Scoundrel's Kiss

by Carrie Lofty

  Every touch, every taste merged with wild thoughts he strove to repress. She was a fantasy made real, a devilish goddess sent to drive him mad. And mad he was, kissing her and cupping the weight of her breasts. He kneaded that tender flesh and found her hardened nipple through the taut cloth of her kirtle. With thumb and forefinger he tugged and pinched, damning the clothes that separated them. She moaned again and pushed into his hand, another invitation that savaged his weak grasp for control.

  He pushed her back, back into the rough grass at the river's edge. With his lips he found the crook of her neck and kissed, suckled. She grasped the base of his skull as she arched, tantalizing him with softness and strength. Pent up need burned in his lungs like inhaling fire and smoke. No number of breaths assuaged the ardor. Only Ada, more of her kisses and more of her willing, wanton body.

  Unruly fingers made a jest of his attempt to untie the strings at her throat. A knot confounded him.

  She pushed against his chest and looked at him directly, teasing him even now. Blue eyes had darkened, her pupils wide. "Slow down, for I cannot help you." She glanced to the hand he had bandaged. "Inconsiderate of me, I know."

  "Where's Blanca?"

  "Asleep beyond those trees, over by the horses."

  He nodded once and reclaimed her mouth, but a surprising gentleness overtook him. The desire to linger over the slick texture of her lips, the roughness of her tongue, and the sharp nip of her teeth infused him with delicious languor. They moved together, hands and mouths working toward a common purpose so unlike their combative history. Gavriel threaded his hand into her dark tangles until he cupped the back of her neck. She shivered. He groaned and kissed her, nothing remaining but his mouth over hers, her body under his.

  With more haste than patience, he returned to the kirtle's ties. With more hope than success, he tried to ignore the brown traces of dried blood remaining beneath his fingernails. The dismal reminder of his violence should have stilled his hands and left him ashamed. But what did it matter? What vow of chastity should confine him now that he had ruined his every other promise? He had wanted Ada, and she was his for the taking.

  The laces finally parted. He released a shuddering breath, one she matched. Mere moments passed as she shed her kirtle. Rigid and breathless, Gavriel stared at her, absorbing a sight he never thought he would experience, let alone twice. But memories of the bathhouse, that dank and dark place, could not compare. She knelt beside a spring river bathed in early morning sunlight, pale skin made golden perfection. His hands needed the inward curve of her waist and the gentle flare of her hips. His mouth needed the pert pink tips of her breasts.

  And her face... she looked at him with an open and humbling hunger. Once he had thought to replace the blissful expression she wore during her opium high with one of desire for him. But the opium had created for her a cloudy place of contentment. Her desire proved more devastating and greedy, her eyes clear and direct.

  "You're magnificent," he whispered.

  She blushed, the first hint of any embarrassment. But it was gone with a blink. Only hunger remained. "Your turn."

  If he had taken her breath away—clean, but folly clothed— he threatened her life when he shed his tunic and breeches. Firm muscles flexed beneath burnished skin. Dark hair swirled intriguing patterns across his chest and tapered to the thatch surrounding his large, swollen shaft. A lighter dusting of dark hair colored his forearms, thighs, and calves.

  Yes, this is what she wanted. Needed. She knew how he tasted and she knew the hard resilience of his muscles, but the thought of touching that skin, so different from her own, made her edgy and eager. Pain had not made her regret the damage done to her knuckles; knowing she would only be able to touch him with one hand did.

  She had not expected him to linger. She had imagined their coupling a quick and furtive thing—Ada pushing and tempting, Gavriel of two minds until the needs of his body dominated his conscience. But standing nude and shameless, he showed no sign of hesitation. Any doubts he harbored had been laid aside with his clothing, even if his expression was clouded by some grim purpose, not joy or affection or even lust

  "Will you change your mind?" she asked.

  "I've no mind left to change."

  He walked slowly toward her, and she could only stare, mesmerized The only other man she had seen naked and aroused was Hugo, the duplicitous thief she had taken as a lover to spite her sister, and even that had been fleeting. Ada's affair with Hugo had been a secretive one, conducted behind Meg's back. He had never... displayed himself with such brazen delight. And he never had so much to display.

  "You do this on purpose," she said, echoing his choked words from before dawn. "To taunt me, I suppose."

  "No, to see what you'll do next."

  He stood before her, his thick member level with her mouth. A dare. She liked it, for daring required a little imagination and maybe even a touch of humor. She licked parched lips and heard him groan softly. She shifted slightly where she knelt, the hot wetness between her thighs allowing skin to slide over skin with no resistance. Deep muscles clenched without thought, wanting him. Needing him to fill her.

  But first that dare. She had never imagined such an erotic and unfamiliar act. Sex with Hugo had been terse, unsatisfying, leaving her nauseous and regretful. Now her stomach tensed in anticipation. Gavriel waited, his eyes filled with a need akin to begging, and her imagination lit with pictures of everything she wanted, everything she wanted to do.

  Kissing him there, taking him into her mouth—the ideas would not be ignored, thrilling her with heady power. After too long being the weak one, that power was as tempting as the pleasure of touch.

  With deliberate slowness, she lifted one of Gavriel’s hands, then the other, and placed them on the back of her head. As soon as his palms met her hair, he squeezed to gather thick handfuls. He pulled, bringing her face even closer and forcing her to break eye contact. She could count the quickness of his pulse along the turgid veins of his phallus.

  He tasted mildly of salt, her tongue touching his most sensitive skin. He hissed and clenched his hands tighter. Tension radiated from his arms, a fine trembling. Primal and arousing, cleaner than sweat, the spicy masculine scent of him filled her nose. Teasing him with tiny licks became a rushing thrill unlike like any drug. More potent. Less predictable. It had life—tensing and anticipating, in awe of his control and wondering at her own.

  She allowed the head to glide between her lips, taking him gently into her mouth. Her eyes rolled shut and she focused on nothing but the foreign texture of him. Smooth, silky smooth, but hard and ridged. She traced circles with her tongue. He groaned and began pumping a slow rhythm with his hips.

  Tentatively, accepting that languid rhythm, she slid her good hand up his leg. Yes, that scratchy hair. Yes, those long ropes of muscles. Touching him was just as strange and arousing as she had imagined. She cupped his buttock as he tensed, relaxed, tensed again. Her tentative touching gave way to rougher caresses, digging fingernails into that taut flesh.

  Gavriel released her hair and framed her face with his broad hands. He would be able to feel his own hardness distending her cheeks. Wetness rushed between her legs at the thought, that sensuous ache blossoming into hot desire. She moaned. He responded by pulling free of her mouth and kneeling, chest-to-chest before her.

  The sudden change dizzied her. His eyes held no clues as to the sudden end of their game. "Something the matter?"

  He shook his head, unflinching. "You don't want me to finish alone, I assume."

  "Finish alone?"

  'To have my release now, instead of between your legs."

  She rubbed two fingers along her lips. They felt slightly numb. "Oh."

  He bent at the waist and kissed her shoulder. Chaste. Soft. With such tenderness. "I'd not be so selfish," he said, his voice dancing shivers across her skin. "Not without your permission."

  "I want..."

  He kissed her right shoulder. Instead of pulli
ng away, he nuzzled closer and found her neck. Sensation budded her skin, goose bumps everywhere. He smelled of water and sunshine. His hair tickled her cheek. Dipping lower, he took one nipple into his mouth: She gasped and arched. One of his arms supported her lower back as he leaned over her, arching her deeper. He licked that sensitive peak, just patient strokes of his tongue, unhurried and maddening.

  Ada wiggled inside her own skin. Just when had he assumed control of this seduction?

  "You want what?" he asked.

  "I—oh."

  He caught her nipple between his teeth and sucked. Her eyes closed again, lost in his caress. She found herself lying on her back, once again stretched against the warm earth, but this time her back was bare. The grass tickled and scratched, layering sensation across her heated skin. Gavriel followed her down and took the other nipple in his mouth, repeating that thorough, precious torture.

  Kissing again, their mouths dancing in a sweet rhythm, he slowed and stilled. The low sun haloed his head and lightened the sharp ends of his hair, his face deeply shadowed.

  "Gavriel? What is it?"

  "Some moments are only for now, although we pay for them forever."

  She fought the sudden assault of tears. So very tired. Her body craved, but her mind was beyond the capacity to manage that craving. She understood what it meant to want, only for the moment. Consequences be damned. She grieved at finding herself in that terrible, inevitable place once again.

  "Then make these moments dear," she said. "That is what I want."

  He reclaimed her mouth with a groan, the languorous mood between them turning frantic. Hard hands gripped her hips, kneading and pulling. Every sensation banked by their solemnity flared to life, hotter and more desperate. He raised her arms over her head and held her wrists in one hand. The imprisoning position should have frightened her, unable to move beneath his solid weight and unyielding hold, but she thrilled in his raw power. Her body wanted his. And held in the grip of those shocking desires, she found only pleasure in submitting.

  His free hand found the nub at the apex of her thighs. She parted her legs without thought, only sensation guiding her. A cry built in the back of her throat as he circled his thumb gently, then rougher and quicker. She raised her hips as much as his weight would permit, rubbing against the hard, hot length of his shaft. But no matter how his thumb rocked her ever closer to release, she refused to let go, not without their bodies joined.

  "Are you a virgin, Ada?" The husky tone of his voice pulled her eyes open. The unaffected statue was gone; in its place was a man losing control. "Tell me."

  In the eye of her own storm, she calmed. "You would be gentle with me, wouldn't you?" "Yes," he ground out. She sighed and reached between their bodies, grasping his heavy length. "No need."

  Groaning, he filled her with one firm stroke. She cried out. He released her wrists and clamped a hand over her mouth, burying his own mourn in the crook of her neck. His powerful hips propelled their paired rhythm, fast and candid. Every thrust stretched her body and threw her higher into the sky.

  She wrapped her feet around his lower back and locked one ankle over the other, absorbing his sweet violence. The sheer rightness of his body over hers, in hers, left her dazed and trembling, her climax crashing down like a warm, pelting rain. From beneath Gavriel's muffling hand, she cried out again.

  Rapid breaths fanned over her neck, his hips jerking until he too was overcome by that pleasure. His body stiffened. And buried in her one last time, he did not groan or shout— merely whispered her name.

  Chapter 17

  Ada rested with her head against his chest, hair draped around her shoulders like a blanket Gavriel concentrated on the steady cadence of her breathing, lest his mind, body, and soul begin another torturous contest Lust had dissipated, a cloud blown into strands across the high, blue sky. In its place was exactly what he sought A place of peace, no matter how brief.

  He would have lain by the banks of the Tagus and held her for eternity, nude beneath the tentative shade of spring leaves. Yet the time spent in each other's arms felt more like a blink. Brief, yes, but not without consequence. Not in the least.

  Upon arriving in Ucles, he would find either forgiveness or banishment. He would either become a clergyman or return to the life that set him on course to collide with his father. Violently. Ada had no place in either future, no matter their attraction.

  He felt the need to protect her even still, especially from herself, and knowing they would be separated upon Jacob's return sat like a morn between his ribs. His own future was a shambles, but he would not let her slink back into a life of misery and mindlessness.

  When she raised her head, Ada wore no more contentment on her face than he felt. She scrutinized him even as she idly stroked his chest hair, down to the skin, petting. Silently she asked the same question that battered inside his mind: What now?

  "You and Jacob were lovers," he said quietly.

  "Never."

  When he had stood before her, naked and aroused, offering his shaft, she had not shown surprise or fear. And he remembered where they first met, there in the brothel. She had been desperate then, desperate and in debt What other means of procuring her precious drug had she employed?

  The very idea of Ada's mouth on another man burned him from the inside out. He could not breathe, so surprised at the violence of his reaction. His throat ached as if he had swallowed bright red coals.

  He pushed her away and sat up, untangling their limbs. "Then you were a prostitute," he said as plainly as pounding blood would permit.

  "I never was."

  "Then what—?"

  Ada gasped. He looked to the side, expecting any manner of villains to intrude on their private idyll or Blanca, at the very least. Although the girl helped arrange clandestine affairs for her aunt, Gavriel did not intend to share this particular affair with anyone.

  But no one approached. Ada had followed him to a sitting position. Eyes rounded, she stared at his back.

  Not this. Not now. I am not strong enough.

  "Who did that to you?" she asked, her voice ragged.

  He had kept her hands above her head purposefully, to save her injured knuckles from further damage and to keep her from touching his back. But she reached for him now, fluttering the softest touch over ridges of scarred flesh. Although he knew her fingertips were cool—knew it in his mind—he only felt the burning slice of a whip. But he did not flinch or pull away. He had learned to hide his weakness, knowing the punishment was worse for those who showed cowardice.

  So he sat naked and perfectly still, his back straight, as Ada scuttled closer. "Gavriel?"

  "Leave it, Ada."

  "Absurd, foolish man."

  She stood and found her red gown, shaking out the kirtle that still smelled of smoke. Smoke and Ada. He kept his eyes pinned on the rushing water, deep shame conquering the desire to catch one last glimpse of her naked body. He grabbed his tunic and breeches and struggled into them, his hands numb and clumsy, hands that had only just held her.

  "Jacob was not my lover and I was never a harlot," she said, fully dressed, her face surprisingly composed. "The man before you was my sister's intended. I was a wretched, selfish creature—still am, truth be told. I'd believed no fate could be worse than caring for my blind sister for the rest of our lives, alone together in the woods, and I used Hugo as a means of hurting her."

  From the first, he had been able to feel when she lied, a bone-deep knowledge he found so unnerving. His hard stare failed to find a lie in her posture or expression. He heard no deceit.

  But, truth at hand—which was worse? That she could sell herself, or that she could be deliberately cruel to her own kin. At least he understood the latter.

  "Is that why you left England?"

  "No," she said, face turning pink. She had hardly blushed during the course of their sultry morning, but now she did. "The swordsman who detained me for the sheriff, his name was Will Scarlet. He was also the m
an who mounted an army to come to my rescue. He and Meg had formed an attachment and were married. Because Jacob had always longed for adventure, we departed for London, then Toledo." She knelt with him, their faces level, hers a picture of abject grief. "I could not forgive her for what I thought of as her betrayal."

  Fear gripped him around the middle. "And this man, Scarlet—he could not be redeemed to you?"

  "She abandoned me. For him. No matter what I'd done, and no matter what he did to atone, he was the man who had locked me in a dungeon where the Devil played." Wiping at her eyes, she shook her head. "Do you know what it is to need someone to blame?"

  Images of Sancho's lifeless body ruined their riverside retreat. The sword that severed his brother's head had been Gavriel's, but the blame for their confrontation was Joaquin de Silva's to bear. His alone. At least, that was what Gavriel had long worked to convince himself.

  "Yes," he said. 'That I understand."

  "That's what I needed. I blamed Will Scarlet for taking my sister from me, when I'd already done my level best" In her eyes he read nothing but concern, more unnerving, even, than if he had seen scorn. She touched his face. "Who hurt you?"

  "I will not, Ada."

  Her hand stiffened against his cheek. "I've answered your every question."

  "You offered"

  She sunk her fingers into the cropped hair at the back of his skull, tugging their faces together. Close enough to kiss. Close enough to tempt a saint

  "Your back looks streaked with cart paths." Her hushed voice trembled. "What unearthly animal would do such a thing to you? Who?"

  "I did."

  "You?" Concern dissolved into disbelief, then something darker. He saw revulsion. "You scarred yourself? I don't believe it."

  Her hand dropped to her side, and Gavriel steeled himself against that loss. Standing, his legs stiff and aching, he clenched his fingers. Blisters rubbed together and split skin throbbed.

  That pain—yes, he needed that pain.

  "Now that you are recovered, we'll be traveling to Ucles," he said. Ada still knelt in the grasses and sandy loam, her face to the horizon. They regarded each other as strangers again, and Gavriel pushed back a strange welling of grief. "Considering what happened in Yepes, you would do best to wait at the monastery until Jacob returns for you. Do you intend to accompany me willingly?"