Vermillion (The Hundred Days Series Book 1)

by Baird Wells

  There was a saucy twitch to his mouth which merited punishment. She licked her lips, deciding his fate, and poked a finger into the mattress. “Lie on the bed.”

  “In every way agreeable.” He passed by slowly, eyes fixed to hers and leaning in just enough that Kate half closed her lids, waiting for his lips. Instead, she got a chuckle and an 'oof' as he fell back onto the quilt.

  She circled a finger in the air, vowing not to let him get the best of her again. “No. The other way. Long-wise.”

  He tucked and rolled with athletic grace, coming to rest against the pillows. “Acceptable?

  “Perfectly.” Hopping onto the bed, she gathered what was becoming an annoying froth of petticoats up to her knees. Swinging one leg over Matthew's waist, she straddled him, feeling like a conquering hero. The supple buckskin of his breeches clung at her thighs as she settled on him. His impatient fists grabbed at her skirts, pulling her against him hard enough to free a groan. She gasped at the familiar shape of him pressing up into her, only a layer of fabric separating their bodies. Somehow it felt more illicit than bare flesh. Matthew lifted his hips off the bed a little, creating friction with the soft leather hard between her legs. His fingers bit the curve of her back when she arched against him.

  “You cannot tease a man so without some result,” he murmured.

  She dragged a fingernail from his breastbone to his navel, enjoying the sharp rise of his chest. “A pity for that man, as I'm not done teasing yet.”

  Matthew's brows lifted. “That man can give as good as he gets, you know...”

  Kate ground her hips against his until she tore free a gasp. “I've been reminded a time or two.”

  He traced the end of his ribbon, dangling just below her throat. When she made no move to stop him, Matthew tugged out the bow. She steeled herself for the delicious sensation. Silk slipped warm around her neck, whispering down between her breasts and pooling on Matthew's stomach. She left it there, in reserve until she was ready.

  Splaying fingers, Kate snaked them over his biceps, brushing the bend of his arm and circling his wrists. Matthew's eyes pressed shut. Lifting one arm, then the other, she raised them to the pillow, resting his hands above already disheveled hair. The tip of his tongue drew a damp line up the bottom of her breast the moment it was in reach. There was nothing but that sensation for a moment, and she nearly gave in to his distraction. Shaking off his earlier taunts, Kate pulled her nipple from between his teeth and sat back with a touch more pressure than was necessary. He stiffened, grabbing at the blanket, and his head fell back. Kate purred her satisfaction and picked up the ribbon.

  Matthew cracked one eye. “What are you about?”

  She fitted herself over him, pressing breasts to the skin of his chest. Sawing the ribbon back and forth against the pillow, she worked it behind his hands and looped the ends into a knot.

  It was nothing more than suggestion. He could move his arms, slip free at any time, but she trusted him to be a good sport.

  There was heat in his eyes, gray ashes over what smoldered beneath. “When I was a young colonel in India, I heard tell of a pleasure house in a city down the river. Full of the most beautiful women. They would bind a man with silk scarves and proceed to torment him in every indirect fashion until he was satisfied. But he was not, under any circumstances, permitted to touch his captors.”

  “I approve of their methods.” She looped the ribbon back on itself, snugging up the tail.

  “Mmm. I thought you might.” His head fell back against the pillow.

  “And did you investigate the truth of this rumor?”

  His sigh was tinged by an amusing measure of regret. “No opportunity. Though I confess it has ever intrigued me.”

  Something animal surged inside. A desire to please Matthew and to possess him. “Perhaps we can sate your curiosity.” Her lips began their conquest at his newest scar, a ragged pink line half concealed by his breeches. Tender skin twitched under her mouth. She flicked at the corded, newly-healed flesh with her tongue, then licked the salt from his stomach, tracing Matthew's waistband. His hips bucked, silently begging. Kate felt his arms raise from the pillows and smacked a hand to his breastbone. “Mm-mm.” She finished the warning by pulling her mouth away, letting her breath heat and cool the trail she'd painted.

  “Kate. Oh, God, Kate...” Desperate contrition shredded her name on his lips. She felt him ease into the mattress, muscles trembling with the effort. His hands stayed put. Lucky, too; if he had pressed things just then, Kate knew she would have been too weak to resist.

  She slid up Matthew's torso, trailing wet kisses to his shoulder. His late-day stubble dug at her lip as she grazed his jaw. Kate stroked palms around his taut arms, holding her mouth above his, catching his ragged pants. It had been hours since their last real kiss. Too long. She wanted to make him wait, to draw it out, but had reached the limits of her discipline. Instead, she raked his mouth and darted away, again and again, until Matthew's head came off the pillow to catch her.

  Matthew brought up his knee, pressing it firmly between her legs until she cried out. His hands might have been forbidden, but Kate realized she should have expected him to bend the rules.

  Her tongue traced the back of his teeth. She kneaded the heel of her hand against the inside of his thigh, Matthew's animal groans vibrating in her throat. He matched her, her every move earning a lift of his leg, a roll of his ankle, knee grinding against her throbbing flesh. She brushed fingertips along his temple, through the sweat that had beaded in his hairline from self-denial.

  She broke off their kiss, a little disappointed that her enjoyment of Matthew was obviously nearing its conclusion, and breathless at what was to come.

  Sitting up, Kate scooted down his hips and onto his thighs. She hadn't seen him look so wild-eyed since the first night he'd come to her. She had done that to him. Kate marveled at the power she had over Matthew, running hands over his chest. Some day she would have to test just how far her power went. He arched sharply at her touch. Just not today. Chuckling, she scraped a nail over the unabashedly straining front of his breeches, tearing lose a swear that would have made a midshipman blush.

  Kate popped each button without lifting the fabric, slowly, watching Matthew study her progress in half-lidded anticipation. She felt it too, a heat in her breasts and belly spreading outward like wildfire. It fed something primitive inside, whispering, suggesting all sorts of wanton acts. Bending her head to his waist, Kate obeyed the whisper and dug her teeth into his flesh, just below his hip bone. Working a hand greedily into his breeches, wrestling with the damp clinging buckskin, she caught the length of him, freeing him with a tug that brought Matthew clear off the bed. Grasping him firmly, she nipped and licked down the inside of one thigh. Taut skin went rigid against her palm, coaxed by her breath.

  Matthew's fingers twisted in her hair, pulling her mouth away. The game was over. Not that she minded in the least. His grasp hooked her beneath the arms, dragging her to lie atop him. “The time for those diversions has passed,” he whispered. His tongue plowed her lips apart, leaving no room to mistake his meaning.

  She bent an arm, reaching back and yanking at the suddenly small, impossibly knotted tie of her petticoats. Matthew's fingers interfered with practiced skill. He had the job done properly in seconds, hands cupping her buttocks until she rolled beside him.

  Suddenly fabric was everywhere, and she swore the undergarment must have doubled in length since that morning. It took an eternity to shimmy it down her legs while Matthew wrestled with the quilt, draping it over them. She kicked the bundle of skirts free, then twice more at the foot of the bed with frustration of more than one sort. Beside her, Matthew's back was half turned, both arms shoved under the blanket, no doubt working with the same fervor at his breeches. She slipped a hand into the space between them, feeling for the band of her stocking.

  He threw a desperate glance over his shoulder and grinned. “Don't you dare pull those off, not after what
I just endured. I believe I've earned a reward.”

  Matthew had been a very good sport. Kate let her garters be and wriggled under the quilt. Her want of him coiled tighter in her belly, heat spreading between her legs and down her thighs. She hit the pillows just in time for Matthew to roll over, coming to rest cradled between her knees. His arm hooked beneath her leg. Fingers gripped her thigh, raising her from the sheet and thrusting with a force that jarred her belly. She grabbed at his neck, shuddering. There was a throbbing deep inside as her body adjusted to his rough entry, muscles already grasping, trembling against him.

  He might have been wounded, had she guessed by his ragged cry alone, but she could see absolute satisfaction in the steeled lines of his face when her eyes fell open again. For a moment he sank limp against her in relief, Kate knowing it would have been the same for her, were their positions reversed. There was a completeness when they were together that made it impossible to do anything for a moment.

  She wriggled against his weight, raising to have more of him, and finally he worked up onto unsteady forearms. “I swear to God, Kate, you've taught me more about discipline in twelve weeks than the army has in twelve years.”

  “Discipline is not what either of us wants...” She tried to circle her hips against his, but Matthew relaxed his weight, pinning her beneath. Kate was dimly aware, through her pleasure and desperation, that Matthew had gotten the upper hand at some point.

  “I want to enjoy you, Kate,” he insisted. Raising slightly, he worked a hand between her legs, one finger playing at the swollen flesh there. Panting, she raised from the bed, drawing him deeper inside. He murmured something in her ear, hot and ardent, but the words were foreign, so far away. Her entire existence was sensation. She grabbed for anything: his hair, the bedding, and his name was a cry just moments from her lips when he stopped. Every inch of her body ached with disappointed need.

  “Matthew please. Don't...” Kate had no idea how to link the words to form her desperate plea, beg him to finish what was so nearly done.

  He pressed into her, slow and relentless. “This, is this what you need?”

  “No. No.” Not this. She struggled under Matthew, her body entreating him for something more. Force, hunger, to use and be used – anything but gentleness. His hips moved against her again, just as easy and deliberate. She held him with her knees, gripping his hips with frustrated pressure. He knew exactly what she wanted, and he was making her beg.

  “Finish me.” She ran her tongue across his lips, catching the sweat at his jaw. “Spend yourself inside me.” Kate worked her hands down his back, biting nails into his shoulder blades and dragging with all the effort trembling joints could manage, his skin tearing free in her path. He sucked in a breath at her neck, tightening against her.

  This time when he moved inside it was urgent. His rhythm was unabashedly demanding, and somewhere her mind registered that the bed frame hammering away had probably woken the house. The thought came from outside her body, away from Matthew's groaning, his swearing into the flesh above her breast. Each stroke jarred deep inside, becoming an ache that was both pleasure and pain. As near as he was, completely inside, she needed him closer. She moaned his name, clutching him tighter.

  “You mean for me to take you like this?” His words burned her ear, half formed, tattered by panting. He hooked her leg up higher, until their flesh smacked together with a sting. Kate came off the bed clinging, pleading, twining herself around him. She bit his lip until the taste of copper and salt filled her mouth. Just when the end seemed out of reach, he finished her with two ragged thrusts that acquainted the wall and headboard behind her. Her body convulsed with pleasure and relief, arching until his hips ground painfully against her own, greedy for every drop of sensation. She collapsed to the sheet in weak-kneed satisfaction before the moans were spent on her lips.

  Matthew fell beside her, panting almost in unison, eyes closed and smiling like a saint. “Christ, woman,” he pressed gingerly at his side, his bottom lip, wincing, then shook his hand. “I think you took a finger.”

  Still gasping, Kate laughed as his arms wrapped her, working against jellied muscles and hauling her to his chest. She listened to Matthew's heart slow beneath her ear and traced lazy circles over his tiger.

  They were silent a long time, long enough that Kate, not feeling the need to say anything, was sure that Matthew had fallen asleep. Warm and content against him beneath the quilt, she was in danger of the same fate when he wriggled up the bed a bit, putting space between their bodies. He tugged her ribbon from under one of the pillows, and twining their fingers together, wrapped them with it in two loops. His words came soft against her ear, warm and full of love. “Did you know that the old English tradition of hand-fasting was just as binding as church vows? It carried the couple along until they could have a proper service. Their vows could only be broken by death.”

  Kate looked at the way their hands fit together, amazed once more that they were here, together. He wanted to marry her. The realization dropped her in the middle of uncharted territory, filled with joy and a good measure of trepidation. Then, something else occurred to her. “Weren't they supposed to refrain from intercourse until the church service?”

  “Yes, but they rarely did.” His chuckle was lusty as he pulled her back to him. “Some things never change, Kate.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  He sat up promptly at five the next morning, not needing to see his watch to know the time. He woke at the same time every day, at home or on campaign. It had become ingrained over the course of a decade.

  Beside him, Kate sprawled belly-down on the mattress, dark waves tumbling over shoulders and down arms wrapped around her pillow. The swell of her backside curved up from the edge of the quilt. Matthew drew a line with a single knuckle up her spine, teasing her into an arch. She wriggled, then flipped over, pulling covers to her shoulders with seductive modesty. He grinned, and against his judgment fell onto his back beside her, violating his rule of rolling out of bed if he were awake enough to roll over.

  Kate's face turned toward him, but her eyes were far away as she spoke. “Matthew, you're a man of enough science to know what's bound to happen if we keep on like this.”

  He froze at the implication of her words. It had not crossed his mind as more than an abstract, and for the first time he considered serious feelings on the matter. He swallowed. “I am.” Would it be so terrible? A certain measure of choice would be out of their hands if he got her with child. That could be a blessing in disguise.

  Kate's baby. What if she were already with child? He would not let himself dwell on the idea, already feeling a strange disappointment at the unlikely odds. It was hard to tell if she shared his cautious optimism, or if Kate despised the idea of falling pregnant. It had never occurred to him to broach the topic until now. He chose what seemed the safer road. “I would say we are too far into the breach for such a worry now.”

  She continued to lie there blinking, silent. Her face was impossible to read.

  His chest ached, fearing what she might say next. “Are you ...discouraging me from coming to you again?

  “No!” Kate rolled over, slipping farther on top of him. “No.” Her palm cupped his cheek, rubbing over the stubble.

  “Then tell me what you are thinking,” he pleaded.

  Tell me you do not think we have made a mistake.

  “There are methods, to prevent it...”

  “I am aware. But I have not employed any of them, and neither have you...” He let it hang between them as a question.

  Her eyes widened, framed by worried brows. “No. I have not.”

  There was a confessional murmur to Kate's admission, clearly wondering if she should have. She was watching him for disapproval.

  Matthew felt her unspoken question. He gathered a handful of her hair, pulling fingers between the silky strands and letting the ends tease his chest. “The only reason for such interference would be if we feared the consequen
ces.” Hooking a finger beneath her chin, he pulled her face to his, brushing their lips together. “I am not afraid, Kate.”

  Her head fell against his shoulder with a weight that was more than relief. “I could not do it alone,” she whispered, “Raise our baby.”

  “You could.” He gripped her hard against his chest. “I have faith you could do anything, Katherine Foster. But you have no need to. I have told you, I will always come back to you. We are not two people anymore.”

  He held up her arm, his ribbon still looped at her wrist where their hands had been joined.

  “No,” she kissed him, easy against his swollen bottom lip. “No, I suppose we are not.”

  She ran a finger along his brow, down the bridge of his nose, to his lips. She followed the touch with another kiss, perhaps the most chaste he had shared with anyone. “Do you know how often I forget you are a viscount?”

  He lifted Kate away, turning her onto the bed and shifting over her, enjoying his turn to be on top. “I'm not a viscount. I simply wear the hat.”

  She tipped her head back and smiled up at him. “If we were in London, you and I would never have met.”

  “That is not true.” He frowned at the idea, unable to believe a scenario could exist in which they would not attract one another. “I would cross Bond at noon-day to make your acquaintance.”

  Her lips pursed. “Is that a wide street?”

  “Hmm. It's particularly congested,” he offered.

  “Then I am satisfied.” Kate's smile returned, and her arms slipped around his neck.

  He absorbed every bit of her, lavender and chamomile clinging to his skin, her breasts and hips curving into him. His finger soothed a blushing line on her throat where he must have done damage with his teeth. Telling, that he could not remember it. The heat between her thighs simmered his blood even now, despite the bone-deep exhaustion of campaign and last night's exertions. With eyes and hands, he traced her throat, the hollow at its base and the swell of proud breasts tempered by his chest against them. “It does not bother you to lie here beneath me this way?”