“How dare you.” Arabella was breathing hard, the ache between her legs becoming more insistent. She had never seen Rowan lose control.
“Take off the dress, Arabella, least I rip the remainder of it from your body.” He stalked forward.
Arabella took a step back, grabbing the ends of her dress together.
“No corset tonight? Well you certainly don’t need one.” His gaze lingered on her slender waist. “I approve of the chemise, at least. Did you choose that for me or someone else?” He reached out to tease her nipple through the sheer black and gold silk covering her breasts.
Someone else? “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Relief flooded her, but also confusion. This was not about Barker, although she couldn’t for the life of her figure out exactly what this was about.
“Stop talking. Take. It. Off.”
Not an ounce of warmth came from him. She’d only seen him look like this one other time, when he’d confronted Corbett. Hands shaking, she pulled the dress from her shoulders and it fell to the floor in a pool of green.
“Turn around.” He pushed her so she lay over the small couch at the foot of her bed. “Put your hands on the bedpost”
Moisture seeped between her thighs, her body excited in spite of the situation she found herself in. She obeyed him, placing her hands on the cool mahogany of the bedpost. The position raised her buttocks, the chemise riding up her thighs. Within minutes his neckcloth wrapped around her hands, binding her to the bedpost. She tugged on her hands and found them secure.
Rough hands jerked and tugged at her underclothes until the fragile cotton was ripped from her, exposing the lower half of her body. He loomed behind her, the heat of his body searing the flesh of her buttocks. A palm grasped one cheek, squeezing the mound in his hands.
“I rather like you in this position.” The flat of his hand slapped her.
She jerked at the sting of his palm. “Malden —”
Another swat greeted her words. “What did I tell you about calling me by that name?”
Before she could reply, his fingers pushed inside her, thrusting slowly in and out.
“Rowan.” She moaned, pushing her hips back against his fingers, wanting more. Needing more.
He pulled back his hand. “Are you wet for me, Arabella? Or is it all your new admirers?”
“No…I…” She couldn’t speak. His fingers thrust back inside her, flicking against her folds in a harsh caress. She was helpless. Exposed. She bit her lip to keep from begging.
He nipped at the skin of her buttocks. “Longstreet, perhaps?”
Rowan is jealous. Jealous of Longstreet. Her heart fluttered even as her body pleaded for release.
His other hand wrapped around her waist and stroked her from the front, gliding through her wet folds. Caressing and teasing Arabella until she nearly fainted from the pleasure of his touch. Aching with need, her hips writhed. A light stroke touched the swollen flesh and she whimpered. “How dare you accuse me of flirting with Longstreet.”
His response was another light caress. Over and over he brought her to the edge, only to retreat until Arabella became mindless, her arousal painful.
“Turn your head. See what I see.”
The full-length mirror next to her vanity reflected a woman, her hair falling around her shoulders in disarray, her only clothing a torn decadent chemise pushed up from her hips. Her buttocks rose high positioned on the arm of the couch. A beautifully handsome man stood behind the woman, fully clothed, his manner predatory. The man’s hands roamed over the lower half of her body, his fingers disappearing from view as he caressed her. She had never seen anything so erotic.
Rowan’s eyes held hers in the mirror. Possessiveness stamped every line of his face. He was bloody furious. And jealous.
“Rowan.” Her voice hitched as he continued to torment her, and she pulled back against the silk binding her wrists. She was panting now, ready to beg and plead with him if only he would give her what her body so desperately needed. As her muscles began to clamp down, Rowan pulled back his fingers, refusing to allow her the release only he could give her.
“No.” She whispered, ashamed to find her hips pushing back. “Damn you.”
A warm hand traced the outline of her spine, then settled, splaying across the column of her neck. His fingers threaded through her hair, pulling her head back gently.
“To whom do you belong?” His breath, warm and scented of scotch whispered in her ear, before his teeth grazed her neck.
“Myself,” she murmured, still defiant though barely able of coherent thought. Anger rose in her that he, of all people, would assume her to have become a shameless flirt. It pained Arabella that he would think her like her mother. “You are not my master, you—”
Her words were cut off as his fingers continued to torment her. A small moan left her lips.
“I can do this all night, Bella. Who do you belong to?” His lips nipped at the curve of her neck again. “I will hear you say it.”
Her eyes filled with frustrated tears. She was wild with need and tugged back on the cloth around her wrists.
“Tell me, Bella. I want to make sure you understand.”
“You,” she whispered. “I belong only to you, Rowan. You came for me.”
Her reward was immediate. Fingers slid against her, lightly stroking before taking the nub between his fingers. He pinched slowly and deliberately, his head resting on her back.
Arabella cried out, as the orgasm crested through her body. She bucked, twisting as he held her in place. Spots appeared before her eyes and she became mindless as the pleasure coursed through her. She panted, trying to catch her breath as the tremors slowed and abated.
“Again,” Rowan whispered.
Already oversensitive, the merest touch of his fingers against her sex brought another wave of release. Over and over, Rowan coaxed her body to peak and shatter until she sobbed his name into the cushions of the couch.
A low growl sounded behind her as he wrapped one hand around her neck and finally entered her with one hard thrust. He took her ferociously, without mercy, pounding into her trembling body with a need no less fierce than her own. He was claiming her, possessing her as no other man ever would.
“Mine. No one else, Arabella. If you seek to take a lover, think again.” Another hard thrust. “Ours is not a marriage of convenience. Do I make myself clear?”
Her already tortured body could only accept and pull him in, inner muscles tightening like a vise around his length.
“Witch.” He breathed against her neck. The base of his palm pushed against the top of her oversensitive sex.
Another blinding climax shook her, and Arabella could barely summon a whimper.
Rowan slammed into her once more and stopped.
His breath fanned against her neck, then he abruptly stepped back and pulled up his trousers. He reached over to untie her but left the length of his neck-cloth dangling from one of her wrists. The hard length of his arousal tented his formal trousers.
“Rowan,” she whispered.
He said nothing, just picked her up by the waist, holding her against his side as if she were a bag of grain, and strode towards his room. She imagined this was how Vikings took their captive women.
He wasn’t done with her.
Arabella smiled to herself. She didn’t struggle.
34
As Rowan tossed Arabella on the bed taking in the scandalous chemise and tumble of dark hair, he realized two things simultaneously. One, he was behaving like a jealous barbarian. Two, he was in love with his wife.
At the moment, neither realization made him happy.
For years he’d watched Arabella at the few social events she’d attended. He would attempt to engage her in conversation only to receive a scathing remark or some other sarcastic observation for his efforts. It didn’t matter. He’d been drawn to her like a moth to a flame, wanting her no matter how much disdain she showed him. He would see her across a r
oom and imagine her hair released from the tight braids she wore, the dark mass whirling about the pale mounds of her breasts like a seductive hurricane.
Much as she looked now.
No matter how Lady Cupps-Foster pleaded with him, had Rowan not wished to rescue Arabella from Corbett, he would have sent for a Bow Street runner. His desire for her had never been simple lust.
I have always wanted her. I welcomed our forced betrothal.
As he looked down at the beautiful woman laying like some pagan feast on his bed, he wondered if he should ever admit such a thing to her, fearing to give Arabella the upper hand, especially since he wasn’t certain of her feelings. Did she love him?
Lady Gwendolyn’s carefully dropped comments about Arabella had aroused his already heightened suspicions. Intentionally. Perhaps he’d misjudged Gwendolyn; after all, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. But Gwendolyn was right about one thing. Arabella had managed to garner male attention. Every man at Galspred’s had watched her, probably shocked at the changed appearance of the formerly sour, austere Lady Arabella. He’d reacted badly, allowing too much scotch to mix with Gwendolyn’s words until jealousy had clouded his vision.
She rolled over on the bed and crawled on all fours to the edge, sitting back on her heels. One delicate ripened berry of a nipple peeked out through a tear in her chemise winking with impudence. Arabella wasn’t the least put out with his behavior. Her features were soft and full of longing.
For him.
Without a word, her fingers worked the buttons of his shirt, the palms moving across the planes of his chest. Her nails raked against his torso as the fabric fell away. Bergamot filled his nose, along with the smell of her arousal. A potent combination.
His breathing grew ragged, his cock hardening to the point of pain. He’d delayed his own release, not ready to end his possession of her so soon. Now he groaned as she leaned taller and pressed the heat of her mouth to the hollow of his throat. She bent, kissing down his chest until she reached the curve of his navel. Her hands took either side of his trousers, tugging at the material until Rowan pushed her hands away and shucked his pants.
A dark question lingered in her eyes as she grasped the length of him in her hand.
“God, yes,” he choked out, sucking in his breath.
Arabella stroked back and forth, watching him. “Like this?” She stroked firmly as her other hand pushed the chemise down to bare her breasts. Boldly, she ran her finger over one taut nipple while she stroked him.
Rowan groaned. “Christ.” His tongue flicked across the hardened peak.
She kissed the line of his jaw until she reached the edge of his ear. “Malden.”
“Rowan—” His voice faltered against her breast as her thumb slid over the top of his cock and he straightened. “I rode all over fucking England for you.”
“Not all over England.” She bent and kissed his stomach. “You didn’t even have to go all the way to Scotland. You found me in Lancashire.” Her head bent lower.
Rowan groaned as her tongue ran the length of his arousal. This particular act was something he had not yet broached, but as usual, Arabella surprised him with her enthusiasm.
“Fair enough,” he whispered.
Arabella had him fully in her mouth, her tongue twirling around his shaft. She sucked and licked, driving him slightly mad with her ministrations. When her hand lowered to further grasp him, he took ahold of her shoulders and gently pushed her away. He wouldn’t last one more minute if she continued. “Lay down.”
A small pout formed on her lips, but she complied.
His hand ran down over her breasts to the hollow between her legs. “I will always come for you, Bella. No matter where you would go, I would find you. You belong to me.”
“Yes.” A satisfied smile tilted one side of her mouth.
His mouth moved down the luscious curves of her body. He loved her. Adored her. Every dour inch. She was less unpleasant, and smiled more often than not, but Arabella still had her moments.
Placing a hand beneath one plump buttock he entered her slowly, savoring the soft warmth that encased him. She was saying his name, her hands trailing down his back to clasp his hips and pull him closer. He took with great care, his love for her marking every movement, worshiping every inch of her glorious body, as the truth of his heart was laid bare before her.
Cupping her face in his hands he watched Arabella as her release took her, the sound of his name on her lips propelling him over the edge. The force of his release left him bared before her and his heart nearly stopped. Overcome with emotion, he buried his face in the sweet-smelling mass of her hair, clutching her to him as if he would never let her go.
* * *
Arabella snuggled closer to the large male body, sinking deep into the warmth that was Rowan. Joy flooded through her, a foreign emotion and one fraught with pitfalls and worry. She had never thought to feel such love for another human being. She, Arabella Tremaine, the sour, unpleasant sister of the Duke of Dunbar who’d conspired to have her sister-in-law abducted was in love.
Truthfully, I’m still somewhat unpleasant, even when I try not to be, though Rowan doesn’t seem put off. And I’m not at all sure I won’t do something rotten in the future.
“Bella.” Rowan’s warm body moved, pinning her to the mattress. He pressed his forehead to hers. “What are you thinking?”
The thought of telling Rowan she loved him was terrifying. She could barely admit the truth to herself let alone the object of her affection. Certainly, his jealousy towards Longstreet would indicate he cared somewhat. “I’m thinking that my conversation with Longstreet was quite innocent.”
“I do not wish to discuss Longstreet.” A dangerous note entered his words. “Did I hurt you? Before?”
She shook her head. “No, of course not. Will you take a mistress?”
Rowan looked down at her, his dark hair falling about the high cheekbones and the slashes of gold and green in his eyes. “Why in God’s name would I take a mistress?”
Because I’m afraid you’ll tire of me. You may feel I’m not worth the effort. Especially when you find out about Corbett.
“Most married gentlemen take a mistress at some point, do they not?” She bit her lip.
“You would be accepting? If I were to take a mistress?” he said quietly, staring at her intently.
She tried to pull away. “If that is what you wished, I would have very little choice in the matter, would I?” No, she wanted to scream at him. She wouldn’t be fine with such an arrangement. Given her rather possessive nature, she was fairly certain any mistress of Rowan’s would meet with an unfortunate carriage accident.
“I will not be taking a mistress.” His voice lowered to a violent purr. “And rest assured, you will have no other man in your bed but me. I am not most husbands and you are not most wives. If you wanted a typical marriage within the ton you should have married someone else.” He bit her shoulder and she gasped at the sudden flash of pain. “I thought I’d made myself clear, Lady Malden.”
Arabella’s body curved, molding against his. His words filled her with happiness. And hope.
“I see you require further instruction.” He moved to hover over her. “You are very stubborn, Bella. I may need to reinforce this lesson repeatedly until you understand.”
“I am a slow learner, Malden,” she whispered.
35
“Come.”
Rowan looked up to find Arabella in the doorway of his study looking fresh and seductive in a rather wispy morning gown of pale rose. Only the shadows under her eyes reminded him she’d not been allowed much sleep last night. Even now after leaving her snoring softly in his bed a few hours ago, he wanted her again.
A new level of intimacy had been forged between them last night and Rowan’s feelings towards his wife had only been reinforced. What she thought, he wasn’t certain. Arabella, unlike most women, did not wear her emotions on her sleeve. She was cagey, controlled and often difficul
t to decipher, though he read her better than most.
His fingers itched to rake through the heavy mass of her hair, which Edith, her maid, had artfully pulled back from her face and wound into a lose chignon at her neck. He preferred her hair down, especially as they were at home, but the messy bun she had taken to wearing was vastly preferable to the tight braids and austere hairstyle she’d worn before.
“Am I interrupting?” Without waiting for him to answer, Arabella strode forward, obviously determined and not about to be deterred should he tell her she was bothering him.
Rowan set down the report from his solicitor on renovations to the Newsome textile mills, although he supposed a name change was in order.
Arabella’s eyes narrowed as she glanced at the report. Her breasts swelled against the demure neckline of the dress and Rowan found himself thinking of her delicious nipples. It was very distracting.
As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, she gave him a sideways lusty glance, before seating herself on the couch. The fingers of one hand trailed against the leather, in a caress, watching him.
Bloody tease.
The length of him tightened painfully beneath the desk, remembering the feel of those long, delicate fingers touching him last night. He’d been fortunate to marry a deeply sensual woman whose sexual needs matched his own. After their current conversation, which he was certain had something to do with the renovations of the mills, Rowan had every intention of throwing up those wispy skirts and taking her atop his desk.
She lifted a brow and looked at him with more than a hint of her typical mulishness. “There was a reason I was speaking to Longstreet though you didn’t give me an opportunity to tell you so.” A slight pout graced her plump lips.
His mood souring at the mention of Longstreet, Rowan sat back in his chair. “Must we continue to bring him up?” A sigh escaped him. “Go on.” He had several fantasies about Arabella that centered around her mouth. Her bottom lip especially was plump and full. The mouth of a courtesan.
Wickedly Yours (The Wickeds Book 4) Page 20