by Shana Galen
His hands caressed her gently, but though she sought relief his touch only teased and inflamed, making her want more.
“You like when I use my tongue here?” he looked up from kissing her shoulder. “And here?” He whispered in her ear and kissed it, sliding his tongue along the edge. “May I use my tongue here?” One finger circled her nipple, causing her breath to hitch.
She didn’t know how to refuse. Her whole body trembled with a need she couldn’t name. All she could manage was to kiss him and whisper, “Yes.”
He lowered her to the bed. She hadn’t realized they’d moved to stand beside it, but she was grateful. Her legs wobbled and when she lay down her head stopped spinning. He leaned over her, unpinning the front of her simple dress. For a moment she looked up at his figure above her and thought of another time and another man towering over her.
As though sensing her distress, Jasper slid down beside her, propping his head on his elbow. “Better?”
She nodded.
“Where was I?”
“The pins.”
He reached for the bodice again and held up a pin. “Last one.” His fingers lowered the fabric of her dress, and she closed her eyes.
HER CHEST ROSE AND fell almost as though she’d been running. Though her dress was modest, now that Jasper had the bodice lowered, he could see the swells of her breasts rising above her stays and chemise. Her skin was creamy against the dingy material of her underclothes. If she was his, he would buy her a soft new chemise and stays with pink ribbons so he could take his time tying and untying them. As it was, her stays were easy to open. They laced in front, which was a welcome change from those he remembered, which laced in back. But then she hadn’t had a servant to help her dress. All of her clothing was practical. He would have dressed her in impractical lacy concoctions. He’d never paid much attention to women’s clothing before, but he would have liked to see something besides brown and gray on Olivia. She wasn’t yet five and twenty. She should be wearing blue and yellow and green.
He pushed the stays open and slid them down slightly, leaving only the chemise blocking his access to her flesh. A string tied in a bow kept it cinched, and that was easily undone. Now it was simply a matter of tugging the thin material of the chemise down. He could already see the outline of her breast beneath, the hard points of her nipples straining. He lowered the fabric, revealing the swells of her breasts but pausing just above the aureoles. Looking up, he studied her face—eyes closed, lips parted, cheeks flushed. “May I keep going?”
She bit her lip, nodding. It seemed almost as though his actions pained her. Jasper vowed to have her crying out in pleasure before long. He kissed the soft roundness of her breasts, first one then the other. She was warm and smelled of the sea and woman. Her skin was impossibly soft, and he half feared to hurt her with his rough stubble.
And then he tugged the remainder of the material down, exposing her, and he forgot his reservations.
She was small, but firm and round. Her pink nipples were like blush-colored berries in the center of a dollop of cream. He couldn’t stop himself from taking one in his mouth and sucking ever so lightly. Her hands slid into his hair, and he had no doubt she wanted him right where he was, doing exactly what he was doing. It was no hardship to tease and cup and suck the velvet flesh. He liked the sounds she made when he circled her aureoles. He liked the way she bucked when he took a swollen nipple into his mouth and rolled it over his tongue before sucking until her hips rose from the bed.
Her face was pink now, her eyes half-lidded. Jasper kissed her neck again, just behind her ear. One hand fondled a breast, unable to cease touching her. “I can give you pleasure,” he murmured. She took a breath and exhaled shakily. “Can I show you?”
She turned her head, and her eyes, so large and dark he couldn’t even discern her pupils, met his. “You’ll stop if...”
“Whenever you want.”
He slid the hand on her breast down to her ribs. Her eyes seemed to glitter and in the candlelit room, shadows danced on her skin and her clothing. His hand slid down further, into those shadows, brushing over her center. She made a small sound, but he kept going until he caught hold of her skirts. Slowly, he tugged them up, his gaze never leaving hers. Finally, his fingertips brushed flesh. He stilled, allowing her to become used to his touch on her thigh. “May I continue?”
Her eyes searched his. “Yes.”
He cupped her thigh with his hand, the flesh warm and giving to his touch. “You are so soft.” His fingers inched higher. “Like silk.” He slid his hand between her legs, parting them slightly. The air whooshed out of her lips, and he kept his gaze steady on hers. “Do you like this?”
She bit her lip. “I don’t know if I should.”
He wrinkled his brow. “If you don’t, I’m doing something wrong.”
“I like it,” she whispered. His hand skated up her inner thighs until he felt the soft curls of her center brush his knuckles.
“I think you’ll like this more.” He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her gently and tangling his fingers in her hair until he found her folds. She was slick with desire for him, and he slipped between them to rest two fingers against the heat of her.
He pulled back and looked down at her, not moving his hand, allowing her to become used to the feel of it between her legs. “There’s a little place here.” He moved one finger up until he found the rounded nub he sought. When he grazed it, she made a choked sound. “And if I tease that little nub, touch it, caress it”—he tapped the bud with his fingertip—“it will bring you to climax.”
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
He swallowed and stilled. “You’ve never climaxed before?”
“I don’t know.”
He let out a breath. “You would know. And, no, it doesn’t hurt. It feels...better than almost anything. Can I show you?”
She nodded, and he began to circle her bud with his thumb, moving his fingers into her folds. Her breathing sped up and he couldn’t help but glance down at the rise and fall of her breasts, her nipples peaking and red from his attentions and her arousal. Her legs relaxed, opened slightly, and then she realized what she’d done and clamped them closed again.
“You’ll like it more if you open your legs,” he murmured. “Go ahead. I can’t see.”
She hesitated and then her legs fell open. He slid a finger up and over her, wetting her until she was slick, and then he gently massaged her with his thumb. His finger dipped inside her, just a fraction of an inch, teasing her. Her hips rose, and he entered her to the knuckle, sliding in and out as his thumb continued its ministrations. Her breath was short and punctuated by moans now. Her hands clawed the bed as she strained. Her muscles clamped briefly around his finger, and he withdrew it, coming back with two fingers to stroke the heat and wetness of her. He wanted to kiss her, but her head twisted from side to side as he rocked his fingers inside her and kept up the relentless teasing of her nub.
And then she cried out and stiffened. Her body tightened, squeezing his fingers. She lifted her hips, grinding against his hand as she cried out again and again. He could see that she struggled for control, saw that it was beyond her, and enjoyed watching her give it up for the pleasure. She seemed to ride every last wave of it, arching her back so he could take a thick nipple in his mouth and suck. She cried out again before her body finally began to relax and loosen its grip on him. He’d stopped moving his thumb, pressing it against her instead, but not before he flicked it gently across her. She jumped and moaned, and Jasper looked up at her, mouth still on her breast.
“And now you know what it feels like to climax.”
She looked down at him with eyes all but clouded over from pleasure. “You look like sin incarnate,” she said.
“There’s a reason people keep sinning. Even when they know it’s wrong, it feels so very right.”
He grazed her bud again, and she whimpered.
“More?” he asked, licking the curve of her breas
t.
“If I say yes, I’ll never go back to my room. I’ve already left Richard alone too long.”
If it she had been another woman, Jasper would have convinced her to stay and would have made it exceedingly worth the sacrifice. Instead, he pulled back, lowered her skirts, and with a last kiss, covered her chest. “I’ll walk you back to your room,” he said as she sat up, slowly straightening her clothing.
She nodded, looking dazed and flushed and thoroughly rumpled. “It’s just across the hall.”
“And I’ll stand outside to make certain your door is locked.”
She didn’t argue. They still didn’t know who had been behind the attack on Jasper and couldn’t know whether they’d been followed when they left Penbury. Neither of them were taking any chances. Her fingers shook as she laced and pinned her clothing into place. It was badly done, but when she yanked her spencer on, the sad state of her bodice was hidden. It was too bad, really. He liked seeing her rumpled. She looked even more lovely to him when her hair was mussed and her eyes heavy-lidded.
He walked her back to her room, waited for her to unlock the door, then checked the room to be certain all was as it should be. It was, and he went back to the hallway to wait for her to lock it.
She’d half closed the door before he grasped it with a hand. “Olivia.”
“Yes?”
“Next time I’ll use my tongue.” He released the door and pulled it closed on her shocked expression. It took a few moments, but he finally heard her fumbling with the lock. With a smile, Jasper went back to his room.
Thirteen
She could hardly look at him the next morning. Every time she caught his eye, she flushed, thinking of his mouth on her breast and his hands...
Finally, when she and Richard were in the coach and he on the box, she allowed her thoughts to roam. What had he done to her? How did he know how to do that? Probably better if she didn’t try to find the answer to that question. Probably better if she didn’t allow herself to keep thinking the next: when would he do it again?
He was a wicked man. She wasn’t so innocent as not to understand his last comment. Surely the Church frowned on that sort of behavior. Just as surely, if it felt even half as good as his tongue on her nipple felt, she could hardly wait. She could think of little else, eager for the day to pass so they could stop at another inn and she could go to his room and—
“Mama, you are not listening at all.”
“What was that, darling?” Olivia blinked at her son, who sat across from her, his face all but pressed to the glass as he studied the passing landscape.
“I said, there’s a hare. You missed it!”
“Are you certain it was a hare? They don’t usually come out this time of day.”
“I miss Clover,” he said, apropos of nothing. “Do you think she misses us?”
“I think she has lots of children to fawn over her and feed her apples and carrots. She’s probably grown as fat as a house.”
He giggled and jumped onto her lap. “Mama, it’s only been one day.”
“Oh, well, then tomorrow she’ll be as fat as a house.”
He rested his cheek against her shoulder. “What are my grandmother and grandfather like? Are they kind or strict?”
She smiled at his use of that word. She’d tried to teach him his letters and numbers and when he wouldn’t listen, she’d told him she would have to act strictly, like her governesses had done. He loved hearing stories about her governesses and tutors. In his mind, nothing was worse than strictness. How she wished he would believe that forever.
“Your grandparents are...” How to describe them? “They are kind and loving.” They had always been that way when she’d been a child. She’d been their only child and they hadn’t spoiled her, but they’d doted on and pampered her.
“Then why did you go away?”
“Because...” How to explain to a child her parents’ insistence she marry the Duke of Withernsea?
She’d always understood she would marry a man of their choosing, and she hadn’t argued when they’d told her their choice. That was until she’d spent a little time with the duke. He’d scared her. At first it was the way he looked at her, as though she were a horse or a piece of art he was inspecting, not a person, not the woman who would become his wife. And then he’d begun to say things that disgusted her. She tried to avoid being alone with him, but she couldn’t refuse when he asked her to dance at balls. He always chose sets where they would have time to converse, and then he’d make lewd comments and promises about what he would do to her when she was his.
At first, she’d told her parents she didn’t feel comfortable with the duke and needed more time before the wedding. But as the months passed and the duke became more impatient, she was forced to admit she didn’t want to marry him. When her parents insisted, citing the betrothal contract, she confided in her mother some of what the duke had said. The viscountess had looked shocked.
Olivia had thought that the end of it. But then her father had come to her and told her that when she was a wife, these things would not be so shocking. The viscountess had looked pale as her husband spoke, but she hadn’t said anything. Later Olivia learned her father had spoken to the duke. Withernsea had been angry about it, and he’d taken that anger out on Olivia when he’d managed to corner her alone at a ball.
Now, she looked at her sweet son. “I ran away because there was a bad man, and I was scared of him.”
“Is the bad man still there?”
She nodded. “Yes, but I’m not scared of him any longer.”
“Jasper says he won’t let anything happen to us.”
She hugged Richard tighter. “He won’t. He’s a man of his word. You can trust him.
“Mama?”
“Yes?”
Richard hesitated. “Is my father in London?”
She knew she would have to tell him at some point, but how was she to tell him his father was the man she’d been fleeing? That was something she’d rather not reveal until he was much older. “No,” she said. And it was true. Withernsea had never been a father to Richard. And she would be certain he never met his son. She didn’t think he had any legal rights to the child, but she didn’t want to take a chance.
“Mama, can Jasper be my father?”
She swallowed. She’d been ready for the question and even thought about what she would say. It would be something about how Jasper was only a friend, and any man who would be Richard’s father would have to marry her.
But after last night, she couldn’t pretend to herself that she didn’t have feelings for Jasper. That she wanted more than friendship from him.
“I don’t know,” she finally answered, because it seemed the most truthful. “He would have to marry me.”
Richard sat forward and looked at her. “Why don’t you just ask him to marry you then?”
“It’s not that easy,” she said with a laugh. “And gentlemen are supposed to ask, not ladies.”
“Oh.” He slumped, and she rubbed his back.
“I know you want a father, darling, but let me introduce you to your grandparents first. You will be very busy getting to know them.”
“Yes, Mama.”
Richard had had so few people in his life that she could understand his desperation for more. She had begun to think that perhaps she and Jasper had a future, but nothing was certain and she didn’t want to give Richard false hope.
She took her time when they stopped for lunch, arguing with Jasper that Richard needed more time to stretch his legs. Jasper, black mask in place, didn’t seem convinced. He tapped his foot impatiently and paced before the carriage. Olivia didn’t fear his anger any more. He might not like having to slow his progress, but she didn’t think he’d take it out on her.
“At this rate, we won’t reach London until afternoon tomorrow,” he said, arms crossed over his chest.
“That sounds perfect.” She smiled and waved at Richard who was romping in a field with a
puppy who lived at the posting house.
“We could have made it tonight.”
She gave him a sidelong look. “Perhaps I’d rather spend one more night at an inn.”
“Are you nervous about seeing your parents again?”
“Yes, but that’s not it.”
“Then why?”
She started for the field to begin the process of cajoling Richard back into the coach. He really did need time to run and play. But she glanced over her shoulder as she walked. “I like the company in the inns.”
A slow smile spread over his face.
JASPER WAS KNOWN AT the inn they stopped at for the final night. She should have expected he would be as they were close to London now, and his mask was rather conspicuous. It meant she ate with Richard in her room while Jasper ate in the public rooms with his acquaintances. He’d introduced her as Mrs. Collins, a widow he was escorting to London. No one had looked at her twice. Perhaps it would be the same in Town. Perhaps no one remembered her.
She read to Richard for a long time before he finally fell asleep, and then because the room beside theirs, the one Jasper had taken, was still silent, she brushed her hair and changed into her night rail and robe. But she didn’t go to sleep. If tonight was to be their last night on the road, she wanted to spend it with Jasper. Who knew what would happen in London? She might never have another minute alone with him.
Finally, as her eye lids were beginning to droop, she heard the door in the room beside theirs open and close. She glanced at Richard, but he was sleeping with his arms thrown over his head, like he had when he’d been an infant. She went to her door, reached for the latch, then hesitated. Did she really plan to go to a man’s room? What did she think would happen if she knocked and he allowed her inside?
She knew what would happen. That was why she stood at the door. That was why she’d been waiting for him to come upstairs.
She knew Jasper wouldn’t come to her. No matter what she’d intimated this afternoon, he wouldn’t expect anything of her. He’d showed her not all men were like Withernsea. She’d known that, deep down, but she’d been so angry and so betrayed she hadn’t wanted to trust again. But Jasper’s patience and vulnerability had won her over. And even though she was eager to see her parents, something else she never thought she would feel again, she mourned each mile closer to London. She might very well lose Jasper once they returned to Town. He had a life there that might not have room for her or the scandal that accompanied her, and once she was under her parents’ protection, she would have to respect their decisions. Perhaps they would not think Jasper suitable.