Tangled in Sin

by Lavinia Kent

  “Experimentation.” She said the word slowly.

  “Yes, just a little chance to explore.” He moved his fingers again. “Wouldn’t you like the chance to learn a little more?” Deliberately he moved his hand to where he knew her clit must lie, and gave a couple of quick strokes.

  Her eyes grew wide and her thighs tightened. “Experimentation,” she said more firmly.

  “Nobody will know what happened between us and we should have at least another day before the creek is low enough to cross.” He rubbed her again. “Can you imagine what my mouth would feel like there, the heat and moisture?” He stopped moving, serious for a moment. “I know yesterday morning did not end well. That is not how I want you to think of such things. Will you give me a chance to make it better?”

  A sheet of deep red rose up her face, but her eyes did not waver from his. “Your mouth there?”

  Had she even heard the second part of his statement, of his question? “Yes, my mouth.”

  Her eyes said she had never heard of such a thing, but they also said she didn’t find the idea at all off-putting. Her chest heaved as she considered. “And what about you? I might find pleasure in such an activity, but I cannot imagine your…your prick would find much joy in it.”

  “My prick generally enjoys what I enjoy.” He was doing his best to think only of her. His own needs did not matter now—or at least did not matter much.

  She raised a brow, looking like a disheveled duchess.

  “I could take the matter in hand, so to speak.” He would give her that much honesty.

  Confusion.

  “I could stroke myself, bring myself pleasure at the same time that I kissed your pussy.”

  “Oh.” She grew even redder.

  “Or you could do the same to me. Taste me. Lick me. Suck me.”

  Her lips puckered in such a way that he could feel her imagining them about him. His cock jerked fully to attention. It liked that option very much.

  “Is there anything else?” she asked.

  And his good intentions began to desert him. “I can rub myself between your breasts, or indeed pretty much anywhere on your body, or…”

  “Or…?”

  Did he dare? Perhaps if he pushed her too far it would restore sanity to them both. “Or I can fuck you from behind, fuck you—”

  She cut him off. “But didn’t you do that the other morning? And you still seemed to think I could get pregnant and if that’s really how you avoid a child why doesn’t everybody do it that way—and besides that hurt.”

  He released a long sigh. Yes, his brain was regaining control—now to push until they both remembered who they were and what they were doing. “I could fuck you in your other hole, not your cunny.”

  “Not my…Oh. Really? However would that fit?”

  “I can only assure you that it does.”

  “Then you’ve…”

  “Yes. Sometimes a man wishes to be sure he does not leave a child, and besides it can be most pleasurable—for both parties. Imagine yourself on your knees with my cock moving within you as my fingers worked upon your clit until you cried out from the ecstasy.”

  Again confusion. “My clit?”

  “The spot between your legs where you are the most sensitive, where you feel the most pleasure.”

  She bit down on her lip again. “And if you…you…fuck me in that other place. Does that hurt?”

  “Some, but the pleasure is worth it. And it normally would not hurt at all when I take your cunny. It was only that it was the first time.”

  She nodded; clearly she had heard something about virginity. “So it wouldn’t hurt if we did it again?”

  “Not if I was careful and made sure you were ready.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I touched you until you were wet, until your body was soft and welcoming.”

  She scrunched her nose, clearly thinking deeply. “I can’t believe we are talking about this, much less thinking about doing it. I’ve never even heard of most of these things and now you have me wondering about doing them. Do many people do them? How would you feel about marrying a woman who had done them?”

  He took the time to consider her question, willing his body to obedience. “As long as she had done them with me, I would consider myself quite lucky.”

  “And if she’d done them with somebody else?”

  “I have already taken your maidenhead. I am not sure that anything else will make it worse.”

  “I am unconvinced. Those things you speak of seem quite personal.”

  That was certainly true. “I cannot deny that, but they are also quite pleasurable.”

  “I am still not convinced that you would be interested in a lady who had done these things you are talking about.”

  “I take it that by interest you mean I would wish to marry you? You know I wish that, so what does it matter?”

  “You mean you think you ought to marry me. Can you truly say you wish to?”

  How to answer that question? “I am certainly not against marrying you. The more I think about it the better a decision it seems. I admit that I still do not know you well—the present you—but I was always fond of you. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather marry.” There, every bit of that was true. And she was wavering; he could see it in her eyes. All she needed was a little persuasion and, given the passion he’d seen in her eyes, he had the perfect plan for that.

  “You were so fond of me that you completely forgot about me?”

  “You must admit you have changed since last I saw you.”

  “That is true.”

  “Now,” he ran the warm cloth up her leg one more time, “should I proceed or should I stop?”

  Chapter 10

  Did she actually have to make a decision? How was she supposed to decide between what her body cried for and what her mind told her was proper? Perhaps it had not been such a bad thing that he’d taken her before she had awoken fully. It had certainly allowed her to take no responsibility, something she now understood the power of.

  Her lids slid shut, allowing her to focus only on her thoughts—her thoughts and the delicious feeling of the cloth running up and down her leg, tempting her. What was the right thing to do? What risks was she willing to take? And for what reward? “Please stop for a moment. I need to think.”

  “What if I don’t want you to think?”

  Her eyes jerked open. “Then why did you ask?”

  The cloth stopped moving, his arm dropped to his side. “You are correct, my lady.” He gave the briefest of bows. “I do want you to think—to think and be sure.” And then his mouth quirked up in a dazzling little smile. “I just want you to be sure and say yes.”

  Why did she feel he was talking about more than this moment? She closed her eyes again, shutting out the temptation named James. Even with her eyes squeezed tight it was impossible not to picture that wicked smile—and all the rest of him, every delicious, hard-muscled inch. If she said yes, would he let her touch? Perhaps take her turn washing him? Now, that was something to think about.

  But what about the rest of it? Was wanting something enough reason to do it? It always had been before. And what about curiosity? She did hate not knowing things.

  She opened her eyes slowly, looked at him, considered. “You will be sure I do not get pregnant?”

  “As sure as it is possible to be—although as you may already be so, I am not sure how you will judge the outcome. Now, if you married me—”

  “Stop.” That was a decision she refused to make at the moment. Some risks were too great, even for her. “That is not the discussion we are having at this moment. Despite everything, I will trust you. I should be clear that I am not agreeing to everything on your list. I am not at all sure I would care for several of the activities you mentioned.”

  “I would never wish to do anything you did not wish. If you say stop, I will stop.”

  She pulled a deep breath into her lungs, watching as
his eyes dropped to her still-tight breasts. She had to admit she did like that, liked the feeling of knowing she was desired. “So what exactly do you want me to do?”

  “You are saying yes? I need to be sure. I do not wish to repeat my mistake.”

  Another deep breath. She must be losing her wits. “Yes.”

  “Then all I want you to do is sit there, sit there and enjoy. Do not move. Do not speak. I will tell you if I want you to do anything else.”

  That sounded easy—and dangerous. She was reminded of the power of having no responsibility. Her mouth grew dry. “And if I wish you to stop?”

  “Then, of course, you may speak—or if I do anything that truly displeases you. All I ask is that you give yourself a minute to be sure you are not merely surprised.”

  “I can do that.” At least she thought she could.

  The water splashed as he dipped the cloth in again. “I am going to freshen this water, but first…” He stepped into the tin trough and sloshed his feet and calves, then stepped out and pulled on his stockings, shirt, and boots before again heading to the rain barrel.

  Was he deliberately giving her more time to be sure that she’d made the right decision? She smiled ruefully; the only problem with that was that she knew she’d made the wrong one and couldn’t find it in herself to care. Well, she did care, but she still could not say no.

  His boots clacked on the floorboards as he came in. He poured the remaining hot water from the kettle into the bucket and then without saying anything went to fill the kettle again.

  When he returned this time, she was tempted to snap at him. If he made her wait any longer, she just might change her mind.

  He glanced over at her, and that smile was playing about the edges of his mouth, as if he knew what she was thinking and found it amusing.

  She opened her mouth, but he held a finger up to his lips, gesturing her to silence.

  She closed her mouth, pouted.

  Yes, James was most definitely smiling. Sitting, he pulled off his muddy boots and then his stockings.

  His toes were long and lean. His feet strong. Could feet look strong? She’d never thought about it before. And they were distinctly darker than some other parts of him. Did he walk about barefoot? He had when they were fishing, but she didn’t remember any other time. Perhaps he’d been fishing recently, although where he’d go in this season was hard to imagine. But it was hard to think when else a man’s feet would see the sun.

  “You are thinking too much,” he said, carrying the bucket of warm water over and setting it down beside her once again. “Are they dirty thoughts? Do I need to work on cleaning your mind as well?”

  She ducked her head, but continued to glare at him from under her lashes. If he didn’t want her to talk, that meant she didn’t have to answer, and thinking about somebody’s feet wasn’t exactly dirty, was it? Feet had nothing to do with sex, did they? She’d never even—

  “Stop thinking.”

  She blinked and looked up at him. He grinned down at her, his expression softer than it had been before.

  Holding eye contact, he knelt between her legs again, now taking the time to spread her feet a little wider. The slight change in position made her feel much more vulnerable. Her chemise might still cover everything, but she could feel the cool air of the room on some unexpected places.

  He ran a finger up each of her calves. “Do you remember where I stopped? Was it here?” Again he stroked that sensitive flesh behind her knees. “Or here?” His fingers moved higher up her thighs. “Don’t you remember? Perhaps I can taste the difference.” He kissed her knee. “Hmm, tastes like water.” A small trail of kisses up her leg. “I think I am getting closer. What do you think?”

  It was unfair of him to ask so many questions when he didn’t want her to speak.

  He opened his lips and laid a wet kiss halfway up her inner thigh. His tongue darted out, truly tasting her. A shiver ran up her body.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he rumbled against her skin.

  The warm cloth returned, moving higher.

  She closed her eyes again, giving in to sensation, concentrating on the feeling of the damp cloth moving slowly over her skin and of his lips following. Her chemise slid higher up her leg.

  The cloth moved to the apex of her thighs, the heat covering her most sensitive spots. Reflexively, she started to close her thighs.

  “Don’t move.” His voice echoed about the small cabin.

  Instantly, she froze.

  He rewarded her with a kiss almost at the top of her thigh. It was hard to be still. She tried counting backward, tried naming every river that she knew, in alphabetical order, tried thinking of puppies and kittens—or even new gowns. Nothing worked. The ache that grew in her belly was becoming impossible. All she wanted was to press herself closer, to move his touch closer—closer to that spot he’d stroked yesterday morning, that spot she’d always pretended she didn’t know, but couldn’t help rubbing against. Her clit, he’d called it.

  James dipped the cloth in the water again, and then held it to her.

  Air whooshed out of her lungs. The water almost burned, or perhaps that was her. It was hard to tell.

  And then he began to rub the cloth back and forth, again and again, and none of it mattered. All she could think of was the feeling between her legs and the ever-growing tightness of her breasts.

  She opened her eyes and glanced down. Her breath caught at the image presented there. The dark hair, the ends bleached by sunlight. The broad shoulders straining against the linen shirt. The suntanned hands moving with purpose—her own legs so pale beside them.

  Her fingers curled with the desire to stroke his hair, to tangle her fingers in it. But he’d told her not to move and so she resisted, tightening them again on the edge of the chair’s seat.

  As if sensing her appraisal, James looked up. His eyes met hers and although she would have sworn that not a feature shifted, again she could feel that gleeful grin. Holding her gaze, he bent forward and pressed a kiss to her thigh, just below the edge of her chemise. His long fingers brushed the off-white linen and pushed it higher, only an inch or two, but it was enough. Another kiss. She could feel the warmth of his breath upon her leg. Another inch. He kissed the other thigh. She swallowed, her mouth having gone dry. Another inch. Any farther and she’d be exposed, completely exposed. Although he could probably see everything anyway if he shifted his gaze away from her face.

  The thought made her both nervous and excited. She’d never felt so exposed, never thought she’d want to, but there was a certain thrill to knowing that if his eyes moved even the slightest they would see her every secret.

  Still watching her—did he notice the blush heating her cheeks?—James pushed her chemise higher, until she could see the dark edge of her own curls. He placed a hand on each of her thighs, his thumbs stroking toward dangerous territory. He bent forward slightly and blew, the air of his breath warming and chilling in the same moment. It was impossible to hold back the shudder that took her as image and feeling combined, the strong man kneeling before her, the gentlest kiss of air.

  His thumbs swept farther up her leg.

  “You’re damp,” he said. “And not from washing.” He leaned forward and placed a kiss on that most delicate spot at the top of her leg. “Are you having dirty thoughts, my sweet Sin? Do you need to be washed clean? Ah, I see the answer on your face. You know there’s only one way to clean such a spot don’t you? Water will not do.”

  Her breath caught. She knew he’d talked about such a thing, but still it seemed hard to believe that he actually meant to…to put his mouth there.

  He laid a kiss at the top of her other leg. This time his tongue slipped out, licking and tasting; its point hard and firm.

  God, that felt unbelievable, so very unbelievable.

  Her head fell back as the pleasure took her, but she jerked it forward, wanting to watch.

  A chuckle escaped him. “A bit of the voyeur, are you?
”

  She wanted to argue that she was merely curious. How was she ever to learn if she didn’t see what he did? But she kept her tongue, holding to his desire for her silence.

  He smiled his approval, as if sensing her inner debate.

  And then his lips found her flesh again, the tongue laving and savoring as it moved closer to her core. When it first stroked over that special spot, her hips jerked upon the chair. He pulled back his head, his eyes still holding hers. His hands, which still lay atop her thighs, pressed down, holding her still. Once she’d settled, his hands moved slightly so that the thumbs could part her lower lips, hold her open to him.

  His eyes finally dropped from hers then and she was glad, glad he could not see the discomfort that marked her face, the embarrassment. She wanted this; that could not be denied, but still it was moving her into a world where she had never been.

  “So pretty,” he whispered. “So pretty and pink. So ready for me, needy for me.” His breath whispered over her flesh, causing her to shiver. He leaned forward and laid a soft kiss upon her—right there. He glanced up, grinned once again, and then bent to his task.

  It was all she could do not to moan. She’d never felt such a thing, never dreamed such a thing. Her whole body was sensation. The feeling was centered there, under his eager lips and tongue, but from there it sped outward until her entire body was one ache, one growing need.

  His thumbs moved slightly, opening her farther. The sight of his head caught between her legs almost undid her, far beyond even her wildest imaginings. Her fingers dug into the edge of the chair. The sharp corner ate into her palm.

  His tongue kept working, lapping until she ached. Her thighs tensed, muscles straining.

  She could feel the need growing within her, the desire for release, just as it had the previous morning. More. More. She needed more.