His Diamond of Convenience

by Maisey Yates

  Under normal circumstances he would immediately close the distance between himself and his prospective lover. Would pull her into his arms and began what would be finished in the bedroom right here on the way.

  But not here. Not now, not with Victoria.

  He only wanted to look at her for a while. To watch the pulse beat at the base of her throat, to watch the faint blush in her cheeks spread over the rest of her skin, flesh that spoke of arousal. To see the blue of her eyes all but disappear as her pupils expanded, as her eyes darkened.

  To appreciate the fact that he still didn’t know what she looked like naked. To savor this time of not knowing, because soon every question would be answered.

  There was something perversely pleasurable about this moment of in between. This last bit of torture. Of not having, of wanting. Of being so near to satisfaction he could taste it, but far enough that he was in near physical pain from the weight of resisting.

  Victoria took a deep breath, her shoulders lifting slightly, her fingers tightening on the little clutch bag she was still holding. She was nervous. But she was also excited. He had never fully appreciated how enjoyable it could be to watch for these small signals in his partners. Or perhaps it would not have been enjoyable with any other partner. Perhaps it was only Victoria and that indefinable quality that had reached out and grabbed him by the throat from the first moment he’d seen her.

  He let the silence expand between them, let it settle over them like a cloak. Until he became exceedingly aware of the sound of her shallow breathing, of the sound of the elevator’s gears grinding, moving them closer to their floor. To their destination.

  It stopped, the door sliding open. Victoria’s breath caught in her throat, her lips parted slightly, her eyes wide.

  He reached out and touched the back of her neck, sliding his fingers around slowly, reveling in the velvet softness of her skin. He tightened his hold, guiding both of them from the elevator and out into the hall. She turned slightly, her eyes meeting his. There were questions there, but none that she spoke. And so he answered none of them. Instead, he kept his hold on her firm and continued down the corridor toward their suite.

  He used the key card to unlock the door and held it open for her, waiting for her to enter. Another sign of her desire to be with him. And he needed another one. Because he had the feeling that once he touched her he would be at a point of no return, then he would find it almost impossible to stop were she to change her mind. So he had to be certain now.

  He stood in the doorway and watched her walk to the center of the room, crimson against the white marble floor and the cream-colored furniture.

  She dropped the wrap and the bag onto the sofa and looked up at him, biting her lower lip. It occurred to him then that he had not kissed her today. He had not kissed her since last night on the balcony, and he had not kissed her before that. Such a strange thing to want a woman as fiercely as he did when he had touched her so few times.

  And suddenly he was desperate for more. Desperate to taste her deeper than he had before, longer.

  He gripped the knot of his tie, loosening it as he crossed the room, closing the distance between them. And he watched as her tension began to dissolve, as she released a long slow breath, her shoulders lowering, her arms going to her sides. He could feel it reverberate inside of him, the release of her nerves, the embracing of desire. To be so in tune with a lover’s body was an added dimension that he had not anticipated, nor one he had ever thought possible.

  “Turn around, Victoria.” He had an image in his mind of what it would look like to unzip the dress, and he was determined to see it brought to life.

  She obeyed him, turning to face the back wall, her hands clasped in front of her.

  He approached her slowly, placing his hand on her shoulder before trailing it down the center of her back to where to dress began, dipping his fingertip beneath the fabric. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her shoulder blade, feeling her intake of breath as his lips made contact with her skin. He closed his eyes, kissed her again, lower this time. And lower still, until his mouth was at the line where fabric met flesh. He was on his knees before her, inhaling her scent, relishing her softness. He opened his eyes, looked at the contrast between the rich dark red of the gown and the pale white of her skin.

  He took the tab of the zipper between his thumb and forefinger and began to draw it downward, exposing more of her body. He tugged it down past the border of her underwear, the same red as the dress, exposing her perfectly rounded ass for his inspection.

  “I imagine,” he said, his voice rough even to his own ears, “that you wear this style of underwear for practical reasons.” He hooked his finger in the waistband of her panties, tracing the line where the fabric had just rested. “But I would like to think you wore them for me. I only wish I would’ve known that you had something so provocative on beneath the gown. There’s no way I could’ve waited through that last hour.”

  Victoria said nothing in response, but no response was needed.

  He pulled lightly on the dress and it fell, revealing her gorgeous body for his inspection. She was not wearing a bra; the style of dress she was wearing would never have allowed it. And now she was wearing nothing more than the extremely brief red panties. And a pair of black stilettos. It did things to him. Made him crave things. Everything.

  He gripped her hips, turning her so that she was facing him, with him still on his knees. Leaving him at eye level with the most feminine part of her, barely concealed by the red lace of the G-string.

  “And the shoes...you wore those for me, didn’t you?”

  She laughed, the sound shaky. “Not everything is all about you.”

  “Of course not.” He kissed the tender skin of her stomach, just above the red lace, and felt her shiver beneath his touch. “Right now it’s about you. I feel as though I might be working backward, seeing as I have not yet kissed your beautiful lips today.”

  And any moment now he would. But he was momentarily stunned by her beauty, and this position seemed the only one she was worthy of. One of reverence, one befitting the perfection that was before him now.

  A fitting show of reverence before he took what he wanted.

  Before he took what he needed.

  He was still holding her hips, and he looked at the places where his skin covered hers. Tanned, callused hands concealing her smoothness. Cheap tattoos he’d acquired on the streets a sharp contrast to the fine fabric that she normally kept pressed against her body. Unworthy was the only word that filled his mind now. He was not equal to the gift being offered.

  But he would take it.

  He would take it now.

  He got to his feet, cupping her face and bringing her forward, bringing his mouth down hard on hers. She made a muffled sound, wrapping her arms around his neck and angling her head, parting her lips for him. He shifted, pulling her tightly to his body so that she was pressed against him completely, every inch of her touching every inch of him. He was still wearing the suit, layers of fabric between him and her beautiful near-naked body. It wasn’t enough. It was nothing more than a tease. And he needed all of it, everything.

  He suddenly felt desperate, as if he was drowning and she was air. As if he was sinking in quicksand and she was his lifeline.

  The quaking feeling that had begun in the pit of his stomach in the ballroom intensified now. He closed his eyes tight, deepened the kiss, trying to get closer to her, in spite of the fact that there was no air at all between their bodies.

  A jolt rocked him as her back came into contact with the wall. He had not realized that in his desperation for closeness he had moved them across the room. He had not realized because he wasn’t aware of anything around them, wasn’t aware of anything that expanded beyond the two of them. He wrenched his mouth away from hers and kissed her neck, down lower to her col
larbone. She laced her fingers through his hair, holding him tightly to her. He kissed the valley between her breasts, tracing a line to her nipple with his tongue, relishing her flavor, her softness, her sweetness. He drew her deeply into his mouth, letting her hoarse cry wash over him, bathe him in satisfaction.

  He straightened, kissing her lips again as he moved his hands over her curves, down to her hips, down lower until he got a grip on her thighs and tugged her legs up, hooking them around his waist so that he could carry her from the sitting area into his bedroom. She clung tightly to him, not releasing her hold until they arrived at the bed and he deposited her in the center of it.

  He stepped back, looking at the picture she made, pale blond hair, pale skin over the white bedspread. The only color coming from the crimson thong that she still wore. It would have to go soon.

  He shrugged his jacket off, letting it fall to the floor. Then he began to work the buttons on his shirt, wrenching the tie off completely and letting it go the way of the jacket. He made quick work of the shirt, then his belt, shoving his pants and underwear down to his ankles and kicking them to the side. And all the while he kept his eyes on Victoria, on her almost-dazed expression. There was a strange innocence in the way she looked at him, an innocence combined with a hunger that amped up his own.

  “Your turn, Victoria.” He wrapped his hand around his shaft, squeezing tightly as she lifted her hips and took hold of the side of her panties, drawing them down her legs, exposing the pale curls at the apex of her thighs.

  He squeezed himself again, keeping his eyes fixed on her, the acute pleasure that rocked through him bordering on pain.

  She lay there on the bed, on her back, propped up on her elbows, her breasts thrust into prominence, her thighs partly spread. She looked every inch the pure sacrifice, offered up to him. Waiting for him to consume her in fire.

  A fitting analogy since she looked every bit like salvation, every bit like the deliverance he had always craved.

  He shouldn’t take her. But there were a lot of things in his life he’d done knowing he shouldn’t.

  He knelt on the foot of the bed and leaned forward, placing his hands on her stomach, sliding them down to her hips and pulling her forward so that the heart of her was only a breath away from his mouth. She reached out, taking hold of his shoulders. He looked up, met her gaze, saw fear and excitement in her eyes.

  Keeping his eyes on hers, he lowered his head, drawing his tongue over her clitoris, watching as her expression changed, as her eyes fluttered closed, her head fell back. As she gave herself up to the experience. To him.

  He turned his focus to tasting her, to pleasuring her as deeply as he could. Her flesh was slick beneath his tongue, sweet as honey. He pressed his finger to the entrance of her body, sliding it in slowly as he continued to tease and torture her with his mouth. She flexed her hips, pressing herself hard against him, drawing him in deeper.

  He added a second finger, increasing the pressure and speed of his movements, until he felt her break. Her internal muscles pulsing around him, then a deep, throaty sound that had no restraint or decorum filling the room, signaling her release.

  He withdrew from her body, kissing her hip bone, her stomach, her neck, settling himself between her thighs before kissing her deeply on the lips. “Yes, Victoria, yes. Give me everything. Give me your pleasure.” He whispered the words against her lips, roughly, furtively.

  She nodded, holding tightly to him, kissing his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

  He said a brief prayer that the hotel staff had been thinking clearly, then reached for the nightstand. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found an unopened box of condoms. He made quick work of the wrapping and pulled out one of the packets, opening it quickly and sheathing himself before repositioning himself at the entrance of Victoria’s body.

  He began to slide inside of her, and she gasped as he did. She was tighter than he had anticipated, and he’d felt a slight resistance that he had never felt with previous lovers. He flexed his hips, driving into her to the hilt, and she dug her fingernails into his shoulders, her face screwed up tight.

  “Victoria?”

  Her eyes were still closed, her face turned to the side, her grip on his shoulders like iron. He said her name again and she shook her head, a signal, he assumed that she did not want him to speak. That she did not want to speak to him. He stayed frozen like that, until he couldn’t bear it any longer.

  He began to move inside of her, trying to keep his thrusts slow and measured, trying to find a way to bring her pleasure again, to ease the tension in her expression. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, he had not wanted...

  Dear God, it wasn’t possible that she’d been a virgin, was it?

  And even as the thought filled him with horror, along with it came a sense of triumph that made him hate himself. And then, his mind was wiped clean, erased of any thought as pleasure overtook him.

  She was slick, so wet for him, and after a few strokes she had her legs wrapped around his hips, sweet sounds of pleasure escaping her lips. She arched against him with each thrust, and he ground his pelvis against the source of her pleasure, focusing himself on bringing her to completion again. He gritted his teeth, trying to hold on to his control. And when he felt her come again he released his hold.

  He reached around and cupped her butt, pulling her hard up against him, his movements erratic, strong, no finesse present at all. There was only this. Only Victoria. Only the tight, wet heat of her body and the blinding pleasure that was building inside of him, so big, so strong, he was sure that it would break him.

  And then it broke, and on a roar he found his own climax, release raging through him like an inferno. Devastating everything in its path, leaving the ground scorched and clear, cleansed.

  When he returned to himself, he was breathing hard; his head rested against Victoria’s neck, his entire body shaking.

  And his brain started to piece together everything that had happened. And what it meant.

  He moved away from her, the shaking feeling that had started hours ago worse now. He stood at the foot of the bed, looking at her, trying to figure out what she was thinking.

  She shifted slightly and he saw a dark spot of red staining the formerly pristine bedspread. An accusation that screamed louder than words ever could have.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

  He felt dizzy, sick. Because, dimly, he realized that he had known all along. That he had been drawn to her for almost this very reason. Because he was a sick bastard who had been desperate for her innocence. To use her as atonement, as if she could cleanse him. As if she could erase the past.

  The sacrificial lamb complete with an offering of blood.

  As if it could ever erase his past. As if he could trade this blood for the blood he had spilled so long ago. As if somehow being with her would restore what he had lost.

  Instead, he saw himself clearly. Saw this clearly for what it was.

  He knew what it was like to have his innocence ripped away. And he knew what it was to have the person you had sacrificed for turn you away after.

  But she had a choice. She made a choice.

  She hadn’t known, though. Not really.

  He would hurt her. He couldn’t keep her. Because after this was over he would send her away, benefiting greatly from what she had done for him, claiming it for his own and giving her nothing in return.

  He felt sick. He felt as if he needed air.

  Without saying a word he turned away from her and walked out of the room. He threw open the double doors that led out to the balcony and walked outside naked, letting the heavy, sultry air settle over his bare skin.

  He had thought to use her as a means of salvation. Had excused it all because she’d given her permission. Because she’d made a choice, and that was what truly m
attered.

  But he saw now that this was just more blood he had spilled.

  Blood he would never be able to wash off no matter how hard he tried.

  CHAPTER TEN

  VICTORIA WASN’T ENTIRELY certain if she was breathing or not. She was sure that she couldn’t move. She was still lying on her back, naked, the cold air harsh against her bare breasts, her skin still slick with sweat. His, and hers.

  The intimacy of it all rocked her, sent a shiver through her even now. He had been inside of her, closer to her than any other person had ever been in her entire life. The pleasure, though it had been mind-blowing, was almost beside the point. For the first time in so many years, more years than she could count, she had felt connected to another person. Really connected. Not just operating around them, trying to move the pieces of her life into the proper positioning to gain acceptance. To look as if she was doing well.

  They had been the kind of close where you couldn’t fake anything. Because she had shaken while he held her in his arms, and he had trembled above her. Because she had felt him pulse inside of her as he had given himself up to his orgasm, and her internal muscles had clinched tight around him as she had found her own.

  There had been no control, nothing but honesty.

  And then he had seen that little spot of blood on the bedspread and gone tearing from the room.

  She supposed she should have been honest with him. But then, it hadn’t seemed that it would be relevant. It wasn’t as if they lived in Regency England. Her hymen was her business. Anyway, she hadn’t actually imagined she would have one at this point. Apparently she had.

  She took in a deep breath and rolled out of the bed, her thigh muscles shaking. She felt dizzy and disoriented, but she had to go and find her lover.

  Her lover. There was something about that. Something wonderful and terrifying all at the same time.