Guilty Series

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  “There is something I need to say to you.” She touched her lips to his. Against his mouth, she whispered, “Yes.”

  Chapter 17

  Yes. To Dylan’s ears, the whispered word reverberated through the room like a shout. When she’d told him she wanted to come down here, he had hoped this was what she had meant, but he was not going to assume anything. He let her lips touch his, but he did not move.

  He remembered in vivid detail that night two weeks ago, and this time he wasn’t taking anything for granted. Last time, it had been agony to walk away with his body in anarchy. He wasn’t going to let that happen again. If she wanted him, she had to prove it.

  Grace’s lips were brushing his as lightly as that flower he’d caressed her with earlier. He parted his lips just enough to encourage, but he did not return her kiss. He closed his eyes, balled his hands into fists, and waited.

  She lowered her heels to the floor, her hand pressed against the back of his neck, and she expected him to follow her move. He did not.

  She shifted her weight a bit, doubtful now. “Dylan, is something wrong?”

  “Wrong?” He tilted back his head and laughed a little. “God, no.”

  “Then…” Her voice trailed away, the question hanging in the air.

  “Are you sure you want this?”

  She nodded. She seemed sure. Perhaps she meant it. Desire flickered dangerously in his groin. He lowered his chin and looked at her. “You’re not going to change your mind in the midst of everything?”

  She shook her head and slid her fingers beneath the edges of his dressing gown, fanning her hands across his chest. “I’m not going to change my mind.”

  Triumph flooded through him, and he wanted to shout it, but Dylan merely allowed a smile to play across his lips. “Then go ahead,” he murmured, daring the virtuous woman to be a bad girl. “Take what you want.”

  He watched her bite her lip and slant a thoughtful look at him, tilting her head. Moon glow spread across her cheek and jaw. She smiled, liking the idea.

  Quick as that, with just a smile, she made him thick and excited, rock hard. He wanted to have her right now on the floor and take thorough, debauched pleasure in it.

  Grace pulled the edges of his dressing gown apart and leaned forward to press a kiss to the flat, brown circle of his nipple. He tilted back his head, inhaling sharply, shudders of pleasure rippling through his body. She laved his nipple and the flat, brown circle around it lightly with her tongue, a provocative tease. Dylan groaned, felt his loins tighten. When she slid her hand down to his belly, she almost annihilated his control. Almost.

  Grace kissed his other nipple, caressing him just above the waistband of his trousers. “I want to undress you.”

  This agony was going to kill him. He set his jaw. “Do it, then.”

  She lifted her hands to slide the dressing gown back off his shoulders and down his arms. It fell to the floor, a heavy whoosh of silk in the quiet room. She touched him, exploring his shoulders, his back, his torso. She rippled her fingers down over his abdomen. He endured it all in silent, exquisite agony.

  He felt the flap buttons at the top of his Cossacks come undone. Then Grace knelt in front of him, and the sight of her in this submissive pose, with the tip of his jutting erection beneath her jaw and that knowing, feminine smile on her upturned face was a combination so erotic that he unclenched his fist and spread his hand over her hair, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He let his hand fall away, and he thanked fate he hadn’t been wearing a full suit of clothes when she’d begun. That would have been too much torture for any man.

  Without moving her gaze from his face, she lifted his heel to pull back the trouser stirrup and remove his shoe. First the left one, then the right.

  She had undressed her husband. She must have, with the sureness of her hands. Jealousy hit him like tiny stabs from the point of a knife, an unexpected emotion, one he almost never experienced. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, for she was pulling his trousers down his legs. Dylan stepped out of the Cossacks and kicked them sideways with his foot.

  She stood up, her gaze looking him as if he were a brandy snap. He liked that look. He liked it a great deal.

  Dylan reached for her, pulling her hard against him in a sudden movement that made her give a startled gasp. This time, he did kiss her, a full, open contact against her soft, full lips that tasted her mouth and stole away all her control. He savored that kiss. He let his arms fall to his sides, loving it when she wrapped her own around his naked body, pulling him closer, but he knew this couldn’t go on much longer.

  He broke the contact with her lips and turned his head to kiss her ear the way she liked. “Grace,” he groaned low, his lower lip brushing against her ear, “take off your nightclothes.”

  She gave a shaky laugh and slipped the dressing robe from her shoulders. “Who are you to be giving orders? I thought I was in charge of this.”

  “You take too long.” He reached for the top button of her nightgown. He slid each of the five buttons through their holes, then lowered his hands to her hips, bunched linen folds in his fists and dragged her nightdress upward. “I want you naked, and I want it now.”

  “Patience is a virtue,” she said, even as she raised her arms over her head.

  “Virtue is the last thing on my mind. Remember who you are talking to.”

  “We are supposed to do what I want,” she went on, her voice muffled by the linen he was pulling over her head.

  He tossed the nightgown aside. He took a moment to step back and look at her, at her sweet, pretty breasts, fuller now than before. Her skin was pale and translucent in the moonlight, and the sight of the dark blond curls between her thighs made everything in him tighten and pull with the effort of holding back.

  He pressed his lips to her ear as he cupped her breast in his hand. Yes, it was fuller now, but still exquisitely shaped. His thumb rubbed across the hard, plump swell of her nipple and the puckered, velvety aureole. “Don’t you want this?”

  She made a sound of accord, but it hushed and caught in her throat. He smiled, a loose tendril of her soft hair tickling his cheek.

  Bending his head, he parted his lips over her nipple, pulling it into his mouth. It was his turn to tease this time, and he took full advantage of it, his tongue gently drawing the tip of her breast against his teeth over and over. He cupped her other breast, embracing its shape in the palm of his hand.

  She grasped his shoulders and her hips twitched instinctively against him, the curve of her hip barely brushing his erection, like a flutter of silk. He laughed against her skin and slid his hand down her ribs and over her navel. His fingertips grazed the soft triangle of hair, the tip of his middle finger creasing the seam of her sex. “You don’t want this?”

  She moaned his name, her knees sagged, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her thighs tightened convulsively around his hand.

  “Or this?” He eased the tip of his finger inside her, and she cried out. She was wet, and so soft. He pulled back and she arched toward his hand, wanting more and ready to receive it. He bit his lip, feeling the painful bruise of his teeth as he fought to keep himself in check just a bit longer.

  “This is what you want, isn’t it?” He dipped into her and out again, stroking the folds of her opening, spreading moisture with the mere flex of his hand.

  “Yes,” she gasped, frantic, her face buried against his shoulder, her panting breaths hot on his skin. “Yes, yes. Oh, yes. Ohhh.”

  Her hips jerked, and she climaxed with a long, low moan of feminine ecstacy, her thighs clenching around his hand again and again as she said his name.

  He moved his hand again, caressing her inner thigh. “It’s time, I think.”

  “Yes,” she agreed on a groan. “Is there a bed in here anywhere?”

  “No.” He put his hands on her shoulders and took her with him as he turned around. His back faced the corner, each shoulder supported by a wall, giving him leverage. He cupped h
er buttocks. “Do we need a bed?”

  Before she could answer, he tightened his grip. “Part your legs,” he ordered as he lifted her. “Wrap them around me.”

  She complied, making a smothered, ardent sound as the head of his penis grazed her and he inhaled deeply of pear fragrance and womanly scent. He paused, pressing himself to the soft, wet folds of her opening without entering her. His breathing was ragged. “This, too, Grace?” he rasped. “This, too?”

  Her legs tightened around his torso. “Yes,” she gasped.

  Dylan pushed his cock into her, just a little way. “Are you sure?”

  His voice sounded rough, brutal. He could hear it himself. No time left to be gentle.

  “Do it,” she panted against his neck, giving orders now. “Yes, oh, please, yes. Do it.”

  His hands tightened their grip and he pulled, impaling her on his shaft. Driving out the ghost of the man she had known before. Mine, he claimed her. Mine.

  Arms and legs wrapped around him, she followed his rhythm, crying out at her peak, tightening around him again and again as he held her buttocks in his hands and thrust deep within her, all his own passion finally unleashed in a rough, frantic cadence. With the hoarse cry of full possession, he came in a rush, his body jerking with the unbearable pleasure of his own release.

  He leaned his head back in the corner, and she rested her forehead against his shoulder. He held her suspended, keeping himself inside her, and both of them were still. The whine in his head was a far distant hum, overpowered for now by his savage breathing and hers, and by the sweet warmth of her body enveloped around him.

  After a few moments, he withdrew from her and set her on her feet again. “Do you want a tour of the place?” he asked, and kissed her mouth. He kissed her cheeks, her bare shoulders, her chin, her hair.

  All she wanted right now was for him to hold her, caress her, move in her again. She shook her head and kissed his chin, snuggling up closer.

  “No sense of adventure in you now, hmm?” He was smiling against her hair, she knew it from his voice. Suddenly, he lifted his head and took a look around. “I have an idea,” he said. “Don’t move. I shall be back in a minute or two.”

  He walked away, and Grace turned, leaning back against the wall as she watched him walk across the moonlit room, weaving his way amid the various odds and ends scattered about.

  His body was magnificent, strong and solid. Beautiful in that utterly masculine way. She smiled, feeling as tipsy and delighted as if she’d had a bit too much wine, caught up in a blissful sort of euphoria that made her want to laugh and weep and do it all again.

  She could hear him rummaging about in another room, and she wondered what he was doing. She didn’t have to wonder long. When he returned, he was carrying a long, rolled-up tube on his shoulder, and as he drew closer, she could see in the dim light that it was a carpet.

  “I thought there might still be one or two in here,” he said and shrugged, rolling it off his shoulder and onto the floor. He bent and held the fringed edge with one hand as he pushed the carpet away from him with the other. It unfurled, and when it was fully open, the edge at her feet immediately began to curl up again.

  She stepped onto the thick Axminster to stop it, and the moment she did, she chuckled. He sank to his knees, shaking back his hair and looking up at her with a quizzical glance.

  Staring down at her feet, she said, “I thought it was only men who left their boots on.”

  He gave a shout of laughter, then tilted his head, thinking it over as he studied her. “I like it,” he said, then slanted her a wicked look. “But I think I’d like it better if you came over here and let me take them off.”

  “Would you, now?” She licked her lower lip. She walked to the center of the carpet, sat down, and stretched out her leg toward him.

  He moved closer, and sat back on his knees, taking her foot in his hands. He removed her short boot and tossed it aside, then took off her garter, peeled away her stocking, and settled her foot on the carpet beside his hip. He repeated this procedure with her other foot, spreading her thighs apart. But when he was done, he did not stretch out between them. Instead, he rested his palms on his knees and looked at her. “Your hair, Grace,” he said, his gaze lowered to the muslin ribbon that held her braid together. “Let me see it loose.”

  She was melting beneath that dark, heated gaze. Her fingers fumbled with the end of her braid, where the ribbon lay against her bare breast. She untied the strip of muslin and began to unravel the plait of hair.

  Dylan moved to stretch out and lowered his weight onto his elbows as he watched her fan her hair out loose around her shoulders.

  “That,” he said unsteadily, “is a sight I’ve dreamed about a hundred times. God, I wish it was daylight, and I could see all the colors in your hair. Come here.”

  She did, her palms sliding up his long, strong body as she moved to spread her legs wide over his hips, and he laid his head back against the carpet. She grasped his thick shaft and lowered herself onto him, crying out when he pushed up to meet her and his erection pushed hard all the way into her. He was big and filled her in that one, quick surge, then he sank back into the carpet as he lifted his hands to cup and cradle her breasts.

  She flattened her palms on his chest and rode him. He moved with her, their gazes locked together. One of his hands toyed with her breast as he brought the other down to where she joined to him, flattening his hand across her stomach, the edge of his thumb brushing her in her most pleasurable place. She rocked up and down on him in quick, frantic moves to reach her peak.

  She came first, and he followed her, his body going rigid as he thrust up into her one more time, then shuddering as she collapsed down onto him. Her hair fell all around his face.

  He began to laugh, an exalted laugh and no mistake. She lifted her head, smiling as she brushed back her hair and looked at him through the blond curtain.

  “If this is virtue,” he said, his hands brushing her hair back to cup her face, “I could get used to it.”

  Her heart was filled with a warmth and happiness she had not felt in years. She had forgotten how wonderful falling in love truly was. “Thank you,” she whispered and kissed him.

  “What for, in heaven’s name?” he asked as she pulled away and rolled to lay beside him.

  “For—” She turned her face into his shoulder, oddly embarrassed. “I don’t feel like a dried-up widow any longer.”

  “You never were.” He pulled her against his side and kissed her hair, but he didn’t tease. Instead, he just held her there for a long time, one arm a pillow for her head, the other wrapped around her.

  She couldn’t sleep now, she was too full of tumbling emotions for that. But she felt his body slowly relax, and after a time, he slept.

  She smiled, watching him, her face only a few inches from his. Even when his features were softened in sleep, he still looked the scapegrace. She reached her hand to his cheek, then stopped without touching. She didn’t want to wake him. Instead, she lay on her back and looked up at the ceiling of the cottage. This was to be hers.

  It was everything she had dreamed of during three long years of trying to find her way home. It was cozy and comfortable. It had a garden and a dovecot and everything else she could want. Yet, somehow, in a way she could not define, something was wrong with it.

  Dylan shifted in his sleep, and with a sudden pang, Grace realized what was wrong with her cottage. She stared at the white coving of the ceiling, and she knew that when this love affair was over, she would not live here, for she would not be able to bear it.

  When he woke, Grace was gone. He felt her absence before he even opened his eyes, the scent of her still filling his senses. When he did lift his lids, he blinked against the bright, unexpected sunlight that poured into the room.

  “Grace?”

  His call echoed through the cottage, and he looked around. Her nightclothes, stockings, and shoes were gone, but the ribbon from her hair still lay on
the carpet, a strip of periwinkle blue muslin. He picked it up, rubbed it between his fingers.

  He had slept. The realization whispered to him, sudden clarity in the daze of waking up. He had actually slept—for hours, he judged by the sunlight pouring through the windows.

  With her beside him, he had slept the way an ordinary man sleeps, restful, contented sleep. Peaceful. The noise was there, of course, but it was softer than it had ever been before. He had no headache. He felt truly rested for the first time in years. Dylan rubbed the bit of muslin in his fingers and felt as if everything inside himself was right again. He pressed his lips to the blue ribbon, then put it in his pocket.

  Chapter 18

  The following night, Grace and Dylan camped out in the cottage again, but this time, Dylan was prepared. He brought a straw mattress for the floor, sheets, and a blanket, which would remain in here from now on. At some point, he would get the place decently furnished for her, but for now, these things would have to do.

  He also brought fruit, wine, and the red silk bag in which he always kept a supply of French letters. He had brought one of the condoms with him in the pocket of his dressing gown the night before, but the moment Grace had kissed him, he had forgotten everything but the feel and taste of her, and he’d lost his head. To protect Grace from pregnancy, he had to remember to use them from now on.

  He brought a lamp to the cottage as well, for he wanted to see Grace’s body in true colors, not the silver and gray shadows of moonlight.

  When he made love to her that night, it was with the fierce, hot intensity of absolute possession, driven until he was drowning in the waves of her passion, until she was sobbing his name as she came again and again.

  The second time, he did everything with exquisite slowness, kissing her face, her nose, her cheeks, and making leisurely explorations of her body, as if time had stopped everything just for them. He sought out the secret places that gave her pleasure, and he exploited them. The backs of her knees, the sensitive skin on the underside of each breast, the base of her spine, and the back of her neck. He murmured words to woo her, pretty compliments, suggestive remarks, and blatant sexual indecencies, until she was blushing all over and moving beneath his caresses in ardent, purely feminine agitation. He entered her slowly and teased her with his body, flexing his hips to barely move within her, increasing the power of his thrusts only when she demanded it of him, arching upward in frantic desire for completion.