Anton looked forward to showing her that perhaps it was better to occupy his bed rather than risk her very lovely neck by dabbling in espionage.
It wasn’t often—well, perhaps never—that he’d had an unwilling woman in his bed, he thought in amusement as he entered his bedroom and closed the door behind him. The countess was seated in a chair by one of the windows that faced the gardens, a glass of cool wine in her slim hand, her face bland.
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“This room is not what I expected, Monsieur de Comte,” she said caustically. “Given your reputation, I thought somehow there would be mirrors and red velvet hangings, like an expensive bordello.”
He glanced around at the spare interior, the space large, the furnishings plain and simple, as he liked them. “The bed is huge and comfortable,” he pointed out mildly, tugging his stickpin from his cravat. “I just sleep here. I cannot imagine needing a jumble of fancy furniture. And I believe my reputation, Countess, is a bit exaggerated.”
“I suppose I am going to find out. Shall I take off my clothes?” It was impossible to miss the sarcasm in her tone.
“It’s best that way in my opinion,” he responded, a little amused at her hostility. “I will be happy to help.”
“I’m sure.” She took a small sip from her wine glass, her gaze steady as she watched him discard his cravat. “Does it not bother you that I am here under duress when there are literally dozens of Parisian belles who would gladly warm your sheets?”
“Ever since your arrival in Paris, you have avoided me,
chérie,
have you not? Even when I exerted myself to charm you, you immediately walked away. At first, I was puzzled, but then I decided it was because you were a little bit afraid you might find me …irresistible, shall we say? I am uncertain of your level of resistance, even now. The truth is, I am making it easy for you to have what you secretly desire.”
He must have struck a chord, for two spots of color came up into her cheeks. “You are very arrogant, monsieur.”
“And you are very beautiful, madame.” Shrugging out of his jacket, Anton smiled lazily, his fingers going to unfasten his shirt.
That movement seemed to fascinate his lovely guest for she continued to stare, her glass suspended in her fingers.
When he pulled it off and tossed it on the floor, she convulsively set aside her wine and stood. Presenting her back, she said curtly, “You will have to undo my dress, but I can do the rest.”
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His erection was already rigid, bulging in his tightly fitted trousers, stretching the confining cloth. Obliging her request, he unfastened her gown, smoothing his hands over her pale shoulders as he pushed it off and it pooled around her feet. He pulled the pins from her hair immediately, letting the silken strands drift over his hands, the heavy mass falling to her waist in ebony waves.
Urging her to turn around, he said, “Allow me,” and tugged the tie loose on her chemise, letting it fall open, his gaze going to the enticing exposed flesh there, her breasts visible. They were firm and high, the nipples, a tantalizing coral color.
Reaching between that open cloth, he cupped them both with his hands, savoring the luscious weight of her flesh, rubbing his thumbs over the soft crests. “How long has it been, Countess, since you’ve lain with a man?” He watched her expression as he stood there and fondled her, gauging her reaction.
Like a lush, young maiden from some naughty fairytale, with her tumbled dark tresses and creamy skin, to his surprise she answered easily, “Since my husband’s death, several years.”
“Do you miss it?” He already had his answer, her nipples puckering under his gentle ministrations, turning into enticing small hard buds in his palms.
“I am flesh and blood.” She swallowed, her heavy-lidded gaze focused on where his tanned fingers molded and stroked her mounded fullness.
“It will be my honor,” he said truthfully, “to be the one to remind you of the joys of the flesh.”
“I am sure no one could do it better,” she murmured cynically.
“Women do nothing but whisper about you and your…prowess. You are the most celebrated lover in France, my lord. It becomes tedious conversation if you want the truth.”
“Aren’t you very curious to know if they are right?” He felt the evidence of arousal in the heaviness of her breasts with triumph. He’d spoke the truth earlier. He had always known Lara Moore wasn’t
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indifferent to him. At least after realizing her insurgent activities, he knew why she didn’t dare let him get close.
Tilting her head back, she gave him a challenging stare. “You have made it clear I have no choice but to be here.”
“I would never force you, which you know, so the truth is, you had a choice. You just made the correct one.” Anton swept her up in his arms, laying her on the bed and stripped off her chemise, also removing her shoes and stockings.
Once she was nude, he studied her body with undisguised, thorough inspection, taking in everything from the top of her dark shining head to the delicate arch of her instep. Her breasts, slightly flushed and erect from his handling were full but not overblown, her stomach flat, her legs long and slim.
She was, in a word, exquisite. “You are even perfect here,” he said, skimming a finger over the dark pubic hair at the juncture of her thighs, his gaze salacious. “A trim equal triangle, so small and inviting, the hair soft and perfumed with your scent.” His fingers dipped lower, slipping between her legs, finding the warmth of her cleft, feeling the betraying moisture of beginning sexual arousal.
“You are already damp, my sweet. Do not tell me you don’t wish to be here.”
Superimposed on the white linens, the English countess he had desired for the past year looked at him with eyes that held both a glimpse of magnificent fury…and unmistakable need.
“Perhaps we should proceed then if I am so eager,” she said sardonically. “Let me pay my debt of silence like a Marseilles whore, by spreading my legs and giving you what you want badly enough to stoop to blackmail.”
She didn’t wish to want him. He knew that already. So with unruffled calm, he merely replied, “Very well.”
As he removed his breeches, he was well aware of her gaze, fixed on his rigid erection where it rose hard against his stomach, the pulse at the distended tip matching the pounding of his heart. The sight of
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her finally lying in his bed had a predictable effect on his body, his hunger for her raw and amazingly intense.
He rarely exerted himself over women, and had certainly never wanted one for so long and with such determination. She was right, actually, he could snap his fingers and have a dozen lovely ladies come at his bidding, but somehow he had become obsessed with this cool, distant young woman.
When he remembered his reaction to the realization of what she was doing, he knew it had gone a little past obsession. She was undoubtedly the most stunning woman he’d ever known, but that couldn’t account for his horror over the possible consequences if she were ever caught and tried as a spy. Lacroux didn’t help matters. The man was not normal and he had fixated on Lara Moore.
Anton had determined he would not only have her, but protect her.
All tumbled raven hair and enticing curves, Lara lay quietly, her dark blue stare focused on his blatantly swollen and erect cock. She murmured, “Are you a masterful lover, Comte, or is it just your magnificent size that impresses all those fawning women?”
“You think I am…particularly large?”
“Yes,” she admitted a little breathlessly, watching him lean over the bed.
Anton laughed, aware that women thought he was well endowed.
He asked softly, “Does it intrigue you? Are you anxious to feel this,”—he touched the tip of his engorged penis with a forefinger— “inside you, Countess? Here, let me join you and I will oblige you in every way possible.”
She said nothing, but neither offered any resistance when he lay down on the bed and pulled her into his arms. She felt like paradise, so soft and smooth, with the scent of violets drifting from her skin.
Not immediately kissing her lips, he instead skimmed his mouth along her jaw to the sensitive spot behind her ear, breathing in her essence, testing the exquisite texture of her graceful neck, nibbling on the softness of her earlobes. He kissed her perfect downy brows, the
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slim length of her nose, the tip of her chin, until she moved slightly, restlessly, and he knew she offered her mouth.
The kiss was languorous and long, a matter of taste and exploration, and he did nothing with his hands except hold her, letting them both concentrate on the feeling of their mouths melding together, of his tongue stroking hers, smoothing over her lips, gliding back into her mouth as he changed the angle.
Lifting his head finally, he told her, “You taste like a mixture of sweet wine and heaven, my aloof countess.”
“And you are very, very good, Comte,” she responded in a whisper, looking into his eyes, her parted mouth damp and invitingly pink. “You are going to make me enjoy this against my will, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Anton didn’t equivocate, ignoring the hint of despair in her tone. She was already pliant in his arms, and her gaze had darkened with arousal. He didn’t point out that she was enjoying it already and he had barely begun to make love to her, indicating it was not going to be difficult to seduce her body, even if her mind rejected the idea of bedding him.
Reaching up a slim hand, she touched his hair, a tentative slide of her fingers into the thick strands. “How much
enjoyment
will I be required to experience before you promise you will not expose me?”
Since his goal was to ultimately keep her from ever participating again in her dangerous games, he murmured seductively against her mouth, “As much as you can stand,
chérie.”
She sighed as he moved lower and he sensed surrender in the way she arched beneath him when his mouth found her breast. Licking her nipple, he brought it to a jeweled peak, gently sucking on it as it hardened, hearing her sighs turn into soft low sounds of pleasure. He took his time, doing the same for the other breast. When he shifted, going to use his knee to part her slim thighs, she opened willingly without that subtle pressure, spreading her legs wide to allow him to
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settle between them. Her hands went to his shoulders and she rubbed his bunched muscles, obvious anticipation in her expression.
Beguiled and intensely aroused by her capitulation and need, Anton experimentally touched the throbbing crest of his penis to the heated and now very wet folds of her labia, rubbing those swollen, inviting lips in erotic, teasing strokes, but not penetrating.
Lara’s eyes were half-closed, her beautiful breasts quivering with each erratic breath she took, her glossy hair spilled beneath her luscious body.
“I have imagined being poised on the brink of this paradise many times.” He teased her hot sex with his shaft, his voice thickened and his body tense with controlled desire.
“Please.” She breathed the word..
“You need this?” He rubbed again, the sensation of hard flesh against soft tissue beyond compare, the anticipation of what he was about to do enhancing his pleasure.
“Yes.” The grip of her hands on the small of his back was imploring, trying to force him closer. “Do it.”
“As you wish, madame.”
He entered her slowly, savoring the flush of heightened color on her flawless skin, and the dreamy expression of sensual enjoyment on her lovely face. Heated, silken walls gave to his inexorable entry, her vaginal passage tight but stretching to accept him and he was unable to suppress a low sound of satisfaction, the pleasure incredibly intense. When he was almost fully embedded, he stopped, a fine sheen of perspiration covering his body. “Can you take more? Some women are smaller than others. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Lara lifted her hips in almost frantic invitation. “Yes, more…God, you are enormous. It feels…incredible.”
Smiling in triumph, he leaned forward and kissed her, sinking in to the hilt, swallowing her low cry of carnal bliss. Whether it was her two-year abstinence or simply her innate passion, he found as he began to slide in and out that her inner muscles gripped his cock with
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urgency, her knees lifting and falling apart to allow him complete penetration, and she moaned breathlessly at the slick friction. Her sexual fluids coated his erection, granting him greater access and intense pleasure.
Though he was vastly experienced and sophisticated when it came to erotic love play, her sudden and impetuous climax caught him off guard. It came so quickly. Within seconds of his penetration, she convulsed around his surging thrusts, crying out, tremors racking her slender body. Her nails dug into his back, and he saw the pulse beating in her slim throat as she arched and gave a low, keening scream of unrestrained release. She tightened around him, her vagina pulsing, rippling with small spasms around his shaft, her body shaking in unabashed orgasmic release.
His unattainable English countess, Anton thought with complete satisfaction and utter carnal elation, was infinitely attained.
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Slowly coming awake, Lara rolled over, growing aware of the extravagant softness of the mattress beneath her, the silken coverlet, and the scent of sandalwood mingled with fine brandy. Dappled sunlight spilled over the rich carpeting
Oh, no
. Her mind registered her presence in an unfamiliar room, and her dismayed memory suddenly conjured vivid, shocking recollections of the night before. Sprawled nude amid the luxurious sheets, she opened her eyes and stifled a groan.
She had become, without a doubt, yet another victim of the Comte de Roussel’s incomparable seductive charm.
And she had experienced the undeniable sexual virtuosity whispered over in every salon and drawing room in Paris.