Running Wild

by Denise Eagan

  Her Cheshire grin slowly curled her lips—she’d read his face. Even through the pain still lurking in her eyes, answering desire gleamed back at him. “I see,” she said.

  She didn’t. Drawing a deep breath, he took her arm and walked her a few more paces from the other guests, into a corner. His heart hammering, he leaned forward, toward her ear. “I had to after last night,” he said in a low voice.

  He was so close that he felt a shudder run through her body, pulling gently at her muscles. Muscles pillowed in velvet-soft skin. He clenched his jaw as he fought his body’s instinctual response.

  “Was it so bad, then?” she asked.

  “Bad?” he repeated in shock. “No! Why would you think that?”

  She lifted her head, her eyes light brown in the dimness of the corner. “I can divine no other reason for your sudden escape.”

  He could feel the heat of her desire. All he could think of doing was pulling her into his arms and kissing her until they were both wild. He fought the urge, while hunting through his brain for words to ease the pain still lingering in her eyes. They eluded him, and as the time ticked away, the need to hold her grew so strong that his muscles ached. He shoved his hands in his pockets to stop them from reaching for her and found the duplicate key to his room. Glancing around the parlor, he withdrew it. He reached for her hand. She watched him as he unfolded her fingers and dropped the key in her palm.

  “I’m at The Oceanside. Room 210. It’s as private as I could get, next to a back staircase that leads outside.”

  She stared at the key. Her breathing quickened. “A key to your room? I don’t understand.”

  The butler announced dinner.

  “Damn it,” Nick swore. “How long do we have to stay at this?”

  A tiny, purring laugh escaped her throat. “Why until after the dessert course is served, naturally. Are you not hungry, Nicholas?”

  “I’m hungry for you.”

  She started, and her eyes widened.

  “I love the way you taste,” he rasped, watching her eyes for a reaction. They darkened as she blinked several times, her eyes glazing over. “And the sounds you make,” he said lowering his voice to a whisper, “when I take those tastes.”

  He took her elbow and carefully led her through the maze of chairs and tables, while she struggled to regain the composure she so rarely lost. If not for the hardening down below, he’d have felt victorious.

  “I’m a trifle dizzy,” she said in a breathy voice that hardly sounded like her own.

  “Feeling sick? I could take you home.”

  “No,” she answered, this time more firmly. “No, I shall make it through dinner, but I may leave earlier than anticipated. Later, I believe, oh yes, I am certain, that a breath of fresh air shall suit me very well. And a long walk.”

  “Maybe you’ll want to take a drive, too. Could be you’ll find a cab just sittin’ on the road about a half mile west of your house.”

  “Shall I?” she asked as they entered the brightly lit dining room. He glanced down to watch the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. Full, round, beckoning. He curled his fingers into a fist as, in spite of his best efforts, he started to harden.

  “I expect,” she purred, “I shall be—walking—for about forty-five minutes before I find that cab.”

  “I’ll remember that,” he said and then moved swiftly to his seat before the rest of the company could observe his body’s reaction.

  ***

  Dinner lasted forever. Star tried desperately to keep her mind on the conversation and food, but lost the battle. Nicholas’s words kept rushing through her mind I’m hungry for you. . . . I love the way you taste, followed by vivid, dizzying recollections of his lips and tongue moving over her belly, over the mound below to settle between her thighs. A tickle, a nibble and—

  And she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think, could only answer Simon Price and Leander Cushing’s conversation with “Yes.” “No.” And “My how interesting that sounds.” Even when the latter made typically disparaging comments on the movement. Leander, breathing lust and frustration, seemed not to notice her distraction at all. Simon frowned at her now and then, and in some tiny place in the back of her mind, guilt flailed about.

  Then her gaze would find Nicholas across the table, just as he turned his head in her direction. She would mark his tight jaw and the fire in his eyes, and the liquid excitement between her legs spread. By the time the dessert course arrived, she feared that excitement might penetrate her gown and stain her chair. Oh but she must switch the track of her thoughts! Over and over she tried, but they kept switching back, stubborn, stubborn things. She grew to hate the women on either side of Nicholas, who at least could revel in the eroticism of his low voice, if not actually run their fingertips over his chest, and down that line of—she sucked in her breath again.

  “Yes, it is such a treat isn’t it, this custard,” Simon said next to her. Was she actually eating? She couldn’t taste a thing. Instead, her mind continued on, recollecting the feel of Nicholas’s erection rising hard and proud against her hand. What if she kissed it as he had done to her, as she’d read in Port’s magazine? If she used her lips and tongue on it, would he like that? She imagined his response, his face tightening and his low growl floating over her ears—

  A flush burned her skin. She wanted him, she wanted him now! She was so hot and wet it would take but one touch from him to bring her to climax.

  “Miss Montgomery? Are you quite all right?”

  Simon, chirping in her ear. Always chirping in her ear. He was always around these days, steadfastly pursuing Jane as if she were a debutant instead of a married woman. If Star had a decent bone in her body she’d say something, put an end to it. But decent women—ladies—didn’t spend dinner wondering if she really tasted as good as Nicholas said.

  “Yes—” she answered. “No—oh no, I’m not. You know I suddenly feel quite unwell.”

  “You’re flushed,” Simon answered.

  “What? Star, are you ill?” Leander asked.

  “A bit dizzy, I’m afraid,” she answered thickly. “And possibly feverish. Perhaps I ought to excuse myself and return home. I shouldn’t wish to infect anyone else.”

  “Of course not,” Leander said, authoritatively. “I’ll escort you.”

  “I could as well,” Simon offered.

  “No,” she said. “No, but if you two would both be so kind as to make my excuses for me? I’ll pretend to slip out to the powder room. Dinner is almost over, at all events.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Leander said. “You need help.”

  “Sometimes a fever can bring on a fainting spell,” Simon said.

  Star managed a dry smile, as she rose. “No, thank you both. I’m sure I’ll be fit as a fiddle in an hour or two.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  She spoke and loosened from her bosom the embroidered girdle of many colors into which all her allurements were fashioned. It was love and in it desire and in it blandishing persuasion which steals the mind even of the wise.

  Homer, The Iliad

  Nick paced back and forth over the thick blue and gold carpet of his rented room. It’d been thirty minutes since he’d left the Lancasters’ dinner. Star had vamoosed a good twenty minutes before that, making it fifty minutes in all. Where the hell was she? She was coming, wasn’t she? She must; he’d go out of his blasted mind if she didn’t.

  Easy Nick.

  Taking several breaths, he scanned the room. A box of French safes on one beside table, a bottle of port on the other next to two glasses, a box of Swiss chocolates for her and Frenchie cheese for him, like on the beach. Flowers in vases scattered around the room, lights turned low, windows open to let the cool ocean breeze flow over passion-enflamed bodies. Naked bodies, shiny with the sweat of fulfillment. Star’s naked body, with its lush curves—full breasts, firm, round bottom filling his hands—

  Damn, but he was so hard he barely needed her!

  He
took another breath and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to calm himself. He wanted this to last. Lots of touching and kissing and slow-building pleasure, the kind that might touch her more than physically, might touch her heart—

  After touching every other part of her.

  Easy.

  The bed was wide and high, with a blue canopy and a gold satin bedspread, grander than anything he’d ever slept in before coming East. When he’d tested it earlier, he’d felt like a fool. He didn’t belong in a fancy place like this any more than he did in any other part of Star’s world. Stone fireplaces and patchwork quilts, that was his world, not, he thought focusing on the fireplace across the room, not marble mantelpieces with huge, gilt framed mirrors hanging over them. The blasted thing was so big that he could see himself in it from here. He hardly recognized himself, dressed up in a grey pinstriped suit with a gold watch chain hanging from his vest pocket, bought on a day trip to New York City with Star and Port.

  His eyes ranged over the rest of his reflection, and the bed and the pillows, as he created pictures of Star laying there, hair spread—

  “Sonovabitch,” he breathed. He could see everything in the mirror! In certain positions, he’d be able to see her naked body as he kissed her, tasted her, brought her to writhing climax. He’d see himself when she touched him, and when he slid inside that tight, convulsing cave. His heart started to pound, making him dizzy.

  A knock rang out in the room, followed by Star’s voice and a scraping of the key in the lock. “Nicholas?”

  Three long strides took him to the door. He pulled her inside and slammed it shut. Pushing her against the wall, he captured her mouth in a frantic, frenzied kiss. With a tiny moan she yielded, her arms curling around his neck as her tongue met his, stroke for desperate stroke. Already on fire with lust, he moved his hands down the back of her dress, pulling at the buttons. He’d rip it off, and the silly hat, and her corset and whatever the hell else barred him from the wicked titillation of her naked skin caressing his.

  She jerked her mouth away, gasping—a hot wind on the passion-heated skin of his neck. “Oh,” she gasped, “I can’t breathe—”

  The buttons were so small it was near impossible for a man to undo ’em. Frustrated, Nick yanked at her gown, triumphant when the buttons popped off. “You’re breathin’ good enough for me.”

  “I’ll faint.”

  “I’ll catch you,” he said, and ran his lips along her lightly perfumed neck, kissing, nipping. She smelled like heaven. Or heaven smelled like her, but it didn’t matter either way, because she was purring. He pulled the gown forward, releasing her arms and shoulders, before shoving it to the floor. Her breasts rose tempting and beautiful above the harsh confines of her corset and chemise.

  As he buried his face in them, she pulled his shirt out of his pants. She slid her hands underneath, over his belly toward his chest, creating bright, glowing pleasure. He kissed and licked her breasts, slipping his tongue under her chemise and corset to flick over one nipple. She arched, grinding herself against him. Oh hell, he was on the brink—

  He jerked away. She clutched at his arm to steady herself, while gazing up at him with glassy, gold eyes. The flush from her face had spread across her neck, toward her breasts. No doubt that heat went all the way down to the joining of her thighs, where paradise lived—hot, wet, and welcoming.

  Now he couldn’t breathe either.

  “Is there some reason,” she gasped, “that we stopped?”

  “Yeah.” He pulled at her hatpins. “You wriggle your hips against me one more time and this’ll end before either one of us gets our clothes off.”

  She responded with a light, rasping breath. “I—I thought that’s what you wanted.”

  “What I want is to take you to paradise with me.”

  She blinked her eyes and answered in a low, vibrating voice, “I’m not wearing any drawers.”

  He sucked in his breath. Hot blood rushed downward. To hell with slow. He should’ve known better. They’d already lived through months of torturously slow-building madness.

  Grabbing her hand, he pulled her to the bed, where he yanked back the sheets and blankets. He pushed her down on it. Afterward, he made quick work of his clothes. When he turned, he found that she’d stripped off everything but her chemise, and lay breathing heavily, eating him up with those wildcat eyes.

  Far better with her mouth—

  Not a blue-blood aristocrat like Star.

  Perhaps you’ll teach me what it is you like. Her voice from the previous night, echoing in his ear.

  He climbed onto the bed and knelt between her thighs. “Here, sit up,” he said, pulling her up. “I want this thing off you.” She did, and he pulled the skirt out from under her beautiful, lush bottom. “Look to your right—there, over the mantle. See the mirror?”

  She turned her head. Her eyes widened as he yanked the chemise over her head. “Oh! Nicholas I can see myself. . . . Oh, I can see you.”

  The shameless admiration in her voice shot into his chest and flashed through his body, lighting up places that’d never felt desire before.

  “You can watch us if you want,” he said, pushing her back.

  “You mean watch you touch me? Oh!” she gasped as he kissed her breasts. The flush on her face darkened, turning her rose-colored nipples crimson. Balancing on his hands to avoid too much contact and a premature eruption, he licked one of those lovely peaks, and then suckled it.

  “Nicholas,” she exclaimed, wriggling against him. Heat gripped him deep down, starting the inevitable climb.

  Pulling back, he closed his eyes and fought to rein himself in. When he gained control, he rolled to her side and let his hand explore her body, prowling over her breasts and across her belly to tug and play in the hair below. She gasped and he lifted his eyes to the mirror. Her face was tight, eyes enthralled as he continued his exploration, cresting the mound to seek out the soft, wet areas beyond. As he leisurely traveled through the folds, he avoided her pearl, building anticipation. Her hips writhed and she dug her hands into the bedspread. At length, when her moans turned frantic, he found her cave and inserted two fingers. He held her gaze in the mirror. “You like this?” he asked, moving his fingers in and out.

  “Yes—oh yes!” His cock jerked, desperate to follow suit. “And when you touch me there.”

  “Like this?” He stroked her pearl with his thumb, wet and slick with her juices.

  She arched and cried out as her first climax thundered over her. Her breasts quivered, erotically framed in gold in that mirror. “Now,” she said, grabbing for his hand. “I want you, now.”

  “Not yet. First, I want you to touch me. Like you did on the beach.”

  Trembling, she turned her back to the mirror and wrapped her fingers around him. She squeezed and kneaded him, bringing pulsing excitement. After watching for a minute, he said in a low whisper, “You can use your tongue.”

  She stilled. Too much, too soon?

  “I wondered if you’d like that.”

  Damn, just knowing she thought that way—

  She slid down the bed, between his legs and, as he watched in the mirror, directed his cock to her mouth. Her dark red lips kissed the head, again and again. At length her pink tongue flicked out to lick him. He jumped in her hand. “Yeah,” he groaned, “just like that.” Another lick, and another, as her hair fell around her face and her breasts swayed. She twirled her tongue around him, driving pleasure upward. His legs started shaking as he approached climax.

  “Enough.” He reached for her head, half to pull her away—half to hold it there.

  She sat back. “Did I do it wrong?”

  “No.” He lurched up, twisted, and then pushed her into the bed. “Watch.” He motioned to the mirror as he positioned himself over her. Clenching his jaw, he held her eyes in the mirror and gradually entered her, deeper and deeper until his pelvis rubbed against her pearl. Her face tightened, and she choked out a little yell. “Oh no—”


  “Oh yes.” He pulled out for another thrust, and another, pressing against her each time. He followed each movement in the mirror as he buried himself inside her, reveling in the tightening of the muscles in her belly and the shaking of her hips as she started that wondrous climb toward orgasm. Instinctively, she arched her hips, meeting his thrusts. She started convulsing. On the next thrust, her face contorted, and she peaked, crying out and pleading incoherently for mercy. He turned from the mirror and started moving faster and faster, triggering another orgasm, more rolling contractions, squeezing him, pulling him toward paradise. His blood heated, rushed, making him unbearably hard as pleasure surged upward. He let go and the explosion came, rocketing through him.

  He collapsed next to her. For a time, through the hazy afterglow of satisfaction, he soaked in the joy of having her lying next to him, watched the beautiful rise and fall of her breasts and the gradual recession of her flush. At length she opened her eyes. “That was,” she said drowsily, “oh, but you know how it was!”

  He propped his head up on his hand to look down at her. “Good?”

  “Indescribable. And the mirror—” She glanced at it, and then turned back. “It was marvelous at the time, at any rate.”

  “Not now?”

  “I’d rather not see myself naked.”

  “I kinda like it.”

  She smiled and reached up to run a hand along his cheek and chin. “I like this—when you’re not completely shaven. You look dangerous, as if what’s hidden inside you is rising to the surface.”

  “Me?” Shaking his head, he grinned. “No, ma’am, I’m not dangerous.”

  She laughed. “Oh, but you are. To rabid cougars and,” she said, taking a small, trembly breath, “to me. I must confess, Nicholas, that all I’ve thought about today is you and your attentions. And the fear that I’d lost them. Is that how it always is when one engages in these activities, this obsessiveness?”

  He hesitated. “No. Not for me, anyhow. It’s different with you. You’re all I’ve thought about, too.”