She lay naked-as naked as he-and let him look.
He couldn't seem to look away. He knelt on the bed, first one knee, then the other. A ripple of excitement shivered down her spine as he crawled on all fours to come over her. Then, slowly, he lowered himself to her.
It was a shock-a sensual shock-feeling his hard weight settle upon her, sensing his strength, the reined power in his body, feeling the rasp of crisp hair against her sensitive skin. He caught her hands and moved them to his shoulders. He looked into her eyes, then dipped his head.
"We're going to take this slowly. Very, very slowly."
Was he murmuring to her, or repeating an injunction to himself? His lips brushed hers, then slid along her jaw until he nuzzled her throat. His hands pressed down into the mattress, easing beneath her. They traced down her back, caressing as they went. They stopped at her hips, closing possessively.
"This is going to hurt. You know that, don't you?"
She lay beneath him, feeling his heat surround her, feeling her own heat rise in response. His hips lay across her thighs, his erection hot and heavy between them. She closed her eyes and whispered, "Yes."
He said nothing more, asked nothing more. His hands slid lower, tracing the backs of her thighs, then gripping and parting them. He settled between, reached between.
He caressed her, over and over until she thought she'd scream. Her body arched beneath his and still he stroked, probed. She was slick and wet, all but melting when he withdrew his hand; gripping her hips, he eased into her.
It did hurt, but from the first touch of that incredibly soft skin at the entrance to her body, where she so longed to feel him, she knew she couldn't live without having him inside her. The conviction was so strong that despite the discomfort, she tilted her hips to urge him in.
He stilled, fingers clamping hard about her hips, anchoring her. "No-just lie still." The words were strained, uttered against her throat. He waited until she eased back before pressing inward once more.
Slowly, steadily, he filled her. She felt her body stretching and marveled. Then he stopped. He lifted his head, found her lips, and kissed her deeply. She responded eagerly, breathless and yearning-quite for what, she wasn't sure.
She had only an instant's warning-the sudden coiling tension that gripped him. He drew back and thrust into her.
Her scream spilled into their mouths; she arched beneath him, but almost immediately the sharp pain receded. She eased back, into the bed, tensed muscles gradually releasing. He lay still, upon her, within her, and kissed her. She kissed him back, letting him catch her up in the caress, willingly following his lead.
His experienced lead; she realized that when he finally lifted his head. Her body felt invaded, he lay heavy within her, but the pain was gone. He looked down at her, dark eyes glinting. His expression was one she'd never seen before, set and locked, passion-driven. He searched her face-she had no idea what he saw, but it seemed to reassure him. Bending his head, he set his lips to hers. Her hands resting lightly on his shoulders, she gave herself up to the kiss, up to him. Then he moved.
Until he did, the sensation of being so stretched, so filled, hadn't fully registered. As he withdrew, then returned, riding her slowly, the sensual realization impinged again and again.
Her body stirred beneath him. She found his rhythm and matched him, rising to meet him. The effortless joining, the repetitive glide of his body into hers, became her reality. His body shifted against hers, crisp hair rasping her sensitized skin. She slowly heated as if he were fanning a furnace deep within her. Her senses swirled, whirled; the surge of his tongue into her mouth mirrored his possession of her body.
She was his-her fingers tightened, sinking into the muscles of his upper arms. She held tight as the world fell away and only they remained, skin to heated skin. Desire lapped, a warm sea washing over them, through them.
He said it would be slow-she'd felt no sense of urgency, not at first. But something-some compulsion, some blinding physical need-was steadily swelling inside her. Something hot, tight, coiling inside her-with every thrust he touched it, stoked it, fanned the flames higher.
She drew back from the kiss with a gasp; pressing her head back, into the bed, she arched and struggled to breathe, struggled to urge him nearer. Deeper. She needed him there, deep and hard-suddenly, she was sure of it.
He raised up, arms bracing, lifting his chest from hers; his next thrust rocked her.
She gasped again; her fingers trailed, nails sharp, down his chest. The crisp hair that brushed her palms focused her mind on the feel of crisp hair rasping between her widespread thighs. Spreading her hands, she ran them over his ribs, then around-the heat inside her coiled tighter, almost painfully tight… she rose, hands sliding to his back, then clinging tight as she lifted her lips to his.
He took them in a kiss that was almost savage-his weight shifted. He leaned on one arm, his other hand curving over her bottom, tucking her hard against him, holding her there as he thrust deeply-again, again.
The heat inside her exploded; her lower body clenched. A silvery sensation, brittlely intense, speared through her, then the spasm dissolved in a burst of glory. A river of feeling welled and washed through her, soothing away her compulsive heat, leaving a different warmth in its place.
She clung to him and rode the warm tide.
He laid her down, then followed, but he rolled onto his side, then onto his back, taking her with him. She ended sprawled atop him with him still hard within her. She'd melted-she couldn't move. Resting her head on his chest, she lay and luxuriated in heavenly delight.
How much time passed before her wits reengaged and she realized she still lay naked atop him, with his hand lazily, yet somehow intently, stroking her naked bottom, she didn't know. The realization was suddenly there, along with another-he was still hard within her, filling her. His body was still strung tight with that tension she now recognized. He hadn't…
She lifted her head and looked into his face. He studied her eyes, then raised a brow. She blushed, grateful he couldn't see it in the moonlight. "What now?" Presumably there was a next step.
His lips curved, his eyes glinted. "I did say we'd take it slowly."
Her skin was still heated, dewed where he caressed; in contrast, the air felt cool. She had felt relaxed to her toes, but tension was returning along with her wits. She licked her lips. "What does that mean?"
His wicked smile flashed. "It's easier to demonstrate."
He reached down and curled his hands around her thighs. He tugged, and she let him bend her knees up, shift her and mold her-she ended sitting astride him, knees bent, calves tucked to his flanks, hands on his chest, looking down at him. His face held more pain than smile as he lifted her hips slightly, then let her sink down again.
"Oo-oooh." Exhaling slowly, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back.
"Does that hurt?"
"Hurt?" Opening her eyes, she looked down at him. She couldn't find words to describe how it felt. "It doesn't hurt."
"Good." He lay back, sinking deeper into the bed beneath her. "So do it again."
She did, lifting up without his help, although his hands still rode her hips, guiding her. He would let her rise only so far before he stopped her. She sank down and watched his lids fall, watched desire deepen the lines in his face. A new eagerness gripped her-she rode him slowly, concentrating on the feel of him pressing into her softness, concentrated on caressing him like that.
The tension investing his body increased; she felt it through her hands, through her thighs-saw it in his face. She was heating, too. His hands left her hips to close over her breasts; his fingers played-her urgency grew.
Then he rose beneath her and brought his mouth to her breasts. Sharp sensation speared her; she nearly died. Nearly saw rapture again. She clung desperately to her wits as he laved, sucked, teased. The wet spots felt cool against her burning skin.
One hand returned to her hip-he gripped and slowed her. Slowed
her until she was nearly frantic, mindless with the need to take him deeper, harder, faster. She spread her thighs and pressed down on him. She rose again-he halted her and pressed her down. And took one turgid nipple into the hot wetness of his mouth and suckled.
She cried out and plunged down, pressing him high inside her. Her world came apart, fragmenting into glimmering shards of rapturous wonder. They penetrated her skin, spread, and melted, until she was a mass of glowing heat with him hard and vibrant at her core.
With a sob, she put her arms around his shoulders, held his head to her breast, curled herself around him, and clung tight.
Gradually, he moved back, drawing her down with him. His breathing was harsh in her ear. Every muscle in his body was locked tight.
"Why?" She whispered the word against his skin.
Lucifer lay beneath her and couldn't think enough to form a coherent thought. "I wanted you more than once, but…" He lost the thread. She was hot and so tight around him. He brushed a kiss to her temple. "In a moment." His voice was a gravelly rumble, almost hoarse with need.
He'd wanted her more than once, but she'd been untried, untutored. If he'd had his wicked way with her, he'd have had her three times, and she'd have cursed him in the morning. Instead, once inside her, he'd stayed deep, moderating the length and thus the force of his thrusts to minimize the abrasion and pressure to her delicate flesh. So he'd been able to enjoy having her come apart in his arms with him sunk inside her twice… thus far.
Lifting her, he withdrew from her, sliding from beneath her. She murmured, tried to clutch and hold him. He soothed her with a kiss along her back. "You have to do all I say, remember?"
She slumped onto her stomach. "So what should I do?"
He reached for a pillow. "Absolutely nothing. It's my turn now."
She lay boneless and let him lift her hips and stuff the pillow beneath them. He knelt between her legs and bent one slender limb, nudging it to the side, knee almost level with her waist. Then he touched her, leaned over her, and slid home.
Her breath fell from her in a gasping moan.
"Did that hurt?"
She shook her dark head and pressed back against him. He took what she offered, sinking deeper into her body. Arms braced, he lowered his head and dropped a kiss on her shoulder.
"Just lie still and let me love you."
She did-he would have thanked her if he'd been able to form the words. Instead, he thanked her with his body. She lay hot, naked, and completely open before him; he filled her, his hips pressed to her firm derriere, the smooth hemispheres glowing palely in the moonlight. The curves caressed him, her body welcomed him, enclosing him in slick, sweet heat. The musky scent of her rose and wreathed through him; he drew it deep, and felt the beast within him slip its leash.
Beneath him, he felt her stir. She didn't move, but her body tightened about him. He reacted instinctively, pressing his hips to her bottom, thrusting deep, rotating just enough to lift her hips in a roll.
She caught her breath and pushed back, then eased down again. He gritted his teeth, withdrew further, held back, then filled her slowly. He sank home, rolled, withdrew-she moaned.
Filled with feminine entreaty more primitive than words, the sound shredded his much-tried control. He rode her hard, plunging even deeper; she met him, urging him on. He'd meant to be gentle, but she was wild and wanton-he responded in the same way.
She shattered beneath him in a climax so intense he felt it in his bones. She spasmed so hot and tight about him, he thought he'd lose his mind. And then he did. Lost all touch with reality as he lost himself in her. Lost his soul to her heat, lost his heart to her.
Chapter 13
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Phyllida woke. She lifted her lids; through the nearby window she could see the sky. A gray light washed over the darkness, presaging dawn, but dawn was not yet here.
Her lids fell; she snuggled deeper into the warm cocoon of the covers. Every muscle in her body felt stretched, released. The heavy arm across her waist was comforting.
She half sat up with a jerk-or would have, but that hairy arm tensed and held her down.
Lying on her side, she sent her senses searching. Lucifer lay sprawled on his stomach alongside her, one arm flung over her. And he was awake. And naked. And so was she. Escaping this while maintaining her composure was not going to be a simple matter.
Unfortunately, rack her brains though she did, she could recall no teachings on the etiquette of leaving a gentleman's bed. If he'd been asleep, she'd have slipped away-and worried about meeting him face-to-face later. Fully clothed, she'd have managed with tolerable calm.
But naked? With him naked beside her?
If she lay there thinking about it anymore, she'd end in a witless panic. She turned; his arm slid over her waist. On her back, she glanced sideways at his face, half buried in the pillow. "I have to go."
Only one of his eyes was visible; it opened and regarded her-far too intently for her liking.
"You haven't yet told me what you were looking for, which is presumably why the murderer is after you."
"It's not, but it's nearly dawn. I have to get through the wood and into the Grange. If you call later this morning, I promise I'll tell you everything."
He didn't lift his head-he just shook it. He looked stunningly handsome with his black hair rumpled; had she done that? Her fingers itched.
"I was going to come and interrogate you this morning, but the present situation has a great deal to recommend it in terms of extracting information."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that you won't be leaving this bed until you've told me all."
"Don't be silly-I have to leave before your household gets up. You won't want your servants to know I'm here."
Lucifer shrugged. "If you don't mind, why should I?" He was going to marry her; in the circumstances, everyone would turn a blind eye.
She stared at him, blank-faced, then her eyes flashed. "Well, I do mind!"
She tried to push his arm from her. He sighed and turned-and drew her into his arms. She quieted. He rolled her until she lay on her side, all but nose to nose with him, his arms locked around her, her legs tangled with his, his erection pressed to her soft belly. He looked into her eyes. "In that case, you'd better start talking."
Her expression was impossible to read; only her dark eyes, still wide, still lustrous with lingering satiation, showed her awareness of his state. Of his unstated threat. Her lips firmed, obstinate to the end.
He held her gaze and waited, while the sun rose.
Phyllida capitulated. "I've been searching for a packet of letters. Not mine-someone else's."
"Mary Anne's."
The leap of logic was hardly great. "Yes. She hid the letters in her grandmother's writing desk, and then her father sold the desk to Horatio and it was delivered here before Mary Anne realized."
"What's so threatening about these letters?"
"I don't know. All I know is that Mary Anne and Robert are desperate to get them back without anyone knowing anything about them, much less reading them."
He searched her eyes. "You promised not to tell anyone?"
"I swore I wouldn't reveal the existence of the letters to anyone at all."
After a moment, he nodded. "All right. So you were looking for the letters…" His gaze sharpened. "That's why you were in Horatio's drawing room on Sunday last."
Phyllida sighed. "Yes." It felt good to be able to tell him. And he'd understood about her promise; she'd thought he would. "I was searching for the writing desk and walked into the drawing room-and saw Horatio lying there, dead."
"Where was I?"
"You hadn't arrived yet. I'd just turned Horatio over and realized he really was dead when I heard you striding up the path."
"And?"
"I thought you might be the murderer coming back for the body. I hid."'
A frown formed in his eyes. "Where?"
She
kept her eyes glued to his. "Behind the door."
His eyes hardened; so did the planes of his face. The arms about her tightened. She'd imagined telling him that she'd been the one who had hit him with the halberd a hundred times, but she'd never imagined doing it while naked in his arms.
"You hit me?"
"I didn't mean to! I realized you weren't the murderer and stepped forward to speak to you, and the halberd overbalanced."
He stared into her eyes for a long, long minute; then the muscles in his arms relaxed. "You tried to stop it. That's why it didn't kill me."
She let out the breath she'd been holding. "I tried, but I couldn't. I only managed to turn it a bit." The remembered panic washed through her; it must have shown in her eyes.
He bent his head and touched his lips to hers. "It's all right." His hands smoothed over her back. "A bit was enough."
The comfort in his tone, in his touch, wiped away all resistance. She relaxed in his arms. Her gaze dropped to his lips. "Well, now you know."
His lips quirked. "I now know a great deal that I didn't go to bed knowing, but…"
She blushed and looked back at his eyes-away from those devilish lips.
"I don't know why the murderer is after you."
"I think it's because of the hat." She told him, describing it briefly. "But I don't know whose it was, and I haven't seen it since."
A board creaked directly above them. They both looked up. Phyllida paled. "Oh, Lord!"
Lucifer pulled her to him and kissed her soundly, long and deep, his hands playing over her back, her bottom. Then he released her. "Go."
Dazed and blinking though she was, she didn't wait to be told twice. She scrambled from the bed. Her breeches were at her feet; she swiped them up and sat to struggle into them. Crossing his arms behind his head, he lay back and watched her.
She stuffed her feet into her boots, then raced across the room and grabbed her shirt. Neither shirt nor breeches had buttons anymore. Horrified, she turned to him, arms wide, demonstrating. He raised a brow.
She glared, picked up her jacket, and shrugged into it. She stooped to pick up her bands, stuffed them in a pocket, then made for the door, one hand clutching the jacket closed, the other beneath it, holding up her breeches.
All About Love c-6 Page 22