He did not appear convinced. “If everyone left instinct unchecked, there would be chaos.”
“Chaos? What chaos could result from my presence in your bed?”
He glanced doubtfully at his mattress. “I might get you with child.”
Ah. A child. She sucked in her bottom lip. She hadn’t considered pregnancy.
“Stop that,” he said.
“Stop what?”
His eyes were fixed to her mouth. Intentionally, she bit her lip again. He sighed, gruff and frustrated.
“Clarissa, please.”
He’d said her name as if it were a complex puzzle or a fascinating play. And then, he’d begged. She rather liked hearing him beg.
An interesting sensation skittered through her senses, almost as if they were playing some sort of game and she’d won.
Power?
“Why did you want to come here?” he asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“No.”
“I want to become a woman of experience.” Again, she placed her hand on his chest. His pulse beat against her fingers making all of this more real. More exciting. “What better man could I choose to lift my ignorance than Hearts?”
He hummed with uncertainty. “Rayne would kill me if I bedded you.”
Rayne? “Rayne doesn’t have to know.”
She spidered her fingers upward beneath his cravat. She loosened the knot, just as she’d been wanting to do all night long.
He made a funny, strangled sound.
She stilled. “Do you object?”
He sent her a look she could not decipher. “What is happening?”
“Seduction.” She glanced through her lashes. “I intend to bed you, not the other way around.”
His eyes turned drowsy. “I…I’ve never seen this side of you.”
“Neither have I…and I like this side of me.” She lowered her voice. “I think you do, too.”
“You said you didn’t wish to marry.”
She blinked. “Did I propose?”
“Ah…” A sound of warning more than indecision. He removed her hand from his chest. “I’m afraid your seduction contains an implied proposal.”
“Does it?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Absolutely.”
“And yet, just a few nights ago, weren’t you and Mrs. Sartin coupling like—”
“As a matter of fact,” he interrupted, “we were not. I haven’t been with Mrs. Sartin, or anyone else, since spring. But let’s leave everyone out of this but us, shall we?”
“Gladly,” she replied. “But when you say everyone, I want you to mean everyone. Society. Our friends. My brother. Your lovers.”
“Former,” he clipped.
She frowned.
“Former lovers. That much must be clear.”
So gallant. “Is that your rule? Only one lover at a time?”
A guilty flush returned to his cheeks. “One of the few rules I’ve yet to break.”
“Markham.” She caressed his face with the back of her hand. “What rules have you broken lately?”
“All but that one, I’m afraid.”
She tsked. As she did so, he refixed his gaze to her mouth.
His lips parted. His pupils went wide.
She’d seen rabbits with just the same look. Poor, frightened little creatures frozen in the worst possible position, uncertain of which way to dart. Eyes unblinking. Heartbeat rapid. Panting.
Just like Markham.
What did the French call a lustful devil? Chaud lapin. Hot rabbit.
He wanted her. He needed only good reason to forgo his rules. Good reason. Like an order, an edict, a command.
“Would you break rules for me?”
“I already have.”
His confession had been roughly whispered. Thrill spiraled up her spine.
“Tell me,” she whispered in return, “how bad you’ve been.”
He looked down. “In the Square outside Gunter’s. I undressed you. In my mind.”
“Did you?” She cocked her head. Odd, that. “Very bad indeed. And what did you do with me once I was undressed?”
“I laid you across my bed.” He glanced back up. “And I sucked your nipples until you were begging for more.”
Oh? She kept her expression neutral. Was nipple sucking something grown men did? Why?
She ran her hand over her breast. Her nipple hardened beneath her clothes. Ohh.
Markham made a whimpering sound.
She refocused on him. “Is that all you did?”
He shook his head no.
“Answer me with words.” Where in heaven’s name had that voice come from?
“No,” he said aloud.
She placed a fisted glove against her hip. “What did you do next?”
He met her gaze. Fierce. Slightly angry. Thoroughly transfixed. “I took my hard, swollen cock in my hands. I parted your thighs and rubbed the tip against your swollen maidenhead. And then,”—the side of his lip lifted—“you came apart.”
Well, she’d wanted information, hadn’t she? And that contained a great deal of information.
“Came apart?
His eyelids drooped again. “Heaven.”
I want…
Want? She could barely breathe.
“Is your cock,” she relished the hard K, “swollen now?”
“So swollen it hurts.”
“Show me.”
He gripped himself so that the thick outline of his arousal showed.
A fission of pleasure skidded over her skin. “Well.”
“Well,” he repeated, lifting a brow in challenge.
“You have been very bad.” She smiled her most wicked smile and approached him slowly—her panting, swollen, aching chaud lapin. “You require direction…strict guidance…rigorous supervision.”
She untied the tie at her throat. Her cloak dropped away.
“There are a great many ties to my dress. And the fabric is quite dear.” She held out her arms to either side, as if for a lady’s maid. “I trust you will take care.”
He did not move.
“You made me a promise, Markham,” she said, her voice gravelly and low. “A promise I expect you to fulfill.”
Chapter Ten
When Markham entered his bedchamber, he’d been a gambler with a questionable hand—every choice depended entirely on Clarissa’s tells.
He’d “gambled” before, of course, but a part of him had always remained detached.
He wasn’t detached now.
Her tells had become a symphony; the crescendo engulfed his resistance.
Clarissa, gently biting her bottom lip—growing desire and a sharpened awareness of sensitive places.
Clarissa, voice lowered—a mask for vulnerability, a need for control.
Clarissa, eyes wide but gaze direct—consummate trust. Trust so deep, she was willing to lead without any assurance he’d follow.
His entire world had just turned on that trust.
Her deep-toned command permeated him like a wave filtering through sand—bubbling, fizzing, shifting everything inside. Her pupils, large with want, transformed her blue eyes into black pools of desire.
The rest of the world fell away. Only she remained. A dull, sweet ache pulsed in his cock.
What could he do but bow down?
This was new. All of this. Her voice. Her dominion. Any woman’s dominion.
Oh, he’d always been attentive. Leaving his lovers satisfied had fulfilled him even more so than release. But he suspected Clarissa was about to take things one step further than he’d ever gone.
I intend to bed you, not the other way around.
He could not have predicted her imperious transformation, nor his response. Never. In his wildest imaginings. But the effect was potent—like a mist infusing every inhale. Very well then. He would consent to being seduced. For tonight, she would become his queen.
But she’d find her subject far from passive.
&nbs
p; Limits must be set.
He would pleasure her and hold himself in check. He could do that. He absolutely could. He could do anything for that look in her eyes.
“I will not take your maidenhood. However,”—he dipped his head—“I am otherwise at your service, my lady.”
Her imperious expression did not change. She nodded once. “Proceed.”
He began with her pinky—a sad, oft-overlooked little finger.
He caressed the underside as he tugged on the soft kid leather. The glove moved an inch. From there, he balanced his attention, urging off the gloves one gentle tug at a time. Each time he tugged, he paid careful attention to the skin revealed.
She wanted talent? He turned a simple de-gloving into something almost obscene. When her fingers were bare, lightly trembling, he lifted her hand to his lips. The fine hair on her arms raised. Tiny bumps scattered over her skin.
Gooseflesh.
Another subtle tell.
Her glance fluttered to his. “What is the most interesting part of a woman’s body?”
“Whatever part I am studying.” Like the taste of the tips of her fingers. He met her gaze. “And the part that makes her writhe.”
Her breath hitched. “Writhe?”
“Tremble involuntarily…inside and out.”
Fascinating connections formed within her eyes.
“You mean the part of me you imagined stroking with your cock?”
“That part, yes.” He circled around to her back and reached beneath her lifted arms to undo the clasp that fastened her overdress just beneath her breasts. “But that one is obvious. And the obvious is never the most interesting.”
He brushed her nipples as he removed her sleeves, making sure to slide the silk slowly along her bare arms. Turning away, he laid the fabric across his chair. Then he set to work on the ties holding together the delicate mull.
“Only an amateur”—his breath moved the curls that had escaped her coiffure—”would begin with the obvious.”
“And Hearts,” she murmured, “is decidedly not an amateur.”
“Right,” he said against her ear. “Lucky you.”
She shivered again. “I asked you to tell me your favorite part.”
He released the first tie. The upper bodice fell to each side.
“I regret I cannot answer.” He danced his fingers down her spine and undid the second tie. “Yet.”
“You mean it’s different for every woman?”
“Yes.”
He shimmied the fabric up each side and then tenderly lifted the wispy mull over her head. He arranged that part of her dress next to the first and then turned back to a shimmering gold goddess.
This woman—this stunning lady—who had so liberally shared her warmth with everyone but him, had commanded him to remove her clothes. Yet, as he removed each layer, he was the one growing bare. If he stopped to think, he might balk. So he set aside thought and submerged in feeling.
He undid the remaining hooks, stroking the sides of her breasts as he parted the fabric. Her petticoat dropped, pooling at her feet. He circled back so they faced each other.
Half stays. Half shift. Full stockings. Utterly ravishing—a feast for a man at the very edge of starvation.
“Find the part of me that makes me writhe,” she commanded.
“For that, I’ll need to touch you…” He lowered himself to one knee. “…everywhere.”
Her gaze unfocused. “You have permission.”
Did he, now?
He lifted her calf, splaying his fingers as he helped her step out of the pile of fabric, one small, arched foot at a time. He folded it and set it aside, still kneeling.
No, he couldn’t have guessed they would come to this. He was not truly surprised, however. He did love women who knew what they wanted, women who were neither shy nor reticent about their desires.
What was a surprise was the abrupt stillness inside. At her feet, his confusion quieted. The burden of decision lifted. He needn’t wonder how or if he could please, he simply needed to perceive and to respond.
The sweet ache in his cock wasn’t dull any longer. It was a long, piercing note played against a vibrating string.
She gazed downward, eyes equally serious. Focused. Intent. She caressed his cheek. Her small fingers cooled his shave-toughened skin.
“Mon chaud lapin.” Her hot rabbit.
He’d heard Frenchmen use the description—denoting masculine carnal need. He was in desperate need.
Spellbound. Hot.
But was he hers?
He wanted to be.
“Well done,” she said.
Her praise actually moved his member.
“Rise.” So regal. “And kiss me.”
He came to his feet and took her into his arms—muscle to softness, sun-ripened skin against pale. He could easily have lifted her from the ground. Instead, he cupped the back of her neck and traced a shape onto the sensitive skin—one long, continuous line that dipped and curved and then dipped and curved again.
Another heart.
His heart.
She hooked her hands beneath his arms and held on. He dipped her backward until she was dependent on him to stand, though still fully in command.
His firm lips met her pliant mouth. Such full lips. So red. So luscious. So warm. Gently, he probed until her impatient sigh sent sparks across his skin.
She didn’t want gentle.
She yanked him close, and her breasts crushed against his chest, spilling up and out from her stays in tantalizing fullness. He glanced down—mouthwatering—to where her cameo disappeared within the cleft.
“Half stays…tied at the shoulders and laced down the front.” He nipped her bottom lip, grazing the softness with his teeth. “My favorite kind.”
“You know a great deal about women’s underthings.” Deliberately, she forced him back, turning them both, so his back was to his bed. “I’m not sure I approve.”
The whiff of possession in her voice pierced his groin. “If women—and their underthings—did not fascinate me, you would not be here tonight.”
“Is that what you believe?” She forced him to sit on the mattress.
“You told me you came here for experience.”
“Yes. Experience with you.”
He closed his eyes as she worked her hands through his hair.
Him. He spread his legs, easing the pressure in his cock. Clarissa wanted him. His knowledge. His experience. His hands upon her body.
He grasped her behind her thighs and drew her between his.
She shivered.
“Are you cold?”
“No,” she replied.
He raked the back of her thighs; she shivered again.
“I’ve found one of those places, then.”
“Your favorite?”
“I don’t know.” He smiled. “There’s so much left to explore.”
She straddled his lap, resting one knee on either side. The heat of her bare cleft penetrated through his clothes.
Yes, sweet, magnificent Venus. Yes.
He kneaded the back of her neck as he undid the ties of her stays. She moaned as he pressed hot lips to the valley of her throat.
Her shoulder straps fell down. “I’m hot…”
Noted. He loosened the laces.
“Restless…”
Also noted. He pulled them off.
She stretched her spine, giving him ample reason to salivate.
Two ample reasons, in fact.
He dropped his hand to the outer curve of her waist.
“And I can’t stop shivering.”
“Good,” he said.
“Good?” She lifted a brow.
She grasped his hand, threaded her fingers through his, and then forced him to roughly knead her breast. She pinched her own nipple between his fingers, closed her eyes, and smiled.
He lost a little seed.
“I’m warmer now. You may remove my shift.”
Another dare.
As if he would stop now. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Not unless she became unwilling.
He lifted her shift over her head and cast it aside.
He reached for words to describe seeing her naked—save her necklace and stockings—but all words slipped from his mind. He forgot everything but her firm breasts, slightly rounded belly, and the soft, dark curls that concealed her mound.
Delectable. The first word returned. Like raspberries. He ran his thumb over a pebbled tip of her nipple.
She bit her lip. “Just like you imagined?”
“Better.”
“What are you waiting for, then?” She cupped her breast.
He ran his hands nimbly over the surface, learning her shape. Both dusty-rose buds were already fully peaked. He touched one with his tongue. She moaned. So decadent. He grazed her lightly with his teeth. Her moan turned into a soft squeal. So wanton.
She shoved him down into the mattress. “Do everything you imagined.”
“I’ve been hard for hours.” Days, it seemed like. “If I stroke you with my cock, I’ll spend.”
She frowned. “Spend?”
“Spill seed.”
She leaned back and glanced down at the obvious bulge beneath his trousers. God help him, she wet her lips.
“What’s seed like?”
He flushed, full-bodied.
“Markham,”—she made his name almost a coo—“are you embarrassed?”
Yes. But if she was not too ashamed to ask, he refused to be too ashamed to answer. “It’s wet. And it comes out in pulses when…”
“When?” she asked.
He closed his eyes “When a man goes off. The little death.”
“Does ‘the little death’ feel good?”
“Yes, dash it.”
“How?”
“Like the sky is shattering.”
“Can you shatter my sky?”
He opened his eyes. “Yes.”
“What did I ask you to do?” she whispered.
The air was thick with want and possibility, so think it tangled like a ball of yarn in his throat. “Everything I imagined.”
She nodded. “Then what are you waiting for?”
He grasped her by her shoulders and pulled her down against his chest. He kissed her deeply as he removed and set aside the pins holding up her hair. Black curls caressed his skin. He braced himself then rolled her beneath him, never breaking their kiss. As they shifted positions and she took his weight, she let out a deep-throated moan—the most sensual thing he’d ever heard.
Heart's Desire (Lords of Chance) Page 12