The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 6

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  Miranda laughed then and he realised with a jolt that he had said the words out loud. He burned with embarrassment, but then thought, Why not? It was how he really felt. And above all else, she needed absolute honesty from him.

  Moreover, he was so tired of all the lies, the facade, living in the shadows, fearful of saying a word lest he incriminate himself in any way.

  "It’s very kind of you, I’m sure, but you don’t have to try so hard to make me feel better. It’s fine, lovely. I’m not afraid of what you’re doing. You don’t need to lie."

  "I’m not," he said, kissing his way over to devote his undivided attention to her other breast. "I’ve seen hundreds of women in my day in every state of dress and undress. Nothing could compare to you naked, except possibly you in my favourite blue gown, and of course your Cleopatra costume, though I would really prefer being your audience of one when you wear it."

  "I think that can be arranged, Mr. Davenant," she said with a warm smile. "The only thing is, we’re now going to be thinking about this whenever we have to act together." She indicated her bare body with a sweep of her hand.

  He chuckled. "In truth, I’ve thought of little else."

  She smiled. "I had sort of noticed. It’s an awfully good thing men don’t wear codpieces any more, or you would most assuredly be arrested for disturbing the peace."

  "You give me the most fearsome horn just looking at you. Let alone smelling your perfume, the sound of your voice—"

  She frowned in confusion. "But I don’t wear any perfume or eau de cologne."

  He shook his head gently. "Every woman and man has their own unique aroma. Yours is roses and spices with a hint of lemon and lots of honey. You must have guessed the first night in the Cleopatra costume."

  He nuzzled her underarms now. "Lovely here, and of course, down below. Not to mention the lovely smell behind your ear, between your breasts. But your feminine fragrance below is as powerful as an aphrodisiac."

  Miranda guessed at the meaning of the word and blushed. "So are your eyes. The way they look at me. Your hands. The way you touch me."

  "I’ve been a terrible fraud, telling you at first that we could never have anything romantic between us when I wanted you more than anything in this lifetime."

  He moved up in the bed to kiss her brow, the tip of her nose and then her lips lingeringly, before he began to work his way down her body, accompanying his kisses with warm words of love and praise.

  "One whiff of your hair, one touch of your hand, and I’m lost. The look from your eyes is enough to set my heart hammering in my chest. I love to see them light up and sparkle, watch them darken with passion. Study the mysterious flecks of gold and amber within them. Admire your long lashes as they flutter like a butterfly. Your eyes are as blue as a tempest-tossed ocean, deep, unfathomable, warm and calming. Stormy too. I just want to lose myself inside you. Dive in deep and never come up for air."

  She sighed happily, her cheeks crimson at such lavish praise, but also colouring with passion. His words moved her even more than the delightful things he was doing to her slowly and assuredly with his magnificent lips and hands.

  He couldn’t be lying, she was sure. The way he inhaled, nuzzled, and swirled his tongue, using his lips to wring every last drop of pleasure out of her, told Miranda her he felt more than just enjoyment of the scent of her flesh. That he loved the way she tasted too. That he loved her, all of her, flawed though she was. The cringing girl and victim gave way to the woman of power once more as she allowed the sensations to flood through her, and began to caress his broad shoulders and thick dark hair with her own nimble fingers.

  As she opened to him, so he opened to her. The tension in his body began to ease and now they moved as one. It was no surprise and the most natural thing in the world when George gradually began to move even lower than her breasts, kissing and stroking her tender belly, twirling his tongue around her navel and running it along the parentheses of her hipbones.

  He traced them with the tip of his tongue, delighting in the little valleys of her body, causing all of her most sensitive points to peak.

  "You know what I’d like to do now to please you," he murmured. "Do you trust me to touch you, well, there, with my hands as well?"

  "Yes," she said raggedly.

  But he could see her tensing, and kissed her whole belly until she relaxed once more, before gliding in a leisurely fashion ever lower. At last he drew level with her pretty short curls. They were silky soft to his touch, and he moistened his mouth again and gave one small cautious lick.

  "Oh my," she gasped.

  "That’s your little pearl of pleasure." He reached for her hand and placed one finger on it. "Women are often compared to oysters. That's not surprising, with such a lovely treasure inside. I adore oysters by the way. So there’s no need to be shocked or ashamed at what I’m doing. I want this to be wonderful for you. There’s nothing to reproach yourself for with me, do you understand? I love you and want to do everything in my power to make you happy. Do you trust me? Do you understand?"

  Her breath came out as a reedy whisper. "I think so."

  "Relax your hand and let me guide it."

  "But it’s wrong to touch myself, isn’t it?" she said with a small frown.

  "Not at all. Sometimes it’s easier. You might find it less complicated just focusing on your own pleasure at times than having to worry about your partner being pleased. I don’t mind if you do, honestly. A real man doesn’t feel threatened by the powerful desires inside a woman. He tries to share them, bring them out of hiding and into the light.

  "So I’ll follow your hand, if I may. Wherever your fingers go, mine will follow. My tongue too. We have all time in the world. Anything you want. If you want me to stop, you do. Just lift your hand."

  "I want your hands on me," she said with a little pout.

  All in good time. So here, like this. But be warned, with a woman if the contact lets up, the thrilling sensation subsides. With a man, once it’s triggered we pretty much just get swept away on a wave. So you need to find out if you want to rest in between, or press on."

  "Rest between what?" she asked in confusion.

  "You remember what I called it? Coming. The peaks of your passion, your pinnacle, zenith, the climax of pleasure." He gathered a mouthful of saliva and brushed it over her, and said, "Now, put your finger here. How does that feel?"

  "Oh, lovely," she said honestly, more than curious now, and a great deal less frightened than she had imagined she would be. But then, George's love had always helped transform her from girl into woman, or even goddess. He had always been so tender with her, so reverent. It would be beautiful, she was sure of it.

  He moved his hand. "And when I do that?"

  "Oooooh."

  "Now my tongue."

  Her hips rose right up off the bed and she gave a shaky laugh.

  "Too much?" he asked against her thigh.

  "Yes, oh yes, and not enough at the same time. Like the night we were in the dressing room and you caressed me, licked me through my silk drawers."

  "And other times when we both exploded," he reminded her. "Why don’t you start again and I’ll go right along with you. Let’s see if we can make it enough."

  Miranda tried to relax into the incredible sensations they both evoked, but soon she moved her own hand aside. "It’s all wonderful. I'm not afraid any more. I just crave even more. Just touch me everywhere, please, with your hands and tongue."

  "May I touch inside?" he asked huskily, for thus far he had refrained from exploring more than her sensitive entrance.

  "Yes—"

  "Guide me," he requested.

  She blushed. "But you know—"

  "I need you to—"

  "Oh, please hurry!" she panted, clutching his shoulder.

  He continued the pressure externally until she calmed. Then he said quietly, "No, love, this isn’t an experience to be gulped down greedily. We only ever get one first night together and I want it to
be something we’ll both look back on with love, not regret. A glorious memory to treasure always."

  His hands never stilled on her body as wave after wave of pleasure flooded through her. Miranda hardly recognised her own voice as she cried out her joy.

  George was so aroused his erection could not hold under such strain, and he soared with pleasure himself. He knew he would be at the ready again in a short enough time, but he pushed the thought to one side.

  George took his own promises to heart. This night was for Miranda, and her alone. Even if he never got to enjoy her enveloping embrace tonight, or for many nights ahead, he was setting the tone to ensure a lifetime of bliss for them both. For here was a woman worth waiting for, until he had at last gained her true trust and love.

  He drove her body on relentlessly to the next peak of joy, and with his mouth on her breasts and hands caressing her whole abdomen and outer part of her loins, a third.

  At last he dared glide one finger into her torrid core. She was extremely tight even though no longer a virgin. An impatient lover even with small attributes would have caused real pain, he could see. He worried not a little about how on earth he was going to manage with his own sizeable manhood. He took her own hand to make her feel what he did, including the cushiony little mound about two inches inside at the front of her body.

  "Yes, right there behind the bone. That’s right. So I can rub my thumb on your rosebud and curl my finger. How do you feel now, darling?"

  "Icy hot. Like I’m being pelted all over my body with flaming hail," she gasped, soaring once more.

  He replaced his thumb with his tongue and introduced a second finger gradually, making the most of her overflow of passionate honey. Her joyous cries echoed around the room.

  George lost all control of his body then, and his delight hummed against her most sensitive mound, bringing her yet higher. He found himself in the throes of the most exquisite torment without even touching himself or removing his trousers.

  Thus far she had only caressed his hair, face, neck and shoulders. But as her hips bucked under his mouth, he could feel himself hardening again, for she touched his chest, his abdomen, and he was on fire anew. He waited until the danger was at a lower ebb. Then he slid up her body to kiss her, quieting her breathy sobs.

  "Now you know it all, the joy, the way you taste. So incredibly delicious and exciting. In fact, I’d like to carry around one of your little hankies with your own sweet perfume on it here right next to my heart."

  She blushed at the words but nodded. "I know what you mean. I love to, well, smell your shirts when they’re still warm from your body. Your toga. And the leather jerkin you wear during—"

  He kissed her again while his long arm reached over for her reticule from the side table where he had tossed it, and retrieved said article from it. The light brush of the linen and texture of the embroidered roses on her unfurled petals was enough to set her soaring yet again.

  Curiously, George knew no steamy yearnings any longer, only a deep inner peace as he kissed and held her against his huge hard frame until her tidal surge diminished to a gentle eddy of pleasure once more.

  Then he held the hankie in place a moment longer until his hand felt damp. When he was finished he let it slide upwards along her sensitized flesh. He trailed it up to the level of his nose and inhaled deeply. "The nectar of a goddess."

  He folded it carefully and reaching again, grasped his discarded jacket and put it in the inner pocket with a reverence which brought tears to her eyes.

  "You really are the most beautiful man," she said in awe, lightly brushing his cheekbone, savouring the wonderful contrasts of hard bone, velvet skin, light bristles of beard, satin lashes.

  She shuddered with barely suppressed longing and moved to inhale his neck, underarms, the skin of his chest. She sniffed and tasted him tentatively with her tongue. His nipples were both sweet and slightly salty, with honey and the smell of a warm summer’s day.

  He made no protest and let her set the pace. He only hesitated when she reached for the waistband of his trousers. "You don’t have to—"

  "I want to. I want it all. Now, tonight."

  "There’s no hurry."

  "Yes there is. You've seen all of me, so it's only fair. But I want more than that, George, much more. I need you inside me," she said simply, with no shame at her admission colouring her cheeks. "Need you more than I ever thought possible. Please, George, make love to me now."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  George could hardly believe Miranda's ardent declaration of desire and need for him. Yet his doubts vanished as soon as he looked up at her face. The light shining in her eyes told him more eloquently than mere words just how much she needed him, and he gave in at last to the madness teeming in his body and blood.

  "All right, I do understand, my love, but we need to go slowly. We'll lie on our sides. You can control it that way, set the pace."

  "I trust you. Want you."

  "Then take all of me," he said, surrendering to her every whim, and helped her unfasten his breeches at last.

  His manhood sprang free from the confining trousers, and she stared at it in awe. She did not get much chance to assuage her curiosity, and confusion, though, for George was already out of the bed and stripping off the last of his clothes, scattering stockings with a boyish flourish that set her to giggling, it was in such contrast to his manly bareness.

  She thought she had seen naked men before, but this was….

  But she had no time or real desire to work out her confusion, for George was moving around the bedclothes in a curious manner, creating a nest of pillows and sheets for them before finally getting into the bed and laying on his side.

  He held out his hand to her and she moved into the centre of the bed to face him without any hesitation.

  "Have you done this with very many—"

  He shook his head. "Nay, none at all. It's never been like this, and you truly are the wife of my heart. I need no ceremony to tell me what I've known since we met. That you are part of me, the best part."

  "And I went through a sham of a ceremony—"

  "Nay—" he protested, afraid she was going to start blaming herself again for what Oxnard had done to her.

  "And it meant nothing compared to this, this joy whenever I'm with you, whenever we touch," she said, smiling up at him tenderly.

  He stroked down the curve of her body from ribcage to the sides of her thighs, making her shiver with pleasure. "I'm glad. It's the same for me."

  "So what do we need to do now?" she asked breathlessly. "I want you so—"

  "Lift your leg over my hip and slide closer. It’ll be all right. You can touch me there. It won’t hurt me. You take as much or as little as you can. If you can’t, don’t worry. We can try again. We have a whole lifetime ahead of us."

  He should have known Miranda would never do anything by halves. She palmed the engorged head and his breath hissed through his teeth. Perspiration popped out on his brow, but he remained still as she touched him. It was too good, far too good. But he had to hold on for her sake.

  So he forced himself to concentrate on her, not his own pleasure. He moved one hand up to touch her tentatively, circling her entrance. She took the hint, and pressed forward, feeling him pulse against her as she began to spread her legs wider and her own inner flesh did as well.

  She knew then as she had when she had been able to stare at George naked a few moments before that she had never encountered anything like this in her life.

  Fear, confusion, uncertainty shot through her, but so did the pleasure, a raw bolt of lightning deep inside her womb. She needed to feed the hunger, the ravenous tongue of passion which licked through them both like a starving animal clamouring for appeasement.

  It now devoured him, with her inner muscles grasping onto his most sensitive tip before he had even got more than a couple of inches inside her. It wrung the climax from him in an instant and he begged, "Oh, Miranda, kiss me, quickly."
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  All of his senses screamed for him to thrust home, but she had clamped on him so hard he could scarcely move forwards or backwards. Wave after wave of pleasure coursed through him, leaving him poised on a knife edge of sharp desire. She felt the surge, reveled in her power, the mystery of her body, and pulled him even closer, eliciting a still louder groan.

  But her flesh began to open still further, and was even more slick now with their mutual desire. He had also eased in size somewhat, and she could guess the reason why. She now pulled him the rest of the way into her, and rolled to pull him on top of her, panting with her own need.