by Jenny Brown
It was not rage that consumed him now but wonder.
She paused. “I watched you last time. Now you are watching me. Is it arousing?”
“It is. Your body is so beautiful it takes my breath away. But I won’t let my arousal overwhelm me. This time is for you. For your pleasure.”
“I want you to feel pleasure, too,” she said. “Your pleasure excites me. I can’t help it. It must be the devil within me, but it does.”
Before he could reply, she sat up and reached for the fastenings of his breeches, unbuttoning them quickly. He couldn’t help but quiver with excitement as her hands began their work. She needn’t worry about giving him pleasure. She dropped to her knees before him, placing herself between his legs, so he was looking down at the firm small mounds of her breasts and the hard dark nipples that stood out in sharp points against her pale white skin.
Before he realized what she intended, she opened her lips and guided his swelling cock toward her mouth. In another moment, she would engulf him, and he would be unable to stop her, but this was not what he wanted, as exquisite as the sensation might be.
This time must be for her.
With great care, he stopped her, removing her hand from his cock. “Not yet,” he said. He lifted her up from where she knelt, until she stood once again face-to-face with him. He enfolded her in his embrace, enjoying the way her height matched his, her long, slim form so perfect for his. He wouldn’t use her like a slave girl. There had been enough of that already. He motioned her toward the bed. “Lie down,” he commanded.
She winced, and he cursed himself for how brusque his voice had sounded. He couldn’t give up the habit of command, even at a moment like this. He tried again. “I only wanted to make you more comfortable.”
She obeyed him, stretching herself out on the bed. She was willing to do what he wanted, but her gaze was still wary. He settled himself beside her on the coverlet, reached toward her face, and stroked the feather-soft skin of her forehead with the kindness he would have offered a little child.
“I never allowed myself to hope I might find a wife I could love,” he said, letting his fingers glide so lightly he barely disturbed the waves of her honey gold curls. Her eyes had turned the color of damask steel or smoke. He leaned over her and fluttered kisses on her cheek, as soft as the petals of the roses whose color it had stolen. “By God, your skin is soft. I could be happy doing nothing more than letting my fingers touch you.”
“But I wouldn’t be. You’ve made me too greedy.” She let her eyes drift closed as he trailed his fingers along her cheek, savoring the feel of the down he found there.
“Have no fear,” he said. “I won’t stop until you beg me to.”
“Then I must remain silent.”
He bent over her and traced the long line of her neck with the lightest of kisses. When he got to the delicious hollow at the base, he sucked in the flesh he found there and flicked his tongue against it. She arched her neck backward, opening herself to more. He teased with his tongue.
“What are you doing?” But this time it was not fear in her voice but wonder.
“Loving you as you should be loved, Tem. As you should have always been loved.”
She allowed herself to sink into the dreamlike state his words led her into, feeling like a child hearing a bedtime story and at the same time, not like a child—not with the life that flowed through her woman’s body at his masculine touch. And he was so very much a man. Even as he spoke the words he intended to soothe her, his voice couldn’t entirely lose its roughness. He was a soldier tested in battle, accustomed to command. But that knowledge made his clumsy gentleness all the more precious. She treasured the discipline he imposed upon himself, rough warrior though he was, in order to give her this peace and to calm her. She gave herself up to it.
His strong hands made their way down the muscles of her upper arms, kneading them with a sinuous motion that removed tension she hadn’t known lay trapped within them. He took his time, working his way down, pressing against secret points that sent waves of pleasure through her entire frame. He massaged her palms and each finger, one by one. This was for her. He had told the truth. She breathed in deeply, savoring the peacefulness created by his masterful touch.
“If a genie could offer you three wishes, Priya, what would they be?” he asked.
She made herself swim up from the luxurious place his gentle touch had sent her. “When you touch me like this, I have no wishes at all, except that you never stop.”
“You are a flatterer.” He laughed.
“It is only the truth. I can’t lie to you, Trev. Not anymore, and you swore you would believe me.”
His hand stopped abruptly. “I must believe you. Our love depends on it.”
“And I must tell you the truth, as hard as it might be.”
“Is it so hard?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why?” His tone was suddenly harsh.
“Because I fear I will lose you if you know the whole truth about me.”
His hand stopped moving, “Are you my lover, Temperance—or my enemy.” His eyes were hard again.
“I’ve never been your enemy. Only my own.”
He drew a deep breath, as if in relief, and knelt beside her again. He leaned over her, bringing his lips down on hers and sucking hungrily at them, as if he could suck the truth from her. She shivered with the yearning his kiss awoke, feeling not only his body calling out to her, but his soul.
She threw her arms around him and clasped him more tightly to her. He stretched out on the cushions beside her, his organ of pleasure jutting between them, and drew her to him, pressing it against the softness of her abdomen. But he made no move to enter her. Instead, they lay, skin to skin, thigh to thigh, belly to belly as he drew her deeper and deeper into the kiss.
Time seemed to stop as the two of them spun into one. Waves of desire rose from the base of her spine and surged upward, through her belly to her heart. She gave herself up to them, exulting as his arms tightened around her. Their breathing quickened as their hearts pounded with the same fervid rhythm.
When at last he released her lips, she felt a sense of loss, but she had no time to give in to it, for he rose and positioned himself so that he knelt between her legs. His strong hands kneaded her thighs deeply, digging into the muscles and freeing them of all but the hunger for his touch. He took his time. He was all hers now. He had nowhere to be but here, nothing to do but to bring out the joy that had lain hidden in these muscles, these nerves, this pounding blood.
Then, before she realized what he was doing, he plunged his face into the cleft between her legs and ran his probing tongue over the swollen center of her yearning, gliding against the place where all sensation blossomed. She’d never experienced such a thing. Had barely heard it whispered about.
For a moment, the shock of it forced her back into herself, and she looked down at his dark curls, wondering that he could want to do it. Wasn’t she dirty there? She tensed.
He paused and looked up. His azure eyes met hers, peering from beneath the black curls that had fallen forward over his brow, filled with a look of mischievous delight. He was taking pleasure in this, too. She lay back and gave in to the wonder of it, and it was a wonder.
For his tongue had its own magic, subtle and exquisite. It flicked against her most intimate part, slick and hot, making her want even more, no matter how much he gave her. A low hum of pleasure vibrated in his throat, and as it did, she was filled with multicolored light that flowed out from the tip of her nub into every fiber of her body. She opened herself to him, wanting she knew not what.
But he knew.
He slid one strong finger deep into her hungry passage, massaging her there, too, pressing against a spot deep within her that drove her wild, even as the flickering smoothness of his tongue continued on, dancing her desire into flame.
He became her yearning. He became her hunger. He was no longer a separate being but knew better than she di
d what her body needed, teasing her with the promise of it, driving her wild as her need for him mounted higher and higher, until she was close to madness.
And still he would not stop. His tongue pressed harder against the center of her desire, stroking and flickering, hard as the prick he made her long for, but more delicate, more relentless, and more skilled, until she cried out, gasping and moaning, calling his name out as the searing colored chords of release rolled through her body, until she was empty, hollow with it, and could bear no more delight. She went limp as she let herself drift, swept away, on the last waves of the miracle he had made within her.
When at last she came back to herself, he was resting on his calves, gazing down at her with a look of pure delight. She’d never seen such a look on a man’s face before, and she couldn’t understand it. Everything he’d done had been for her and her alone. He hadn’t taken his own pleasure of her. He hadn’t even taken off his clothes.
“How can you be so happy when I gave you nothing?” she whispered.
“You gave me everything.”
“Not everything,” she said. “You gave me your kindness, but I need your fierceness, too.” She took his hand and guided it to her quim, still slick with the juices of her desire that he had so utterly fulfilled. “I can’t help my sinful nature, but I must have all of what you are capable of, not just your gentleness, but your fierceness, too. All. Don’t hold back. I need more, I can’t help it, I need all of what you are.”
A look of amazement filled his face. He drew off his clothing, quickly this time, not at all like that long painful disrobing of the night before, and flung them on the floor. She drank in the sight of him. The dark circles around the nipples, the luxuriant fur. The hardness of a body that had seen hard use. And that other hardness. He wanted her.
She lay back, ready at last for the assault that must come, but even now he surprised her. For he did not thrust into her. Not this time. Instead, he sat himself beside her, his erect manhood proudly displayed, and let his thumb drift against her awakening nub, rubbing it gently at first, then harder. Desire stirred again—desire she hadn’t thought she could ever feel after such blissful fulfillment. She lifted herself on one elbow and grasped his rod, feeling the thickness of it, sliding her hand up its shaft, while with her other hand she cupped his ballocks and kneaded them, savoring the feeling of power it gave her to hear him gasp as she intensified his hunger for her.
She pulled his prick to her lips and let her tongue inscribe a circle around it, finding the slit at its tip and lingering there, tasting his seed, so salty and primeval. But he pulled it away from her searching lips. That was not what he wanted, not now; he needed too much to join himself with her.
He reared over her and knelt once again between her legs, so that she bore none of his weight, and eased himself into her, his eyelids half-lowered and fluttering with pleasure as he buried himself in her and began to thrust.
As his hips moved, his thick shaft stretched her and filled her with him, moving against her, inside, in a way that made her want him even more. She opened herself wider to him, marveling at how much of him there was to welcome. His manhood rose and fell within her, drawing from her a desire that echoed with his.
His tempo quickened as he pounded into her. His eyes were filled with a look she had never seen before, exultant and joyful. She thrust with her own hips, inciting him to thrust harder and harder. They pulsed together, their bodies pounding as their souls danced. Time disappeared as she lost herself in him, until they found release together, and he sagged against her, spent and emptied of everything but relief. From the crack that opened in her heart, her tears poured out.
“Why do you weep?” His voice was rough. “Did I hurt you?”
“Oh no, not that.” It was difficult to speak. She could say nothing more for a moment, then she whispered. “I weep because you made me know you love me.”
“I do,” he said. “Forever.”
He stretched out beside her, so close he could still feel her chest pounding. He, too, felt like weeping. He had found her again in that place where he was filled with power, knowing himself for who he was.
And again she had met him there. She’d taken all he had to give her. She was strong enough to meet him. To withstand all that he was. To welcome it.
Without anger. Without savagery. She had wanted to take what he needed to give. They were two halves of one whole. His heart swelled with joy he had never dreamed it could know. His long years of loneliness were over.
Only one thing troubled him, and at length after they’d lain in companionable silence he asked, “Why did you call yourself evil,” he asked, “when your desire rose to match mine? Who taught you you were evil?”
“I have always known it, for I bear the mark.”
“What mark?”
She sat up and pointed to the crease where her upper thigh met her torso. “This mark. See. It’s a cloven hoof. The mark of Satan. I was born with it.”
He leaned over to inspect it. It was a small dark birthmark that stood out against her pale skin, and to the superstitious mind, perhaps its shape could have been interpreted that way.
“That was why my stepmother said I would grow up to be sinful. For I was branded with it at birth.”
“Your stepmother was a very stupid woman.”
“But my father believed her. And Randall said it was the mark of the devil inside me, the one that made me insatiable.”
“The bastard was wrong. You’re not insatiable. I can speak on that with authority.”
She blushed. “But I wanted so much.”
“You want only what it gives me pleasure to give to you. No woman before has ever been strong enough to take from me all I have to give. It’s not a sin, Tem, that your passion is as strong as mine, it’s a miracle. It’s the sign we were born to love each other. ”
Chapter 16
It was only after he had dressed himself the next morning that Trev had the courage to address the one practical matter that barred him from completing their happiness.
“As you are only eighteen,” he said, “I must get your father’s consent before we can be wed. So I must ask you to furnish me with his direction.”
Her face clouded. “He may refuse you.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He might think you were after my fortune.”
“You have one?”
“I would have had I not left home. But I wanted no part of the money he earned from exploiting the workers at his mills.”
“Who exactly is your father?”
“Jedidiah Smith.”
“The Cotton King?” Everyone had heard of the man whose mills ran half a mile along the riverbank in Manchester.
“Yes. That was why I was such a prize for Randall. He enjoyed reproaching me about my birth long after he’d lost all other interest in me.”
“It is incomprehensible to me how any man could lose interest in you. But that does put a different complexion on the matter.”
He pondered for a minute. “I shall tell your father that I will happily take you in your shift. Perhaps that will assure him I’m not a fortune hunter. It’s true. I want nothing from him but his permission to make you my wife.”
“But even so, what if he won’t give it to you?”
“Then I will take you to India with me anyway and do battle with him from there. Do you think I would give you up now?”
Her eyes brightened, and a delicate flush warmed the cool smoothness of her pale cheek. Without further argument, she gave him her father’s direction. Later that day, he wrote to him to ask for his daughter’s hand, referring him to Fanshawe should he require confirmation as to his character.
When the letter was posted, he said a silent prayer that her father wouldn’t add to the obstacles that already lay in their path. He would have Temperance as his wife, one way or another. Nothing in this world could part them now. But he didn’t underestimate the challenges that lay before them. He
hoped that her father wouldn’t make things even more difficult than they were already likely to be.
Over the next few days, Temperance abandoned herself to the joy of her newfound love and refused to listen to the doubts that whispered it couldn’t last. Trev fulfilled at once his promise to send Danny to his country estate, then he continued on with his campaign to show her his kinder side.
He gave her a richly patterned shawl he’d brought with him from India, whose exotic scent hinted at the splendors that awaited her in the East. He brought her a book that recounted a lady’s experiences in India, to teach her more about the land that would become her adopted home. He even began to teach her the rudiments of the Hindustani language, beginning with the words she would have to employ with their servants and moving on to the vocabulary that described the dozens of positions in which it was possible to make love.
These they explored together in the hours they whiled away at her lodgings entwined in each other’s arms. Some of them heightened their pleasure; others proved so ridiculous they found themselves reduced to helpless laughter when they tried them. But with every new encounter, Temperance grew more closely bonded to this man who, beneath his stern and controlled exterior, had hidden a need for affection greater than that of anyone she had known—except herself.
In the aftermath of their lovemaking, he would bring to life the characters of his commander and the other officers who shared his mess—capital fellows who, he assured her, would welcome her with an enthusiasm only slightly less than his own. But despite his assurances, there were moments when she wondered if what they indulged in now was a fantasy no more real than her dream of triumphing over tyranny with her crew here in London.
How could she transform herself into the kind of woman who would fit in with the wives of his fellow officers who must form her circle once they arrived in India? To be accepted in their society, she would have to school herself to show none of the revolutionary fervor that had been such a part of her character even before she’d left home.