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

by Blackthorne, Natasha

“There are other ways to make love. I told you already.”

  Those words, whispered softly, settled over him like whisky into flames. An image of her, on her knees before the English servant, seared into his mind.

  She still stood before him, her head slightly bowed, her eyes tightly closed and her face flaming. The firelight accentuated every curve of her lush form.

  He had but one thought.

  “Sunny.”

  “Yes?”

  “I want to see your body, bare.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I want to see your body, bare.

  James’ words burned into Sunny’s mind. She hardly dared breathe. Anticipation and apprehension alike pressed too hard upon her, constricting her chest. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.

  And she wondered if she had heard him correctly at all.

  “I want to see all of you, front and back.” His voice was terse.

  “Goodness,” she said. Her wits had returned enough for that much speech at least. Her heart’s beat increased rapidly. From shock, from trepidation.

  From delight.

  “Take off the nightdress.”

  Elation swept her head to foot. She flashed him one last look, fluttered her lashes and gave him a most provocative smile. Without breaking eye contact, she reached for the hem of her gown and paused.

  “Don’t do that,” he said.

  The terseness in his voice caused her heart to leap into her throat.

  “Don’t what?” she asked.

  “I am not in a mood to be teased. Not by you.” God. That look in his eyes! Her heart pounded into a dizzying beat. She quickly pulled the garment up and off over her head. Cool air assaulted her immediately. Her nipples hardened into stiff peaks and gooseflesh erupted all over her.

  From the chill?

  From nerves?

  Or excitement?

  “Go stand by the hearth.”

  He spoke so harshly!

  She tried to control her quickening breaths.

  “It’s warmer there and I would see all of you.” He spoke more gently, but there was steel beneath his tone.

  On legs gone a little rubbery, she walked to the hearth, aware of how the firelight better illuminated her body to his view. Oh, she wanted him to lust for her, to admire her. She placed her hands at the base of her neck, threading them into her hair and lifting the mass of it. Then she flexed her body in a sinuous way.

  “Catriona.” He put a warning into his tone.

  A small shudder raced through her. Heated blood seemed to stream into her lower belly. Wetness flowed between her legs. Her nub grew erect, so erect.

  “Turn to face me.”

  She caught her breath at his impatient tone, and wondered what he might do if she refused. The memory of his hand, spanking her soundly that first night at Blayne House, sprang into her mind. Her mouth went dry as her arousal increased. She was strangely tempted to test him.

  But why should she want to be disciplined by him? Oh, but she did. The wetness between her legs increased along with the tension in her loins.

  Yet, she was also afraid that if she delayed, he might change his mind and once again decide to play the honorable gentleman.

  She complied with his order and met his gaze. His blue eyes were so darkened by desire, she knew that despite his terse impatience, he had greatly enjoyed the view so far. She clasped her hands behind her bottom and, aware of how hard her nipples were now, how bright cherry red they appeared, arched her back and let her breasts jut out proudly.

  Admire me, lust for me.

  The words resounded through her with the intensity of a prayer.

  His gaze swept her.

  She began to tremble. Oh, what was he thinking?

  His expression gave no clue.

  But she hoped, oh, how she hoped, he would come to her and put his arms about her. Press his hard body to hers.

  He turned from her and walked to the bed then sat. “Put your hands behind your head and clasp them there.”

  It was not a request. It was an order. Desire wound through her lower belly. Her nipples tightened. She liked him giving her orders.

  “Turn for me.”

  A fresh volley of desire flashed through her belly like fiery sparks.

  “Go more slowly. Yes, that’s a good girl.”

  His last two words sent an explosion of those fiery sparks into her loins. Her knees threatened to give out. A nervous little giggle escaped her. She looked up to flash him a glance.

  “Keep your eyes down.” His voice was terser now.

  She immediately complied, then felt a little disconcerted by how quickly she’d obeyed. Completely flustered. Her heart was pounding now. She was getting so wet. She stole a glance through her lashes.

  He had arisen from the bed and was now shedding his banyan.

  Her heart beat harder than ever.

  He approached her.

  She swallowed. She wanted to speak, to say his name, to utter a plea for reassurance. But excitement held her throat immobile. She couldn’t have uttered a word to save herself.

  “Kneel for me.” His voice was velvet over steel.

  Her knees weakened even more and she swayed on her feet. He clasped her shoulders. “Kneel for me.”

  Her legs seemed to collapse beneath her. He held her shoulders, supporting her as she sank to her knees. The fire blazed warmly yet shivers consumed her. Not from cold but from the delicious sense of utter surrender.

  He held his cock.

  She understood. But excitement still held her frozen. Her hands were still trembling.

  He moved closer, brushed her lips with the crown of his erection. Fluid gushed from the tip, wetting her lips. She opened her mouth, wide, moved forward and took him in. Smooth-as-silk flesh slid over her tongue, throbbing hard heat. God, he tasted divine. She had missed this. But he kept pushing in and what started as pure pleasure quickly became a test.

  Yes, she’d done this before, with Freddy.

  With Silas.

  But James’ girth stretched what felt comfortable to her, what she had been accustomed to accommodating. It was a challenge she struggled to meet. Yet, it was also so exhilarating, she began to feel a bit lightheaded.

  He threaded his fingers into her hair, trailing shivery sensations in his wake. Gooseflesh spread down her nape, down her back. A little shudder tore through her. She moaned deep in her throat.

  He thrust forward.

  He was so huge, she gasped at the shock of it, the sound muffled by his girth. Yes, she had seen him before. But to feel it in her mouth, that was something more real, wasn’t it? Oh, her heart was thudding so hard now. Could he hear it?

  He pushed deeper.

  She hurried to swallow but gagged slightly.

  He held still and murmured something, lightly caressing her cheek whilst maintaining his hold on her hair.

  She nodded and moaned, the sound muffled.

  He grasped her hair more firmly, tilting her head back a little more, and he pushed deeper again.

  She swallowed, with purpose, with determination not to disappoint him this time. He thrust deeper, deeper. She swallowed, trembling all over with her efforts to be what he expected. What he needed.

  He had stilled.

  She wanted to tell him that he needn’t hold back. That she wouldn’t disappoint him now.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice terse yet tender all at once.

  She shook all the harder. From effort, from excitement.

  “You must indicate to me.”

  She tried to nod but the position was difficult. Drool ran down her chin, down her neck. On instinct, she grasped his buttocks, feeling the steel strength of his clenching muscles, and gave him a firm squeeze.

  He thrust deeper.

  Oh God! Never before had she felt so stretched to her limits. Her blood sang with joy.

  He groaned, the sound deep and rich.

  She should begin sucking him, begin moving her head.
But her breath was coming so fast, her body shaking so hard, she couldn’t move.

  He gripped her hair all the harder, sending dull pain over her scalp, down her neck. He withdrew, almost all the way, then thrust forward. She could feel the power of his hips, his thighs, the power coiled within his muscles. She could feel how he held back and measured his force to what she could bear.

  Thrills raced through her, sending a hot-cold shivery feeling from her head to her toes.

  He withdrew and thrust again. And again.

  More of those thrills consumed her. Wetness flooded between her legs, sliding down the insides of her thighs.

  He thrust over and over and over, pushing her limits. Stretching her ability to give. Neither Freddy nor Silas had taken control over this act in such a manner. James was holding her to his will, using her as suited his need

  She hadn’t even imagined it being like this. A man taking such charge.

  She adored it.

  His breathing sounded harsher and harsher. His grip strengthened on her hair. His thrusts grew quicker. His cock jerked. She could feel the pulsing within his shaft, pumping, rhythmic against her tongue, within the confines of her throat. His hot come jetted into her throat and she hastened to swallow. And swallow. And swallow. He kept coming and her whole being thrummed with the joy of receiving this oh-so-thrilling evidence of his satisfaction.

  He groaned and withdrew from her, still half-erect. His body shook and he dropped to his knees beside her, panting harshly.

  He looked at her and put a hand to her cheek. He closed his eyes. “God.”

  His voice resounded with emotion. Exactly which emotion, she wasn’t sure. Some measure of surprise?

  Yes, definitely surprise.

  Pleasure. Oh yes, pleasure.

  She had never felt a greater sense of her own womanliness. Her own power to please a man.

  His breathing quickly became more regular. He touched her shoulders. “It’s cold here on the floor.”

  She laughed and heard her nervousness in the sound. What did one speak of after such a moment? Yes, she’d been intimate with men before, but this had been so different. He had taken her totally. Completely. She had submitted to him wholly. Now she didn’t know where they stood. And she longed to ask him but wasn’t sure this was quite the moment to do so.

  He stood then bent and reached for her and lifted her up into his arms, then carried her to the bed.

  James had vowed to treat her with tenderness.

  Tonight, when he had seen her standing there, sleepy-eyed in her nightdress, in his bedchamber just as though she were his mistress and he had a right to her. He had longed to see her body. Bare in the firelight. Just to look. Not to touch.

  What madness!

  As though a man could look at a form so luscious, so perfect as hers and not want to touch her? It had been her artless sensuality, her obvious pleasure at displaying herself, and her doing so with a complete lack of affected coyness, that had proved his undoing.

  He had vowed to treat her with tenderness.

  But he’d taken her quite roughly.

  The jealousy within him had demanded that he have what others had already taken from her. That jealousy had driven him to take her fiercely.

  And yet she had responded beautifully to that roughness, to his every demand. He could tell she’d been surprised but not unpleasantly so. Did her response matter? She was a lady and he knew better than to treat any lady like that. No matter his inclinations or needs in the moment.

  He turned away from her, intending to go and fetch her some watered wine.

  “James.”

  Her voice was soft. Pleading without being insistent.

  He turned back to her.

  She lay there on the faded velvet coverlet, the play of the flickering firelight making her hair shimmer with enchanted tones of gold and orange. Her lips were swollen and deep red, her nipples hard points as bright pink-red as raspberries.

  She was more beautiful than any portrait of womanly perfection that his dreams had ever dared paint.

  His cock, which hadn’t fully relaxed, began to harden, lengthen.

  She parted her legs wide and slid her hand down and used her fingers to spread her outer lips, opening herself to his view. Her core, deep pink with arousal, glistened with wetness.

  He wanted to drop to his knees between those luscious thighs and bury his face in her tantalizing cunny. To smell her. Taste her. Thrust his tongue into her hot, wet sheath.

  But he couldn’t do that yet. She wasn’t ready for it. “Touch yourself, sweeting.”

  At first, she tentatively brushed her fingers over her flesh, her movements stiff, unnatural.

  But he sought to encourage her. “That’s beautiful, love. That’s the most beautiful thing.”

  She released her breath, a loud sigh. She visibly relaxed, the softly rounded swell of her belly rising and falling more naturally. She began rubbing her nub with gentle yet more determined strokes, her strokes becoming circular and faster, faster. She arched her hips and writhed, moaning as her fingers worked her flesh faster, more firmly.

  He walked to the bed and sat beside her.

  She glanced up at him. Her eyes were glazed, lost in her passions. Her pleasures.

  “Freddy?”

  The name startled him. Rankled him. Made him hotter than fire with jealousy. He forced the feeling down and fought for control. Some instinct told him he must take care. There was something not quite the thing here. Something related to her whole emotionally fragile condition. She didn’t need him responding with jealous anger. He must remain more aware of her needs and less focused on his own. He caressed her hair off of her face. “Not Freddy, sweeting, ‘tis James.”

  “James.” Her voice rang with wonder. “Yes, oh yes, James.”

  Such pleasure sounded in her voice, it took away the sting of hearing her utter Freddy’s name.

  He leaned down, cupped her face and kissed her deeply.

  “James,” she said as he lifted his head. She placed her hands on either side of his cheeks and pulled down. “James.”

  He kissed her again. And again. Until sheer need for air demanded that he rest.

  She stared up at him, her eyes slightly glazed again. Strangely distant.

  She had ceased touching herself sometime during their kissing. He took her hand and pulled it to his lips and kissed it. Her scent, spicy, sweetly sensual, wafted from her fingers. Need stabbed through him. He closed his eyes and groaned.

  Focus on her needs, not on your own. Focus on her needs, not on your own. He repeated this to himself as he opened his eyes, took her hand and led it back between her legs. “Make yourself come. I want to see you come.”

  “I can’t.” Her voice was half-sad, half-apologetic.

  “Why not? What happens?”

  “Freddy,” she whispered, as though someone might hear.

  “What about Freddy?”

  “He haunts me.”

  “When you’re trying to pleasure yourself?”

  “Yes, he comes to me, as real as he ever was. I don’t call him, I try not to think of him. But he still visits me then. He watches me. He disapproves.” Anxiety, not love or grief, resounded in her voice. “Dr. Meeker said if I could come for another man, it would stop the apparition. He said it was due to guilt. Guilt over having rejected Freddy’s husbandly authority whilst he was still alive.” She’d become a little breathless. “I cannot help but wonder if I were possessed by a man. I mean really and truly possessed by him, to have his weight upon me and his cock inside me, then Freddy would finally leave me in peace and I could come.”

  He heard the earnestness in her voice. He could sense the incredible tension in her body. The painful need. He felt how badly she wanted to come. Needed to come. It sent an answering frustration through him, an urgent desire to roll on top of her and take her. Answering need throbbed in his erection. A curiously pleasurable anguish. He had never experienced such self-denial. With any oth
er woman, he would have either had her or left.

  Her body trembled, with hunger, he was certain. His cock throbbed painfully once more. Would it really hurt matters to try and take her? Maybe that was all she really needed, as she had said.

  No. There was something more at the heart of all of this. He needed to find out what.

  Remain more aware of her needs and less focused on your own, damn you.

  “I am not sure that having my cock in you just yet is the answer, sweeting.”

  She frowned. “Whyever not?”

  “I think you have to come to terms with something inside yourself.”

  “Then you don’t think it is really Freddy haunting me.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “I am not so sure.”

  “You think that even he would be that selfish, to actually haunt you and prevent you from taking pleasure, from finding release?” James asked.

  “I don’t…Goodness, that sounds like a terrible thing for me to believe. No, I don’t want to believe that.” She drew her brows together. “James, would you make love to me? I mean, really and truly make love to me?”

  He shook his head. “You’re not ready.”

  “I am wet.” She took his hand and pulled it down. He watched her lead it down to her mons and he knew a leaping sense of anticipation. It was so different with her. Any other lady would have pretended coyness, a false hesitance. Any woman who didn’t pretend these qualities would have been hardened, coarse.

  But Sunny was neither of these things. She was a refined yet artless sensualist.

  She dragged his hand across her damp curls and pressed it until he felt the liquid heat of her inner lips. She arched against his hand whilst still pressing it down with her own, all the while pleading with her eyes.

  Lust pulsed through his loins, making his cock throb and jerk with impatience.

  “See, I am ready,” she said in a voice soft as velvet.

  He stroked his fingertip over her nub, lingering a moment to apply the circular motion he’d seen her use. The nub grew firmer. His cock throbbed painfully. “You’re certainly ready, here.” He withdrew his finger and reached to touch her temple. “But you’re not ready here.” He drew his hand down and touched above her left breast. He paused, feeling the pounding of her heart and noting the rapid fall and rise of her chest. “And most importantly, you’re not ready here.”