If Love Were Enough

by Quill, Suzanne

  Priscilla turned toward the flames while she slid the silk robe down her arms until it nestled within the crook of her elbows then tossed her tresses over the nakedness of her back. With subtle gyrations she swayed the locks back and forth over her skin, the waves and curls caressing the indentations of her shoulder blades and the small of her back.

  Brandon’s body was as hard as the marble surrounding the fire and as hot as the bricks within it, but he did not move nor speak.

  Priscilla laid the brush upon the mantel then placed her hands at the nape of her neck. With a slow smooth movement, she slid her arms under her hair fanning it out in the glow of the firelight.

  He wanted to touch her. He wanted to run his own hands through her hair, feel its softness. He wanted to slide his fingertips down her back to caress the silk of her skin. And he could see himself placing wet kisses every place his fingertips touched.

  He wanted her.

  He ached for her.

  He remained still as death in his chair, his eyes and his breathing belying his tenuous control.

  With barely a motion, Priscilla lowered her arms to let the rose colored silk slide down to puddle at her feet. She gathered her tresses into one hand and pulled them over her shoulder. It was then she turned back toward Brandon.

  His breath was lost while the vision permeated his brain. Her face was soft, rosy from the fire’s heat, her eyes on his face. He let his gaze rest with hers for a few moments wondering what she was thinking, feeling, wanting, as she stood unprotected before him, a near perfect stranger.

  Then he let his gaze travel . . . down her long neck, caressing the full, roundness of each breast, one nipple peeking out from beneath her chestnut-colored tresses. Her waist was trim before her hips flared out.

  His gaze traveled down to her mons and the tight red-hued curls that nestled at the confluence of her thighs.

  His sex throbbed with the need to touch her, take her, be part of her.

  But he sat still, grasping the arms of the chair to keep his place. And his promise.

  She raised her hands to cup her breasts, weighing each one then rolling the nipples between thumbs and forefingers.

  His mouth dry, he licked his lips and fantasized about the taste of her pebbled nipples, but moved not.

  After massaging and fondling for some time, driving him near to distraction, Priscilla smoothed her long, tapered fingers down her waist and stomach to thread them through the fur of her mons.

  He watched her fingers as they curled the short hairs then stroked, first short motions down her legs, then longer movements that slid between her thighs.

  He knew she was touching the pearl of her passion.

  He raised his eyes to meet hers. Her gaze was still intent on him but her face grew even softer in the warm light. Her breathing, which had been slow and deep until her hands touched her inner core, was now shorter, more rapid.

  “Yes,” he urged. “Let me see you touch yourself. Show me what you touch.”

  With no expectation of change, he was pleasantly startled when she fell to her knees and spread her thighs wide. With her buttocks on her heels, she leaned back and parted her delicate folds so Brandon could just see in the dim light the sensitive pink skin protected there.

  She slid two fingers deep inside.

  Brandon thought his heart would stop right then and they would find him dead in the morning. With his physical control in his unyielding grasp, his body could only show its reaction by letting out a low, raspy groan.

  He was positive he would never be the same at the end of this interlude, this night.

  Priscilla’s fingers moved quickly, increasing her breathing and starting the gyrating of her hips. She was pushing and pumping and Brandon was aching to be pushing and pumping against her.

  But he remained still, his eyes and his breathing giving hint to the desire he held under strained reins.

  Her dew made her movements fluid, the heat of her body and the fire filled the room with her scent.

  He was wild to mate with her.

  But he remained still.

  With shreds of control left to his command, he sighed in relief when she climaxed, her body convulsing, her breathing ragged and shallow.

  When she could endure no more, she sprawled upon the carpet sated but depleted.

  Brandon took in long, deep breaths. He thought about taking his own rod in hand but decided he would deprive himself until he could make her his own.

  How long could that be? A day? Maybe two? She must get to a point where he could seduce her. Would she not? Did she intend to go the rest of her life without a man when she had been married for over ten years? Would she not need to have her passion fulfilled and soon?

  By the time he gathered his thoughts and body under his control again, Priscilla was coming back to herself. She rolled from her back to her stomach and undulated upon the warm carpet, stretching and preening like a cat waking after a nap.

  Finally, she sat back upon her heels. With a shy smile, she spoke to him.

  “My lord, you have kept your promise. I am most impressed you have not made a move to touch me. In fact, you have not moved in your chair.

  “I expect that a rake such as you must be in dire need after my seduction. Is it not so?”

  Needing to answer her, Brandon was surprised he could not find his voice. He cleared his throat. “My lady, I would be lying if I were to say I was not aroused by your self-gratification. In many ways, I was most gratified myself.”

  Her smile became rueful, almost embarrassed, but she crawled over to kneel before him. When she placed a hand on each knee, Brandon nearly jumped out of his skin.

  “But you are not gratified. Are you, my lord?” her eyes intent on his.

  She slid her hands up his thighs, squeezing the muscles she found there while watching him and his reactions. She spoke softly, intimately, “What man could be gratified when he can only look, not touch, and he cannot consummate his desires?”

  He was rock hard again.

  He did not think he could master too much more of her intimate attentions.

  She ran her hands up his hips, then his chest, stroking each and every muscle and sinew she came across. When she reached his cravat she deftly untied it, leaving it draping, then unbuttoned his shirt.

  He took in a swift breath when her soft, warm palms rubbed the skin and fur on his chest. But his inhalation assaulted him further, since she was near enough, warm enough, her scent permeated the air around him which acted like an additional aphrodisiac upon all of his senses.

  He watched her intently, but her gaze was no longer on his face but his chest. It was as if she was studying whatever her fingertips happened upon.

  Then she leaned in to take one of his nipples into her mouth.

  For the second time that night, Brandon thought he might die when blood rushed from his head to his cock. His control slipped yet again.

  This woman might be the death of him, or at the very least, they would be carting him off to Bedlam.

  He concentrated on control, breathing deeply, grasping the arms of the chair fearful he might rip them off.

  He must not touch her. He must not touch her!

  When her mouth released his flesh, he took in a gasp of air in relief. But it was short lived when her fingers made quick work of the buttons of his britches. His sex sprang free into the warm, sex-scented air of the bedchamber.

  He was momentarily appreciative of the little gasp he heard escape her lips when his full size was presented to her. And he was sure, without even looking, that he was engorged to his fullest after her masturbation and her attentions to him. But before he could bask in the glory of his virility, she lowered her head and enveloped his sex with the hot wetness of her mouth.

  Hi
s eyes closed to flashes of light behind his heavy lids.

  She licked and sucked in such heated agitation that his remaining threads of control were undone.

  While grasping the chair, his hips involuntarily rocked into her face pushing his organ as deep into her mouth as she would let him go. And all the time she fondled his nipples while her mouth sucked him like she would never let him free.

  He was far beyond thinking when his tattered control shattered. He felt his seed push full bore into her mouth. While he cried out in his personal ecstasy, she took every drop of him in, licking and sucking until his depletion was complete.

  In a state of complete and utter exhaustion and satiation, Brandon fell back against the chair losing his awareness of where he was. His only thought was of Lady Rutherford, Priscilla. How she made short work of him. He could not remember a time when he had been at such a loss for words.

  And still he had not touched her.

  When his eyes opened and refocused, he was surprised to see his lady sitting next to the hearth, her robe cinched around her once again and an unfathomable look of innocence and confusion displayed upon her face. Her hand returned, once again, to the pendant at her throat, gliding it back and forth along the chain.

  “It’s time for you to go, my lord,” she said simply, in a steady, quiet voice.

  He thought of the possible actions he could take. He could pull her into his arms. He could sit where he was and thank her and see if she would share with him why she was taking this unusual approach to their relationship. Or he could just sit there with his mouth drooping open in stunned shock.

  But none of that would do if he wanted to keep her trust. His true option was to do what she requested and wait until they were together again, maybe tomorrow, when he could discuss her reservations, her fears, with her.

  With unsteady fingers, Brandon did up his shirt. When he rose to button his britches, his knees were so weak he almost fell back into the chair. But he buttoned up his trousers, gathered his other garments then bowed at the waist to his new mistress.

  “Until morning, my lady.”

  Priscilla looked to the fire. “My lord,” she sighed.

  Brandon unlocked the door to the hall. Before stepping out, he had the presence of mind to look in both directions. He had no wish to have someone see him leaving Priscilla’s room. Finding the passage empty, he exited and made for his room, ignoring the questions that plundered his brain. His body still reeled from their tryst.

  Chapter 9

  Priscilla heard the door latch but her focus remained on the fire before her and the ruby pendant at her neck.

  She was appalled by her actions.

  Lord Brookfield, an acquaintance of not much more than a day, was as near to a complete stranger as he could be. And yet, she seduced him wantonly, sharing intimacies that hitherto she only shared with Robert. Robert had gently and patiently taught her these notions. As her husband he was the one who had the right to expect them.

  But she shared them with Lord Brookfield.

  Brandon.

  And learned there was such a difference.

  Now she understood what Robert had hoped for and desired through the many nights of their marriage. Now she understood the true level of his frustration, wanting his body to respond, wanting his arousal so that he could consummate their marriage.

  But it was not to be, no matter what he taught her, no matter what they tried.

  Priscilla replayed Brandon’s every response in her mind. He watched her self-gratification and refrained from touching her. He encouraged her while his breathing roughened and his own desire built yet stayed in his seat immobile.

  He let her touch him all over. And her curiosity had gotten the best of her. The thought of his hard muscles under her fingertips aroused her again. She could feel again the crisp, springy fur on his chest, hear the rapid intake of his breath when she fondled his nipples.

  And when she unbuttoned his trousers . . . she had never seen a man fully aroused before. It was the tragedy of her marriage that Robert could not respond.

  But Brandon.

  He was so large. So hard. So very magnificent. The skin over his sex was like silk and similar to the rose color of her robe in the fire light.

  She had been frightened to take him into her mouth. Was he appalled at her forwardness? But that is what Robert taught her to do. What the book instructed.

  The pendant slid back along the chain.

  And his body responded to her touch. He lost total control. All those years she waited to see what response Robert desired.

  Tonight she discovered the answer.

  Brandon had released into her mouth. He had become so excited with her ministrations he had lost his control and released. The taste of him, the scent of him still filled her head.

  This proved to her he could be the one to solve her dilemma. He had the virility. And he wanted her. She knew it. If she’d had the courage, she could have lost her virginity this very night.

  But she was still afraid.

  What would he think of her virgin state? In her brief time with the ton she had heard rumors of the rakes. The two most memorable were that a rake wanted a virgin for his bride, but outside his marriage bed, a rake did not want a virgin for his mistress.

  So where did that leave her? She could not be his virgin bride, nor could she be his experienced mistress.

  It was too much for her to think about tonight.

  Exhaustion overtaking her, Priscilla rose from the hearth and moved to her bed, shedding her silk robe along the way. Pulling back the counterpane and linens, she slid her naked body deep under the covers, shivering from the cool sheets. She snuggled up in hopes of warming quickly.

  Thinking about warmth and heat, her thoughts returned to her experiences with Brandon.

  Lord Brookfield had not Robert’s challenges. His response was instantaneous. She believed he was aroused when he first entered her chamber. After that, her actions must have just increased the effect.

  To touch a younger man, virile and strong, was more than she had ever dreamt or wished for.

  Was that why she did it? To experience the pure maleness of him?

  No, that could not be right. She had any number of the gentlemen vying for her attentions two nights before and she had no desire to be so forward with any of them.

  It was just Lord Brookfield. Brandon. There was something in particular about him.

  The intimate, knowing look in his jade green eyes.

  The way he ran his fingers through his hair when he was thinking or befuddled.

  The width and strength of his shoulders.

  The trim line of his waist and hips.

  She could see him sitting there watching her. She knew he wanted to touch her. Could sense the need, the tension, the desire in him, when she knelt before him.

  But he kept his promise. His hands remained on the arms of his chair the whole while. There were moments his tension was so great, she thought he might rip the arms right off the chair.

  Yes, he had very much wanted to touch her.

  Truth be told, she desired his touch. The more she stroked, sucked and fondled him the more she wanted to know how it would feel to have his hands upon her bare flesh.

  Were his hands rough or smooth? Hard or soft?

  Robert’s hands had been cramped with arthritis. They had been so crippled there were times when she had to feed him. He rarely touched her. It physically pained him and seemed to embarrass him that his hands were so disfigured.

  She had never felt a man’s hands upon her skin, not in tenderness, affection, nor desire.

  And Brandon had become urgent with his desire. He had tried so hard to maintain control. She sensed the restraint in him when she had slid her hands up
his thighs. He was like a coiled spring, all tension, ready to release at any moment.

  But he had controlled himself until he could no longer bear it.

  Priscilla thought of his hips bucking against her face, his sex, very large, very hot and very hard, pulsing inside her mouth until his release overtook him and he spilled his seed.

  This had been a stunning new sensation. This had been what Robert had wanted. This had generated a potent sense of power in her, that she could make a man respond in this manner, want her with such urgency, such all-consuming need.

  And then to be able to sate that need. . . .

  It had been miraculous.

  And, if what she had done with her mouth had been so intense, so wonderful, what would it be like to feel Brandon inside her as her body was built to receive him? In the way Robert had so desperately desired to have her?

  But Brandon would have to touch her to do that and she feared she wouldn’t, couldn’t, control her response. Her body was so sensitive to him, when he just stood next to her. She seemed to feel every pore, every hair, every nerve. Her spine shivered, her face, neck and breasts flushed, she grew tight low in her belly, there was wetness between her thighs.

  She rubbed her hands over her breasts, down her thighs, imagining Brandon’s heated touch.

  What would happen if his heated skin pressed against hers?

  But her mind was growing tired. It had been a long day and much had happened. She'd learned many new things and had more questions than ever to find answers for.

  Not the least of these was Brandon. Dare she abandon her restraint to experience what had so long been denied her? Could she go through with seducing him to create the child she so desperately needed? That she wanted for so very long? To pursue her own plans? Time was quickly passing and her window of opportunity was limited in more than one way. Could she live with herself once she used Brandon, was used by Brandon, and then left behind?

  Would she become like Anne once she experienced mating? Would she want every man she saw? Accept any man who would have her? Chase after men who didn’t want her?