Her Wicked Captain: The River Rogues, Book 1 (21 page)

His fingertips touched the side of her face, feather light, following her cheekbone, and his thumb traced her eyebrow with breathtaking tenderness.

Then he tugged gently at the man’s shirt she wore and his lips twisted. “No disguise in the world could hide your beauty.” His fingers drifted down to her chin, tilted her head back for a better look. “You’ve no idea how lovely you are. The man who wakes each morning with you in his arms is a very, very lucky bastard. I can’t give you that…no matter how much I want…but I can give you tonight.”

Her heart wrenched harder. Tonight. When had one night become not enough?

“Yes.” She made herself nod. Whatever he was willing to offer, she’d accept.

Giving herself to Rory had always been a risk she was willing to take. She’d known the odds, and now her broken heart was her responsibility alone. She’d gladly trade a lonely life like Rosemary Hughes’s to spend the rest of her days at Rory’s side. Staring into the depths of his sharp eyes, she felt all her secrets exposed.

He tilted her head down and kissed her eyelids as his thumb caressed her cheek. “We have until daylight, I guess, before you’re missed?” He kissed the top of her head, then her temple and finally her mouth. “I’m your first lover, and I’m not lettin’ you leave here until you can say I was your first everything.”

Oh, the sound of that made her quiver. She swept her hand down his chest, and marveled at the way his skin made gooseflesh beneath her fingertips as if he was affected as much as she. “Will you show me how to touch you? How to please you?”

“I’d be delighted.” The corner of his mouth crooked upward. He caught his lower lip between his teeth and hesitated, then said, “But they taught us boys at the orphanage, a gentleman puts a lady first.”

He unbuttoned her shirt. She hadn’t worn an undergarment, as her corset pushed her breasts too high for her to pass for male. Now her breasts stood bare before him, the pink peaks of her nipples straining for his touch.

As his mouth descended and his tongue stroked the curve of her bosom, she ran her fingers through the silky waves of his hair. “I’ve always appreciated good manners.”

“Mmmm,” he purred, coddling her in his hands.

His whiskers brushed her softly, and his rough palms cradled her with delicate care. He’d always treated her like a lady, even as a little girl, lifting her over mud holes and chastising when she attempted to help the boys move cargo on the docks.

Even now, obviously trying to rectify his brutal handling, he kissed lightly along the tender line of her chest where he’d manhandled her.

She ached for more than kisses, to fill the void inside her once again, to take him fully. She didn’t need gentle care. She wanted the full onslaught of everything he held back. His touch was soft, but the same couldn’t be said about the rest of the man, and that was what she wanted. Him—hard, virile and strong. Captain. Pirate. Rory.

She stroked him through his pants and explored the rigid contour of his expanding organ.

Need pooled within her, so ready, but he leaned back. The look he gave her was hard, though his eyes shimmered with heat. “You’re not playing fair.”

He pushed his fingers inside her pants, and slipped into her achy void. She sucked air between her teeth, leaning into his touch. Her knees bent around him. “I didn’t come to your bed to be pampered.” She bit her lip as he thrust his fingers deeper inside her. Sweet heaven, how her body sang in response to his actions, though.

“No?” he whispered as if calling her a liar, then lowered his mouth to one of her nipples, tugging it gently between his lips and licking it so slowly.

“No,” she moaned.

He shucked her pants lower and wriggled his fingers against her warm, wanton flesh. She instinctively rubbed against his calloused hand, so wonderful against her damp cleft.

He flashed a brief satisfied smile.

“Well, what would the lady like? Or perhaps since she’s such a novice she doesn’t know what she would like?” His hand moved rhythmically in and out of her, spreading the silky moisture within and without. He made a roguish grin. “She likes this good enough.”

“Ungh.” Dell swallowed a plea. Pressure collected in her core. This wasn’t what she had planned at all. She licked her dry lips and held his gaze. “I want you.”

She reached for him but he leaned back again. “Un uh. Ladies first.”

Heat gathered in her face. She ground herself against the push of his hand, deeper still—yet not enough. She shook out her hair and heard the pins fall as the twisted mass tumbled loose to her shoulders. She glared up at Rory, preparing to give him hell, only to find him staring at her with unguarded adoration. The heart-melting tenderness of his expression only furthered her desire.

She would please him. She would make him feel complete again.

“Know what else I’d like, Rory?” she panted.

“Anything you say, angel.” His lips brushed against hers, and his fingers teased between her cleft, slipping back and forth.

The touch of his hand brought pleasure, though left her wanting. Shaky with yearning, she laid a forceful hand on his chest, pushing him back. “I want to be naked. Both of us.”

That brought another grin. He stood and removed his pants, eying her hungrily as she finished sliding out of the baggy breeches. She slung them aside, and he returned to her.

He kissed her as he climbed over her on the bed, resuming the same position as before, but this time Dell ran her hand down his tight stomach and groin, finally encompassing his thick shaft. He jerked reflexively, groaning into her mouth.

“No, no. I told you, not yet.” His fingers closed around hers, trying to remove her hold.

Unrelenting, Dell swept her thumb across the satiny ridge at the tip, spreading the moisture across the head. “Yes. Do you not like me anymore?”

He made a sound—half-laugh and half-something-else—hearing the same words he’d said to her. “You can plainly see I do.”

“Then tell me what you like.”

He fondled a strand of her hair. “Anything and everything about you, Dell.”

She rubbed her cheek against her shoulder when he tickled her with the ends of her hair. Desire and frustration swelled up inside. “But I’m not experienced. Not like…Viv. I don’t know how to ‘accommodate your needs.’” She ducked her head, feeling the warmth in her cheeks. “And I want to, Rory.”

His hand covered hers, guiding her down his length. She glanced up to see the seriousness of his expression. His Adam’s apple moved. “No, you’re nothing like her. Or any woman I’ve ever met. I wouldn’t have you be any other way. You’re a quick study…and a seer. Perhaps you could experiment, if you must.”

She followed his motion, moving slowly up and down his flesh. He kissed her, putting a hand behind her neck, and guided her above him as he reclined on the bed. She kept her grasp on him, languidly stroking. His smoky gaze followed her, offering no advice and no censure as she settled into a tempo above him. His hand caressed hers, edging up her arm—so hot, scorching her as it traveled up. He was so impossibly beautiful, inside or outside of his clothing. She craved him, wanted to eat him, and as if reading her thoughts, he squirmed ever-so-slightly, his free hand spreading atop the bed.

Intrigued, she leaned closer so that there was just a small breadth of space between their bodies. His hand left her arm to cup her breast, and he kneaded her. Her insides twisted painfully with want, intensifying as his lips parted. She longed to put her nipple in his mouth. Wanted it badly. But that would be for her. This was for him.

She slid lower, enjoying the brush of his thighs against her naked skin as she moved between his long legs. Hovering above his hips as she continued to manipulate his engorged shaft, she recalled her own reaction when his breath had touched her there.

She rested her head against his pelvis and heard him gasp as she exhaled, her breath fanning across his sex.

His hand touched her shoulder, slid shakily into her hair.
Ah.
She smiled. A drop of dew rose from the end of him, his unspoken wish glistening, waiting for her to take it. And take it she did, drawing him into her mouth. She licked the salty drop away and swirled her tongue around the head.

His fingers curled in her hair. “Oh, God, yes!” The words exploded from his chest.

His pleasure sent molten desire to her womanhood, and her body buzzed with excitement. She continued to pump her hand up and down his length, while licking and sucking. He touched her shoulder, caressed her, but lost in her actions, his motion carried a half-hazard, broken rhythm. She quickened her pace, glancing up once. Seeing his eyes rolling back like some maddened stallion with his nostrils flared, her blood fired with triumph and ecstasy. She flicked her tongue along his ridge, ignited by want and greed for his complete abandon.

“Dell…” He moaned, urging her upward to look at him.

She lifted her head, keeping him in her control. His eyes were narrowed in frustration, his face strained. His sides heaved as he collected himself. Perhaps this was the equivalent of how she felt when he brought her to the edge. She made to cover him with her mouth again, but he resisted. Rising up, he turned her over on the bed, and slashed his mouth against her neck, making her pulse throb against the soft nibble of his teeth.

“Philadelphia,” he cautioned in a rumbling tone.

Why did he oppose his own pleasure?

“You want me to stop.” She hated how small and hurt her voice sounded, though his mouth made her body quiver with delight.

“It isn’t that I don’t enjoy it.” He leaned on an elbow to gaze down at her. His breath stirred her hair, and he brushed it aside with an unsteady fingertip. “It’s that you make me insane. Absolutely, stark raving mad.”

“I do? I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry.” He bent and kissed her none too gently.

The wrathful force of his mouth against hers was only the beginning of what she felt certain he withheld. His restraint wavered, yielding tremors through his grip, coursing up her arms.

He was nearly in the condition she’d found him in the night before when he’d ransacked the room. A healing outlet must be what he required. If only there was some way to offer him complete liberation from his mental anguish—a meltdown of abandon.

He needed relief from his mind. He needed this. He needed to control her and not be controlled. If she pushed him hard enough, he would release his demons.

“Do want to talk about it?” She didn’t bother naming the source of his troubles, certain he understood.

He stilled above her. “No. I’d rather talk about you—or not talk at all.” His kisses made a lazy half-circle along the outer curve of her breast. “I won’t have him come between us.”

But he’s already here. Right in this room.

To rebuild Rory, first he had to be broken. She would provoke him, as she had before when he’d taken her from the gaming salon and claimed her maidenhead. He would be angry, but it was the only way.

“You can tell me anything. I promise it’ll change nothing.” She caressed his broad shoulders.

“No, I said!” His muscles bunched beneath her touch.

“Let me in.” She gripped his arms harshly. “I want to share it with you. To share everything.”

“No, damn it!” Rory cursed through clenched teeth, rising up. He moved away, shutting her out.

This wasn’t what she wanted, nor was it what he needed. She must use a different approach.

“You don’t want to talk to me or sleep with me. I understand perfectly. You have Vivienne who can surely commiserate with you, and I”—she sat up and fluffed her hair—“will have to find someone of my own to talk to. Kit is very forthright. Maybe he and I—”

“Philadelphia…” He turned to her, his lips in a tight line. “You know I don’t want Viv. You’re all I think of.”

“But she accommodated your needs, needs you won’t share with me. You can’t expect me to give you all of myself while you hold back.”

“I hold nothing back!” he growled—a stark contradiction to his words. “Nothing you would want anyway.”

“Let me be the judge.” She slid a leg across his hips, trailing her fingers down his abdomen and stopping just above his cock. “You do things with her that you don’t with me, don’t you?”

He stiffened at her touch and words. His eyes grew darker. “You’ve no idea what you’re asking.”

“Haven’t I? I’m not an innocent anymore, and we both know how quickly I learn.” She passed her hand down his length, cradling his weight and making his breath stutter. “I’m strong enough, and you know it. Show me, Rory.” She stared directly into his eyes, hoping her courage and strength reflected in her gaze.

The longer he looked into her eyes, the more granite his flesh became, and another guttural sound issued from his throat, causing a tremor of excitement low in her belly. He gripped her buttock, and pulled one of her legs around him as he rolled her on her back. Entering her, he drove hard into her crux, burying himself recklessly in her wet, heady core. Her body pulsed against him, reveling in the decadence of his breakdown. His eyes darkened, lidded with emotion. “Is this what you want from me?” he ground out, a line of concentration between his eyes. “To see how depraved I truly am?”

“Yes, Rory. Please!”

He made a short laugh and pounded against her walls. The quilt at her back rubbed with the friction of his thrusts—burning like flame thrown on her flesh, carnal and divine. He was glorious atop her, proud and wild, his muscles undulating beneath glistening skin. His hand scorched her with heat as he raked down her body. “I want this! Yes, I enjoy you this way! How do you like accommodating my needs now?” he growled and slammed into her.

Exquisite.

His touch, his scent, the sound of his ragged breathing, and his pounding thrusts bearing ever deeper but never reaching her limits—all combined to madden her, as well. She whimpered on the edge of ecstasy. He hovered over her, his body flattening against hers as he pushed and thrust, deeper and higher.

“You…tell…me,” he demanded, his voice laced with anger, not a tone he reserved for her. “Who owns you?”

His expression fierce and eyes steady, he looked into her, through her, seeing something she could not. He simultaneously took and gave everything he had, exerting his rage into his passion and strength, conquering his demons. Finding his redemption …and salvation. Perhaps he was doling out revenge in his mind against the man who’d tried to break him, showing him who was boss, who was the victor. Or perhaps he fought himself, reclaiming that part of himself he’d thought Moreaux had taken.