Sinful (Hot Regency Romance Novella)

by Sharon Page

Good heavens, could he read minds? How had he known? He had looked into her eyes, and he had seen everything she was trying to hide, without her even needing to say a word. “No.”

  “Don’t lie. It’s a damned pointless thing for you to do.”

  She had to give him the truth. “All right, it was. But you cannot do anything rash. Or foolish.”

  “I don’t do foolish things, Sal. I wouldn’t have survived so long if I did.”

  “You just proved that isn’t true, Lyan.” She managed a wry smile. “You just asked me to marry you.”

  “Not foolish. But I’d like to postpone the moment when you tell me ‘no.’” He rolled her onto her back. He leaned over her, his golden-tanned body supported above hers on his powerful arms. Her breath caught. Then he grasped the neckline of her nightgown and pulled the sides apart. Three buttons popped free, sprang off, and clattered to the floor. Her gown sagged to reveal her bosom.

  Lyan captured her mouth, all the while stroking her breasts, cupping them with his hands, brushing his fingers over her nipples until they hardened and flushed reddish-pink. Her nipples became amazingly sensitive, aching and tingling.

  He made her feel scorching inside, all fluid and languorous and sensual. Like molten gold. Estelle had once seen a jeweler turn the metal to liquid—had seen it splash, scalding hot, into a mold. That was how she wanted to feel—like something strong and solid that could turn to fluid with all this heat. Something that could be changed, reshaped, transformed into something new.

  How could he kiss her like this when he knew she would turn him down?

  “I—I want you,” she whispered. “But marriage…I can’t…I have to say—”

  “Shh.”

  He began to lift her sensible flannel nightdress up her legs. She couldn’t stop him. She couldn’t walk away from him now. One night. She would allow herself that. One glorious night to remember forever.

  * * * * * * * * *

  Chapter Five

  “For ten years, Sally, I’ve dreamed of doing this to you.”

  Lyan’s hands brought her nightgown to her waist and let it stop. Firelight revealed a surprisingly vulnerable look in his emerald eyes. Despite scars, rugged features, lines bracketing his mouth, he barely looked older at this moment than he had ten years ago.

  Then he bent and kissed her bare stomach, jolting her out of her wide-eyed exploration of his handsome, grizzled face.

  Shock and delight exploded inside her as his lips trailed lower, as his mouth lightly nuzzled her nether curls. “W-what are you doing?”

  “Tasting you.”

  “There? But surely—”

  Her words died as he licked her there, touching the intriguing little bump that was so sensitive, that could make her want to cry out when it was stroked. In ten years of loneliness, she had done the forbidden thing: she’d touched her quim when she’d thought of Lyan.

  But her touches had been nothing to the wet, raspy sensation of his tongue. One rough, dazzling stroke of it, and she almost arched off the bed. She tried not to scream. She fought not to make a loud, scandalous noise, but she couldn’t help it.

  A deep, intense moan escaped her lips.

  Then another, more frantic, as he rose from her private place to grin at her. “I can’t believe the most fearless woman I know is nervous about showing her pleasure.”

  “I—” She closed her eyes. “It’s hard to be fearless in this.”

  “I know. Right now, I’m afraid.”

  Before she could ask what he could possibly fear, he bent again and suckled. Then stopped, making her want to shriek in frustration. Her hands were in fists, her feet curled against the stunning, almost frightening, sensations. But when they stopped, she wanted more.

  “I’m afraid I won’t please you, Sally. Afraid you don’t want me. Afraid that after dreaming of this for ten years, I’ll make a hash of it.”

  “You aren’t,” she managed.

  “Your clit seems to like it. It’s plump and hard, and sweetly red. Like a delectable candy for me to suck.”

  Clit. It was a new word for a part of her body she had explored furtively for ten years. She had been determined to be independent. In this, though, it was much more fun to have a partner.

  She held her breath, captivated by the sight as he lowered himself and kissed between her legs once more. He stretched out on the bed, long, muscular, lean. His hands skimmed up her inner thighs, his fingertips teasing her skim. It made her giggle softly, which in turn brought a beautiful smile to his lips.

  He cupped her bottom, tilted her hips up to his mouth, then devoured her. It was spectacular. Intimate. He nuzzled her mysterious clit, sending waves of ecstasy through her. She arched her back, her bottom balanced on her hands. She bit her lip. Closed her eyes. Fell back on the bed, reached out for the sheets, and clung to them.

  Heavens, it was good. He proved to have remarkable skill. It was as if he knew what she felt, knew what would give her astonishing pleasure. His lips brushed over her nether lips. Her hands tightened on the sheets. She had her eyes shut, overwhelmed by this. He was tasting her in a place that she’d never dreamed a man would kiss. He could smell the earthy scent of her there, and she was growing very wet, so the ripe smell was stronger.

  But he didn’t seem to mind. He flicked his tongue around her clit. Then he pulled her close to his face to thrust his tongue inside.

  She almost scrambled back up to the headboard in surprise.

  She’d had no idea a man would do that…with his tongue.

  He drew back long enough to urge, “Relax,” before putting his lips to her clit and suckling until she could see stars. Brilliant stars, whirling before her eyes.

  She tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn’t let her. Her hips began to move against his mouth. Pleasure mounted and she wanted it and she worked for it.

  His tongue drove her mad, her body thrust relentlessly, and the tension grew so strong, she finally screamed. So loud she feared the whole inn could hear—

  Pleasure exploded inside her, and the waves radiated all over her, like ripples in a pond. She floated in ecstasy, hands clutching, lips letting out whimpering sobs.

  Lyan moved over her, kissed her with a hot, luscious, open mouth. She tasted salt, earthiness, and realized they were sharing her intimate flavors. A blush burned on her cheeks.

  Slowly, she opened her eyes to see Lyan’s soft smile. “Now, what did you dream of doing to me?”

  “I want to do something I wouldn’t have dreamed of doing,” she whispered. “Before now, I didn’t know what to dream of. I didn’t know what intimacy truly was.”

  He cocked his head. “What is it?”

  She didn’t quite know how to express it with words, but she tried. “It’s sharing. Sharing this. Exploring together. Trusting.” She took a deep breath. Her arms and legs felt heavy and lazy, but she wriggled out from under him. Holding his gaze, she smiled slowly. “Now you lie down and I will do something to you.”

  The moment her lips coasted along his bare thigh, Lyan almost exploded in an orgasm. Her mouth was soft as silk, sweetly hot. He watched her, enthralled. Her hair was free of its many pins and spilled in waves down her back. Even though she was slender, she had a womanly figure now. Her shoulders were sloping but broad, her breasts rounded and mature. The swell of her hips invited his hands to stroke, as did her curvaceous bottom, but she was too far away from him to cuddle.

  He just had to lie there and enjoy.

  His erection stirred against his belly. Never had his cock been more rigid—it felt as straight, heavy and inflexible as an iron bar. But unlike cold metal, it was hot and pulsing. This was her, all her. He’d always known, in his heart, she was the only woman for him. His perfect mate, his perfect love. He no longer resented the ten years they’d been apart. It had made her stronger, more fascinating, more desirable.

  She was working her way down to his erection. Her lips brushed his belly, cruised over his nether curls, and approached his cock
.

  Lyan held his breath.

  She had been beautiful as a brave, feisty girl. But as a woman, one who had fought to protect her daughter and build a career, she was the most remarkably gorgeous woman he had ever seen.

  Her tongue traced her lips, coating them with moisture, and he groaned.

  Then, she pressed her pursed lips to the shaft of his cock. God, yes. Her wicked mouth slid up along his flesh, stroked the throbbing veins, then she reached the head. It was taut enough to burst. Fluid bubbled out of the tip, and Sally ran her tongue over the tip, tasting him. Her lips parted, flowed around the head. All the while, as she sucked hard enough to draw in her cheeks, she stroked his shaft with clever fingers, cradled his bollocks. Her fingers held him gently, caressed him like silk.

  She even slid her hands down to cup his buttocks, which tugged his anus lightly. He’d never felt that before, and it proved stunningly pleasurable.

  Sally—Estelle—was amazing.

  He’d called her Sally, because that was who she had been to him. He’d done it to remind her, out of long-nursed resentment and anger, what she’d done to him.

  But she wasn’t Sally any longer.

  She was a glowing star named Estelle. She looked up at him, eyes half-hidden by her veil of thick, whisky-amber hair. She glowed with delight at what she saw, which must be the fact he was now her prisoner, now hers to command.

  The former Bow Street Runner who had once struck fear in the hearts of criminals had surrendered his heart. He was besotted, enthralled, captivated. He belonged to her, no matter what happened tonight. No matter what she said, he always would.

  She suckled hard. His every muscle clenched as pleasure shot through him.

  “Yes,” he growled. “God, yes.”

  Her hot, delectable mouth worked all over his cock, until he was weak limbed and unable to do much more than groan. He clung to control, because he didn’t want to expend himself now.

  But Estelle released him from her mouth. “I’m not doing this right, am I? I’m not giving you pleasure.”

  “You are.” The poor sweet—his lack of orgasm had given her doubt. She was such a remarkable blend of strength and vulnerability. Perhaps he was the only man in England who knew how sensual and uncertain she was behind the severe gown and ruthlessly pinned hair; behind her no-nonsense, controlled exterior.

  Estelle was exactly like him. That was why they had always been meant to be together.

  Now, he had to reassure her. Make her understand. He sat up, clasped her hands, drew her to him. Then he flipped her over, so she lay on the bed. “It’s different for men. Women can have many orgasms. Men can’t—at least not unless they have a good rest in between bouts. I was fighting not to come, so I could pleasure you more.”

  “You were resisting pleasure?”

  “It will make it all the more intense when I do come.” He grinned. “I promise I have more skill, Estelle, and much more self-control than I had that first night.”

  Estelle stared at Lyan. Did he think he had been lacking on that night they had shared ten years ago? “That night…” Heavens, she would never forget that night. “You didn’t seem in doubt of your skills then,” she pointed out.

  “Bravado. I thought if I pretended I was a great lover, you would be convinced.”

  “You were—” Her voice caught, trembled, failed. He had been a wonderful lover. He had been gentle, when he could have been rough. He’d shown remarkable patience. It had been a glorious exploration for both of them, filled with more giggling and chuckling than she would have dreamed.

  It had been close to this intimacy, but she had held something back. It had been heaven, but she had been too afraid to let herself believe she could have heaven.

  She ran her tongue over her lips, tasting the rich, slightly sour, thoroughly intriguing taste of him. She had loved returning the pleasure he had given her. Now she wanted to give him something else. She had to let him know. Know how wonderful he had been.

  “That night was spectacular,” she assured him, looking up into his eyes. A slow smile curved his lips. He had never looked more handsome, and her heart ached. “You have nothing to regret about your skills. Right now and that night, you made me…you gave me a…”

  “I made you come, I think.” His smile turned into a cheeky grin. “I’ve found another thing that frightens courageous Sal. Saying the word ‘orgasm.’”

  A fiery flush raced over her cheeks. As he saw it, Lyan’s eyes gentled and his face held such tenderness, it took her breath away.

  Softly, his lips touched hers. It was like a jolt of intense electricity.

  “I’ve dreamed every night of how I would pleasure you, Sal.” He bent to her nipples, teasing and suckling them. His hands slid down and as he stroked her quim, he skillfully tweaked one aroused nipple and sucked the other.

  After her orgasm, her cunny and her nipples were intensely sensitive. God, yes. He had said those words. She wanted to cry “yes” as well. How she wanted to encourage him and tell him how good it was with one simple word. Yes.

  But she didn’t dare say it. That dangerous word.

  Then Lyan slid inside her, burying his erection deep, and his mouth never stopped tormenting and pleasuring hers, not for a moment.

  She kissed him as they moved together, frantic, wild, just as they had when they were young, blessedly young, and in love, and she had yearned to believe it would be easier to face the world if the two of them were together.

  In the end, she’d panicked and fled. She wasn’t going to do that now.

  She licked his neck. Claimed his mouth. Nibbled his ear. Bit his shoulder. Because if she didn’t keep thrusting up to him and touching him and tasting him, she would think of what she’d lost. She’d burst into tears that might never stop…

  His lips pulled back. She almost tumbled into the depths of his wild, hot green eyes. “Stop thinking, Estelle. Just love me. For right now, this is love. Savor it.”

  Then he captured her mouth, as if afraid she might argue. But she couldn’t anymore. His thrusts changed and each one pressed his groin against her most sensitive place, the little clit, now swollen and aching. The place that could subdue a woman’s mind—

  She came again, climaxed, surrendered to a pleasure she couldn’t begin to control. She burst into a thousand shimmering pieces. She flowed like liquid gold. She soared.

  He cried out hoarsely in a climax, and his shout of pleasure sent her heart spinning up to heaven.

  As she fell back to earth, to their hot, disordered bed, Estelle was aware of Lyan’s arms around her. He had moved off her, but his embrace held her captive.

  “I want to ensure,” he said sleepily, “you don’t run away again.”

  * * *

  You could marry him and make love with him every night. You could have a partner in pleasure and life. Rose could have the one thing you never had and never will have. A father.

  She couldn’t marry him. He was going to be an earl. She was a shopkeeper who wanted to forge an independent life.

  Estelle sat up. Lyan was not doing a very good job as jailer. His long, large body was still snuggled beside to her. But his arm was slack with sleep and rested on her hip.

  She needed to think. She needed air. The room smelled of sex and pleasure and was so hot it made her dizzy. As soundlessly as she could, Estelle put on her nightgown and her cloak. While Lyan breathed steadily, she slipped out of the room, then hared down the stairs, and ran outside to the yard.

  She wasn’t going to run away. No, this time she had to refuse Lyan to his face. She felt as though she were a gown that was stitched up all wrong. All the pieces were where they should be, but she could never be right until she was taken apart and made all over again. Yet she didn’t have the courage to pick her stitches away.

  She drew in a deep breath of cold spring air. Bracing, but even several puffs weren’t making things clearer. She swung her arms and paced over the hard, uneven mud in the yard.

&nbs
p; A carriage stood near the inn. At first, she’d assumed it was empty. But there was a light within, illuminating a girl’s face. A girl pressed against the carriage window glass, staring at her.

  It was the face of the young woman who had come to her last night. It was Lyan’s sister, Laura. There was only one reason for Laura Foxton to be in a carriage in a coaching inn on the road to Scotland.

  Estelle hitched up the hem of her cloak and ran across the yard.

  The girl was alone in the carriage, and she drew back as Estelle wrenched open the door. “What are you doing, Miss Foxton?” she demanded. “Eloping?”

  “I—” Laura tipped up her chin, a gesture filled with girlish defiance. “Yes.”

  “Where is my daughter Rose? Is she still at your home?”

  Laura nodded swiftly. “Oh yes, she is still there, and she is very safe.”

  “Well, what of your brother? It will break his heart if he finds out you’ve run away.”

  Pressed back against the velvet seat, the dark-haired girl glared mulishly. “I’ll return after I’m wed and see him. I’m not running away forever. You have no right to tell me what to do. Or tell me what my brother feels. He left me a note before he left last night. In it, he told me who you are. The woman who broke his heart!”

  Estelle fought the guilt she knew Laura had wanted to provoke. “He doesn’t need another broken heart then, does he? He is here, in this inn. Why not tell him what you want? Why not marry with his blessing?”

  “He won’t give me his blessing. I am in love. I won’t turn back now.”

  Estelle clasped the girl’s hand. “If you are happy, then I wish you a lifetime of happiness. But understand that it is not too late to turn back. It never is.”

  She left Laura then, hurrying back across the muddy yard. It was so easy to give advice she would never take. Lyan was offering her the chance to turn back, yet old fears still commanded her. She was afraid to change, afraid to take the risk of opening her heart, afraid to give up what she’d fought to achieve. It still felt safer to say no.