Bedchamber Games

by Tracy Anne Warren

  “No.” Her voice sounded thin even to her own ears. “Nothing, thank you. I’m . . . not hungry.”

  “Maybe later, then. Afterward.” He stepped closer. “What’s wrong? You look quite pale.” He reached for her hands. “God, your fingers are like ice. Here, let me warm them.”

  And he did, chafing them gently, one at a time, between his big, capable and very warm hands. She shivered, not from cold this time, but from his touch, which was every bit as lovely as she remembered.

  “There’s no need to be nervous,” he said, his voice as warm as his hands. “It’s only me.”

  She gave a faint laugh that burst out without conscious thought.

  “Why is that funny?”

  “It isn’t. It’s only that, I think that may be part of the difficulty.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Oh? How so?”

  She looked into his eyes, losing herself for an instant in the glorious depths with their translucent rings and flecks of gold and brilliant green. “You’re experienced,” she murmured, “far more than I. You know what to expect. Despite what happened between us the other evening, I worry that I may prove a great disappointment to someone of your obvious sophistication.”

  His eyes widened with clear surprise, his head tipping to one side. “I assure you, my dear Rosamund, that is utterly impossible.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. If anything, it is I who should worry about disappointing you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s your first time. Or am I mistaken?”

  A fresh shiver ran through her and she shook her head. “No, you are not mistaken.”

  Reaching up, he traced the tips of his fingers over her cheek and along her jaw. “Now it’s my turn to ask you why. Are all the men you’ve known really so blind? You’re a beautiful woman. I fail to see how one of them didn’t scoop you up long ago.”

  She looked away, her lashes sweeping down. “There was someone once. He died. The war, you know, and we never . . . well, I was very young. So was he, come to that.”

  “And there’s been no one since?”

  She glanced up again. “I haven’t wanted anyone since. At least not until . . . you.”

  His eyes darkened with a look of passion she was coming to recognize. He skimmed a thumb over the fullest part of her lower lip in a way that caused her to draw a quick, shaky inhalation.

  “I suppose I’m an unprincipled rogue, tempting you to give me your innocence,” he said. “Loath though I am to say this, it’s not too late to change your mind. If you want, I can walk you back downstairs and put you in a coach. No harm done. But I confess that I would rather not.”

  She trembled, one of her hands held inside his as he continued to caress her mouth and cheek with his other.

  “So, what will it be, Rosamund?” he asked. “Last chance to say no before I strip you bare and take you to my bed.”

  A harsh shudder went through her, sudden need burning in her veins like liquid fire. “Kiss me, Lawrence. Just kiss me.”

  He smiled. “I can think of nothing I’d rather do more. But first, let’s dispense with these.” Reaching out, he gently plucked the spectacles off her nose and set them aside. Next, he unfastened the tie at her nape, allowing her hair to swing free.

  He combed his fingers through the strands, then eased them around to cradle her head in his hands. “Just like silk.” Bending, he pressed his mouth lightly to hers. “And your skin.” He angled his head in the opposite direction and feathered another kiss against her lips. “So soft.”

  And another. “So sweet.”

  One more. “So delicious.”

  Then suddenly he was kissing her with increasing intensity, each touch deeper and more demanding, every moment more exhilarating than the last. Sweeping her up into his arms, he lifted her off her feet. She clung, wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed him back, all her fears falling away beneath the force of their mutual desire.

  She opened her mouth and sought out his tongue, circling hers around his the way he’d shown her the last time they’d kissed. He answered in turn, tracing every silken corner of her mouth—teeth, tongue and lips—before demonstrating a new, even more intimate kind of joining that left her dizzy and desperate for breath.

  Without warning, she was on her feet again, his fingers lacing with hers, as he pulled her after him toward the open doorway that led to his bedchamber.

  Inside, he spun her around to face him, his fingers already busy with her neck cloth. He yanked it loose with a few deft tugs. After tossing it aside, he went to work on her jacket and waistcoat, freeing the buttons with a haste that left her faintly astonished.

  Soon he dispensed with those as well.

  And all the while, he kissed her—lips and cheeks, forehead and chin, nose, eyelids, temples and neck, scattering caresses over her skin with a seductive skill that made her toes curl inside her shoes and her pulse beat madly.

  “Raise your arms,” he commanded, his mouth brushing against her own as he spoke.

  With her nerve endings sizzling, she obeyed, lost to him as he eased her shirt over her head. She lowered her arms again and stood, half-naked except for the bandeau of cloth bound tightly over her breasts.

  He glided his hands across her collarbone and bare shoulders, then down her arms to her wrists, which he encircled between his thumbs and forefingers.

  Taking a step back, he looked at her. “Why, you’re as exciting as a present waiting to be unwrapped. Who knew I was going to get an early birthday gift this year?” A naughty, almost boyish grin lit his face, his eyes gleaming with prurient delight. “Hmm, shall we see what’s inside?”

  She made no effort to stop him, watching through half-slitted eyelids as he found and freed the small knot that held the cloth in place. Slowly he started to unwind it—around and around and around again. The process seemed to take forever, yet likely took no time at all, before he reached the end.

  Then she stood exposed, faintly embarrassed when the tips of her breasts drew into tight peaks.

  She closed her eyes, afraid to see his reaction. She’d never been one of those bosomy women who filled out a bodice to maximum effect. Not that she was flat-chested either, but what if he wanted more? What if she didn’t live up to his expectations?

  But she needn’t have worried, she realized, when he cupped one of her breasts, cradling it tenderly in his palm as he rubbed a thumb back and forth over the aching peak. A throaty little gasp caught in the back of her throat, sensation spiraling outward in all directions. Her jaw slackened, tiny tremors running just beneath her skin.

  “Like that, do you?” he asked, his voice silky with knowing.

  Dazed, she could only nod.

  “Good, since it only gets better from here.”

  He pinched her nipple and she cried out, a mixture of fear and excitement washing through her, along with the daunting knowledge that he just might be right.

  Before she knew what he was doing, he stripped off his jacket, flung it aside, then dropped to his knees. Locking an arm around her waist, he pulled her to him and closed his mouth over the breast he’d just been fondling.

  Her body flushed with heat and surprise, the sweet suction of his lips and tongue enough to turn her legs to jelly. Reaching up with his free hand, he began to play with her other breast, cupping and kneading it gently while circling the straining tip with his thumb in ways that drove her wild.

  Without conscious thought, she buried her fingers in his hair and arched her back to press him closer. He responded, deepening his draws on her before flicking her nipple with his tongue.

  He stunned her when he caught the throbbing peak between his teeth, simultaneously finding her other nipple with his fingers and pinching so she experienced both sensations together.

  She quaked, making sounds she didn’t e
ven recognize as her own. With her fingers still lodged in his hair, caressing his scalp and neck, he switched breasts and began to repeat the same delicious torment he’d performed before.

  Her mind whirled, growing muzzy, thoughts so indistinct she could scarcely remember her own name.

  Then he was on his feet again, his mouth ravishing hers with frenzied ardor as he backed her toward the bed, then down.

  She toed off her shoes and lay back against the counterpane, captivated by the sight of him as he undressed, his fingers tearing at the silver buttons on his waistcoat with such haste that he popped one loose. He kicked off his own shoes next, then peeled his shirt from over his head to reveal a set of wide, powerful shoulders, long sinewy arms and a taut stomach that made her own clench with longing.

  Her gaze wandered from the pelt of golden curls on his broad, muscled chest down to the slender arrow of hair that vanished beneath his trousers. She couldn’t help but notice how it seemed to point directly toward the heavy bulge that strained impatiently against his falls. Clearly that part of him wanted to be set free.

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth, breathless and on edge as she waited to see if he was going to accede to its demands.

  Instead he came down on one knee beside her and stretched his long body out next to hers. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself,” he murmured, as if he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. “You’re far too much of a temptation and I can’t risk losing control.”

  She realized in that moment just how much larger and stronger he was. If he wanted, he could hurt her easily. But she had no fear, her trust in him absolute.

  Unassailable.

  As was her desire.

  Heat rippled through her, burnishing her skin a translucent pink in the afternoon light that concealed nothing as he went back to palming her breasts and teasing her nipples.

  Taking her jaw in one hand, he fell to kissing her again, pulling her under with long, slow, openmouthed drafts that sent her reeling. He drew her deep, then deeper still, down to a place where nothing and no one existed except the two of them.

  Without realizing, she began to touch him, her hands moving over his hard muscles and sleek flesh as if trying to memorize each and every inch.

  He shuddered and kissed her harder, thrusting his tongue in and out of her mouth. She moaned, writhing beneath him as she threaded her fingers into his hair again and responded with everything she had.

  She didn’t even know he’d unfastened her trousers until she felt his fingers glide over her naked belly, caressing her there for a moment, before they stole beneath the thin cotton of her men’s drawers. Boldly he parted her legs and cupped her mound, eliciting a cry from her, then another as he parted her folds and eased a finger into a place where she’d never before been touched.

  “God, you’re tight and wet,” he said, his breath warm against her ear. He scattered kisses along her cheek and throat, pausing to run the tip of his tongue along her nape. Below, he slid his finger deeper, up past his knuckle until his long digit was well lodged inside. “Let’s see if we can get you even wetter. I want you good and slick by the time I take you.”

  Her inner muscles contracted around him as if in agreement, leaving her mortified yet amazed by the instinctual reaction of her body. Worse, she found she had no control, helplessly enslaved as he began to stroke her, sliding his finger in and out in a devastating rhythm that soon had her clutching handfuls of the counterpane beneath her. Her head rolled, her breath coming in gasps as blistering need surged through her, each beat more overwhelming than the last.

  He eased out suddenly, only to return seconds later with two fingers. Her eyes went wide as he pushed in, his combined girth stretching her open in a way that was just short of pain. She gasped, but he smothered the sound as he covered her mouth with his. Soothing her with kisses, he coaxed her to accept his more forceful touch, giving her just enough time to adjust before he pushed her further. She moaned, quivering and arching into his hand.

  She grew slicker; even she could tell the difference as her body relaxed to ease his way. Increasing his pace, he bent his head to suckle her breasts, laving each one before catching a puckered tip with his teeth.

  Between her legs, he did something unexpected with his thumb, pressing a spot that shot a jolt of pleasure through her so strong it was as if she’d been struck by lightning. She shook and convulsed around him, a keening cry echoing through the room.

  Her eyelids drifted closed, her body delirious with sensation.

  But he wasn’t done, she realized as he leaned up and moved her just enough to yank back the covers and lay her against the soft, faintly cool sheets. Then he stood and began stripping off what remained of her clothing, exactly as he’d promised he would.

  She opened her eyes again in time to watch his pupils dilate, the black warring with the gold and green as he looked his fill of her naked body. She made no effort to hide herself, his earlier ministrations having apparently robbed her of the last of her inhibitions. Arching sinuously, she stretched her arms over her head, pleased by the admiration she saw on his face.

  His eyes flashed again and he smiled with a grin worthy of the devil himself. “I knew you’d be passionate. But you’d better be careful, my girl, or I may never let you out of this bed again.”

  “I may never want to leave, not after the things you just did to me,” she said. Lowering one arm, she reached out a hand to him. “Come to me, Lawrence, I want you to show me the rest. I want you to teach me everything.”

  He made a sound like a growl, low in his throat, his eyelids heavy with lust as he unbuttoned his falls with quick, practiced movements and stepped out of the trousers, drawers and stockings.

  Her breath caught at the sight of him, dazzled by his sheer masculine beauty. She guessed one wasn’t supposed to describe a man as being beautiful, but he was, his lower half as impressive as the top. His flat, firm stomach tapered down to a set of narrow hips, long, finely proportioned legs and a pair of rather elegantly shaped feet—quite apropos for an aristocrat. His thighs were taut and heavily muscled—from riding horses, she presumed. As well as other things, she thought, with an unexpectedly naughty turn of mind. As for his buttocks, she couldn’t catch much more than a glimpse, but they looked tight and undeniably tempting.

  And then there was the expressly male part of him that jutted out from his body, providing her with the answer to her earlier question as to what lay at the base of that intriguing arrow of hair that started just beneath his stomach.

  He showed not an iota of modesty as he stood before her, his shaft appearing to swell even more when he glanced up and caught her looking.

  She swallowed, a little nervous despite her newfound confidence. She’d never seen a naked man before, and it was quite an enlightening experience. He was a large man and that part of him was as well. Fleetingly she wondered if all men were similarly endowed but rather doubted it, considering that Lawrence tended to outshine his peers in nearly every regard.

  Then he was back in the bed, braced above her as he boldly fit a hair-roughened thigh between her own, his erection pressed hard and hot against her side. He ran a hand over one of her shoulders before trailing his fingers in a lazy slide down the center of her body—between her breasts and across her stomach before finding their way to the dark triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs.

  She quivered and gazed up at him, her pulse hammering raggedly in her throat.

  Angling forward, he lightly touched his lips to hers. “Don’t turn coward on me now, dear Rosamund. We’ll go at whatever pace you require . . . even if it ends up killing me.”

  “Mighten it?”

  A quick laugh burst from his chest. “No. I’m only teasing you, sweet.”

  “Oh.” He must have seen the renewed glint of the fear in her eyes, she realized, and sought to ease the tension.

 
; She managed a smile, then reached up and laid her hand against his cheek to caress his smoothly shaven skin. His eyes closed and he turned his face into her palm and kissed her there. Opening his mouth, he drew a small wet circle in the center of her palm with the tip of his tongue.

  She let out a ragged gasp as sizzling heat burst across her skin. Her arm and breasts seemed to catch fire too before the sensation made an impossible leap from the spot on her hand straight down to the place where his fingers were threaded in her distant curls.

  Gently he began to stroke her there, remaining just on the surface without delving inside. As he did, he kissed and tongued her palm, using darting little licks and caresses that made her hand tremble against his mouth.

  Yet she didn’t pull away. She couldn’t; it was simply too good to stop.

  Her legs shifted against the thigh he’d settled between hers, sliding wider apart in order to give his fingers greater access. But to her frustration, he didn’t take the bait, seemingly content to brush the tips of his fingers up and down in a leisurely glide rather than moving inside to satisfy the heavy inner ache that was building quickly within her again.

  She whimpered and arched her hips, silently trying to communicate what she wanted, but he eluded her and went on with his infuriatingly teasing touch.

  And he was teasing her, she suddenly realized. Playing with her in a game of sensual torment whose rules she barely understood.

  “Quit it,” she said, pulling her hand from his face.

  “Quit what?” His eyes twinkled with false innocence.

  “You know what.”

  He rubbed his fingers over her just then with a diabolical purpose that made her squirm.

  “Ah gods, you’re driving me mad.” She involuntarily arched her hips, her body shimmying downward seemingly of its own accord to press herself more fully against his hand and thigh.

  He eased back just far enough to deny her.