Deliciously.
Her hand slid lower, the cloth traveling down his chest, across his belly. Anticipation rose, along with the almost feral urge to have her hands upon him. Until he forcefully reminded himself of the need to maintain his control.
“Helena,” he growled in warning as the cloth moved to his thighs, in suspicious proximity to his erect prick.
He had to put an end to this before they both went too far. What was he thinking, to allow her to tend to him so intimately? To allow her to…
The cloth floated to the top of the water. He inhaled sharply as her knowing hand, already so adept at bringing him pleasure, grasped his cock. She stroked him from root to tip.
Yes, crooned the devil within as his ballocks drew taut with the need for release. A miracle, truly, for he had been making love to his wife every night since consummating their marriage. Yes, yes, and more yes.
Her thumb swirled over his cockhead. All the yeses, in fact.
He groaned, his hips jerking. Their prodigious amount of lovemaking only made him more randy.
“I love touching you,” she murmured, her voice throaty. Laden with wicked invitation.
How was it that a woman so new to pleasure already could lay him low with more proficiency than a practiced courtesan?
“Helena, I meant to give you the evening to yourself,” he gritted.
She stroked him again, her grasp tightening. “What if I do not want the evening to myself?”
Curse this beautiful, maddening woman he had wed who was all the things he should not want. Outspoken, rebellious, fiery, independent. Sensual. Because he was beginning to fear that she could prove to be everything he would ever want, now and forever.
“Devil take it, woman,” he growled, standing abruptly, warm bath water traveling down his body in rivulets. “I have had quite enough of this bath for one night.”
She rose to her full height, which was almost even with his when they were both standing. He liked that about her—how tall she was, those long, luscious legs…
“I was not finished,” she dared to protest.
“On the contrary.” He grinned when he spied the exact moment her gaze settled upon his cockstand. “It would seem we are only just beginning.”
Chapter Nineteen
What we seek is not so different from that which man has sought. Nor are we any less worthy of calling it ours.
—From Lady’s Suffrage Society Times
Helena could not wrest her gaze from the sight of Gabe standing tall, proud, and nude in the bath. And erect. Her eyes dipped to the thick protrusion of his manhood, jutting upward, stiff and proud. That part of him, like the rest, was beautiful. She wanted to worship him there, to take him in her mouth.
In truth, she wanted to worship all of him, this man she loved. This man she had married. This man who looked at her as if she were the most glorious, seductive creature he had ever beheld.
The sudden surge of possession within her took Helena by surprise. He was hers. Even if he was difficult to understand. Even if he was a lover who scorched her with his passion by night and turned into a polite stranger by day. The dichotomy was not lost upon her. But what she relished in this moment was that she had pushed the polite stranger he had been at breakfast and dinner, the man who had urged her to go to bed without him, over the edge.
There was no denying she had an effect upon him.
He wanted her.
Triumph soared, lifting her hopes along with it.
Her stare reluctantly returned to his, traveling up his well-muscled planes, lingering over all his sinew and maleness. Their stares met and held, his filled with so much heat, every part of her tingled in response.
“Shall I dry you off if you have finished your bath?” she asked him.
The decidedly naughty thought of licking the water from his skin occurred to her, but she kept it to herself. What would he think of such an improper suggestion? The lover who burned in her arms every night would be pleased. The cool stranger who spoke to her of the news over their morning breakfast would likely be scandalized.
Who was he? Which Gabe was he, deep within? Or was he a complex combination of the two men he presented to her?
“Damn you, woman, how do you make the most innocent of suggestions sound wicked?” he asked, stepping from the tub.
The towels which had been laid on the surrounding tile absorbed the water running from him. But Helena still could not help but to find the southward trajectory of those rivulets utterly fascinating.
Instead of answering him, she distracted herself by fetching a fresh towel and blotting off the moisture on his chest. The ends of his mahogany hair were damp and dark, clinging together and falling over his brow in a rakish manner that was utterly irresistible.
Tenderness and desire hit her simultaneously.
“Here now,” he said gruffly, taking the towel from her. “You are not my manservant, and nor shall I expect you to tend to me as if you were.”
He was attempting to resurrect the walls he had erected earlier at dinner. That much was plain to see. Helena, however, was in the mood for victory this evening. Neither defeat nor surrender were options, and they never had been.
She snatched the towel back. “I tend to you because I want to, Gabe. Because tending to you pleases me. You are my husband.”
His jaw hardened, but he made no move to reclaim the towel. “You do not need to, Helena. I am not your duty.”
“There it is again,” she observed, drying off his well-delineated chest muscles. “Your favorite word, I dare say.”
“Duty?”
“Yes.” She dried his abdomen and then moved behind him, dabbing at the water running down his broad back with the towel next. “It seems to be a favored word in your lexicon.”
His back was perfection. Strong and wide, tapering to his lean hips and his buttocks. Helena could not help but to admire him there as well as she dried his lower back.
“Duty is important,” he said, his voice low. “It is the force that drives us through our every day, leading us on. And when we falter from it, duty brings us back to the course which we are destined to travel.”
His response brought a twinge of sadness to life within Helena. She did her best to diminish it as she toweled off his rump.
“Did you falter from duty when you kissed me the first time?” she asked, for the question had been burning within her for some time now. She had come to believe she understood him, at least in a small sense.
“Of course I did. And from honor as well.”
How stiffly he held himself now.
Duty was all-important to Gabe. It was why he had been betrothed to Lady Beatrice. Why he had fought his attraction to Helena so much. Why he fought it still. But there had to be other reasons, reasons which she had yet to unearth. Reasons aside from the lie she had told to force his hand. Reasons why he would make love to her so passionately and then withdraw by the light of the morning. She would simply continue digging until she discovered them all. Until she knew and understood everything there was about her husband.
On a wicked whim, she worked her way lower, drying off the firm backs of his thighs, the well-formed calves all the way to his ankles. Once there, she quietly knelt.
“Turn,” she told him, summoning every bit of boldness she possessed.
He did as she asked, his blue eyes burning into hers. “Why are you on your knees?”
“It is most assuredly not because of duty.” She tipped back her head, aware of every sense in a way she had not been before. The scent of him—citrus from the water, sandalwood from his soap—was heady on the air. Heat wafted from his bare skin. Steam rose from the bath, enveloping them both in a delicious mist. Even her own curls, trailing down her back until they tickled the soles of her bare feet peeping from beneath her bottom, were a cause of sensation.
“Helena.” Though he said her name in a warning fashion, he stroked her cheek. “This was not my intention this evening.”
Of course it had not been. His intention had been to send her away from him so he could continue clinging to the barriers he needed between them.
Pretending her only interest was in drying him, she forced herself to apply the towel to his thighs. First the right, then the left. Then lower. Down the rigid slant of his shins. All the way to the tops of his feet.
Only then did she glance back up at him, marveling at his height and strength, the firm, decidedly masculine musculature and sinews of his body. She had seen her husband naked on numerous occasions, but most of those had been in low gaslight, with him poised above her. Here, now, she had the opportunity at long last to admire him as he deserved.
And more, she hoped.
Much, much more.
She wetted her lips as the warm, heady lure of desire unfurled within her. “There you are, my lord. All dried off from your bath.”
He still cupped her cheek, the pad of his thumb rubbing her jawline in a slow, steady caress. “Thank you.”
But he did not move.
And neither did she.
“Gabe?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Helena?”
“I want to please you.”
A handful of words. Not enough to explain everything she wanted. But enough, she hoped. There was something about the man she loved hovering over her, his expression inscrutable, his hand on her face, his body nude and ready for the taking, that had her at sixes and sevens.
“You do not know what you are saying,” he argued. “This is not…we cannot…should not…”
Helena had endured enough of Gabe’s denials. On the last of his attempts to enumerate the reasons why she ought not to give him pleasure this evening, she simply leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the tip of his cock.
“Damn,” he swore.
It sounded like a good curse to Helena, the sort which he permitted himself to utter in the throes of passion. Smiling, she extended her boldness by running her tongue along the length of him.
“Helena,” he said on a groan. “This is…wrong. I cannot ask you to do this for me.”
“You did not ask,” she pointed out. “I want to do it.”
Actually, she had simply begun doing what pleased her. And in this moment, what pleased her was touching and teasing him as he had done to her. He was so good at giving. Tonight, she wanted to return the favor. Whether or not the evening had begun with such an intention was irrelevant. They were here now. Together now.
Nothing had ever felt better or more right.
She did not await his response. Instead, she drew him into her mouth in the same way he had done to her pearl. Echoing his actions, she sucked.
His hips bucked, driving him to the back of her throat.
Helena gagged.
Her husband withdrew instantly. “Forgive me, my dear. That is not…I should have never allowed you to do that. The act is not for a wife, but rather for a mistress.”
The word mistress made her cold. She stared up at him, the thought of him bedding another woman akin to a knife in her heart.
“Do you have a mistress?” she asked, not for the first time.
“Of course not, Helena.” He frowned down at her, their disparate positions making it seem as if they were farther away from each other than they truthfully were. “Surely you know me better than to suppose I would have a mistress after marriage.”
Thank. The. Lord. In. Heaven.
Helena exhaled slowly. “I do know you well, I think.”
Just not well enough. She would like to know him better. To understand him.
Yes, that was what she wanted.
And to make him lose control.
His nostrils flared. “Do not remain on your knees, Helena. Rise, if you please.”
His body, however, did not appear to share the demands offered by his lips.
And she was feeling decidedly stubborn. “I want to bring you pleasure. Cease being so stiff-backed and tell me what I should do.”
Color tinged his high cheekbones. “I cannot control myself in your presence, as I have proven time and again. I dare not trust myself with you.”
“Good.” She wanted him to be mindless, and if he would not offer any assistance in the matter, she would merely follow her instincts instead. “I do not want you to control yourself. I want you to be as wild as you like.”
Helena took the ruddy tip of him into her mouth, gratified by the hiss of his breath from above. She sucked, then tentatively swirled her tongue over him. Feeling brave, she took him deeper. Slowly, so slowly.
“Helena,” he bit out. “Sweet God.”
But instead of withdrawing or requesting she stand again, his fingers sifted through her unbound hair in a gentle, unexpected caress. It would seem his ability to withstand her seduction was diminishing more and more by the moment.
Excellent.
She’d had no plan when she had entered the bathroom and discovered him—quite propitiously—already enjoying the bath which had been meant for her. Already naked. However, Helena was no fool. When Fortune’s fickle wheel gave her a good turn, she seized it. And so, any reason to remain in his presence had been excuse enough.
How she loved him. Loved the thickness of him in her mouth. Loved the way he smelled, tasted, felt beneath her questing hands as they skimmed his hips. Loved the low groans of reluctant approval torn from his proper lips. Loved the way he made love to her and brought her to passion’s exquisite heights every night.
She was going to do the same for him now. Helena was determined. And she would keep the walls he sought to raise between them down. In the dining room and drawing room, they were the politest of society spouses. But at night, when they were alone, they were aflame. She wanted to keep him burning.
To make him forget all the reasons churning through his mind.
She worked her mouth up and down the length of him, paying close attention to the subtle cues his body and his responses gave her. Breathing through her nose, she took him deep once more, and his fingers tightened in her hair as he rolled his hips. The movement took him to the back of her throat once more. This time, she was prepared. She relaxed, held him there, and then withdrew.
He made another guttural moan. “Hellion. You will be the death of me.”
Pleasure slid through her as she sucked and licked. Having this big, powerful man so completely at her mercy filled her with a swelling tide of desire. The more she tended to him, the more pronounced her own need became.
But just when she thought he was about to reach his pinnacle, he reached for her, drawing her to her feet. His gaze was dark and stormy as it clashed with hers.
“Gabe,” she protested.
“Hush.” In the next instant, his mouth was on hers, fierce and insistent.
The kiss was hard and claiming and deep, his tongue sweeping inside to tangle with hers. So drugging were his lips that she did not even notice he was removing her robe until the whisper of it slid down her arms. She shrugged out of it, allowing it to fall to the towel-lined floor as humid air greeted her bare skin.
He dragged his mouth down her throat, his hand on her waist, clutching her, it seemed, as if she were his anchor. “I need you.”
His hoarse confession sent a frisson of desire through her. “Yes.”
He spun her about, taking her hands in his and placing them on the lip of the high tub surround. “Now.”
Helena shivered at the low tone of his voice, the sensual promise. He kissed the side of her throat, then her ear, pressing his body against hers. Helena arched her back. She wanted him inside her so much she ached.
Gabe wanted to be inside her so badly, he was going to make love to his wife standing up, in the bathroom. It was depraved, but so were half the things he wanted to do to and with her. Besides, after he had allowed her to suck his cock, any barriers he had been taught to believe existed for the prosperity of a marriage were effectively smashed to bits.
He was not certain if the failure was in Grandfath
er’s teachings or in Gabe himself. Whatever the reason, he was beyond the point of being capable of fretting over right from wrong. All he wanted was Helena, as quickly and completely as he could have her.
He nibbled lightly on the creamy curve of her shoulder as he reached between them, parting her lush folds from behind. She was deliciously wet, and the knowledge that taking him in her mouth had achieved her sodden state was enough to make his ballocks tighten.
He slid a finger into her heat, testing her readiness. Her inner muscles contracted, tightening on him in a welcoming grip he could not wait to feel upon his cock. A breathy moan escaped her. Gabe sank another finger inside her, massaging her in the place he had found, purely by accident, that drove her to the edge. The wet suction of his fingers thrusting in and out of her was unbearably erotic.
He kissed back up her neck, finding his way to her ear. “You are so wet. Did you like it, being on your knees for me?”
“Yes,” she gasped, thrusting into his fingers and bringing him deeper. “Oh, Gabe. I want you so much.”
How he loved her when she was wicked and wild.
He stayed that thought, banishing it from his mind. For love had no place in his life, no place in their union. Love only led to disaster and ruin. This bliss between them needed only desire. Physical joining. Mutual respect.
A cordial union. That was all he had to offer her.
He nipped her earlobe, and then he withdrew his fingers, slicking her juices on his rigid cock before aligning himself to her entrance. Mindlessly, he pressed. One thrust of his hips, and her body welcomed him. The angle and the grip of her surrounding him was enough to make his body flood with fire. The flames licked through him. Consumed him.
She cried out and his restraint snapped. He drove into her deeper, not stopping until he was fully seated. He held still by sheerest force of will, allowing her body to adjust to the different position.
“More,” she said.
One word. His complete undoing.
He gave her what she wanted, drawing back and then plunging him deep inside her again and again. The harder he fucked her, the tighter and wetter she became. He was delirious with lust now. Drunk on it. Drunk on her.
Lady Reckless (Notorious Ladies of London Book 3) Page 21