Chapter 7
A
listair was riveted by the woman beneath him. She burned too hot to be the same icily reserved girl he used to follow with his gaze. Whether it was the claret or her passion for him, he didn’t care. He was damned grateful. Still, if she continued to writhe against him, he wouldn’t have the wherewithal to stop himself from fucking her raw, a step he would prefer to take when she was fully sober and in complete possession of her mental faculties.
“Make you,” he repeated finally, as her self-satisfied smile widened and she tested him again with another seductive wriggle. “And how would you suggest I go about doing that?”
The slight marring of a wrinkle between her brows ruined the image of worldly seductress. She had no idea, he suspected. He, however, had a delicious one in mind.
“You could exhaust me,” she said finally, biting her lower lip. The gesture did not hide the avid manner in which she awaited his response.
Too much for her, she’d said. He had a niggling suspicion that once she’d lost all her reserve in bed, he might have a devil of a time keeping up. And God knew his appetite was ravenous when it came to her. The thought brought beads of perspiration to his forehead. How in hell was he going to walk out of this room with his cock as swollen as it was?
“Untie my cravat,” he ordered.
“Umm …” she purred, clearly pleased with the notion of removing clothing from his person. Her hands went to the knot at his throat and began working as efficiently as her inebriated state allowed.
For his part, he was delighted that the thought of undressing him was such a pleasing one for her. He could not have chosen a better location to conduct their affair than Jamaica, where the humidity and heat lent themselves well to wearing as few clothes as possible.
When she pulled the length of linen from around his neck, he caught her wrist and grinned. Bending his head, he took her mouth, distracting her with a lush kiss. Her fervent response damn near distracted him as well, but he managed to turn her body to lie parallel on the mattress instead of perpendicular, and to secure the cravat to one of the headboard posts. Even when he caught her wrist and raised it above her head, she didn’t struggle. Instead she groaned into his mouth and sucked on the tip of his tongue, jolting him so violently he felt a scorching drop of pre-ejaculate bead on the tip of his cock. She tasted of wine and lust and sin, and he wanted to drink her down. Every drop. Suspecting that even if he did, his thirst for her would go unquenched.
Only when the knot tightened around her slender wrist did reality return to her. She gasped and yanked her mouth away, her neck arching to see what he’d done. Kneeling, he caught the other wrist and secured it before she could protest.
“What have you done?” she cried, her gray eyes wide with excitement but tinged with wariness.
“Made you lie still, as you challenged. You should know how I am in regard to challenges.”
She spoke in a small voice. “I am not certain I like this.”
“You will.” By necessity, he’d perfected the fine art of bestowing carnal pleasure. It had not been in his best interests to satisfy a woman to the extent that her interest in him was appeased; satiety alone would not have kept him afloat. No, what he’d needed was to create an addiction to his touch and the bullish stamina of his cock. He had focused single-mindedly on pursuit of that knowledge, all the while telling himself that he was honing his skills for Jessica. That he was not ruined for her, but more valuable. It was an argument he did not fully believe, but he couldn’t allow himself to think of the alternative—that she might reject him for his past.
Alistair renewed his attention to her breasts. He could swear he’d never seen a more beautiful pair. They were the perfect size for her slender frame, emphasizing the petite curvature of her waist and balancing lusciously curved hips. What a travesty the latest styles were, with their high waists and straight, shapeless skirts. While he’d imagined her having a magnificent bosom, the reality was a treasure found. It would take a great deal of time to become indifferent to such charms. He would have to do his best to extend her stay on the island. When she left him, he wanted to be certain he’d had his fill of her. He could not return to having the damnable cravings that had plagued him the past several years.
He straddled her. Taking a moment to enjoy the view of her upthrust breasts and taut belly, he debated where to begin.
“Alistair,” she breathed, tugging at her bindings.
Brute that he was, he found that slight show of struggle profoundly arousing. Combined with the breathless way she said his name, he was sorely pressed to hold himself back for sobriety’s sake. He reached down and adjusted the fit of his breeches over his cockstand.
Jessica stilled, eyes riveted to the movement of his hands. She licked her lower lip, and he wondered if she’d ever taken a man in her mouth before. Today was not the day to progress to such bedsport, but one day …
Made as comfortable as he could expect to be under the circumstances, Alistair decided to continue working his way down her torso. He set one hand on either side of her head and lowered his chest to hers. He slid his knees back so he was levered over her. His thighs pinned hers down, while the spread between them allowed his aching cock to be cradled between her closed shins.
He settled in to feast, his mouth seeking and embracing the nipple he hadn’t yet had the pleasure of attending to. She hissed as he suckled, the tip of her breast puckering against his tongue. She was so sensitive, and very responsive. The sounds she made as he licked the tautened peak were a bawdy delight. For all the civility she displayed in public, in bed she was unrestrained in vocalizing her pleasure. The sounds she made, the low moans and sharp pants, became aphrodisiacs.
This
was the woman he’d seen in the Pennington woods.
This
was the lover he had dreamed of and hungered for until his gut ached.
Cupping her other breast in his hand, he kneaded the swollen flesh, relishing a surge of pure masculine satisfaction. Her body readily responded to his ministrations. He knew she had to be slick and hot between her legs, and he moved lower to see the evidence of her desire with his own eyes. He needed to taste it on his tongue and feel her tremble against his lips.
He licked into her navel, eliciting a shiver that racked her slender frame. She was ticklish, which he loved. He could make her laugh at will, and he was delighted. The sound was warm and throaty. Seductive. A bit rusty from lack of use, but he intended to rectify that. Her laughter came from the sensual woman inside her and not the chilly Lady Tarley who was the epitome of aristocratic hauteur.
Her belly quivered as he neared the patch of dark blond curls that shielded her sex.
Looking up, he met her gaze. “You like watching.”
“And you like being watched. We have already established you are an exhibitionist.”
Her prim and proper voice, tempered by panting, made him smile. “Only when you are the observer.”
“I want to touch you.”
“Why?”
“How will my memory linger with you, if I leave no imprint?”
Alistair responded by sliding one thigh between hers, parting her legs. If she thought they would have only this one indiscretion, she was sorely mistaken. But he thought it best not to put it in quite those terms yet. “You may have your way with me another day.”
Before she could reply, he lifted and draped one sleek thigh over his shoulder. Her sudden intake of breath increased his anticipation. Her eyes were half-lidded, her kiss-swollen lips parted, her chest heaving with rapid breaths. She lifted her hips to his mouth in bold provocation. The act was not new to her. Alistair both envied Tarley and admired him. The viscount had possessed everything a man could want—he’d retained respectability and popularity, embraced an unfashionably happy marriage, and enjoyed a satisfying sexual life with a socially esteemed wife many believed was above such base needs.
Alistair could offer her so little of what Tarley had had. Aside from coin and a head for business, there was nothing to recommend him beyond his passion for her and his skill in bed. And perhaps his lack of shame and willingness to treat her as an equal.
Jessica lifted her other leg and rested it on his shoulder. She arched one brow in silent challenge.
“Temptress.” He parted the plump folds of her sex and ground his hips into the bed, attempting to relieve the nearly unbearable throbbing of his neglected cock. “You are even perfect here.”
Pointing his tongue, he traced the delicate folds and crevices before circling the distended tip of her clitoris. She was as wet as he’d hoped, the silken skeins of her lust clinging to the petal-soft skin, her body’s primitive plea for a hard cock to fill her.
“Yes …” she breathed.
“Yes.”
Alistair fluttered his tongue over the clenching opening, groaning as her response became more frantic. Tilting his head, he licked into the tender, spasming tissues. Her thready moan enflamed him, urged him to a faster pace, until he was fucking her fiercely with his tongue. Ravenous, he ate at her, drinking in her taste and the sounds she made. She began to plea for him to finish her, then to threaten him with reprisal. He pushed farther, to the point where she began to promise him anything if only he would ease her torment.
There was a great deal he could do with such a promise.
He licked along her drenched slit, then pushed her over the edge with a lush, open-mouthed kiss to her clitoris. With parted lips and gentle suckling, he stroked over the bundle of nerves with the flat of his tongue. The first flutters of climax rippled through her, and at the height of her extremity he slid two fingers deep into the tightness of her too-long neglected body.
The headboard creaked as Jessica fought against her restraints, her delicate inner muscles tugging at his pumping fingers in time with the workings of his mouth. He tongued her mercilessly, giving no quarter, spurring her to another orgasm before the first had fully eased its grip. She screamed when she came again, her mouth pressed to her biceps to muffle the sound.
He growled as she shuddered, as hungry for her pleasure as he’d ever been for his own. Pushing a third finger in with the others, he worked the tight flesh. The thought of how snugly she’d hold his cock increased his frenzy. Raking the edge of his teeth lightly over the hard knot of nerves, he pushed her into another climax on the heels of the second. He kept at her until she came again, driving her hard and fast. Relentless in his need to own her desire completely.
“No more …” she pled hoarsely, shrinking away from his avid mouth. “Please …”
Alistair lifted his head with reluctance, his drenched fingers pulling free of her quivering flesh. Wiping his mouth on the inside of her thigh, he slid his shoulders out from under her lax legs and then his body straight off the bed.
“Where are—” she began as he stood.
“I can’t stay.” He reached to free her wrists and retrieve his cravat. As the knots loosened and she pulled her arms down to her sides, he saw her wince and understood the cause. She’d pulled tight against the bonds with every wrenching orgasm, stretching muscles unused to such abuse. He reached for her shoulders and massaged them, pressing gently but firmly into the sore muscles to alleviate their discomfort.
“Don’t leave,” she said.
“I must.”
“I want …” She swallowed. “I want you.”
“As was my intention.” Dear God, it would kill him to walk out of the room with her begging for sex. But it would be far more torturous to face regret from her on the morrow. Cupping her nape, Alistair kissed her hard and quick. “You were magnificent.”
She caught his wrist before he straightened. “Why must you go?”
“I need you unimpaired. I want no self-recrimination or faulty memory between us.” He began to wind his cravat around his neck. “Ask me again when you are temperate, and it will be my great pleasure to oblige you.”
Jessica pushed up onto one elbow. “If you stay, I will pay you whatever you desire.”
Alistair froze. A dousing with icy water could not have cooled his ardor faster. Worse, a sharp pain pierced his chest like a blade, twisting mercilessly until he staggered back from the bed to distance himself from his tormentor.
He spun away and tied his cravat with a hasty, sloppy knot. “Good evening, Jessica.”
It was only by the grace of God that no one was in the hallway as he fled the cabin.
It was after midnight when Michael vaulted down from his carriage in front of the impressive three-story, columned entrance to Remington’s Gentlemen’s Club. He ascended the wide steps to the watered-glass double doors, which were held open by footmen liveried in black and silver. As he handed his hat and gloves to the waiting attendant, he noted the curricle-sized floral arrangement gracing a massive round table in the circular, domed foyer. Lucien Remington had long been acknowledged as a man of impeccable taste, and his establishment remained the most exclusive in England in part due to his willingness to continuously update the décor. Remington did not follow prevailing inclinations in design; he set the standard for them.