The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray

by Anna Bradley

  It didn’t make any difference, of course. Sophia didn’t even need to be in the same room for him to be hard and aching for her, but it had been a shocking evening, and Tristan had already made up his mind not to trouble her with his amorous attentions.

  So, he was still clothed when he slid into bed beside her and gathered her into his arms. “Go to sleep, pixie,” he murmured, dropping a chaste kiss on her forehead.

  He eased her head down onto his chest and settled back against the pillows, determined not to lay a finger on her. He might have succeeded, too, if Sophia hadn’t had other plans.

  It started subtly enough—just her fingers stroking lightly over his chest. Even such an innocent caress as that was enough to challenge Tristan’s better intentions, but he gritted his teeth, ignored his cock’s hopeful twitching against his falls, and remained still.

  That is, he did until Sophia’s hand moved a tiny bit, sliding lower until she was stroking his ribs, then lower still, her fingertips gliding over his stomach. It was so gradual Tristan could almost persuade himself he was imagining it until her fingers brushed over the straining head of his cock.

  “Sophia!” Tristan groaned, his body arching. “What are you doing?”

  She shot a teasing glance at him from under those thick, dark eyelashes. “My goodness, Tristan. If you have to ask, I must not be doing it right.”

  Tristan let out a strained chuckle. “Oh, you’re doing it right, pixie, but it’s late, and you need to rest.” It took every bit of his will to do it, but he captured her wrist and tugged it gently away from his body.

  Sophia put it right back on him again. “I’m not tired.” She stroked his aching length through his breeches, her warm hand squeezing gently, and Tristan jerked again, letting out a gasp. “You don’t appear to be all that sleepy either, my lord.”

  The gentle pressure of her hand on his hard cock made Tristan’s eyes roll back in his head, and he couldn’t hold back his hungry groan. “Ah, Sophia.”

  “See? Wide awake.” She leaned over him and dropped a kiss to his chest before wriggling her way down the bed, her warm body sliding against his. “Though if you really insist, I’ll stop, and we’ll go to sleep.”

  Tristan tried to insist. A half-hearted protest gathered in his throat, but as he was groping for the words, she tugged his shirt from his breeches and pressed her open mouth to the heated skin of his lower belly, scraping her teeth lightly over his flesh. His hips shot up from the bed and he squeezed his eyes closed, an inarticulate groan on his lips as she loosened his falls, tugged them down his hips and took the head of his cock into her warm, welcoming mouth.

  There were no more arguments then, and no more objections. Tristan sank his hands into her hair, tipped his head back against the pillow and let the woman he loved drive him to madness.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tristan wasn’t Sophia’s first lover. She’d been betrothed once, to a kind, quiet man who’d slipped out of her life without a trace when he realized he was too kind and quiet for her.

  It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  This time it was different. Hadn’t she known it would be, from the first moment Tristan’s lips touched hers? Just as she’d known, one way or another, she’d find herself in his bed.

  It wasn’t different between them because he was an earl, or because he’d been a Bow Street Runner. It wasn’t because the bed was draped with sumptuous blue silk hangings, or his bedchamber was the most luxurious she’d ever seen.

  It was because he was Tristan.

  Sophia lay beside him, trembling as his warm fingers slid under the edge of the boy’s tunic she wore. His lips parted, his breath coming faster when he saw she wore nothing underneath. “Soft,” he murmured, brushing his fingertips across the bare skin of her belly. “So perfect, every inch of you.”

  Perfect. No, she was far from perfect. He’d find it out for himself sooner or later, and she’d go back to who she’d been before him—the heroine of an adventure or a fairy tale, but never a romance. The thought made Sophia draw back slightly, away from him, but Tristan didn’t give her a chance to go far. He slid his hands up her body, buried them in her hair, and turned her head gently to one side. “I want to see you.” He caught her earlobe between his teeth and nibbled at the tender flesh until he’d tugged a soft gasp from her lips. “Show me, Sophia.”

  Sophia lowered her hands to the bottom edge of her tunic and then hesitated, twisting the fabric nervously between her fingers. Privacy was in short supply at the Clifford School, so she’d never been shy about her body, and it wasn’t as if Tristan hadn’t seen her before.

  But he hadn’t seen all of her, and he must be accustomed to London’s most beautiful ladies, voluptuous courtesans and wealthy widows with smooth, white skin, who wore the finest silks and knew how to seduce a man. She was small, her curves slight, a waif dressed in coarse black linen with scraped palms and scarred knees.…

  Tristan was nipping at the sensitive skin behind her ear and trailing his firm lips up and down her neck, but when she paused, he raised his head and looked down at her. Whatever he saw in her face made him close his hands over hers, still frozen at the edge of her tunic. “You’re exquisite, Sophia.”

  Sophia gazed up into those burning gray eyes and her hands relaxed, her fingers going slack around the hem of her tunic. Together they drew it up and over her head. Sophia held her breath, half-anticipating and half-dreading the moment his gaze would fall to her bare curves. He’d seen her breasts before, the first time he’d taken her to his bedchamber, but this… this time it was different.

  More, somehow.

  Tristan’s eyes held hers as he lowered his mouth to her lips, the tunic drifting from his fingers to the floor. His lips were tentative at first, softly coaxing, opening her for his tongue, but his control slipped when she let out a little moan and sank her fingers into his hair. His kiss became more demanding then, his mouth growing hotter and more insistent as she pressed closer to him, chasing the delicious slide of his tongue against hers.

  “I want to taste you.” Tristan’s low growl vibrated against her neck, making her shiver. He scraped his teeth gently over her, his tongue darting out to lick her heated skin before moving lower to suck at the hollow of her neck. He let out a low groan as he felt the frantic flutter of her pulse under his tongue. “Do you want that, Sophia? Do you want my mouth on you everywhere?”

  “Yes.” Sophia gripped his hair, closing her eyes at the slide of those silky dark strands between her fingers, the rough scrape of his emerging beard against the center of her chest as he nuzzled his face between her breasts.

  “Here, pixie?” he whispered, rubbing his bristled cheek over one stiff nipple. “Do you want my mouth here?”

  Dear God, yes. Sophia plunged her fingers deeper into his thick hair and tugged hard, nearly clawing him with her nails in her desperation to feel that friction against her tender nipples again. He growled low in his throat at the sting and dragged his cheek over her other nipple, making her jerk in his arms. “Ask me to suckle you there,” he demanded, withholding his mouth until she was moaning incoherently for him, begging between panting breaths for his lips and tongue on her breasts.

  A lifetime passed before he obliged her, or so it felt to Sophia as he tormented her with the rasp of his cheek against her nipples. By the time she felt his hot breath against the straining peaks she was clinging to him, her body arching against his in desperation.

  Then, in the next breath he was where she’d begged him to be, his wicked tongue circling and teasing her nipples until Sophia wasn’t sure if she’d scream or swoon. He was no less frantic, his hands closing around her waist to still her as he devoured her, drawing one nipple and then the other into the heated cavern of his mouth, making her squirm and gasp in his arms. He grew more passionate, more desperate with every tug until one of his hands fell away from her waist and a ragged
groan dropped from his lips. “Look at me. This is what you do to me.”

  Sophia looked down, dazed. Tristan had kicked his breeches off and was stroking himself from his base to his tip, his big hand wrapped tightly around his hard length, the swollen, damp head flushing a deeper red with every pull.

  She watched in fascination as his cock twitched and throbbed, her own skin flushing with every broken moan that left his chest until all at once, she couldn’t wait another moment for him. She took his face in her hands and pulled his ravenous mouth away from her breasts to tug at the loose neckline of his shirt. “Take this off.”

  Tristan gazed up at her for a moment, his lips as red and swollen as her nipples, his hand still moving up and down his cock. One stroke, two, then he released himself with a hiss and raised his arms. Sophia gathered handfuls of the fine linen in her fists and tugged the shirt over his head. “Make love to me, Tristan.”

  “God, yes.” He slid lower to press a hot, wet kiss to her belly.

  Sophia lay back against the bed to take in the sight of his smooth, golden skin pulled taut over his broad shoulders and powerful arms. His chest and torso were long and lean, the hard muscles twitching under her stroking hands as she explored him, fascinated. “You’re so…so…”

  She trailed off, flushing. The word that came into her head was “beautiful,” but it wasn’t a word used to describe a man, so she held it back, uncertain how he’d react, even as she thought no other word did him justice.

  He was beautiful.

  He didn’t look like the one other lover she’d had, or like any man she’d ever seen before, and Sophia couldn’t stop herself from trailing her hand over his bare chest, reveling in the warm, tight skin under her fingertips. His body went rigid when she teased a fingertip around his belly-button. She dragged her fingers through the line of soft, dark hair underneath, a smile curving her lips when she made him gasp.

  “Sophia.” He let out a harsh groan when she traced one finger down his rigid cock, reveling in the heat of that velvety skin and the way it twitched against his stomach, as if inviting her touch. She stared down at the straining length of him for a breathless moment, then cradled him in her hand, her breath coming faster when Tristan’s eyes dropped closed. High spots of color painted his cheekbones, and his lips parted as he dragged in one ragged breath after another. “Are you teasing me?”

  Was she? Sophia hardly knew. She wanted to touch him, to see him pant and groan for her as she’d done for him. “Perhaps I am,” she whispered, her gaze locked on his face as she tightened her fingers and stroked him up and down, as she’d seen him do to himself.

  His hips shot up and a sharp hiss fell from his lips. “Harder, pixie. Yes, like that. Your touch drives me mad, Sophia.”

  Sophia loved touching him, loved listening to the helpless moans on his lips as he arched and shuddered under her hands. She tightened her grip around him, stroking him faster now. Desire unfurled inside her lower belly when his head fell back and he thrust into her fist, once and then again before he caught her wrist with a strangled groan. “No…no more, or I’ll lose my seed in your wicked little hand.”

  A light sheen of sweat covered his chest. She ceased stroking him, but his cock was still twitching insistently against her palm. She knew what it meant for a man to lose his seed, and for one mischievous moment she was so tempted to see him spill into her palm her hand began moving again of its own accord.

  She didn’t get far with her teasing, though. Tristan twisted out of her grip. “No. I want to be inside you.” He raised an eyebrow at her boy’s breeches, a devilish smile curving his lips as he neatly plucked one button loose, then the other, and dragged the breeches over her hips. “Much easier than skirts, stays, a chemise…”

  Sophia let out a breathless laugh. “To say nothing of a corset.”

  He made quick work of the breeches, his throat moving in a convulsive swallow when she was bare before him. “Sophia,” he breathed. He took in every inch of her with his heated gaze before reaching out to run his hand over the smooth skin of her thigh. “I want you so much.”

  She rose to her knees in the middle of the bed, her gaze still fixed on the slick, flushed head of his cock. Tristan let out a husky groan as it responded to her rapt gaze, throbbing insistently against his stomach. She watched as it twitched and jerked, straining for her, a soft gasp leaving her lips when a drop of fluid beaded the tip.

  “Oh.” She touched her tongue to her bottom lip.

  Tristan stared, his mouth opening, and all at once, playtime was over. He let out a hoarse growl and snatched her into his arms. “I need you, Sophia. Come here.”

  She hesitated for an instant, as if trying to decide whether it would be more fun to obey or defy him, then she flung herself into his arms and her hands slid around to the back of his neck.

  “That’s it, pixie,” Tristan whispered. He tumbled her onto her back in the bed, the long, hot length of his body pressing against every inch of hers, from her shoulders down to her toes. He dropped a sweet kiss on her lips, and cupped her face in his palms, his gray eyes serious. “Tomorrow, when I wake, I want to find you right here, in my arms. Don’t leave me again, Sophia.”

  Sophia’s heart rushed into her throat. “I didn’t want to leave you yesterday morning, Tristan. You were asleep, your limbs flung wide and your hair falling over your face. You looked so warm, so peaceful I wanted to curl up next to you and fall asleep with my head on your chest.”

  He touched his forehead to hers. “Then why didn’t you?”

  Sophia heard the hurt in his voice, and a soft sob rose in her throat. “Because it’s hopeless, Tristan. Surely you see that? You’re the Earl of Gray, and I’m no—”

  “Brave and passionate. Clever, kind, and beautiful.” He tipped her chin up. “You’re everything. I don’t want only a single stolen night with you, Sophia. I want all of you, always.”

  She sucked in a shocked breath, but his lips took hers in a devastating kiss, and her thoughts scattered. When he drew away again, he was breathless. He gazed down at her, lingering on her bare breasts, her lips, the spill of her dark hair against his pillow. “Have you ever had a lover before, Sophia? I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Whatever lingering nervousness Sophia felt vanished at his words. That he’d thought to ask, that he’d take such care of her made warmth rush through her, curling her toes. She wrapped herself around him, as close as she could get, and pressed her lips to the center of his hard chest before burying her face against his neck. “I’ve had…I’m not innocent, but it was only a few times, and it was a long time ago,” she whispered, letting her fingers drift down the taut plane of his stomach.

  Sophia didn’t know whether it was her words or her touch that led to it, but something shifted between them then, as if the last thin barrier holding them apart crumbled and fell away. Every last vestige of the proper, elegant earl disappeared, and he was only Tristan, the strong, determined man who’d chased her across London the first night they’d met.

  Not the detached lord, not the distant earl, and not the Ghost of Bow Street.

  Tristan Stratford, the man.

  He was gentle with her, so careful, yet at the same time he was demanding, relentless in pursuit of her pleasure and his own. Sophia wasn’t a submissive sort of woman, but there was something breathtaking about having such an intense, physically powerful man take command of her body.

  “Put your arms over your head,” he murmured against her throat, shifting them so she was reclined against the pillows. “Don’t move unless I give you leave.”

  “Give me leave?” Sophia squeaked, but her objection died in her throat when he pushed a long, muscular leg between hers and began kissing his way down her body. It should be impossible his mouth could find her every curve and hollow, but that was how it felt to Sophia—as if his hot breath and seeking tongue touched every secret part of h
er. She held her breath, arching into his mouth as he dragged his lips down her neck and between her breasts.

  She let out a soft cry of protest and reached for his head to still him when he didn’t pause to lavish attention on her nipples, but as soon as her fingers caught in his hair he lifted his head, one eyebrow arched, his sultry gray eyes gleaming as he grinned down at her. “Hands over your head, Sophia.”

  Sophia squirmed against the sheets as she battled with herself. She wasn’t one to back away from a challenge, and certainly not one to let a man order her about, but he was wreaking havoc on her body with his sinful mouth, and all she could think about was how badly she wanted him to keep going, to move lower.…

  So, she did as he bid her, lifting her arms and resting them on the pillow over her head, just as he’d placed them originally. He made an approving noise deep in his throat. “Hold onto the headboard…yes. Now wrap your fingers around the posts.”

  He waited for her to obey his command before he resumed his sensual assault, dragging his lips down the center of her ribcage, pausing to nibble at the skin there, leaving a damp streak from his tongue as he drifted lower, dropping tiny wet kisses across her belly.

  She was half-lost in the pleasure when she felt his large palms against her inner thighs, the scratch of his emerging beard against the secret skin there, and then he—

  “Tristan!” Sophia twisted away from him, more from shock than anything else. “Did you just…”

  He’d…it felt as if he’d just licked her. There.

  Now that, that she’d never done before.

  She jerked upright and stared down at him. He was lying on his belly between her spread legs, his hands still holding her thighs apart, his lips glistening and a curious mixture of amusement, desire, and impatience on his face. “I did, and I’d be pleased to do it again if you’d do as I bid you.” He nodded at her hands, which were braced on the bed on either side of her hips.