Lady Vice

by Wendy Lacapra

  “Oh, brave new world,” she quoted wistfully.

  His eyes softened. “My indulgence could set you free…”

  The altered quote shimmered between them until she recalled its place—The Tempest’s closing soliloquy.

  “Did my father send the plays to you?” she asked in wonder.

  “No,” he said. “But he gave them to me when I returned. Both of Shakespeare’s folios and the sonnets.”

  Ah. Too late, then, to have brought him real comfort.

  “Strange,” she said. “My father swore you would never see them, not after he found the inscription hidden under—”

  “Sonnet 43.”

  Her heart expanded with the memory of her looping script. “Your Vinia, always.”

  “My Vinia.”

  His kiss melted all remaining ice. Dizzy pleasure teased out constricted muscles. She yielded, willowy and bending.

  “I cannot concentrate when you kiss me,” she said.

  “Say the word, love. I will stop. But I’d rather you let go.” He sighed against her skin. “Trust me to catch you, won’t you?”

  Let go. She closed her eyes, inhaling. His scent seeped into her skin like softening steam.

  “Will you catch me?” she asked.

  “Always,” he answered.

  Something deep within clicked into place—solid ground. A physical sense of trust.

  She released, proffering bared throat to his seduction. His lips lingered just below her ear, teasing with a subtle wetness she felt, not just on her neck, but in her belly, in her legs, and in her sex.

  He pulled back, meeting her gaze at the crest of her inhalation. In silence, she stilled in the small, magical space where her chest expanded and her breasts arched.

  Was he as unsure as she? Or did he understand this thing pulsing between their bodies as if their hearts had melded? Perhaps, like her, he did not want to question what felt so right.

  His unwavering eyes asked a question before the words reached his lips. Yes, her body answered.

  “Do you want me?” she asked.

  “Want you?” A disbelieving grunt jerked his shoulders. “I worship your every inch.”

  Her heart raced to the sound of his aching need. A sound inspired by lust for her—not a staged, debasing act or an abstract image of female perfection. He must keep speaking. His voice grounded her to this moment, to this bed—to him.

  “What else do you want?” she asked.

  “Mmmm.” He curled a lock of her hair around his smallest finger. “I want to steal these hours. I want us to have the night we should have had so many years ago.”

  “The night we should have had,” she repeated.

  His touch could not wipe away Vaile’s, but new, sensual memories could distill her understanding of passion, opening new worlds to her exploration.

  “Yes,” she whispered, with barely a hint of breath. “Please.”

  He cradled her cheeks, resting his thumbs on her jaw. He brushed hot lips across her slightly parted mouth.

  She had thought she understood carnal appetites, but this wasn’t like the type of hunger she’d seen. Like a volcano created new land, this force formed an island for the two of them alone.

  Max painted strokes of erotic desire with an expert touch, sweeping her into irresistible undercurrents of swelling lust. His whispery kisses caused sparks in a powder keg of pure passion.

  She worked her hands under his shirt, sliding her fingers along his skin. “You feel wonderful.”

  Under her light caress, his seemingly solid back shuddered. “You will slay me, Vinia…and I want to be slain.”

  His eyes reflected enchantment as strong as her own. To be wanted—truly wanted—was a heady drink from Eros’s golden cup.

  “Tell me you want me again,” she urged. “Me and only me.”

  “The truth would shock you,” he said, coarse and breathy.

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “I have wanted you and only you for a long time.” His breath whiffed on her skin. “In my mind, I have made you mine a thousand times. I have undressed you. Then, I have kissed you here,” he circled his knuckle on her neck, just below her ear, “mercilessly beguiling you until you writhed.”

  It was not shock that tightened her belly. She whimpered in wanting. “You have not shocked me yet…”

  “Oh? My secret visions don’t end there.” His voice sunk into a masculine roll. “The method differs, but each time we come together, I fill you with such passion, you cannot help”—he leaned close—“begging for my cock.” A smile, wholly wolfish rogue, spread his lips. “And, only my cock.”

  Lavinia’s legs quivered as her lips formed a soundless oh. Heavens. This was not the kind of shock that caused recoil. This was mouth-watering, delicious shock—images and possibilities to be savored.

  “Now you know my secrets.” He trailed languid fingers down her arm. “Do you want this?” He snuggled into her shoulder and whispered, “Say yes.”

  She searched her heart for shame and fear and found nothing but yearning.

  Yearning and trust.

  “Yes,” she said. “Prove to me passion can be beautiful.”

  “Beautiful.” He pushed the fine dressing gown from her shoulders. “Vital. Significant.”

  Folds of fabric slipped, pooling about her waist. Clad only in her shift, Lavinia felt more beautiful than she ever had, even in expensive finery.

  Her head fell back. He probed her lips, creating shimmering sensations with nipping teeth and delving tongue. Each kiss unlocked another layer. Passion gave way to need. Need gave way to fire. Not until she was well and truly breathless, did he drop his kisses from her lips to her neck.

  He groaned low in his belly, a sound that curled her toes.

  She stroked his nape as he trailed kisses to her breast. Over the fabric of her shift, he sucked her perked nipple. She threw her head back and grasped him by the hair. His tongue circled, and his teeth grazed—mercilessly and beautifully beguiling, as promised.

  Naturally, she writhed.

  “Vinia,” he called her name, fanning embers to flame.

  “Keep kissing,” she rasped.

  She guided his mouth to her other nipple. He closed his lips around the nub and she moaned. This was nothing—nothing—like what she’d known.

  “Take this off.” She pulled at her shift. “Now.”

  Heat and desire left a pungent scent in the air as she propped herself up on her elbows. He helped her remove her shift and then knelt by her knees in erotic homage.

  Wants, murky as midnight’s ebony abyss, played across his face.

  “Talk,” she said, wanting to be wrapped in the low, rumbling voice that reverberated in her memory and in her heart.

  “Do you like the feel of silk stockings against your skin?” he asked throatily.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “So do I.”

  He caressed her from knee to thigh, where, slowly, he unlaced her stockings. He tickled her skin, expounding in thrilling detail the things he loved about her flesh. Teasingly, he freed each of her legs. He cast aside her stockings and grasped her foot. Holding her with his eyes, he kissed her arch.

  “You are wicked,” she said, smiling. How had she ever thought him inviolably perfect? He was better than perfect. He was splendid.

  “Should I be chastened?” he asked, glowing with abandon.

  “No.” She wiggled her toes. “I love your shamelessness.” …So long as she remained his tether.

  “Then allow me to progress to pure indulgence.” He cocked his head, resting his cheek against her foot’s inner curve. “Do you trust me in this?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  His fingers skated up her outer legs. Her desire fluttered. He grasped her by her hips and then shocked her thighs with kisses that cracked through her body like lightning.

  With warm breath, he enflamed her intimate folds. He parted her with gentle fingers. His lips met the center of her desire
. With his tongue, he laved her sex as if she tasted of honey and cream.

  Sweet, beneficent heavens.

  He pushed her to the edge she both feared and craved. She had never dreamed of such feeling. She tipped her hips, fisting fabric as waves of hunger crested.

  She stumbled through a maze of hot lust, and the edges of her vision darkened.

  His mouth circled around and around. The tension crept up her legs and spilled through her gut. She bucked up. Her coalescing desire contracted—and then instantly burst. She broke into helpless, hot shivers.

  A torrent ran around her like a spring current, fast and wild. She panted until the flow abated.

  He did not lift his head, but his naughty smile tickled the skin he’d been teasing. Her blush spread over her cheeks and breasts, tripping down to her belly.

  “What just happened,” she said, “has never happened before.”

  He crawled onto the bed and then bound her up in a steadying embrace. Her thoughts scattered like her hair, dark and wispy as raven feathers.

  She rested her hand on his heart, feeling the beat and feeling his heat. The wonder of pleasure had left her limbs heavy but her mind clear.

  He’d leave things there. Let her rest in his arms while she absorbed. But a need for his pleasure cried from her pores.

  This island was meant for them both.

  She reached up, reverently touching his lips. Clever mouth.

  “Max,” she said. “I want to make you feel how I feel.”

  He trailed his fingers up her side, humming deep in his throat.

  “Tell me what to do.” No—too practical. Remembering his secrets, her cheeks heated. Boldly, she caught his eyes. “Let us make real what you imagined.”

  His breath raked against the back of his throat. He leaned down, pressing his lips to her ear.

  “Stand,” he whispered, sounding like a man starved.

  She stood with quaking legs. She was naked and he, but for missing waistcoat and cravat, nearly clothed.

  He trapped her between the bedpost and his thighs. “Kiss me.”

  Shyly, she met his lips, heavy with her scent.

  “Kiss me hard.” He said against her mouth. She opened, drinking him in. With his tongue, he raided, grinding his hips against her curls. His stiff and ready hardness made her moan. She went limp in his arms, a wanton puddle.

  He looked up, breathing heavily, and smiled, dark and sensual. His eyes were clear as clean crystal and they sparkled for her and her alone.

  “Filled with passion, love?” he asked.

  Her cheeks heated as she remembered his fantasy. She couldn’t say it, could she?

  Love made her bold.

  “I…” She swallowed through a desert-dry throat. “I want your cock.” Her words caused a rush of wetness between her legs.

  “Ah, yes, Vinia.” Max closed his eyes and groaned. “Say it again.”

  She licked her lips, no longer shocked. “I want your cock, Max.”

  “I will never get enough of you.” He shivered through his hips. “I knew we would be like this.”

  He stripped off his breeches and yanked off his socks. She watched, oblivious to her own nakedness. His arm muscles rippled and his legs curved with masculine strength. She loved every angle, every plane. When he stretched to lift his shirt over his head, she saw his body in full. Her breath evaporated…simply gone.

  Captivating was the first word. Then, manly, delectable, prime.

  His lips twitched. “You approve, I gather?”

  “You are lovely.” A gift made for her keeping.

  “Climb onto your bedcovering, love.”

  “Not mine,” she murmured, stepping back.

  His muscled legs followed her movement. He captured her waist as he pressed his lips to her neck.

  “Yes, yours. I bought it for our bed.” His words scattered on quivering skin. “And at last our bedcovering will be christened.”

  She would have sunk anyway, she wagered. Her knees had lost the will to stand. She sat on the bed, feeling deliciously decadent.

  Cool air tantalized. Max slipped to her side, offering his warmth. He ran his finger along the under-curve of her breast.

  “Perfect,” he said. “Pert and pretty,” he shook with a low snicker, “like you.”

  He prevented her from covering her face.

  “Why be embarrassed?” he asked. “There is no need.”

  A fullness clogged her throat. Tears gathered between her lashes but did not fall. No need to be embarrassed. She swept her fingers across his forehead, brushing aside the strands of hair so she could better see his eyes.

  There. There he was. Her love. The man she had known her whole life. Tightness she had not realized she carried eased from her shoulders, warmed by his heat.

  “I am not embarrassed,” she said.

  He took her finger in his mouth and sucked. His tongue grazed the tip, just before her nail. The gentle pull of his teeth sent shocks up her spine.

  Sitting up, she let her finger, damp with his kiss, meander over his throat. She smiled as his guttural moan rumbled through his stomach.

  Leaning down, her hair spilled across his chest. She ran her tongue around his salty nipple.

  He jerked. She giggled.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and flipped their positions. She squealed, suddenly pinned beneath a hungry, panting man.

  Joy in bed was new, and she could not have been happier. She thrilled to the sound of his erotic, throaty laughter. Gifting pleasure to a man she loved was an experience like no other.

  She pressed her breasts up against his hard chest. She pined for moans, groans, and laughs…passion’s sublime song.

  Lusciously animalistic, he dominated. She arched upward, kissing him with fervor.

  “Make me yours,” she said, her words wrenching from her throat as she tilted her head backward and curved her spine.

  “You already are,” he murmured. “But let us seal the deed.”

  With expert touch, he cupped her ass’s curve, urging her to tilt. His cock spread her folds, easily sliding deep.

  Union. Passion. Light.

  Keeping one hand in firm hold, he secured their position. With his other hand, he flicked the wanton ache in her nipples. Each of his thrusts met the coil of pleasure at her core.

  She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, rocking closer with every breath. Light burst—a thousand tiny sparks flaring. She crushed her breasts to his chest, and her inner muscles clenched.

  Max thrust twice through her shivers. With a long, deep cry that would be forever sealed in her heart, he stilled.

  She wrapped him in her arms as he released.

  …

  Max had found heaven—or, perhaps he had found hell. He was not completely convinced of which, knowing only he floated in the hazy glow of tender—

  Good God. When have I ever used the word tender?

  He rolled to his side and fitted Lavinia against his heart, concentrating on her pulse. Her soft breath fanned his skin, and his thoughts dissipated into a pool of languid oblivion.

  “You said you knew this would happen,” she whispered.

  Stalling for time, he kissed the tips of each of her slender fingers.

  “Until I saw you, I was not certain how either of us would react.” He paused to kiss her palm. “But I always hoped.”

  If she were to parse his words, she would notice he had avoided her question. Of course he had not known, but it would be a lie to say he had not been driven by a kind of irrational desire.

  Her lids fell and her gaze gentled. She looked dreamy. Perhaps she was from Elfhame after all, a fairy princess playing in mortal form. Never in his life had he seen, nor would he see, anything so beautiful.

  She sat up. Her hair swished like a curtain, falling over her naked breasts. Her tiny palms pressed his cheeks. With her fingernails, she etched small patterns beneath his ears as she lowered her lips.

  A gentle kiss—sweet and s
upple.

  She leaned away, smiled demurely, and stretched. He sensed she reached for something she could not quite grasp. He understood. A powerful surge of yearning stole his breath.

  No matter how much he felt like crowing, his elation brought him no closer to truly making Lavinia his than she had been when he was thousands of miles away. They had stolen an act of love, but he wanted to make her his in truth—not just in private, but for the entire world to see—a gentleman and his lady.

  “So here we are, lying on a bed covering I carried across the continents for you—”

  She laughed. “You sailed home.”

  “Across one continent, then.”

  Another laugh. In Lady Sophia’s garden, he had despaired of ever glimpsing the Vinia he had known. This was the second time he’d seen her carefree. He clasped her hand tightly, so very grateful to have been wrong.

  “So” he continued, “when this is over…”

  A sudden, nervous uncertainty massed in his throat, killing his words. Who was he to a fairy princess that she should condescend to his petition? He rested on his arm and drew her hair to the side, exposing her neck. He placed a kiss on her shoulder’s curve.

  “Umm, that feels lovely.”

  “Shh, Vinia,” he said, allowing his courage to build.

  “Am I to be kissed and not heard?” she asked, teasingly.

  “No, never. But interrupting is rude.”

  “Apologies,” she said, grinning.

  “Accepted.” What he wouldn’t do to capture that smile. “So, as I was saying”—He swallowed—“when this is over, will you make an honest man of me?”

  “Oh Max,” she said, and her grin disintegrated. She rocked with shallow breath as she stared at his chin, reliving images he could not see.

  “What is it, love?” he asked. “You want to be my wife, don’t you?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “I have seen and done shameful things,” she said.

  Her lower lip quivered, twisting a dagger lodged between Max’s ribs. Her eyes, heavy with detested memories, dropped to the bed.

  “If I were an honorable woman, I would not expect you to share my yoke.”

  “We already spoke of this,” he said, folding his fingers into a half fist to staunch a trickle of anger. “I consider the matter resolved.”