by Shana Galen
“Trust you how?”
“To stop when you ask me to stop. To release you when you say no.”
Her cheeks heated. “We should not be discussing this.” And yet she could not make herself move away from him. His arms still encircled her, and she loved that he held her. She wanted to move closer, put her head on his chest, press her lips against his bronze skin because of one thing she was certain—he was absolutely magnificent. When he’d removed his shirt, her legs had gone weak at the sight of all that perfect, golden skin. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his waist flawlessly tapered, his chest tightly muscled, and his abdomen taut and flat. He looked every inch the knight, the warrior of the storybooks.
“And yet you do not move away from me.”
She might have moved away then, but as soon as the words were spoken, he leaned forward and nuzzled her neck. Small tendrils of pleasure curled through her. She sighed and put her hands on his shoulders, feeling the heat of him all but pulsing under her fingertips.
“Do you know why you don’t move away?” he asked, his breath hot on her skin.
“Why?” she murmured, angling her head to give him better access to that one spot just below her earlobe. She would end this in a moment. She would tell him to cease and mean it.
“Because you like this. Because all day, you take care of everyone else, and right now, you have a moment to yourself, and you deserve pleasure. You need pleasure.”
It was true. It had been so long since she had done anything for herself—read a book, taken a walk, lain abed and slept all day. Her life was all duty and responsibility—to the children, to her father, to the board. Wraxall’s mouth moved over her skin so lightly and with such skill that she could not stop the shivers racing down her spine. She could have given herself to his lips all day. She needed nothing but the feel of his stubble tickling her skin and the brush of his mouth tantalizing her flesh.
“The children,” she murmured.
“Are with Mrs. Dunwitty.” His hands moved up her back, pulling her closer until she was pressed against the warm skin of his bare chest.
“And if she releases them?”
“We’ll hear them.” His mouth traced her jaw. “They are louder than a cavalry regiment.” His mouth took hers in a long, lazy kiss. Her breasts felt heavy and ached for his touch. She pushed them harder against his chest, but her need went unfulfilled.
“I should see to the noon meal.”
“Let me see to you, and Mrs. Koch will see to the kitchen.”
Before she could protest—not that she intended to—his hands cupped her face, and he kissed her with such a thoroughness she could think of nothing but lips, and tongues, and teeth. Her hands explored the long, lean planes of his back, holding on tightly when she feared she had grown so light-headed she might fall.
“Juliana,” he murmured between kisses.
“I like the way you say my name,” she said. “You make it sound so exotic.” She’d always preferred Julia to Juliana, which sounded so formal. But when Wraxall said her name, it sounded soft and sensual.
“Let me show you pleasure, Juliana.”
Yes. That was what she wanted. More of this. More of him. More of those heart-stopping, head-lightening kisses that made her forget empty larders and leaky roofs and scheming crime lords. “Just for a moment,” she told him, but she knew she was his for as long as he continued this persuasive assault.
He pulled her even closer, and she felt the bulge of his erection pressing deliciously against the juncture of her thighs. Her skirts and his trousers were between them, but the feel of the material separating them did nothing to diminish the knowledge that he desired her. He wanted her, even after seeing her at her worst. His mouth continued to worship hers, and she wriggled on his lap, trying to relieve the ache growing between her legs.
He groaned, and she stilled. “Did I hurt you?”
“It’s an exquisite pain,” he said through clenched teeth. “I find that an apt descriptor.”
“Exquisite pain. What does that mean?”
“I’ll show you.” His hands circled around her ribs, coming to rest just beneath her too heavy breasts. With a slowness that made her catch her breath, his fingers skated upward until they caressed the dark-green ribbon that lay just beneath her bosom. His hands traced her curves, stroking and cupping her, until her breathing had grown from quick to panting.
“Please,” she said. Her eyes widened. “I did not mean—”
He put a finger to her lips. “Yes, you did. And I know what you want.” His hand went back where she wanted him and then his thumbs moved toward the center of the orbs, brushing lightly over her nipples. She jumped as sensation flashed through her. His fingers caressed the hard pebbles again, circling them until they grew harder.
“More?” he asked.
Of course there was more. She knew there was more. It was simply that she had never allowed any man to go any further than this. To do so now, with this man who made her feel what no other man had ever made her feel, was surely madness. And yet she would be mad to tell him to stop.
She was beginning to understand what he meant by exquisite pain. She yearned and ached, but she never wanted that sensation to cease.
“Trust me,” he said. His hand moved to where she’d pinned her bodice, and he slowly removed first one pin then another. He stuck them into the coverlet on the side of the bed, where they would not be lost, and he moved to unpin the other side of her bodice.
She couldn’t trust him. She couldn’t trust any man. She knew what they were. She knew they were selfish creatures who cared only for their own pleasures, but as this man lowered her bodice, she watched his gaze turn reverent. His fingers brushed lightly over the swell of her breasts at the edge of chemise and stays.
“Your skin is as beautiful as it is soft,” he murmured. “Let me see you.”
No man had ever seen her. She’d never imagined she would allow a man that liberty. After all, why give a man that privilege, satisfy his selfish desire? But this did not feel selfish at all. This felt altogether different. He was not using her to satisfy himself, but worshipping her, giving her pleasure.
One hand swept into the valley of her breasts and tugged at the knot keeping her stays tightly laced. Since she had no one to help her dress, she had to lace them in front, and now he loosened them easily and pushed them down and out of his way.
“You are exquisite,” he said, his gaze going to her face and then back to her all-but-translucent chemise. She looked down and could see the pink of her aureoles and nipples through the fine fabric. He bent his head, pressing his warm mouth against one breast. His breath was hot, and the shot of pleasure went straight to her core. Wet heat dampened her sex as his tongue darted out to dampen the linen on her shift. He took her nipple through the fabric, sucking it and rubbing it with his tongue. The feel of the fabric scraping against her already-turgid flesh was more than she could resist. She moaned softly, and he stilled.
She opened her eyes—belatedly realizing she’d closed them—and looked at him to find his lovely eyes focused on her face. “I want to hear you do that again. Before we’re through here, you’ll moan my name, Juliana.”
His mouth took her other nipple, and she closed her eyes. “Wraxall,” she moaned.
“Neil,” he said, his mouth still on her. And then she felt the knot of her chemise loosen and the cool air on wet skin. He parted the fabric, and his bare hands touched her bare flesh. She trembled, and the hard points of her nipples seemed to grow even fuller. She needed his mouth on her there, though she knew it would not give her the relief she sought.
This was what he had meant by exquisite pain. She wanted more, burned for more, and when he gave it to her, her need simply grew.
His mouth pressed on the slope of one breast while his hand cupped the other. When he ran a thumb over that nipple, the r
ough pad of his finger on that tender bud, she moaned without restraint. His mouth moved lower, heat making a fiery path to the place she wanted him. “Please,” she whispered. “Yes,” she said when his mouth brushed over the stiff, throbbing point. His hand plucked at her flesh as his mouth teased her, and then he closed his hot lips over her, and she bucked at the pleasure. Her back arched, and she knew she had surrendered to him completely.
One hand wrapped around her, holding her steady, holding her sex against the hard length of him, while his mouth teased and tantalized. The more his mouth worshipped her, the more she wanted. She could not stop her moans and pants of pleasure, and if that behavior was not indignity enough, her hands fisted in his hair and all but pushed him into her chest.
And then his hands grasped her hips, and he groaned her name. “I shall embarrass myself if you keep this up.”
For a long moment she did not know what he meant. The panting? The hands in his hair? And then she realized he held her hips—hips that wanted desperately to move. Good Lord, she had been grinding against him. She was little better than a dog in heat.
“No,” he said, his hand cupping her chin and forcing her to look at him. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Your movements are perfectly natural. Let me give you what you want.”
She nodded because she wanted so much, and he—he seemed to know exactly what it was her body yearned for. He lifted her, hands under her bottom, then laid her on the bed gently, on the side away from the pins. She looked up at him, feeling suddenly more exposed as she lay on the bed with her bodice open. Which was ridiculous. She had been just as exposed on his lap.
He sat on the bed beside her and one warm hand came to rest between her breasts. She might have turned into that touch if she hadn’t felt his other hand on her ankle. That hand moved upward inch by provocative inch, exposing her ankle. She opened her mouth to protest, and his large hand closed over one breast. And then he bent over her, his mouth on the other. Her hands gripped the bedclothes as his hot breath made her quiver and his hand on her calf made her itch to move, to squirm, to…something.
And then his hand was on her knee, and she knew she must stop him. He sucked her nipple into his mouth, the pressure harder than before and that much more exquisite. At the same time, he pushed her knees open.
And she allowed it. She did not want him to stop. She wanted his hand on her thigh and higher—in that private place only she had ever touched. His hand slid upward, tickling the inside of her thigh. He raised his head, his eyes as blue as the sea when he looked at her.
“Are you wet for me?”
“Yes,” she said, too aroused to be embarrassed.
“Will you let me touch you? I want to feel how wet you are.”
“I can’t,” she said, the words so filled with regret she all but cried them. “I cannot risk a child, a pregnancy.”
He shook his head. “You misunderstand. I won’t take you—not like that. I won’t touch you with anything but fingers.” His fingers moved higher, and she widened her legs, despite knowing she should end this. The children could be through with their lessons. She had lost control. There was a midday meal to consider.
“And hands.” He shifted on the bed, his hands pushing her skirts up until she was exposed to him. She almost grabbed them, to lower them again, but his hands slid over her pelvis and across her sex until they rested between her legs, those skilled fingers teasing her by inching higher and retreating over and again.
“You see? Only fingers.” His finger brushed against her and she gasped. “And hands.” He cupped her, and God help her, she pressed against his hand. “And perhaps my mouth.”
She froze. Her gaze darted to his, and he gave her a wicked grin. “If you want me to stop, all you need do is ask.” His palm pressed against her again, giving her the pressure she wanted just as one finger delved down and parted her flesh. “You are wet,” he said. “But I want you dripping.”
His finger entered her then, and she stiffened with surprise and pleasure. He stroked in and out, all the while his palm pressing where she most needed him. Her hips wanted to move, and she closed her eyes and arched them so they rubbed against his palm. He made a sound of approval, and then he entered her again, this time with two fingers.
“Oh yes,” she moaned. Then “No!” when he moved his palm and slid his fingers out.
“Impatient, aren’t you?”
One of his fingers caressed her as it moved upward to part her flesh and then circle the small bud of pleasure hiding in her folds. The world went black for a moment as she caught her breath at the unfathomable sensation. She had never felt pleasure like this, and yet she knew there was more. That finger continued to spread wetness over the sensitive bud, circling it and tapping it. Pleasure built. Heat built. Need built. Julia opened her eyes. Her breasts were bare, her skirts hiked to her waist, her legs spread. Neil Wraxall straddled one of her legs, his eyes seeing her more intimately than anyone else ever had.
And she did not care. She only cared that he never stop.
“Let go,” he murmured, his intense gaze on her face. “I want to see you come.”
She didn’t know what he meant, but she knew that was the aim of the tension she felt. His gaze touched her breasts, making her nipples pebble with yearning. And then he gazed at the place where his finger touched her, and the look of desire she saw in his eyes undid her.
A wave of pulsing sensation flooded through her. She gasped and pressed hard against his hand, then fell back with a shuddering breath as a delicious warmth spread through her. He was correct. This was what she had needed. The tightness in her temples and shoulders had eased, and she felt relaxed for the first time in recent memory.
And then he leaned over her, and the warmth of the pleasure ebbed away. He kissed her lips, exploring her mouth. She had been kissed enough to judge, and he was an excellent kisser. But she could not enjoy the kiss. She knew what would come next. Men were selfish and calculating. She knew it, and she should not have allowed this interlude with Neil—Wraxall, rather—to go as far as it had. He would want to take his pleasure. She was a virgin and intended to remain so. Even if the thought of lying with him thrilled her, she had to think of the children and her responsibilities here. She could not risk a pregnancy or being found alone with him.
His mouth slanted over hers in a long, lovely kiss, but she forced herself to push him back. “You should dress and go.”
A look she could only describe as shock crossed his face. He recovered quickly, raising one brow in amusement. “Am I to be so summarily dismissed?”
She threw her skirts down over her legs and pulled her bodice up, holding it with both hands. “I should never have allowed the events of this afternoon to progress as far as they did. I know you have expectations, and I am sorry to have to disappoint you.”
She pushed to the edge of the bed, but before she could rise, he slid his arm over her, effectively blocking her and holding her in place. “How do you know my expectations?”
She risked a look at him and immediately wished she hadn’t. He was so incredibly handsome, with his dark hair falling over his forehead and amazingly blue eyes bright against his bronze skin. She would have loved to trace his face with her fingers, to run her hands through his silky hair, to kiss his full lips. But she could not afford to dally with a lover. She had an orphanage to manage and children who needed her. “You are a man,” she said. “Any girl who has been to a half dozen balls or an equal number of theatrical productions knows what men want from women.”
“I see,” he said, but he didn’t move his arm. “So my plan is to debauch you. To have my way with you. To… What’s another polite term? Ah! Ruin you.”
“I did not say that was your plan, but now that you have given me pleasure, I assume you expect to be repaid in kind.”
“Repaid? Do you think I view what just happened as a business transaction?�
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Had she offended him? Should she apologize? Perhaps that was also part of his plan to seduce her. “I—” she stuttered. “Very well, then. How do you view our…liaison?”
He leaned closer until his mouth brushed her ear. She tried not to shiver. “As something I have wanted to do since almost the moment I met you.”
“And how does that not prove my point?” she asked, her voice breathy.
“Because the more I have come to know you, the more I wanted to taste your lips, touch your skin”—he exerted gentle pressure with his arm and she gave in, lying back—“see your cheeks rosy with pleasure. I like you, Juliana. Our liaison is the physical evidence of my regard for you.”
He was very close to her, looking down at her, one hand stroking the hair back from her face. “And I suppose you wish to show me more of your regard.”
“I do, yes, but not in the way you mean.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t want to lie with me?”
Still holding a lock of her hair between two fingers he looked at her. “If you mean do I want to strip bare, throw up your skirts, and thrust inside you, the answer is yes. There’s nothing I want more. It’s pure instinct for a man when he is aroused, and you most definitely arouse me.” He rubbed her hair between his two fingers. “But I am not a man ruled by instincts. My father was such a man, and I don’t intend to follow in his footsteps. I will father no bastards.”
“I imagine most men don’t want bastards, and yet the orphanages are full.”
He dropped her hair and his gaze became serious. “Many men don’t care and others don’t care enough to do what is necessary to prevent a bastard from being born. I think you of all people know how I feel about bastards.”
Julia considered this. There was only one way to ensure a child did not result from a tryst. “Are you saying you have never… I mean, that you are…”
“A virgin? Yes. Does it shock you?”
Beyond words. In her experience, men wasted no time divesting themselves of their virginity. Men of the nobility seemed to pride themselves on sowing wild oats, which meant leaving a trail of prostitutes, actresses, and barmaids in their lascivious wake. Even if she could believe Neil had retained his virginity, despite being a soldier and the son of a wealthy marquess, she could hardly believe it after what he had just done with her.