by Lara Temple
She could feel everything, his muscle against her even through their clothes, the slide of his tongue against her lips, her own tongue tangling with his with a daring she didn’t even know she had possessed. She locked her arms around his neck, moving against his hand as she tried to ease the need, knowing something had to happen, soon, because this was unbearable. She was high on some brutal wave that would crash, she knew it had to crash.
* * *
Max held on to her elemental, beautiful body, fully aware he was taking her places she had never been, places no one would ever take her but him. And that he wasn’t in control. He was going to give her at least a taste of the pleasure she so obviously demanded, but in every other respect he was following. Not just the entrancing desire she showed so freely, as generous as her compassion, but his own chaotic needs. He shouldn’t have stayed, he shouldn’t have touched her, he should stop. He had no intention of stopping. He would give her this and take the glory of watching her, more beautiful in her joy than any woman he had ever seen. He wanted the moment she realised where her yearning had been leading to. Then he would tell her this was only the beginning. If he survived that far. Because he wanted her so much, to fit himself into her, feel her skin, hot and damp, against him. To see her as naked as those paintings, waiting for him with the heat in her eyes. His fingers slid against the throbbing heat of her arousal and she rose against him with a gasp and he closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. This was madness, he would never make it out of here alive.
‘Oh, God, Max... Max...’ Her voice ripped at him, every muscle in his body squirming against his restraints, and he answered by sliding the sleeve of her dress and chemise from her shoulder, tugging at the light stays to release her breast, tracing its soft curve, a groan building up as he felt her skin contract under his fingers, her nipple tightening under the silk, and he bent to kiss it through the fabric, teasing it, dampening it, drawing it between his lips as her fingers tortured themselves in his hair and her hips shifted faster against his fingers, but in a jerking uncertain rhythm that revealed her inexperience and was shredding away at his control. Part of him wanted to get this over with while he was still sane and another part of him wanted it never to end, to keep her just at that pitch of desire and confusion, needing him, utterly lost to the world and under his control. Needing him... He gave in and groaned against the soft curve of her neck, his breath mixing with her distinctive scent, honeysuckle, sweet and clear, and he couldn’t bear it much longer. He wanted to be inside her more than he wanted to live.
‘Sophie, enough...we have to stop.’
‘I can’t. Please don’t make me, Max... I want you. Please...’
Perhaps it was that one plaintive word that cracked his control. He stopped thinking, his fingers working swiftly on the hooks, fastenings, and laces that stood between him and his need to feel her, truly feel her. His coat followed her dress and stays and drawers in a crumpled heap on the carpet, but he laid her down more carefully on the thick red and gold plush and she let him, which should have shocked him but didn’t. She just waited, her hand clenched on the linen of his shirt, her eyes on his, a deep flaming blue. He tugged off his shirt as well and it stayed in her hand as he lay down beside her, half on top of her, his hand touching, sliding, his mouth capturing hers again. As she arched against him he parted her legs wider with his knee, continuing the circling, drawing, plunging of his fingers against the throbbing centre of her heat. She arched her head back, moving with and against his hand. He had her so close. She was completely his. No one had ever seen her like this, or ever would. She was his.
And it wasn’t enough to just brand her with pleasure. He would make her his unequivocally. He had never bedded a virgin and he realised he had no idea how to really prepare her for what he was about to do. The thought was almost enough to convince him to stop, but not quite. He raised himself slightly and her eyes half-opened, misty and lost, and his possessive ache deepened.
‘Sophie, we stop or we go forward, do you understand? I don’t want to hurt you, but it probably will. If you want me to stop, tell me now.’
‘You can’t stop.’ Her voice was dreamy but very clear.
That was so close to the truth he almost groaned.
‘I don’t want to, but I will if you tell me. Do you understand? There’s no going back once we...’
‘I don’t want to go back. Ever.’ She rose on her elbow, her other arm sliding around his neck and she pressed her mouth to his. ‘You can’t stop.’
‘Sophie...’ Her name came out on a groan of relief and need and he kissed her with a thankful greed he had to fight back. He would do everything to make certain she didn’t regret giving herself to him. He would take her to the edge of desire before he gave in to it.
His fingers slipped back to the damp silkiness of her arousal and the immediate shudder that ran through her told him she so close, waiting...
* * *
Sophie gave in gratefully to the tantalising bursts of pleasure his fingers were teasing out of her, taking her back to that amazing place she had never imagined existed. She was so lost in her own sensations she was almost surprised by the weight of his body as he moved between her legs and the burning heat that replaced his skilled fingers, pressing against the barrier of her body. The sharp snap of pain was so out of place in the swirl of pleasure that she gave a shocked gasp, but he caught her mouth with his and its drugging pull and his hand sliding gently, rhythmically over her breast, dragged her focus away from the invasion and back to the much more insistent ache at her centre. It was all mixed up together, but she was too close to breaking to care about anything but release. She tried to move under his weight, but his hand closed on her hip, stilling her.
‘I don’t want to hurt you...’ His voice sounded choked and ragged through the roaring in her ears.
‘I don’t care! Just do something!’ she gasped against his mouth and he laughed, a deep husky sound that roared through her like the surf and he shifted slightly to one side without releasing her, drawing her leg up slightly, and then his fingers slid between them to the burning heat that locked them together, each circling slide of his fingers calling to her, raising her, sliding him in more deeply, and even the pain became a distraction to be shoved out of the way, because she wanted something beyond it, that promise... And then when it was becoming unbearable his touch finally found the secret lock and she unravelled and fell in a burst of joy and warmth and release. She heard him call out her name against her throat and felt the pain as he moved inside her and then he tensed, his body and breath shuddering until he, too, seemed to break and he sank against her and a little voice, detached from all of this upheaval, said ‘There now!’ quite distinctly in her head.
They stayed like that for a while, his body half on hers as their breathing evened out, waves settling back into rhythm after a storm. His body was heavy, even with his arm braced against the floor, but it was wonderful to feel him stretched on her. She only wished he had taken off his pantaloons as well so she could feel his leg anchoring hers. She felt infinitely heavy, too, and the pain was much more apparent now, but she still felt wonderful, like a warrior queen fresh from a successful battle, wounds and all. She almost laughed at the absurdity of the bloodthirsty thought.
Then he drew in a deep breath against her and she knew it was over. And that she would have to face him now without the distracting barrier that the urgent heat had provided. With the obscuring desire fading, its place was being taken up by a deep embarrassment that she had acted more wantonly than she had believed possible. Lust was indeed a form of madness and now that she had experienced it she could see why it was such a topic for literature and art. Never in her life would she have imagined that she would seduce a man into bedding her...it wasn’t even bedding, since they were on the floor, her lovely new dress a bunched pile of fabric just under the Louis XIV chair, her stays peeping out below and hi
s coat dangling from the sofa.
She wanted to groan her shame out loud, but she held back and closed her eyes. Hopefully he would be able to deal with the aftermath better than she. He moved off her carefully and as the adhesive contact of their skin was broken she felt its absence like a loss. She tried not to look at him as he helped her up very gently, as if aware of the stinging pain between her legs. She took her shift from him and fumbled with it nervously, searching for the opening. Without a word he took it from her, gathering it into folds and slipping it over her head. He did the same with her stays and dress and then turned her around to secure the laces and hooks. Finally she felt his fingers straighten the folds of her sleeve and brush the tangle of hair from her shoulders and she dragged up enough courage to look up at him.
There was an absent but relaxed look on his face as he focused on his task and his mouth had lost some of its tension and it amazed her that this beautiful man had just made love to her...no, that wasn’t the right word. It was best not to lie to herself. This had been pure carnality. Wonderful and earth shattering, but it wasn’t love. He glanced up and met her eyes and there was a strange mix of lazy heat and sated pleasure there that reached deep inside and twisted a raw, unprotected part of her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally. ‘That wasn’t how your first time should have been. I can’t believe I...on the floor...’
There was such disarming embarrassment and exasperation in his voice that her own embarrassment dimmed. She should have known he would be a great deal more disappointed in himself and his lapse of control than in her. She had a powerful urge to reassure him.
‘Two of my sisters said their first times were horrible after all the fear and anticipation that preceded them, so maybe it is better like this.’
He laughed and tucked her loosened hair back behind her ear and his hand lingered, gently moving against the soft skin just below her ear, soothing and warm, and she wished she could lean into his caress like a cat. He seemed to realise what he was doing and he moved his hands to her shoulders, as if debating where to put her, the line between his brows deepening.
‘I’m glad it wasn’t horrible. But I still should have had enough self-control to resist. I’m supposed to be protecting you, not taking advantage of you. This was unforgivable.’
She felt a bubble of laughter rise up at the inappropriate return of the Stone Duke. She was still too happy and physically content to be hurt by his predictable withdrawal. If anything she felt peculiarly protective towards him with so many burdens of responsibility weighing on him relentlessly.
‘I won’t tell anyone,’ she said demurely and some of his stiffness faded. He ran his hands through her tangled hair, tilting her head back, his eyes softening again with reluctant amusement overlaying the concern that drew his brows together.
‘If anyone sees you like this they won’t need telling. You should probably go upstairs before Lambeth appears... And you should ask them to send a hot bath up, it will help with... Hell, this should never have happened—’ He broke off, shaking his head at himself.
Even with the remains of the stinging ache between her legs reminding her of the intimacies they had just shared, somehow his mentioning a bath made her cheeks heat painfully again, but also her need to relieve his disappointment in himself. It tugged at her and she stepped forward, seeking an excuse to prolong contact with him.
‘I don’t think Lambeth should see you either. You are not precisely neat as a pin yourself at the moment, either, Your Grace. Here, I’ll see if I can rescue your cravat.’
He stood silently as she did her best with the folds of his cravat. There was a lingering intensity in his eyes and she felt the echo of the pleasure he had given her, or the beginning of that need again and she forced herself to stand back.
‘No, it’s hopeless. You should definitely try and avoid Lambeth.’
He smiled, an uncharacteristically boyish grin that went well with his dishevelled hair, and walked over to the door, unlocking it.
‘Point taken. I’ll make a run for it.’ He hesitated. ‘Will you be all right? Did I hurt you badly?’
She shook her head, her throat closing at the concern in his voice, holding back the words she knew he would not want to hear from her.
He hesitated, then nodded and left.
* * *
Max made it safely home without coming across any acquaintance in the short distance between the two houses. Up in his room a glance in the mirror was enough to assure him it would not have taken a great deal of perspicacity to guess what had happened in that room. Despite her attempts, his cravat was crushed and his short dark hair looked like he had done his best to emulate the windblown coup au vent style Byron had made fashionable.
He shook his head. Now that she was not there the madness of it all struck him full force. It had been his fault from beginning to end, but he was finding it very hard to drag up any real regret. She had been tying him into knots for days now and that encounter had been wonderfully satisfying. He had known she was passionate, but he had been amazed and disarmed by that mixture of abandon and determination. He could tell himself as much as he wanted that she had been a virgin and he should have done a better job of resisting, but the truth was that he hadn’t wanted to. There had been enough moments he could have chosen to step back. He had even told himself he would do nothing more than give her the pleasure she so obviously craved. That watching her abandonment was pleasure enough. But at some point his rationality had gone up in a puff of smoke.
He tugged off his cravat, caught between remorse, embarrassment and guilty pleasure. It hardly made sense that he had deflowered his betrothed on the floor of her aunt’s house. But she had been utterly amazing. What on earth was he going to do with her? Right now he and his body were very delighted with her refusal to play by the rules, but that innocent insistence on proceeding down whatever path she thought right at the moment would not always lead to such...pleasant results. In fact, so far it had led them into a forced engagement and even now she might already be with child because for the first time in his adult life he had not taken any precautions.
He looked back at his reflection. It was impossible to chase away that thought so he might as well face it head on. He had never thought of her in terms of children except in the theoretical consideration of heirs, but now the possibility of their child forced its way to the front of a parade of confusing images and emotions. He had so many nieces and nephews already he was used to being surrounded by babies and children, but somehow the thought of her holding his child was unsettling. It made him want to reach through the mental image to a future reality and test it. It was like staring into someone else’s window, into their life, and wanting to step into it. Whatever her peculiarities, she would probably be a loving parent. If she could lavish so much affection on that unappealing pug, she no doubt would have plenty for her own children. More than he had. The more he thought about it, as difficult as it might be to deal with her unconventional attitudes, at least it would be good for their children to have one parent capable of real affection. He and Lady Melissa together would have been too much of a facsimile of his own parents. Correct and attentive, but not really warm. He just had to make sure she understood the weight of the responsibilities that would be on his heir’s shoulders. The sooner he took her to Harcourt so she could see precisely what he, and now she, were responsible for, the better. There was nothing like hard proof.
And at Harcourt there were many more places where he could take her where they could be private. Because even as satisfying as it had been, now that the genie was out of the bottle he really didn’t feel like waiting until the wedding to bed her again. And this time there would be a bed because he had every intention of taking his time. She wanted to see him? Fine, he wanted to see her, too—stretched out on his bed and at his mercy so he could explore just how far her passionate nature extende
d. If she could respond like that without any experience and in the unconducive setting of her aunt’s parlour, he couldn’t imagine what she might be capable of once he had her to himself in the privacy of their bedroom. And he very much wanted to find out.
Heat began uncoiling again at the thought of her naked, waiting for him with that dreamy look and that urgency, those soft whimpers that were almost as potent as her eager, seeking hands... He turned away from the mirror. There was no reason they had to wait too long to get married. At the time it had seemed reasonable to draw out his freedom a little, but that was a lesser consideration now. He could get a special licence and in a few days they could go to Harcourt and have her father marry them. That should satisfy even the most exacting critics. And then he could send everyone to the devil so they could be alone.
Chapter Fourteen
‘It was well worth the wait!’ Bryanston announced as he led Sophie off the Montagues’ dance floor towards where Max was standing in a group of people, one of whom Sophie recognised as the very fashionable and yet scandalous Lady Jersey. In this setting Max looked quite intimidating and aloof and it was hard to reconcile this handsome, imposing man with the passionate lover who had initiated her into physical pleasure in Aunt Minnie’s parlour and then faced her with such touching contrition. She didn’t know quite which one of these men Max was, or how they all managed to cohabit together. All she knew was that everything she found out about him just peeled back another layer in her, and that the initial, elemental attraction that had drawn her to him was just the first step along a journey that had already changed her in ways she wasn’t sure she understood. As she moved towards him, his grey eyes unfathomable but sparking far too much in her, she felt the heat prick at her cheeks and hoped they ascribed her flush to the dance.