“Do you like it when I do this?” he whispered against her mouth while his fingertips stroked little teasing circles on the bare skin of her outer thigh.
“Hmm, yes,” she managed to get out between little blissful sighs. The soft touches were wonderful. Every part of her body seemed to be building in a low hum like a hive of bees awakening in the early morning hours.
“Did you like what I did to you last night?” He slid his hand between her legs, questing between her undergarments until he found the slit in the fabric and he cupped her mound.
She could only nod and throw her head back when he applied a small amount of pressure, rubbing his palm against her as he did so. More, she needed more of what he’d done last night.
“Please, Jasper, please do not make me beg.” She gasped at the same instant he stroked one fingertip around the edge of her channel. She whimpered but couldn’t prevent the wetness that rushed to greet his touch. He hissed softly before he took her mouth with his again.
His lips turned almost feral. That rough, ungentlemanly kiss made every tiny hair upon her body stand at attention and her womb clench in eagerness for him. She didn’t want to think about what it meant that his edge of roughness excited and thrilled her.
He stroked her once, twice, three times, before his finger sank deep within her. Using his hand, he brought her to the edge, finding some spot inside her that with each little brush of his finger, made her legs jerk and a spark of flaming heat shoot up her spine.
“Let me inside you, Gemma, please.” His gruff plea sent riotous frissons of pleasure through her. He begged to have his pleasure too. It ought to be fair, this sharing of intense physical joy. Last night only she had reached a fulfillment. She wouldn’t do that to him again, leave him to satisfy her needs alone.
“Yes.” It was the only word he seemed to need to hear before he began to undo his buckskin colored trousers. He lifted her leg up around his hip.
“Grip me, just there.” He patted her calf. “Understand?” he said in a breathless voice.
She nodded, tightening her leg around his hip, loving the way it kept them close together. Then he fussed with her skirts with one hand and his lower body with the other. Before she could get too distracted, he kissed her, wild and hard.
Gemma shook all over, her body reacting to the rush of sensations. She couldn’t prepare herself for his entry and bit back a cry of pain as he thrust into her. The sensation of fullness overpowered her. The painful stretching mixed with a lingering sense of pleasure. She wriggled her hips, trying to escape the feeling of being pinned, helpless and vulnerable while enduring that throbbing pain between her legs where he’d sheathed himself. His mouth broke away from hers. Her eyes flew open to find him gazing at her. He moved inside her, then stilled suddenly.
“How much does it hurt?”
“It doesn’t,” she lied, too ashamed to admit it did, but the pain eased a little.
“Gemma, darling, I’ve seen enough hurt in the eyes of others in my life that I can recognize it.” He threaded one hand in her hair, and nuzzled her cheek. “Try to relax. The pain should ease.” He pressed his lips to hers, then spoke again. “Breathe with me.”
In. Out. She drew in breath after breath, matching his. He kissed her neck and everything below her waist seemed to turn to liquid fire.
“I’m much better.” She sighed in delight when the pleasure began to build along with the strange pressure in her womb.
“Thank God.” He chuckled. “Hold on to me, darling.” That was her only warning before he started to move inside her, faster, harder. He bent his knees, lowering himself a few inches then jerked his hips up, so he could bury his length deeper into her. He tore through her body and soul, as a surge of ecstasy built, overtaking her pain.
There was something masterful and mesmerizing in the way he stared at her while he took her. Those caramel eyes captured her, held her entranced like his voice had in the garden the night before and she couldn’t look away. Their bodies moved in unison now, and she learned to open herself up to him and cling tighter at the same time. The wood beneath her back burned into her skin, but she didn’t care. With each thrust, Jasper moved faster and fiercer as though possessed by some animal spirit that could not be stopped.
They ceased to be two separate souls, but became something infinitely more complex and yet singular. She curled her arms around his neck, and fisted one hand in his hair, tugging tight on the strands, desperate to keep hold of him. It would be so easy to fly away, she felt light enough that a breeze could carry her off.
“Don’t let go of me, Jasper,” she gasped. The world around her spun like a child’s toy top.
“Never…” he vowed “Never.”
For the briefest instant she wished his uttered promise were true, that he would never let her go, that she could belong to him for the rest of her life.
Gemma gave in fully and completely, her body aching so terribly she thought she was dying. She would have screamed out but Jasper’s lips found hers again and she saw stars. Brilliant lights and fiery tingles ruptured through her entire body. Jasper shuddered against her and slowed. Gemma felt a spreading of deep heat, his heat and she knew something forceful, unchangeable had happened between them. It could never be undone, this fire that burned, this fire that would spark, flash and turn them both to ash, and it was all for the wrong man.
Tempted by a Rogue: Chapter Five
They stayed connected to each other for a long moment, their faces close. Jasper leaned in, stealing the softest kiss from her lips, which trembled along with the rest of her. She couldn’t help it. Every muscle, every bone, everything seemed to be liquid and unstable. If he let her go now, she’d melt into a puddle at his feet.
“I thought I was going to die…” she whispered. He half-smiled and kissed her again, this time deeper.
Each kiss seemed to be her undoing. She never wanted them to stop. The way he tasted her mouth, played with her tongue, gently, like he was enjoying the experience after they’d made love and simply wanted to keep himself connected to her. Something deep inside her felt warm and soft every time his lips brushed hers. Like coming home after a long walk back from the village and spying the front garden gate of her home, with lilacs thick in bloom and birds clinging to the fence posts, singing. There was no other way to describe Jasper’s kiss except that it felt like coming home…
“It does that first time, the French call it the ‘little death,’” he explained quietly and very slowly pulled out of her body.
Her channel stung from his withdrawal and shut her eyes and Gemma winced. Everything that had felt so wonderful seconds ago now seemed sore and sensitive.
“It is supposed to hurt like this?” she asked, watching him fix his breeches.
“Only the first few times. Here, lift your gown, darling.” He pulled out his handkerchief and got down on one knee.
She lifted her gown, wondering what he meant to do.
A small line of blood trailed down her left inner thigh. Jasper wiped her skin with surprising tenderness and dabbed at her throbbing core. Embarrassment heated her cheeks and she looked away, ashamed. Was bleeding normal? Had she done something wrong?
He rose and she dropped her skirts hastily, but he didn’t move away. Catching her chin, he tilted her head up so she was forced to meet his gaze.
“I’m sorry I hurt you. The first time usually leaves a woman with some bleeding. Take care of yourself for a few days, no riding. Be gentle with your body.” He spoke so frankly of the situation that she jerked back, hitting the door behind her with a little oomph! Jasper sighed and crowded her against the door.
“I know most men don’t speak of such things. I’m sorry that I’m not more gentle with you, darling. It’s just that I’ve grown accustomed to the lives of men bleeding out in front of me on the deck of a ship. I’m not very good at being respectable. I say things I shouldn’t. Clearly” —he gestured between their bodies— “I’ve done things I shouldn’t.
”
That comment made the lingering taste of his kiss upon her lips turn bitter.
“I understand.” She raised her chin, trying with every shaking breath not to let him see that his words were stabbing her heart to pieces. “I am a mistake.”
With a low growl, he tossed the bloody handkerchief on the floor and scowled at her.
“That’s not at all what I meant, and you know that.” He paused, his heated gaze turned soft, and he lowered his voice, smoothing out the gruffness. “I meant that I’ve wronged you, Gemma, not the other way around. We both know that you being with me here, agreeing to let me have you, has ruined what little chance you had of marriage with anyone.”
Not just James. The weight of those unsaid words burned her straight through like a blazing fire on dry tinder. What was she supposed to do now? Live the rest of her life alone with her parents? She’d never defined herself by marriage, still didn’t. Living as a spinster might have been something she could have tolerated before she’d been with Jasper. Now she wanted things, dark, wonderful, powerful things, and a spinster wouldn’t get a chance to experience that pleasure ever again.
“But you and I…” She dared not ask him to do the proper thing and propose to her. She couldn’t marry Jasper, even if he wanted her to. She couldn’t be with a man she’d been forced to marry due to their circumstances. He would despise her for such an entrapment and she couldn’t bear to have him hate her too.
“Gemma, you and James have just called off your understanding, now isn’t the time to be thinking about…anyone else. You need time to heal your heart.” His sigh seemed heart-heavy and she couldn’t help but wonder what made him believe that. The handsome features of his eyes and mouth seemed to darken with a grim resignation.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she nodded. “I suppose that’s it then, we go our separate ways. I should fix my appearance before I return to the party.”
Gemma found her strength returning to her and with trembling hands she checked her gown. Thankfully it was unmarred by dirt or blood. She’d been lucky. He returned to his knees, once more lifting her gown, but this time he only touched her ankles, prying away the brittle briars which had lodged into her stockings during her flight from him. His gentle touch made her both hate and adore him at the same time. How could this man make her feel such wild extremes?
When he got to his feet again, he stared at her for a long moment. The sunlight coming through the windows of the garden shed seemed to fill the room with heat and she knew a blush crept up her neck to her cheeks. A century seemed to span between them, colored with a thousand thoughts that passed between their eyes along with the hints of words upon their lips that went unspoken. Everything was full of promise, yet tinged with a sense of desperation and melancholy she couldn’t understand.
Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged her up against the length of his body. He buried his face in the groove between her neck and shoulder with lips pressed tenderly against her skin while he held her. The shock of his sudden embrace had her tensing for several long heartbeats before she finally relaxed. Gemma touched him back, tentatively at first.
After a few seconds, the pressure of his hands on her back made her feel feminine and protected. She’d never thought a man’s embrace would make her feel like this or that she’d enjoy it so much. It wasn’t that she felt weak or fragile, she simply felt safe in his arms. The way he held her, with such desperate pressure, made her feel like he was trying to erase all the ways he’d hurt her that day. As if his arms alone could protect her from whatever would come next. Silly, she knew to think that, because the moment they left the shed, her world would shatter all over again.
But here, now, it was easy to forget that the world around them existed. The idea that life continued outside these small dusty walls of the shed was impossible. The only thing that really mattered to her was what she’d just experienced with Jasper. The pleasure of that spirited union when she surrendered her innocence to him. And then his desire to hold her, the clash of tempers…All of it had been worth it, to feel such an enchanting moment of bliss within his arms and the sweet taste of his mouth against hers. But even the strongest spells could be broken…
“Just tell me the truth Jasper, it was you in the garden last night wasn’t it.” She needed to be sure it was him. She had to hear him say it. When’d he’d touched her, kissed her here in the garden shed, it had been just like the man who’d come to her in the garden, rough hands, soft lips, drugging kisses…
Jasper pulled back from her. “What difference does it make if it was me?” He looked at her, his face inscrutable.
“It matters, because I need to know if I have been with another man besides you, I need to know!” She met his gaze, bravely fighting off the urge to cry. She had a right to know the truth.
Jasper released his hold on her, putting distance between them.
“Bloody hell, Gemma. Fine, it was me. Does that make it any better?” He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled.
Gemma bit her bottom lip and blinked rapidly, hoping no more tears would escape her eyes. The moment they’d shared was over and she had to accept it and move on.
“Thank you for your candor. Now excuse me, I have to return to the party.” She tried to push past him to exit the garden shed.
“Gemma…stay.” Jasper put out a hand, but she knocked it away.
“No…” she gasped, her throat constricted and her lungs burned. “I have to get out of this dreadful place…I can’t breathe!” Gemma shoved him away and almost ripped the door from its rusty hinges in her flight to freedom.
Part of her wanted to never see him again. To her shame she looked back after a few steps, but he leaned against the frame of the open doorway, not moving. He did not try to stop her. The other part of her wanted him to chase after her, catch her and tell her that his promise to never let her go was one he would keep. But he didn’t. He let her go, broken heart and all.
* * *
Jasper remained in the little garden shed for a long while after she’d gone, staring out the window. He had just cornered her and taken her like some beast, without a thought to her pain until it was too late. Seeing her tears, quarreling with her, when all he wanted to do was hold her and kiss away every glistening drop on her cheeks was enough to destroy the last of his sanity. How could he have so little control when it came to her?
I’ve survived scurvy, starvation, fire ships, pirates who slit the throats of men while they sleep in their hammocks, and yet I cannot seem to withstand Gemma’s tears.
He’d robbed her of the one thing she’d protected and held for the man meant to love her. It should have been given on her wedding night to her husband, the man he wanted to be more than anything, but he’d acted too early, too rashly. The worst part was he didn’t feel guilty enough for a man who’d done what he’d just had, in fact, he had loved every single kiss and heated thrust of that short but powerful moment with Gemma. The innocent wantonness of her response had been his undoing. The way she responded to his touch, his kiss, every little shiver and sigh had made him hot all over and aching to be inside her body in whatever way he could.
What was he supposed to do now? Did he just walk away from her until she was ready to love again after James? He wanted nothing more than to tell her everything, but for the first time true fear cut him deep. He could lose her if she chose to hate him after everything he’d done. What if he wasn’t enough for her? Assuming she could get past the lies he’d told her, and the letters he’d written claiming to be his closest friend, would she want him?
A lack of confidence had never been one of his weaknesses but now he was afraid he wouldn’t be enough for her. All he had was his parent’s home, a little country mansion, half a dozen servants and a respectable income. The dreams of returning glorious with a vast fortune hadn’t been possible, and he couldn’t stay at sea another decade. That life had taken much from him and now all he craved was a meas
ure of peace. Would that be good enough for a woman like Gemma who deserved a wonderful life?
He’d been raised to be the sort of man who did the right thing by people, but the years spent serving in the navy had changed him. He had learned that people could be sacrificed, that men could be betrayed and that you had to look out for your own interests. Gemma was most certainly one of his interests. He only wished he could tell her everything at that moment, confess his lies and win back her trust so he could be that much closer to winning her heart.
I’m damned for craving something far beyond my reach…
* * *
“Gemma, there you are!” Lily cried out when Gemma emerged from the gardens. “Oh dear, what’s happened to you?” Lily took her friend’s hand and pulled her aside, no one seemed to notice them at any rate. Most of Lady Greenley’s guests huddled around the tent where tea was being served.
Licking her lips, Gemma stared at the tea. A cool cup of tea would ease the burn in the back of her throat. “I’m fine, I just fell ill in the garden and had to rest. I shall be better as soon as I’ve had some tea.” Gemma tried to convince herself, but she hurt in all sorts of places below the waist and she felt exhausted.
“Come then, let’s get you some.” Lily led her to the tent where they were served two cups by a footman.
The tea was cold and pleasant, soothing her throat which was still tight and raw from her crying. While she sipped her tea, she turned her attention to the guests. Most of them seemed to have herded themselves into a small crowd near the entrance to the garden. The ladies grouped together, their colorful gowns striking against the rich green of the lawns. The light breeze played with their skirts, billowing them out like the sails of a dozen small ships.
Her Perfect Gentleman: A Regency Romance Anthology Page 99