Dark Fancy

by York, Sabrina

  Chapter Three

  James stared at Eloise, brave, proud, innocent Eloise. He could relate to the passion in her plea. He had a sudden desire to be released from a betrothal himself. He fiddled with the corner of his napkin. “There is always the chance your betrothed won’t care if you’re ruined.” Some men did not.

  Her lashes fluttered. When they rose again, there was a look in her eye that sent lust coursing down his spine. It settled in his cock. “If I’m to be married to a bilious flounder of a man for the rest of my life, I should like to know passion just once. Just once, James.”

  “J-just once?” His voice cracked.

  Her smile blossomed. “Perhaps more than once.”

  He had to laugh, although this was clearly no laughing matter. “My dear. I would be happy to oblige.”

  “Excellent!” She clapped her hands with glee.

  Unfortunate, that, because it made her look, once again, like a little girl. But then she picked up her cup and ran her pink tongue around the rim, lapping at the wayward drops. He reached for the second bottle.

  She held out her cup for a refill. “You will need to show me what to do.”

  He almost forgot to stop pouring. Hell yes. He’d love to show her what to do. He’d love to instruct her—in elaborate detail—what, precisely, to do. Something snarled in his belly. His palm itched.

  He forced down that decadent desire. Chained the beast.

  For God’s sake. She was an innocent, a virgin. If he opened with that card, not only would she truly be ruined, she would probably hie off to the nearest nunnery and spend the remainder of her life in seclusion.

  Oh, he would bed her. He would despoil and beguile her, but only in the very gentlest of fashions.

  But his fantasies, the darkling imagery of what he would truly like to do, simmered.

  “Are you…” He cleared his throat. “Are you ready for your bath?”

  “Heavens, yes.” Once again, she clapped her hands.

  The childlike gesture was off-putting since, at the moment, he was thinking of sinking his cock into her body and swallowing her moans with his mouth. But he liked her enthusiasm. It also made him desire—very deeply—to tie those hands to the bedposts. So she couldn’t clap them.

  Why that thought made him salivate, he didn’t know.

  Ah hell. Of course he knew.

  Despite the lust snarling through him, he managed a modicum of chivalry, although it was perfunctory at best. “I’ll fashion a curtain.”

  Her next words nearly unmanned him. “You don’t need to.”

  “I b-beg your pardon?”

  “You don’t need to bother with a curtain.” For a shy and demure innocent, she had something of a brazen streak. “I mean, if we’re going to…you know…”

  “Make love?”

  “Yes. If we’re going to make love, you will see me naked anyway.” A frown crossed her brow. “Won’t you?”

  He chuckled. “Most certainly.”

  “I thought so. But people are not very forthcoming when one asks about such things.”

  “Really?” That had not been his experience in the slightest. Then again, she was a girl. The world sought to save and protect innocence. Until it ravaged it.

  He did not know why he trembled as he poured the heavy buckets into the tub. He was a man of the world. Jaded and used to much more decadent fare than initiating virgins to the delights of the flesh. He should hardly be nervous about the prospect of having her.

  Then again, maybe it wasn’t nerves. Maybe it was just pure, seething desire.

  He had planned to seduce her—expected it to take hours of sweet whispers and furtive caresses. Never in his wildest dreams could he have anticipated this—that she would gaze at him across the dinner table and politely ask him to ruin her.

  She was, altogether, a different kind of woman. Unlike any lover or mistress or professional girl he’d ever been with. And the prospect delighted him.

  He swished his fingers in the water and added another bucket of cold to balance the temperature. He didn’t want her delicate skin burned because he was in such an all-fired hurry to get her naked. “There. Perfect.”

  “Thank you, James.” Her voice was low, melodious. It sent a ribbon of pleasure through him.

  “Are you ready?”

  “I cannot tell you how ready.”

  He swallowed. Yes. He felt the same. His pulse thrummed in his temple. And elsewhere. “Milady, your bath awaits.” He gave a great flourish, his gaze firmly fixed on her.

  She reached for her hem and then stilled. “Could you turn around?”

  Disappointment raked him. “Of course.”

  “I’ve just never disrobed before a man before.”

  “I understand.” Damn. Damn, damn and damn. He turned his back. Every rustle of fabric grated on him. He wished—oh so fervently—that Babbage had a mirror. He so would have liked to watch.

  A small splash.

  He winced. His pulse pounded. God. She was in the water. Naked.

  She sighed. Moaned.

  His cock lurched.

  “Is it good?” His words were, at best, a strangled rumble.

  “Oh yes. Yes.”

  He had to look. He couldn’t not.

  The sight he beheld was exquisite. Eloise had leaned back in the water to wet her hair. Her breasts, delectable pink islands in the sea, thrust up. The nipples were fat and hard, distended.

  He swallowed around the tight ball in his throat. His nails scored his palms.

  Though he was rooted to the spot, determined to give her some modicum of privacy, his imagination ran rampant. What he wouldn’t like to do to those tempting tips.

  “James?” Her soft call wrenched him from a delirious fantasy. Her expression was tentative, shy, but he could see the light of determination flickering there.

  “Y-yes?”

  “Do you suppose there’s any soap?”

  He blinked. Soap? He had trouble interpreting the word. His mind was occupied elsewhere. “Ah. Soap.” He rummaged around in Babbage’s cupboard, cursing himself for not remembering. He found a thick chunk of soap and brought it to her. How he hated that it wasn’t something more delicate. Something lilac-scented.

  “Thank you.” She didn’t take his offering. Rather she peered up at him with those beautiful emerald orbs and said, “Will you wash my hair?”

  His breath stalled. Would he? He fell to his knees at her side—unmindful of the puddles on the plank floor—and looked at her. Her nipples pebbled even more at his perusal. His mouth watered.

  “James?”

  He dragged his attention back to her face. “Y-yes?”

  “My hair?”

  God. Yes. He made a lather and scrubbed it into her hair. It was glorious, golden, smooth and silky. He worked the soap through the strands and as he did, massaged her scalp. She closed her eyes and groaned.

  Thusly freed from her inspection, he allowed his attention to wander. He nearly expired when it lit on that tempting triangle of fair curls at the crux of her thighs. He imagined her touching herself there. Then imagined him touching her there. Then imagined opening her and stroking. Licking—

  “James?”

  “Huh? What?”

  “Are you finished? I’d like to rinse.”

  “Of course.” Reluctantly, he drew away. And she submerged.

  This time he could not resist. No fist was tight enough to keep his finger from testing the resiliency of that tantalizing button. Pleasure shot through him at the intimate contact.

  She lurched up, streaming with water, grasping the rim of the tub and gaping at him. “My heavens. What did you do?”

  “I touched you.”

  “Mercy. I’ve never felt anything like it.” She glanced down her body and his gaze followed, down and down that creamy skin, to the juncture of her thighs.

  As he stared at her, those thighs stole apart.

  He gulped. “Haven’t you ever touched yourself there?”

>   “Absolutely not.” Her lashes fluttered. “Do you think you could do it again?”

  Oh. He would do it again. “First I think we need to finish bathing you.”

  Disappointment flickered over her face.

  She would not be disappointed for long.

  In a very businesslike manner he dipped the soap in the water and created another lather. “Sit up, please.”

  “Are you going to bathe me?”

  He quirked a brow. “That’s how it’s done. Didn’t you know?”

  She shook her head. Her eyes were as round as platters. She flinched when he put his palms to her shoulders, but relaxed when he began a slow, seductive massage. “That’s nice,” she said.

  Nice.

  Not his favorite word. But he’d only just begun.

  Her skin was incredibly smooth. And warm. He rubbed her in lazy arcs, expanding his caress with each pass. And then, kneeling behind her so he could peer over her shoulder at the scintillating sight, he cupped her breasts.

  She sucked in a breath and held herself unnaturally still. Still, but for her trembling.

  Then again, he was trembling too. Her breasts were perfect, round and supple. He tightened his hold until the nipple pouched out. And then, slowly, he rasped both thumbs over them.

  She threw her head back, braced herself on his chest and reared up.

  She was magnificent in her pleasure. So responsive. He massaged that pliant flesh, forming it, testing it, scraping his nails over those tender nubs until she thrashed in the water.

  “James. I can’t bear it.”

  “I’m sorry. Was that not pleasing?”

  “My, yes. It was pleasing. But it makes me…I don’t know what it makes me feel. And I can’t bear it.”

  “That’s all right, little one.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I know what it makes you feel. I know what it makes you want.”

  He came to her side and created another lather. This one much more hurried. He skimmed his soapy palm over her chest, down her belly and farther, tracking her every reaction. As he neared her crease, she lurched up, splashing water over him.

  He pressed her back. “Just relax, little one. Relax and let me bathe you.”

  “Please don’t call me little one. Ah—”

  He found her. Tangling with her nest of curls, he nudged. She floundered, clenched, spasmed. He caught her head with his arm as she collapsed.

  Damn, if she hadn’t come just then. It had seemed like it.

  He wanted to be sure. He slipped lower and dabbed a finger at the entrance to her cunt. He met a thick, creamy heat.

  She clutched at his sopping shirt. Fisted her other hand in his hair. Pulled him closer. “Yes,” she snarled. “Yes.”

  “Do you like that? Do you like when I touch you there?”

  “Yes.”

  So did he. He liked it too much. He wanted to wrench her from the tub, lay her out on the wood floor and bury himself inside her.

  But she was a virgin. That was no way for him to behave. Not yet, anyway. He stood—ignoring her wail—and grabbed the towel he’d found in Babbage’s closet. It was hardly the kind of towel she deserved. Not fluffy and plush and warmed by the fire. But it would do.

  He helped her stand and then carefully, meticulously, dried her off.

  “James…”

  “Patience, darling.” He couldn’t resist raking her nipples with the fabric. She shook with each pass. Surely her nipples weren’t that wet. Then again, he hardly cared.

  He didn’t dare do the same to her luscious slit. He didn’t trust himself to be that close again. Not with the ravaging hunger racking his soul.

  Chapter Four

  When she was dry, they sat by the fire. He arranged her between his legs on the bench and combed out her hair. As he worked, he pressed kisses on her shoulders, on her neck. He found one spot, and then another, that made her sigh. Her hair was long and thick and it took a while to dry. Or maybe it just seemed an eternity.

  His lust got the best of him. What red-blooded man could have such an incredible creature stark naked between his thighs and not find his hands wandering? He shifted his angle and slid a skein of hair over her shoulder, easing the comb through those silky locks. Then he—rather deliberately—drew the teeth of the comb over the tip of her breast. She flinched. Then sighed.

  So he did it again.

  She thrust her bottom back, against his groin. Hunger blinded him and he decided he probably didn’t need to dry her hair completely. He set the comb aside and began threading his fingers through the thick curling mass instead.

  Before long they forgot their purpose and drifted directly to her breasts. He massaged them again, daring to lightly pinch a crest. She did not protest. Rather she leaned more fully against him. This gave him a better angle, along with a better view.

  “Do you like this, Eloise?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you like this?”

  “Very much. But it’s not as nice as what you did before.”

  His heart leapt, began thudding in his throat. “This?” His touch drifted lower, sifted through the sentries at her core. He touched her clitoris.

  “Yes.” She pressed into his caress. “Yes. I like that.”

  He liked it too. She was warm and wet and slick. He lifted her knee and hooked it over his, and then the other. So anchored, her legs spread when he shifted his apart.

  Unimpeded, he found her pearl. He started with light circles, barely brushing the swollen flesh, but he drew them tighter and tighter with each pass. The slick proof of her passion eased his way. Soon she was panting and moaning and wriggling against him. He loved the way her ass pressed into his cock.

  But it was hardly enough.

  When she came—to the mere touch of his fingertip—when she howled and quaked in his arms—he knew she was ready.

  He certainly was.

  Hell, he’d never been this aroused.

  Then again, he’d never inflicted such discipline upon himself before. Like the lords Eloise deplored, he was used to taking what he wanted when he wanted it. Such anticipation was new to him.

  He rather liked the burn.

  So when he picked her up and carried her to the bed and arranged her upon it, he did not fall on her as the ravaging beast lurking in the back of his mind politely suggested. Instead he sat on the edge of the bed and took her foot in his hands.

  Her eyes grew large when he brought that perfect foot to his mouth. “James? What are you doing?”

  “Lie back, darling. You wanted me to show you how this is done, did you not?”

  “Y-yes, but—”

  He sucked a toe into his mouth and she squealed. When he dabbed his tongue between them and skated it along the tender ridge where they joined her foot on the bottom, she tried to yank back, but he wouldn’t allow that.

  Mercilessly, he tormented her, scraping his teeth and tongue over the arch, nibbling her ankle, sucking at the delicate bone that thrust out on her instep, until she gasped and squirmed and screamed for mercy.

  He didn’t know from where he marshaled these reserves. He’d never been a patient man. But something about her, his adorable Eloise, made him want to linger, made him enjoy the thudding ache at the base of his balls, the tight knot in his groin, the growing desperation of his weeping cock.

  He loved watching her writhe on the bed. He’d known he would from the instant he’d seen her but the reality was beyond imagining. He did not want it to end.

  She collapsed, wheezing and whimpering, beset by shivers. He allowed his torment to move higher. She merely moaned when he reached her upper thighs. Though he had dried her thoroughly with the towel, she was damp again. He dandled his fingers in her dew. And then he lapped at her with his tongue.

  She stiffened as he swiped closer and closer to her core. “J-James?”

  “Relax, darling.” He spread her swollen labia with his thumbs and stared down upon the most beautiful arcane sight. Her clitoris was round and engor
ged. Glistening. He fancied he could see her pulse thrumming in it. He blew on it and she flinched.

  “P-people do this?” Her voice was thready, words warbled.

  “Yes, my darling. They do.” He took her with his mouth then, enrobed her in his warmth. God, she tasted of ambrosia. He sucked, just a tiny bit.

  Her response was ferocious. She clamped her legs around his head and clutched at his hair and mashed herself into his face. He sucked harder and then followed that with several harsh lashes with his tongue. Then he nuzzled her, made tantalizing circles, teased the protrusion at the very tip.

  “Please!” she howled.

  She howled. Thank God they were a good distance from the house.

  He endeavored to make her howl again. With much success. Without removing himself from the crux of her thighs—as though she would allow that—he unfastened and yanked off his trousers. Then he unbuttoned his shirt. He wanted to take her skin to skin.

  “Please, James. Please.”

  He shifted up beside her and put his mouth over hers so she could taste the nectar of her passion. Her eyes, wide and glazed, worshipped him. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. Both sights enflamed the beast inside him. “What do you want, my sweet? Tell me and it is yours.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know. I just need… I’m just…” New tears welled. He licked them away.

  “Don’t worry, my darling innocent. I know what you want. I know what you need. What your body aches for.” And she was ready. More than ready.

  As was he.

  Gently, he levered over her and spread her legs farther apart. His cock lurched in anticipation. As he approached, the heat of her haven welcomed him.

  “Are you ready?” he asked through a pant, setting his cock in place. The tiny tremors at the mouth of her cunt nipped at his sanity.

  She nodded. That a delectable tongue peeped out, at just that moment, did him in.

  He surged into her.

  He’d intended to be gentle. He’d intended to take this first thrust slowly. But he couldn’t. He had no restraint left. Not an ort. He surged into her, hard and hot and full. Delirium raced from his balls to his brainstem. He shuddered at the agonizing clutch of her cunt.

  Dear God, she was tight. Tight and wet and slick.