Succumb to Me

by Julia Keaton

  It was a great risk attending a public play with him, but he assured her they would be well concealed at his private box, and she would remain cloaked until safely inside. The presence of a mysterious lady-friend would raise brows and speculation, but she could do nothing else.

  The night of the performance, Winter left on the pretense of going with Sarah and her mother as escort. It was strange how lies built themselves up, one atop the other, until one could scarce breathe from the smothering guilt. She was losing herself, becoming more and more confused at the tangles she’d created.

  Her heart ached at the trust her mother bestowed on her. Almost, she wanted to be caught, just so the deception would be stopped ... but not nearly enough to come forth.

  She comforted herself with the thought that the time promised Logan was nearing the end, and it would soon be over. Her mother need never know of her deceptions. Her mother need never suffer the shame of her only daughter’s disgrace.

  Winter dressed for the night in a crushed velvet gown and wore the offensive necklace he’d gifted her with. The gown had a matching hooded cloak that she would wear to disguise herself until no longer visible to the other theater patrons. The crystalline blue made her appear cold and aloof. She looked very much the ice princess Giovanni had painted—exactly as she wished Logan to see her. She wanted none of his advances this night ... or any night thereafter. He needed to know that she hated him for using her as he did, even though it seemed harmless.

  Winter banished the thought that secretly, she wanted him to touch her ... banished thoughts of that sinful mouth sucking her fingers ... and imagining him sucking other things.

  The images were powerful enough that her nipples hardened in response, the peaks of her breasts tightening against the dress until they looked like buttons beneath her gown.

  With that in mind, she looked about the room for a piece of lace to cover her bosom ... and to take her mind off her disgraceful thoughts. She’d outgrown the gown in the bust somewhat over the years, and her breasts threatened to spill out the top in abundance. She hadn’t thought she’d changed that much ... another embarrassment she could add to a growing list. In a trunk at the foot of her bed, she finally found what she sought. Taking the length of the lace, she tucked it around her shoulders and into the front neckline.

  Satisfied her modesty was safe, she left in the awaiting carriage after bidding her mother good-bye and throwing the cloak over her shoulders and head.

  Arriving at his townhouse after a lengthy ride, she was ushered inside and into the parlor where he awaited. She very pointedly did not look at the window through which she’d crawled, hoping he would not mention that night of horrid mistakes and humiliation.

  “Good evening, Miss Stevens,” he said, his voice deep and husky, making the simple greeting a caress on her senses.

  “Good evening, my lord,” she said, taking in every wicked nuance of him.

  Lounging in a wing-back, he held a brandy glass in one hand as he watched her with an intensity that unnerved her as much as it captivated and held her in thrall. His inky hair was brushed back and tamed with a ribbon, barely diminishing his roguish looks. He was dressed in dark gray breeches that molded to his legs, with a matching silk waistcoat, and a black coat stretched smooth over his wide shoulders.

  A substantial bulge in front of his pants drew her attention, and realizing she stared at his sex, she quickly looked away up at his face, feeling her cheeks pinked with heat. He already knew she found him attractive, she didn’t need to encourage him in his thinking. But every time she thought she would remain aloof, he did something to draw out her emotions.

  He smiled, appreciating her blush, the fact that he’d put it there with no effort on his part. Hungrily, he looked at the lace covering her breasts from his sight. A wash of anger flashed over his face, darkening his eyes, and he stood and strode to her with purpose. Snatching the lace from her shoulders, he balled it up and threw it into the banked fire before she could react.

  Winter gasped and covered her chest with one arm, the other free to hit him. “How dare you?” The loss of the lace stung, but not so much as his actions.

  His eyes glittered dangerously. “Never hide yourself from me, madam.”

  “I should slap your face for your impertinence,” she gritted out, though her anger slowly dissipated at his look.

  His jaw hardened, a muscle working along its base. “Do it. But I warn you, I will retaliate.”

  The words halted the ascent of her arm, which she hadn’t known she held ready to strike. Dear god, she was going to repeat her mistake. Hadn’t she learned better by now to control her mindless urges? He was driving her insane. Never before had she thought herself prone to violence, yet every encounter with him left her wanting to throttle him.

  The heated longing of his look made her realize he wasn’t promising her injury. The awareness almost made her want to test him to find out what he’d do ... almost. His actions were steadily escalating to bolder conduct. Did she truly want to find out what revenge he would choose to take? Realizing she did not, she slowly dropped her arm back to her side, the insane urge subsiding.

  He nodded, satisfied with his victory. “Let us go before we are over late.”

  * * * *

  Arriving after the majority of the audience was seated, Logan showed Winter to his private box just as the ornate chandeliers were dimmed and the play began.

  He helped her remove her cloak and they sat in the back of the box, their faces hidden from the crowd by shadows and a partially drawn curtain. On the stage, the Capulets and Montagues began fighting, immersing those watching in their drama.

  Logan had no interest in the play. He could think of nothing but Winter, of how innocent and alluring she looked with each new discovery. Rubbing a thumb over his jaw line in thought, he studied her as she grew steadily more comfortable in her surroundings, engrossed in the play, completely relaxed—so enchanted with the play that he was certain she’d forgotten she was in his company.

  It was exactly what he’d hoped for when he had arranged to take her to the play, that she would let down her careful guard in the certainty that he was no threat to her in a public place … that she would relax and become more receptive to his overtures and more vulnerable to her own desires.

  Despite the fact that Winter was no longer the innocent young girl he had once known, she had had little experience with a man’s desires and none with her own. She was ripe for the plucking, and yet he had allowed himself little enough time with her to explore her sensuality.

  Moreover, he had allowed his heart to rule his head, holding back for fear that his own desires would push him to press too hard too fast and he would lose the tenuous foothold he’d gained on her trust by doing nothing more threatening than forcing her to become accustomed to his nearness and his touch. If he was to win what he sought, he would have to break the dam of reticence she’d built around herself with a flood of feeling. The challenge was tantalizing … nearly as irresistible as she was.

  His shaft grew hard as he followed the even rise and fall of her firm breasts with each breath she took, her breasts straining the thin fabric of her dress, taunting him. For some moments he was tempted to ignore the protestations she was certain to make if he approached her and bury his face in their deep valley, to bury himself deep inside her without a care who saw him take her ... or what repercussions he would suffer.

  He took a deep, shuddering breath, regaining control of his libido with an effort, realizing, not for the first time, that his ‘torture’ of her was far more tortuous to him than to her. After days of sucking cake from her fingers, looking at her naked form, and feeling her bare flesh against him, he had only to think of the slumberous desire that filled her eyes each time they ‘had tea’ to grow painfully erect.

  Thinking of the pleasure she’d evoked with her mouth only took him to a new level of depravity. He found himself engrossed with the idea of plumbing every hole of her body, maki
ng her know that she was his in every aspect.

  She just did not realize it yet.

  He should have progressed to the next level long before now. He’d never intended to allow her to get off so lightly. He’d meant to press her, seduce her to the point that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. And yet, he had not been able to bring himself to do more, not when he saw she came willingly, saw the desire blossom in her cheeks as she watched him.

  He looked at her. She was leaning forward, her lips parted in excitement as she watched the drama unfold on the stage. He knew then what he wanted … tonight. He wanted to see more of her and taste the forbidden, desired it more strongly than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

  Logan leaned closer, breathing in her delectable scent as she continued to ignore him, risking his ire. It made no difference. She could do nothing to dampen his desire for her. Six long years had built the fantasy, this longing. He was as unable to resist giving in to it as she was to allow it.

  “Lift your skirt. I want to see your legs,” he said low to her ear, the hollow curve behind begging for the stroke of his tongue.

  She looked at him from the corner of her eye, unaware of his absolute seriousness. “I will not. Someone will see.”

  “That was not a request.” He twirled a loose curl of her white gold hair around his fingers.

  She glanced at him speculatively. “If I do, will you grant me a boon?”

  He chuckled. “You have learned something in our time together, I see. I would do anything for your happiness.”

  “Then release me.”

  He sat back, studying her in the dim light for a long moment. “That would not truly make you happy, would it?”

  “It would.”

  “Then you lie to yourself as well as to me.”

  She shifted, uncomfortable with his directness. “Take down that awful painting then, if you will not grant me leave. I wish that none may see it.”

  “Done.” He looked at her, waiting expectantly.

  From her profile, he could see her fine arched brow draw down in anger. After several long minutes of internal debate, she complied, lifting the blue skirts until her petite ankles showed.

  “The bargain was for a view of your legs,” he said dryly. “If you want the painting taken down, then lift your skirts all the way up. I want to see your thighs.”

  She bit her lip, as though in pain, and slowly drew the fabric up until her legs were bared.

  A small sweep of light cut across her lap, revealing her flesh for him to devour with his eyes. His mouth grew dry at the sight of her toned thighs and pale, translucent skin. Delicate silk stockings encased her legs enticingly, held in place by lace garters that begged removal with his teeth. Blood pounded in his groin, and he felt his member swell and push painfully against his tight breeches.

  The desire to touch her was overwhelming ... to see if her virgin skin was as soft as it looked. Giving in to his craving, he placed a hand on her thigh.

  She gasped, trying to push her skirts back down. “You said nothing of touching me.”

  “And I did not say I wouldn’t.” He grabbed her wrists, stopping her.

  “You promised,” she whispered accusingly.

  Logan wanted to say he’d lied but didn’t. “I gave you my word that you would not lose your reputation unless you thwart my desires,” he pointed out. “But I also stipulated that you were to be entirely open to my commands. If you will not hold to your bargain, then I feel obligated to point out that neither will I feel compelled to uphold my terms.”

  He stood abruptly, as if he meant to leave.

  Winter caught his hand. “No. I’m sorry. I … I’m just not used to….”

  He looked down at her a moment. Taking his seat once more, he grasped the hem of her dress and drew it up.

  She flinched, making an aborted attempt to stop him and finally gripped the arms of her chair tightly, her knuckles white. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, as if she could hide behind her lids.

  Satisfied, he splayed his hand over the taut muscles, testing the velvet texture of her flesh. He slipped his fingers teasingly under her garters, enjoying the contrast of lace and skin. She squirmed under his caress, but he held her still with his free hand, even when he wanted to devote his whole being to loving her.

  Slowly, he nudged her skirt up to see the true prize he sought. She yelped and nearly jumped from her seat.

  “Be quiet! Unless you want to be discovered? How would your mother feel when she found out you came here with me?”

  “You bastard,” she gritted out, clenching tight fistfuls of her dress but offering no resistance.

  “Miss Stevens, I am surprised at your language.” He chuckled and continued his pursuit, until her skirts rode up around her hips. She was breathing heavily now, holding perfectly still as she awaited his next move.

  Her descent into his world was inevitable ... a world of feeling ... of pure lust. He would soon have her craving his touch instead of shying away. The possibility made his groin throb with painful pleasure.

  He leaned over her, until her sex was revealed to him. As a perfect lady, she wore no scandalous garments over her nether region.

  A pale triangle of curls captured his hungry gaze, and he knew looking on her wouldn’t be enough this time. He had to touch her ... smell her ... taste her.

  “Spread your legs.”

  She shook her head violently, trembling. “I can’t. Please don’t ask this of me....”

  “You must.” He gripped her thighs and eased them apart. “I want to see you. All of you. Inside you.”

  “Please,” she whispered, nearly whimpering, and he was struck with a pang of guilt. Then he remembered she had no sincerity, no true feelings of her own. They’d been lost to her—she had proven it time and again. Unless he’d been wrong.... And that was something he would never admit.

  “I made a promise ... and I will keep it. You will enjoy this,” he said softly to assure her. Slowly, torturously, he moved his hand between her legs until he cupped her sex. He made a small grunt of pleasure when he found she was already soaked. She wanted this. There was no denying it now.

  * * * *

  Winter wanted to deny the pure lust overriding her sense, but she couldn’t. And she couldn’t control it. Almost against her will, her thighs parted further for him as he cupped her sex and ran a finger teasingly up and down her moist cleft, slipping in the damning juices slickening her thighs and the petals of her sex.

  Her heart beat a tattoo, blood pulsing through her veins and in the nub that nestled in her core, begging for his touch. He’d teased her before with his touch. She wondered now how far he would take this, when at any moment they could be discovered.

  He plunged one long finger past her swollen lips, inside her tight passage. Her flesh stretched around him, the virgin territory unused to penetration.

  Winter moaned without thinking and grabbed his arm in a vice grip. Her hips jerked, moving towards him with a will of their own.

  “Does it feel good, my ice princess?” he whispered close to her ear, taunting her.

  She nodded wordlessly, unable to speak, unable to think of anything but the tightness of his finger moving inside her. He curled the digit, rubbing against a hidden spot that evoked a slew of sensations to swarm her thoughts.

  Her hips rose off her chair. The muscles of her thighs and sex clenched.

  He bent and kissed her neck, pushing his finger slowly in and out, stretching her to the limits. Dragging his teeth up her neck, he sucked her lobe into his mouth, rubbing his tongue over the sensitive flesh as he slowly worked another finger inside her.