The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne (Intimate Secrets Book 1)

by Blackthorne, Natasha

  He hungered to reclaim that gorgeous mouth. His whole body thrummed with lust.

  Her eyes were dilated, dark with desire. He fancied he could feel her need.

  Her need was even harder to ignore than his own throbbing cock.

  He must leave.

  Immediately.

  He pulled away.

  Her mouth fell open farther. She gasped and reached for him. Grasped his shoulders.

  He had never felt such ardency in a woman’s touch. She pulled on him. The passion in her eyes tugged on him even more.

  He imagined her softness pinned beneath himself. Imagined plunging into her hot, wet depths.

  He reached up and collected her hands and held her by the wrists. “I shall bid you good night, Sunny.”

  Her face contorted, as though she were experiencing some pain. Now he knew he could feel her need. Painful need.

  He wanted nothing more than to drop her wrists and take hold of the edges of her dressing gown and strip her body bare. Then to press her to the bed and—

  He took a deep breath then gently released her arms. Calling on every ounce of self-control he possessed, he leaped from the bed. Then he stood there, his body reeling with desire, lust throbbing in his cock.

  God.

  She stared back at him, mouth slightly agape, her eyes glittering with desire.

  Beautiful eyes.

  Her hair glowing brilliant yellow gold in the orange firelight. Her velvet robe shimmering, clinging to every luscious inch of her.

  The most desirable woman he’d ever seen. She had invited him in here. She wanted this every bit as badly as he did.

  He was only human.

  You must treat her with honor.

  He turned from her and walked to his chamber. Once there, he closed the door between their rooms, as though that could stop the continued pulse of hunger in his blood.

  In his erection.

  I need a harlot.

  He reached for his coat and threw it on. Then he grabbed his hat and left the chamber. A few terse words with Robert, instructing him to stand watch in the corridor.

  * * * *

  He had not found any harlots. None of them seemed quite up to par. Just not what he was looking for. He had kept to his search but along the way he seemed to stumble on the oldest, biggest bottle of Scotch whisky he’d ever seen, which he had purchased.

  He didn’t know what had happened to the bottle. He might have left it with that last dark-eyed wench who had clung to him so sweetly. Well, rather cloyingly, truth told.

  But that wasn’t very gentlemanly of him to think, was it?

  He could still smell her cheap musk and rose perfume on his clothes as he entered his chamber. Wrinkling his nose, he stripped off until he stood there naked, swaying on his feet.

  He fell across the bed.

  The change in position increased his dizziness and his stomach became uneasy. He clung to the mattress, swallowing frequently. Perhaps a little desperately.

  After a time, the bed gradually stopped churning like frigate caught in a storm, and kept to a gentle sort of rocking. Gingerly, he rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, watching a stain—or was it a spider?—spin in his view.

  How much had he drunk?

  Too damned much.

  He closed his eyes and waited for sleep.

  Images of Sunny kept flashing through his mind, joined by images of her that night at Blayne House. He had thought himself too stunned by drunkenness, and by her predicament, to have noticed much of her form. Certainly, he had tried not to notice.

  But he had lied to himself. Now those stored memories played with stunning vividness in his mind’s eye. He could feel her curves against him. Could taste her kisses. Could smell the sweetness of her flesh.

  He grasped hold of his throbbing erection and gave it several fierce jerks. Wanting only to speed himself to completion, he set up a rapid, hard-driving rhythm. The same tempo with which he wanted to drive himself into her softness.

  A soft touch landed on his shoulder.

  He froze.

  Then he turned and faced Sunny. What the devil was she doing in his bed? He would have asked her but he was panting too hard to speak.

  Perhaps she wasn’t really here. Maybe he was hallucinating. But then, if he had the lucidity to think that she might be a hallucination, he couldn’t be that drunk.

  It had been a long, long time since he had been this foxed. He really didn’t remember what it was like or how much lucidity was customary when one was half-seas over.

  But on the off chance that she really was here, in the flesh, it just wouldn’t do to bring himself off in front of a lady.

  Even a lady who seemed determined to sneak into his bed at every opportunity.

  With his heart still thundering, he released his cock and shook himself internally, trying to clear the lust from his mind.

  He slid his hand under the covers and touched her.

  She felt solid, warm, and soft.

  Quite real.

  “Sunny…” He paused to catch his breath. “What the devil?”

  “My bed stinks.”

  “Stinks?” he asked, still not completely able to focus his thoughts. His eyes fixated on the swell of her breasts against the sheer cloth of her nightdress. Her hard nipples, straining against the material. He could discern their deep rose color.

  The nights had grown chilly. Shouldn’t she be wearing thicker, flannel cloth?

  His cock throbbed painfully, leaking profusely.

  Christ.

  He could feel her nipples’ firmness against his tongue. Could taste their sweetness.

  He need only reach out and pull her closer and bend his head.

  You promised to treat her with honor, remember?

  But even honor had its limits…

  No, he couldn’t let go of his control. Not until he was certain of his intentions towards her. He couldn’t use her.

  With immense effort, he closed his gaping mouth and dragged his gaze back to hers. “Your bed stinks?”

  She nodded.

  “Like a wet dog.” She wrinkled her nose. “One that hasn’t yet been housebroken.”

  “This is a respectable inn.” He heard the incredulous note in his voice. Yes, this inn was a tad rustic, but he had certainly stayed in worse during his years in the navy.

  “I am not lying,” she said.

  “You cannot sleep here.”

  “You can’t expect me to sleep in a bed that reeks.”

  “No, I can’t. I shall go sleep in your chamber.” He stared across the chamber at his things. His banyan was in his valise. How would he get from the bed to there? He was naked and had a raging erection.

  Presumably, she’d seen a naked man before. And anything was safer than lying here with her.

  He made to leave the bed.

  Her hand, somehow now outside the coverlet, landed on his stomach.

  He froze. Gasped for breath. Every muscle in his abdomen went taut. A jolt of lust sparked through his cock.

  He swallowed back a groan.

  “Stay.” Her voice rang with soft seduction.

  He couldn’t suppress a groan. The sound of his need echoed deeply. He grasped her hand and lifted it off himself.

  “I want to watch,” she said.

  “To watch?” he repeated, hardly comprehending her words.

  “You were touching yourself.”

  “We should not have this discussion.”

  It was hard to make his voice firm whilst utterly intoxicated, whilst possessing a raging erection and being in bed next to a sexual goddess.

  But he might have succeeded. He couldn’t be sure; the blood pounded in his ears too loudly for him to have heard his own voice all that clearly.

  “I have never seen a man do that before.” Her voice had grown softer, more breathless.

  “I wouldn’t have imagined that you had, love.” His cock throbbed harder at her words, at the soft, submissive note
in her tone. He wanted only to grasp himself and jerk until his passions exploded.

  But he had to, somehow, convince her to leave first.

  “I want to watch.”

  His erection throbbed and swelled, fiercer than any he’d ever had before. Ever. Of this he was certain. That disarming frankness of hers. That artless curiosity and sensuality. Oh damn. She was the most arousing woman…

  I can’t. It simply isn’t done. And she is my cousin’s widow.

  “Sunny, we should—”

  “Please.” The word resounded with need.

  There were limits to honor. A point when clinging to such a spindly thread became ludicrous.

  And once that thread had snapped, so too did his control. He jolted to a sitting position and then, trying to temper his urgency, he tugged gently on her arm. “Up.”

  “But I want to stay.”

  “Sit up,” he ordered tersely.

  She cast her eyes down.

  “Now,” he said, putting the same steel into his tone as when he’d ordered men to scurry up to the topgallants in a howling storm.

  She glanced up. Her eyes went large and she hugged herself, seeming to sink back against the pillow. Then something flashed in her gaze. Something heated, dark.

  He held his breath, forcing back the impatience that made him want to grasp her by the shoulders and drag her up.

  She must do it of her own accord.

  Slowly, with languid movements, she pulled herself to a sitting position.

  God, that was gratifying. He released his breath, then touched the small pearl buttons on her nightdress. “Let’s have this off you.”

  She bit her lip.

  Fire roiled through him. A moment of real submission from this lovely creature. When he began to undo the tiny buttons, his fingers were trembling.

  He felt the tremble rush through her, too. Saw her chest begin to rise and fall more rapidly, her rigid nipples straining against the whisper-thin muslin. His fingers shook more uncontrollably, slipping on the dainty buttons. With a groan, he left off undoing them and took the edges of her nightdress and tugged hard.

  Seams ripped, and buttons popped off and fell on the bed.

  She gasped.

  Her breasts sprang free, full, heavy yet still quite youthfully high. Gorgeous.

  Perfect.

  His mouth dropped open and awe held him in thrall. He could only stare.

  He had dreamed of breasts such as these, but he had never expected to see such perfection this side of heaven.

  He had certainly not expected to come home from the years of war and find Sunny grown up into such a ravishing temptation.

  He cupped his hands beneath them, feeling their weight. Their soft firmness. He bent his head and pressed his face in the valley between them and inhaled her scent, spicy lavender and rose and something much like vanilla and sugar. He turned and kissed a trail to her nipple then captured the hard peak, savoring the feel of it between his lips, against his tongue.

  She threaded her fingers into his hair.

  He sucked her.

  She gave a soft squeal and dug her fingers more firmly into his scalp.

  There would be more of this—much more of this—but later. God, later.

  He ran his hand down her belly, pulling the edges of her torn gown along, until he reached the soft swell above her pelvis. He had touched her bare stomach before, years ago in the garden. But then it had been flat. A girl’s figure. Now she was so gloriously woman.

  Just as he had that night in the garden, he took her by the shoulders.

  She glanced up at him, recognition and desire glittering in her green eyes. She remembered as well.

  He pressed her down.

  This time she didn’t resist. Her eyes softened and she dropped her gaze. Her body went limp and she allowed him to guide her backwards and down until she lay beneath him.

  Her breasts rose and fell rapidly. She ran her tongue over her lips.

  He traced his finger along the V at the bottom of the tear in her nightdress, right above her pelvic bone. He longed to continue the rent in the fragile cloth, to bare her sex, spread her legs and plunge into her.

  However, he understood what she had asked for.

  And why…

  She’d been deeply shamed for self-pleasuring. Told that she was ill, in need of fixing. She needed proof that such behavior wasn’t so abnormal.

  He’d give her that proof.

  He took his cock into his hand.

  Her lashes lay like mink-colored fans against her cheeks, yet her chest froze as she caught her breath. Then he knew she was watching through the veil of those lashes.

  He put his other hand on her breast.

  She bit her lip.

  He squeezed her and she moaned and arched her back.

  He stroked his hand up and down his shaft.

  She looked up, meeting his gaze, her eyes dark and full of desire.

  Sunny.

  Had he said her name aloud? She was with him, her gaze burning into him, settling deep within him. He’d never had such a sensation. It added a piquancy to the moment.

  Damn, he wanted to be inside her.

  No, he would give her only this. She watched his hand now. Intently. It aroused him beyond bearing. He jerked himself harder, faster. His seed came roiling up his shaft. He groaned and pressed himself to her soft belly. Fierce ejaculations overtook him, tremors wracked his body. A harsh groan tore up from his throat.

  He collapsed against her.

  She laughed softly. It was Sunny’s girlish laugh, full of the joy of life.

  His eyelids grew heavy. He barely managed to roll away from her, to relieve her of his weight, before sleep overcame him.

  * * * *

  Sunny arose and went to the mirror at the washstand.

  She stared at the torn edges of her nightdress and a thrill shot through her, making her tingle from head to toes.

  Her stomach was wet, glistening with his seed.

  Claimed.

  She’d been utterly claimed by James.

  She hugged her shoulders, holding back the urge to laugh. She had never felt so giddy with joy.

  Was it just a fleeting moment? Maybe. But she would snatch all the pleasure she could from it.

  She stripped off the remnants of her nightdress and washed herself. Then she returned to the bed and lay beside him. But she couldn’t sleep for the happiness that still thrummed in her blood. She watched him sleep for a while. It had all been so wildly exciting. Watching him make himself come. Having him come all over her belly. She couldn’t stop herself from taking his hand.

  Placing it on her breast.

  He groaned and gave her a squeeze. Quite firm.

  Sparks of delight raced through her and she caught her breath.

  The bed ropes creaked with his weight as he turned towards her and took both her breasts into his hands.

  She kept her eyes closed.

  Was she dreaming?

  No, she didn’t want to know.

  The night before might also have been a dream induced by opiates. She’d certainly had plenty of lusty dreams before.

  The warmth of his tongue teased her breast. A spark of desire spread through her belly and lower. Her sex clenched and wetness began to flow between her legs.

  He rolled her from her side onto her back. His weight settled on her, the hair on his chest, abdomen and legs rasped against her. She loved it all. Even the odor of sex and stale whisky he bore.

  He cupped her face. “Sunny.”

  Passion vibrated in his voice.

  She arched her back, pressing her breasts into his chest.

  He groaned then put his mouth to hers, open, hungry.

  He kissed a trail from her mouth, along her cheek to her ear. He nipped her lobe.

  The sharp bite of pain made her gasp and jump.

  He pressed his erection firmly to her belly and held her by the shoulders in a fierce grip. “Are you wet?”

 
; Even her common-born lover had never been so blunt. But that very directness, coupled with the throb of his erection, thrilled her. More wetness gushed from her sex and she nodded. “I am so very wet.” Her voice sounded hoarse, unlike herself.

  He groaned and pressed his knee between her legs.

  Oh God. Oh God.

  Joy thrummed inside her. Her heart was beating so hard it threatened to leap from her chest.

  He inserted his hand between her legs. He groaned again. “God, you are wet.”

  She clenched again and another surge of wetness gushed from her.

  “Oh, Christ,” he said hoarsely. He slid a finger between her folds then thrust it inside her, a quick, harsh move that sent sparks of fire up into her belly.

  Her hips arched of their own accord. Her nub throbbed painfully.

  “Oh, oh, oh…” She knew she sounded silly, but she couldn’t stop.

  “I can’t wait,” he said. He parted her legs wider, positioned himself.

  The warm, hot silk of him touched her entrance. She arched against him. “Please, oh please…”

  He pressed.

  Her body resisted.

  She whimpered and arched. “Please, please.”

  He pressed, harder.

  A sharp, tearing sensation spread through her loins. Painful but sweet, oh so sweet. She arched up, seeking more.

  But he had already pulled away.

  She reached for his hips, gripped his buttocks, feeling their taut muscular strength. “Please, oh James please.”

  She tried to pull him towards her, but it was like trying to move one of the marble pillars at the entrance to Blayne House.

  He was gaping at her. “What the devil, Catriona?”

  He almost never called her Catriona, unless he were unhappy with her.

  Coldness settled in her stomach. She gripped his buttocks a little more firmly. “Please, James, just—”

  “You’re a virgin.”

  “Well, yes, I am but—”

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

  “It seemed as though it would spoil the mood.”

  “Quite.” He frowned. “Sunny, you deserve better than to be deflowered so briskly by a drunken man.”

  “Then you’re not really angry—I mean not too angry?”

  “Yes, not too angry.” He grinned, slightly. “God, Sunny.”

  “What?” she asked, startled by his tone. A pang of alarm raced through her body.