Chapter 17

She was the perfect woman for him. The thought grew and grew as he watched her. And it wasn’t just sex. He almost chuckled. Nobody would believe him if he were to say that it wasn’t merely her body and her willingness, that it was something deeper, that just walking with her in the garden made him happy, that he loved the mischievous gleam that could appear in her eyes at the oddest moments. He loved that he didn’t always know what was going on behind those shining green eyes.

Although at this moment he had a pretty good idea; she was lost in herself as he had commanded. Only not quite—she was aware of him, of that he had no doubt and he knew that added to her pleasure. Her pleasure. God, when had it become all about her pleasure? He’d always cared to be sure his partners were well pleased, but never had it been the most important thing, the only thing.

He wanted Sin to burn with all that he could do for her, be for her, offer her.

He needed her to understand that she might be his, but he was also hers, that he would do anything for her. Anything.

He stepped forward, and placing a finger beneath her chin, raised her face to him. Her eyes were deep and dark, the pupils huge. He could read her desire easily. She liked this game. But there was something else there, something that he did not understand.

He pushed the needs of his body back. “What is troubling you, Sin?”

Her pupils widened even farther and then sharply narrowed. “What do you mean?” She tried to look away, but he held her chin firm.

“You do not look happy.” That wasn’t quite right, but it was as close as he could come to expressing what he saw on her face.

“Perhaps I am nervous. I am not used to being out in the wee hours and I can’t help but think that anybody could come upon us.”

There was some truth to that, but it was not the full truth. He did not like that she hid things from him. His thumb stroked her cheek. “That is most unlikely and even if a servant did stumble into the hall, I doubt that they know of this chamber.”

The ghost of a genuine smile flitted on her lips. “And do you dust the room? Someone must keep it clean, the candles fresh.”

He’d never thought of that. “Well, I am sure whichever of the servants is so trusted would know to never wander near when the room is in use.”

“And how would they know it was in use?”

Was she trying to distract him? “They simply know. I long ago accepted that servants are magical creatures who just know things, creatures that can become invisible and always pop up exactly when needed.”

“Magical servants. I like that.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Sin? There is something.”

She shook her head slightly, pushing against his hand. “It’s been a long and confusing week and I am tired. Nothing is the same as it was before I first went to Madame Blanche’s and it is taking me time to adjust. The woman I was a week ago would never have even believed this was possible. I am not sure I believe it.” Her eyes dropped.

That did make sense. He had asked a lot of her. It seemed so much longer that they had been together. Perhaps it was because of their past relationship. He found himself as comfortable with her as he had been with the girl she’d once been. It felt like he had known her forever and yet that everything was new. “I can certainly understand that. I would never have believed that I would actually want to marry, and yet I do.”

Her eyes grew clouded. Why was she not yet ready to accept that their marriage was inevitable? This time she succeeded in turning her head away. “And I am also worried about Jasmine,” she said. “If someone wanted to abduct her, how do we know they will not try again?”

Where had that question come from? Why was she talking about Jasmine now? And what was that extra note in her voice? For a moment he was tempted to tell her everything, to explain how he had felt forced to do whatever he could to get his sister away from Madame Blanche’s. And to explain that he knew he should be sorry that Sin had been taken instead, but that he could not be when it had brought them here. The words began to form in his mind, but he put them away. This was not the moment for such revelations. Tomorrow would come and words could be said then.

Tonight was not about words.

He stepped back and walked to the other chair, turning it to face her more directly. He sat, legs splayed wide. “I think we are forgetting our purpose in being here. I would not want you to catch a chill before we were through.”

For a moment he thought she would say something else, that she would refuse to let him turn the conversation, but then her eyelids dropped to half-mast, then closed, and her voice grew husky. “No, I would hate to catch a chill. I will have to see what I can do to warm up.” She dampened her fingers with her mouth and then used them to pull one tight nipple. It glistened and swelled at her touch.

His cock responded as if it were it her hands pulled.

Fuck. Where had she learned that?

She’d had another moment of hope. For a brief instant, she’d thought James would tell her about the abduction, would explain everything, would make her understand—understand and forgive. If he’d done that, then…No. It didn’t matter. He hadn’t done it, so wondering what would have happened if he had was pointless.

All that mattered was the here and now.

This is all she could have and she would grab it with both hands.

Letting her eyes stay closed, she brought both hands to her breasts. It was not the same as the painting, but it was what she needed. She pulled and pressed, cupping her breasts, letting her fingers trace patterns.

She could hear James’s breathing across the room, heavy and slow. Was he touching himself? She pulled harder on her right nipple, a slight zing of pain shooting between her legs, feeding the fire that had begun to grow. She pinched tight. Another zing.

She wanted to open her eyes and see him. She wanted to keep them closed and let her imagination run free, to pretend it was his hands upon her, the rough skin of his fingers scraping over her, the riding calluses of his palms tickling her, his pinch, his pull.

He’d pulled hard, harder than she yet had herself, seemed to know that perfect blending of pleasure and pain, that moment when sensation was all important. She pressed both nipples tight, holding them in, trying to contain the burn, the need.

His lips would feel so good now. She imagined them closing about her nipple, drawing it deep. She wet her fingers again and began to pull and release, dreaming of his lips.

Then one of her hands slipped down her belly, dancing over the tender skin, the dark curls. She’d touched herself before, but always with shame, never with this feeling of exhilaration, of everything being right.

For a moment she ran her fingers about, enjoying the feeling, but avoiding that special spot. She wanted to prolong this, to keep it going as long as she could. She was not sure what came next, but she needed this now.

She circled again and again, her fingers slick with her honey. One finger trailed over her entrance but did not enter. Then finally, she allowed herself to touch just where she wanted. Good. So good. Sparks of feeling filled her with each stroke.

Harder. Faster.

She opened her eyes and saw James—and almost forgot to breathe.

His look was intent, his eyes focused on her moving fingers. She could see the effort he put into each swallow.

His eyes lifted and met hers. His lips parted.

God, she could feel his mouth upon her, even as her own fingers moved. She felt his tongue in her own touch, the brush of his teeth in her pinch.

And he felt it, too; she could see that in his eyes, see that every time she touched herself he felt it. Her fingers grew hurried, she felt it coming, knew she could not hold back for long.

He bent forward, his eyes again dropping between her legs. Without looking, he reached out and took a candle from the candelabra, raising it so that the light shone more directly upon her.

She should have been embarrassed, should have felt ashamed, but she did not. This was power. This was glory.

Her one hand pinched her nipple tight, the other moved faster between her legs.

And her eyes stayed on him. He was not touching himself, although she could see the large bulge beneath his breeches. His hands lay fisted on his thighs.

His chest rose and fell along with hers. It almost felt that they shared the same breath, the same need, the same…

Too much thought. Feel, simply feel.

Her body grew tight, the springs coiling. Her fingers moved faster, pushed harder.

It was coming. It was coming.

James pulled in a deep breath and it felt as if it had been pulled directly from her lungs.

“Now,” he said.

And she let it go. Her body surged, sensations broke, and her head fell back.

A cry left her lips, his name.

Another surge.

Another.

And then peace, her body slumped in the chair, her skin so sensitive that a breath would have bruised it.

The chair creaked as he stood and walked toward her. “That was beautiful,” he said.

Her lips curled up in the barest hint of a smile, words beyond her.

A finger stroked over her shoulder and her whole body reacted, jerking slightly.

“I’ve dreamed of that for years and yet you surpassed my every fantasy, my dear Sin.”

“I am glad I pleased you,” she said as words began to form in her mind.

“I was not concerned with my own pleasure, only yours. Did you enjoy yourself?”

A blush moved up her cheeks. “It would be hard to deny.”

“Are you ready for more?”

More? His finger on her shoulder seemed too much, how could there be more? “I need a chance to breathe first.”

A light chuckle. “I am not sure that you do, but I will allow it.”

Allow it? Her body tingled at his words of control and yet her mind rebelled. Why ask, if he was then going to demand? Her eyes closed again. It would be so wonderful to sleep for just a few moments. It was late and she’d been tired before…before she’d played to his fantasies.

She forced her eyes open. She could not afford sleep. Whatever else happened this night it had to end with her departure, her leaving James and returning to the life she had once known. “What did you have in mind?” she asked. It was important to be sure that he was as worn out as she before this night had ended.

“I’d thought of showing you some more erotic drawings—there’s a drawer in the table filled with some quite unusual pieces—but I think they may be a little crude for the moment. They lack the beauty of the paintings, show the outrageous without that hint of emotion that draws in the viewer.”

Turning her head to look at him, she considered. She was curious. It would be pointless to pretend otherwise, but for once her sense of adventure only went so far. It was hard to imagine doing more than she already was. Still…just to look.

“I wish I could read your thoughts, Sin. You have the most mysterious expression.”

She was very glad he could not read her mind. It would never do for him to know her secrets, to know just how conflicted she was. “I was wondering what more there is to learn, but not being at all sure that I want to find out.”

“You need to trust me, Sin.”

And she did—only she didn’t. It was such a complicated world. How did you trust a man who did not tell you the full truth? And yet, on so many levels she did trust him. She would not be here now if she did not. It was easy to say that she had come so that he would not learn her true plans, that he would not realize her doubts, but why would he have suspected anything because she chose to stay in her room?

She was here because she wanted to be. “What is it you want to do?” she asked, letting all of her hesitation sound in her voice.

“Do you know, I am not quite sure. My fantasy for the evening has already been played out—and everything else I want, that you would be willing to try, would put you at further risk of pregnancy. I think watching your exquisite passion has left my brain fogged. Is there anything you’re curious about?”

There were so many things, but that didn’t mean she was sure she wanted to try them. “I’d like to touch you.” That should be simple enough.

“To touch me?” He reached out and took her hand, bringing it to his cheek, rubbing it against the stubble there. “You’ve touched me before.”

“That’s not what I mean. You know exactly what I mean.”

A devilish smile curled about his mouth. “And what exactly do you mean, Miss Westhope?”

“I want to touch you the way you touch me.”

“Can you be more specific?”

He was doing this on purpose, pushing her beyond her boundaries—and wasn’t it strange that it was so often easier to do things than to say them? A deep breath in. “I want to wrap my fingers about your cock and stroke and pull and pet until you can bear it no more.”

He swallowed. Her words might not have been elegant, but she could see the images forming in his mind.

From her position, sitting in the chair, his hips were just about eye level. With slightly shaking fingers she reached for one of the buttons on his flap. He did not stop her.

A swallow.

She undid the button, moved to the next.

James did nothing but look down at her, his gaze steady. Only the rapid pulse beating in his neck betrayed his tension.

When the last button was undone, she let the fabric fall forward. His shirttails still covered everything. Wondering if she would ever breathe again, she pushed them aside. It was a frightening thing, large and long, deep in color, the vein that ran along its base throbbing. It was also beautiful, strong, and powerful.

With care she reached out and ran a finger along it. So soft. The skin was so wonderfully soft—what was beneath was not. Again, she felt a shiver as she pictured that in her body. Even though it had been there once, it seemed impossible. She pressed her thighs tight.

It was good that they could not risk pregnancy, that she did not need to worry about that. Still, she was curious. She ran her fingers over him, learning his weight and heft, learning of vulnerability and power.

Still, he made no move, although his thighs strained and his hands remained fisted.

She wrapped her fingers about him, and one of his hands moved to wrap about hers, pressing her fingers tighter, teaching her how to move, faster, slower, the pace varied and then fell into a pattern, his hips thrusting in matching rhythm.

For a few moments she gazed, enrapt at the movement of his cock, at the small drop of liquid that formed on the tip, at how it slid and moved, at the play of soft skin and hard muscle—she remembered the taste of that drop, the taste of him. Then her eyes moved up to his and she was even more enrapt. A feeling of power such as she had never known swept through her. She was doing that to him. She was putting that expression on his face.

She understood now why he liked to look at her, why he could find his own pleasure in hers. It was a heady feeling.

Her thumb trailed up the underside, feeling the steady throb of the vein. His whole cock seemed to pulse beneath her touch. His eyes flickered with her every movement. His whole body strained, not moving, but she could feel his need, feel how little control remained.

She stroked again, let her thumb move over the tip, felt that drop of moisture, brought her hands to her lips. What was so addictive? She remembered tasting him after their mud fight in much the same way, but still it was irresistible, the essence of man, of James. Her eyes dropped down to his cock. She licked her lips, wondered if she dared, and…

“Fuck,” James mumbled, his hand closing about hers to stop it. “I wish you were ready for more, but you’re not. Perhaps next time.”

Next time? But there would be no next time—only he did not know that.

Should she…? If she didn’t she would always be curious.

“Turn over,” his voice filled with command.