by Alyson Chase
Her breath stalled in her chest as he watched her. When she thought she could take it no more, he handed her his glass and slid out of his coat. He tossed it on the back of the settee, never taking that uncanny gaze off her face. Sometimes she wondered if he was a witch. What other explanation was there for the things he made her do? Made her feel?
He peeled off his braces, tugged loose his cravat. He sat to take off his boots and trousers, his smallclothes sliding down his legs with them. He rose to his feet, wearing nothing but his shirt, and clenched his jaw as his bad leg took his weight.
And he watched her.
Waiting.
Seeing what she might do. Putting himself in her hands.
Cerise pushed him back onto the settee. “You need to rest your leg,” she told him as she grabbed the jar of salve. “Zis job you do for your agency, it is not good for you.” Or safe.
She shoved that thought out of her mind. She pushed his shirt up his thighs, ignoring the inches of hard muscle she revealed, and dug her fingers into the ointment. She rubbed it into his thigh in small circles.
“My job is fine.” His thigh twitched beneath her fingers, tensing before slowly easing under her ministrations. “But I should not have brought you into it. I thought it would be a simple case of a cheating husband. I won’t make that assumption again.”
She paused. “You don’t want my help any longer?”
He was silent a moment before, “I do not.”
She slowly rubbed more salve into his leg. The ointment contained ginger root and it warmed between their skin, making her fingers hot and slick. She raised a shoulder. “I only did it as a favor to Netta in any case.” The woman had recently married the Earl of Summerset, one of the founders of the agency. A fellow actress, Netta was her closest friend.
Her only friend.
A woman in Cerise’s position couldn’t afford to trust easily. A solitary life was best. Even if it left her feeling empty at times.
She sniffed. Such maudlin thoughts would best wait until she was alone. “Besides, helping you was interfering with my rehearsals. It is for the best.”
His silence held weight.
Her shoulders inched upwards. “Is there something you wish to say?”
“If you’d let me, I could find you other employment.”
Cerise dug her thumb into a particularly stubborn knot in his thigh.
He hissed.
“Do you find something objectionable in my current employment?” she asked.
“It isn’t proper.”
Ah, yes. Because all stage actresses were assumed to be women of low moral character. She pressed on the tendon above his knee. Little better than a light-skirt. She slapped some more salve on his leg.
“I’ll have no more discussion on zis matter,” she said. “I am an actress. It is who I am.”
He lifted one shoulder. “You saw fit to comment on my occupation. I see no reason I shouldn’t do the same.”
“But I did not insinuate that your occupation was immoral, and you immoral for doing it.” She pressed her hands to his legs, preparing to push away.
Wil grabbed her wrist. Waited until she looked up to meet his gaze. “It isn’t safe.”
Yes, because people thought actresses had low morals, men could become troublesome. The tension she’d been carrying in her muscles released. It wasn’t her he was judging. “You know I can take care of myself.”
“Yes, you’re good at taking care of yourself.” He pulled on her wrist, reeling her in to kneel between his legs. “But there are times when you need someone else to take care of you, too.”
Her pulse leapt, and he rubbed his thumb over the vein in her wrist, a slow smile curving his sensuous lips when he felt it. Felt what even the smallest touch of his could do to her.
The log in the fireplace popped.
Cerise swallowed, a bead of sweat gathering between her breasts. The heat consuming her body had nothing to do with the flames and everything to do with the man before her. She’d known where this night would lead when she took the job. Known her resistance would be weak.
He made her weak, and for the next few hours she wanted to ignore that inconvenient fact. She wanted to feel alive, feel the way only Wil seemed able to make her.
She ran her palms along his thighs, watched with interest when the front of his shirt tented with his erection. “Are you saying you want the job of taking care of me?”
“Yes.” He lifted one of her hands and pressed a kiss to her palm before nipping at the fleshy part where thumb met index finger.
Her heart stuttered. “Only for tonight,” she warned him, her voice husky. “You know zis cannot happen again.”
“If that’s what you want.” He rolled to standing, pulling her up with him. He took her mouth the same time he scooped her into his arms and strode for her bedroom. It was a little disconcerting how well he knew his way.
She wrapped her arm behind his neck. Opened to him. The man truly was gifted with his tongue. The space between her thighs grew slick as he slid that tongue over hers. As he tasted every inch of her mouth.
He laid her across the bed, reached one hand behind his neck, and pulled his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. He stood before her, completely bare, and she bit her lower lip.
He was a beautiful man, even with his bad leg. Maybe even more so because of it. His chest was wide and hard, dusted with dark hair. His waist and hips were narrow. His cock, upright and proud. She could spend hours worshipping that cock. It was thick and long and reached places inside her she’d never known she had.
And his legs… His right thigh was strong, the muscles clearly defined. The left bore a jagged white scar running from above his knee to the inside of his mid-thigh. That leg was smaller, the muscles not as developed.
She didn’t know what had happened. He wouldn’t tell her. But she knew it had been painful. That’s he’d had to be strong to survive it. To work his way through it to be able to walk again. And that was what made him beautiful. His will. His courage.
He didn’t hide his scar from her, but she knew he hated it. Hated that she saw it. And Cerise wished yet again that he could see what she did. See the man who overcame, not the man who walked with a limp.
“You are wearing much too many clothes.” Grabbing her ankle, he pulled her closer and flipped her skirts up to her thighs. He leaned down, kissed her leg above the edge of her stocking then peeled the strip of silk down and off her foot.
He moved to her other thigh, added the tip of his tongue to his kiss this time, before stripping her leg bare.
She pressed her thighs together, trying to ease the ache. She couldn’t appear too needy. Appear to want him too much. He could use that against her. Argue for something more permanent.
And at times like these, she didn’t know if she had the strength to resist him.
She hooked her fingers under the hem of her maid’s gown and shimmied it up to her waist. Wil placed his knee on the mattress and helped her it the rest of the way off.
She wore no chemise, no stays. The better to tease that earl to see if he would sample her wares.
But Wil approved of her simplicity of dress, too. His eyes flared wide before settling into a hooded look. He scraped his teeth over his bottom lip, looking for all the world like a man who’d just been presented with the tastiest, juiciest steak he’d ever seen.
And she couldn’t wait for him to eat her up.
He slipped his hand between her legs and slid them apart. His gaze was fixed on her cunny as he ran the tip of his finger along her outer lips. “So wet for me already. How do you want it, Cerise? Hard and fast? Do you want me to fuck you so you’ll feel it tomorrow? Or do you want slow and thorough?”
“You know how I like it, Wil.” With him, it was always hard and fast. They were always too needy, too desperate to take it slow. And she loved feeling the ache from him the next day. Feeling like he’d ravaged her
with every step she took.
She arched her hips, rubbing her clit against his finger.
Wil growled. He grabbed her behind both knees and spread her wide as he yanked her closer. “Someday, you’ll take it slow from me. Take it until you’re begging me to move faster, to give you what you need.”
It was a threat he liked to make. “But not today.”
“Not today.” He lowered his head, his breath ghosting over her tight curls. “Today I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll see stars. I’m going to fuck you raw. But first,” he said, bending even lower, “I’m going to start with dessert.”
He put his mouth on her. His sinful, infuriating lips that she wanted to both smack and kiss senseless.
Only now, he was the one making her senseless. He nibbled around her sex, nudged her clit with his nose, teasing her until she wanted to scream in frustration.
She threaded her fingers in his thick hair, tugged on his head, trying to increase his pressure.
Wil raised up and brought his palm down on the inside of her thigh.
She gasped at the sting, her core clenching.
“No.” He swung his head from side to side, his eyes darkening. “You get to direct our tupping. This is mine to control.”
He kept his eyes on her face as he went back down. As he slid his tongue in a leisurely path up her slit. As he slowly plunged that tongue in and out of her channel.
He pulled back, lapped at the wetness rolling down her groin, cleaning her like a mother cat.
Cerise gripped the coverlet. She was going to kill him. Rip his tongue out, pleasure herself with it, then shove it down his throat and choke him with it. This was why she didn’t want more with him. Insufferable, teasing, tormenting man.
He pressed his lips around her clit and sucked.
Her hips bucked until he grabbed them, held her steady. Increased the pressure until she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Could do nothing but spiral tighter and tighter and tighter…
She prayed to God, the king, to Wil, that he wouldn’t stop. That he’d never stop. But in French, so he wouldn’t understand.
Her thighs clamped around his head. Heat gathered at her core. Built… Built…
She flew apart with a scream. Her body thrashed, the jolts from her crisis shaking her so hard she felt it in her bones. Wil lapped at her gently, keeping her riding the waves, easing her down when it became too much.
He crawled up her body, gripped her chin, and kissed her deeply. She tasted herself, her need, and his desire. She tasted hope and heartache in that kiss, and tears burned behind her eyes.
“Now.” She dug her nails into his arse, widened her legs in welcome. “Inside me now.” It was easier to fuck. Easier to lose herself in his lovemaking then face everything that couldn’t be between them.
He eased the bottom ridge of his length between her slick lips. On the downstroke, his crown notched at her entrance. He pushed in an inch.
“You want this?” he asked.
“Yessss.”
“You want me to bury my cock deep in your sweet cunny?”
She strangled her moan. She loved when he talked filthy. Loved how he made her feel like the most desired woman in the world. Like he would take up residency inside her body if he could.
“Please,” she whispered, tilting her hips.
He pressed in a little deeper. “You want me to tup you like a dirty, little wanton and then take my leave and forget about you?” His eyes blazed.
She turned her head, hating his intensity. “You know I do.”
He pulled out to his tip, then thrust deep. Her walls stretched deliciously, the pinch of pain melting into pure pleasure.
“Fuck me,” he groaned. “I could never forget this. Never forget how good you feel, your sheath hot and wet, gripping my cock like a drowning sailor a life rope.”
She shuddered around him. Yes, this felt amazing. He felt amazing. But this was just one last liaison before they said goodbye. He’d move on; so would she.
They had to.
He sank the last inch home, his ballocks resting against her bum. He dropped his forehead to hers. “I hate the reason, but I love sinking into you bare.”
Her throat went thick. She’d told him it didn’t matter to her. She couldn’t have children, and it was for the best. It was better for her career. She told him this, but he didn’t believe her.
Sometimes, she didn’t believe herself, either.
Every doctor she’d seen had confirmed the diagnosis. It was a heartache she tucked away, one she could usually ignore. She would have a great life, even if she never was a mother.
And it made moments like this so much sweeter. Moments when she could feel… every… hot… velvety… inch… of him.
“Move,” she demanded. His patience, his restraint was a thorn in her side. He said it made their crises that much sweeter when he made her wait.
Perhaps he was right.
But she wasn’t at her moment of completion now. Now, she was aching and needy and didn’t want to delay her current pleasure for a future one.
He got up on his knees, his thighs pressing hers wide. He reached his hands under her shoulders and gripped her head. He held her pinned in place, open for his taking. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling at her skull as he thrust into her.
He eased out, so slowly she could feel the bulging veins in his length, then pounded back in hard. Her bed shook. Her thighs ached. And she loved every second of it. “More. Harder.”
He bit her shoulder. Complied with her demand. Gave her everything she needed.
“Mon dieu.” She reached overhead, grabbing her headboard. Let the swirling sensations steal her thoughts until all she could do was feel.
His length scraped along her nerve endings, hitting a spot deep within that made her moan. Lights danced behind her closed eyes. Her muscles coiled tight. Her lungs squeezed.
And she was flying. Coming apart as the orgasm ripped through her.
His thrusts faltered, fighting against the resistance of her squeezing core. Wil redoubled his efforts, rammed into her harder, making a second orgasm sweep through her body.
She would be walking as unevenly as he tomorrow.
And she couldn’t bring herself to care.
This was the last time Wil would be between her thighs.
She wanted to feel the evidence of him imprinted in her forever.
Chapter Three
His chest squeezed. She was so beautiful when she let go that it hurt to look at her. She glittered brighter than any star, and he was fortunate to bask in her glow if even for a moment.
Her head was thrown back, exposing her long, elegant neck and he had to fight the urge to bite her. To mark her. To make her see his stamp of ownership every time she looked in the mirror.
But resist he did. His hips pistoned, his body detached from his brain. He didn’t want to find his release yet. Didn’t want this to end. Because when it did, she’d show him the door. Send him away with an arch look and a hasty au revoir. And he didn’t want to lose this. Lose her.
But his body wouldn’t be denied. There was no way to halt his impending crisis. His ballocks gathered tight to his body. The base of his spine tingled. And with a groan, he planted himself deep inside her and released jet after jet of his seed.
It was always this way with her. Always so fucking good. His orgasm seemed to last forever and when it finally ended, he fell beside her, absolutely drained.
He closed his eyes as he sucked down air. He wanted this moment of bliss to last. Wanted to shut out her raised eyebrow, her impatience to get him out of her bed.
But she wasn’t a woman to be ignored.
She prodded his shoulder. “That was lovely, as always. I assume your carriage still waits for you, or shall I have my footman call for another?”
“Jesus, woman. Can you let a man catch his breath?”
“I did not realize you w
ere so out of form that you required a prolonged recovery.” She sniffed. The mattress shifted. “Take all the time you need to catch your breath. I have lines I need to memorize.”
Wil opened his eyes. She had slid into a rose-colored silk wrapper and was yanking on the ends of the belt. Her dark hair was delightfully mussed, the knot she’d put it in to sit under the maid’s cap completely ruined. She had the posture of a dancer, or maybe it was anger that kept her spine so straight.
“You don’t need to hide in another room, Cerise. I’m leaving.” Always leaving. They couldn’t keep doing this. It wasn’t good for either of them. She might like to pretend their liaisons meant nothing to her, but he knew better.
She wanted him. But for some reason she would never let herself have him.
Maybe because he wasn’t good enough. He knew it, but he also knew he’d spend every day of his life making this woman happy if she’d let him. But he’d been a servant his whole life, a servant when she was accustomed to being wooed by noblemen and the affluent.
They hadn’t wanted her for their wives, but they could lavish riches on her he could never dream of.
He sat at the edge of the bed and rubbed the ache behind his breastbone. He’d never minded his station in life before. He had good friends. Served the best of them. Was never hungry or without shelter.
But he’d never longed for anything he couldn’t have, either. Could a man die from wanting a woman?
Probably not.
But he was miserable without her.
He stalked past her to her sitting room and gathered his things. He pulled on his smallclothes and trousers, ignoring the pinch at his thigh. He didn’t bother with his cravat. Just tucked everything in as quickly as he could and turned to leave.
Cerise stood in the doorway, the gown she’d worn clasped between her hands. “I’ll need to be reimbursed for zis maid’s costume. The theatre keeps a strict inventory.”
He took it from her as he went past. “I’ll have it cleaned.”
“I do not think a cleaning will help,” she called after him.