He watched her with hot eyes and she reveled in it.
She basked in the power that he gave her.
“Make me forget, Julien,” she whispered, tugging her bodice down. “And give me something good to remember.”
Chapter Sixteen
Makenna was in Julien’s arms before either of them could blink. All warm flesh and willing woman. For the first time in his life, Julien stared at a woman whose demands were more than clear, but he wanted nothing more between them unless it was utterly honest. No lies. No pretense. No deceit.
He kissed her temple, the lobe of her ear. “Are you certain?”
She looked up, her blue eyes shining with the same need coursing through him, heating his blood, his limbs, and making everything beyond that room disappear.
“I am,” she whispered, closing the last seam of space between them. She grazed his lower lip, her tongue drawing along the curved underside in a long, slow lick before taking it between her teeth. The soft pressure made his world tilt, and when her tongue swept inside his mouth, he went spiraling.
This woman. What had she done to him? Never before had he felt a desire so excruciating, so all consuming.
And now she was planning to leave.
He raked his fingers through her hair, the curls like silk, and held her to him, deepening the kiss until he could scarcely breathe. “Makenna,” he said as their lips parted, each of them gasping.
“Dunnae stop, Julien.”
The whispered plea was sweet music to his ears. He didn’t want to stop, but she’d had so few choices open to her in the past that he wanted this to be solely about her. When needy fingers balled into the front of his shirt and she pulled him to her again with vigor, he gave in with a laughing groan. Her strength didn’t surprise him, but the command she displayed, this fearless thirst she had for him, did. It only enhanced his admiration for her, and his longing.
She was fascinating, as unpredictable as a storm coming in from the sea. Julien never felt he had a handle on what it was she was thinking or feeling, and for a man who prided himself on reading potential investors, adversaries, and partners as well as he could a column of numbers, it unsettled him as much as it thrilled. Perhaps that is exactly why she intrigued him to no end. He couldn’t anticipate what she might do next. There were so many layers of her dauntless spirit—vulnerability, hope, humor, steel will, and inexplicably more. Julien could almost believe he might never be able to know them all.
He wanted to, though. He wanted to know each and every piece of her. Every secret. Every passion. Not just what he could feel, like her breasts now flush against him, or her mouth parted against his, hot and wet and fierce.
She wanted him. All of him.
And he wanted all of her. An endless amount. This, what she was offering…as impossible as it seemed, her willing and passionate body was not enough. He needed more. He needed to know her mind, her heart. Everything she kept so closely guarded, those impenetrable walls around her gone. Julien wanted nothing left standing between them.
He dragged his hands along her back, her ribs, and down the firm, round swells of her buttocks, his fingers pressing into the flesh. Makenna moaned into his mouth, the sound thrumming through him, straight to his cock.
He pulled back, though he didn’t release her. “You’ve done something to me, Makenna,” he said, his skin aflame where she touched him through the thin linen of his shirt.
“And ye to me.”
“I want you.”
“Then take me,” she replied as her hands mimicked his, traveling over his backside and gripping his arse with conviction. His cock filled and swelled at her bold touch, even more so at her words.
Bloody hell.
She’d bolted the door, likely to be certain they weren’t interrupted like last time. She knew what she wanted, and Julien was not idiot enough to turn her away. Why? Because he knew he’d want her a second and a third time after they’d made love? A fourth, a fifth, hell, a hundred times. Would it ever be enough? And yet she would be gone. He would not have her. Could not.
How can I let her go?
And yet, if he forced her hand, manipulated her in any way, he’d be just like the husband she’d loathed so deeply. Julien would not be that. Never. Her choices would always be hers.
Give me something good to remember, she’d said. He needed something, too, and Dieu this would be it.
He bent and swept Makenna from her feet, his mouth plundering hers as he took them from his sitting room into his attached bedchamber. He kicked the inner door shut with one foot, even though she’d already locked the outer one. He wasn’t taking any chances. An army of Scotsmen could come knocking for all he cared.
There was but one lamp lit, the low glow of the light seductive and warm as he set Makenna back onto her feet, near the bed. She was fully dressed, as she’d been at dinner, and Julien was oddly thankful. Had she been in a night rail already, he’d have been tempted to simply tug it off and take her. At least this way he would need to slow down, pace himself. Make things last. And he intended to make things last for as long as he could.
Again, a flood of cold threatened to derail the single-minded focus Julien had slipped into in the last minute. Time. They didn’t have enough of it left to them. But they had this night. Hours upon hours to lose themselves, and Julien wanted to get lost inside of this maddening, beautiful, magnificent Highland woman more than he’d ever wanted anything.
“Julien?” Makenna’s voice was hesitant, and he realized he’d stopped kissing her. He was staring at her, his fingers twining reverently around one of the fiery locks that she’d unpinned. “Is something the matter?”
He shook his head and glazed his knuckles over the rise of one breast. “I want to memorize it all. Every moment. Every inch of you.”
His fingers sifted through her hair, cupping full handfuls that slid along his palms like liquid silk. God, he loved her hair. A women as brazen and as bold as she should never be stifled, and yet, somehow, she had been. Some feckless idiot had doused her fire. He intended to rekindle it. Make it flame, and make her burn.
With deliberate slowness, he put his lips to her décolletage, tasting the sweetness of her skin, licking and nipping across to one, perfectly defined shoulder.
“What do you want, Makenna?” he whispered, trailing kisses along her collarbone and up her neck to the corner of her mouth.
A pair of laughing blue eyes met his. “I should think that was clear, my lord. Unless, of course, ye require more incentive.” A pretty blush covered her cheekbones and she blinked, her gaze scanning the chamber as if only just aware of where they stood. When it fell on the bed behind them, she sucked in a breath and bit at her lip, as though suddenly attacked by trepidation.
Julien licked at where her teeth worried her bottom lip, taking it gently between his and kissing it firmly. “Biting this lip is my job, and as far as incentive, no sane man would say no to a sensuous, attractive woman making such an offer.”
Her eyes widened. “Ye think me attractive?”
“Makenna, have you looked in a mirror?” he asked with an exasperated huff. “You’ve driven me to madness since the minute I saw your face at Maclaren. Then as I got to know you, the attraction I felt and could not act upon because you were married only multiplied exponentially.” He laughed. “For a man who likes multiplying things, I was not happy. I’ve been in a constant state of desire for the better part of a year—a terrible thing for a man to endure, might I add—and no parade of fiery redheads could soothe my affliction.” She bit at her lip, and he swooped in again, claiming it. “I told you, this is my job. Do that again, and you will face the consequences.”
“Consequences?”
“Of disobeying me.” His tone held nothing but playfulness, and as his hand swept the plump curve of a breast, his thumb grazing over her budded nipple, she gasped. He wanted to erase every bad thing she’d ever endured in bed and out of it, but he would start here. In the bedchamber. He li
fted a brow in challenge, and waited. Hoping she would slay the beasts of her past with him.
“And what if ye disobey me?”
The wealth of promise in those husky tones nearly made him stumble. “Then you should exact whatever price you see fit. But in this room, at this moment, I am yours to command, Makenna. I only want to serve you.”
Her hand slid up his chest, plucking at the expertly tied cravat. “Ye do not strike me as a man who enjoys being on his knees.”
“I assure you, if the right moment presents itself, I do.”
Julien did just that—he sank to his knees in front of her and found her ankles beneath her gown. With a gasp, she took a step back toward the bed, her hands gripping into the sides of the mattress. Julien inched forward, and after divesting her of her slippers, he looked up with a teasing smile. “I believe you mentioned something about incentive?”
“From the rumors concerning yer…er…prowess, I didnae think ye would require any more than a willing woman in yer chamber, clothes gone and thighs spread.”
“There’s a little more finesse to it than that, love.” Julien grinned, pinching her calf gently through her stockings and reaching up for the ties on her garters. “And for that bit of cheek, you lose these.”
He unrolled each stocking until his fingers caressed bare skin. Julien spared a glance up and nearly spent himself. Makenna’s head was thrown back, her mouth parted in transcendent feeling, breasts pressed high, her fingers trembling with strain and wound into the bedsheets. And all he’d done had been to touch her lower legs. He ran his palm behind her knee and she shivered.
“God, you’re so responsive.”
“Is that bad?”
“No.” His voice sounded gruff to his ears as his own arousal tore through him. “No reaction from you could ever be bad, chérie.” He pinched her calf gently to get her attention. “So back to incentive, what do you mean to offer me?”
He wanted her to participate. To not have to lie back and think of England. Or Scotland, as it were. For all her years of marriage, Julien was sure she was still innocent in all the pleasurable ways of lovemaking, and he intended to rectify that.
“Offer?” she repeated dazed.
“Yes.” He stroked her bare legs with both palms. “For these to climb higher, you must illuminate the way.”
After the barest hesitation, Makenna’s fingers uncurled from the sheets and wound into her skirts instead. Julien held his breath as she tugged upward, collecting the fabric inch by torturous inch. Slowly, slowly, his dark forearms were revealed against her alabaster skin. He could feel her gaze on his hands on her legs, the sight of his male strength against her delicate femininity riveting.
“More?” he asked, breaking the trance.
She gulped and nodded, gathering handfuls of skirts until her knees were bared and then a tantalizing display of pale slender thighs beneath the edges of lace drawers that made his mouth water. “Is that far enough?” she whispered.
“Not by a longshot,” he said and leaned in.
…
Her heart throbbing in a thousand places in her body, most notably between the trembling thighs that she kept pressed tightly together, Makenna stared down at the blond head that hovered indecently below the hem of her hiked skirts. Her gaze hitched once more on the bronzed, coarsely furred forearms gripping her skin. She’d been fascinated by the sight at first, and then she’d come marginally unhinged by the thought of those hands inching higher to where she burned the most.
He’d told her more, and she’d complied.
Lord above, she was shameless.
She and Graeme had copulated in the dark beneath the sheets, most often with him on top. Though a few times, he’d used her like an animal with the sole intent of degrading her. She’d hated it. In all the times he’d come to her bed, there’d been no love play, no banter, no teasing. Every time had been reminiscent of her first time: hard, fast, and over before she could blink.
Not now, however. Now, with Julien, her body hummed and heated. Her breasts felt tight and alive, her core nearly liquefied with want. She’d never known the touch of a man who made her forget all the pains of the past. Who made her feel like she was something new, not something broken and used and discarded. She was whole and desirable. The way his eyes feasted on her in the sitting room had taken her by surprise. When she’d bared herself to his gaze, she’d expected a reaction, certainly, but the instant lust had been palpable. Lust for her.
She’d felt his erection against her hips, but he hadn’t flung her into the bed. Though, it was with some more shock that she realized she wouldn’t have been disappointed if he had. Instead, he’d proceeded to tease and relax her until her body was nothing but a boneless mass of desire. And no man had ever coyly asked her to lift her skirts for him. The act had been freeing. Liberating. Not just to her senses, but to the shackles that had suppressed her own consent for a lifetime.
In all her years, Makenna never wanted a man to blow out the candle and order her to undress and get under the covers more. It seemed that Julien was quite content with drawing out the delicious torment and killing her slowly. But oh, what a wonderful death it would be. Makenna grinned to herself. It was no wonder that the French called an orgasm le petit mort, or the little death.
Hot breath blew against her drawers and she nearly encountered the little death herself. Sensations stormed through her as Julien’s wet tongue traced the lace edge of her drawers, skilled fingers loosening the ties. Her own hands quivered madly, clutching the bunched fabric to her abdomen. She did not dare look down. Could not bear to, but she did anyway. Like him, she did not want to miss a thing. She wanted to remember every heated detail.
Within seconds, Julien had stripped her bare below the waist, and then he just stared. She blushed, and made to drop her skirts, but he halted her with a silent stare, his large hands poised on either side of her hips in adulation. “No,” he said in a voice like gravel. “You’re perfect. So damned beautiful.” He grinned up at her. “Are you as fiery below as you are on top?”
She reached for boldness—it had pleased him before. “Are ye going to dream all day or find out yerself?” Staring into those passion-clouded eyes, she wanted him to kiss her. Deliberately, purposefully, she bit into her bottom lip, her eyes never leaving his.
The green of his irises darkened and his fingers tightened as he drew her to him. “I told you what would happen if you did that again, didn’t I?”
“Aye. I’ll pay the price, gladly.”
If she’d expected him to rise and lick her lip as he’d done the last time, she would have been wrong. He did lick her. Just not on her mouth. He licked her there.
Makenna sagged into the edge of the mattress, one arm reaching up to grip the bedpost while the other held on for dear life to the bottom half of her gown. She sent up a prayer that her knees would not give out. But as he continued his slow, seductive exploration with his clever mouth, she could barely hold a coherent thought together. His fingers slipped up her inner thigh to tease her further, sliding into her damp warmth while his tongue continued its tender onslaught.
“Julien,” she begged as her body began its inexorable climb.
No one had ever touched her like this. No one. Graeme had used his fingers on occasion, but never his mouth, and never so skillfully in tune with the demands of her body. Pleasure built and spiraled outward, until she was practically sobbing Julien’s name, one hand clenched on the bedpost and the other tangled in his hair. She’d long since released the folds of her gown.
When Makenna came apart in a storm of shudders, she fell back onto the bed, gasping. A tousled, red-cheeked Julien emerged from the cocoon of her skirts and joined her thereafter, a gratified smile on his face that almost matched the one she knew must be on hers. “How was that for punishment?”
“Ye call that punishment?”
He laughed. “I call it mutually advantageous atonement then.”
Julien reached over to brus
h a damp tendril of hair out of her face, and the tenderness of the act took her by surprise. She spared a glance to the considerable tent in his trousers, and was glad that her face was already pink. His rigid state of arousal was in no way relieved.
Pushing to her knees, Makenna crawled over to him. He made no move to touch her, only crooked his elbows and placed his forearms beneath his head as if he were lying in a field at his leisure.
“What comes next?” she asked softly.
“Besides you, again?” he countered wickedly. “And again and again?”
Makenna felt her face go hot. “Will ye…?” She broke off with another heated glance toward his thighs. “Want to…find yer satisfaction?”
“Eventually. Tonight is yours, chérie. What do you wish?”
She stared at him, this wonderful, generous, charming man who lay there like a banquet waiting to be explored and sampled. What did she want? She wanted him to touch her everywhere without a stitch of clothing between them. She wanted to discover him, savor him, and have him experience the pleasure he had just offered to her.
She wanted to make him hers. At least for tonight.
“I want our clothes gone,” she said, her throat thick.
“Your wish is my command.”
He edged off the bed and pulled her with him. Together, they made easy work of their remaining clothing, stays, and smallclothes, until he stood as naked in front of her as she did in front of him. She let her eyes devour him greedily, grateful now that he hadn’t blown out the candle. Her breath hitched in her throat and she could hardly take in air.
God, he was magnificent. All lean muscles and elegant strength. Broad shoulders tapered to a flat, ridged abdomen and narrow hips. An impressive erection jutted out from a nest of dark gold curls at the apex of a pair of long, lightly furred and sculpted legs. But of all the things she noticed about him, besides the obvious, her gaze hinged on his feet. He had beautiful feet, elegantly arched with perfectly formed toes.
“Ye have nice feet,” she blurted.
A Lord for the Lass (Tartans and Titans) Page 21