The Devil's Bargain

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The Devil's Bargain Page 14

by Allegra Gray


  Celia clutched the block of soap and began to scrub at every place the filthy guard had touched. As she scrubbed, the memories she’d been trying to hold back came flooding into her mind. Every vile thing he’d said, every touch of his dirty fingers, every lewd intention he’d made clear. Hot tears of shame and anger poured forth, and she bent forward to scrub even more vigorously, her long hair cascading in front of her face like a curtain and floating in the water surrounding her.

  Moments later, Nicolas reentered the room quietly, his traitorous body jumping to lustful conclusions at the sight of a naked woman—the woman he’d been dreaming of seeing in exactly that state—before him. That is, until he saw the way her shoulders shook with silent sobs. Her close call had bothered her more than she’d let on. Impatiently, he told himself to calm down.

  He watched her tearing at herself until he couldn’t stand it anymore, then came forward to help.

  “Here, let me,” he said, gently taking the soap from her hand. She didn’t resist. He quickly shucked his heavy outer tunic, tossing it unceremoniously aside to allow him more freedom of movement.

  He began carefully washing her back, rubbing the soap into her shoulders and using his strong hands to work the tension from her muscles. Slowly, her shuddery breaths subsided, returning to normal.

  He couldn’t help but notice the soft smoothness of her skin or, as he bent closer to begin washing her hair, the fullness of her breasts with their dusky pink tips disappearing beneath the water. She sighed and leaned back into his touch, and Nicolas felt a small measure of reward.

  He worked the soap through her hair, gently massaging her scalp, reveling in the feel of the silky wet strands as he ran his fingers through them. He cupped his hands full of the warm water and poured it over her to rinse away the soap. She laughed softly. “It will take all night to rinse the soap that way.”

  “True.” Relieved to hear her sounding like her old self, he grabbed the pitcher from the washstand and used that instead. She tipped her head back and sighed as the warm water ran down. Finishing, he squeezed the excess water from those magnificent tresses, then piled them loosely atop her head.

  She was relaxed now, leaning fully into his touch, yet making no move to turn and face him, or to touch him back. Nicolas smiled to himself, enjoying his unusual role as lady’s maid. He picked up the soap and began rubbing her shoulders again, gazing shamelessly over her left shoulder at the view of her delectable body, naked in the shadowy depths of the bath. The scented bar slipped from his hand and disappeared beneath the surface. Unable to still his urges, he allowed his hand to skim her breast as he bent forward to retrieve it.

  Celia’s breath caught. Pleasure stabbed through her at the intimate touch, and she knew instinctively that Nicolas had just raised the stakes of the sensual game they played. He’d massaged and rinsed away her earlier fright, and now it was time for more. She was ready.

  She turned, smiling at him over her shoulder, allowing him to openly see the pleasure she took in his touch, as well as her surprise that it could be so. Amazingly, she did not feel awkward or embarrassed in front of him, naked as she was. When she’d fantasized before about what they might do, she’d always imagined herself clothed, removing only such garments as were necessary. Now she twisted to afford him a more full-on view of her breasts, and found herself imagining his clothes gone as well.

  He chuckled low in his throat. “Such spirit,” he murmured as he bent his head to claim a kiss.

  She met his mouth willingly, pressing closer over the edge of the large wooden tub as his tongue stroked hers in an exotic and timeless promise. His fingers found her right nipple and teased it to a tight peak. When he tugged it gently, a low moan ripped from Celia’s throat as streaks of pleasure radiated through her, culminating in a tight coil of need at the apex of her thighs. She shifted uncomfortably at the new sensation, uncertain how to satisfy that need. She broke the kiss to stare at Nicolas, seeing her own passion reflected in the deep green of his eyes as she gasped and clung to him. Vaguely she noted that the fine linen of his shirt was soaked through in several places. She shivered, alerting her to the additional fact that the bath was cooling.

  “I think, my sweet, we might better continue this elsewhere,” Nicolas said as he placed a gentle kiss on her cheekbone.

  She obeyed wordlessly, the water streaming in rivulets down her body as she stood and stepped into the large linen sheet Nicolas offered.

  He wrapped it snuggly around her, patting her dry through the fabric, lingering on her back and buttocks. Water pooled on the floor around her bare toes, but he didn’t seem to care. He squatted to pat her legs dry, kissing her knee through the sheet and wringing a giggle from her.

  He released her, as though reluctant to do so. “Wait here a moment.” He crossed to the wardrobe and rummaged.

  Celia watched him pull out a thick robe, anticipating yet unsure of his next move. She couldn’t imagine the robe would stay on for long, but what did she know? Perhaps he was modest and preferred lovemaking while clothed. Or perhaps he was simply being polite, offering the robe out of consideration for her. Or—and she didn’t like this last idea—perhaps he was too honorable, too protective, to take advantage of her tonight no matter how willingly she offered.

  He strode toward her, bearing folds of heavy velvet. As he reached out to take the sheet from her and place the robe over her shoulders, Celia shivered, hard. The damp linen sheet and her wet hair made even the luxuriously warm chamber feel cold. Maybe the robe was a good idea.

  He must have misinterpreted her motion, for he immediately stepped back. “I’m sorry. Is it too soon after your fright?”

  She considered him for a moment, then reached forward to take the robe. She deliberately let the sheet drop to the floor, allowing him a brief glimpse of her naked body before she slipped into the warm comfort of the huge velvet robe.

  “’Tis true I had a fright, my lord. But I am not harmed. I shivered just now because of a chill, not from any fear of your touch. Indeed, when I return to my chamber later, I would like to remember nothing of this evening but the pleasantness of being near you. I want you to touch me. Please.” It was the boldest speech she’d ever made, but she wanted him to know he could move forward. She was no delicate piece of glass to be easily broken. Earlier, well, yes—she’d needed reassurance. But no longer.

  His slow, wicked grin was indication that he’d received her message, loud and clear.

  “Pleasantness? I find your kisses more than pleasant. Perhaps I was not adequate in making you feel similarly. But I believe that when you return to your chambers, you will not even think of the word ‘pleasant’ to describe this evening.”

  “No, my lord?” she teasingly asked. She called the words over her shoulder as she walked towards the large fireplace, the velvet folds of the borrowed robe trailing behind her like a mock train. She stood before the fire and ran her fingers through her hair, watching as he stalked toward her, onto her game. “What words shall I use, then?”

  “Passionate? Fiery? Nay, I think I would like it best if, when tonight is over, you are so filled with mindless pleasure as to be utterly beyond words.”

  Her mouth went dry at his suggestion. She licked her lips, trying to moisten them. Was that even possible? She already knew his kisses could drive thought from her mind. She felt herself grow moist in that most private of places. The place she’d never dared to touch. The place she was going to let him touch. Thinking of that made the wetness spread, made her squirm in anticipation. She wanted him there, driving her to a state of wordless pleasure. Yes, it was definitely possible.

  Nicolas chuckled inwardly as he watched Celia in front of the fire. So, the little minx wanted to play, did she? He was amenable to that. She had the kind of spirit usually stamped out of women when they were but young girls. The courts trained them to be delicate and submissive. But Celia had been raised away from all that, and while her father might have espoused the same lessons, they obvi
ously hadn’t sunk in. Nicolas couldn’t help but admire her. The tantalizing glimpse of her naked body had done worlds to re-stoke the fires of his lust. His robe covered her provocative curves completely now, but that was no impediment to his imagination.

  She continued stroking her fingers through her hair, but he’d seen the telltale dart of her tongue at his bold offer to deprive her of the ability to find words. The delicate pink tip of her tongue again flicked across her lush, generous lips, and he felt himself harden in response. To his surprise, though, she turned to face the fire, bending forward to dry her hair as she combed her fingers through it, apparently pretending she’d hardly even heard him.

  Two could play at this game. He would make it impossible for her to play coy. Starting now.

  He stalked forward, his footfalls silent on the thick rug. Celia’s figure was haloed by the glow from the fire, and he didn’t fail to appreciate the way her forward bend emphasized the feminine curve of her bottom. He stopped about an inch behind her, then caught her by the waist and pulled her into an embrace, bringing her backside into contact with his very definite arousal. He heard her sharp intake of breath and knew the sensation was as pleasurable to her as it was to him. He pressed her tighter against him as he slipped one hand into the voluminous folds of the robe and cupped her breast.

  A small moan escaped from her and she tried to turn and face him, to touch him more directly, but he held her in place.

  “No hurry, sweet. Shouldn’t you finish drying your hair?” He was teasing her—but it was a game she’d started. He only hoped they could both finish it before he lost his mind completely.

  “’Tis dry enough,” she breathed.

  “I see,” he murmured teasingly. He lightly circled her nipple, feeling it harden into a tight peak before he stroked his thumb directly across it.

  She cried out, arching her back so that her head nearly touched his shoulder. “How can you...possibly...” she asked between ragged breaths, “make me feel this way?”

  He had an excellent idea of what she meant by “this way.” With his knees slightly bent, the soft curve of her buttocks was in direct contact—but for a few irritating layers of fabric—with a part of him that was pulsingly aware of her charms. He commanded himself to relax, take things slow, but she shifted slightly from one foot to the other, rubbing against him, and his cock grew even harder.

  Without thinking he pressed his hips forward, indulging in the feel of her backside against his arousal. She turned quickly to face him, eyes wide in an expression of surprise, and he chuckled.

  “What I make you feel, sweetest, is no more or less than what you do to me,” he replied to her breathless question of moments before. He took one of her small hands and guided it to the front of his chausses.

  Celia looked at him for a moment. “What do I do?”

  He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. How could such a temptress be so naïve? “Whatever you want.”

  She slowly drew an experimental finger up and down the length of him, and he steeled himself against the sudden assault of pleasure. She was touching him. Finally.

  All right, he thought to himself as she did it again, this I can withstand. He allowed himself to relax, slightly. As much as he wanted to toss her onto his bed and feast on that luxurious body, it was paramount that she be comfortable too. Her gentle stroking was a sweet form of torture, but it would not push him over the edge. He closed his eyes for a moment.

  It was one moment too many. A groan tore from his throat as Celia, evidently grown bolder, wrapped her fingers around him tightly. He nearly leapt from his skin at the rushing sensation of those small fingers enclosing, caressing, possessing his swollen manhood. He hadn’t even removed his clothing yet, but her inquisitive, intimate caress nearly caused him to spend himself then and there.

  She quickly removed her hand. “I’m sorry. Too much?”

  “I like it too much,” he grunted before swooping down to take her mouth in a deep kiss that erased the confusion from her eyes. Her mouth was sweet, so sweet, and the speed with which she parted her lips to welcome the invasion of his tongue was an invitation to sin. He stroked the roof of her mouth deeply, promising what words could not convey. He felt her knees weaken and scooped her up, carrying her quickly to the bed.

  Celia let him take her, relieved that he would not prolong his teasing torture any further. The tension within her had reached a pitch of screaming intensity, and she prayed that what came next would relieve it. It had to. Surely a person could not feel like this for long without exploding.

  He set her back on the fur coverings then stood back for a moment, simply gazing at her. The velvet robe gaped slightly at her chest and he undid the tie at her waist, pushing the heavy folds aside.

  “Perfect,” he murmured when she was exposed to his view.

  He bent over her, trailing hot kisses along her neck, then her breast, taking a nipple in his mouth to suckle. The sensation sent hot waves of pleasure streaking through her. She plunged her fingers into his hair, holding him to her, desperate for more. He laved the nipple with his tongue while his hand gently cupped and stroked the other breast.

  Celia was desperate to bring him the same sort of pleasure he was bringing to her, but could not reach to do so. She stretched a hand toward him, but he shifted away.

  “Not yet, darling,” he murmured thickly against her breast, continuing his ministrations.

  She’d never imagined her breasts could be so sensitive, that the touch of a man could bring so much pleasure...and when he flicked her nipple with his tongue she nearly leapt from the bed at the shock wave ripping though her.

  He switched his attentions to the other breast and Celia clung to him, digging her nails into his back, twisting beneath him as she moaned out her longing for more.

  She was thoroughly wet now, the place at the apex of her thighs thrumming in anticipation of Nicolas’s touch, though she couldn’t possibly ask for that. She ran her hands up and down the length of his back, glorying in the strength of him, the all-male scent that was uniquely his. She shifted slightly to touch the part of him that strained at his chausses and he groaned. Finally he released her other nipple with the same flick of the tongue, then stood to throw off his own clothing.

  She watched as the linen shirt went over his head and was dropped hastily on the floor. His skin glowed gold in the light of the fire, his shoulders broad and chest sprinkled with light hairs. The muscles he exercised for combat were thoroughly evident, but she was distracted from admiring them as he began to remove his chausses. He undid the ties quickly. The moment they were loose, his manhood sprang free, hard and erect as he divested himself of the rest of his clothing.

  Celia gasped at the sight of his proud member straining toward her as he came quickly to the bed. She’d felt him through fabric, of course, but seeing was a whole different thing.

  He gathered her to him, shoving her arms from the sleeves of the robe so they were both fully unclothed. She reveled in the contact of skin on skin, the warmth and strength of him pressed against her. His arousal pressed low against her belly and she shifted her hips against it, wanting more, needing more.

  Her movement drew a low chuckle from him. “Yes, sweeting. In a moment.” His hand slipped between them, caressing her nipple quickly, stroking down her stomach, then sinking into the soft curls between her thighs. She stiffened briefly in surprise, then moaned softly at the pleasurable assault on her senses. She relaxed to his touch, opening her thighs slightly as he stroked his finger between the soft folds of her sex.

  “So wet,” he murmured. “So ready.”

  “Yes, please. Please, Nicolas.” She needed more...she needed him.

  He looked up in surprise and she felt a deep sense of loss at the interrupted touch. “You said my name,” he said in wonder. “Say it again.”

  “Nicolas.”

  He smiled and touched her again, this time slipping a finger deep inside her so that her back arched and she crie
d out. “Please!” she begged.

  He rolled quickly on top of her, bracing himself on his elbows, looking down at her as he positioned himself to invade her fully. His face reflected the same smoldering passion that had her squirming, and she felt absurdly pleased that she could do that to him.

  Nicolas was ready. He’d been ready since he’d seen her naked in his bath. Yet suddenly he tensed, frozen above her, the tip of him poised at the moist entrance to her sex. She was so passionate, so free. Could she really be an innocent? He wanted her one way or the other, but if she was a virgin, then he should proceed with caution. If she wasn’t...he wouldn’t think of it. She belonged with him now.

  “Is this going to hurt?” he asked tersely. She’d been making fretful, yearning movements beneath him, but at his words she stopped and stared at him, wild confusion in her eyes.

  “I—don’t know.”

  He felt his muscles relax and realized just how anxious he’d been. She was his, truly his, and the freedom and passion with which she gave herself was something precious. She wasn’t calculating, or obligatory, like so many women he’d met. She gave herself fully in everything she did. He loved her lack of restraint, and loved it all the more for knowing it was shared only with him.

  He braced himself on his forearms, kissing her as he eased forward slowly. Her tight, wet passage sheathed him as his member throbbed and his body screamed for more. Slowly, he reminded himself, chanting it internally like a mantra. Blood pounded in his ears as he looked down at their joining. Her eyes were closed and her mouth slightly open, her luxurious hair splayed around her in every direction. His body begged him to bury himself in her, to thrust deeply until they were both satiated, but he could not do that yet.

  Celia clutched the bed linens in her fists as pleasure and need warred within her. His question about pain had confused her, but her uncertain answer seemed to satisfy him, for he kissed her tenderly as he probed the entrance to her sex. And then, oh, finally, he was inside her. It was amazing. It was wonderful. But it wasn’t enough. She squirmed beneath him, wanting, searching for a way to have him fill her more completely. He inched forward the slightest bit. She moaned in desire, then in protest when he stopped. “More.”

 

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