by Julia Keaton
“It’s too much,” she whimpered, pressing against his hand with unconscious volition.
“Are you so certain?” He breathed hotly against her ear and flicked his thumb over her clitoris, moving in a tight circle.
Gasping for air, Winter arched her back, pressing into his palm as a wave of torturous pleasure enveloped her. Logan nipped the hollow behind her ear and sucked against the tender skin until he’d left his dark mark of possession.
She scarcely noticed the sucking of his mouth, could only feel his hand moving in her sex, rubbing her as he had done before. Tension built within her, tightening her core.
He kissed her, sliding his tongue past her lips as he pumped his fingers into her. She moaned against his mouth and sucked him greedily, kissing him with mindless abandon.
He broke away, trailing hot kisses over her jaw before dropping to his knees. Pushing her chair back, he settled himself between her thighs. She clutched his shoulders, pulling him toward her, needing more. Not fully understanding what was happening, instinct guided her movements.
Would he pleasure her with his mouth as she had him? Was it something that women enjoyed? She couldn’t know, but she ached to understand.
He continued thrusting his fingers into her even as he kissed her inner thigh and lightly sucked at her flesh, breathing the light, musky scent of her desire.
She whimpered when he removed his finger from her depths and gripped her thighs, spreading her legs far apart to accommodate his breadth. Kneading her, he bent and ran his tongue up her cleft, tasting her as no man ever had ... or ever would.
Winter jumped in shock, but Logan held her in place as he parted her folds with his tongue. He slid his hands around to cup her buttocks, tilting her up towards his mouth as she slid down in her chair and moved her thighs to hook around the arms of her chair. She wanted his hand back on her ... inside her ... but then he latched on to her clit, and she jerked as if scorched, biting her lip to keep from screaming with pleasure.
He suckled her, rubbing his tongue in rough circles around the swollen nub. He knead one rounded cheek as he brought his other hand around, plunging his fingers deep inside her again ... hands slipping in her juices as he lapped up every precious drop of her desire.
“You do too much,” she said on a gasp, jerking as he suckled her flesh with a voracious hunger that made thought elope with willpower from her mind.
“I love how wet your sweet cunt gets for me, Winter,” he said, his breath hot against her sex as he fingered her tight core.
Hearing the dirty word only seemed to increase her desire. A hard spasm of pleasure wracked her insides, making her womb contract violently.
“Do you like feeling my tongue on your clit?”
She nodded, weakness invading her limbs. “Yes,” she said, whimpering.
“Would you like to feel my tongue inside your tight little hole?”
Winter bit her lip, nodding.
“That’s not good enough. I want you to say it. Beg me to fuck you with my mouth,” Logan said, his dark eyes following her every movement.
“Say it,” he commanded. “Or I leave you here unfulfilled.”
Winter closed her eyes against his knowing look, feeling weak and foolish, but addicted to pleasure. She had to know what she was reaching for. Needed to know.
“I want you to put your tongue inside me,” she whispered. A delicious shiver slithered up her backbone with the naughty words escaping her mouth.
“Mmmm. I like hearing that pretty mouth talk dirty,” he murmured. And then spoke no more.
He lapped her slit, replacing his fingers with his tongue. The rough slide of his tongue into her tight passage made her buttocks rise off the cushion of her seat. If she thought she’d liked him drinking her juices before, she especially did now.
His tongue forged a path inside her, slipping through her resistance, teasing the edges of her hole in a way she hadn’t thought possible.
Logan rubbed her clit with his thumb, roughing the swollen nub as he mimicked the sex act with his mouth.
He thrust into her, harder, faster ... faster. Small whimpers tore from her throat. She tried to remember where she was, to contain the passion trying to tear out of her with every move. Winter bucked against his mouth, running her hands frantically through his hair, pulling him closer and closer.
She was building to something. Tension filled every pore, stretched her to the limits of understanding. She felt her toes curl in her shoes. Her body quaked with feeling, hummed with fiery demand. Her legs flexed under his sure touch.
He moved to suck her clitoris, pushing two thick fingers inside her. It burned. It stretched. They felt so right and good that she relished the pain….and wanted more of it.
His mouth drew a sigh out of her with each rough stroke of his tongue, until it scorched her mind away and there was only the feel of his fingers ramming into her again and again.
He pushed her higher and harder, until she was aware only of the desperate, agonized whimper that seemed too loud to her own ears. She bit the edge of her palm, trying to hold back the sound, to keep them from being discovered by one and all. She prayed the play would keep the audience distracted from the activities of their box.
Her body tightened as ripples of bliss began from her clit and exploded through her body with such power and force that she straightened in the chair against Logan’s mouth. She wrapped her thighs around his head, stiffening as her senses burst in a wave radiating out from her core, vibrating through her every nerve, debilitating every fiber of her being.
The first orgasm of her life ripped through her, cresting a wave of ecstasy so exquisite, forceful convulsions made her see stars behind her eyelids. She thought she was going to die from the sensations erupting inside her.
Winter collapsed back with a long moan, utterly spent, her swollen lips quivering with the tremors of her orgasm.
She felt movement as Logan straightened and propped on her parted thighs. Winter opened her eyes and looked down at him in wonder, too weak to move.
He smiled roguishly and said, “I promised you would like it. I have more to show you. Tonight, when you are readying for bed, leave a window open for me.”
Winter nodded shakily, trembling inside and out at the sensual promise in his voice.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Logan watched Winter as she dozed in the carriage, the silky curve of her cheek illuminated by a sliver of moonlight leaking through the curtains. With painful clarity, he remembered another time when she’d been the one to watch over him, protect him.
He would give anything to see that kindness in her once more, that empathy for a complete stranger. In all his years, he’d never encountered another person willing to help someone in pain and need. He ached to see her as she had been then, as kind as she was beautiful, to know that life had not damaged her irrevocably, replacing a warm heart with one of ice.
* * * *
1815
Six years earlier
“My god!” The girl’s startled gasp roused Logan from unconsciousness. He shifted on the cobblestones and groaned. Every bone in his body felt bruised near to breaking. He knew he couldn’t be dead. Dead people didn’t feel this much pain.
He had no idea how long he’d been lying there, listening to people ride past on the street not ten feet from him before he’d fallen into darkness. No one had bothered stopping to help. He knew they’d seen him—they’d just chosen to ignore him, considering him no more important than another insect living on the street.
“You’re alive,” the girl said breathlessly, kneeling down beside him on the dirty street, uncaring of the filth strewing the cobblestones. A gentle hand touched his shoulder. The faint smell of honeysuckle teased his battered senses. He tried to open his eyes but they were sealed shut with what he assumed was his blood. He rolled painfully onto his back, felt the warmth of the sun on his face instead of the dark chill of the grave.
“Who did this to you?” she asked qu
ietly.
“I’m ... stranger ... here,” he managed to gasp out beyond the pain ripping through his throat. The O’Reilley brothers had done this to him. They’d left him for dead. Five or six of them at least had ganged on him in the alley, surrounding him, beating him with wooden clubs until he could no longer stand and fight them off. He’d encroached on their territory for too long—no one wanted English scum in America, especially since they were at war. He would kill them if he recovered.
He felt her shake, knew she had nodded in understanding, sympathy tendering her movements even more.
He felt the touch of silky fabric glide gently across him, over his eyes and mouth, patiently wiping the blood away from his swollen face. He managed to open his eyes as she worked over him, saw the face of an angel kneeling beside him, pale ringlets limned with golden light from the setting sun. He slowly sat up, felt his head swim under the pressure. He clasped a hand over his eyes, taking a moment to recover.
“Can you stand? We need to get you help.”
He shook his head, felt the world spin before righting itself once more. “No. My home. Not far from here,” he said, his voice a strained whisper, barely audible. He’d been struck in the throat and all but lost his voice. She nodded, helping him to his feet and standing under his arm for support.
With painstaking progress, he led her down the alley behind the well-kept facade facing the street. The river beyond glimmered with the last light of day. She took him deep into the seedier side of town, with no thought for her own safety, and he immediately admired her bravery ... and her kindness.
They reached his small apartment and he collapsed into his bed. She tucked him under the covers and fetched him a cup of water. He drank it greedily before sinking back into the pillows. He shivered, feeling the grip of a fever beginning to take hold.
“I wish you would allow me to call a doctor,” she said, feeling his forehead with her hand. “You’re too ill to be left here alone. I shall stay with you until you are better.”
He shook his head. She needed to be gone before it was full dark. He would kill himself if something happened to her. A lone girl in this neighborhood after dark ... she would be prey too tempting to resist. “I have ... someone who can ... come,” he lied.
She nodded, trusting him. How long had it been since he’d encountered trust? He couldn’t remember the last time.
She rose from his side, moving away. He felt a sudden desperation to know who she was, to have the name of the angel who had saved him. “Your name?” he asked hoarsely, his voice faint, swallowing the pain.
“Winter Stevens,” she had said softly and walked out of his life.
* * * *
The memory had been a balm to him through those dark days when he’d struggled through the fever that burned inside. He’d nursed the image of her sweet face in his mind when he’d been struggling to succeed, when it looked like he would never succeed on his own merits.
The carriage swayed as they rode to her home. She sighed softly. He leaned over her, smelling the honeysuckle in her hair, felt the rush of longing well inside him again. He’d dreamed of holding her so long, he could dream of nothing else. Now he was inches from possessing his angel.
Logan touched her, cupping her cheek, hoping against hope that he had been wrong about her, that she had not become as tainted as he’d believed.
There had to be some hope that the Winter he’d known was still there, buried beneath the harsh exterior life had built around her. For if he could come back from the brink, couldn’t she?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Winter did as Logan bade her. She left her bedroom window unlocked as he’d requested, getting dressed for bed as she nervously waited to see what he was about.
Sitting at her vanity, she was brushing her hair when she heard the scrape of the window being opened.
Her heart immediately leapt into her throat. She dropped the brush on the floor, ignoring the clatter as she stood to face the intruder into her room.
He was wearing a black cloak to obscure his face from her sight.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Winter asked, rising from her chair and backing against the vanity until it hit the back of her thighs.
The stranger advanced on her, grabbing her arms and pulling her roughly against his large, hard body. “Don’t make a sound. I won’t hurt you, but you must do exactly as I say,” he whispered.
Winter froze and pretended to be frightened, accelerating her breathing as if she was terrified. She knew it was Logan, playing some bizarre game with her. Secretly, deep inside, she thrilled at his illicit presence in her bedroom and the naughty feelings he evoked within her.
He’d come prepared to take her captive, she saw, when he withdrew a length of silken black cordage and wrapped it around her wrists.
“Take off your nightrail. Now.”
With shaky hands, she unbuttoned her nightgown and allowed it to fall to the floor, leaving her nude to stand before her intruder.
“You should know better than to undress in front of an open window, my lady,” he murmured, tying her wrists together in front of her. “I’ve been watching you for some time now. I know there is no one here who can help you. Unless you want your mother to come and find you beneath me.”
He walked around her, touching her roughly with his hands, exciting her with his words. The rough feel of his clothing brushing against her sent shivers up and down her skin. She felt herself growing moist in her nether region, enticed by his erotic game.
“No. I don’t want my mother to find you in here,” she whispered.
“Good. We shall play a little game, you and I.”
The world went dark as he slipped a scarf over her eyes and tied it behind her head. She made a little gasp.
“Shhh. I won’t hurt you if you do exactly as I say,” he whispered in his deep, husky voice.
She felt the touch of his hands on her bare skin, and then she was lifted off her feet and carried in his strong arms. He deposited her on the bed.
The rustle of cloth met her ears. She strained to hear his movement and felt the bed dip beneath his weight. Winter remained motionless, waiting to see what he would do.
She was torn between wanting to be saved and being fascinated by what he was doing. She didn’t say a word when she felt his hands grasp her knees and pry them apart.
“I’ve wanted to lick and taste and suck your sweet little quim for hours. I’ve been stroking my cock, just imagining thrusting it inside you.”
His breath felt like a hot whisper on her skin. She whimpered, reveling in the brush of his stubbly jaw as he rubbed his mouth on a course up her sensitive inner thighs. She didn’t say a word, merely laid there, her arms stretched above her head as his fingers stroked up her legs to the crease of her thighs.
“You smell so sweet, my lady. Do you taste as good as you smell I wonder?” he asked, his voice rough and husky.
His fingers pried her lips apart. Cool air rushed the area, warmed immediately by the nearness of his mouth. “I see you are already soaked for me. Mmmm. Do you enjoy me touching you, ice princess? It doesn’t matter. You will,” he said, his voice sensually menacing.
The moment his mouth connected with her sex, a sharp spasm of pleasure radiated through her core. His sucked her clitoris into his mouth, dragging his teeth lightly across her swollen nub until a moan tore from her throat.
“Quiet!” he ordered and then latched back on to her, suckling her little nub like a confection.
Her hips bucked but he held her down, forcing her to hold still for his onslaught. When she behaved, he moved his hands to spread her thighs as wide as they would part, allowing him ample room to lick and suck her clit and slit. He played with her wet lips, moving his fingers through them leisurely, torturously. She bit her lip, trying to be quiet as he pushed not one, but two fingers inside her.