‘I prefer you untucked, milord.’
‘I live to please you, milady.’
Their kiss renewed, deep and wonderful, and she obeyed his command. He moved her backward, his body a guide in gentle insistence as his trousers rubbed with sensual friction against her bare legs with each small stride.
She crushed the velvet draperies as her body buffeted against the wall and a rush of contrasting sensations piqued her senses, the hard press of his chest against her breasts, the rough fabric of his clothing, and the warm, soothing brush of thick velvet at her back.
‘Isabelle.’ He said her name against her mouth and it vibrated through every pinnacle of her being. ‘You are all luscious curves and delectable beauty.’
She offered little aside from a whimper. His hands traced her skin to illustrate his words, down her arms, across her belly, the slope of her hips, to cup her breasts, the heat of his palms as they brushed the peaked tips, a delicate torture.
‘So lovely.’
His voice dipped lower with insistent entreaty and she pulled back, barely breaking the kiss as her pulse beat fiercely in objection.
She moved her trembling fingers to his jaw in an attempt to gain his attention. ‘What are you going to do?’
A wicked laugh caressed her neck as he pushed free and nipped a path across her collarbone.
‘Make you forget your name.’
He moved, but even the scantest space between them was an unbearable void.
She grasped his shoulders as he lowered his head to paint strokes across her skin with his tongue and feather kisses mixed with delicious love bites. Her body grew tight and anxious.
‘No, tell me the truth.’ She pressed hard against the drapery as a series of wonderful sensations coursed through her. ‘What will you do?’
He chuckled, a low throaty sound, and moved to kneel before her. ‘Watch you break all your little rules.’
She moaned, much to her mortification, as the hot heat of his answer met the sensitive skin of her stomach. She was lost, poised on the edge of a great abyss. ‘Tell me, please.’ She begged, her ability to speak at war with her attempt to reason. She could feel the press of his knees on the carpet near her feet. What did he mean to do? She forced her eyes open and looked.
Constantine glanced upward, his beautiful features bathed in fire-lit intimacy. ‘Sweet, sensible Isabelle. You insist on knowing what comes next.’ His voice, low and liquid, caused her to shiver. ‘I intend to slide my hands over you, my love, and learn your every curve. To taste your perfectly rounded breasts and lick the pale tips until you beg me to stop. To trail my tongue down your belly – ’ he showed her with exacting detail ‘ – lower, to revel in the delicious joys of your body until the day when I push myself into your softness, feel you wrap around me in aching need, wet and hot and ready, as I thrust myself fully within your tight satiny heat.’
‘Oh.’ Any other question evaporated. She closed her eyes and envisioned the seductive images. She wanted the same more than she would ever confess.
He pressed a hot, openmouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh and she quaked with the intimate caress as his thumb passed over the same spot.
‘You have a birthmark here.’
She tried to smile. ‘Just one of many imperfections.’ She despised the dark pink mark even though it was no bigger than a sovereign.
‘It is the shape of an upside down heart. A kiss from Cupid, no doubt.’ He paused and she could not know what he was thinking. ‘So lovely.’
Again he kissed the mark, and then his fingertips, with the lightest caress, touched the most intimate part of her. She did not dare look now and her head dropped back against the curtains.
The room grew hot, although the fire waned. Her breathing slowed and it was as if time stalled. Everything was sensation; the scrape of his jaw against her thigh, the vibration of low murmuring, the strength of his hands locked to her hips. In that quiet moment as his mouth descended to her sex, Isabelle was for ever changed.
It was exquisite torture, the devil’s doing, each stroke of his tongue against her cleft stoked a relentless searing heat. She clutched the draperies and crushed the velvet in her fisted palms, but still it was not enough. She needed to touch, to feel him while he offered her divine pleasure. She thrust her fingers into his sable soft hair and the press of his head angled against her belly heightened her arousal. She grasped him too tightly, she knew, but what did it matter? She could never stand, her entire body aquiver with sensation.
‘Do you like that?’ His wicked whisper teased the damp skin of her inner thighs and she trembled in answer. ‘You are so wet for me. So deliciously wet.’
He swept his tongue across her core and she bucked forward, at a loss for control against his unbearable torture, and at the same time desperate for more.
‘And you taste – ’ He dipped his head to caress her with his tongue before he pressed his fingertips between her sensitive folds and rubbed with delicate accuracy. ‘You taste exactly how I dreamed you would.’
It was all too much. Nothing made sense. Everything made sense. He made sense. And his wicked, wicked tongue. She couldn’t breathe. Her fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulders, begging for support as the beauty of it all overcame her and with a shudder, she lost herself to the exquisite brilliance, as if she touched a star and captured it in her heart.
Constantine wanted to taste Isabelle as she climaxed, lick into her sable fleece and tease her as she found release, but neither could he deny himself the thrill of watching her in all her glorious beauty. He slipped his fingers between her silky folds and his thumb rubbed over her slick bud. A sharp ache resounded in his chest as he flicked his gaze upward.
Her eyes closed in blissful surrender and portrayed beauty beyond compare. Her hair fell forward in flaming waves of disarray. A few damp tendrils clung to her neck where the graceful line led to the sleek curve of her shoulder. He followed the ripe curve of her breasts with each stilted inhale and the motion entranced him. The fragrance of her skin – rosewater and musky desire – drove him mad with desire. He took her in and held his breath.
When her hold on him loosened, he pressed a soft kiss to her sex, and gathered her in his arms to walk to the bed. She lay against him, her head naturally inclined to rest at his shoulder, her bare body nestled against his chest, as if they were made for each other. He sighed and placed her on the coverlet with gentle care.
Her eyes remained clouded. The strain of his desire was rampant but he had promised he would not ruin her, but he wanted to, more than he needed to breathe. The contrary emotions twisted his heart.
‘Take off your trousers.’
The soft-spoken command set his pulse racing. He stood over her, his fingers immediately at his waistband, his brain sluggish to follow. ‘That would not be wise.’
‘I want to see you as you have seen me.’ A note of importance laced each word. It resonated when she spoke again. ‘Please, Constantine.’
He could not deny her. He removed his trousers, then undergarments, and his sex jutted forward to where she sat on the bed’s coverlet, all creamy white skin and delightful innocence.
There would be no turning back now, no matter what foolish ideas they used to convince themselves otherwise.
She viewed him with beguiling curiosity and every muscle tensed under her scrutiny.
‘I do not know what to do.’
Her admittance pleased him more than he’d ever confess.
‘Do what you feel.’
Sensing her hesitation, he reached forward and guided her hand over his length in one swift motion. He refused to allow her inquisitive touch near the tip or all control would be lost in a heartbeat, however, smart, witty Isabelle proved a quick study. His passion strained as she grasped him and wrapped her fingers with gentle finesse, his sex growing harder with each confident stroke.
‘Like this?’
His answer was mostly a groan. ‘Yes.’
His eyes fe
ll closed beyond his power and he concentrated instead on the persistence of her touch and the impossible task of delaying his climax. Her hand stalled for the briefest instant and her other hand found his hip. The mattress shifted, and he heard the soft rustle of fabric.
Her mouth came down on him with unexpected ecstasy, and his body lurched. He told himself to object, to convince her she did not have to please him the way he had rejoiced in bringing her pleasure, but words failed him, and he shamelessly allowed her to coast her tongue across his length, to slide her lips around his shaft, the erotic brush of her hair against his tensed stomach muscles nearly his undoing.
He would never last.
Isabelle gave and gave as only she would, in offer of all of herself. Still his conscience forced through the unbearable ecstasy that tormented his body. He could not allow her to continue. He slitted his eyes for a glimpse of her prone form, and then pulled back with the last shred of control.
He kissed her then, deep and hard, eager to erase all self-doubt, and joined her on the mattress in a smooth movement. They kneeled atop the coverlet. Stormy grey eyes searched his face with keen awareness as emotion hummed over his skin. He reached for her and cradled her cheek in his palm.
‘Forget the world, my love. For this one night, forget it all.’
He did not know what she thought, what she felt, but he knew he had never wanted anyone more. He watched her blink twice and the rapid rise and fall of her bosom slowed. Then her gaze traveled from the top of his head, downward, leaving a wash of hot heat in its wake.
His heart pounded in wait of her answer. His hands trembled. The desire to take what he so wanted overwhelmed him.
Isabelle’s skin, pure cream, held a dewy sheen. Her lips were parted slightly, her hair tangled and she never appeared more beautiful. She offered him a tremulous smile and his heart thudded in his chest. When she backed away, he did not know if she would refuse him, if he had asked her for too much.
She slid across the bed to the pillows without breaking the heat of his stare. He watched as she pushed aside the coverlet and lowered herself to the silk sheets, her auburn hair strewn across the white pillowcase just as he imagined since he first met her. She gave him a smile, this one an inviting curl of the lips, and leaned forward, her hand seeking his. It was as if she had reached for his heart.
He did not hesitate. He could not, had he tried. He settled above her and pinned her to the mattress, bracing his weight with his arms. He reveled in her perfection, her round sweetness crushed against his taut torso. For all the appreciative compliments he offered earlier, he fell silent now. No words could express his emotions, and he had to be patient no matter how much he yearned for her.
It was her first time and, in many ways, his as well. He had never allowed himself more than the physical act, his body’s release. With Isabelle, his emotions tied tighter with each potent kiss. He wrapped his hand around her neck in true possession, and the silky strands of her hair caressed his hold.
‘Are you sure this is what you want, my love?’ He asked thickly, although he had no idea where he found the strength.
‘Yes. Be with me.’
The words whispered through the silent room. Her mouth welcomed him with fervent need and the knowledge that he would soon possess her made him heady, deliciously happy, as he explored her body in excruciating detail. His tongue grazed her nipples, suckling one then the other, her back arched to encourage him to continue his quest. Her body shifted beneath his and she opened for him, as natural as a new blossom reaching for the sun.
He settled between her legs and the tip of his manhood brushed exquisitely against the dampness of her femininity. He exhaled, long and loud, and breathed in her sweet rosewater scent. Then he gently pressed inside her.
She was incredibly tight, unbelievably so. Coupled with the fact he did not use a French letter, the sensation of her hot slick skin enveloping him was almost too much to bear. He moved with excruciating care, not wishing to cause her discomfort, hoping to slow time and absorb every detail.
‘I want you. All of you.’ He might have said more, but she reached up and traced his jaw with her fingertips.
‘Take me then. All of me.’
‘Isabelle.’ Give me your heart.
He pushed a small degree deeper and sheathed himself in her heat. He closed his eyes to temper his movements. When he glanced to her face, her eyes glittered in the fractured light.
‘Am I hurting you? There are tears in your eyes.’
‘No.’ She offered him a tight smile. ‘It is not that. I – ’ She fell silent and lifted her hips in a slight movement of encouragement.
He eased himself deeper. ‘Do you like this? Me inside you.’
‘Yes.’ She whispered and her smile bloomed. ‘I do.’
She encircled his neck and brought his mouth to hers, and as their kiss became hungry, greedy, he knew he could wait no longer. He had to have her. He broke away from her lips, his breathing fast.
‘Love, do you think you can accept – ’
She smiled at him, a bewitching grin, and raised her hips in an impatient gesture. He slid inside fully.
‘ – more of me.’
He reached the barrier of her virginity and aware of the consequences, no, the possibilities, he sank inside, overcome with the exquisite harmony of their bodies joined. He groaned aloud, the weak grasp on his control snapped, and when Isabelle moaned in pleasure, he could no longer temper his desire.
She met him thrust for thrust, her body perfectly matched in rhythm, and when she hooked one leg around his hip and bowed to meet him, he lost himself in the hot pleasure of their passion. From the start he knew he would never last long, and everything concerning Isabelle ensured that he wouldn’t: her breathy whimpers of need and want, her hands at his shoulders drawing him down for one kiss after another, their tongues as twined as their bodies.
He never had the thought to leave her, and spilled himself deep inside in an explosion of beautiful colour and unbearable pleasure. In that moment, he finally found his heart.
Chapter Seventeen
Sanity returned slowly. Isabelle lay against Con’s chest with his heartbeat at her ear, listening to the cadence of his breathing. She inhaled his male scent, the wondrous mixture of spice and sex, and dared to dream. She would not allow tears. Not while her heart overflowed. Good Lord, she’d almost confessed her true emotions when he moved above her. But it was too late for self reprimands. She loved him desperately and there would be no returning from the sentiment of this adventure. Regardless, she haboured no regret.
She dared a look at his face and noticed his eyes, heavy lidded, an irresistible sensuality in their depths, as his fingers played in her hair and swept it softly against her back in a delicious display of affection. She smiled, unable to put her joy into words.
‘Your skin…’ His words were nothing more than a sleepy rumble.
A self-conscious worry creased her brow before she forced it away.
‘Feels like satin. I told you earlier, I’d won the attention of the loveliest woman in England this evening and I did not lie.’
She lifted her head and offered him a skeptical glance. ‘I would cherish your compliment more so if I did not suspect you’d flattered a scandalous number of women before me.’
He cleared his throat and the timbre of his voice dropped a notch. ‘What kind of man do you believe me to be? You’ve given me a most precious gift, and now you insult me.’
There was a vague mocking gleam in his eyes and she looked away, and resettled her head against his chest unbothered by his past. She accepted they could share no future between them. Tonight was hers to cherish and the memories of their intimacy would be for ever in her heart. It was the way of things and would it would suffice.
When he spoke again, his admission caught her by surprise. ‘Who I am inside is opposite to what people assume. At times, the expectations terrify me.’
He paused, and Isabelle was unsure h
e would continue.
‘Somehow you have seen me with more clarity than others who have kept my company for decades.’
She pressed a kiss to his chest and did not turn. Some things were best left alone. His confession was an eye opening truth. Her earl was lonely. She promptly changed the subject. ‘How did you get that scar?’
His entire body went rigid before he regained his ease.
‘The one over your left eyebrow.’ Isabelle continued flawlessly, as if he hadn’t just revealed volumes with his reaction. She twisted in his hold so she could better view him. ‘This one.’ She traced a short line above his brow with her fingertip before she looked into his eyes. Anger and pain reflected, although his words were curt.
‘An accident of sorts. Years ago.’
He might have thought his explanation sufficient, but she waited, expecting more.
‘A glass vase shattered. I stood too close to the scattering shards.’ He exhaled a long breath. ‘My father threw it at me when I attempted to leave the room without his permission.’
‘I am sorry. That is horrible.’ She pressed closer and folded her hand into his as if she somehow could absolve the painful memory.
‘Thank you, but that is the least of it.’
‘The other scars then, behind your neck, he inflicted them as well?’
She could not mistake the tightening of his body now.
‘Yes.’ Reluctance punctuated the single word. ‘He carried a cane with a sterling knob. He did not use it for walking.’
She stifled her gasp and allowed the silence to envelope them for a long span before she darted her eyes to his, with hope she’d disguised her sorrowful horror on his behalf.
Constantine saw acceptance in Isabelle’s grey gaze, however he could not tell her the details of his past.
So enchanted had he been that he had not guarded her hands from the series of scars that ruined the back of his head. He never knew she’d discovered them. Hiding their ugliness was the reason he grew his hair longer than fashionable. It would be difficult for him to habour the details if she pressed the point. One look at her stormy eyes and he was good for nothing anyway.
To Love a Wicked Scoundrel Page 19