A full-body shiver sliced through her as he reached up and cupped her breast in his hand. Then he brushed her pebbled nipple through the silk, heightening the sensation. He continued to caress her tip until the hard buds poked out through the fabric. With a firm—but not cruel—pressure, he squeezed one tip between his thumb and forefinger, and then rolled the point. A low moan escaped her as her head fell back against his shoulder. She reached behind and gripped his thighs, desperate for purchase as her legs turned rubbery with desire.
“I’m yours. Use me however you need. Make me scream.”
The rumble of his chuckle vibrated against her, adding to the maelstrom of lust that he had whipped up with a few strategic caresses.
“On the bed, and drop your robe on the way.”
Determined to tease him as much as possible, she slowly untied her robe as she walked to the bed. About halfway there, she let one side slip from her shoulder. She took a few more steps, and allowed the other side to drop, exposing her bare back to him. Finally, as she approached the bed, she let the silk waft from her fingertips and down to the floor. Bared to him, she crawled onto the mattress, into the center, where she reclined on one hip, with her legs crooked to the side.
“Mmmm… Very nice.”
He stripped off his coat and walked toward her. His trousers already bulged, revealing his aroused state, yet he made no motion to remove the rest of his clothing.
As she watched him, she knew she was in deep trouble. Her heart pounded in her chest as he stalked toward the bed, and finally the first inkling of real fear set in. Not fear of Wolf, but of herself. Of the knowledge that she could lose herself in this man, and she wouldn’t care. She knew with him, she wouldn’t bother trying to fight back and retain her independence.
And then he was hovering over her on the bed, wrapping one hand around the back of her neck underneath her long red hair. He leaned in and captured her mouth. He licked and nibbled, kissed and tasted her, all the while levering her back until she lay flat on the bed. Then, with one hand, he stroked up her side and then under one arm, urging her to lift it above her head. As she stretched up, still caught in his lips, he moved his hand from her neck and broke their kiss. Dazed, she stared into his deep blue eyes—lost to the satisfaction and desire that swirled in their depths.
Then a coolness wrapped around her wrist as the leather cradled her skin. She tugged gently, an uncontrollable reflex, and her eyes shot wide open as a flash of a memory shot through her—the burn of silk tied too tightly against her tender skin.
But instead of flat, lifeless brown eyes, she fell into the heated azure depths of Wolf’s gaze. She drew a steadying breath and moved her wrist in the leather band. Something soft, like lamb’s wool, brushed across her flesh. There was no mistaking where she was, and with whom.
“Are you well, Jules?” Wolf’s brows had drawn together, creating a crease between them.
She pushed the last remnants of her past aside. “I’m with you. How could I not be?”
He reached up and cupped her face. He stared at her for a moment, and then shook his head. “I saw the fear in your eyes. We should abandon this.”
“No.” She reached up with her still-free hand and stopped his movement toward her bound wrist. “I want this. I want you. Nothing else. Don’t abandon this. Don’t abandon me.”
Wolf stared at her for what felt like an eternity as he seemed to war with himself. Finally, he nodded. “If you need to end this, or need me to release you, simply say carriage, and I shall release you without hesitation.”
Suddenly her heart lodged itself in her throat, which made speaking a supreme effort. “Thank you.”
Then he was kissing her again as he stretched her free hand up on the other side. When he pulled away and secured the leather strap that was connected to the bed, she was well and truly trapped, spread out for his pleasure.
He drew back once more, kneeling between her legs as he looked down at her exposed flesh. “Bloody hell, you are a beautiful woman.”
He cupped her face for a moment as something flashed in his eyes. She wondered what he’d been thinking, but his hands shifted down her neck and over her breasts, quickly pushing all thoughts from her head. Her nipples beaded beneath his touch, sending sparks of pleasure along her limbs. Then he plucked at the tight peaks, pinching lightly and heightening her pleasure.
On a moan, she arched into him, needing more. But he was determined to control their interaction, and he moved on, dragging his hands down her torso. He molded her curves, sliding over her hips until he stopped to place a kiss on the flat of her stomach. Of course, the soft flesh of her belly quivered at the feel of his lips, and she couldn’t help but feel grateful she was lying down. But then he moved lower, and dropped a kiss on the top of her mound, before he backed off the bed and stood.
She lay there, a quivering mess as her body seemed to reach for him with every fiber of her being. Need lashed her as she remained strapped in place, and entirely at his mercy.
“Tell me what you want, Jules.” His raspy voice revealed how close to the edge of control he rode.
Her breathing grew choppy, despite the fact he no longer touched her. “You, inside me.”
One brow rose. “And?”
Stringing a coherent thought together was proving more difficult with each passing moment. Her body quivered in anticipation of what he planned. “Fuck me. Hard. As you promised.”
His clothes flew off his body then. It was the only way she could describe it. He was dressed one minute, and then he wasn’t.
“I had intended to take my time, but I find seeing you spread out so delectably has sapped my meager supply of self-possession.”
And then, with a French letter in place, he plunged into her in one hard push. She reached over the cuffs at her wrists and gripped the ropes that somehow attached to the bed, and met him thrust for thrust. With each stroke, he filled her again and again.
Her pleasure crested on a sudden rise as his hips slapped against her. “Oh God, I’m close. Don’t stop.”
He maintained his steady pace, his blue eyes dark with need. “Scream my name, Jules.”
His demand cascaded over her, a jolt of added stimulation to what was already bordering on too much. And then she shattered into a million pieces as she came. “Wooolllf!” she cried out on a long, drawn-out scream of pleasure.
All the while, he shuttled in and out of her, his arms straining with the effort of balancing himself over her, and then his whole body seemed to tense, even as his hips moved faster. With a shout, he stilled and shook as pleasure carried him away.
Julia once more relished the weight of him as he pressed her into the mattress. As much as she enjoyed being bound to the bed for his pleasure, she wished to touch him. To feel his muscles ripple beneath his skin as he recovered from their shared pleasure. Instead, she placed a kiss against his shoulder, where it met his neck. A shiver coursed through him as he moaned softly and eased up to look at her with bliss-clouded eyes.
She glanced up to her wrists. “Release me.”
He shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts. “Of course.”
She watched as he withdrew from her, stretched up, and freed her from the restraints. As each limb was freed, he stopped and pulled her wrist to his lips, where he placed a gentle kiss before rubbing her arms. Her heart squeezed and did a slow roll in her chest in response to the tenderness of the gesture. Long moments stretched out as he took care of her, fussed over her, and displayed a caring side she neither wanted nor expected.
The problem was, she wasn’t immune to it. Not in the least.
Chapter 16
Wolf stood beside Jules and tugged at the collar of his formal wear as dancers moved past in a stately formation. He’d once more found himself acting as a guard for Julia and Ros—not that Flint would have let anything happen to the latter woman. As stunning as it was for all of the Lustful Lords to comprehend, Flint had taken a shine to Mrs. Rosalind Smith. Jules was a
lso under their care, of course, though she would have argued otherwise had he phrased it as such. It was wiser to merely be on guard, rather than have a pointless quarrel.
He knew now that he would protect her with his life, which came as a bit of a shock.
Unwilling to consider how far gone he was over his fiery redheaded wanton, he focused on watching the crowd instead. Wallthorpe had yet to make an appearance.
Then Jules turned to her sister and smiled. “I believe your next partner is approaching.”
Ros grimaced. “Oh, do shut up. You know I detest galloping about a ballroom.” Then she smirked. “Besides, I see your next partner approaching, as well.”
Wolf watched as two gangly young men, barely out of university and still wet behind the ears, approached the lovely sisters, who were currently working hard to paste on the appearance of enthusiasm. Neither he nor Flint cared for seeing the women off on the arms of any man when they were trying to keep them safe. But propriety demanded the women dance with any men who asked, and Ros had long since chastised Flint about glowering at the younger men who dared to approach. And so, they were off to engage in a youthfully exuberant galop—a much less sensual cousin to the waltz.
Flint and Wolf stood closer together as they watched the women disappear on the other side of the dancing crowd.
“When must you dance next?” Wolf asked, a sense of glee causing him to smile at Flint’s obvious discomfort.
His friend grunted. “I lost my dance card.”
Wolf shifted his gaze from tracking Julia to stare at his companion. “But you’ll break some poor debutante’s heart by not appearing for your dance!”
“I also forgot to request any dances, except for the waltzes on Mrs. Smith’s card. Besides, I can’t very well keep her safe if I’m traipsing about the ballroom with some ridiculous chit who is more scared of me than anything.”
He glared briefly at Wolf, and then returned to watching the dancers. Or one in particular.
Wolf sighed. Flint had even less use for Society than he did, but he did have a driving sense of justice and honor. Once he’d stepped up to protect Ros, Wolf knew his friend wouldn’t relent until she was completely safe. If that meant suffering through a series of balls and other lesser gatherings, he would do it.
Wolf then turned his thoughts and gaze toward Jules. The woman moved with a natural grace that most had to practice relentlessly to achieve. A slow, simmering ember of lust stirred within him, because he’d seen that ability of hers used to best effect in the bedroom—not just on a ballroom floor. Perchance it was a bit possessive of him, but he relished that no other man in England could say the same.
He chose to ignore the qualifier. He’d certainly not been a monk all those years apart. Besides, whether she would admit it or not, she belonged to him now.
A soft curse beside him drew his focus back to the dancers. “What is it, Flint?”
“She’s disappeared.” Flint rose up on his toes, as if he could levitate up over the crowd in order to spot his quarry.
“Ros?” Wolf quickly scanned the crowd, and spotted Jules still swirling around the dance floor.
His friend grunted. “Who the bloody hell else would I be talking about? They were coming around the bend, ducked behind a couple, and then they were gone.”
“Go look for her. I’ll collect Jules, and we shall be just behind you. She can’t have gone far.”
Flint nodded, and then they parted. Wolf edged around the floor until he found an opportunity to step up and cut in. After an awkward moment with the disappointed young man, he and Jules were moving through the crowd to catch up to Flint. His friend had just come out of a curtained alcove and was shaking his head.
“I haven’t checked all the rooms down here.” He pointed to a long hall off the main foyer. Wolf and Jules took one side, Flint the other. They’d only checked two rooms when a loud crash sounded in the next room on Flint’s side. They all barreled in, Flint leading the charge.
As they spilled into the library, two things were immediately obvious: Wallthorpe and Mrs. Smith had been struggling, and she was clearly winning the battle. Regardless of the success she might have been having, Flint dashed in and belted Wallthorpe, laying the man out with one extremely hard blow to the face.
The villain landed flat on his back, but he was not unconscious. He lay on the floor, holding his face and moaning as Jules scooped her sister protectively into her arms. Wolf had to hold Flint back from landing another powerful blow.
“You, sir, are as good as Seven-Dials scum hitting a man unawares.”
With Wallthorpe’s hands covering his nose, which bled profusely, the complaint was both muffled and yet shrilly petulant.
Flint shrugged out of Wolf’s grip and straightened his jacket. “You’re lucky a bloody nose is all you’ll walk away with, you pompous lout.”
Then Flint opened and closed his hand, flexing his fingers, which drew Ros’ attention.
Immediately she extracted herself from Jules’ arms and rushed to Flint’s side. “Were you hurt?”
Flint looked up at her, surprised by her open display of concern. “It’s nothing, really. Barely felt it.”
“Come, let me at least get you a cool rag to ease the swelling.”
Ros was leading him toward the open door as Flint’s cheeks began to turn a little pink.
Wolf smirked, even as he turned to deal with Wallthorpe. But the unprincipled cad had vanished. He sighed.
“He slipped out.” Jules watched her sister walk with Flint into the hallway. “I imagine he’ll think twice before trying such a thing again, though I am curious as to what happened. How did she go from dancing with that young man to being alone with Wallthorpe?”
“An excellent question. I suppose we should go find the young gentleman in question.”
Wolf held out his arm and waited to feel the warmth and weight of her hand as she tucked it into the offered crook.
Jules nodded and set her hand on his sleeve. “A capital idea.”
They left Ros to fuss over Flint, who looked even more uncomfortable as a maid joined them and assisted Ros in showering him with female attention of a distinctly non-carnal nature, something he was not at all accustomed to.
After making a circuit of the ballroom, Wolf and Julia found the young man who’d originally partnered with Ros. As they approached, he turned white. Since Wolf knew he had himself refrained from scowling, he glanced at Jules. Even in profile, he could see that she had murder in her glittering green eyes.
“Easy now, love. He’s just a young man, prone to foolish mistakes.”
She snorted, but she did make some attempt to smooth out her features. Once they stopped before the gentleman, Wolf made the requisite introductions. Facing the young Mr. Jessop, he posed his question in a calm—even casual—manner. “I do hope you can help us clear up how it came to pass that Mrs. Smith was dancing with you and then, before the set had ended, she was not.”
Mr. Jessop jammed a finger down the collar of his shirt and made a futile attempt to separate the fabric from his neck. Unfortunately for him, it appeared that someone in his household had appeared to be overly liberal with the starch in his winged-tip collar. “Well, you see… my lord,” he said and continued to fidget.
The young man’s father, Sir Jessop, appeared at that very moment. “Lord Wolfington, is all well?”
Wolf turned to the older man, who he’d had occasion to chat with. “I’m afraid your son was just about to explain how he was dancing with Mrs. Smith one minute, but then somehow wasn’t the next, which led to her being manhandled by a rather unsavory sort.”
The young man’s father sighed. “Edwin, tell Lord Wolfington what occurred. Stop dawdling.”
Wolf stood silently and waited, even as Jules crossed her arms in obvious impatience. Also, if she wasn’t careful, her breasts just might escape her rather plunging neckline. His cock twitched in the most inconvenient way as his focus was now split between the nervous Mr.
Jessop and Jules’ bosom, which seemed in eminent danger of spilling free.
“Well, my lord. I was dancing with Mrs. Smith, and then Lord Wallthorpe cut in.” The young man shrugged. “I’m afraid he did not give me an opportunity to reject his request, and despite the lady’s protests, he swept her away.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Wolf reached for calm. “And yet you did not come seek out myself or Lord Flintshire to apprise us of the situation?”
“I- I-” The young man’s cheeks turned bright pink. “I was ashamed I failed to stand up to him. She very obviously did not wish to dance with him.”
“My lord, please take my humble apologies for my son’s inaction. I shall certainly have a conversation with him regarding appropriate etiquette in such a situation, should he encounter a similar one in the future.”
Then Sir Jessop snapped his heels together and bowed, clearly a retired military man.
“Don’t be too hard on him. Other than failing to alert Mrs. Smith’s chaperone, there was little he could have done under the circumstances.”
With a nod, Wolf turned and drew Jules along with him.
“Well, you certainly let that young man off easily,” she huffed as they stepped away.
He grunted and sidestepped a lady whose unruly skirts were swaying as she strode forcefully past them. “If you believe young Mr. Jessop is going to get off lightly, you are mistaken. His father is a decorated soldier with a strong sense of discipline. I imagine his son shall not make such a mistake again.”
She looked back over her shoulder, and then returned her gaze to him. “He won’t harm the boy, will he?”
“Not at all, but I do imagine the young Mr. Jessop will have a challenging day tomorrow. My father would make me join the stable boys in shoveling out the stalls as punishment if I failed”—he hesitated, surprised he had spoken of the man—”to meet his standards.”
His Scandalous Viscountess (Lustful Lords Series Book 3) Page 12