“I’m glad.” Remarkably so. He nearly went mad anytime he thought of Kipwick kissing her, touching her, having her. Visions of bursting into the church and claiming her there in front of God and everyone had begun visiting his dreams. “I’m glad you’re free of him.”
“Almost free of him. Our separation is not complete until he also acknowledges that our betrothal is at an end, but it is a bit of a relief to have made the decision.”
“He’ll try to change your mind.” He needs your dowry.
“I shall stand firm, because I’ve no doubt it’s the correct decision, and he’ll come to understand that as well, in time.”
After witnessing her with the servant at the seaside, he didn’t doubt her strength of conviction. But he questioned Kipwick’s willingness to give up easily, knowing he would never find anyone as beautiful, as courageous, as dignified, as elegant.
When they reached the top floor, he walked her past his office to a solid door that gave nothing away regarding what was inside.
“Your rooms?” she asked.
“Yes. You’ll be as safe in here as you were in my office.”
Her look was pointed. “You kissed me in your office.”
“True. And I’ll probably kiss you in here, as well. Would that be so awful?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Carry on.”
With a measure of victory, he swung open the door. His butler stepped forward.
“Shall I take the lady’s wrap?” he asked.
“In a bit. She might yet have need of it.”
She gave him an odd look. “Have you no fireplaces?”
“Not where we’re going.”
“So mysterious.”
“You’ll love it, I promise.”
Aslyn heard the utter confidence in his tone, and she wondered if the man ever doubted anything in his life. His entryway branched off into a huge parlor and two hallways, one on either side. She assumed the one down which he did not take her led to bedchambers. The one they traversed ended in an enormous library with a wall of windows and three of shelves with enough books to fill a small bookshop. But it was the spiral staircase leading into the ceiling that captured her attention.
“Where does that go?”
“To heaven.”
He took her hand, entwining their fingers, holding her firmly as though fearing he could easily lose her on the trek up. The stairs were narrow, they couldn’t walk beside each other, and she found herself in a position where she could study his back, his buttocks, his thighs without his being able to see where her eyes wandered, and they wandered over the entire length of him. She did wish he’d dispensed with his jacket, perhaps even his waistcoat—
Heat swarmed through her as she realized she’d very much like to see him trudging up those steps with no clothing at all. She wanted to see his muscles bunching with his movements, wanted to see the strength and firmness. She wanted to see the flawlessness of his flesh.
Never before had she thought in such detail about any man’s person, and yet she found herself constantly considering every aspect of his, yearned to see it all revealed, wondered if it would be as magnificent as she imagined.
When the steps came to an end, she found herself enclosed in a small pantry-like room. He shoved open a door and stepped out, pulling her along with him.
Onto the roof.
Into the night. A rare clear one that nearly took her breath.
“We’re perfectly safe. There’s a wall around the edge.” Tightening his hold on her hand, he escorted her across the flat expanse to the short brick barrier that came to her waist. On top of it was what appeared to be a wrought-iron railing, although the dimness of the light prevented her from knowing for certain. In the distance she could see balls of light, the illumination from streetlamps, she assumed.
No moon hovered. The sky was adorned with so many stars she doubted any astronomer would ever be able to count them all.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered in awe.
“When all the shops and houses are built, I’ll be able to come up here and see the lights glowing in windows and know that inside people are content, happy, hopefully well-fed and warm. I’ll have a sense of accomplishment. People can have good lives because of what we’re doing here.”
People who might have been impoverished otherwise. He might have amassed a fortune, but he hadn’t been doing it all for himself. She could hardly see his features in the darkness. “You’re remarkable.”
“Hardly. In lifting others, we lift ourselves.”
He was a man of such confidence, it had never occurred to her he’d be modest as well.
“Can you imagine it?” he asked. “With all the lights?”
“It’ll be incredible.”
“There are other lights.” He drew her in close, her back to his chest, and closed his arms around her. “Watch the sky,” he whispered near her ear, his breath wafting over her cheek.
His tongue outlined the shell of her ear, and she sank against him. She should have handed her pelisse over to the butler, as Mick was making her exceedingly warm. His mouth dropped lower, to the nape of her neck, then moved slowly, provocatively, leaving little nips along the way, to her jawline. The sensations were so exquisite, velvet lapping at silk. Was she the only woman to not know that such sweet surrender existed?
Closing her eyes, she began falling into the bliss.
“Keep your eyes open,” he rasped. “Don’t look away from the sky in the distance.”
The vast expanse before her. The stars tossed across the inky blackness like diamonds on velvet. Her breath caught. The fireworks.
Far, far away, but there all the same, filling the darkness with color, rivaling the stars for attention.
“I’m going to unleash the fireworks inside you,” Mick vowed, his voice deep, low, nearly feral in its intensity.
“Mick—”
“Shh. Just keep your eyes on the distance.” He suckled at the underside of her jaw, dragged his mouth—open and hot—along the column of her throat.
Yes, she wished the pelisse was gone and the frock, and all the lace and linen beneath it. What a wanton she was. The cool breeze wafted over her, but it did little to dissipate the heat scouring through her.
He unclasped her pelisse and it was gone, falling quickly to the rooftop as though fearing it was in danger of being scorched, as well. His hand glided with assurance and purpose over her ribs, her waist, her hips. Lower still, somehow grabbing her thigh, lifting her leg—
“Open for me,” he ordered as though he were Ali Baba intent on stealing treasure.
—and placed her foot on the low brick wall where it met wrought iron. His fingers slipped beneath the hem, wrapped around her ankle, began moving up, deliciously slowly in little circles.
“People will see us.”
“There’s no light up here. We’re one with the night. If they see anything at all, it will be only shadows. They won’t be able to discern what those shadows are doing.”
She almost asked what the shadows were doing, but she knew. She’d witnessed it the night before, in secretive places between buildings, behind trees, wherever the shadows were the thickest. She hadn’t understood why people would risk so much, risk being caught. She understood now, because now she had the itch. The itch for sensations she’d never before known, the pleasure spiraling through her, the promise of it filling her with bursts of color: red, green, white—not only what she saw in the deepening sky but every color and shade that existed in the universe, hues she wasn’t even aware were possible.
He cupped her knee, his long fingers toying with the back of it, a place where she’d never realized the skin was so sensitive. “Tell me to stop and I will.”
Lethargically she shook her head. “I’m on the train now, I can’t disembark.”
Her reward for her words was a low chuckle just before he nibbled on her earlobe. How was it that such a small action could create such an enormous tide of sensations? His fingernails scraped along the inside of her thigh, deliciously wicked, scandalously so.
This was what she had craved and yearned for without even realizing what it was she longed to feel. A woman’s passion, one that was not satisfied with the landing of a butterfly on a palm, but one that required a man’s touch, a man’s hands, a man’s desire to please.
It was a chore to keep her eyes open as the sensations rioted through her, as her mewling escaped into the emptiness and filled it to bursting. She gasped as his fingers grazed over her curls, as his mouth journeyed over her shoulder, creating an outline of dew where cloth met skin. Separating her folds, he homed in on the tiny little bud at her intimate core. He dragged one finger over it, and she moaned in torment, sweet, exquisite torment. Another stroke, a longer one, a circling.
Her knees threatened to buckle. If not for his arm at her waist holding her against him, she’d have melted into a molten pool at his feet. His thumb replaced his finger, working earnestly to elicit more cries from her, and they were accompanied with gasps and shudders. Slowly, provocatively his finger entered her and she cried out.
“Not quite yet,” he ordered.
Lost in a myriad of sensations, she didn’t know what he meant. She couldn’t control the tingles, the pleasure dancing along her nerve endings, as another finger joined the first, moving in and out.
“Christ, but you’re tight.” He seemed pleased by the discovery.
Reaching back with one hand, she grabbed his thigh, dug her fingers into his muscles, searching for purchase, as the fireworks grew larger and larger, filling the sky, filling her, reaching for the heavens—
She cried out as an explosion of ecstasy ripped through her, claiming her, destroying her, rebuilding. Then his mouth was on hers, capturing the cries, devouring, his tongue thrusting with the same urgency that his fingers had only a few seconds before. Her foot was no longer on the brickwork, but was back on the ground, his arms cradling her body against his as his mouth continued to plunder, as though he could share everything she’d just experienced, make it his own, but it was already his as much as it was hers.
He’d given her something no one else had, and at that moment she couldn’t imagine anyone else gifting her with it. Tearing his mouth from hers, he cradled the back of her head with his large hand, pressed her cheek against his chest where she heard the rapid thudding of his heart beating in tandem with hers.
“Did you enjoy the fireworks?”
A quick burst of laughter escaped from her. She nodded, taking satisfaction in his low, dark chuckle. “I think I would stand here every night watching them,” she said on a soft sigh.
“The rooftop is yours whenever you want it.”
But she only wanted it if he was there to share it with her.
He sat against the arm of the sofa with one leg stretched out on the cushions, the other foot on the floor, and her nestled between his thighs, her back to his chest, sipping her wine. He’d never known such satisfaction as he had the moment she’d come apart in his arms. Nothing he’d ever purchased or acquired in his business dealings had brought him such pleasure. With her cheeks still flushed, he knew the only thing he’d ever enjoy more would be taking her to his bed and possessing her completely.
“Did you choose this location because you could see the fireworks of Cremorne?” she asked.
A low fire burned on the hearth. It wasn’t really needed for heat, but he liked the atmosphere it created. One perfect for seduction, although this night it seemed he was finding himself the seduced rather than the seducer. “No, it was a lovely surprise I discovered much later. I wanted access to the roof so I could look out over everything I’d accomplished, take a measure of pride in it.” Reaching for a small chunk of cheese on a platter on the nearby low table, he carried it to her mouth, fought not to grow hard as her lips closed around it, grazing his fingers.
“I thought we’d be dining downstairs in your hotel dining room.”
He heard no chastisement or disappointment in her voice. “That’s what I’d planned, but then I decided I wanted you all to myself.”
Watching the blush creep up her neck, he pressed a kiss to her nape. Her willingness to accept pleasure at his hands had taken him by surprise. Other than the desperate duke’s widow, no other lady of quality had ever given him leave to put his roughened fingers on her, in her. Tonight, for Aslyn, he wished they’d been as smooth as silk, had never grown callused lifting tin pails, had never grown rough hauling bricks.
“I should think your wife will have a jolly good time furnishing all the rooms,” she said, no doubt an attempt to keep the conversation bland rather than naughty.
He’d taken her on a tour of the flat. Other than the rooms for which he had an immediate use—the front parlor, the library, his bedchamber—he’d done very little in the way of readying the place for visitors. His brothers and Gillie generally joined him in the library where they could pour from decanters to their hearts’ content. Fancy and his mum took tea here in the parlor. “What would you do with the rooms?”
“Brighten them up a little bit, I think. You have enough dark in the hotel. After a while I think too much of it could become oppressive.”
“I wouldn’t want the pink of your bedchamber.”
Twisting around, with her elbow digging into his stomach, she caused him to grunt. Her brow was furrowed. “How do you know the color of my room?”
“It was a guess. All the pink I’ve seen you wear.”
“I’m not wearing pink tonight.”
“No, tonight you’re dressed like the sea.” He skimmed his finger along the low neckline, tempted to slip his hand beneath the cloth and cradle her breast, show her how every aspect of her body was created for pleasure. “I like it. Although I’d rather have you with nothing on at all.”
Her eyes widened as she swung back around and settled against him. “The things you say.”
He pressed his open mouth on the curve where neck met shoulder. “You’d be disappointed if there wasn’t some gutter in me.”
She sat up, faced him, and he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. “What you said isn’t something that came from the gutter. If you’re drawn to someone, shouldn’t you want to see them without their clothes? I constantly think of you going about without a stitch of clothing.”
He arched a brow. “Do you?”
“Well, not constantly. Often.”
“I didn’t think ladies of quality had such thoughts.”
“I didn’t.” She knotted her fingers together, studied them. “Until you.”
Shoving himself up, he cradled her cheek with one hand. “I’m glad.”
“It’s one of the reasons I know Kipwick and I aren’t suited. I could never—”
She lifted her gaze to the ceiling, and he knew she was seeing beyond it to the roof.
“There’s more, much more. What I did on the roof . . . I can do it all with my mouth.”
The blush that took over her face was the reddest hue he’d ever seen. He loved her innocence, loved how she wanted so desperately to be sophisticated, to act as though carnal desires weren’t new to her. But they were, and he wanted to introduce every aspect of them to her. He wanted to take her on a sojourn of pleasure that would leave her too exhausted and sated to ever leave his bed.
“You’re wicked. You know saying that is going to make me think about it.”
He grinned. “Which means you’ll be thinking about me.”
“I would anyway.” She skimmed her fingers over his beard before cupping his chin in her palm. “Sometimes I wonder what you would look like without it.”
“I’m curious myself.”
Her eyes glinted. “Have you always had it,
then?”
“From the day I noticed whiskers.”
She scraped her fingers along his jaw. “You have a strong jaw.” Toward his chin.
He swooped down, captured two of her fingers with his mouth. She released a tiny squeal of surprise. When she would have pulled them free, he wrapped a hand around her wrist, licked the tips that tasted of a strawberry she’d eaten earlier.
“Oh my,” she whispered on a sigh.
Slowly he began moving her fingers in and out of his mouth, like the waves rolling onto shore, like his cock wanted to thrust in and out of her. The delicate tendons at her throat worked as she swallowed, her eyes focused on the erotic play, the blue of her irises deepening.
He stroked his tongue along the seam between the two fingers, suckled gently. Without averting her gaze, she closed her hand around his that rested on his thigh and carried his hand up.
Her lips parted slightly, her tongue slipped out to coat them in heavenly dew, before her mouth closed around the middle two fingers of his hand and the velvety heat consumed him as though she’d taken in his entire body. He grew so hard he ached for the want of her. As he continued to stroke her fingers, he watched mesmerized as she pushed his into the sweet confines of her mouth, suckled briefly, only to withdraw them, dragging them over the velvety roughness of her tongue. In. Out. In. A swirling of her tongue. A suck. Out.
She mimicked his actions, and he didn’t know if he’d ever experienced anything so erotic. If anything had ever made him grow so hard, so fast, so near to bursting.
He’d thought only to stop her exploration of his chin, and now he wanted nothing more than for her to explore every inch of him.
Her eyes were filled with heat and desire. He suspected his were, as well. Christ. Even the duke’s widow hadn’t done this to him, hadn’t taught him the pleasures to be gained in going slowly, in taking one’s time, in merely tasting.
He pulled her fingers out of his mouth, pulled his out of hers, cupped the back of her head and brought her down to him so their tongues could experience what their fingers had. Leisurely, yet deeply. Stroking and thrusting, suckling and soothing.
Beyond Scandal and Desire Page 23