Sweet Seduction hmtl

by Patricia Pellicane

  The everyday happening of chewing and swallowing took on a new dimension. Meg had never before realized that eating could be so erotic. Her heart skipped a beat as his finger lingered deliriously on her lips. Slowly, deliberately, he dragged them apart so he could watch her teeth sink into the meat.

  It was most astonishing. If he'd asked her what she ate, Meg wouldn't have been able to tell him. In truth he might have fed her straw for all the notice she took. All she knew was the darkening of his eyes as they watched her mouth and the luscious awareness of his fingers sliding against her lips.

  By the time he motioned for her to feed him, Meg was already caught under his spell. She never thought to refuse.

  Meg tore off a piece of meat with her fingers and slid it into his mouth. She watched his eyes close with pleasure, heard his soft moan of delight and then gasped when he caught her finger, gently gripping it between his teeth. Their eyes held as he licked and sucked her finger dry of the gravy, and Meg's heart drummed erratically against her breast.

  A smudge of gravy remained on his bottom lip, and Meg never thought as she bent her head and licked it away. Tristan groaned as her tongue ran along his lip. "Jesus! Do you know what you're doing to me?"

  Meg swallowed at the fierce hunger in his eyes. She was caught in his gaze and wondered if she'd ever find her way to freedom. "What?" she asked, her eyes wide as she realized her thoughtless action. "I didn't mean . . ."

  A pulse beat thickly in his throat, and his heart slammed against the walls of his chest. He felt his semi-aroused sex grow instantly hard and throbbing. This was the first time she'd ever done anything of her own will. And it thrilled him more than he dared say. Tristan shivered as he watched her mouth. "Do it again. Lick me again."

  Meg breathed a sigh. "I didn't mean to. I wasn't thinking." Her voice quivered, but beyond the thunder of her heart, she never heard it.

  "Do it again" he repeated.

  And Meg, caught in the glitter of dark, fathomless eyes, without a will of her own, did his bidding.

  As if practiced in the art of seduction, her tongue slid erotically along his bottom lip. Tristan made no move. He neither accepted nor refused the caress. In truth, he hardly breathed as he waited for her to go on. And thank God, she did.

  When one lip was apparently cleaned to her satisfaction, she did much the same to the other. Tristan held his breath, silently praying she wouldn't stop, and then shivered as she set about the task of prying his lips apart. When he gave in at last to her silent insistence, her tongue darted into his mouth. It ran along the smooth surface of his teeth, greedily absorbing his taste. Meg made a tiny sound of satisfaction as his teeth no longer proved a barrier to the heat beyond.

  Her hands cupped his hollowed cheeks as she held his head still and dipped her tongue again and again and yet again into the deliciously clean taste of him.

  "Take off my shirt," Tristan said into her mouth, the words slurred and nearly unheard.

  Meg obeyed his request. Her fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt. Minutes later she pushed the fabric over his shoulders and down his arms. The shirt lay hanging from his belt.

  Tristan did nothing to help her. He dared not move, he wanted was for this pleasure to never end, and he knew if he dared bring his hands from his sides, she'd somehow realize what she was about and stop.

  "Now open yours," he said amid the most deliciously wet, hot kisses he'd ever known.

  Meg again did as he asked. The shirt she wore hung from her shoulders, slightly parted. A moment later she pulled the edges apart and rubbed her chest against his.

  He couldn't hold back his groan. His mind swam in enchantment that this woman would make love to him. He hadn't dared hope. And now that she was, he wondered how he was going to live through the ecstasy of it.

  Her mouth slid to his jaw, his throat. He arched his neck, allowing her total access as her hands ran over his shoulders, his arms, down his back.

  The food lay half-eaten and forgotten upon their plates, for each had found something decidedly more delicious to sample.

  Meg pulled back just enough to allow room for her hand to slide between their bodies. Lost in the feel and taste of this man, she never realized her hands smoothed over his chest. She sighed, mouth against mouth as her fingers threaded through dark, crisp chest hair. His belly was flat, hard, but nowhere near as hard as what throbbed with life just below his belt.

  Her hands slid seductively over his arousal. Gently she cupped him in her palm. Her dark eyes met his as her hand moved slowly up and down over the ever-thickening bulge.

  "Let me touch you, Meggie." His voice was hardly more than a ragged, desperate moan. "I'll die if I can't touch you."

  "Yes," she said, her voice gravelly with need. "Yes. Touch me."

  "Where?"

  "Everywhere." And then her hands left him, and she cupped her exposed breasts, offering them to his mouth for both their pleasure. "Here. Touch me here."

  Tristan groaned with delight as he buried his face in the sweetly offered flesh. Her skin was warm silk. His mouth, hot and heavy, sucked her deep into a blazing inferno. As his tongue laved over her, eliciting deep groans of pleasure from both their throats, he cupped the sides of her breast, bringing the pliable flesh together, and ran his mouth from tip to tip until Meg thought she'd surely die from this sweet torment.

  Her stomach tightened into a hard, aching knot of wanting. It wasn't enough. She had to have more and told him so with her restless stirrings.

  "What is it, sweetheart?"

  She shook her head, her eyes wide, glazed with a need that had left her without control. Still she didn't know how to answer him.

  "Does this feel good?"

  "Yes," she groaned as her head fell back weakly. "It is too good."

  "What else do you want. Tell me and it's yours," he said, knowing he needed above all else to hear her say it.

  "You." She swallowed between harsh, gasping breaths. "I want you."

  A soft sound that might have been a prayer of thanks he offered up as his mouth devoured hers. God almighty, his whole body trembled like he was a lad untried in the ways of loving. He couldn't believe how badly he wanted this woman. He couldn't believe the excitement she caused him to know.

  Leaning forward, he pushed their plates to the right. A moment later she was sitting on the edge of the desk. Even as his mouth dragged deliciously over hers, his fingers were at the buttons of the trousers she wore. Trousers and drawers were pushed down her legs to lie in a small discarded heap on the floor.

  Tristan, over the past week and more, had often seen this woman naked. There wasn't a part of her he didn't know intimately, and yet looking down at her now, he knew he'd never get enough. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever known.

  Meg never thought to hide herself from burning dark eyes. Had she thought on it, she might have asked where her modesty had gone. A week ago she would have cringed at being so exposed. He was looking at her, his gaze moving over her entire length, wanting her, needing her, and she knew only pleasure that it was so.

  Gently he spread her thighs, and Meg fussed as she waited impatiently for him to come to her. She had no idea of the torture that was to come.

  In a leisurely trail of torment and pleasure, his fingertips began at her lips and moved down her neck and chest, over the mounds of tempting female flesh to flat midriff and tiny waist. He smoothed them over flaring hips and a softly rounded belly, stopping only when he reached the heat of her desire.

  Meg jumped and gave a soft cry of alarm as his head dipped to join his hands and his mouth came hot and hard and totally unexpected against her. She felt his tongue slide over her, into her, and her hands reached for his shoulders in an effort to stop this scandalous act. The thought flashed through her mind that this was sinful, wrong. But the thought lasted no more than a second, for it came to her in a fog of desire that this exquisite act of tenderness was too good to be wrong. She gave up her struggles and felt her body accept hi
s delicious adoration, but it wasn't long before acceptance was replaced by a fiery need for more. Meg moaned, almost delirious at the sweet pleasure. "Good." Her eyes closed as sensation spiraled to near pain. "Oh God, that's so good."

  Tristan heard the hedonistic murmurings, felt the anxious stirring of her hips as she greedily sought more, and gloried in the fact that he was the one to introduce her to this delight.

  "Tristan, Tristan, please" she said amid breathless groans that bespoke her torment. "I need . . ." She couldn't finish. She didn't know what it was she needed.

  "Me. You need me," he said as he lifted his mouth from her wet, delicious heat.

  "Yes. Oh God, yes," she said, knowing she'd never need this man more. "Please, now."

  "I will, sweeting, I will," he said as he moved up the length of her, depositing tiny stinging bites along the way that added to the urgent need that wracked her body. His hands took hers and with fingers entwined held them at her side. She didn't know herself. She'd never seen this wildly demanding creature that cried out and bucked against him. His dark gaze burned fire as he watched her movements and then at last, dear God at last, he slid his body deep into her tightness.

  "Meggie," he groaned as she raised her hips toward his.

  "Meggie. God."

  Chapter Eleven

  Too late he realized there was no way he could stand. No way his legs could hold him. All his energy, all his strength, was centered in his sex. It throbbed there, thickening his body to aching proportions as he moved into blazing, mind-stealing heat.

  He tore himself from her, shoved his trousers down his legs, and guided her from the desk to his lap again as he sat in the chair once more. He couldn't make it to the bed, and he couldn't wait another second to take this woman.

  Dazed from the sensations so far endured, she moved to his will, sitting astride his lap as directed, and allowed him to slowly lower her upon his shaft.

  Meg's eyes closed with pleasure, and a soft sound slid from her lips.

  Tristan took her face in his hands and brought her mouth to his. There he kissed her ferociously, voraciously. He couldn't get enough of her taste, her scent, her feel. And then his one hand left her face to return to where his mouth had teased her to madness. Gently his thumb moved over the tiny, wet distention, and Meg

  cried out, the sound absorbed by his mouth.

  He rocked his hips madly, each movement bringing him higher, higher into heaven, even as his finger continued to play over her. It was too much. She couldn't live through something like this. Her heart pounded as if she'd run miles, and her body tightened to the breaking point. "I can't. Oh Please, it hurts."

  "I know, Meggie. But it will be better in a minute," he said, his lips against hers.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tighter to her mouth. She was a wild thing, never noticing how her nails scratched at his back, his shoulders, his scalp, eager for all he could give, demanding that he soothe the fire he'd begun.

  "I need ... I need . . ." she groaned. "Help me, please."

  "Yes," he gasped, straining to hold back as he watched her grow wilder, stronger, ever closer to ecstasy. "Yes. Oh sweetheart, I know. Just let it come, Meggie. Hold on to me and let it come."

  And it did. The wrenching, wracking waves of pleasure tore at her insides, pleasure so great it bordered on pain, and Meg welcomed the diabolical splendor with a cry torn from her throat. She had no control. Her body shuddered and then shuddered again and again. Her mouth opened in a wordless cry. Her eyes were wide with fear at this unknown delight and then she called out, "Tristan," in a weak, breathless voice, as if he'd save ler from this moment that paralleled death even as her body clutched at his maleness and squeezed, drawing to her his strength, his spirit, his soul.

  Tristan lunged into her for the final time, his eyes tightly shut against the pleasure of contracting muscles and jerked uncontrollably as he muffled the sounds of his exquisite release against the soft, sweet thickness of her hair.

  Her head rolled forward, her mouth against his neck, for she hadn't even the strength it took to hold it up. She slumped mindlessly against him, totally drained.

  For long moments neither moved, so depleted were they that they barely garnered the strength to breathe.

  "I thought you killed me," she murmured, the words slurred and sleepy against the muscles of his throat.

  Tristan smiled as he cuddled her to him. He pulled his shirt from her shoulders and dropped it to the floor. His one arm circled her waist while his free hand toyed with the tempting softness of her breast. He groaned as he nuzzled his face into the dampness of her neck. "It was better than good. God, you were wonderful."

  In a rare moment of tenderness, she corrected sleepily, "We were wonderful."

  "Are you tired?"

  "Why?" Meg grinned as she remembered how they often spent each evening and asked with just a touch of her usual sarcasm, "You want to play chess?"

  Tristan grinned. "No, but a game of chest sounds interesting." He gave her nipple a gentle pinch.

  Meg lifted her head from his shoulder and looked into .dark laughing eyes. "You fiend."

  Tristan laughed. "Am I? A few moments ago you wouldn't have said that."

  "A few moments ago you were more than a fiend. You were a demon set on torturing your victim to death." Meg's short laugh was one of pure victory. "But I won. I managed to live through your depravity."

  Tristan chuckled at her remark. "Is that what I was doing?" he asked as he moved her away from him. His eyes wandered at will over her delicious softness. Her hair in wild disarray hung over her shoulders and down her back while shorter curls framed her face. Her lips were swollen from hungry kisses, her eyes as dark as night and sated, her skin pink from being well-loved. Tristan knew he'd never seen anything half so beautiful in his life. "You look decidedly healthy for someone I tried to kill."

  "That's because your fiendish methods leave no scars," she said as she lay back upon him with a soft sigh of exhaustion.

  "Do you want to go to bed?"

  Her eyes opened, staring fiercely at his grin. "If you mean to sleep, yes."

  Tristan chuckled, came to his feet, took a step, and cursed as he almost fell flat on his face. "Damn! he said as the two of them went sprawling to the floor. Tristan twisted his body so that he came down first and most of her weight landed on his chest and belly. His head hit hard against the floor and he groaned with pain, but it was his ego that truly suffered from the blow.

  After a stunned moment of silence, Meg muttered, "I think you need spectacles. You missed the bed."

  "I tripped."

  Meg's brow creased with confusion until she looked at feet and found them wrapped tightly in twisted trousers. A low giggle escaped her throat.

  Tristan didn't see anything particularly funny. "Don't laugh," he warned which, of course, only caused her to do so.

  Meg noticed the slight flush that crept up his neck and darkened his skin. "Do you know any other tricks?" she teased.

  And when Tristan didn't answer but went about the chore of releasing his feet from his twisted clothes and boots, she goaded, "I'll bet you were once an acrobat."

  "And I bet I can cure that smart mouth of yours " he returned.

  Her hands rested on her hips, unmindful of her exposed state, as she knelt at his side and glowered at his angry expression. "It's going to take a bigger man than you, mister," she sneered in return.

  Meg never thought of her nakedness as all thoughts of tenderness toward this man instantly evaporated. She came to her feet and, ignoring his presence, walked to the bed.

  Tristan's mouth tightened, his teeth gritting. The little bitch could aggravate him with nothing more than a word or two. She knew, of course, that he was captain of this Ship, and yet he could count on one hand the times she'd addressed him correctly. She insisted on calling him "mister" no doubt to annoy. From her, "mister" sounded more like a curse than a proper address.

  He was just about
to say something equally as nasty when his angry gaze caught the delicious sight of her backside as she moved away. He felt a sudden and unwanted rush of lust fill his gut. Silent curses filled his mind as he came to his feet and eyed her beneath his sheet, her back to him, probably as stiff as her last comment. He grabbed his bottle of rum, took a short drink, and felt its warmth ease the suddenly stiff muscles of his stomach.

  Tristan grinned. His falling was funny. If she hadn't been in his arms, he most likely would have laughed.

  The truth of it was, he hadn't enjoyed looking less than totally in control in her eyes. Damn little witch. She sure as hell enjoyed seeing him make a fool of himself. No doubt she would have laughed herself half to death if he'd broken something. "So you enjoyed seeing me fall on my face?"

  "I must confess, it did my heart good."

  Knowing the opposite to be true in his case, he asked a puzzled, "Why?"

  "Because you're always so perfect, so arrogant. It makes me sick." Meg felt the bed dip as he sat down. "And that upsets you? Why?" he asked, blinking in amazement. "Because no one is perfect."

  "I never said I was."

  "You don't have to say it. You pretend you are. You strut around this ship like you own the world."

  "I don't own the world," he said, "but I've worked hard for the small piece I do own. I didn't steal it."

  "Meaning what?" Meg rolled to her side, facing him. "I steal? What have I stolen from you?" He could have told her his peace of mind and perhaps tiny piece of his heart as well, but instead ignored her question and asked, "Do you know how I see you?"

  "No. And I don't want to know." She shrugged as she led her back to him again. "You'd be wrong in any case"

  "I see a nasty mouthed, hard-headed little bi—"

  "And you're not?!" Meg almost spun back, facing him again. She forgot nothing more than the sheet covered her. That it fell to her waist when she sat up was never noticed. "You're the thickest, meanest—"

  "When have I ever been mean to you?"

  Meg laughed. "Oh, I suppose it was kindness that caused you take me from my family." "Actually it was. I was saving you from prison." Their voices were rising in turn. In another minute everyone on the ship was going to hear every word clearly.