously washed too. Her dark blond hair was damp and piled up in some lovely disorder with a few strands seemingly down in the most alluring manner. She wore a flowing silver robe with some sort of night-rail under it.

  Although he could discern her figure in the low cut fashions of the day, when she undid a latch at the waist of that robe, Elisha felt a rush of lust. The gossamer scrap she wore had ribbon straps and dipped low between her breasts. Each round breast he could see distinctly, as well as distended nipples. The sheath fell to her calves in a way that the material clung to her hips, yet the curls at the apex of her shapely thighs were also plain to see.

  His heart rammed his ribs. He did not know what the rules were or how deep the play.

  She padded toward him. It seemed to Elisha like some fantasy in which he was suddenly caught. When she was close, looking up at him, he held her gaze, doubtful he could mask anything he was feeling at this point.

  Her aristocratic face was beautiful, a bit sultry, a bit teasingly smiling. Her hand came up. It caught the open flap of his shirt and as she stepped around him, she dragged it down his defined arm. He assisted willingly so that when she was behind him, she could easily pull it off.

  Catching sight of their reflections in the far vanity, he made a sound when he felt her hands touch his bare skin. His ribs lifted. His flesh prickled all over. Elisha had to close his eyes briefly when those palms skimmed up from his spine to his nape and back.

  She came round him again.

  Lashes lifting, he watched her circle his dark wrist before she was feeling up his forearm and to his shoulder. She stroked the other, and the moment she was eyeing his own hard nipples, he knew he wanted her touch them, would kill for it, before she finally did.

  Observing her pale fingertips on his nipple had his sex so hard he felt a wave of nausea. Nevertheless, it was overridden by the bliss of her touch. His breathing was deep, rigid. When he looked at her face, he noticed her slightly parted lips.

  She leaned in and flicked her tongue over his nipple.

  “Christ.” His hand buried in that muss of blonde hair. She moved back, and then her arms went round him. Thirsting for the kiss that came, he met her stretching on her tiptoes by bending his head.

  He was drugged by the eroticism in their lips on lips, their tongues, tasting inside each other’s mouths. Elisha’s palm caressed down her back, discovering the gown dipped to her spine. A rush of air escaped his nostrils at the feel of her soft skin, the curves.

  He dared caress lower, over a well-shaped derrière, cupping it.

  The more aroused they became, the hotter their skin. He instinctively pulled her to him with that hold and flexed his hips, so his already iron hard cock could feel her closer.

  Lifting his head to allow them air, their breathing strident, heart hammering, he wanted to kiss more of her but because of their heights could not. So he stepped back to lead her toward the bed.

  She did not move.

  Ah, rule one. He was fine with any rules, so long as she was not leaving yet.

  Elisha looked around and then arched a brow, motioning towards two trunks against the wall. She followed, holding his hand. He went to them and half sat, his legs wider, bringing her between them.

  Before she could kiss him, he cupped her face, kissed her deep and sensual, then pulling back to trail kisses over her jaw and cheeks, across her brow, moving his hands down, while hers came to his shoulders. He pressed with his palm on her spine to urge her closer still, his mouth then scoring her throat.

  “Mmm,” the sound came from her while he tasted the scented flesh at the sides of her throat, around, then bit it lightly, and suckled at her nape.

  One of her hands lifted. Her fingers tangled in his hair. Elisha made his own grunt of pleasure. He kissed her.

  This time the eroticism led. He suckled her tongue, bit lightly at her bottom lip and then laved the spot. When it ended, they stared at each other with faces tense, lids sluggish and with hungers and breathing out of control.

  His hands skimmed up her sides to her breasts. He dropped his gaze to watch the moment he covered them, and massaged. When he would have kissed them through the material, she stopped him. He almost begged for a taste.

  Lisette moved her hands from him and eased the bodice down, until each perfectly round globe was exposed. Rose nipples quivered in the center of those perfect mounds. Quivered, like her breathing.

  Elisha eyed her face before he captured her nipple with his lips.

  Mindful of sound carrying, they had thus far been controlling it, her breathing became like whimpers when he suckled.

  Elisha lost himself for a time, suckling, licking, bathing his lips and tongue with her soft flesh. They were feeling each other too, hands roaming, hers somewhat feverishly going from his nape, his hair, down his back.

  Her body arched in offering those breasts to his mouth. His hand kneaded her buttocks, his mind swimming in a haze of not believing he was doing it, yet relishing every second. Drawing back with a soft suckling sound when he released her nipple, he took a tongue-caressing kiss from her, feeling her push his hands down at the end of it, and step back.

  He could see her gathering herself. It occurred to Elisha then that she had no more expected the hungry rush to be so intense than he had. He could see things had gotten out of hand for her. Lisette was struggling between wanting and caution.

  Elisha recognized it was not sexual caution, but rather caution because it was him—and she did not fully trust him. He doubted she had fully accepted the fact they could make each other feel like this.

  Cupping the back of her head, he brought her close and put his lips near her ear, “You can trust me, Lisette. Whatever you want, you can show me…”

  When he released her, she searched his face; breaths making her tremble even as her palm knowingly or unknowi
ngly touched each breast. He thought perhaps to ease that feeling, since his own here that sensitive.

  * * * *

  Having long since lost control of whatever game she started, Lisette was still trying to absorb what his touch and taste made her feel. She was looking at him half sitting there, tightly muscled, strong veined and sinewy. At the rounded muscles on his shoulders and arms, divided slabs at his upper chest, and a ridged stomach with a swirl of black hair at his navel. His throat was strong, and where his face seemed remote and craggy most time, as he was aroused and having his hair mussed from her fingers, she was almost weak kneed just viewing the potent and virile image.

  Dangerously masculine, whispered in her head. His sensual lips were flushed. They had felt like heaven on her breasts. Trust him. Trust him. Even as her mind cried for that because she ached sexually, she needed assurance and whispered, “You must be discreet about this. Everything must seem…normal, when we are around others.”

  “Certainly.” He nodded willing to agree to anything for a moment more, a kiss or touch more.

  She looked seductive with her breasts exposed, her face a picture of feminine want and her body thinly veiled in that gown. Her legs were well shaped, her breasts and hips, ass, sweetly round. She was lovely. One Skeen of hair fell from the front along her temple and down to her rib; several in the back lay along her nape and shoulder blades. He would have begged—just to sit there and look at her for an hour.

  A gust of rain smacked the window. Fire sparked in the hearth. He watched her go and turn the lamp lower. It cast the room in deep amber, warming her creamy skin and her hair, shimmering on that scant covering.

  She wet her lips and cupped his face.

  He delighted in her following kisses, soft ones, or a rub of her lips on his erotically. His palms felt her breasts, massaged, weighed them, then skimmed her ribs and stomach, then back up to her breasts.

  He closed his eyes giving himself up to her kisses.

  Feeling her breath on his lips, Elisha opened his eyes, took in her heavy look and murmured, “Trust me.” To the question still there.

  Lisette stepped back and took his hand. He willingly followed her to the side of the bed. It was there she had her pretty little feet on the steps leading up to the high side, and began easing up her hem.