His head fell back and his eyes slid closed as she gave him one long stroke from base to tip, her thumb smoothing over his swollen head.
“Constantly,” he confessed. “Almost every night since.”
She met his gaze while still working his cock—up, down, that slow drag of her palm over his flesh pure torment as he fought not to thrust into her hand.
“What if I told you that you could have a favor from me? Anything you wish, in exchange for your attempt at saving my life tonight. I might not have been drowning, but you didn’t know that. I think you deserve a reward regardless.”
Your cunt wrapped around me, he thought. That’s what I want.
But he kept that to himself, his mind racing as he thought over the other things he wanted from her. Obviously, he wanted more of the explosive pleasure she’d given him in the upper room of the White Cock. But, based upon the way she was looking at him and the grip of her hand around his cock, Robert could very well guess where this was going. He would have her cunt whenever she decided to give it to him. So, what else did he desire that she wouldn’t give unless he made it his one request?
Recalling the one restriction she’d placed on him during their first encounter, he was struck with inspiration. There was one thing he wanted more than to be inside her.
“I want to touch you,” he declared, never allowing his gaze to waver from hers.
Surprise flickered in her eyes, her brow furrowing. “That’s all? You don’t want to ask me to fuck you, or suck you off, or—”
“No. Only to be allowed to touch you wherever I wish. If you decide to allow me the rest after that … well, I certainly will not mind.”
If he employed the correct strategy, she would allow it—he’d make certain of it.
Releasing his prick, she backed toward the loveseat where she’d spread his clothes. Pushing them aside to make room for her, she sank onto the cushion. Slouching a bit, she rested her arms over the back of the sofa and then spread her legs. His mouth went dry at the sliver of pink flesh peeking out at him from the swirls of reddish-gold curls between her thighs, slick and glistening in the firelight. He almost regretted not asking to taste her, but then thought of how that silky, wet flesh would feel against his fingertips and decided he’d chosen right.
“You’d better get on with it before I change my mind.”
It was all he needed to approach her, his cock throbbing and aching with every step. He ignored his own need, focusing upon the task at hand. She was going to let him touch her, and he did not intend to squander the opportunity.
Going down to his knees between her legs, he braced his palms against the insides of her thighs and spread her a bit wider. She drew in a sharp gasp, her eyes growing heavy lidded as she watched him smooth his palms up the long limbs.
As he’d suspected, her body was all taut sinews, her thighs alluring in their suppleness as well as their strength. He exerted pressure on the tendons leading up to her groin, smiling at the little groan it produced from her. He smoothed his hands up over her hips and bypassed the offering of her vulnerable cunt altogether. The action seemed to surprise her, but he went on in his exploration as she watched, passing over the smooth plane of her belly. Her chest rose and fell with sharp breaths as he made his way to her breasts, his fingers itching for their first feel of that soft, perfect flesh.
He leaned in, the heat of her core pressing against his belly as he braced himself over her. Cupping both her breasts at once, he closed his eyes with a deep sigh. She felt just the way he'd imagined, heavy yet still somehow soft. The fit of her in his palms was so perfect it became difficult not to give in to the whimsical notion that she’d been made for him.
Glancing up to find her watching him, he met her stare and held it while smoothing the pads of his thumb over both nipples. Her eyes slid closed and she groaned, arching her back in a silent demand for more. He obliged her, strumming her nipples in slow circles and watching how they furled tight in reaction. His cock pulsed and leaked, droplets of his seed smearing his head as thoughts of all the things he could do with such magnificent breasts filled his mind with salacious imaginings. He could kiss them, lick them, bite and suck them, fit his cock into the cleft between them and thrust back and forth with all that flesh pressed tight around him.
He bit back a groan and tempered his own urges, doing his best to remain within the parameters of his request. She would let him know when she was ready to allow him more.
Tightening his hold on her breasts, he squeezed them, then pinched her nipples—gently at first, then with increasing pressure. She cried out, her legs clenching around him as she shuddered and writhed with each pull of his finger and thumb.
Once he’d driven her mad—thrashing and writhing about beneath his hands—he traveled back the way he’d come, playing his fingers over the expanse of her belly and watching the way it made her shiver. Keeping one hand braced against her lower stomach, he let the other one slip between her legs. She gasped when he stroked his first finger down her center, tracing the seam of her mons and the tender flesh concealed within. The slick heat of her arousal surrounded him as he delved deeper, testing her entrance with his middle finger and then sinking it deep. She sighed, gripping the edge of the sofa and raising her hips to take him in deeper, her wetness soaking his knuckles as he added his first finger to the second, both now enveloped by her hot, satiny sheath. The scent of her arousal made his mouth water for a taste, his position on his knees putting him in the perfect position to take it.
But, she was quite literally at his fingertips, writhing and bucking as he pressed his thumb against her clit. And she was so close to splintering—he could hear it in the harshness of her breaths, felt it in the tension thrumming through her and the tight squeeze of her cunt around his fingers. Her legs clenched, meeting resistance as her knees came against his shoulders. He wedged himself between them, keeping her legs open while working his fingers in and out of her and stroking her with his thumb. She threw her head back and let her hips rise up off the sofa, her limbs trembling as she released.
The rasp of her nails against the cushions intertwined with the ragged sounds she tried to keep trapped behind clenched teeth. Her entire body snapped taut, going still while her insides pulsed around his fingers. Then, she fell limp with a rough sigh, her head lolling and her body becoming pliant once more.
Robert slipped free of her, raising his glistening fingers to his lips. The scent of her clogged the air around them, exacerbating his already painful arousal. She was right there for the taking, legs spread, the glistening pink opening to her body exposed and beckoning to him with promises of pleasure and oblivion.
She glanced up at him just as he enveloped his fingers in his mouth, lapping up her juices and humming at the earthy taste of her. Her lips parted and her eyes widened, something dark and primal glinting in the depths. Sitting up straight, she reached out and took hold of his hair, urging him back to her with an unceremonious yank. His scalp stung, the sensation spreading to other parts of his body in an electric crackle that ended right at the tip of his cock.
“Fuck me,” she rasped while wrapping both legs around him.
She used them to force him even closer, threading her fingers in his hair and raising her head to kiss him. Bringing one knee up on the sofa, he angled himself between her thighs, the tip of his cock brushing against her silken, hot quim. Her mouth claimed his, hard and demanding, her tongue thrusting deep into his mouth. He cupped her buttocks, tilting her hips at the perfect angle and pushing into her, moaning into her mouth. Keeping her legs tight around him, she took hold of his shoulders and held on, using his body for leverage so she could move against him. They collided in a swift rhythm, the cadence of her thighs slapping against his a staccato drumbeat matching the rhythm of his heart
He groaned when she bit his lip, the jostling of their bodies causing her to draw blood. Robert tried to pull away, but she growled into his mouth and used her grip on his hair to keep h
im in place. The metallic taste danced on his tongue, mingled with the flavor of Cassandra—primitive and wild.
The pain of the bite fizzled into something else, ramping up his pulse and sending a heady rush of blood straight to his head. His cock throbbed within her as if begging for more. Tearing his mouth away from hers, he stared down into her eyes, never losing their rapid rhythm.
“Hurt me,” he growled. “Please.”
A wolfish smile spread across her face, that predatory gleam in her eyes sharpening as she read the need and desperation in his words. Tightening her grip on his hair, she wrenched his head back to expose his throat. Bracing one hand against the back of the sofa, he slowed his pace inside her, holding his breath and waiting for whatever torment she would subject him to.
The breath left him on a hoarse shout when she sank her teeth into the side of his neck. His entire body jolted as the sharp burn of it overwhelmed him. His hips snapped, returning him to their frenzied rhythm. She moaned against his throat, her mouth still latched onto his neck as she suckled him like a vampire drinking its fill. The pulls of her mouth added heat to the original bite, sending acute tremors of pure pleasure rolling down his spine.
The sofa rocked beneath him as he fucked her like a madman, his mind going blank of its typical, endless thoughts. He did not care if anyone heard them, or if he was being too rough with the woman mauling him like a lioness. He did not care about anything other than the explosive ending looming closer and closer with every scrape of her teeth against the stretched tendons of his throat. Her heels dug into his arse, urging him deeper. He rolled his hips, grinding against her and digging as deep as humanly possible, desperate to take her with him when he climaxed. She shuddered, panting against his neck as the telltale fluttering began deep inside her. He gritted his teeth and fought back the simmering sensation in his cods threatening to erupt at any second.
Then, she was spiraling, groaning against his shoulder as her insides began to clench and spasm. She bit him again to muffle her cries, this time just beneath his collarbone, her fingernails dragging down his back. He jerked out of her at the last possible second, and his spend began spurting from him in powerful waves that made his legs buckle. Gripping tight to the back of the sofa, he lowered his head, feeling like a cad for the way his seed splattered her belly and thighs, but lacking the strength to remove himself from on top of her.
For a few moments, there was only the darkness and his heavy breaths mingling with hers. Then, her laughter reached out to him, soft chuckles that reminded him of a cat’s purr. It stirred something deep within him, some part that warmed to the sound and craved more of it.
Opening his eyes, he found her relaxed beneath him, eyes heavy lidded and lips curved into a smirk.
“And here I was beginning to think that you would be the perfect gentleman even when fucking me,” she said. “But look at you … you’ve gone positively feral.”
His face blossomed with heat as he gazed down at his cock, gone flaccid in his hand and smeared with her juices. Then, he gazed at her inner thighs, reddened from his battering thrusts and splattered with thin rivulets of his spunk.
“Before you open your mouth to apologize … don’t,” she said, lifting her arms over her head and stretching with a soft sigh. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I have no interest in false gentlemanly sentiment. I’m not a piece of glass and don’t relish being treated as one. That was ... invigorating.”
He finally found his way to his feet, staggering back and turning toward the privacy screen he assumed concealed a washstand. Ducking behind it, he was proven right, finding a ceramic bowl filled with cool water and a variety of bottles and vials along with a stack of folded linens. He took one up and dipped it into the water for Cassandra.
“You speak as if behaving as a gentleman should is somehow repugnant.”
Her derisive snort reached out to him through the screen. “Because most gentlemen use the niceties of good manners and pretty speech to conceal the truth about themselves. I much prefer for people to portray their true selves, don’t you? That makes it so much easier to know whom to trust.”
He offered her the dampened linen. She accepted it and began wiping away the evidence of what had just transpired.
He found that his clothing had fallen to the floor in the flurry of their coupling, and bent to pick the articles up. While not soaked as they had been, they still proved quite damp.
“Not all men who act with courtesy and kindness are doing so with ulterior motives,” he said, taking up the counterpane and wrapping it around his body once more. “Not every gentleman you meet is wearing a mask.”
She went to the washstand, the linen hanging between her fingers. When she came out from behind the screen, she met his gaze and folded her arms over her bare breasts.
“Lord Bertram Fairchild was every inch the gentleman until the moment he was not,” she snapped. “So, you will forgive me if I find that difficult to believe.”
His mouth fell open, and for a moment he struggled to find words.
“Oh … I … I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“Don’t,” she interjected. Her hands had balled into fists, her eyes gleaming like steel. “Don’t do that. I do not need your pity.”
Furrowing his brow, he swallowed past the lump in his throat. Did she think it was pity he felt toward her?
“I don’t pity you,” he replied. “I admire you. It couldn’t have been easy, telling the world what happened to you. But, you did it with more grace and strength than I ever imagined one person could possess.”
Her jaw hardened, working back and forth as she seemed to grind her teeth. Her gaze never left his as she shook her head and snorted, as if thinking him an utter dolt.
“Meanwhile, you and Bertram were the best of friends. Were you not?”
He flinched, his own guilt over not knowing the truth about his childhood friend never far from his mind. “I thought he was, but as it turned out I did not truly know him. In the few years leading up to the revelation of his … indiscretions, we drifted apart.”
“And you must think it so singular, this wolf in sheep’s clothing moving amongst the ton, preying upon the innocent and defenseless.”
In truth, he had thought it beyond the pale—unthinkable. Obviously, he’d heard whispers of scandal here and there, but never anything so heinous as what Bertram had done. His ignorance of the things happening right in front of him had made him feel as if he were partly to blame.
“I am not like him,” he stated. “We are not all like him.”
Striding toward her bed, she gave him a pointed look over her shoulder. “That may be true, but you have no idea how many Bertrams there are amongst your peers. You’ll never know if you’re unable to look past the cut of a man’s coat or the propriety of his speech.”
Before he could say another word, she yanked back the sheets and gestured toward the bed.
“Your clothing won’t be dry for hours yet, and it is late. You may as well get into bed and try to sleep. That is … unless you’re afraid you might be missed. Wouldn’t want to worry Mother.”
The offer of a warm bed was welcome after his long and eventful night, but her comment had put his teeth on edge.
“I realize it is quite the thing amongst our peers to make fun of me for having respect for the woman who birthed me,” he ground out. “But I do not find it so amusing.”
She left the bed and reached out to take hold of the blanket, using it to yank her toward him.
“I am tired and I know you are, too. Let’s go to bed.”
Her closeness overwhelmed him—the heat of her body, her scent intertwined with his, the playful gleam in her eye. He had no desire to put his damp clothes back on and walk home in the cold and dark. The call of the soft, warm bed, and the soft, warm woman he’d be sharing it with was too great a temptation to resist.
They spread the counterpane over the bed together. Once settled in bed, he glanced over at Cassandra. She lay
on her back, her bedraggled hair spread across the pillow. She stared at the ceiling, her gaze pensive. After a long moment, she turned her head to meet his gaze.
“I don’t sleep much,” she said. “When I find it difficult to rest, I swim … it helps me clear my head.”
There was a lack of conviction in her words that had him wondering if there might not be more to it. She might protest if he pressed, but a part of him wondered again if she’d gone under the water with the intention not to resurface. Perhaps, if he hadn’t dived to retrieve her, she might have changed her mind or let fear get the better of her. Or, she might have remained down there until she drowned. He shuddered at the thought.
“I do not sleep well either … most nights,” he confided. “It has gotten worse, recently. And when I am restless, I walk. Tonight I happened to wander a little farther than usual.”
Because of her … he’d walked to the edge of his family estate for a simple glimpse of her home. He was pitiful, sniffing about for pieces of her, because he suspected it was all she’d ever let him have.
Did he even want more than she’d given him? Months after Daphne had tossed him over for another man, Robert certainly wasn’t ready to go throwing his heart into another woman’s hands, nor did he think Cassandra wanted it. Why would she? Experience had taught her to see the worst in men, and there wasn’t much he could say or do to persuade her otherwise.
But if there were … if he could …
No. The thought was preposterous. He liked her, and they suited one another well in the bedchamber. There didn’t have to be anything more than that. With a woman as complicated as Cassandra—and he’d barely even scratched the surface—it seemed there never could be.
Chapter 6
LONDON, 1 WEEK LATER…
Cassandra paused before the front door of Penrose House, hand poised upon the knocker. Hesitation was not like her, but encountering her mother and sisters always required a moment in which to gird herself with the proper armor. The dowager duchess was a lot to take in all on her own—with her three favorite daughters surrounding her like a flock of birds, she’d be even more unbearable. The moment she said something insulting, it would become like a frenzy of sharks. One drop of blood in the water, and Cassandra would be torn to shreds.
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