Barbara Pierce - Sinful Between the Sheets

by Barbara Pierce

  "Come here, Kilby," he said, beckoning from the other room.

  Moving away from the door, she glanced down at her chemise in despair. The thin undergarment was not enough protection from Fayne's shrewd green gaze. Striding to a small mahogany chest, she opened the lid and pulled out a long brown and white shawl. Kilby carefully wrapped it around her like a shield.

  "You still wear your chemise," he chided, when she en­tered the bedchamber. He held out his hand, signaling for her to join him in front of the fire. During their time apart, he had removed his waistcoat and his cravat hung loosely from his neck. The duke's feet were also bare. "I told you to remove everything."

  "Everything wet," she said crisply. Ignoring his out­stretched hand, she knelt down on the blanket he had laid out in front of the fireplace. "I assume—" She paused, dis­tracted when he leaned forward and dragged a large bowl of water he had warming on the hearth closer to them. "What do you intend to do?"

  Fayne grabbed his untied cravat and pulled it away from his neck. Folding the material in his hands, he pushed the fabric into the water. "Talk." He wrung out the wet cravat. "Your face is filthy."

  Kilby touched her cheek and grimaced at the flecks of dirt and other things she would do well not to contemplate on her fingertips. Annoyed, she held out her hand, expect­ing him to hand over the wet fabric. Fayne ignored her hand and grasped her chin firmly. Tilting her head up, he gently began washing the muddy streaks from her face.

  Giving up, she said, "So you want to talk about the dirt on my face." He had gone to a great deal of trouble en­sconcing them in her bedchamber. If hearing his grand confession granted her the key and his departure, she was prepared to listen.

  The dimple on his cheek flashed as he gifted her with a quick grin. "No." He glided the cloth along the curve of her jaw. The soft cloth and the tepid water felt good on her face. "I want to talk about Lady Spryng."

  She pulled back from his hand. "I am not interested in hearing about your good friend the countess."

  Fayne sighed. "A pity, since I feel compelled to share." He dipped the cloth in the water and squeezed. "This is a first for me. I have never justified myself to anyone about anything. If you have the courage to listen, you might learn more about me than I have ever shared with another."

  With his other hand, he curled his fingers around her nape and pulled her closer. He nudged her chin up and to the left with his fingertip. She felt the cloth stroke her throat. "Your assumptions were correct. When Velouette invited me to join her in the private parlor, I left the box aware the lady desired to renew our, ah, friendship."

  Kilby turned her face to the right, offering him more of her throat. It also kept him from noticing her tears. Even at a distance, it was apparent Lady Spryng was stunning and exotic. The voluptuous countess was everything Kilby was not. "I see." She trembled beneath his trailing caress. The cloth followed the slope of her neck, down her shoulder, and across the ridges of her fragile collarbones.

  "No you don't. Not yet."

  His fingers and the cloth ventured lower. Water dripped over her breasts and her nipples were erect painful points chafing against her chemise. Under his gentle stroking, she had relaxed and allowed her shawl to fall to her waist. When the cloth slipped under her chemise and over her breast, her womb pulsed in response. The cleft nestled in the curly hair between her legs grew damp and a part of her ached for Fayne to bury his hand there, too.

  "Kilby." There was longing and regret in his voice. "I need you to understand."

  "What?" she asked, her eyes fluttering open. Fayne was seducing her with his slow, meandering strokes. Kilby was almost prepared to forgive him anything if he would stop teasing her and—do more. Turning back to him, she saw the same stark hunger glittering in his green eyes. He wanted her, too. The impressive length of his manhood was a prominent bulge in his breeches. Yet, he was holding back, resisting the chance to take her.

  "Fayne?" she asked, doubt clouding the sweet lethargy his touch had evoked. "What do you want me to understand?"

  His hand halted mid-stroke over her heart. "Velouette was mine for the taking. No questions. No avowals of love. No complications. She offered to fulfill my darkest fantasies, to yield her body to my wickedest commands."

  Kilby placed her hand over his. Her gaze fell to his arm, ashamed by her uninhibited response to his touch. He skillfully seduced while he soothed. If she allowed him to continue stroking her with the damp cloth, she might have been tempted to blurt out similar reckless promises as his former mistress had. She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. "You wanted me to understand why you did not refuse—"

  "No!" he barked sharply, withdrawing his hand from her grasp. "I want you to understand why I did!" Disgusted, he tossed his wet cravat into the bowl.

  Her head shot up. "You ... You and the countess—" She could not say the words aloud for fear she had misun­derstood him.

  "No," he said, inching closer. "What I had with her, I no longer want," he confessed, spearing his fingers through her hair, getting rid of hairpins as he discovered them.

  The full weight of her hair spilled down her back. "What do you want?" She licked her lips. His mouth was hovering temptingly above hers.

  "I crave you, my little wolf." Unable to hold back, Fayne crushed his lips to hers. His tongue pierced her lips, coaxing her to let him in. He tasted like rain, of reckless sin, and dark promises that only he could fulfill.

  Fayne pulled back. Gently, he eased her chemise over her head. As he stared hungrily at her naked body, his thumb teased one of her nipples. "Here and now, let me show you."

  Fayne sensed lovemaking with Kilby could be much more than frenzied lust, more than finding his own pleasure in her tight body. Fayne had taken her in that fashion when he had thought she had had previous lovers. Knowing that he had been her first lover, Fayne needed to show her tenderness.

  "No, do not cover your breasts," he said, drawing her hands away and appreciating the pert uplift of her firm breasts. Fayne guided her onto her back.

  Most of his former lovers, like Velouette, had been overly bountiful. Kilby's exquisitely responsive breasts had him reevaluating his preferences. Squeezing one of her firm globes in his hand, Fayne bent his head down and licked her swollen nipple. He nibbled the underside of her breast and she giggled.

  "Like that, did you?" he murmured, caging her with his body so he could taste her other breast.

  "Fayne, would you untie your queue?" she asked unex­pectedly, drawing idle circles on his shoulder with her fin­ger. "The color is so glorious. I have often wondered how your hair looked down."

  "As you wish, my lady." He reached back and pulled on the leather thong. Kilby immediately threaded her fingers through the thick, dark cinnamon strands as they fell over his shoulders. Fayne preferred wearing his hair long. Women had always adored running their fingers through it. There were also some intriguing benefits. He moved down her body, allowing the spiky ends to tickle Kilby's sensitive flesh. She laughed openly, the muscles of her stomach rip­pling as he traced the oval of her navel with the tip of his tongue.

  "S-stop," she begged, choking on her laughter. "I cannot bear it!"

  Fayne parted her thighs wider. The scent of her arousal made his stomach clench painfully. No woman had ever ig­nited his senses as Kilby did. He lifted his head, his expression naughty. "You are only challenging me to prove you wrong, little wolf."

  Lowering his face to the dewy curls between her legs, Fayne parted her tender folds and suckled the sensitive nub tucked within. Kilby cried out his name, her upper body craned upward while her hands reached for him in a feeble attempt to stop his delightful torment.

  "You taste like honeydew, little wolf," he murmured, lapping the nectar.

  He reveled in the distinct flavor of her. This was the way their first time should have been. Slow. Savoring each plea­sure. Kilby squirmed against his unrelenting mouth, her thighs subtly widening, silently willing him to fill her with his cock.


  Oh, he would fill her.

  Soon.

  His body yearned for completion. However, first he wanted to savor Kilby's climax. She was close. Dewy beads of his own arousal moistened the tip of his cock. His body was throbbing in anticipation. Repeatedly thrusting his fin­gers deeply into her dripping wet sheath, he suckled her cli­toris, ruthlessly demanding her surrender.

  Her body answered.

  Kilby sobbed his name brokenly, her entire body shak­ing as the blinding magnificence of her first orgasm claimed her. She held him tightly throughout, overwhelmed by the powerful tempest assailing her.

  Fayne was far from finished with her. Nuzzling the in­dentation of her right hip, he crawled up the length of her body and kissed leisurely. When he pulled back to examine her face, Kilby looked charmingly befuddled.

  "What did you do to me?" she asked, her violet eyes filled with awe and excitement.

  The way she was staring up at him made him feel om­nipotent. He wanted to pound his chest and howl in tri­umph. Instead, Fayne brushed a few stray hairs from her face. "A mere taste of our passion."

  Her mouth parted in surprise at his announcement. "There is more?"

  "Oh, yes, my cuddly little wolf," Fayne promised. "An entire night of it."

  CHAPTER 12

  The days that followed drifted by for Kilby like a superla­tive, decadent dream. Since the night Fayne had carried her up to her bedchamber and made love to her in front of the fire, there had been some subtle changes in her relationship with Fayne that went beyond the physical.

  Though she had no complaints in that regard!

  What discomfort she had experienced in the beginning had disappeared and Fayne had proved himself to be a very inventive and attentive lover. The aches that plagued her now were the result of anticipation, of knowing what those skillful, dexterous hands of his could evoke from her body. He had somehow bound her to him with his exquisite lovemaking. She felt the pull of his absence from those invisible threads woven around her heart each moment they were apart.

  His misguided offer of marriage had not been men­tioned nor had he extended the generous offer again.

  Essentially, Kilby was relieved that Fayne had not pressed her for a permanent union. If she felt a jot of disappointment she reminded herself that she had already refused his of­fer. What she shared with Fayne was temporary. When his roving eye settled on another lady, she would not let bit­terness ruin her fond memories of their time together.

  For now, Fayne was hers.

  They had plans to encounter each other at Lord and Lady Kennard's ball this evening. Socializing in the same circles made it simple for them to accidentally meet without gaining the ton's notice. At her urging, their public assignations had been above reproach. Only Priddy had commented with a shrewd look in her eye on the frequency of Fayne's pres­ence at the gatherings they both attended together. The older woman had wondered aloud at the wisdom of encouraging the flirtation. After all, there was that awkward business with the duke's father. She was convinced Fayne was subtly courting her young charge. Nothing Kilby said dissuaded her of the notion.

  From the corner of her eye, Kilby noticed Lord Ordish's measured approach. He was leaning heavily on his walking stick.

  "Good evening, my lord."

  The earl made a soft disapproving sound. "Where is your chaperone? She is not doing right by you, my dear child. You are too young and pretty not to be dancing with the others," Lord Ordish said, joining her.

  "How kind of you to say so," Kilby said, patting his arm affectionately. "Nevertheless, do not fret. Lady Quennell has vowed to one and all that she will have me betrothed by season's end. If her daunting ambitions do not come to fruition, I fear it will be my failing, not hers."

  "Balderdash! If you do not have a dozen gents leaving their cards each afternoon, there is something wrong with the young noblemen your chaperone is presenting you to," Lord Ordish said vehemently in her defense. "Where is Lady Quennell? I should dash off and find her, mayhap, have a word or two with her."

  Kilby was appreciative of the earl's concern. However, there would be no dashing off for the Lord Ordish, not with his painful gait. "Heavens, there is no telling where Priddy might be at this moment, and I will not have you straining your leg on my behalf."

  "My hip, actually. And here I thought I was hiding it so well." The earl glanced at her sheepishly, and then gruffly chuckled. "I confess I have some lingering inflammation in my right hip that often plagues me at inopportune mo­ments. It is the sad result of a humbling tumble from my horse two summers past."

  "How terrible for you," Kilby murmured sympatheti­cally. Lord Ordish's retelling of his accident faded in the distance as her violet gaze landed on Fayne, who was en­tering the north side of the ballroom. A warm, welcoming smile animated her countenance. Kilby could pick him out of any crowd with great ease. His proud bearing and long, dark reddish-brown hair color were distinctly Fayne.

  "Lord Ordish," Kilby said abruptly, interrupting his story. "Forgive me, my lord. I promised a certain gentleman a dance, and he has just arrived."

  "Go." The earl's face crinkled in amusement as he urged her to hurry off with a wave of his hand. "Run off and flirt with your young gentleman. You have better things to do than listen to an old man's ramblings."

  She curtsied. Unable to resist, she kissed Lord Ordish on the cheek. "You are not old, my lord, and I always like our chats. One of these days I shall introduce you to Lady Quennell. Though I must warn you, once Priddy learns that you are unmarried, she will never give you any peace."

  Kilby waved farewell to the earl. She could hear his throaty laughter follow her as she wended her way through the crowd to Fayne. He was also moving toward her. Fayne occasionally stopped and spoke to friends and acquain­tances. Although he had not looked in her direction, Kilby knew his thoughts were focused on her.

  They met each other halfway.

  "Your Grace," she said breathlessly, slipping down into a graceful curtsy.

  Fayne bowed formally over her extended hand. "Lady Kilby. How fortuitous. Would you do me the honor of be­ing my partner for the next dance?" His green gaze glit­tered intently as he held her gaze.

  Kilby fought not to smile. The question itself was not amusing. It was his unspoken question that made her heart sing.

  "Will you let me love you tonight, my little wolf? "

  "I gladly accept, Your Grace."

  "I did not think the evening would ever end, Your Grace," Kilby said, raining kisses on his face while Fayne carried her into his rented town house. Although the Solitea town house was rightfully his, Fayne preferred residing sepa­rately from his mother.

  "Fayne will do nicely, love," he said, kicking the door shut with his foot. " 'Master' has a nice ring to it, too."

  "Ha-ha!" She pinched his ear. "Never."

  His manservant appeared from the back of the house, carrying a small branch of candles. Hedge was a somber little man with alert hazel eyes and a rigid formal bearing and whose attention to detail had made him a valued ser­vant. Somewhere in his early forties, the slightly balding Hedge had been under Fayne's employ for six years.

  "Your Grace, might I be of service to you and your lady this evening?" the servant politely inquired.

  For some reason, Kilby found the servant's offer ridicu­lously amusing. She pressed her face into Fayne's throat to muffle her laughter. Judging from Hedge's unruffled demeanor, one might think Fayne arrived home each night with a young lady bundled in his arms.

  Fayne playfully smacked her on the bottom. "Behave," he sternly warned her. To his manservant he said, "No, thank you, Hedge. I'll see to the lady's needs myself. You may retire."

  "Very good, Your Grace." He placed the branch of can­dles on a table for them. "I bid you both a good night." The servant disappeared into the darkness.

  "That was rather cheeky of you to tell your man that you would see to my needs," Kilby said, extending her arm out and picking up the candelabra.


  Fayne kissed her on the nose. "How so? I don't plan to overlook a single one."

  "You have utterly corrupted me, Your Grace," Kilby con­fessed to Fayne an hour later, not particularly troubled by her disgrace. She was feeling sleepy and sated from their earlier lovemaking. Lying naked in his arms, she rolled onto her side and braced her head with her bent arm. "No wonder gentlemen are always collecting mistresses. Though, it hardly seems fair. No doubt the matrons of the ton would not think kindly of me if I began amassing a string of lovers."

  Fayne teased her hip with his fingernails. "Never mind the matrons." He dragged her on top of him. "What about me, your devoted lover? Have you tired of me so much that you are already planning your next conquest, you heartless vixen?" In teasing punishment, he dug his fingers into her sides and tickled her mercilessly.

  "No," Kilby said, squealing with laughter, wiggling crazily against his virile, naked physique. "Stop. Fine. I am keeping you. After all, you do have your uses."

  She surprised him by lightly cupping his testicles with her hand. In response, he clenched his teeth and sucked in his breath. Until then, Fayne had always taken the lead in their passionate encounters. Willingly conceding to his dev­astating expertise as a lover, Kilby had never thought to challenge his authority. It had not occurred to her that Fayne's dominant nature would ever tolerate, let alone de­sire, her sudden impulse to control him for a change.

  “There is such strength here," she observed, stroking his erect shaft from its base to the tip. His manhood twitched, lifting up to meet her caressing fingers. A droplet of his arousal welled at the slit opening. He felt like hot silk. "What does it feel like to push your rod inside of me?"

  Fayne shuddered. "Paradise. I wish I could remain in­side you forever."

  Secretly pleased by his admission, Kilby smiled against his stomach. It definitely explained why Fayne made love to her at each opportunity. The taut muscles against her cheek rippled, as curiosity prompted her to shift lower. "And what do you taste like, Your Grace?"