The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 4 (The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Sets)

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  If folly was what it was, for the Earl was certainly the kind of man worth risking everything for. His lean, raw power was almost terrifying. Yet she sensed underneath it a tentative quality. An uncertainty, a doubt that she could not quite put her finger on.

  He was a wounded soul, she sensed, from both without and within. He was a man of mystery too, with that strange flicker of red and black which wavered before her eyes when she looked at him.

  Chauncey's aura was also black, from little she could read of him. It had been black ever since she had known him. Her father had told Isolde her engagement was for the good of the whole family, and she had been forced to acquiesce.

  She blinked and tried to drag herself back to the present, to the reality staring her in the face. If she had not been so fatigued, distressed and in turmoil, and rebellious against her fate, she would have done the sensible thing that any young woman in her position would, and run like the wind from a man like... What had he said his christian name was. Ah, yes, Randall...

  As he began to kiss his way down towards her belly, her heated response gave way to shock. He couldn't possibly mean to""

  She started to sit up wildly, but his hand and hot breath soothed over her stomach. "Easy now, it's just to make you more ready. It's the most natural thing in the world."

  "Only if you're a lapdog," she said with a shaky laugh.

  "I certainly feel the heat," he quipped, his hands coming up under her bottom, his thumbs crading her legs open.

  "Oh, goodness, no, please," she gasped as his tongue found its mark, the tender bud nestled in her tiny auburn curls.

  "I've wanted to do that since the moment we met, see if you taste as sweet as you smell. It's even better. You're luscious, my dear, all over."

  She was twisting from one side to the other. "You can't possibly enjoy doing such--"

  The protest died on her lips as he thrust his tongue right up into her, pinioning her to the mattress in shock at the sensations which tore through her. She gripped the sheet with one hand, his hair with the other. Her hips bucked so hard he lost his grip on her.

  Here was her last chance for her to grab her clothes and retreat with as much dignity as she could muster. It would not be much, but would preserve her virginity at least.

  Needless to say, her chances of securing the post as his mother's nurse and companion were long gone. What on earth had she been thinking?

  And was this not perhaps what Howell had intended all along? That he would compromise her simply by sending her to the house of a man who was so spectacularly handsome that there could be nothing deemed respectable about her presence there. Certainly not as a paid companion.

  She groaned inwardly at her realization of the double entendre. Either he really did have a sick female relative, or he was advertising discreetly for a mistress! Did Chauncy know? Were they in on it together...

  Though why he would have to advertise was beyond her, she thought wildly as she writhed in increasing abandon on the bed. There was no doubt in her mind that he had to be the most accomplished rake in London. If not the whole of Europe, she amended, if all that was said about him was to be believed.

  She gritted her teeth as she thought of Howell laughing at her. The story would soon be making the rounds of every gentleman's club in the Ton in no time, how the mighty Isolde Drake had been ruined so easily.

  "Randall, really, I think we should stop this--"

  But with the steady pressure against her belly and his hands cherishing one breast and kneading her hip, all desire to halt his seduction vanished into thin air. She wanted, nay NEEDED to know. If anyone was going to initiate her into love's mysteries, it should be this magnificent man. Even if this was some sick game of Chauncey's, she had one chance to enjoy a magnificent young man for lover, and she was going to take it.

  Isolde surrendered to his questing tongue, and found herself pulling him even hard to her. She began to spur him on towards the ultimate act, her palms travelling down over the hard, muscular slope of his back, towards his gently rounded smooth buttocks, until he sucked in his breath and slid up over her to kiss her on the lips once more.

  He laid down beside her, and there was no longer any doubt in his mind or body as to how he wanted to enjoy Isolde. He ached to give in to the ultimate fantasy of two young lovers, fresh and clean and innocent, just letting nature take its course. He simply had to make love to this woman with no calculation, no thought of payment, and no thought for any consequences on the morrow.

  Except that there were always consequences, he reminded himself, running his hands along the whole length of her from shoulder to thigh. Wouldn't it be wonderful if the pleasure didn't always yield so much pain?

  Pleasure. Raw and compelling. The blood sang in his veins as he let his innate need for control slip and they kissed torridly, mouths wide open, wet and sensuous. His hand slipped up to caress her femininity tenderly once more, and he murmured words of endearment against her fevered flesh, telling her how very lovely she was, made for him and him alone.

  She grew almost scaldingly hot. She heated up even further as he inserted one finger into her tightness. He had learned from experience that women came in all different shapes and sizes. With some he had not been able to manage more than the smallest portion of his huge size. With this woman he not only wanted to manage, he needed to please her the way she was thrilling him.

  But it was not going to be easy. Patience, he counselled himself. She would be more than worth the wait..

  "Steady, lass. I'm rather large and you seem awfully tiny. It will make it easier for you if you're nice and wet. I want you absolutely glistening with ardour. I want you to say my name, Isolde."

  "Randall, oh, oh my."

  She could feel a hot tightening within her, and a warm rush, like a monthly, but not in the least painful. It was more heated and lambent, almost bubbling over as his hand continued its maddening massage.

  He marvelled at her incredible tightness. He had heard of high-class Incognitas who could do all sorts of interesting things with their inner muscles, including prevent men from entering them and thus driving them even more wild with desire.

  He wondered if she was doing this now, and rasped urgently, "Easy. Don't try to control this. Just relax, let it happen. I promise it will be good for you too. I want to try to please you."

  "Oh, you do, so very much. Can't you feel it? It's like I'm on fire. Like I'm flooding with sensation. But I don't know what to do. I mean, I want to please you too. And I'm not sure how we're going to--"

  His hand reached into the bottom drawer of the small bedside table and he tied on a protector and applied a large handful of lubricating cream with trembling fingers. She was a lovely woman, but the habits of a lifetime could not be ignored, and even a clean-looking woman, as she was from all he had tasted below, could still be rife with disease.

  As he readied himself, Isolde knew she still had time, could still get away. But the prospect of certain ruin was as nothing compared with the urgency spiking through her. The swirling sensations below her waist were budding and spreading outward, leaving all of her limbs nearly beyond her control.

  Randall was like a masterful puppeteer, pulling her arms and legs this way and that, bending her to his will, but his desires were in perfect harmony with her own. The more he touched her, the more she wanted to travel with him down the enthralling path his caresses had revealed.

  Desperate to have him in the bed once more, she stroked up his thighs and reclined on the pillow. "Please," she whispered. "I need more of you. All of you. I feel like I'll go mad if you don't kiss me like that again."

  Her knees bent, her legs wide, she presented a most alluring picture, one Randall could not resist. He got back in the bed beside her and let his mouth rove over hers. He cradled her head in one broad hand and moved to tease her secret valley with his fingers, until her pearly moistness lubricated not only him but the sheep intestine condom. Even with its deadening effect he could feel
her incredible tightness.

  Though he had no intention of winning the bet now, he would tell the men he had never met another woman able to clamp her own inner muscles so tightly. She was going to wring the pleasure from him in an instant, he was sure.

  He held back once again to try to prolong the sizzling up and down his spine just a bit longer. He rubbed up and down, round and round, at the very edge of her entrance, until she clutched his hips urgently.

  "Just let it happen. You don't need to work so hard. Pompoir is lovely, but I just want you to relax."

  "I can't stop the, the longing," she sighed, nuzzling his chin and throat.

  His flesh surged anew. Playing the game to the last, he whispered against her satiny hair, "I'm sorry. This is going to be difficult for you at first."

  Isolde steeled herself, knowing full well that this was the part every woman feared and dreaded. She tensed, and he pressed on to end his fantasy at last. His hardness slipped into her a painful fraction at a time. She curled her fingers into claws of suffering which dug into his back and bottom as she pressed her hips upwards to meet the stabbing pain, though her instinct told her to flinch away.

  Now that things had gone this far and she was truly ruined, she decided she might as well try to seek the pleasure she had heard could often be part of the act of love.

  He smothered her cry in his mouth as she curved her hips up to meet the stroke. He began to withdraw, suddenly unsure, surprised and awed by what he felt inside her. He, who thought he had experienced it all.

  She was so hot, tight and lovely, he was not going to be able to last more than another second. He wondered at the tense change in her act, from willing virgin to agonised one. He knew some men liked to inflict pain; the gentlemen's clubs were full of unwilling virgins 'sacrificed' for the novelty of a man or men willing to pay the right price. But he didn't want hurt or violence as part of his sexual exploits.

  "I'm sorry," he murmured against her ear, taking one lobe into his mouth to tease it with his teeth. "It will be easier in a moment if you stop struggling and tautening your muscles like that. Ease the clamping below. Don't try so hard to please me."

  "I can't stop. It's, well, doing it all by itself," she said, her eyes glittering with unconscious tears as her body tried to both expel and impel him.

  But Isolde's mind knew what she wanted. Her nails dug into his back as she tried to adjust herself to the formidable pressure which had burst through her delicate tissue and now throbbed within. She felt sure there was more. Lifting her hips up off the bed, she managed to get him to slide in even further. And further.

  He gasped and shuddered, and gasped again as she moved once more to try to accept his tumultuous stroke. Each movement forward made it easier for her to take every glorious inch of him. Having already exploded before he ever even got half way inside her incredible core, he was stunned for a second, frozen in ecstasy.

  But Isolde's body was intent on its own pleasure, and she continued move to her hips downward and up into him. She could feel an increased dampness throughout her which made him slide in more easily, until a slow lapping tendril of delight curled deeply within her belly.

  She let out a desperate pant as her eyes flew open. "Randall!"

  He raised his head to look at her. He had already finished, was still stunned with his unalloyed enjoyment of her. Her gasp of surprise hardened him anew. When she looked at him and said his name again, he knew he was even more lost than seconds before when he had exploded within her.

  If he didn't know better, he would have said they were made for one another, for really, they were the most perfect fit together. He rippled his hips and could feel his rigidity pressing urgently in an attempt to get all the way inside her at last.

  He grasped her legs for a brief second to wrap them around his waist, and then cupped her bottom hard. "Take all of me," he begged, the whirlwind of his need wafting through him once more as her sob of delight at his continuing glide now became a sultry moan.

  No sooner was he finally at the end of her, than he swung back almost all the way out, only to begin the slow pressure of filling her tight pulsing sheath all over again. The two kinds of friction had her shuddering against his in a tell-tale rhythm which propelled him onwards towards both of their peaks.

  "Randall, please!"

  She had no idea what she was begging for, but it was very close.

  With a throaty laugh he plunged in deeply, driving her onwards until her whole body clenched, shuddered, and flooded with heat and passion. Her inarticulate cries burst from her with every thrust, until he allowed himself a release so profound, he was sure his heart had stopped.

  When he finally came to his senses, he lifted his head just enough to look timidly at her, and found not the hardened visage of a consummate actress, but the glowing delight of a woman well and truly fulfilled.

  "Oh, thank you, thank you," she said, smiling tremulously, her eyes brimming with tender tears. "That was so wonderful. You're magnificent, Randall."

  He could hardly believe his ears. It had been said to him before, but never with such delight and reverence. He moved his head to look at her, and saw once again her marvelous eyes open to look at him in surprise, wonder and joy. Again, he had encountered many pairs of eyes looking at him after the deed had been done, but none had ever looked at him like that.

  He shivered with regret that it was all over at last. He had had her, and was sure he was spent. In a short time, Isolde was going to return to whatever bordello she worked in.

  He sighed, and gave her one last sultry kiss, wanting to ask her to stay, but fearful of being laughed at for even asking.

  He was about to roll off her to head for the bathroom and then reach for his money clip and give her all he had for her warm generosity when she stroked her hands down both of his cheeks and gazed deeply into his eyes. "Thank you. Do you think I can do something similar to delight you?"

  Her innocent inquiry quite unmanned him. With a murmured, "You most certainly do delight me, love," he settled her down in the bed once more, gentling her tousled auburn hair back from her cheeks and brow.

  Isolde stiffened slightly in surprise, but noticed his strange red and black aura had shifted, was being pushed aside by a thin, glowing ribbon of white.

  The light pushing back the darkness, she thought as she opened her mouth under his. A moment later, she tested her theory by summoning up the wellspring of her desire and kissing him back.

  It was true. The more ardent and loving she was, the more he responded in kind, the more the red and black began to dissipate.

  She gripped his buttocks to stay his long strokes, for with the protector on, and it being her first time, she was sure she would be rubbed raw if she didn't do something soon to relieve the pressure.

  He lifted his head, surprised. "Are you all right?"

  "Yes, only I like it better when you're all the way in," she said, her eyes glowing. And it was no like she told. "It feels like, well, there's no part of us that isn't touching. You fill my senses with the most remarkable passion. That's right, just press in. Oh, my, that part on my front you were kissing is um, ooooh--"

  Randall leaned and pressed, and both soared to the heavens and saw stars.

  Chapter Six

  Randall could not remember the last time he had felt so warm, so, so loved.... He reveled in the contact of his body atop Isolde's still deep with her. As she had said,it was as though every part of them were touching, and there was a lightness about his body that gave him the sensation that he was floating.

  "I'll ease my wait off you in a moment," he murmured, his lips like a caress against her soft cheek.

  "I'm fine. Let me just cradle you like this until my trembling subsides," she whispered. Her body was still clenching and unclenching around his length, as though eager for every drop of pleasure.

  He was about to kiss her again when he heard the sound of raised voices at the end of the corridor.

  He paused and ra
ised his head to listen. A man's voice... Was there something amiss with his mother?

  "I'm sorry, Isolde, I would love to nestle there with you, love, but I think we're about to be interrupted," he said softly as he began to withdraw.

  "Interrupted," she echoed, her eyes wide with alarm.

  "Yes, but no need to look so alarmed. It's just that my mother's been ill and--"

  "Ah, your mother?" she said, half questioningly.

  "Aye, and I think one of the servants might be looking for me to help tend to her if she's started having a funny turn."

  "I see," she said quietly, looking relieved, but also mildly puzzled.

  He paused amid his search through the pile of discarded clothing that lay on the floor, and stooped to kiss her. It was like a whirlwind of desire, leaving them both flushed and trembling, heedless of the voices that had now become shouts.