My Fair Mistress

by Tracy Anne Warren

  But Julianna was unlike any woman he’d ever known. True, she might be selling herself to him, but she was no courtesan. There wasn’t a coarse, crude bone in her body; her every movement and gesture was one of gentle grace and elegant refinement.

  He didn’t understand why, but his hunger for her went bone deep, leaving him glad he would have her in his bed for six months. More than enough time, he decided, to extinguish even the fiercest of flames.

  Strolling forward, he watched her track his progress with her dark, velvety gaze. Her eyes snapped closed, though, the moment he reached the bed.

  What is she about? he wondered. Is she really, truly as nervous as she appears? And what, if anything, is she wearing under those sheets?

  Julianna held herself motionless, her body board-stiff as she tried her best not to tremble. But her efforts proved useless, a faint quiver traveling through her the instant his weight depressed the mattress. She swallowed as he scooted close, vitally aware of his long body stretched out at her side.

  He was staring. She could feel his eyes—those cool, clear green eyes—moving over her with bold intent. She could feel the warmth of his body as well. Sense his male strength. Smell the light, pleasant scent of the bayberry soap he used, and something more, something earthy and masculine that could only be his own.

  Gently, but firmly, he tugged at the sheet and blanket. Julianna bit her lower lip as he pulled the bedclothes slowly from her grasp and folded them back to expose her body.

  Her cheeks warmed as she waited. Waited for him to touch her. Waited for him to kiss her, maybe once or twice if she pleased him. Then he would squeeze her breasts, push up her chemise, climb between her legs, and enter her.

  Instead he did nothing.

  Didn’t so much as run a fingertip over her cheek. Didn’t even lean close enough to let her hear him breathe.

  What is he doing? Is he just lying there, watching me?

  Goose bumps broke out over her limbs, nerves rippling just below the surface of her skin. She tried to keep her eyes shut, but finally could stand it no more.

  Her lids popped open, her gaze flying immediately to meet his own. Lying on his side with his head propped against one hand, he studied her, an expression of patient curiosity on his chiseled face.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, flummoxed to discover him in such a pose.

  Up went one dark brow. “Observing you. I wanted to see exactly how long you’d lie there with your eyes squeezed shut.”

  She frowned. “Why would you care whether or not my eyes are closed?”

  A slow, seductive smile curved his lips. “Because I want to see you when we make love, see the look in your eyes while I’m giving you pleasure. What’s more, I want you to see the look in my eyes while you’re giving me pleasure back.”

  Her lips parted on a silent exhale.

  He skimmed a knuckle over her jaw. “You have truly beautiful skin, do you know that? Creamy. Soft. Translucent.” With his thumb, he traced her cheek and across her bottom lip in a slow, meandering caress. “Pretty cheeks, pretty lips. Kissable lips.”

  Her mouth throbbed at his touch.

  “I’ve only now realized I have yet to kiss you. You wouldn’t let me before, as I recall.”

  A small shiver rippled through her. “No,” she murmured in soft reply.

  “Seems I shall have to rectify that, now that we are here together. Alone.”

  She waited, forcing her eyes to remain open as he leaned across her, his shoulders seeming wider than ever, his arms long and powerful.

  Despite his confident words, she didn’t expect anything grand. She’d never much liked kissing, finding the act little more than a lot of wet, clumsy rubbing.

  But when they met hers, Rafe’s lips were warm and smooth, and only the faintest bit moist. Silky, almost feather-light, they played over her own—skilled, certain, and in no way clumsy. He didn’t demand. Didn’t press her lips painfully into her teeth. Didn’t try to force open her mouth, or jam in his tongue.

  With palpable relief, tension began to ease from her shoulders and neck, her thoughts drawn to the sensations he was creating. Delicious sensations, sensations she hadn’t imagined she might feel. Her lips parted beneath his, allowing him greater access, greater freedom.

  Suddenly she wanted more.

  As if sensing her response, he deepened the kiss ever so slightly, letting his warm, sweet breath fill her mouth. She tasted the brandy they’d drunk earlier, sharp but without the sting now.

  His tongue emerged. She waited for it to invade her mouth, to gag her like some wriggling snake. Instead, he licked her, reminiscent of the way he’d licked her palms earlier when they’d stood in the downstairs foyer. Using only the tip of his tongue, he painted her lips with a thin damp line that left them moist and aching.

  Suddenly, she couldn’t get enough breath, her lungs searching for air. Nerve endings alive, she lay enthralled as he repeated the process, circling her lips from the opposite direction this time.

  He groaned, the sound vibrating against her mouth before he angled her head and slanted his lips over hers to take their kiss to the next level. Blood beat at her temples, vision blurring as he kissed her in myriad ways, kissed her as she had never before been kissed. She lost all sense of time, of place, her mind dulling as he drew upon her—his touch that of a master, hungry yet patient, demanding but oh so exquisitely tender.

  After a while, he coaxed her mouth wider. And when he stroked his tongue over hers, over her teeth and inner cheeks, what she experienced wasn’t a sense of invasion, but invitation. A need to take him inside, to let him have more of her, as much as he desired.

  Without thought, she began to kiss him back, pressing her lips harder against his, imitating his actions. Swirling her tongue around his, she nibbled at his lips, kissing him with a sweet suction that shot a rush of longing straight to her center, where it blossomed into a poignant ache. By the time he broke their kiss, her breath was coming in rapid pants, her chest rising and falling in staccato rhythm.

  His gaze lowered to her breasts, to the quivering tops revealed by her chemise. Her nipples tightened at his perusal. Faintly embarrassed, she glanced away, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

  He caught her face in one hand and skimmed his lips over her cheek before dappling kisses along the line of her throat.

  “You’re very passionate,” he murmured, nuzzling a particularly sensitive spot behind her left ear. “I knew you would be.”

  “Basil said I was frigid.” The words were out before they’d scarcely had a chance to form in her mind.

  He raised up again on an elbow. “Who is Basil?”

  She flushed, ashamed by what she’d revealed. She never talked to anyone about her marriage, not even to her closest friends. Why had she told him?

  “He is my late husband. Please forget what I said; I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  He drew the tip of one finger over the exposed curve of her breast. “So how long has it been for you?”

  She swallowed, a quiver racing through her at his leisurely touch. “How long for what?”

  “Since you last made love?” His fingertip took a turn, trailing slowly up the center of her chest before fanning out to trace the shape of her collarbone where it protruded beneath her skin.

  She swallowed convulsively. “My husband died five years ago.”

  “Yes. But how long since your last lover?”

  She felt her eyes widen. “I’ve never had a lover, only my husband.”

  A spark, intense as gleaming emeralds, flared deep in Rafe’s gaze. “Then I suppose I ought to thank him.”

  “Thank him?”

  “Hmm,” he whispered, dropping a kiss on the top of each of her breasts. “Your husband was obviously a fool who knew nothing about satisfying a woman. Believe me, sweeting, you are far from frigid. Because of his ineptitude, he’s left the joy of enlightening you to me.”

  “But I don’t think—”

 
“Shh,” he hushed, laying a finger over her lips. “You don’t need to think; all you need to do is feel.” Reaching for the ribbon holding her chemise closed, he slid the slender pink bow free of its knot. “Let’s see how you feel about this.”

  He began to fold back one side of her chemise to expose her bare breast. She stopped him with a hand. “Don’t.”

  He raised his head and questioningly met her gaze. “Why not?”

  Her eyelashes fanned downward. “B-Because it’s daylight and you’ll see. Couldn’t we both slip under the covers and you could just…touch me there?”

  “No. I want to see you. Seeing is one of the very best parts.”

  He reached again for her chemise.

  “Oh, but—”

  He paused. “But what?”

  A blush crept over her skin like a sunrise as she forced herself to continue. “I’m big,” she whispered. “Too big.”

  He arched a brow. “From what I’ve observed, you’re shaped like a goddess. But I see, for your own piece of mind, that I shall have to make a closer study of the subject.”

  Her blush heated further. Knowing there was nothing she could do to stop him, she shut her eyes and prepared to endure.

  A delicate shiver went through her as he peeled back the soft white silk of her chemise, exposing her naked breasts to his view. She felt him watching her again in that intent, solemn way of his, but refused to open her eyes, even to peek.

  A slow humiliation slid through her at his prolonged silence, making her long to curl in upon herself and hide. Before she could act, he covered one of her breasts with his palm and held her, cradling her flesh as if testing its shape and weight.

  “You’re so beautiful, Julianna.” Low and throaty, his voice sounded like warm honey dripped over rough bark. “Open your eyes,” he commanded, “and see how exquisitely God has fashioned you. You’ve nothing of which to be ashamed, dear lady, nothing at all.”

  Despite her reluctance, she obeyed, startled yet strangely mesmerized at the sight of her breast filling his broad palm, her skin so very pale against the darker bronze of his own.

  “See how you fit?” he said, caressing her slightly. “You are perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

  A sharp gasp of pleasure fell from her parted lips as he brushed his thumb across her nipple, followed seconds later by a tiny moan. Round and around he went, drawing lazy, utterly wicked circles over her areola.

  “Do you like that?” he inquired, continuing to rub her in leisurely, tantalizing, delectable strokes.

  Unable to speak, she answered with a nod, her body suddenly restless against the sheets.

  “What about this? You must let me know if it’s not to your liking.”

  Before she knew what he intended, he bent and took her breast into his mouth. Her head rolled against the pillow as he drew upon her, suckling deeply, his tongue teasing and tormenting her in ways she’d never imagined possible.

  Squeezing her hands into fists at her sides, she fought to stem the tide of whimpers that rose into her throat. But that became a complete impossibility when he captured her nipple between his teeth and bit down ever so gently.

  A raw cry tore from her lips.

  He smiled against her sensitized flesh, then gave her a few more licks before moving on to lavish her other breast with the same kind of devastating attention. Threading her fingers into the thick silk of his hair, she pressed him closer, urging him to seek out exactly the right spots.

  Wet heat pooled between her legs when he did, a hungry, empty ache throbbing in her core that cried out to be filled. She couldn’t recall ever wishing to be filled so intimately before, but Rafe did things to her—magical things—that made her burn with longing.

  As if he knew her thoughts, her desires, he reached down and grasped the hem of her petticoat, inching it upward over her thighs.

  Instinctively she tensed, glimmers of old memories returning. But he soothed her, quickly making her forget everything else as he blew a light stream of air across her engorged nipples, a sensation that set her atremble. Kissing her quivering belly, he trailed his hand along the inside of her thigh and began to play.

  She could barely think as his touches and kisses continued, her sense of place and time ceasing to function. He dipped his tongue into her belly button and sent a flash of heat through her middle. Growling against her flesh, he murmured soft, sensuous words of praise. Then the stroking hand between her thighs went higher and before she knew what he meant to do, he slid a long, very male finger deep inside her.

  A fresh rush of wetness gathered low, her body embarrassing her with its uninhibited response. But Rafe didn’t seem to mind as his hand moved, finger stroking in and out, and in and out, and in and out again. When he added a second finger, she nearly forgot her name, enraptured by the sensation of him working within her and the escalating need she didn’t fully understand even now.

  Led by her own powerful yearning, she spread her legs wider and let him do as he wished, her breath sighing between her lips in harsh, gasping pants.

  “That’s it,” he murmured, increasing the rhythm of his hand. “Let it go. Let yourself go. Feel it, Julianna. Simply feel it.”

  Tossing an arm over her face, she obeyed, giving herself over to the pleasure.

  And merciful heaven, what pleasure it is! she thought.

  Suddenly, a pressure rose within her. She bit her lip to hold back the moan, but he wouldn’t let her keep in the sound, urging her to cry out, to scream if she needed.

  And then, just when she thought she couldn’t bear even one more second, when her body was awash with flame and fire and mind-numbing need, he curved his hand, flicked his thumb and sent her winging over the edge.

  Her back arched, her spine rising off the mattress. Blinding delight took her in its grasp and shook her in a merciless grip, leaving her weak and whimpering.

  Long moments passed before her mind settled and she could catch enough breath to speak. “Oh, dear God.”

  He laughed and shot her a smoldering look. “I don’t know that God had anything to do with it, but you’re very welcome all the same.”

  She stared, then smiled, a giddy rush of pleasure still glowing inside her. “And you are very wicked.”

  “So I have been informed. Shall I be wicked again?”

  Before she could agree or disagree, his fingers started moving inside her once more, stretching her, filling her, making her crave again in ways she was helpless to resist. He held her completely in his thrall, dependent on his every touch, needful as she’d never been needful in her life. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but in seconds, he reawakened her desire, her senses swamped by a passionate longing she could do naught to control or deny.

  Without slowing his rhythm, he slipped an arm behind her back and drew her upright. Then he was feeding again at her breasts, suckling intently as if she were a feast and he could not get enough of her delectable flavor.

  Shuddering, she gave herself over, her entire focus narrowing down to Rafe.

  Rafe’s hands.

  Rafe’s mouth.

  His body cradled her close as he drove her toward a pleasure so intense she wasn’t sure she could bear it. Then, as before, he sent her soaring, cries of completion wringing from her throat as she quaked in his arms.

  Raising his head, he claimed her lips, suddenly savage in his purpose and demand. No longer afraid, she met him kiss for kiss, touch for touch, drinking from his open mouth with the same ferocity with which he drank from hers. He kissed her in a way that called for her total surrender, and she gave it.

  His breath echoed harshly from his parted lips when he broke away, his eyes hot and glassy with passion. “Let’s get you out of the last of your pretty things before I’m tempted to rip them off your body.”

  She gasped at his blatant remark but did nothing to deter him. Reaching out, he loosened the petticoat ties at her waist, then peeled her thin skirt and silken shift up over her head and arms.

&n
bsp; His gaze intensified as he swept his eyes over her exposed body, naked now except for her sheer stockings and beribboned garters. She crossed her arms over her breasts, her sense of vulnerability returning together with an all-over blush.

  But Rafe would have none of it, leaning forward to gently pry her arms loose and lower them to her sides.

  “No hiding,” he admonished in a stern yet tender voice. “You have nothing that needs the least concealment, my dear.”

  She swallowed and met his gaze. Reading the honest admiration and undisguised passion glittering in his beautiful green eyes, her anxiety slowly eased.

  Maybe he truly does like what he sees, she realized, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

  He smiled back, deep grooves appearing in his cheeks that quite literally made her toes curl and a swooping sensation clench inside her belly.

  Her nipples tightened.

  He captured one between playful fingers as he leaned upward to give her a slow, wet, open-mouthed kiss. She sighed and sank deeper into his embrace. Long moments later, he thrust his fingers into her hair, little silver pins popping in every direction.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed as her long tresses tumbled like a dusky waterfall across her shoulders. Wrapping a handful of her hair around one wrist, he buried his face in it and inhaled, his eyelids falling closed with obvious delight.

  At length, he raised his head, his voice pitched to a grave whisper. “Help me off with my clothes.”

  Her breath caught in her lungs at his request.

  Did I hear him correctly? she questioned.

  From the intent, smoldering expression on his face, she knew she had. Her heart stuttered in her chest, excitement clashing with trepidation. She quivered, vitally aware that she’d never before performed such a service for a man.

  Dare I do so now?

  Rafe forced himself to relax, waiting to see if she would do as he asked. In the past hour, he’d brought her a long way. Challenged her assumptions and sensibilities about herself, and about her own capacity for passion.