Hot Silk

by Sharon Page

  Rogan slid his finger a little into her arse. Lucy tensed on instinct and bit her lip, strangely reassured by the pain. Rogan pressed harder. Forcing her body to open. “You’ll help me, won’t you, Lucy?”

  “Help you? What do you want me to do?”

  “Devlin’s love—”

  Lucy flinched at the term. Rogan thought Devlin had fallen in love. No, he was just dazzled by the witch’s fine clothes and fine speech and fine ways.

  “A lady like that is worth a lot of money,” Rogan went on. “I’d thought Devlin took her to ransom her, not fuck her, but our fool of a captain is willing to turn his back on a fortune. I’m not.” He bent, took her nether hair between his teeth, and pulled until her eyes watered. Then he let her go. “Do you want me to get rid of the woman?”

  “Get rid of her?”

  Rogan bit her inner thigh and as he released the skin Lucy saw the deep red gouge left by his teeth. What would he do if she said she wouldn’t help?

  “Ransom her,” he said. “Get her away from Dev and back to her family and make ourselves some blunt for our trouble.”

  “Would you hurt her?”

  “No need, love.” Rogan grinned, dimples appearing in his grizzled cheeks. “Her family will pay to have her back. She won’t know we have taken her and her family will only know that Devlin did.”

  Lucy froze beneath Rogan as he rubbed her clit with his thumb and slid his finger farther up her arse. She gasped as his thick finger filled her, pushing her open. “Devlin would be arrested.”

  “Then we won’t tell them about Devlin. And the girl won’t tell her family about him. Not if she’s in love with him and has been fucking him. Now relax, love, so I can slick you up ready for my prick.”

  Lucy closed her eyes. She took soft breaths. She imagined Devlin in her mind as Rogan flopped one of her legs over his arm and began to rub his thick cock against her anus. He stroked from pussy to arse, and she tried, tried, tried, to relax, to arch to him, and moan to him even when her throat was tight and her body rigid.

  He surged forward, shoving himself inside her quim on one thrust, and she drove her fingernails into the palms of her hands.

  She wanted to like it.

  “I don’t wish to stop here. We could continue to your manor,” Grace protested as she followed Devlin down the narrow hallway of the inn. But the stubborn man continued down the hallway without even turning back.

  “We aren’t going back to the manor, love,” he said resolutely as he scanned the row of painted doors. Devlin had pretended they were a married couple, and she had quickly rested her right hand over the finger that should bear a wedding ring. Would a sharp eye see there was no bulge of a ring beneath her glove?

  Did it even matter anymore?

  Yes, it would. Her disgrace would hurt her sisters.

  Devlin paused at the second to last door in the hallway. The brass number read SIX. The floor beneath her feet was worn by several hundred years of travelers’ feet.

  She lowered her voice to the softest whisper. “There’s nothing to protect me from. I cannot change being wanton. I want to be part of your world.”

  He rested his fist on the door, his fingers tight around the iron room key. Clumsily he tried to feed it into the lock. “No, Grace.”

  “Dev—”

  A single wall sconce threw yellowish light onto them. “I don’t care if you want to take part in an orgy, Grace,” he growled. “I’m not going to let you do it.”

  She shook her head, her chest tight with bitterness. “I’ve been judged already. I can never commute that sentence. Even the most faultless behavior will never change the fact that I’m not innocent. I can’t marry. And my grandmother called me a whore.”

  She saw him flinch at the blunt word. When he turned, his mouth was a harsh slash. “Do not ever use that word. I’ve never used that word on a woman.”

  “I can’t believe that.” She didn’t. Men judged. Women judged. It was what people did.

  “It’s true. My mother bedded a different man each night, and she clung to them desperately, hoping that one of the dozens she fucked would save her. I never called her a ‘whore,’ though everyone else did. She was desperate. She was pathetic and sad and frightened.”

  The key turned in the lock, Devlin turned the knob and the door swung open. “Don’t you understand, love? I’m not taking you back to my manor, to my lusty gang, because I want to keep you for myself.”

  Before she could part her lips, before she could ask anything, he urged her into their room.

  His hand splayed over her lower back, and the touch was so familiar, so casual, that her heart hammered and her throat tightened.

  “So this to be our last night?” She could barely force out the words.

  “It has to be,” he said.

  Grace tugged hard at the buttons on her pelisse and felt threads tear. “Then hurry up and undress,” she commanded, hearing the anger in her voice. “We haven’t much time.”

  Devlin heard the pain in Grace’s voice. Bedding her tonight would be a mistake. He had no right to do it while she was so angry and hurt.

  She slid down her pelisse, her head bowed slightly forward. Lamplight played along the curve of her neck and transformed the ivory skin into the intoxicating color of champagne.

  Hell, his hands were at his trouser buttons before he knew where he was. Soft strands of her golden hair played over her neck as she let her pelisse fall and, as he tore at his buttons, he kissed her neck. Softly. Tasting. Savoring.

  She was here with him because she was in pain. He knew that.

  The first time they’d made love, she’d turned to him in pain.

  He flicked out his tongue and traced her neck to her smooth shoulder, to the lace-trimmed collar of her gown.

  “Let me undress first,” he said. But he knew he would not stop. He would not turn back.

  He had been a pirate, but there were some treasures that he would not plunder.

  He should not take Grace while her heart was broken. It was too dangerous to do that again.

  “Then undress me.” She pulled at the pins in her hair, the soft curls tumbling down her back as he opened his coat and waistcoat.

  Just like that night, her honest need captured him.

  He was lost.

  And then he was naked.

  Her gaze raked over him, hot and intense. He had not expected so much fire and hunger in her eyes this time. She swallowed hard enough for him to hear.

  She still wore her gown, a concoction of white muslin and lace that molded to her full breasts and swept over her lovely curves. She looked angelic. Ethereal.

  “This will be my last time. My very last time making love,” she whispered as she moved toward him. The gauzy white fabric danced with the sway of her hips. “Do you understand that?”

  She was in front of him now, her breasts bumping his chest.

  Devlin stared, confused, as her palm skimmed over the straining length of his naked cock. With the hot pressure of her hand teasing his shaft, cupping the pulsing head, he couldn’t think.

  “I will never have another lover,” she said ruefully. “How could I? I’m destined to be an old maid. On the shelf. Left to gather dust. I can’t marry, and as a respectable woman who must obviously be a virgin, I can’t take a lover.”

  Take a lover. Hearing the words made his teeth grind and his palms and forehead sweat.

  “Grace—” Hell, no. She should marry. That he could live with. He could walk away, knowing that she deserved a fine marriage and to be a lady.

  “It’s true,” Grace whispered. “This will be my last night to ever bed a man. And because it is, I want to explore you all over. I want to do everything I’ve ever dreamed of doing to a man.”

  As though her words cast a magic spell over him, Devlin grasped her wrists and placed her hands on his bare chest. “What have you dreamed of doing to me, Grace?”

  Grace savored the warmth of his skin. “I think of kissing every
inch of you, but I’ve been too shy to actually try.”

  “You don’t have to be shy.” His voice was as hot and silky as his skin.

  “Then I shall start here.” She giggled and stretched up on her tiptoes, her hems floating around her ankles. Her stockings slid lightly on the worn floor as she touched her lips to his earlobe and gave a soft tug.

  His low chuckle washed down her spine and made her toes tingle.

  With her tongue, she traced the shape of his ear, noting, “You have very handsome ears. I’d never really thought of ears as being essential to a man’s charms, but I do think they are. And yours are always hidden by all your magnificent hair.”

  He brushed his hair back behind his ears, and she dropped to the flats of her feet to kiss his jaw. “Now I should kiss you somewhere I’ve never kissed you before.”

  She felt his body tighten beneath her hands and marveled at the sudden, intense response. His cock jolted up so the head brushed along her belly. She had not said anything erotic. “What parts of your body are you thinking of?” she asked, surprising herself with her boldness. Did she truly want to know?

  “Surprise me.”

  Laughing at that, she rolled her eyes in a saucy way—or so she hoped—and dropped to her knees, skimming her hands down his body for support. Her fingers strummed over his hard abdomen, knocked his cock, and set it bouncing. She let her fingers trail down his hard thighs.

  He took a sharp breath and she knew what he thought she intended to do.

  But she kissed his right knee, giggling. She did like to tease him. Flicking her tongue over the rougher skin of his knees, she traced lines of scars. She gripped his thighs and worked around to the backs of his legs. The moment she dabbed the backs of his knees, he gave a surprised moan.

  “That feels good,” he said simply. “I’ve never experienced that before.”

  She strummed her tongue there, then looked up to see his rump tighten and flex in response to her strokes.

  Embracing her daring, she laved her way up the backs of his legs and planted a kiss on the firm curve between thigh and derriere. It was hot and moist, and she followed the shape with lips and tongue.

  A low chuckle rewarded her, and she gripped his taut cheeks and squeezed. He had the most magnificent body from the rear, all hard straight planes and firm curves.

  She indulged her every whim—nipping his rump with her teeth, stroking her tongue down his spine and suckling on the hollow, massaging his shoulders, and tracing the lines of veins along his powerful arms. Her every exploration drew a new sound from Devlin—a harsh groan, a rumbling moan, a lusty chuckle, or a gasp of delight.

  His taste and scents became imprinted on her—she drank in each one, certain she’d never forget them. Bending forward, she pressed her forehead against his hot back and blinked away tears. These were memories to hold, to savor, and she knew she wanted so much more than only memories—

  She had to do something daring and think only of that.

  She ran her fingers down the valley of his rear, feeling the tight grip of his muscles. He gave a shudder as she stroked the long, fine hairs between his hard buttocks, so she dallied there.

  “My legs are getting weak,” he admitted, turning to give her a rueful grin.

  “Well, you shall have to endure, Mr. Sharpe, because I want to taste your…front.”

  He bowed his head to watch and she went on her knees in front of him. His hands caressed her hair, his fingers threading through it.

  She suspended the moment, slowly arching up with her tongue, and she watched him watching her.

  Gently, she licked the spine of his cock, that ridge that ran up its back. To take the head of his cock between her lips, she had to grip his thighs and lift.

  “God, yes,” he groaned. His hands tightened in her hair.

  She bobbed on him, playing with tongue and sucking hard. Her eyes watered as she felt the head tease the back of her throat. His hands caressed so lovingly—surely that meant he liked it.

  This rich, ripe, erotic taste—she’d never forget it. She’d never forget how it felt to have him grip her head so harshly that he tugged on her hair.

  “Ah, Grace, I don’t want to come this way. I want you in bed, I want to make this last all night and you have me already on the edge.”

  Devlin couldn’t believe he had stopped Grace from her delicious exploration of his cock, but he’d known he wouldn’t last. She made the very act special and unique and new, and he had been aroused beyond belief.

  He’d been questioning his sanity as he helped her undress.

  He tumbled into the creaky inn bed at her side and rolled over to embrace her.

  One last night.

  Her last night to make love. That was madness. And what was he going to do? He couldn’t imagine ever sharing a bed with another woman. He cupped her breasts, experiencing a distinct sense of ownership. They might be Grace’s breasts, but he felt they also belonged to him.

  Softening his mouth, which was tight with arousal, he closed his lips around Grace’s nipple.

  He adored her.

  Reaching down, he parted her nether lips and slid his fingers into her quim. She’d been pleasuring him, but she was wet with anticipation and, at the sucking sound and the hot fluid flowing out onto his hand, Devlin was lost.

  Mounting her, he slid his cock into her and she wrapped her arms tight around his neck. They moved together as though they’d been making love for a lifetime.

  Panting harshly, he thrust into her, teasing her with his fingers; and he whispered against her ear, telling her how much he loved the way she’d sucked him. She caught her breath, moaning at the images he painted. With words, caresses, and his thrusting cock, he pleasured her. He felt her tension. Felt the gouging pressure of her fingernails in his back. Drank in her cries.

  Hot fire rushed over him. He’d never been so lost, so drowned in heat and pleasure and desire, so conquered by any woman, by anyone, and he shut his eyes and took her mouth in a long, teasing kiss as his orgasm exploded and left him blinded, shuddering, numb, disoriented. It was like being caught in a maelstrom on the ocean, tossed in a wind funnel, or thrown into a sudden storm.

  He heard his cries and her breathy, delighted gasp of his name.

  Then he withdrew, still pulsing and exquisitely sensitive, and he fell, groaning, on the mattress at Grace’s side.

  She snuggled close and he flung his arm over her. He felt possession, promise, love, the need to hold her. It was a swirl of thought in his overloaded brain.

  She sighed sweetly, tugged the sheets up over them both, and shut her eyes. Enchanting contentment glowed in her soft smile and relaxed face.

  Ah, sweeting.

  He felt so damned lost. What did he have?

  Money could buy him a lot of respectability. Perhaps it was possible he could behave like a member of the ton. He wasn’t one and they would never accept him, but hell, they would like his money.

  Grace yearned for acceptance from that cruel and cutting world, and he could never give her that. If he married her, he would be ensuring she would never be a part of the ton.

  Her sisters had married titled, powerful men. The Earl of Trent. Viscount Swansborough. Married to him, she would never be their equal.

  It was going to break his heart to let Grace go. But he had to. He was a highwayman—even if he could have Grace, how could he evade the law with a wife and children? He would be putting them at risk. And being a highwayman had given him fame and power.

  What if he was to do it? Give up his life of crime. Stop holding up carriages on the king’s highway, never return to the sea.

  Hell, what would he be then?

  He wasn’t willing to become just an ordinary man.

  “I do not see why we have to leave in the middle of the night!”

  What was Grace to do with this maddening man? Now he was even stealing her last night from her. Instead of spending it in bed together, Devlin insisted that they travel tonight.<
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  She’d never seen him look so…disheveled. He sat at her side and had raked his fingers through his golden hair so often he had created furrows. And his eyes, those vivid indigo blue eyes, looked stark and haunted.

  “What is wrong, Devlin?”

  “We need to travel,” he repeated, as he had done a dozen times while he’d helped her dress and carried down the trunks. Marcus’s coachman had been commanded to set down his ale and meat pie and make haste back onto the road.

  The bewildered man didn’t understand why and neither did she.

  Devlin was stealing her last night from her.

  That thought was all she could focus on as the carriage rumbled along the king’s highway. She stared out the window at the forests painted by moonlight that stretched around them.

  Finally Devlin turned his troubled gaze onto her. “I’m sorry, Grace, but I can’t do it. I can’t give up what I am.”

  Give up what I am?

  “What do you mean?” she asked, perplexed. “What are you talking about?”

  “If there was any way…I thought about changing my ways, about subscribing to law and order, and being a proper country gentleman. I thought, while we were lying there in that bed, that I knew the solution.”

  “You mean, you want to stop being a highwayman. For me.”

  “Aye.”

  Aye. What did that tell her? What of all their discussions where he had challenged her every preconception, her every precept, her every thought? All he had to offer her was ‘aye’?

  “But I cannot do it, Grace. I love the thrill of the hunt, the power of victory. It’s what I’ve been for so long, I can’t imagine another way—”

  “Stop!” she cried. “I understand.”

  He was not willing to give up his life as a highwayman for her. He’d admitted he loved the thrill and adventure and excitement of what he did.

  He could not give it up for a dull life with her.