My Reckless Surrender (17 page)

She watched his face as if he were the air she breathed. “You'd be the most popular exhibit. Especially displayed as you are. Or perhaps in the British Museum. You have a fondness for the place. After today, I must confess I too have a liking for it, especially the Egyptian rooms.”

“I'm neither dead nor dusty, my love.”

My love?

Clearly she sent him into such a fever, his normal, well-considered reactions were lacking. He'd return to something approximating sanity once he'd had her.

A hundred times.

Maybe.

She ran her finger down his bare thigh, steering clear of where he wanted her. She raised her finger and inspected it. “You're right. No dust. The housemaids are doing their duty.”

He laughed. He couldn't remember the last time anyone teased him. Nobody considered themselves on such relaxed terms with him. No friend. No lover. The realization struck him as a sad reflection on his existence.

“Come here,” he said without moving, although he withdrew his hand, most reluctantly, from her leg.

She looked wary. “Why?”

“Because I want to kiss you. Then I promise to endure your torture.” He sent her a meaningful glance. “Although don't expect to escape retribution.”

Her color intensified. Her skin had the bloom of a ripe peach. In the soft candlelight, she could be a girl with her first lover. He wondered if her husband had had any idea of the treasure he'd won in the young Diana. He could picture her ten years or so ago. Ardent. Generous. Virginal. The idea struck Ashcroft as poignant in a way he couldn't explain.

Although jealousy stirred.

And he was jealous of no lover.

“I think that can be arranged,” she murmured, trailing her finger down the center of his chest as if checking for more dust.

Did she mean it? He'd longed to put his mouth on her sex since he'd first seen her. Another blast of excitement crackled through him.

When she pressed her lips to his, she tasted fresh and almost innocent. For a brief, enchanted interval, she kissed him chastely. Just moving in a subtle exploration that nonetheless made his pulses thunder like an avalanche. His fingers twisted in the sheets.

Her hand crept up his shoulder to stroke his face. Poor bedazzled fool he was, the touch felt like tenderness. And that scored his heart deeper than passion.

The chaste kiss couldn't endure, not when desire raged like a forest fire. Her tongue flicked out to test the seam of his lips. He opened his mouth. The kiss changed from a sweet prelude to develop heated momentum. By the time she drew away, they both panted.

He ached to touch her but reined in the impulse. Her face hovered so close, it was a blur, but he felt the brush of her breath and her hand caressed his cheek with what he still read as tenderness.

Idiot, Ashcroft.

He fisted a silky hank of her hair and rubbed it against his cheek. He waited for her to speak, but she remained silent apart from her uneven breathing.

She pulled away until her features came into focus. The tenderness in her touch shone in her face. He wasn't blockhead enough to mistake that.

He tried to stem the tide of warmth that flooded his heart.

Her brows drew together, creating a faint line on her forehead. Swimming in the darkness of her eyes, he saw trouble. He forced his sluggish brain to work. Was something wrong?

“What is it, Diana?” he asked roughly, cursing the delay but unwilling to let her continue if she genuinely didn't want to do this.

As clearly as if she drew the curtains in a house at evening, he watched her conceal her expression. Suspicion tightened his gut, but he was too close to the edge to heed it.

She smiled, but the beautiful honesty was absent. “I'm nervous. I've never done this before.”

He told himself that made sense. His assurances rang hollow. He tightened his hold on her hair. “Trust me.”

“Ashcroft…” she said shakily. Her slender throat moved as she swallowed. The erratic pulse fluttered at the base of her neck.

“What is it?”

For one electric second, he thought she meant to say something momentous. Confess some sin. Reveal some secret. Open her heart.

The second vanished.

The glance she cast him was pure seduction. The tremulous moment of uncertainty might never have existed. He tried to tell himself he'd imagined it. He knew better.

As she placed a hot openmouthed kiss on his chest, he couldn't summon will to pursue his curiosity. Her soft lips moving on his skin, the dampness of her breath, the lick of her tongue threatened to banish any thought but desire.

If only he wasn't sure she worked to achieve that end.

She gently bit his nipple. Sensation crashed through him like a carriage running him down at full tilt. Her tongue soothed the sting. He released her hair to let her pay the same attention to his other nipple. He didn't need to voice the invitation aloud.

She lifted her head, briefly met his gaze, and straddled him. Myriad impressions fed his dazed senses. The warm drift of her hair, a silky tickle across his bare chest. The rustle of her skirts. The slide of silk against his flanks. The waft of scent, hot with arousal. His cock jerked even as his nostrils flared.

His hands clenched in the sheets as he fought the urge to roll her under him and thrust hard. Every second they'd been apart, he'd wanted her. This delay was excruciating.

She trailed her mouth down his stomach. He drew breath so hard, his belly turned to rock. Much more delay, and promises be damned. He'd have her.

A strangled groan escaped. “For God's sake, don't make me wait,” he forced past a jaw aching with tension.

“Patience,” she said, and his heart lurched at the laughter in her voice.

He ground his teeth with frustration. “You ask the impossible.”

Still, she incited him with pleasurable licks and bites across his belly. She slipped down, coiling over his body. Still, she took her time, tasting him, experimenting, testing what set him shivering with need.

He shook like a man with malaria. Sweat sprang onto his skin. His heart raced fit to burst. His lungs ached as he dragged in every breath.

This inexperienced woman drove him to the limit. He hadn't been as wild since he was a randy adolescent slavering after the dairymaids at Vesey Hall.

After what felt like a millennium, she curled her fingers once more around his straining cock. He trembled under her
touch, not far from losing himself. Only the last vestiges of rapidly fading masculine pride stopped him spilling into her hand.

“Christ,” he whispered, not sure if it was curse or prayer.

For a long time nothing happened. She held him but didn't shift her hand.

He stopped breathing. His heart stopped beating.

Do it. Do it. For God's sake, do it.

Hell, how much more could he bear?

The quiet shadowy room with its distant sounds of traffic receded. All he knew was the clasp of her hand and the throbbing need in his cock.

Dear God, why didn't she…

Wet heat closed around the head, and bright red light exploded behind his eyes. He made a sound deep in his throat, afraid to move unless she stopped. Every muscle in his body tensed.

At first, her mouth was hardly less frustrating than her hand. She exerted no suction. Just let him rest in warmth and moisture.

He was taut as a violin string. Waiting for the bow to strike so the music could flow.

She shifted. Her hair slid across his thighs in a whisper of seduction. He bit back a plea to keep going, not to stop, to give him what he wanted.

Her hand tightened and her mouth flexed. Lightning struck.

Her tongue flickered.

He wouldn't survive. She'd kill him before she finished. She took him deeper. His hips jerked before he recalled he'd promised not to move.

Her hand closed hard around his shaft and moved up and down. He was in heaven. Angels sang their lungs out. He swore he heard rippling harp glissandos.

His fists clenched as he fought the urge to compel her to more concentrated action. He could show her what to do. Yet
something about her determination indicated she wanted to find her own way.

He just hoped he retained enough sanity to celebrate her arrival when she finally got there.

He made another inarticulate sound, and she seemed to take this as a signal. Her mouth started to move, while her hand performed a complex dance of pleasure.

She still didn't have the rhythm.

Heaven help him when she found the right combination. Her amateurish efforts pushed him close to exploding. The hot pull of her lips made it almost impossible to hold back.

Abruptly, she broke through to another realm. Her hand, her mouth, the sounds she made crescendoed into a tumultuous rhapsody. He teetered on the brink of an endless fiery blaze.

He should stop her. He couldn't come in her mouth. Not her first time.

Control, Ashcroft, control.

His shaking hands slid down to her shoulders, felt hot skin under that damnable red silk. He meant to drag her up his chest and kiss her. He meant to settle her over him and plunge into her welcoming depths.

His hands curled, ready to lift her up, to make her stop, to end before it was too late.

Her grip firmed. She drew hard. All good intentions shattered.

H
ot, salty liquid spurted into Diana's mouth. Automatically, she swallowed. Her hand tightened on Ashcroft's jerking shaft. His long groan of release echoed in her ears.

Her heart swelled with joy, and dazzling triumph streaked through her. What she did held a truth. A truth lacking in everything else between them, no matter how he touched her emotions and made her quake with ecstasy. She'd found something for him alone. Something outside her shabby bargain with Lord Burnley, something outside her own undeserved pleasure.

Although she'd discovered searing pleasure in arousing him until he couldn't hold back.

His hand drifted down to tangle in the hair at her crown. He was shaking. The rhythmic clenching and unclenching of his fingers against her scalp became an ineluctable part of the wild sensations careering through her.

She drank him dry. Only then did she raise her head and stare along his flat belly and hard chest. His eyes were closed, his thick lashes quivering on his cheeks as he gasped. He looked like a man who had measured the outer reaches of sin and hadn't yet returned to the bounds of reality.

She'd expected to be revolted, but when she'd taken Ashcroft in her mouth, she'd felt more a woman than ever before. She'd sensed both the power of his masculinity and the vulnerability of his humanity.

Slowly she rose, wiping her mouth. When she licked her lips, a new taste lingered.
Ashcroft…

She knelt at his side as she had when she'd begun. In an exhausted caress, his hand slid from her hair to lie open at his side. He looked like he couldn't move to save himself from a tidal wave.

“Take off that damned dress.” A sliver of green shone between his lashes, and his breathing gradually steadied.

“Clothing gives me the advantage.” She found decadent gratification in having this man, omnipotent outside this room, naked and at her mercy.

A reminiscent smile curved his lips. Her heart, which had only just resumed its normal rate, battered her ribs, then set off on another race.

“You don't need special advantages,” he said softly. “I'm all yours.”

At last he looked directly at her. His eyes were bright jade. They were always that color when he was happy. It was an unwelcome shock to realize how well she'd come to know him. Another twist in the skein of inescapable intimacy.

“If I'd guessed that was how to vanquish you, I'd have done it much earlier,” she said lightly, even as her blood pounded fast and hard with excitement.

Sudden concern shadowed his gaze, and he rested one hand on her thigh. It was where he'd touched her before, curling his fist in her skirts, but this contact was soothing, comforting…affectionate. After the passion, this gesture emerged from a different world. A world beyond the deception and desire that trapped her.

“Are you all right?” He met her eyes with an expression as deep as the ocean.

She tried to stop her wayward heart melting. It was too late. Her defenses crumbled more quickly than a wafer dipped in hot tea.

“Yes, I'm all right,” she said in a choked voice.

Her assurance didn't seem to convince. Given the way she sounded, she couldn't blame him for doubting.

How could she say her regrets focused on why she came to his bed, not on anything she did while here?

“I swear I didn't mean to…”

Flood her mouth with his seed? She was surprised he found it difficult to articulate what he'd done. How she wished she didn't find his demurral so charming. “I liked it.”

What an understatement. If she told him exactly what she'd felt, she'd leave herself too vulnerable.

His hand tightened on her leg. “You're magnificent.”

What did one say in response to that? “Thank you,” she muttered.

He laughed. “You're most welcome. You'd be more welcome if you were naked.”

“You won't be much use to me even if I'm naked,” she said with faint challenge.

The smile teasing his lips broadened, and the green eyes took on a devilish glint. “Oh, I wouldn't say that.”

Her attention dropped to his organ. To her astonishment, it twitched as if responding to physical contact. Anticipation seared her. In spite of that titanic release, he'd have no difficulty performing.

She slid off the bed to stand on the richly colored rug. He piled pillows under his head and propped himself up to watch her.

She loved this dress. As the irreproachable Marchioness of Burnley, she'd never wear such a seductive garment again. In this dress, she'd seduced a notorious rake into incoherent pleasure. In this dress, she'd come closer to freedom than ever before. In spite of how lies and self-interest strangled her.

The time for teasing games was over.

She presented her back and stood trembling as Ashcroft unlaced her. Then with shaking hands, she ripped the red gown off and pitched it unheeded into the corner. Beneath she only wore a shift. Undergarments seemed a coy lie.

Within seconds, she stood bare. The heavy air brushed her like heated satin. She'd never presented herself so shamelessly to a man. Although Lord Ashcroft had seen her before, it felt different when she displayed herself like a courtesan.

His eyes fixed unwaveringly upon her. She bore his intense regard for a few seconds before shielding her mound with unsteady hands.

“No,” he said softly, his gaze focusing there. Heat spread over her skin as if he touched her.

After a tremulous hesitation, she obeyed.

“Beautiful.” Ashcroft's expression was sharp with yearning. He held his hand out.

A night bird called in the garden outside, and the spell shattered. God help her, she ran to Ashcroft as if more existed between them than betrayal. She leaned down toward him as if he held her heart in his keeping.

He surged up and grabbed her. The room became a dizzying whirl as he dragged her under him. She felt the crisp sheets against her naked back, then the hot pressure of his weight.

The sweet familiarity of his body on hers blasted her like honey lightning. New lovers shouldn't fit perfectly with the merest touch. Her body molded to his in a harmony purer than any music. She arched, rubbing her belly against his pulsing hardness.

He hadn't boasted about being ready. Such a wonderfully virile man was the Earl of Ashcroft.

He kissed her on the mouth, where his essence lingered. While tongues still dueled and teased, he lifted one of her legs. He hooked it over his arm, opening her wide.

Delicious tension filled her as she waited for his possession. Instead, he kissed an erratic, spine-tingling path down
ward. She was so lost in the mists of pleasure, he'd reached her navel before she guessed his intentions.

She tensed. “Ashcroft…”

“You promised to let me torture you.”

She had. She just hadn't considered how he'd interpret that teasing offer. “But…”

He looked up, and his green eyes were so deep, she thought she saw into his soul. “Please, Diana.”

 

Ashcroft knew Diana didn't want his mouth between her legs. From the beginning, the idea had frightened her.

Why was he so eager to push her into this intimacy?

Perhaps because if she let him do this, she ceded herself in a way she never had before. Perhaps because if this barrier against him dropped, others would.

Perhaps because he wanted her in every way a man could want a woman.

Although pleading didn't come easily, he spoke again. “Please, Diana.”

He ached to taste her. When she'd taken him in her mouth, she'd shown him the bright light of heaven. He burned to return the favor. He burned to express his gratitude in the purest way he could.

“I can't imagine why you want this,” she said in a choked voice.

Her expression was troubled, but her lips were dark red with his kisses and her cheeks flushed with desire. A woman who looked like that shouldn't shy from relishing the full ration of delight.

“Because you're beautiful everywhere,” he said softly, placing a kiss on the top of each thigh and feeling her quiver in response. She was so sensitive, he'd take her to paradise if only she'd let him. “Let me prove that.”

“It's…wicked.”

His laugh emerged as a purr. “That sounds incongruous coming from a woman who just drained me to the lees.”

He watched the sequence of emotions cross her face. Shame, which he loathed to witness. Then more to his liking, recollected pleasure. Then, finally, a stoic acceptance.

“Yes,” she said on a thread of breath.

He placed a kiss on her belly, feeling her trembling. “You sound like a Christian facing the lions.”

A spark of spirit revived. “Can you blame me? You're going to eat me.”

“Oh, I am indeed.”

He knew he gloated. But her surrender, even if not wholehearted, set him ablaze with excitement. He placed another kiss just above the feathery dark blond curls.

She studied him as if unsure whether he indeed prepared to rend her limb from limb like a lion. Foolish girl. He meant her to come apart, but never so drastically.

He still held her leg over his arm, opening her to his gaze. For a long time, he stared at the succulent pink folds. He drew deep of her scent. He felt more than lust, although lust was certainly part of what rushed through his veins. She reached into what he'd call his soul, if he hadn't long ago lost his soul in dissipation.

Her breath emerged in jagged gasps, and the muscles under his hand were tight. He didn't need to see her expression to know she was terrified.

In consideration of her uncertainty, he released her leg and slid back up her body to press a kiss that conveyed more tenderness than passion to her lips. Passion was present, but he reined it in, wanting to reassure. After a hesitation, she kissed him back. Predictably, passion broke its bonds, and the kiss turned fierce and hungry. By the time he drew away, he was breathing unsteadily, and his heart crashed like a drum.

For a shuddering moment, he buried his head in the smooth, damp skin at her shoulder. What was wrong with him? No other lover turned him so unrestrained and desperate.

“You won't distract me,” he said unsteadily.

“You started it,” she said, equally breathlessly. Thank the Lord, she didn't sound quite as frightened.

He raised his head and sent her a direct look. “And I'm going to finish it.”

He kissed a line across her collarbone and down to her breast. When he took her in his mouth, she cried out and raised her knees. He drew hard, and she trembled in immediate response.

How would she respond to a more intimate kiss? His blood seethed in expectation.

Before she could tense again, he kissed a path down the soft plain of her belly. She exhaled in a long, shuddering sigh.

Taking this as permission to continue, he nudged her legs farther apart and licked her long and luxuriously. Immediately, the heady taste of her, richer, stronger than the taste of her skin, filled his mouth.

Luscious.

She made a sound deep in her throat. Protest or encouragement? He didn't know. But he couldn't stop. He licked again, pausing to draw on the pulsing center. This time he had no trouble interpreting her moan as one of pleasure.

Elation filled him. He used his mouth and teeth and tongue, exploring the cleft, invading her, sipping the hot dew.

“Wicked…” she sighed.

Her hands curled in his hair, tugging in time with his depredations. She undulated under his mouth like the sea, and her sighs rose in a sweet crescendo. Tension filled her. Not the tension of fear. The tension of approaching climax.

He concentrated on bringing her to that ultimate peak. He loved the husky sounds she made, the writhing tension of her body. His senses closed in to contain nothing but him and this woman he pleasured.

Then, as he'd promised himself, she screamed with un-inhibited release. She convulsed under his mouth, pressing
up into him so his tongue stabbed her, possessed her, stole her essence.

He didn't stop. Even while she quivered, he built her response again. He wanted her world to change.

After this, she'd never forget him. His touch would be etched on her body forever.

Forever.

Because even as he sent her spiraling into ecstasy, he knew it was inevitable that she'd leave.

 

Diana stretched out in absolute exhaustion, her brain thick with languor. Her body throbbed with receding rapture. Ashcroft had battered her with bliss.

What a gift he'd given her. Her heart clenched hard as she struggled to lock him out. But the pleasure had cut too deep. The closeness had been too powerful.

God forgive her, she could no longer deny he moved her emotions more profoundly than anyone she'd ever known.

Ashcroft sprawled over her, his head resting on her belly, his arms loose around her waist, his torso covering her legs. His face turned in profile, but she saw his satisfied smile. He looked remarkably innocent for a man who had just performed such a lascivious act. Unless one noted the sleek dampness of his lips. Damp with her, she recognized with a bone-deep thrill.

He must be proud of himself. He'd certainly been proven right. In spite of her misgivings, she'd adored what he'd done. Difficult to resent his triumph when he'd shown her such unearthly delight. Difficult to resent him at all when they lay like this, the memory of pleasure extending between them like a perfect gold chain.

Her fingers still curled in his thick dark hair. The air was hot and heavy. In the quiet moment, broken only by the soft susurration of their breathing, she felt a contentment she couldn't remember before. Every muscle was as liquid as water. Her heart beat a slow, solemn song of happiness.

They might have slept. She didn't know. She drifted in a world that held only her and Ashcroft and endless pleasure.

Awareness returned, to Ashcroft rising between her legs. When he angled her hips up, her belly cramped with excitement. She was wet and ready. Even so, the power of his thrust rocked her. She gasped sharply as she adjusted to the intrusion.