by Heather Snow
But he would, by God, take her properly in a bed. He ran his hand down her arm and caught her wrist, tugging her gently toward it. She came willingly, even allowing him to lift her body and place her seated on the edge of the bed, although she’d gripped his head and refused to relinquish his tongue in the process.
Not that he wished to take it back from her. Ever.
His hands slid to her knees, and he spread them just enough to step between them. Her warm, silky thighs closed around his hips as they held each other there for a moment, mouths blending and merging, her seated on the tall bed and he standing. Her arms were thrown around his neck, her hands moving in his hair in strokes that were both relaxing and arousing. His own arms were wrapped around her waist, leaving his fingers free to caress her back and hips at will.
But her delving kisses were too much, too erotic. Already lust poured through him, and he’d be damned if he would lose his control and take her quickly once again. He disengaged from her questing lips and slid one hand up to her nape, dropping his mouth to her neck and finding her rapid pulse with his tongue.
It fluttered frantically beneath her skin, a tempo matched by his own. He had to find a way to slow them both down. He was determined to savor her this time, as she’d be a fool to ever let him into her bed again.
Sweet Penelope, his at last. He leaned back to simply take in the sight of her, burning it to his memory. Her form leaned more to the fit than the voluptuous, though while her breasts were not ample, he thought them perfect. Their tips were pale and soft and pink, and he imagined they tasted like heaven. He decided to find out.
He slipped a hand beneath one of her bare breasts, enjoying the weight of it in his palm. He lifted it just enough to meet his descending mouth and opened to suckle her gently.
A small gasp reached his ear even as her nipple beaded against his tongue. Fire shot through him at this tangible taste of her desire. She was sensitive there, he realized, and so he pressed his tongue more roughly over the tight little bud. Penelope quivered in his arms, encouraging him all the more. He brought his other hand to her neglected breast, kneading and teasing it to let it know it was next on his list of pleasurable experiences.
As he continued to tease her breasts, her hands moved upon him. At first they clenched in his hair, pressing his mouth tighter to her chest as his tongue traced circles on her heated skin. But then he felt a hand sliding down his side, slipping between them. Slender fingers curled around his straining erection, and he froze with pleasure, his groan muffled by her breast.
A ragged sound escaped him as she pressed a firm stroke down his length, the skin of her palm dragging along his shaft with a friction that threatened his best intentions. He pulled himself back from her and stepped away, out of reach of her eager hands. “Christ, Pen.” He laughed. “If you keep touching me like that, it will all be over too soon.”
Her head tilted as her unfocused gaze settled on him with . . . confusion? “Isn’t that . . . ?” Her brow furrowed as she struggled to verbalize her thoughts. “Don’t you want . . . ?” she tried again, unsuccessfully.
Understanding washed over him, cooling his ardor just enough for him to be able to think properly.
He’d been a little shocked, he had to admit, by her uninhibited response to him, first in the carriage and then a few moments ago. No, that wasn’t true. It wasn’t so much her unconstrained sensuality that had surprised him. She’d been married before and obviously enjoyed the act of love. It was the speed with which she gained it.
And he realized something he should have seen before. She didn’t realize that lovemaking could be slow and sensual. It made perfect sense. Her husband had possessed a manic energy in everything that he did. That had to have spilled over into their bedchamber, resulting in quick, vigorous couplings. Penelope was like a Thoroughbred, trained to race for her pleasure the moment the gates opened.
God, he should have seen it before. But she’d driven him so very wild with lust that he’d missed the signs.
He watched her now, her lithe body breathing heavily, her nipples hard and straining, her body humming with an energy he sensed with an answering part of himself—one he ruthlessly tamped as the tantalizing possibilities unfolded before him.
Who knew what lay ahead of them . . . him, her. Who knew if he would ever be whole enough to go after what he wanted—a life with her. But he did know one thing. In this, at least, he had something to offer. He could teach her what pleasure truly was and open her mind to everything she could have in that realm.
“I very much do want,” he assured her. “However, all I want you to do is to relax and let me touch you.”
A delicate vee appeared between her brows, and the cloud of passion cleared a bit in her gaze. “I’m sorry?”
“Just trust me,” he said as he stepped back into the cradle of her thighs. He grasped her wrist when she reached for his manhood once again and moved her hand gently behind her. “I get to touch you,” he reminded her. “Not the other way around.”
Darling Pen tugged her lower lip between her teeth, but she nodded slowly in understanding.
Lust rocketed through him. If she only understood what he meant to do . . . He was going to take this slowly, draw out every bit of pleasure in her body until she was writhing with it. All of this before he took her. If this were the only time he got this chance, he intended for her to remember it. He raised his hand to stroke her face.
Penelope trembled at Gabriel’s light touch. There was a determined heat in his eyes that warmed her whole center. She had to clench her hands into fists to obey his dictate not to touch. Lord, how she wanted to pull him into her so he could fulfill her rising need.
But it was clear he had something else in mind entirely. He stroked the curve of her cheek with a single fingertip. Her every nerve was so sensitized with desire that she felt even that tiny stroke deep in her middle. Her breath sped as he lifted her chin, tilting her head back for his kiss.
Yes, she thought, opening for him even as she tried to press her own tongue into his. He gently pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, and she understood she wasn’t even to touch him with her mouth. Penelope wanted to growl with frustration, but she ceased her foray.
Gabriel’s tongue slowed, coaxed. The tip brushed her teeth, clipped in to explore the soft lining of her cheek, the underside of her tongue, the sensitive roof of her mouth. Slow, languorous kisses that made her light-headed while at the same time ratcheted up the desire within her.
She couldn’t resist pulling his hands to her breasts in a bid to get him to touch her again. He complied but with such infuriating slowness that she arched against him with frustrated longing.
“Shhh, my love,” he crooned against her. “Be patient. I promise you it will be worth it in the end.”
Penelope groaned. Now, what did he mean by that? At this rate, she’d never last until the end.
He continued to take her mouth in long kisses that drew a strange pleasure up from her mons straight through to her mouth . . . drugging, it was. Sensuously wicked. His hands slid into her hair, massaging and caressing in a way that both soothed and set her further on edge. A harsh breath escaped him, and she knew that despite his restraint, he was closer to that same edge than he let on.
She could push him over it, she knew. She’d proven that. He might be angry with her after, but at least it would quench this burning inside. She could beg forgiveness later.
And yet . . . the slow boiling that built within her intrigued her. A part of her yearned to know exactly what would be worth the wait. So she kept her hands clenched by her sides.
His hands moved to her breasts again, and Penelope almost cried out with the sharp pleasure of it. Who knew those small mounds could bring her such delight? And then the devil bit down lightly on her hardened nipple, sending a bolt of electricity shooting straight to her core. She couldn’t resist clutching at him then, holding his head to her breast as he alternated suckling, nipping and tong
uing her. She whimpered with pleasure, writhing in his arms.
“Lie back, love,” he whispered.
Oh, thank goodness. He would come to her now, fill her with the powerful thrusts that would drive her to completion. She dropped back to the coverlet with profound relief.
He didn’t join her on the bed, but rather tugged at her hips and slid her to the very edge of the mattress. Odd positioning, but she didn’t care if he wanted to stand, as long as he took her now.
But instead of stepping between her thighs, he spread them wider and dropped to his knees on the floor. She raised her head, but he shushed her as his fingers found her wetness and stroked the plump, silken flesh.
Her body jerked and sizzled with longing, arching off of the bed as he found the tender peak of her sex with his questing fingers. He rubbed gently, circling, tugging. “Oh!” she gasped as sensation pulled in from the rest of her body to center there.
Then he brushed the swollen bud with his thumb as he deftly slid two fingers inside of her. The sensation was so close . . . so close to what she wanted but not nearly enough. She tossed her head from side to side as her breath shortened further.
“You’re torturing me,” she accused on a groan.
“Not yet,” he breathed, and the very sound sent gooseflesh prickling over her flushed skin.
His fingers found a rhythm counterpoint to his circling thumb, and all Penelope could do was twist and writhe as the tension within her mounted. Despite his pressing digits, she felt empty inside. Why would he not just take her?
And then a shocking jolt of desire speared her as his tongue took the place of his thumb. “Gabriel,” she cried out as his mouth took her in a way she’d never before experienced. Her hands clenched and unclenched, twisting the counterpane mercilessly as he lashed her with his tongue—flat, hard strokes against her clitoris—and then replaced his fingers to delve inside her.
Penelope trembled as pleasure spiraled upward from her middle, pulling her into an arching tightness like an invisible string that threatened to snap and send her spinning. Gabriel was no longer touching her gently, but driving her toward release with relentless licks and strokes.
She screamed when she came, the sound wrenching from her as indeed she spun with the dizzying pleasure. It was like nothing she’d felt before. His mouth stayed on her, drawing every bit of it from her before he finally released her.
As her breathing subsided enough to speak, she admitted, “You were right. It was worth it.”
Gabriel’s husky chuckle vibrated against her skin as he placed a kiss against her inner thigh. “Oh, Pen, that was just the beginning.”
Her breath caught in her chest as he rose, wondering how anything could possibly be better than that. But Gabriel spent the next hours answering that question decisively. By the time he took his own pleasure within her, there wasn’t a place on her body that he hadn’t worshipped with his hands and mouth. She’d peaked twice more by the time he entered her, and even then, it was with slow, steady thrusts that wrung even more pleasure from her exhausted flesh.
Who knew it could be like this? she wondered more than once during their lovemaking. Part of her whispered that it was more than just technique, but she didn’t want to think about that. All she knew was that after making love to Gabriel, she would never be the same again.
And she didn’t want to think about that, either.
Chapter Fifteen
Two hours before they were due to depart for the coming evening’s assembly, Penelope made her way along the long gallery to her room to dress. She’d instructed the maid to lay out the only ball gown she owned that would be appropriate for the small country affair: a simple dress of fine gray muslin woven with stripes of black and trimmed with black satin. Additional angled bands of satin decorated the front and back, too, as well as created an attractive vee along the bodice.
The empire waist was slightly out of date. She’d had the gown made when she’d gone into half-mourning eighteen months ago, but she’d never worn it. No matter. She doubted anyone here would judge her for wearing a dress that was no longer in the height of fashion.
If anyone would be let down by her attire, it would be Gabriel. He’d known she’d sent for part of her wardrobe after their discussion two weeks ago, and every morning that she emerged from her chamber still wearing black, she saw the disappointment in his face. He hadn’t mentioned her choice, however, for which she was grateful.
Because she was frustrated with herself, too. But for whatever reason, she couldn’t bring herself to don one of the colored dresses that had arrived last week. She’d tried for an hour to put on a lovely lavender day dress the morning after her trunks showed up, but the effort had left her physically ill. After some reflection she realized that she’d been wearing a lavender gown the afternoon that Michael had exploded at her in his studio—the morning her perfectly happy life had begun to unravel. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to wear the color again.
Even the other pretty gowns now hanging in her wardrobe seemed to mock her. She’d stare at them every morning, an array of yellows, blues, creams and pinks—remnants of her old life. She’d run her hands over the rich fabrics and imagine herself wearing them—would even select one for the day. But in the end, she’d arrive in the breakfast room in one of the black gowns that had been both her penance and her protection during the past two years.
She couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen what she’d been doing all this time, especially given how she’d helped so many others discover their unconscious associations. Perhaps she’d just not looked at herself closely enough, so focused as she’d been on others to drown out her own pain. Or perhaps she’d been unknowingly eschewing the frivolous life she’d led before. But now that she was aware of what she was doing, she still clung to her blacks, even though Gabriel insisted they were antithetical to who she was. How could he know that? Even she wasn’t sure who she was anymore.
Penelope entered her rooms to find the maid already there, pouring hot water into a ewer and setting out combs, brushes and other such accoutrements in preparation to ready her for the evening. She started to loosen her bodice when her eyes were drawn to the gown hanging over the dressing screen.
Her breath caught in her throat even as her feet stilled, for rather than the gray gown she’d expected, there hung a flowing creation of jonquil silk satin. Though very simple, the dress featured a lowered waist and wider skirt, as was the current style, and was trimmed with silk bobbin lace in the same cheerful shade of yellow.
“Where did this come from?” she asked, but she already knew. Gabriel was somehow responsible for it.
“I dunno, m’lady,” the maid answered, frowning. “I laid out the gray, like you told me. But when I came back from fetching the hot water, this is what I found in its place. I thought you must have changed your mind,” she said, eyeing her uncertainly.
Penelope flicked her eyes to the inner door that joined her chamber to Gabriel’s via a shared private sitting room, then returned her gaze to the maid and tried to cover. “It must have just arrived, then. I’d ordered it earlier,” she lied, “but hadn’t hoped it would be ready in time for tonight’s ball. I am pleased to be wrong.”
The maid nodded at her explanation and went back to her task. “It’s lovely, m’lady. And much better suited to your coloring, I’d say. You are going to look very beautiful tonight.”
Penelope had to concur as she stared at the dress. She couldn’t believe Gabriel had purchased her a ball gown, nor did she know how he’d managed it. Her adherence to black must have bothered him more than she’d thought. Since he’d gone to such effort, she had to wear it, didn’t she?
She hurried through her ablutions, wondering at his motivations. She remembered him covering the painted black dress with yellow that afternoon in the long gallery. That is who you are, Pen, he’d said. And I think it’s time that you find your way back to her. Was this gown his way of pushing her in that direction? Or had he purc
hased the dress for himself? Maybe he was afraid of how he’d react in the ballroom tonight and wished for his “talisman” to look as he remembered her, keeping his darkness at bay in her dress of sunny yellow.
Her mind was still reeling at his revelation. She wasn’t certain how she felt about it, either. But if Gabriel needed her to wear yellow to feel safer or stronger, she could manage it for one evening.
However, as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror once she was fully dressed, Penelope wondered if he would be getting what he’d hoped for. She didn’t feel like a ray of early-summer sunshine. Oh, the gown was lovely, the color warm and perfect. It was she who was different. She had dark places inside now that weren’t there before, and she was certain they showed.
But if they did, Gabriel didn’t seem to notice.
“Pen,” he breathed when she entered the parlor where Liliana and Geoffrey were waiting to see them off.
She colored under his hot gaze. Since they’d become lovers, she was quickly getting used to that particular look in his eyes, but this time there was more to it. There was passion, yes, but also tenderness. Endearment. And immense pleasure and pride. The look upon his face made her doubly glad she’d worn the yellow.
They opted for an open gig to the neighboring estate where the ball was being held, in deference to Gabriel’s dislike of closed spaces. The night was cold and crisp but clear. Penelope didn’t mind wrapping up in a heavier cloak if it meant Gabriel would have an easier time of it. Taking the gig rather than the carriage also afforded them privacy, as they were able to drive themselves.
“Thank you for the dress,” she murmured as they started down the lane leading away from Somerton Park.
“Thank you for wearing it,” he answered, his voice low and suspiciously rough. She barely heard it over the clopping of hooves.