“Mock you?” he responded in surprise.
“Yes, mock me. I can’t help that I’m not as experienced as you…when it comes to…controlling my urges, but it doesn’t mean you need to throw them in my face.”
Syrian turned, intent on running away in her mortification. He stopped her.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“Oh, like it’s not obvious,” she fumed. “You know I’m attracted to you and surely you know the effect your nearness has on women.”
“Are you saying I have an effect on you?” His voice was quiet.
“You very well know you do. But must you mention it at every turn and taunt me with it? At the very least you could act like a gentleman and pretend like nothing happened.”
“Why should I pretend? When we both know something has happened? It’s not like I’m declaring our actions to the world.”
“To… be polite,” she answered.
“Would that please you?” Harrison’s voice dipped and his face hardened. Syrian looked at him, her brow furrowed. “Is that how you would have me behave? Do you want me to be a perfect gentleman, proper, refined, boring? Would that please you, Syrian? For just say the word and I’ll never taunt you again.”
“Yes… no, I don’t know.” Syrian’s hand reached to absently pluck at a nearby leaf. “I’m not asking you to change for I haven’t that right to do so. I just don’t want you having fun at my expense, my lord. I know you have no true feelings for me,” she stopped, glancing at him for confirmation. He said nothing and she hastened, “And I’m pleased with that arrangement. But you don’t have to throw my… sudden wantonness in my face at every turn.”
“What are you speaking of?” He frowned, not following her rush of logic.
“When you said you wanted to… in front of the servants,” she said, her eyes filling with a curious moisture she blinked back. “I know it’s obvious that I wanted… and you obviously only wanted to tease. Oh, you’re insufferable. I don’t really like you at all. I don’t know why I bother.”
A wide grin spread over Harrison’s features dimpling his cheek.
“I wish you’d leave here and never come back,” She said in response to his handsome devil-may-care smile, “at least until I’m married and living elsewhere.”
His smiled faded, leaving his face hard. “You dare to mention marrying another man in front of me?”
Syrian jolted at the anger in his low words. She took a step back. His possessive gaze sent a thrill through her. “Well, I assume I’ll marry someday, my lord. It should be no secret. All women must marry. It’s what is expected.”
“I thought you were beyond living by society’s rules.” His tone didn’t lighten.
“In private, yes,” she answered. “But in public, I must keep up appearances. We have agreed on this. In fact, those were your words not mine, though I do quite agree with them. Are you worried that I’ll forget that you’re my friend? Is that why you’re angry?”
He didn’t move, barely breathed.
“Unless I marry for love,” Syrian said, stepping up to lightly touch his jacket. Oh, but he was handsome. She doubted she would ever have her fill of him. She knew it was sinfully wicked to say her next words, but she couldn’t stop them. “Unless I love my husband, I should say there is no reason why we both can’t continue our private friendship, if that’s what we both wish at the time. More discretion will obviously have to be taken under such circumstances, but it could be a grand adventure. In public, we won’t have to speak at all. In fact, we can ignore each other. Thomas won’t even know of it. No one will suspect us and if aught is ever said. The gossipmongers will be laughed at because the notion will appear far too silly to believe.”
“And what if I love my wife?” he asked.
She wondered at the harshness of his voice, but couldn’t help laughing gaily up at him. “Oh, my lord, we both know you will never love a woman in such a way. It’s one of the reasons I’m drawn to you, I think. Because I know you will never come to care for me above our friendship and so neither of us risks our heart in this venture. We can have the fun without the involvement of emotions.”
Harrison still didn’t move, didn’t try and deny her words. Her heart fell slightly in her chest and an ache formed in the hollow it left in its wake. For some insane reason she couldn’t name, she waited for him to deny her charge. He didn’t and she knew it was for the best. It wasn’t like aught more could come of them than they already shared.
“Besides, the idea of you married is absurd in and of itself,” she rambled. “I do suppose a proper match will be made for you eventually, for the sake of your title and family line. But you? Marry for love? No, if you have your choice of a bride, I can only imagine you will choose her for the prettiness of her face. And still, I doubt that will content you—not a man of your reputation and appetites. If not with me, I do see you having many affairs.”
Still silence from him.
“Let us not speak of this anymore, Lord Wrotham,” She said, asserting a boldness she didn’t feel inside. His blue eyes bore forward with an unnatural seriousness as she spoke. The subject pained her greatly and she didn’t wish to delve into why. “We have no real future together and there is no reason I can foresee in planning one. Besides, the grandness of our venture is that it is as it should be and nothing more. It may end tomorrow or when we are fifty. Let us enjoy it either way and have no regrets when it’s finished.”
Harrison stepped to her and pulled her hard into him. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. He thrust his erection into her hard and rubbed it along her stomach, causing her to gasp. “So, this is all you want from me?”
“Yes,” she lied, staring at his neck. Quietly, she said, “It’s all I’m asking—for however long we both wish it.”
“You wish me to pleasure you?” he asked. His mouth pulled closer to her temple.
“Yes, please, yes,” she sighed. Her lids fluttered shut. She panted in longing. “And I want you to teach me how to pleasure you. I want to touch you. I want you to show me everything you know.”
“Everything?” he chuckled to himself.
He held her, letting her feel him. She was upset because she desired him and thought he mocked her for it. Was she so foolish not to know he’d spent the entire morning mad with lust for her? That even now his body was erect and pulsing from watching the movements of her lips as she spoke? He was amazed how a woman so passionate could also be such an innocent.
It was a bittersweet ache that formed in his chest. She admitted to wanting him, which was something in and of itself. But she also admitted to never seeing herself as having feelings for him. She wanted him as her lover—her plaything. It was a vicious bite into his soul, his heart. He would be everything to her, as she was to him. Did he take what she offered or did he demand more from her? In demanding her heart, he knew he could very well lose all of her. It wasn’t a risk he was willing to take. He was a starved man and he would take whatever she could, would give him. His only hope was that in time, she would retract her words and realize she loved him.
Syrian, unaware of the turmoil in him, nodded eagerly. She licked her lips. Her mouth parted in hopes he would steal one kiss.
“Then my first lesson, Syrian, will be that anticipation makes passion all the more enjoyable.” Harrison swallowed, wanting nothing more than to kiss her lips until she gasped his name. But he needed to think, to strategize. He needed to ask the damned portrait how to win her heart, her soul, her very being.
Harrison growled to himself. He stopped, looking back to the shrubs that hid her from view. He turned to her, only to stop and try to leave her. Looking down his body, he groaned. It was no use. He couldn’t deny himself when she was so willing. Cursing himself as weak, he moved to go back to her. When he came around the corner, she was gone.
Syrian’s jaw dropped and she felt like he’d kicked her in the gut. Her body ached with need for him and she could barely think beyon
d it. Lord Wrotham left her standing alone in the garden. She watched after him, wondering at the cold look he shot her before rounding the corner.
Weakly, she turned, going in the opposite direction. Syrian ran down the earthen path, to the farthest reaches of the garden. She couldn’t face him, not now. Not with a rejection like that looming over her. How could he dismiss her so easily, as if she didn’t affect him? Numb, she ran faster, refusing to cry.
Stopping at a secluded alcove, she stood, staring into the shadowed hollow. She panted from the sprint and a thin sheen of perspiration dotted her skin.
She stepped into the shadows when she felt a hand on her arm. Harrison’s voice drifted over her, saying, “Second lesson, surprises are even sweeter than anticipation.”
A shiver ran over her body at his husky tone. He ran his hands down her arms, warm and caressing. He took a step forward, forcing her into the shadowy alcove.
When they were completely hidden from the garden paths, he said, “Turn to me.”
Syrian readily obeyed. Her wide eyes looked up at him, trusting. Her gaze was a bit moist, but she blinked it away.
“Unfasten my breeches,” he murmured, a light smile curling on the side of his mouth. His blue eyes bore into her and she shivered. He dropped his hands to his sides and didn’t move.
Her fingers trembled as she undid his breeches. When they were loose about his hips, he walked past her and came to sit on a stone bench.
“Come here, Syrian,” Harrison said. “Kneel before me.”
She obeyed, adjusting her skirts as she did so. Her heart beat furiously in her chest. His face gave nothing away, but she could see the pulse racing along his neck. He was excited, as was she. His game thrilled her and she found herself anticipating more orders.
“Take me from my breeches,” he murmured, watching her with his blue eyes. His knees parted to allow her body to fit between them. He leaned back, stretching his arms over the bench’s top. “Take out my arousal. I want you to touch it.”
She worked out the smooth, hard length of him, pulling his breeches open to expose not only his rigid shaft but the two softer globes beneath. Veins pulsed along the sides of it. The size of him thrilled her, made her hot for him. She tried to stand, but he shot forward, holding her where she was.
“But…?” Syrian looked helplessly at his arousal. “I’m ready. I want to…us to…”
“Who is the instructor here?”
“You,” she said, a small smile coming unbidden to her lips.
“And do you still want me to teach you how to pleasure me?”
Syrian nodded.
“Then open your mouth. Wet your lips for me,” he urged, his eyes darkening. His hand left her shoulder and again returned to lie across the back of the bench. Syrian obeyed, watching his face for approval. Harrison groaned. “Now, wet the tip of my arousal. Lick at it with your tongue, taste it.”
Syrian swallowed and leaned forward, her tongue darting out to taste his smooth tip. His stomach tensed when she touched him. His thighs tightened along her sides and she gripped them for support. A low moan came from him.
The light darts of her tongue drove him mad. She glided her hands up his thighs, edging closer with tormenting slowness.
“Harder,” he groaned. “Lick me harder.”
Syrian obliged, pressing her tongue fully to him. She ran it up the pulsing shaft. To her amazement, a bead of moisture came from the tip. Without stopping to think, she ran her tongue over it and tasted his essence. A light hum left her throat.
Harrison jerked. He took her hands, moving one to cup the soft globes beneath his shaft, the other to wrap around the root of his erection. He drew her hand, teaching her to squeeze and move over him. Syrian kept licking him, tasting him, rubbing and stroking him. As her lips parted, he jerked his hips up past her teeth.
“In your mouth,” he grunted. He stoked the top of her hair, playing in the soft tendrils that had come loose. “Suck me.”
Syrian obeyed. How could she not? When his voice strained, commanding, begging, wanting. Her lips parted, sucking along his flesh, loving the power she had over him, loving the low grunts of masculine approval he made in the back of his throat.
“Enough,” he gasped, pulling her off of him. She was reluctant to let go. Before she could speak, he said, his voice hoarse, “Come here.”
Harrison helped to lift her skirts and pulled her forward to straddle his body. The warm spring air drifted around them, scented with flowers and fresh country air. Birds sang quiet songs in the distance.
Syrian chuckled as he fought her petticoats. He dug his hands until he found the flesh of her hips. He brought his fingers to her, testing and teasing her as he discovered her wetness. Finding her body hot and ready, he moaned.
“We should have found a better place to play,” he murmured, burying his face into her chest.
“What’s wrong with here?”
“I would have you again in the comfort of my bed,” he answered. He drew his kisses along her skin. His body was brought to a feverish pitch by the workings of her soft lips. He tried to slow, to calm himself.
“Is there a reason you wait, my lord?” she whimpered. She smiled shyly at him. She stroked his handsome, tanned face. “For I think the anticipation will surely kill me.”
He chuckled. Lifting her, he drew her body to his. His hard male flesh brushed against her and she shivered.
Syrian’s lips trembled violently and she sucked in a deep breath. Her body tensed, waiting for that first jab of pain before the pleasure. Harrison groaned, pulling her down hard against him. Her body stretched, taking him in. There was soreness deep inside, but nothing like the night before.
“What are you doing?”
“Ah,” Syrian frowned, pushing down on him. “You’re not hurting me, I thought that…”
Syrian blushed profusely, unable to continue. Harrison balked in disbelief.
“It only hurts that once,” he answered. “Now come and kiss me. I want to feel your lips.”
Syrian smiled, pressing her lips to his. She kissed him deeply as his hands lifted her up, showing her how to ride him. She gasped, breaking away in awe. Her body took him in, gliding over him in deep, slow strokes. She moaned as the friction built. She gripped his shoulders.
“I want more,” she sighed against him.
“Then take it.” Harrison let her hips go, amazed when she began lifting on him, following his direction but taking it faster and harder. “Ahhh, yes! Oh, Syrian, you feel so good, so hot, so wet.”
Syrian became encouraged by the almost painful, guttural way he said her name. She liked his voice, liked how it washed over her, adding to her pleasure. She discovered her passion for him, trying different rhythms until she found just the right one that sent her hips rocking hard into him. His shaft hit her deep, pushing and rubbing in a way that drove her over the edge. She rocked harder, gasping, panting, near tears. Her mouth opened.
“Ah, Syrian, kiss me now,” he ordered. “Scream into my mouth.”
She whimpered. The sound of her noisy climax was on the edge of her tongue, ready to be released along with her body. His hand shot up, forcing her lips to his just as the tremors hit her in shuddering waves. A loud moan left her lips and he captured it inside him, swallowing it up so she wouldn’t be overheard by the household. She couldn’t imagine anyone else making her feel as she did at this moment.
Harrison smothered his lips to hers, cutting off her breath, as her tight passage clenched fiercely to his flesh. Her body gripped him and sent him over the edge. With a grunt of rapture, he exploded into her, loving her womb with his seed. He gave it all to her, not concerned of the consequences. He wanted her. He needed her. And, so help him, he was going to make her love him. Like it or not, she was his—forever.
Now, all he had to do was convince her of it.
He released her lips. Their heavy breaths mingled hot and ragged, echoing in the alcove. Syrian’s fingers still gripped his face, hold
ing him close. Slowly, she let him go. She dug her fingers into his jacket.
“Is it always like this?” she asked.
“With us it will be,” he promised, placing a light kiss to her lips.
“You know what I mean,” she insisted, still panting and weak.
Harrison did and he didn’t like it. He urged her off of him and began righting his clothes. He refused to answer.
“I mean will it be like this with other men?” she asked.
His smile was cruel, hard. “You think to go to other men so soon?”
“It’s just a question,” she defended. “I’m merely curious. Don’t look at me like that. It was your suggestion I experience all life has to offer.”
“I didn’t mean to experience it as a—”
“I dare you to finish that sentence, my lord.” Syrian glared at him. His frown deepened. “If I’m anything, it’s of your doing. Besides, if I care not for the rules of society, what makes you think your opinion means aught to me? What makes you think you mean aught to me?”
Syrian gasped. She covered her mouth with hands. Instantly, she shook her head in remorse.
“I-I didn’t mean that,” she said. She reached for him, but he jerked back.
“Didn’t you?”
“No, my lo—”
“Damnation, it’s Harrison! Say it, Syrian. I think we are a little beyond the formality of titles.” His eyes were tortured when they turned to her. “It’s not like we’re strangers.”
“It’s not proper to… Someone would suspect us if I called you by your name,” she returned. Her dark eyes stared at him and she tried to back away to the entrance of the alcove.
“It’s not like anyone will hear you. And are you so ashamed to be with me that you must hide that we are friends?”
“My lord,” she began, trying to pacify him with her tone. “Please, don’t—”
“I’ll take care of this right now,” he stated darkly.
Syrian’s mouth fell open as he tried to storm past her. She grabbed his arm, jerking him with all her strength to keep him back. “Wait, what will you do?”
Portrait of His Obsession Page 9