by Lavinia Kent
And Madame Rouge’s rules were very clear. The Countess had skirted them, but not broken them.
She wished she could just run away from it all, let somebody else be responsible.
Ruby focused on the mirror again.
She stared at cherry-stained lips and shining crimson hair. Madame Rouge would never give into such foolishness.
Turning from the mirror, she walked to the washstand and lifted the soft cloth, dipping into the fresh, warm water. Lavender met her nostrils. Sweet, pungent, relaxing. She breathed deep and then, soaping the cloth, scrubbed at her face, wiping away blackened lashes, pink cheeks, reddened lips.
It was the only moment of the day when she felt herself, remembered the world beyond the walls of the house.
Back to the dresser, to the mirror. Her skin glowed, colorless beneath the shining red curls. Her blue eyes faded without their black lining. Her lips were still full and dark, but even they were less without the brush of paint. She was just a girl, any girl. Although at twenty-eight it was hard to think of herself as a girl.
With trembling hands she reached up and pulled the wig from her head, setting it upon its stand. A quick pull at the pins and her own soft blond hair tumbled about her. It was not long, only brushing the tops of her shoulders. When she’d been a girl it had reached her waist, but now it needed to fit beneath the heavy wig.
She ran her fingers through it, fluffing it. Rolling her neck, she enjoyed the freedom. Was there a better moment of the day than this?
She pulled the ear bobs from her ears and set them aside with care.
Clear blue eyes met clear blue eyes in the mirror.
Emma Scanton.
Miss Emma Scanton stood before her, alive for the few private moments each day she was allowed. She looked out of place in the heavy blue velvet of the dress. A young girl playing dress-up, although she’d already established that she was not young—not that she’d ever been young.
She looked again at the dress. It should not have looked so out of place. In another life she might have worn it to a ball, danced with a lord, sipped at champagne. Granted, it would not have been cut as low or as tightly fitted. Her breasts would not have risen as if they had a life of their own.
Almost any woman would have required a maid’s help to escape the thing, but a woman in Ruby’s profession had to know how to undress alone. She reached out for a long hook and in a minute was free.
Catching another glimpse of herself in the mirror, she laughed—the low, deep chuckle that caught men’s attention.
Who would ever believe that Madame Rouge wore a simple white chemise and stays? Oh, she had other far more elaborate pieces, but whenever her gown would allow it she preferred the simple.
The sound of showering water stopped.
He was still there, still in the bathing chamber, only steps away.
She looked again in the mirror, looked at Emma, Emma who’d been put away before she had a chance to live.
The sound of the shower began again. He’d found the foot pedal.
Sensing the inevitability she moved to the wall and pressed open the passage.
Yes, it was inevitable.
—
It really was quite wonderful. The feeling of warm water pelting his body was like nothing he’d ever imagined, more than worth the effort of working the pedal to refill the bucket. He rolled his neck, easing his shoulders. God, it was good.
He wondered if it would be possible to rig up something like it on the Dawn’s Light. It didn’t require much water, which was always a necessity a couple weeks out from land.
And then his mind turned, as it had all evening, to Ruby. He imagined her beside him, wet and slick. He picked up the soap from the dish, rubbed it across his chest—only it was not his own hands but hers that moved, her lips following in sleek wet circles.
His hand moved lower, her lips followed. His belly tightened as he felt her tongue swirl about his navel. He eased his hand lower, gripped himself tight. He held still for a moment, then eased soap all about the heavy shaft. He worked his way down, spreading the lather, back up—tighter, gripping harder.
His eyes drifted closed. Ruby was before him, her curls almost black with wet, her startling eyes hungry, her lips—oh God, those full lips.
He stroked faster, harder.
More. More. More.
Her tongue grazed his navel again, her teeth nipped.
He groaned, squeezed tight. He was not ready for it to be over.
Her lips moved lower, tugging the sparse hair that had never grown thick after he’d been shaved and tattooed.
Oh, she liked the dragon. Her lips paused, her tongue danced over scales and color, exciting the beast further.
His tail jerked, Derek’s cock thickening to impossible proportions.
He squeezed hard, again.
Not yet.
It was useless.
He hurried her down, imagined those lips closing about him, felt the hard pulse begin deep in his balls, felt it flow upward.
Faster. Harder. More.
He was deep in her throat, her eyes staring up at him.
The surge began.
It was inevitable.
A cold breeze brushed his backside, sending a long shiver through him.
Chapter Five
She’d never seen such a sight. Ruby could only stare. He was beautiful. She’d thought so the night before, but this, this was more than a woman could take. Moisture pooled between her thighs, her breath grew shallow, her nipples hardened even in the warm moist air.
He was a god.
He stood with his back to her, but his face turned to the side, eyes closed. His dark hair was wet, curling in free abandon. The firm jaw shadowed with stubble leaned forward, his eyes closed, long lashes darkening tanned cheeks. His lips were parted, slight gasps of air escaping from them. Ruby’s eyes stayed there for a moment, imagining her own mouth pressed to his, dreaming of slipping her tongue beneath those white teeth, of thrusting and parrying and inviting more. She’d never cared much for kissing, but with him she sensed it would be a new adventure, would rival the kisses that existed only in her dreams.
She let her eyes drift lower. The cords of his neck stood out before descending to meet the defined muscles of his shoulders. Yes, the man definitely did not sit in his cabin all day while his sailors did all the work. His muscles shifted and moved. Her mind filled with images of him pulling on ropes, his body straining—and straining it was. His hips thrust, the tight muscles of his ass pushing forward, the sides indenting. God, she wanted to bite those firm mounds, to mark them with her teeth, to feel his flesh with her tongue, to…
She gasped at the power of her desire. She’d never had such thoughts before.
His eyes opened at the sound, moving to skewer her.
Heat.
Fire.
Want.
Need.
His gaze contained it all. She took a step forward, drawn by the sudden need to touch him, to feel him, to know him.
He turned.
The green dragon danced. Both his hands were wrapped tight about his cock, his full, aroused, unbearably beautiful cock.
Her mouth watered. She wanted him. Wanted him like she’d never wanted anything else before.
Another step forward.
It was the reverse of their earlier game. Now she was the moth drawn to his flame, his beauty.
Her eyes fastened on the dragon. It swept across his belly, a swirl of emerald and red upon the flat planes of his stomach. The head reared just below his navel, the claws gripping tight to either hip—and the tail, the tail wrapped about him, ending an inch or two up the base of his cock. It twitched and stirred for her.
His hand stroked again, wet and slick with soap.
She wished they were her hands, her lips.
His hips thrust.
Her mouth opened, the tongue darting out to moisten.
Another step.
Another stroke. Another. And anoth
er. Tighter. Faster.
She saw the moment coming, the added tension on his face, the shudder that took his body—and then the surge, the sudden jolt. Her gaze lifted to his and she saw it happen, saw the pleasure take him—as he came and came, each spurt reflected in the lightning that filled his eyes.
—
Well, he was not going to reuse that bath water again. Derek knew the thought was avoidance even as it filtered through his fogged mind.
Who was she? Had Ruby sent her? He’d never imagined such an erotic moment, never even thought about having a woman watch him as he pleasured himself.
How was it possible to feel so powerful and so vulnerable in the same second?
The woman moved toward him, her eyes locked upon his face.
She looked like an angel, soft blond hair curling about her face, pale skin, huge blue eyes, a pink pout of a mouth. And a body—what a body, full breasts held by thin white stays and a knee-length chemise. The chemise was almost transparent below the stays, the hint of her woman’s curls visible between her legs, the sweet curve of hips and thighs revealed with each step she took.
He’d always loved a woman in white, the simplicity and purity. He’d never seen the need for more elaborate dress. This was his absolute fantasy, although the chemise could be lost within seconds and he’d be quite happy.
With sudden clarity his gaze moved back to her eyes. Huge sky-blue eyes rimmed in cobalt, slightly round, but tilted up at the edge. He knew those eyes.
He knew them rimmed in black, above a scarlet pout, but even now he knew them.
Ruby.
Madame Rouge.
But…
Ruby, his mouth formed the word, but no sound came.
Keeping her gaze fixed with his, she brought a finger up to those full lips, gesturing him to silence.
Another step, she was only feet away. She reached to her side, grabbing a linen towel from a small pile, and held it out to him.
He took it, stepping out of the round tub and onto the tiles of the floor. They were cold beneath his feet, but he barely noticed. The towel hung, caught in his fingers. He wasn’t quite sure what she wanted. Did he dry himself? Wrap it about his hips? Surely it was too late for that.
She answered his question by taking that last step forward, raising herself to tiptoe and pressing the softest, sweetest kiss to his mouth. Her breasts pressed hard to his chest. He could feel tight nipples fast against him, but it was her mouth that held his attention.
It should not have been much of a kiss, closed mouth and gentle, no tongue, no passion, no…
But the blasted thing caught him and held him. Soft. Sweet. The two words echoed again through his mind, through his entirety. Warm skin. The scent of lavender. The dampness of breath. The brush of noses.
There was nothing new.
Nothing he had not felt before, but…she caught him and entranced him.
He wanted the kiss to go on forever, for time to stop.
He didn’t grab her, didn’t seek to slip his tongue forward, didn’t plunder and grasp for more.
He just relished.
But all things must end—even the best of them.
Her lips slipped from his, her feet flattened and lowered. She took a step back.
Her gaze was focused on his mouth. It held there for a moment and then slowly lifted until she met his look full-on. He could see the surprise in her flushed face, the slight look of confusion. She had understood that kiss no more than he.
Her head shook back and forth a moment as if she tried to clear it, the soft blond curls dancing in the candlelight.
She turned from him, held still, the long lines of her neck straining gracefully as she bent her head forward.
Reaching for the ties of her stays, he guessed her intent, his fingers clumsy on the laces. He felt her ribs expand beneath his hands as the small corset came loose. She shrugged it from her shoulders, twitching her hips as it fell to the floor, leaving her attired in only the thin chemise.
Looking at him over her shoulder, she smiled, inviting, sultry. The innocent kiss of the moment before was gone. She took a step past him, toward the shower bath, then stopped. Her glance focused on the pooling water. Even without seeing her face he knew where her thoughts travelled, knew they followed his own of moments before. No, that water would not do.
She glanced up at the door from which she had come. Would she summon a servant? Hell, he hoped not.
Her head turned forward, focused on the large oval bath. Reaching out a hand, she moved toward it, felt the water. Her long fingers rubbing against each other as she considered. Was the water still warm enough?
How long had he been in the shower bath?
And then she stepped high, one elegantly arched foot stepping over the rim and then the other. Standing in the knee-high water she turned to face him. Her hands rose to the straps at her shoulders and he thought she’d slip off the chemise.
Instead she met his gaze again, a slow, slow smile curving up her cheeks. Holding his eyes, she slowly sank into the water, almost boneless in her grace. She stopped when the water brushed the ends of her hair, dampening the silken strands. And then she rose, not completely, but to her knees, the thin linen damp against her, transparent, translucent.
Sweet gods, had he wished her naked a few moments ago? This was better than naked, seeing and not seeing, pebbled pink nipples through a sheer film, breast defined and hidden, the hint of waist and navel—and the knowledge of all he could not see, all that was hidden by the water and the tub.
His feet moved forward of their own accord. His tongue felt large and swollen in his mouth. It was impossible to swallow.
His cock grew and rose against his leg, already hungry and eager for more.
Keeping her gaze with his, she turned slightly, reclining back in the water until she rested against the edge of the tub, the peaks of her breasts playing with the surface of the water. She grasped the bar of soap, rubbing it along her upper chest and collarbones, before moving it beneath the thin linen. He swallowed, finally—hard—as her hands glided over one breast, the elegant fingers stopping to play about the nipple. The soap slipped free into the water and she brought a second hand up to cup the other breast, raising them above the water like an offering.
Heat pulsed between his legs. Hell, he was going to come again without even touching her.
Her eyes drifted closed then for a moment, thumb and forefinger squeezing tight around the rose-tinted buds. They matched her lips exactly, soft, pink, inviting.
Another step and he stared down into the tub, the water clouding what was visible.
A toe broke the surface, then a dainty foot, a shapely calf, a lush thigh. She looped the leg over the edge of the tub on the side away from him.
He gulped.
The other leg followed, on his side. Her foot brushing against the hairs on his thigh, toes tickling and gripping.
His knees almost buckled.
The chemise had ridden up her thighs with the movement of her legs. He stared down through the water, knowing she was bare to him. Unfortunately, candlelight and shifting water kept him from seeing all, only a hint, a glimpse, a bit of magic.
He moved his gaze back to her face. Her gaze was locked on him—and this time not on his eyes.
He hadn’t thought it was possible to swell any larger. Her eyes widened.
She had said she liked his dragon.
He shifted, resting on his left leg, shifting over. Her foot brushed across him.
A sudden intake of breath, he was not sure from which of them.
Her toes brushed the underside of his prick, stroking the dragon’s tail. That long, slow smile still lay upon her lips as her tongue snuck out, dampening them.
For a man used to being in charge, he suddenly felt lost, unsure which way to turn, what to do.
He knew what he wanted—to grab her from the tub, press her against the wall, sink into her until his balls ground against her ass. That was what he wanted.
His fingers clenched with the effort of not reaching for her.
That damned smile.
That innocent kiss.
The spread legs.
The covering water.
What game was she playing? He’d never been a man for games.
He started to reach—and stopped as her eyes lifted to his face. She shifted back in the tub, creating more space before her, and nodded to the space.
Join me. He could feel her unspoken call.
He was no idiot. He stepped over the edge, into the still-warm water, and stood looking down at her.
She gestured for him to turn, to sit.
Well, he wasn’t sure how that was going to work, but he’d give it a try.
—
Water sloshed over the edge of the tub, splashing across the floor. Well, he was a big man, a mighty big man. Ruby shoved her behind against the back wall of the tub, trying to accommodate the captain as he settled before her. Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea.
And then he was there sitting between her parted legs, his back pressed to her chest, well-muscled shoulders ready to be kissed, firm buttocks pressing just where she wanted. Oh, there was frustration, this was not a position for immediate satisfaction—at least not hers—but she would survive. Anticipation was wonderful.
She placed her fingers upon his neck, massaging down to his shoulders. He moaned deep in his chest. She pressed her fingers harder, working the muscles, feeling the tension melt beneath her fingers. She continued for a few minutes, rubbing the long tendons of his neck, pressing the indent of his spine, before letting her fingers stray lower, feeling the fine line of his ribs and back. As she reached his waist, her fingers traveled forward, exploring the hard planes of his stomach, the few scattered hairs rough beneath her fingers.
With a deep sigh, his body stretched long, pushing her back hard against the edge of the tub, relaxation seeping from him. He should have been too heavy, the position uncomfortable, but all she could feel was the wonder of being here, of being with him. Her legs fell from the edge of the tub, wrapping him tight. She didn’t want to ever let this moment go.