by Jade Lee
They were eye to eye now, with him drawing closer by the second. She didn’t pull back. Indeed, she didn’t do anything but look into his eyes and part her lips. It wasn’t an invitation. The woman was too innocent to know what she looked like with her hair tumbled about her shoulders and her eyes liquid with emotion. But he took it as one anyway.
He cupped her face in his hands, and he tilted her to just the right angle. Then he pressed his mouth to hers, needing to taste the sweetness there.
She sighed against his lips, her breath tart with lemon. That was a surprise. It was likely from a drink she’d had recently, and he told himself he was simply exploring how deep the new taste went. He pushed his tongue between her teeth, thrusting just enough but no more. She met him there, and they played, tongue to tongue.
It was a quiet kiss. A sweet one that did not ask too much of an innocent girl. But then he lost himself to her. He felt the roar of hunger build in his blood, and his thrusts into her mouth became bolder. His hands were cupping her head, holding her to him as he plundered between her teeth.
She released a sound somewhere between a mew and a groan. Was it desire? He couldn’t tell, not with his heart pounding in his ears and her hands clutching him.
She was holding onto him, he realized. Gripping his shoulders and pulling herself closer. Yes, that was permission. So he let his hands shift. He abandoned her hair to cup her shoulders, to slide down her arms, and then he molded her breast between his fingers.
She gasped against him, pulling back with her eyes wide. She didn’t need to speak. He knew the sight of a startled virgin. But he also saw hunger in her eyes and a need that echoed his own.
“There is pleasure in being wayward,” he rasped. “I can show you.”
She shook her head. “I shouldn’t.”
Not quite a denial.
“I won’t take your virginity. No one else will know.”
He saw the struggle in her eyes. Passion against prudence. He dropped his forehead to hers.
“What I show you can be done alone too,” he said. “Something to pleasure yourself when no one else is looking.” He tilted her chin up. “Do you know about this thing? Has your mother never told you?”
She shook her head. “But my sister…” She bit her lips.
The Wild One. “Does she know?”
“She said it’s wonderful.”
“But she didn’t tell you how?”
“No.”
“Shall I show you?”
She glanced to the closed doorway, and he answered her unspoken question.
“Lady Illston is away on calls. We are entirely private here.”
“But the servants—”
“Will stay away. I promise.”
She shook her head. “You cannot know that.”
“I do know that.”
“How?”
He shifted his hand, letting his thumb roll over her breast where the nipple would be beneath corset and shift. It was a small thing, done light enough that she might not even feel it. Except he watched her lips part on a gasp and knew that she was as excited as he. And while she was distracted, he made his confession.
“I bribed the butler to keep away. He will be sure of the rest of the staff.”
Her eyes widened. “You what? When?”
“Weeks ago. And every time I think you might be here with me.”
She shook her head, clearly surprised by his foresight. “But why, when…” Her voice trailed away. It took him a moment to understand what she hadn’t said. To realize that what he valued most was the very thing she decried.
“I’m fascinated by wayward,” he said honestly.
Then he pulled her to her feet. She was pliable in his arms, loose-limbed despite her hesitancy. He tugged her close, letting himself feel the fullness of her breasts against his chest, the sweet scent of her hair, and the heat of her breath against his neck.
“Do you trust me?” he asked. “I swear I will not cause you any harm. No one will know.”
“I will know,” she answered.
“That is the best part.”
He felt her smile against his neck, and again, he took that as consent. He was pushing the bounds of propriety, but he knew to the depths of his soul how desperately she needed the touch of another person. Someone who cared for her. Someone who could show her that wildness didn’t have to cost anything.
He gently urged her to lean back against the table. It was high enough that it would brace her perfectly, if she allowed it. Then with a quiet prayer that she remain, he moved quickly to the door and twisted the key in the lock, just to be sure they would not be interrupted. Then he returned to her.
“You are a beautiful woman,” he said as he stroked across her cheeks and admired the sweet openness of her face. “It destroys me to know you hate the best part of yourself.”
Her lips tilted up. “The part that forgets to guard her tongue? Who insults wealthy, powerful men?”
He smiled. “Exactly so.” He kissed her again. Slow and sweet, letting her get used to the taste of him while he reveled in the sweetness of her. And soon she was gripping his shoulders, pulling herself toward him.
He broke the kiss. His breath was short, but hers was stuttering, lifting her breasts in tiny jerks as she struggled to restrain the feelings coursing through her.
“Let yourself feel everything,” he said. Then he took her hands and guided them to the table. He wrapped her fingers around the edge and squeezed slightly, so she knew to hold on. “Don’t do anything but feel.”
Then he began to rain tiny kisses all over her. Her cheeks, her neck, the curve of her shoulder. He felt her shudder beneath his lips, and when she moaned softly, he fought to keep himself from taking her in the most primal way.
It took a moment for him to control himself. Long enough for her to focus on him, a question in her eyes. He held her gaze and answered.
“I will stop if you want. Just say the word.” He began to stroke her legs. Hard muscles, long flanks, trim calves as he gently stroked her skirt up. “Do you know how your body can feel? Or have you been so busy fighting yourself that you never even allowed yourself to ask?”
She bit her lip, telling him her answer. She had spent six years—probably many more—fighting her nature. He nuzzled his head down to her neck, grazing her flesh with his teeth before biting softly. Just a pinch before soothing it with his tongue.
“Jo told me of such things,” she murmured. “But I didn’t understand it.”
“And you want to know.”
“Yes.”
He wondered if this was part of her drive to get married, even to someone as far beneath her as Mr. Camden. Did she hope finally to express her passions in her marriage bed? Oh, he prayed so.
And while his balls tightened high and hard, he slipped his fingers beneath her skirt. How many times had he imagined just this event? The sweet length of her legs, her parted lips, the tight buds of her nipples barely noticeable beneath her gown.
“Close your eyes,” he urged. Her lids flickered closed, and he leaned forward to kiss her as a reward, though whether it was for her or him he didn’t know. And as he moved, his hands naturally slid up her legs.
She was wearing stockings. Practical cotton, and at the top, a ribbon tied tight enough it cut into her leg. Smooth fabric, hot woman quivering as he touched her, and then he tugged the ribbon tie undone.
“This is very wicked,” she murmured.
Her eyes were open again. And below her waist, her legs were tightening. So he stopped his progress, gently caressing. He flashed a dark grin. “I mean to show you that wayward can be very good. Did you want me to stop?” She had to agree, or it would not work. “Mari,” he said gently, “tell me what you feel.”
She licked her lips, the pink dart of her tongue making his cock surge, b
ut he held himself still. “I feel hot,” she said. “I cannot catch my breath.”
He waited, knowing there was more but needing her to find the words.
“My…chest is full and…” She swallowed. “And tight.”
“Your breasts, you mean.” His gaze went to the full, lush mounds.
“Y-yes.”
“And here,” he said, squeezing her thigh slightly. “What do you feel here?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but then shook her head.
“Are you wet?” he coaxed.
She nodded.
“That is very good. Do you know how the act is done?”
Again she nodded. “But you said—”
“I won’t take your virginity, Mari. I swore that to you.”
“Yes,” she said, as if reassuring herself.
“But there is a pleasure that can be had without that.” Again he squeezed, daring to creep his hands higher. A bit more. An inch. Then he held still. “Say you want this, Mari. You have to tell me that you—”
“Yes. Please…” She swallowed. “Please show me.”
He wanted to crow aloud in pure masculine pride, but he held it in check. He would not startle her. And while he waited, her thighs relaxed, and he slid up the last inch. He felt her curls against the tip of his fingers. She jolted when he connected, but then quickly stilled. Her buttocks were tight, lifting her high, but not away from him. Not if he kept still and waited for her.
A moment.
A bit.
She eased back down, and this time her legs were spread a little farther. Enough for him to crook a finger and slide between her petals. She gasped, and her eyelids fluttered.
“How does that feel?”
“So…so…” She opened her eyes, and there was humor lighting the amber depths. “Wild.”
He grinned in response. Then he held her gaze, locking his eyes with hers as his fingers began to play. Strokes, pushes, swirls. He learned the curve and the wetness of her. The plump center and the welcoming depths. And while her eyes became dazed and her mouth opened on a slight gasp, he reminded himself that he could not take her. It was immoral. He would lose her forever. Then those words fell away.
Nothing held his attention as she did. Her moan as he pushed against her clit. Her gasp as he penetrated her with two fingers. Or her cry as he began to speed up his pace. Tighter. Harder. He pushed against her bud while her skin flushed and her eyes grew wide. She thrust against him as he pushed a third finger inside her. And when he drew his thumb up, long and slow against her nub, she keened with hunger.
He knew when she was close. Her breath became nothing but a hitch, and she arched up to his hand while her legs spread wide for his plunder. Then her belly went rigid, and he knew he had no more time.
Abruptly, he straightened while still keeping her aroused. With his free hand he pulled her sideways then caught her, so she fell into the crook of his arm while his mouth slammed down on hers. Her arms had flown up in surprise, gripping his shoulders while he pushed hard against her nub. Quick circles, faster. Tighter. Harder.
Detonation.
Her body went wild, and he caught her scream in his mouth.
Amazing.
He kept her riding that excitement as long as he could. He held her while she bucked in his arms, and then waited until she eased before stroking her again. He let her feel the bliss forever while he kept her cries of delight to himself. And he thanked God in Heaven that she had gifted him with her first experience. God, how beautiful she was. And how perfect he wanted this to be for her.
But it could not last forever. In time, she jerked her hips away from him. Too much, he realized. And so he slowly took his hand from between her thighs. When she released a tremulous laugh into his mouth, he knew it was safe to rise up from her lips. He still lingered, nipping along the edges of her mouth, pressing tiny kisses along her cheek, and then simply holding her, his lips pressed to her temple.
He could spend an age like this and be content. She was languid in his arms. His body clamored to possess her, but he would not disturb her lingering pleasure.
With that thought in mind, he looked up at the mantel clock. Hell, Mari’s hour with Greenie was almost up. Which meant the butler would be returning soon. The man was honor bound to prevent her from staying beyond the allotted time.
Peter had to get her presentable soon. He looked back down to her face, seeing the light catch her amber eyes, making them warm with sun even as she blinked herself back to awareness.
“You should allow yourself to be wayward more often, Mari,” he said.
She smiled and spoke in teasing accents. “I have not given you leave to use my Christian name, Lord Whitly.”
“I am taking that leave.” He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. “But only in private.”
“I suppose I am wayward enough to allow it.” Then she stirred. Their embrace was done, and so he helped her to stand, though she still leaned heavily against the table. Her legs were weak, but she put strength into them quickly. Too quickly, in his mind. He would rather lift her into his arms and carry her to bed.
Instead, he took a wicked pleasure in watching her fingers fumble as she retied her stocking. He couldn’t stop himself from caressing the length of her thigh, though she blushed furiously at his boldness and quickly dropped her skirt back down. Much too soon her dress was back in order. He flatly refused to allow her to return to her severe hairstyle, so he secreted half her pins in his pocket. He mourned even the few locks she pressed in place with the remaining pins. Then he looked at the mantel clock and knew he had to leave.
“I will slip out without the butler noticing. You remain with Greenie until the butler comes to retrieve you.”
“How can you go without someone seeing?”
“I can do it,” he said. There were any number of ways to slip through a household unseen. Then he touched her cheek. “Pull at your hair while you are trying to train Greenie. That will explain your lack of pins.”
“I need those back, you know,” she said. “I’ll be a ragged mess in the first wind.”
“I would buy all the pins in England if I could keep your hair tumbling about your ears.”
“That would make for a very untidy England.”
He looked at her then as she smoothed down more unruly curls. She had such fire inside her, if only she would let it out. The lure of tempting her to wild abandon had hooked deep into his soul, and he knew he would continue to poke at her until he had seduced her completely.
With or without marriage, he would have her. It was a sobering thought to a man who believed himself a moral creature. Then that knowledge brought something deeper and darker to his mind.
If he could not stop himself, if nothing would prevent him from exposing her every wayward desire, then he had to tell her all. About himself. If she were exposed, then he would need to be as well. Not just the pieces he’d meant to show her tonight. Not the half measures meant to placate her, but everything.
That was hard. That was a terrifying thing, but he would do it if it meant winning her to his side.
“Tomorrow night,” he rasped before he could change his mind. “I cannot manage it tonight, but tomorrow. I will find you at the ball. Bring a dark cloak if you have one.”
Her eyes widened, and she nodded. No hesitation, no regret, just a solemn trust that he would keep her safe. Which was all the more damning, because he knew he was the rake here. His every intention was to seduce her to his side.
Fourteen
Mari watched Peter slip out of the room. She hadn’t been given leave to use his Christian name, but in her thoughts he would forever be Peter.
Peter the handsome.
Peter the strong.
Peter the man who showed her why every woman worked so feverishly to get married.
It was for that feeling. For that explosion of pleasure. For that amazing experience of joy that sang through her heart and mind long after he’d left.
“Greenie,” she whispered, “I didn’t know. Heavens, why didn’t I know?”
“Happy sodding day!” the bird chirped, and Mari was so happy she didn’t even remonstrate with the creature. But she didn’t feed the bird either.
“Happy day,” she said firmly as she held up the bit of apple. “Oh, Greenie, it is such a happy day.” Then she fed it to him.
She remained in that state of bliss for a minute more. Maybe as many as two, but before long, doubts began to creep in. Had it truly felt as wonderful as she remembered?
Her belly still quivered when she thought of it. Her breasts were heavy, and the memory of his face as he whispered that she was safe—well, that set her to wetting her lips and wondering when she could be wayward with him again.
“Happy day,” she said as she fed Greenie a bit of apple. “Happy day.”
Then her gaze happened to land on her reticule. Inside it was her neat list of requirements in a husband. She certainly had an item to add now, didn’t she? Though God only knew how she’d phrase it.
Waywardness in bed?
Waywardness in the afternoon?
Waywardness often.
She giggled and fed Greenie another bit of apple without remembering to speak the phrase. It was some moments later when she thought of something else. Something that horrified her down to her toes.
What if waywardness wasn’t always this much fun? What if it only occurred with certain gentlemen?
How horrible to be trapped for the rest of your life doing that with a man who didn’t make it wonderful. She now knew how amazing it could be, but what if Mr. Camden, for example, made it dull? She might be an unmarried virgin, but she’d overheard enough to know that men weren’t always good in bed.
She shuddered in horror. Worse, the more she thought of it, the more frightened she became. Mr. Camden didn’t like her being wayward. He’d remonstrated with her on that very thing any number of times. What if he made this thing as restricted and sedate as he liked everything else?