by Elsa Holland
And then he sucked. Aching need blossomed between her legs. A throbbing want pulsed and lured her with all kinds of promises. Inexplicable feelings washed through her making her aware of everything…her nipples as they pressed against fabric, her breasts aching to be touched, the emptiness between her legs, especially there, at the hot center of her sex.
Much like stepping to the edge of a cliff and feeling the ground start to crumble under you, that you needed to step stealthily backward, one step after the other the way you’d come, she stood on that cliff.
Slowly, reluctantly, she pulled her finger from the delicious heat of his mouth while all she wanted was more. She wanted to climb over him, wanted to rub herself on him, and wanted him to press against her, into her. Her clothes were irritants she wanted removed.
“What’s happening to me, Demetri?”
He made that sound again, a deep pained groan which sent shivers under her skin, across her breasts and hurtling down her belly and over her sex.
He caressed her face, “You want to know why people kiss with their tongues?” He ran his thumb over her lips making them burn. “The tongue is what truly begins the dance of passion.”
Of course, it did. What she felt as his tongue wrapped around her finger was carnal knowledge. She rubbed her damp finger over her lips and touched it with her own tongue tasting it. Tasting him.
“I can’t taste the brandy,” she whispered as his hands came to either side of her neck, his thumbs pressing her chin up and tilting her as his mouth gently touched hers. Soft gentle movement of his lips on hers, small nibbles with lips and teeth, presses of lips on lips, soft and plump.
Coaxing. Teasing.
Gradually, confidence increasing, she mimicked him, followed what he did, pressed her lips to his, kissed the corners of his mouth, captured his bottom lip with her teeth, and rubbed her lips across his. It was delicious, sensual and a promise of something more, luring her towards something deeper.
Little by little they stilled.
Yet neither drew away.
Her eyes looked up to his, dark and broody.
“I want to taste the heat of your mouth.” She whispered then she pressed her lips against his. He murmured words in Russian against them as his hands tightened their hold, allowed no movement as he angled her face in the way he wanted. Her heart beat faster as she felt something shift in him, as if he were releasing something tightly restrained.
His tongue ran over her lips, hot and soft, sending tremors through her, heating her core, building the ache into a furnace of need, drawing out sounds of need begging for more. It pressed for entrance. She opened under him and that warm tongue slipped into her mouth, a pure silken slide setting her on fire. Her hand grabbed his face, held him as she felt the way he explored her. Then as his tongue retreated hers followed and pressed into the warm cavern of his mouth and tasted him, tasted the brandy he’d drunk after dinner, tasted what was pure Demetri. Her head spun as she pulled him closer, the heat of his body, the feel of him under her palms.
And finally, his tongue engaged with hers and she was lost. They danced. They tangled and twisted together, an un-choreographed dance that her hands mimicked as they ran over the surface of his body, felt his shape, his strength, his heat. The need inside her rose higher and higher. The ache tightened. Georgie pressed her body against his. His hand released her face and his arms came around her, clutching her against him. Blindly she undulated against him, her hips moving in a way they’d never moved before, pressing against his. He was hard and warm and that made her want to press against him even more. All the while their tongues touched, danced, their lips moved, and it was like nothing she had ever experienced. Nothing she had ever read or heard had prepared her for the way he made her feel. As if she wanted to stay here in this moment forever as if she wanted to be joined this way with this man forever.
She stopped. Wobbled and recovered, her lips damp and warm, her body on fire, heart racing. This man forever….pulsed through her thoughts. She looked away, turned to face the mantel reached out to steady herself. Behind her he reached out and turned her, she allowed him to wrap her against him, soothe her back with long strokes as he nuzzled her hair.
“Are you alright?” He asked in Russian, voice thick like a viscus syrup.
“Da,” she breathed as he pressed her forehead against his chest.
This man forever…
But he wasn’t….
Her chest tightened, ached in a whole different way than moments before.
Georgie stepped back, stepped back again, and his hands fell away. He put them in his pockets.
“As it should be.” He said making it sound all too much like ‘are you sure?’.
A long hard shape pressed against the fabric of his trousers and she couldn’t help but grin making his eyes crease in response. There was so much more she wanted to know, wanted to do…with this man.
“Is the curious Miss Georgie Franklin satisfied with her first kiss?”
She nodded. How could she not?
A brilliant smile broke over his face. It transformed him. Years fell away and she recalled portraits of him as a young boy and her heart lost its footing.
“I should go to bed,” she said, her lips still feeling the ghost of their kiss.
“We have a busy day planned tomorrow.” Demetri said putting the image into his shirt pocket.
“That, is mine.” She stepped forward, reaching for the postcard. His hand caught hers and brought it to his lips. Kissed her fingers.
“You don’t need it anymore.” The usual confident arrogance was back.
“I might want to refer to it at a later date.” He released her hand and stepped back, looking for his jacket.
“Then you will remember our kiss, not look at another man.”
Georgie hid her smile as she turned back to the fire and looked at the flames, her body had felt like that. “Your brother isn’t ever joining us on the trip, is he?” She glanced over her shoulder to find him right there behind her.
His hands settled on her shoulders, smoothed down her arms.
“No.”
“Will he see me?” She was actually past caring but to sort things out face to face was still her preference.
“No.” He said next to her ear, then pressed a kiss to it.
“Not even to talk?”
He squeezed her shoulders and stepped back. “You can talk to me.”
Georgie turned; Demetri collected his jacket putting it over his arm.
“Would he stand me up at the wedding if I went?”
Demetri looked back at her, his hand on the door, held her gaze, face back to that neutral expression he got when he spoke of the betrothal or his brother.
“He will be at St Petersburg.”
Chapter 14
Demetri had planned for two days in Paris. Originally to ensure he had enough time to find something to counter her father’s blackmail. He now had what he needed. The postcard, the kiss, and the indiscretion of her behavior were enough for him to insist she was not of suitable character as the Prince. Enough to threaten her reputation if the damn betrothal was not withdrawn. According to plan, he should act immediately. Reveal who he was, have the betrothal called off and go their separate ways. And yet…
Last night he had not been pretending. He had been himself. Yes, his task had been in his mind when he saw she hid something, yet his reaction at the thought she had someone else had been real. Everything that followed had been real. So, where did that leave him?
Across the foyer, to the right of the floor-to-ceiling Christmas tree, the elevator chimed its arrival. Demetri watched as the unexpectedly intriguing and alluring Miss Georgina Franklin stepped out, adjusting her hair. As usual, her presentation was faultless, beautifully rugged up in a long Parisian Blue coat and large winter day hat with Ostrich feathers. The effect made her skin glow like porcelain and, surrounded by those impossible lashes, her amber eyes gleamed.
Was there anoth
er road? Was there another path he had not considered? What if she wanted him for himself, what if it was her father’s ambition to have her wed to a Prince, not Georgie’s? He could not hold her attachment to her betrothed against her. From what he had come to know of her, she was a passionate and loving woman. She had been so content with the small items sent to her over the years that she had not ever sought to be kissed, knowing that she already had someone. It was wildly satisfying, knowing that it was for him she’d waited.
“Good morning, Demetri.” The minx fluttered her eyelashes at him. How do women learn these things so fast?
“You look exquisite. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, holding her gaze long enough to show her that two could play at the game of allure and flirtation.
Color flushed her cheeks much to his great satisfaction. And just like that he was hungry for her again. He looked down at her upturned face, and they were back in that moment when their souls had danced together through the simple touch of lips and tongues. Back not hours earlier when they had shared breath, igniting each other, teasing and taunting, hinting at the flames the two of them would generate if they took things further.
With the utmost certainly, he wanted to do that all again, despite the telegram burning in his pocket.
IS IT DONE YET STOP. REMEMBER WHAT YOU PROMISED STOP. A MOTHERS HAPPINESS AND A FAMILY’S HONOUR IS AT STAKE STOP. BE SWIFT STOP. BE DECISIVE STOP. YOUR BROTHER HAS DOUBTS STOP. SHOULD I WORRY STOP.
Demetri offered an arm to his quarry.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked in Russian.
“Like an innocent.” He murmured back. He was a blackguard playing the games he did. As if she knew it, she scoffed yet the most delightful touch of color on her cheeks.
“I am assured we have a fine day, no snow, no rain, so, I have an open carriage arranged this morning for a tour of the city, lunch overlooking the river and then a pre-dinner drink from the third deck of the Eiffel Tower.”
Her faced beamed at him, eyes sparkling like the most precious amber his country could deliver. He lifted his arm where her hand rested and bent down to kiss the gloved fingers. He wanted to have her on a bed full of luxury linens, cushions in jewel tones crowding the bed and her wild hair spilling over them while he traced connections between the freckles that could be scattered over her body. He wanted to be lost in her.
And that was exactly how the day unfolded, with glances and touches that drove him wild. They sat opposite each other in the open carriage, the day bright with glorious winter sunshine, with warm blankets over their laps. Yet it could not compare with a sleigh ride in St Petersburg. There she would be wrapped in furs, the harnesses strung with bells ringing as they slipped through snow covered countryside. The things he would do to her under those furs.
It was not so surprising that either of them talked about what happened in the parlor. Nor future possibilities. He could have asked, could have suggested, but if he needed to use these intimacies in blackmail, he could not have her say he lured and entrapped her. But maybe, just maybe, he could find another way, should she choose him over the Prince.
Inevitably, after dinner and after he heard the sounds of her father retiring for the night, Demetri stepped softly down the hall to their small private parlor. A slice of light seeped out under the door.
He took another quick look up and down the hall then opened the door. A drift of warmth from the fire slipped past him and there she was, standing beside the flames warming her hands, still in the formfitting navy velvet evening gown she’d worn at dinner. She turned, saw it was him and her face glowed at the sight of him. The sight made his heart lift out of his chest and soar.
In two steps he was at her side.
“I was hoping…”
“You are here…” they spoke over each other and laughed. When had he felt this light?
Demetri reached for her, drew her to the sofa and sat her down next to him.
“Georgie.” He drew up her hand, turned it over and kissed her palm, pressed it against his cheek.
“I had a lovely day,” she whispered as she leaned closer.
“It’s not over yet.” And there was that glorious smile again.
She hovered a fraction away from him, still not as confident as she should be where he was concerned.
“Show me what you remember, Bushka.”
Those amber eyes glowed and he felt the smile tug at those lush lips of hers as she pressed them against him. Her hair was pure silk as he threaded his fingers through it. Her mouth a pocket of soft, hungry heat as it opened under his.
It was sometime later when she was nestled in the crook of his arm as they both watched the fire. IS IT DONE YET STOP. REMEMBER WHAT YOU PROMISED STOP. Could he live with the fact the betrothal was the result of blackmail? Surely if she chose him and not the arrangement? Would his family forgive him if he didn’t reestablish their honor? He didn’t think so, on either account.
He stroked her cheek, so soft as she pressed into his touch.
“Did you bring the rest of your postcards?” Her hair, satin against his lips as he whispered into it and kissed the side of her head.
“How do you know there are more than one?” She flashed teasing eyes at him.
He grinned. “Ah, let me see. You found your way to a scandalous shop, one where even I found some things unfathomable, only to come back with an image of a couple kissing?” He captured her chin between his finger and thumb and lifted her face to his, kissed her then challenged her. “I think not.” He let her chin go and leaned back against the sofa. “I see the weighty task falls to me to make sure you don’t have anything that would make a man blush and run for the hills on his wedding night.” She slapped his arm.
“I do in fact have more.”
He laughed out loud and put his palm out motioning for her to give them to him.
Her face was conflicted, color high on her cheeks. “They are rather explicit.”
“I am counting on it.” He motioned again for her to deliver.
She slipped her hand into a pocket her dress had no right to have, given how it hugged her body, let alone camouflage something the size of a postcard.
Another thought flashed in his mind, did she have it on her? He leaned over and stroked her neck. “Are you carrying the little miniature?”
Her elbow poked into his rib and he laughed.
“Narcissist,” she teased as she pulled the postcards out of her pocket. He grinned so wide he must look like a fool because nestled under them was the miniature, and for the hundredth time that day a ridiculous amount of pleasure rippled through him.
“You look smug,” she said. He felt it.
“Give me the postcards,” he motioned impatiently with his hand, “put the other little nonsense away.”
She rolled her eyes at him and did as he asked. This woman, these exchanges, he had never seen his parents like this. In fact, he had never been like this, heart so full, the world somehow brighter.
“So, let’s see what little depravities you have collected here.”
Georgie reached forward to grasp them out of his hand. He evaded her.
“Your dark desires brought to light.” He made a sign to the heavens, “may my mind be protected from harm.”
“Demetri!” she lurched out with stronger intent to snatch them back. He laughed and held them high out of her reach.
“Don’t worry, Bushka, I am willing to sacrifice the purity of my mind to gaze at your debauched fantasies.” She jumped to her feet aiming to grab at the items he held out of reach and he laughed harder bringing his hand down to tuck it between his back and the sofa.
To his eternal gratitude, she launched herself on top of him, wrapping her hands around the back of him and wriggled over him, creating all kinds of heavenly sensations.
He released the postcards and pressed his back hard against the sofa so she couldn’t slip her hand behind him and grabbed her beneath her arms. She yelped and he recognized her weakness
. He preceded to tickle her.
She squealed, and wriggled, and laughed and giggled. “Stop, stop please,” she begged between laughter and writhing. Elation surged through him at the sounds of her pleas, her laughter, at the pleasure in drawing them from her, in having her at his mercy.
“Demetri. Have mercy. Please. Anything. Anything. Just stop.”
The Betrothal.
The flash went through his mind and he mentally hurled it aside, a viper flung against the wall. Instead he clasped her wrists in one of his.
“What could you give me to make me stop? Now let me see.” He leaned over her. Pressed his body over hers, nuzzling against her neck. “I want to choose one of those postcards and initiate you into its pleasures.”
Georgie shook her head. “You don’t know… what they contain.” She flushed in mortification. She really hadn’t worked it out.
“A man can only hope.” But she shook her head no.
He tickled her until, between gasps, she capitulated. “Yes. Yes. Just stop. Please. Demetri. Just stop.”
He released her with an overwhelming sense of anticipation. He set about collecting the postcards now scattered over the sofa and the carpet. Mouth on breasts and hand up skirt, very nice. An erect man, not so nice, he threw it into the fire.
“Demetri!”
“You don’t need that one.”
“I need all of them. Which one was it?”
There was another one of a woman’s sex. Educational, he handed it to her. Another, cunnilingus, exceptional, that went into his pocket. Finally, a man and woman in union, fundamental. He went to throw it in the fire, and she launched forward, grabbed it from him and had it in her secret dress pocket before he could stop laughing.
“That was not funny, Demetri.”
He simply nodded at her and held up the postcard of a man kissing a woman’s breasts with his hand up her skirt.
“This is the next step.”
She launched forward to grab the image as he slipped it into his pocket before he caught her around the waist. “But for now, we kiss some more.”