He murmured something she couldn’t decipher, the vibration of his low husky words echoing in her chest, teasing her nipples tighter, sensitive to the chafe of fabric. How easily he could pull her into a world of immeasurable pleasure, how willingly she would go.
He released her mouth to trail kisses below her ear, his touch a mixture of precious reverence and bold sensuality. This was not a man to be trifled with. Her experience was nonexistent, limited to innocent flirtations and awkward embraces, but Benedict was as virile as the pirate she’d likened him to, and the illusion of being captured, plundered, and ravished by such a man heightened her curiosity, all consideration of consequence dismissed with one incendiary kiss.
Cool air whispered across the back of her calves. Awareness beckoned with languid command as if waking from a dream or drifting off to sleep, caught in that extraordinary span of time and the uncertainty that accompanies transitions in consciousness. Recognition warned he’d gathered her wrapper in his fist, raised it higher, dragged her night rail in its wake. She barely shook her head for clarity and he dropped his hold. His hands came to her shoulders to release her from their kiss, his breath harsh in kind to the rhythm of his chest against her breasts.
“What is it, my mermaid?”
“Angel.” She insisted, her voice sounding unlike herself.
“Of course. Angel. A gift from the heavens. Have I startled you?”
His words seemed sincere though his question held a note of amusement.
“No, not at all,” she lied in a cracked whisper. She could only view him in shadows as the lantern cast a dim light from below. Her heart thrummed a heavy beat and she wondered what he would do next. Would he see through her veneer of confidence?
“A dance on the beach in the moonlight, as elegant as any social function. Would you like that?”
Almost as if he read her mind, he began a gentle sway, their bodies pressed so closely, their breathing joined in rhythm.
“What do I know of ballrooms?” Her answer brushed against his chin as she followed his lead.
“Not a favorite of mine either.” His low sensual chuckle stalled their motion and he traced her lips with his finger, as if to confirm they indeed had kissed. Then he continued his exploration, just one fingertip, feather soft against the arc of her jaw, the outline of her ear, the curve where her neck met her shoulder. He paused there, lingered near the edge of her sleeve and waited.
He offered her this decision. He would not overstep nor take what she didn’t care to give; still the situation was unlike any other life experience. Would he become angry if she stopped him? Would she regret denying this moment of promised passion?
She searched his face for a clue, but she knew he would never press his advantage. He’d proven himself through ample opportunity. Instead his eyes stared back at her with an intensity she couldn’t explain, as if there were unspoken words there for her to decipher, emotions written in a different language. She didn’t know what to do, how to act, and her nerves overcame her confidence in a competition that could never be won. What did he expect of her? Her body and mind conflicted while time measured each inhalation and exhalation. The moment was fraught with tense anticipation.
At last, her fingers atremble, she freed the ends of his hair, which she had been grasping as mooring. Taking a cue from his expertise, she touched her fingertip to his lips and without further hesitation slipped her hand over her shoulders to shed the wrapper, untying the ribbon at her collar, her thin night rail falling open, a transparent veil offered in total surrender.
Kellaway wanted. He wanted this angel who’d somehow fallen from the heavens and into his life, and what he wanted, he’d always taken. Yet now, while the lovely miss promised immeasurable pleasure, some unidentifiable pearl of responsibility and unfamiliar reticence forced him to cease. He wanted only what she offered, nothing more.
He watched her tentative movements, her fingers betraying her nervousness with the slightest tremble, the smooth skin of her throat rippling as she swallowed second thoughts. He forced himself to wait, allow her time and choice, for he knew once begun he’d not be sated until he tasted every inch of her. Her kiss left him undone—his cock harder than the rock at his back.
In Arabia he’d learned of jinn, genies of smokeless fire, who interacted with humans and angels in an attempt to steal free will. Viewing the beauty before him he wondered if she represented all three, equal parts temptress, woman, and innocent. He shook his head to clear the thought.
If only she were a lady suited for the grandson of a duke. The wild notion took him by surprise, accompanied by an irrational wave of possessiveness that fired his blood as he imagined anyone else taking a kiss from her.
But now was not the time to think of impossibilities. This night was for pleasure and he needed the blissful release found in a woman’s arms to escape the recent events drowning him in responsibility and regret. Mindless pleasure with no obligation afterward would restore some semblance of peace. He’d learned that lesson from women he’d encountered in Arabia, their kohl-circled eyes and transparent clothing a jarring contrast to his homeland, their epicurean attitude and sensual culture an enlightening experience. The angel in his arms possessed none of this knowledge; her tentative movements were more provocative than she realized but he’d happily educate her were she to request the slightest guidance.
He dropped his eyes to her bared body and allowed sybaritic craving to consume all action, a hot spike of desire responding to the lush curves and soft skin held in his arms. Her breasts were exquisite, smooth milky skin and tight rosebud nipples, bathed in sallow moonlight like the mythical creature he’d conjured the first night he’d spied her dancing at the water’s edge. He yearned to touch, kiss, taste. His mouth went dry with want. One hand still rested at the base of her spine and he applied the slightest pressure to move her closer, the temptation of her body divine torture. With a subtle rock of his hips, he adjusted his stance—aware she could feel his hard length against her belly. She made the smallest sound, her eyes wide with wonder. A silken wave of her hair lifted in the breeze to fall across his arm in a whispered caress. He yearned for the same when he swept her beneath him or she rode above him, her hair falling forward across his chest, their bodies locked in mutual gratification. If possible, his cock grew harder and like the proverbial frayed rope, his resistance snapped.
“This is what you want, isn’t it, Angel?” He forced the words with the last of his patience.
She gave a nod and he smiled. They were alone, partially nude in each other’s arms. Now was not the time to play gentleman.
Chapter Ten
He abandoned words, discarding them as a nuisance, and captured her mouth in a kiss meant to melt all resistance. Instead he found himself towed under by her flavor, tart and spicy with a hint of sweet cherry. Would she taste as exotic all over? He could hardly wait to find out. He deepened the kiss and she relaxed in his arms. With a well-practiced maneuver he shed his shirt without losing contact, desire ramping his heart to an insistent thrum.
Her fingertips, gentle at first, then more persistent, coasted over the planes of his chest, pausing on each ridge and corded muscle as if memorizing his form, a mixture of bold curiosity and erotic seduction. Accustomed to practiced attention, her keen investigation touched more than his skin, prodding sentimental emotion; the inordinate and unfamiliar realization was not altogether pleasant. He tore his mouth away, breaking the moment.
“Benedict?”
He chuckled at her startled question, amused, and led her to the blanket rather than explain the cause of his action. Her gown gaped wide where she’d lowered the sleeves and he placed her on the coverlet, caging her in as he lifted her night rail, the sight of her plain white pantalets straining his patience. He adjusted the lantern and she gasped, her fingers flying to the left of his chest to rest at his tattoo.
“What happened?”
Her immediate concern struck a tender note and he placed his p
alm over hers wishing to reassure as they lay side by side.
Somehow, lost in the wonder of exploring Benedict’s devastating muscular symmetry, she’d settled on the coverlet, her hand atop the strange markings on his chest. She’d never felt more daring and alive, though a pulse of fear survived the onslaught of new emotion. Still nothing would stop her now from experiencing the moment.
“It’s an image of the sun.” He traced the dark shape in way of explanation. “A souvenir from my travels and a custom of the people. It shows I belong to them and am accepted in their land. So now I’m marked. I’m one with them.”
“How did they do it? It must have taken a long time to make all these marks. Did it hurt?” She followed the path of dark ink and scarring, the circle at the center and each extending ray, noticing how his muscles bunched and jumped as her finger coasted across his skin. “Did it hurt you?”
“Yes, but it was worth it.” He eyed her, one brow raised in amusement, and smiled. “Many things in life cause a little pain at first yet offer a lifetime of pleasure.”
She didn’t realize his implication at first and a heated flush consumed her when comprehension dawned. She could only hope with the shallow lantern light he’d never notice her embarrassment.
“Why this symbol?” Questions were safer than her immediate conclusions.
“People of the Arabian Peninsula have dark skin and features. When I arrived, my fair coloring and blond hair reminded many of the bright desert sun. I also brought plenty of gold coin. The commoners were awestruck by my tales and adventurous ambition. Aside from gifts of food delicacies and fine women, the fellow who sold me Nyx insisted I become marked. I didn’t choose the design although the figure of a sun strikes an ironic chord.” His voice dropped low and she leaned closer to hear his murmur. “I’ve longed to be one.”
He didn’t say more but it was the most conversation they’d shared and the fact that it occurred in the middle of the night while they lay side by side partially unclothed made the discussion intimate and meaningful, as if they could truly bare their souls within this odd relationship they’d forged.
She had no time to consider his words further as he smoothed her hand from his chest and tugged her forward, no longer in the mood for conversation. He listed kisses down her neck, his mouth hot and resolute, while his fingertips brushed the curve of her breast through the thin cotton night rail.
Like a whirlpool, desire captured her strong and fast, pulling her into its mesmerizing current, forceful and demanding, in rhythm to his fingers as he traced circles through the fabric; and she obeyed its command, the sensation exhilarating and freeing, the entire ocean of life her own for this one night. This was the secret she’d wished for, the desire no one would ever discover.
He nipped her shoulder, the bite bringing pain and pleasure, and she gripped his biceps tighter, the sensual flex of his arms an invitation to explore his body as he did hers. He nuzzled the curve of her neck, slanting kisses, tasting, licking with excruciating attention, while each touch of his tongue against her skin caused a powerful restlessness within. Her body went pliant though inside she wound tighter, begged to reach a certain point, a predetermined place, in search of relief. It was unlike any sensation she’d ever experienced and it was hers to cherish.
His hands spanned her ribs, his body angled as if a shelter, and suddenly she lay flat on her back, the blanket-covered sand a soft pillow beneath. Surely he felt the rapid thrum of her heart. Did he believe her a loose-moraled country girl ready to tumble with any handsome fellow? How could she blame him when she’d all but offered that portrayal? She was ready for whatever he planned and she’d harbor no regrets.
She reached to encircle his neck, but with a smooth movement of his shoulder, he gathered her wrists in one hand and brought them over her head, her night rail spread wide, her bare breasts lifted high as if she were a pagan sacrifice he meant to worship and feast. Her heart pounded, yet it wasn’t fear that spirited her pulse, but excitement, the intoxicating condition flirting with danger and daring. Never had she felt more wanted and strangely beautiful.
He nuzzled across her clavicle, lower until her breath caught, his hot insistent mouth closing over her breast, where he rubbed his tongue against her nipple, the swirling sensation almost too much to bear. She moaned, mortified the admission of her pleasure had escaped, but the sound clearly pleased him as he provoked further torture, his teeth scraping across her skin, sucking the tip of each breast to sensitivity, the wet heat of his lips and hot pant of his exhalations stirring the unbearable ache inside. He released her wrists and returned for a deep kiss, swallowing whatever confessions she might have made, mimicking the slick heat of his mouth across her breasts. Glory, what would his attention feel like on every part of her. The aching intensity of longing threatened to destroy her and shatter her soul. It settled in her sex and she squirmed beneath the weight of his body, anything to satisfy the unreasonable urgency building inside.
He broke away and for a moment she feared she’d committed some foolish mistake, embarrassing herself with low moans and restless wiggling, but no. He rolled to his back and with one fluid movement removed his trousers, his body unclothed and his smalls on the blanket beside her.
A spike of fear replaced all other emotion. What was she doing? She swallowed hard and crossed her arms over her breasts in a silly show of protection.
“What is it?”
His question, low and intimate, accompanied the sound of the waves striking the shore, the flicker of lantern light, the moon’s glow. It eased her reaction and she lowered her hands with a soft laugh meant to reassure herself more than him.
“I don’t know what to do to please you. I’m…” She stopped talking, keen to the flash of emotions on his face and he sat up abruptly, so much so, she had the panicked thought he might gather his clothes, dress, and depart without another word.
“You’ve never lain with a man.”
The words were an accusation and she noticed his jaw clenched, the taut cords in his neck tight as he spoke.
“I misunderstood.” Again, his words recriminated more than explained.
“No.” The word flew out, fast to explain. “Not at all. I want to be here. I don’t wish to disappoint you. I’m just not aware.” The latter sounded weak, her courage sinking fast, buoyed only by the faint hope instinct would guide her.
He remained silent for what seemed an insufferable length of time and Angelica wondered if he might abandon her there. It had been a foolish plan and a hopeful wish that now made her feel all the more ridiculous for attempting it. Her father was right to steer her future; her decision-making skills were less than trustworthy.
“I can teach you what you wish to know.” His words held a warning inflection. “But I will not be held accountable for your claims afterward. I will deny knowing you if you dare draw me into some ambitions scandal or gossip fodder. Your kiss is a fever in my blood, but I shan’t have my name sullied or reputation questioned were you to decide to slander me afterward.”
His disclaiming speech lent a somber tone to their intimacy, yet instead of feeling insulted she wondered at the history he might have experienced. The lingering question of his status suddenly seemed important. He’d mentioned traveling to exotic lands and expensive travel wasn’t the priority of a common countryman.
Were she to commit to this moment, she must walk away at the end. Wasn’t that what he asked? That she spend this night with him and realize there could never be more. The proposition suited her. In a few days she’d be far and away from Brighton with only this memory to keep her spirit alive. A familiar heaviness filled her lungs but she forced it away. She may not be clear-minded, confused by the threat of her future and delight of the moment, but she wouldn’t lose courage.
“Yes. I know.” She rested her hand tentatively on his forearm. Fractured lantern light caught in his eyes, reflecting choices, dreams, and a wide assortment of sins. “I want tonight. Only tonight. That’s al
l. I give you my word.”
The reply had hardly left her mouth when he stole the last syllable, turning on the blanket, his hands on her shoulders as he pulled her into a kiss.
“You honor me, Angel. I’ll do my best to please you.”
He broke off their gaze and removed her pantalets, the cool evening air bringing a rise of gooseflesh to her skin, but not for long. In the soft glow of the lamplight, he settled beside her, the heat of his body assuaging any earlier chill. Lost in his kisses, she relished every caress. He stoked the embers of their previous passion, the flames of desire licking high in less than a breath, their conversation long forgotten, both participants seeking to be lost in physical sensation, a connection that required no explanation.
His hands brushed her skin, fondling her breasts, grasping her waist and then slowly drawing his thumbs across the delicate curves of her hip bones. She shifted under his caress, that same restlessness consuming her with a powerful urgency she couldn’t define until the first touch of his fingertips across her sex sent a shot of pleasure through her so powerful she cried out. She’d hardly recovered when he dipped his fingers between her folds. She clenched the blanket, wrapping the fabric in her fists and bearing the exquisite knowledge that he would explore her so intimately. And still the ache within persisted, a hollow feeling that teased and tortured, begged for an answer she couldn’t provide. What was this unruly abyss of temptation where she danced on the edge of carnality, all caution tossed to the wind?
The heat of his breath passed over her navel and her eyes shot open. What was he about?
Society's Most Scandalous Viscount Page 9