Winter’s Whispers

by Scott, Scarlett

  “You want me,” he repeated, noting the huskiness in his own voice.

  Her pink tongue darted over her lips, wetting them and making them glisten in the low, amber light. “Yes.”

  Mayhap not torture. A gift instead. She was giving herself to him. There was no question of it.

  He was going to enjoy this gift. Very much indeed.

  “Take off your dressing gown.”

  He wanted to see her in her night rail. Hell, he wanted to see her naked, too. But he had restraint. He could go slowly. Part of him feared that if he pushed her too far, she would flee. And now that he had her where he wanted her, he had no wish to lose her.

  Though lose her he inevitably would.

  Just not yet.

  Silently, she watched him, her fingers working on the line of buttons. He would have believed himself dreaming were it not for the pounding of his heart. She was the most breathtakingly lovely woman he had ever beheld. And she was here. In his chamber.

  He was going to do everything in his power to make certain she did not regret a second of her decision. To pleasure her completely, fully. To give her everything he could.

  “You are sure about this?” he asked, wanting to kick himself in the arse for whatever impulse toward being a gentleman had chosen that moment to rear its stupid head.

  She reached the last button on her dressing gown and shrugged it from her shoulders. The fine fabric fell to the floor in a whisper of sound. “Certain.”

  Hell yes.

  He was upon her in an instant, his arms going around her waist and hauling her into his chest. His cock was hard enough to rival a fire poker. The exotic notes of jasmine washed over him. Her hair was unbound, the dark curls falling down her shoulders and back.

  For the first time, he found himself at a loss for which part of her to worship first.

  He decided upon her mouth. Damn Chilton for kissing her earlier. It was time for Blade to reclaim what was his. He traced a path around her wide, full pout. “These lips are mine tonight. No one else’s.”

  He traced over the seam.

  She swallowed. Her lips parted. And then she took him by complete surprise. That pink tongue of hers darted out. She licked the pad of his finger. His knees almost buckled. He felt the sear of that lick in his ballocks.

  She had a wicked side, his Lady Felicity.

  He wholeheartedly approved.

  Blade lowered his head, settling his lips on hers. Gently at first. He kissed the corners of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw, her ear. Her hair was a silken curtain falling over her throat. He grabbed a handful and gently urged her head back, baring her throat for him. And he feasted upon her.

  She tasted as sweet as she smelled. He could not get enough. He sucked on her flesh, not hard enough to make a mark, ever mindful of his vow he would keep her reputation from being ruined. No one could know.

  “Mr. Winter,” she whispered.

  “Blade,” he corrected, licking the hollow behind her ear until she shivered. “No formality between us. Not tonight.”

  Not ever, he wanted to say. But that, too, was foolish. Wrong. Tonight was all they could have.

  Was it not?

  Her hands, which had settled on his shoulders, moved, skimming over his chest. Igniting a fire in their wakes. “Blade.”

  God, his name on her lips. Uttered in her husky voice. It was enough to bring a man to his knees. And he would be on his knees for her soon if he had his way. He would be relentless, making her come undone. Licking her until she spent.

  “Yes, love.”

  “If I am to call you Blade tonight,” she said, breathless, “then you must call me Felicity.”

  He nipped her collarbone. “Felicity.”

  He liked the familiarity of it on his tongue. Liked having her here, in his arms. Wanted more than just tonight.

  Impossible warned the voice inside him. One of reason, likely. And yet, it did not feel impossible here in this moment with her. Nothing did.

  He traced the second set of buttons keeping him from paradise. The gown suggested the dire straits of her family more than her other wardrobe did. Though it possessed some dainty lace at the wrists and throat, he noticed places where tiny, even stitches had replaced tears. It was well-worn, this nightgown, almost transparent over her luscious breasts.

  He treated it with care, though every part of him longed to tear it to oblivion. At long last, the fullness of her bosom, delineated by a creamy swath of skin, was revealed. He caressed her through the thin fabric. Though he had seen this part of her before, he wanted to go slow. To savor this night, these precious hours he could claim.

  “Your name is beautiful,” he said, mesmerized by every part of her, by the sheer dream of having her in his chamber alone. “As beautiful as you are.”

  Her nipples were hard buds beneath the linen. He weighed her breasts in his palms and rubbed the peaks with his thumbs until she gasped, arching her back.

  Her opened lips were a new invitation.

  One he seized. He lowered his head and kissed her. No matter how many times he had her mouth beneath his, the fire roaring through him was the same. He was out of control, burning for her.

  She sighed and her arms wound around his neck. He deepened the kiss, their tongues tangling. That was when he knew he would do anything to have this woman.

  And he would do anything to keep her.

  Chapter Ten

  He kissed beautifully. Kissed away the memory of another man’s lips on hers. Desire was potent and heady, rivaling with the despair that this was all she could ever know. That this one night was all she could ever have with him.

  And while he was often so smug and arrogant, flashing her those roguish grins and feeding her those sinful promises, the expression on his handsome countenance when he had opened the door earlier would not leave her mind. He had seemed astounded and awed. The way he touched her, took her in his arms, was reverent.

  Beneath his wicked bluster was a man with a tender heart if anyone cared to look and find it, she was sure. Oh, how she wished she could be that woman.

  But she could not. She had to marry well for her sisters’ sakes. Tonight was all she could have.

  Their kisses turned ravenous. Their lips moved in a frenzied rhythm, as if they were each striving to devour the other, to commit these frantic moments to their memories. He caught her lower lip in his teeth, and she did the same to him, nipping at him until he groaned. Their hands coasted over each other’s bodies, searching, seeking.

  She could feel the hardness of him against her and knew an ache deep within, a longing for that which she should not want. A longing for the mysteries she had read about in A Tale of Love. Yes, she had peeked some more at the pages before returning it to Lady Aylesford.

  He dragged his lips from hers, kissing along her jaw. “Sweet Felicity. I have wanted you from the moment I saw your arse peeping from beneath my bed.”

  Her skin went hot at the reminder of their ignominious first meeting. Thank heavens Miss Wilhelmina had not gotten into any further scrapes.

  “It is…” She paused, struggling to find her words as he once more worked his magic upon the sensitive cords of her neck with his lips, tongue, and teeth. “It is most indecorous of you to remind me of that…day.”

  He rubbed the coarseness of his unshaven jaw over her skin, making her knees threaten to buckle. “Have you made my acquaintance, love? There is not one bloody decorous thing about me.”

  And he was unapologetic about it, too.

  Still, he had been incredibly decorous at the ball. Where he had danced with her, and what he had lacked in experience in that minuet, he more than made up for with his innate charm and his easy confidence.

  “I like you this way,” she admitted softly, for it was the truth. “I like you exactly as you are.”

  The crudeness of his tongue, the arrogance of his smile, the inking on his hand, the scars of his past, the dangerous aura he exuded, his handsome face. And Lord above, his
mouth. Lips like his were in themselves a sin.

  His tongue flicked over the hollow at the base of her throat, where her pulse leapt and pounded. “You should not like me, not as I am. Not in any way. You should not be here, love. You know that, do you not?”

  “Yes.” The admission fell from her lips as she tipped her head back and clutched his broad shoulders.

  “And yet you remain.” He gently bit the place where her shoulder and neck joined, as if in warning.

  But there was no warning he could issue that would be sterner than her own or Auntie Agatha’s. Felicity knew she had taken a great risk in coming to him. That she was taking a greater risk still in remaining. In kissing him. In allowing him to kiss and touch her as he would.

  “I do,” she agreed.

  He tore his mouth from her eager flesh, staring down at her. His bright-blue eyes stole into the deepest recesses of herself. Finding her. Seeing her. “Come with me?”

  He released her, laced their fingers together, waiting for her acquiescence.

  He hardly needed to ask, but she appreciated that he had. How could he not know she would gladly walk into the fires of Hades if he were leading?

  “Yes,” was all she said.

  He tugged her toward the bed. She went. Easily, her entire body alight. She felt as if she were alive for the first time. As if she had just risen from a deep and dreamless sleep. As if she could do anything, be anyone.

  As if she could be his.

  They fell to the bed together, Felicity on her back, Blade atop her. Though he took care to keep from crushing her, the sensation of his large, masculine body on hers was a welcome, delicious weight. They were aligned, hip to heart. But the barriers of his banyan and her night rail remained between them.

  He rocked against her, the thick ridge of his manhood glancing over the apex of her thighs in the most erotic friction. And even with the fabric keeping them apart, she felt him. Instinctively, she thrust toward him, seeking more. She was wet, aching, hungry. It was as if a knot had been drawn with excruciating tightness within her. There was only one cure for what ailed her.

  And it was Blade Winter.

  His big hands were on her, sliding the hem of her gown higher. Revealing her knees, her thighs. Cool air kissed her skin. But it mattered not, for she was burning, burning, burning. She had never felt anything like this.

  But then, she had never known a man like him.

  He kissed her slowly, deeply. His lips moved over hers with so much tenderness, she ached. He rose over her, bracing himself on his forearms, gazing down at her. “Still certain, love?”

  He was giving her a chance to change her mind. To flee. And although he claimed to be a scoundrel and villain, here again was evidence he was a good man. Here was the Blade who had rescued her kitten. Who had kissed her breathless. Who had learned to dance for her.

  Here was the only man she longed for.

  The only man she wanted.

  Now and forever.

  The realization would have left her stricken for the futility of it, but in the next moment, he kissed her cheek. “Felicity?”

  She swallowed against a rush of unwanted emotion, reminding herself of what would inevitably happen after this magical night. “I am certain.”

  “Thank God for that.” He kissed her again.

  But just as their tongues tangled, he withdrew. This time, he kissed his way down her body. His lips branded her through her mended night rail, one of the shabbiest garments she owned. But though she knew his sharp eyes would have taken note of the places she had repaired it herself, he said not a word about it. Instead, he worshiped her everywhere, as if she were a goddess clad in silk and gold. He rained kisses over her breasts, her nipples. Down her belly. To the mound between her thighs.

  Her hips bucked at the surprise contact. Though a thin layer of fabric kept his lips from her flesh, the heat of him and the way he kissed her there, where she had scarcely dared to touch herself, was nothing short of a miracle. Suddenly, that secret place became the center of her world.

  The hem of her night rail slid higher. Baring her thighs. His hands, callused, warm, and knowing, were on her bare flesh now. Caressing, stroking. Stoking flames and soothing at once. Making her wild and weak.

  His mouth followed the path, starting with kisses on her knees. Then higher. His mouth dragged along the incredibly sensitive skin of her inner thighs. His hands coaxed, molded, opened her to him. Her legs slid apart. She forgot to be shy. To fret over what he was about to do. The hem of her night rail reached her waist. At his coaxing, she lifted her bottom from the mattress so he could glide the fabric higher still, revealing more of her to him.

  There was a voice inside her, the one that cautioned her she must face her duty, that she had responsibilities, the one that warned she was taking far too many risks. But she did not want to hear that voice just now.

  That voice could go to the devil for all she cared.

  “Fucking hell, Felicity. You are so beautiful.” His mouth moved, kissing up her thighs. “I never could have imagined how perfect you are.”

  She was far from perfect. She had a birthmark on her left hip in the shape of Gibraltar. There was a scar on her right knee from when she had fallen in the gravel path at the gardens of her mother’s ancestral home as a child.

  Then, there was the reminder Auntie Agatha had never allowed her to forget.

  “My hips are too wide, and my bosom is too large,” she said.

  He ran his hands along her inner thighs, then grasped the outer curve of each hip. “These hips are lush and womanly. And your breasts are nothing short of goddamn miracles.”

  He was almost stern as he said the words.

  She would have laughed, or mayhap offered a nervous giggle, but his gaze met hers, and she read the sincerity on his handsome face. He meant those words. And he made her feel beautiful in a new way, through his eyes.

  Other suitors had praised her face. Written sonnets for her. Fawned over her. They had told her everything they knew they should say. But Blade was not offering her empty flattery. He was giving her honesty.

  Her heart went fluttery.

  She was falling in love with a man she could never have. A man who was all wrong for her.

  “Tell me you know how beautiful you are,” he demanded, raining kisses on her center.

  She was breathless. His lips on her were nothing short of astounding. Sinful, just like the bawdy book. Heat streaked through her. And then the most delicious bolt of pleasure. His tongue lapped against the most exquisitely sensitive place, sending a shower of sparks through her.

  He sucked, then licked. “Tell me you know.”

  She did not know. Or at least, she had not known, until now. He made her feel beautiful. He made her feel…everything.

  “I know,” she managed to say, just before his tongue glided slickly through her folds, delving deep.

  Good she had spoken before he had licked into her, his tongue probing and seeking, because now she was not sure she would ever be capable of another coherent thought. All she could do was lie there beneath the veneration of his mouth, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her.

  Her body bowed from the bed, seeking. His hands moved over her, caressing her stomach, and she could not look away from the wonder of him between her thighs, his handsome face nestled there, his touch on her. His hands were large, callused, the ink of the dagger there a sharp contrast to her pale skin. She never wanted him to stop.

  Duty no longer mattered.

  Nothing mattered but this man. This moment.

  When one of his hands cupped her breast, tweaking her nipple, at the same moment his tongue plunged deep inside her, she came undone. Bliss slammed into her, starting in her core and rippling throughout.

  “That’s it, love,” he murmured against her throbbing flesh, “spend for me. All over my tongue.”

  His sinful words only served to heighten the pleasure. She was shameless now, writhing against him to get
him nearer. And he remained where he was, giving her what she wanted and then giving her more. Giving her what she did not even know she needed.

  His tongue played over her, licking her up as if she were the finest dessert.

  “Blade,” she gasped, certain she was going to perish from the unprecedented ecstasy.

  Her heart was racing at a gallop, her breaths ragged and shallow. Her entire body was humming, aflame, the aftereffects of what he had done to her still coursing through her like warm honey. Slow, sweet, decadent.

  But he was not finished. He kissed her there, on her mound, his hands coasting over her hips to cup her bottom and lift her to a new angle. His tongue flitted over the sensitive bundle of flesh hidden in her folds. She was on the edge. So close again.

  He sucked hard on the bud of her sex, then slid a finger to her entrance. He teased her there, his finger shallowly thrusting as he had with his tongue. The ache within intensified. She wanted him there, inside her.

  “Come again, love,” he cajoled. “I want to give you so much pleasure, you cannot think.”

  He had already succeeded. Her thoughts were a blur of light and brightness, muddled together. She was soaring. Then bursting as another impossible rush of pleasure swept over her. She was falling apart. Shattering into stars. Trembling beneath him. He hummed against her flesh, and she absorbed the primal rumble of his baritone, a new ripple of awareness tremoring through her.

  When the last rush subsided, he kissed his way up her body, lingering on her breasts and nipples, before stretching himself at her side. As her wits returned to her, Felicity realized he was still clad in his dressing gown. His lips were dark and glistening.

  From her.

  His too-long blond hair was rakishly mussed.

  He looked deliciously disreputable.

  Her heart thumped. Mine, it said when their gazes met and held. And she wished it were true.

  “Thank you for letting me pleasure you,” he told her.

  “But you have not taken any pleasure,” she protested, confused.