“Get utterly foxed by yourself?” Minerva tsked.
Because he viewed his drinking as a weakness, teasing usually roused a base need to defend himself, but this time only amusement surfaced. “Look who’s calling the kettle black. I recall a certain beautiful blonde getting plastered all alone in my study.”
“You shouldn’t…my goodness.” She ducked her face and tucked a swath of hair behind her ear.
“In addition to pickling myself, no one could hear me if I had a nightmare out here.”
“Has your sleep been troubled recently?”
“My dreams lately have been haunted by a blue-eyed temptress, but they’ve tormented me in an entirely different way, believe me.”
For the second time, Minerva stuttered some inane words. “Rafe,” she finally whispered on an exhale.
He’d heard his name on her lips before, of course, but this time, the single syllable demolished his already crumbling good intentions. There was such longing imbued in her utterance. The evening would end one way. Finally, he would satisfy his overwhelming need, but he promised himself he would bring her a pleasure she’d never forget. One enchanted night was all he could allow himself, and he planned to take full advantage.
“You don’t have to be shy with me, sweetheart.” Rafe voice was gruff as he unlocked the door and ushered her inside.
Chapter Seventeen
Minerva stood entranced. A sturdy table stood in front of a crackling fire with two large chairs. A picnic basket was on a counter that ran along part of one wall. A chair took up a corner with a small bookcase containing a handful of books. In the far corner, sat a bed.
She fought the urge to chew on her nails. Her gaze skittered away from the mass of pillows. A question hung in the expectant air. A decision was required. On the other hand, perhaps by coming here, her decision had already been made deep in the recesses of her mind.
“It’s lovely. You planned for this?” She gestured vaguely toward the fire and food.
“I hoped you would want to come. I shouldn’t have assumed, I mean… Am I a total arse?” He let out a gusty sigh, smoothing a hand down his beard. “I’m a bit out of practice in the fine art of wooing a lady.”
“Is that what this is then? A wooing?” Her voice quavered.
His teeth worried his bottom lip, and he ran his hands down her arms, roughing the velvet of her jacket. “Minerva, you need to understand something. There’s only so much I can offer. Only so much you’d ever want from me. But I want you, and you want me. There’s no shame in that. This—tonight—can only be a…” His gaze cut away.
“An interlude?” she whispered, her lips numb.
He sighed. “Yes, an interlude. Once we leave here, at the house, we can’t continue to have…” Again, he searched the floor.
“A liaison?” she offered.
“Exactly. Can you accept one night of pleasure with me?”
He ran his hands up and down her arms, around her back, up into her hair. If he had told her she would be a human sacrifice at the mouth of a volcano, she would agree as long as his hands continued to roam her body.
She hummed her acceptance of his terms, leaning into him and draping her arms over his shoulders. At her acquiescence, Rafe applied himself to nibbling at her ear and neck. Shivers coursed down to her toes with a lingering stop between her legs.
The corner of her brain that enjoyed summing columns of numbers detailed the reasons this interlude was an exceptionally poor idea. Top on the list was her total and complete ruination. In society’s eyes, at any rate. As Rafe said, there would be no shame in their joining. Marriage to a gentleman of the ton might be impossible. Although, she really had no desire to marry anyway.
What if he gets you with child? the voice screamed. The probability was low, and it was a gamble she would readily accept. The future was a distant worry.
The present stifled the annoying voice of logic and reason. The present included Rafe Drummond tracing his tongue around her ear and slipping the hooks of her habit free. She was tired of being responsible, of following the rules, of being in control. She wanted to follow this man off the brink and into the unknown.
She clutched at the muscles of his back and buried her nose where his hair curled over his collar, breathing his unique essence. “In your study in London, when we started all this, I wanted…I wanted…”
“What did you want, sweetheart?” He roved his big hands to her hips and pulled her firmly into him. The hard ridge of his erection settling against her hip bone sent knee-melting heat through her body, leaving her unsteady. He circled an arm around her waist, holding her against him. His size and strength made her feel feminine and protected, and her desire ratcheted up another notch.
“I wanted to crawl across the desk and bury my face right in your collar, press my lips against your neck. You always smell so intoxicating.” She kissed his neck and even took a quick, gentle bite.
“Good Lord,” he rumbled. He cupped her buttocks and fit her even tighter against him. Her knees quit working entirely, but he didn’t even flinch at taking her full weight.
“I tried so hard to squash this, but when you saved me…us. It became more than a physical need, impossible to deny. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? I would never have dreamed a woman like you could ever be attracted to me. It’s downright humbling. In my study that morning when you mentioned working off your brother’s debt in my bed? I’ve pictured that scenario every bloody day since.”
Her bottom hit the dining table, and she was grateful for the support.
“Are you hungry?” he asked with a rasp.
“N-no. Not really.” Her stomach was a churning mass of nerves and desire. She couldn’t imagine trying to choke down even a husk of bread.
“I am.”
“Are you? Would you like me to unpack the basket?” Her brain function had slowed to encompass only the receipt of the pleasurable sensations his hands and mouth were leaving in their wake. And, she wasn’t even undressed.
“I’m not hungry for anything Mrs. Potts made.” Having already unhooked it, he slid her bodice down her arms and tossed it over his shoulder. He looked starved. His gaze devoured her breasts, and Minerva didn’t need to look down to know her nipples were poking at her chemise, begging for his mouth.
“You’re not?” She arched her back, pushing her breasts closer to his mouth. The need for his touch overrode her pride. “What do you plan on eating then?”
His chuckle was a dark portent. “You, sweetheart.”
Finally, he cupped her breasts with his hands and rubbed her sensitive nipples with his thumbs. An embarrassing moan escaped on her sharp exhale, and she squeezed her thighs together, trying in vain to control her body’s response.
“Do you trust me?” he whispered into her ear before tugging the lobe between his teeth. The hair on his chin tickled her cheek.
She nodded, her eyes closing. A moment later, her skirt fell to the floor in a whoosh. Her drawers followed, and he lifted her to sit on the table, kicking her clothing out of his way. The cool table on her backside added to the tactile pleasure that threatened to swamp her.
He left her unanchored. Seeking balance, she opened her eyes and curled her hands over the side of the table. He pulled up one of the heavy armchairs, his gaze lingering on her breasts and the juncture of her legs.
Although a chemise covered her, she might as well have been naked. Growing more and more self-conscious, she dropped her face into a scrunched shoulder and curled an arm over her hardened nipples. Her hair fell around her like a curtain
“No. You’re bloody gorgeous. I want to see you. All of you. Don’t hide from me,” he fairly growled.
She obeyed, dropping her arm, but she kept her face averted, slightly dismayed at how easy and arousing she found it to follow his commands. He pulled her foot on his lap and remo
ved her half-boot and stocking. He squeezed and scraped her delicate skin with his fingernails.
He repeated the process with her other leg, keeping both her feet in his lap. His hands skimmed up and down her legs, inching her chemise higher with each pass, until his fingertips grazed the hair of her mound.
Placing a foot on each arm of the chair, he drew her legs apart. Instinct tightened her thighs. He rose and pressed his hips between her legs, forcing them open. Supporting her back, he pushed her flat over the table, gently nipping and tugging at her lips. His kisses were casual, unaggressive, relaxing.
“I promise you’ll like this. I’ve been driving myself crazy dreaming about it for weeks. But you have to give me control. Now, close your eyes and enjoy.”
Again, her body ruled her mind. Her eyes closed. His weight lifted, and she closed her knees, the exposure too unsettling. The warmth of his hands settled on her knees, at first gently caressing the sensitive undersides, but soon they pressed her legs apart. His touch floated down her inner thighs, and he slipped a finger through her wet folds.
Laying an arm over her eyes, she tried to block out the embarrassment. Was it too late to request a glass of liquor? Soon though, she forgot about the liquor, even forgot she was spread open mostly naked on a table. He circled her nub with his thumb while he pushed a thick finger inside of her. Her moan accompanied the invasion. The intensity of the pleasure was startling, but she was greedy and wanted more. Knew there was more.
The need to assuage the ache trumped her maidenly modesty, and she squirmed closer to the edge of the table. His wicked, talented hands disappeared.
“No, Rafe, please, don’t leave me.” Had that rough, guttural plea come from her?
His rumble sounded suspiciously like laughter, but she couldn’t summon enough indignation to care.
He was back, the sensations different but no less intense. Firm, wet strokes. She raised her head. His dark hair brushed the inside of her thighs, his beard adding another element to the pleasure spiraling from between her legs. Another mystery revealed.
He slid his hand under the curve of her bottom and tilted her pelvis up. Her legs fell farther apart. As his tongue dabbed, he slipped a finger inside of her. Her climax was sudden, like falling from an unseen precipice. Her hips bucked and she tried to clamp her thighs shut, but he was merciless, forcing them open to continue his glorious torture. She lay across the table utterly spent. Nothing existed beyond the echoes of pleasure rolling through her.
He rose and leaned over her with a smile of pure male pride. Realizing she wore a smile as well, she curled a hand around his nape and dragged him down for a kiss. Her tangy essence on his lips and tongue was indescribably arousing.
“That was amazing, Rafe.”
“Believe me, I enjoyed it as much as you.”
“Not quite as much, I don’t think.” A hint of nerves edged into her teasing lilt.
“We don’t have to do more. We can get you dressed and ride back to Wintermarsh.”
“What if I want more?”
The column of his throat worked against her hand. “You understand what you’re asking?”
“I understand the mechanics. You’ll bring me pleasure, won’t you?”
“I’ll try my damnedest,” he said grimly and rose.
She sat on the edge of the table and attacked his waistcoat, her fingers trembling but successful. He shrugged it off and dropped it on top of her discarded clothing.
She rucked up his shirt so he could pull it over his head. Finally, his chest was bare and hers to behold. And behold she did, with eyes and hands. The planes and ridges of muscle jumped under her questing hands. Her gaze touched every scar, and soon her fingers and lips followed suit. She wondered at his strength, and not only the physical kind.
His hands rested on her thighs, occasionally jerking in reaction to her touch. Were his nipples as sensitive as hers? His eyes were half-lidded and stormy. She flicked her tongue across the flat disk of his nipple. He clutched her thighs, uncomfortably tight, and his head fell back. She suspected he enjoyed her attentions very much.
She dropped her hands to the fall of his breeches, and a shudder racked his body. His erection strained against the fabric. Fear and curiosity fought. She traced the contours of the hard ridge. She wanted this, wanted him, but she fumbled with the discs nonetheless.
“I’m surprised you haven’t already popped a disc off,” she said breathlessly to hide her trepidation.
Their fingers collided, two sets of hands frantic to slip the discs free. The fabric parted, and his erection jutted.
Not knowing exactly what to do, she skimmed her fingers up and down the length of him, barely making contact. Although he was iron hard, his skin was supple and soft. She explored the mushroom-shaped tip where fluid wept. Rubbing a finger over the end, she gathered the fluid and then, curious, licked her finger.
“Oh, Christ.” He had been raptly watching her gentle explorations but stepped back to shuck boots and breeches in an instant. Settling himself between her legs, he ripped her chemise over her head. Finally, there were no barriers between them.
Except one—her maidenhead.
“Sweetheart, I don’t want to hurt you. You’re so small and tight, and I’m a damn brute.” His voice was gruff and thick with an unidentifiable emotion.
“If you’re trying to scare me, you’ve failed miserably. You make it sound so delicious. I find I’m rather partial to brutes.”
“Are you sure? Please be sure. I’m not sure I can stop if we move to the bed. It’s been a long time, and I want you badly.” Desperation laced his plea.
She pulled his head down and offered her parted mouth. He stroked her back, pressing them close. The hair on his chest against her sensitive nipples coiled a now recognizable tension in her belly. He settled his erection against her opening, but he didn’t try to enter her, only rubbed his length through her slick folds.
He slid his hands under her buttocks and lifted her off the table. “Wrap your legs around me.”
She clamped him tightly, and they collapsed on the narrow mattress. He caught himself over her on his elbows but then fell to her side. His mouth closed over a nipple, and she bucked up. He pushed her flat before palming the other breast. The dual assault fuzzed her mind, but she worried all the pleasure would be hers, and he’d already done so much. She sought his erection, rubbing and squeezing, until he halted her with a laugh.
“Keep that up if you want this to end before it gets started.”
“What do you mean?”
His laughter was muffled in her neck. “Let me touch you this first time, then, I promise, you can have a turn.”
He pushed her legs wide, his thigh in between. Stroking and playing at her core, he settled his mouth back on her breast. There was no gentle climb to pleasure this time. He drove her hard, and she was thrown into a twisting maelstrom.
She writhed, dimly aware Rafe had shifted and now knelt between her legs. The head of his erection pressed inside of her still-pulsing channel. As he’d promised, he entered her an inch at a time. The invasion intensified her climax, extended it, and he cursed breathlessly, holding himself a few inches inside of her, until she came off the crest of pleasure.
Deeper he pushed, and her body stretched to accommodate him, the feeling uncomfortable but not painful. She knew what was to come, tried not to tense, but the anticipation was worse than the actual breaking of her maidenhead, and her gasp was more from surprise than pain.
“I’m sorry…so sorry…” His voice sounded foreign to her ears.
“It’s fine. Are you almost there?” Her lungs couldn’t pull in enough air.
“Almost,” he bit out. He pushed forward another inch.
“Are you sure you’ll fit?”
He gave a weak laugh, his breathing as labored as hers. “I will, I promise. You were made
for me, but I’ll stop right now if you want me to. Do you?” He held himself immobile, waiting.
He would. If she asked it of him, he would withdraw to save her from pain. Lightning streaked through her body, cracking into her heart and rushing through her ears. She loved him. No matter his faults, she loved him. More convenient if the blinding revelation had come when she was alone and could logically assimilate the ramifications. Now, all she could do was try to hide her sudden tears.
“No. I want all of you…even if it kills me.” The words were forced from her tear-tightened throat.
“I don’t think it will come to that.” With one last push, he was seated to the hilt.
Sweat dotted his forehead, his face a study in pleasure and pain, his groan a combination as well. His muscles quivered under her hands. There was more, wasn’t there?
“Are you still in pain?” he asked through clenched teeth. “Christ, I need to move.”
“I’m ready.” Her gaze darted from his face to the play of muscles along his arms and chest.
Rafe pulled almost all the way out of her and slowly pushed back in, a shudder slashing through his body.
“I wanted to make this good for you, but I’m not going to last. You feel bloody incredible.” His voice was almost a growl. He dropped on top of her, his elbows bracketing her head.
His pace increased until he slammed into her. Cupping a buttock, he tipped her pelvis up. The change in angle and sensation wrung a moan from her on her next exhale. His every muscle stiffened into stone, and a warm torrent poured inside of her.
As if shot, he collapsed on top of her, lax and trembling. His shallow, rapid breaths blew hot across her neck. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her arms and legs around him, wanting to etch the moment into her memory. This interlude may be her one and only opportunity. She was happy under his weight and savored the feeling.
Too soon, he reversed their positions, slipping out of her and arranging her across his chest. Boneless, she sprawled, her head tucked under his chin, a single tear leaking out of the corner of her eye to wet the hair on his chest. He traced each vertebra along her spine and spread her hair across his shoulder.
A Brazen Bargain: Spies and Lovers, Book 2 Page 20