The Highest Price to Pay (9 page)

B
LAISE
closed the bedroom door behind them. There was no need—there was no one else in the house, but the action made her feel so much more secure. She wondered if he’d known it would.

“I often wondered if your lips tasted like bubblegum,” he said, crossing the room and coming to stand in front of her. He curved his hand around her neck, stroking the back of it with his thumb.

“And?” she asked, breathless.

“They don’t,” he said, leaning in, kissing her lightly. “They are much richer, more decadent. I cannot place the flavor. It is uniquely you.”

“If you had walked into my boutique with some lines like that I might not have been so hostile.”

“It is not a line,” he said. “It is true.”

Her heart tightened and she tried hard to ignore it. This wasn’t about her heart. It wasn’t about finer emotions. It wasn’t for Blaise, and it wouldn’t be for her. This was risk enough without introducing anything like that.

“I want you,” she said. Because she couldn’t think of anything else to say. Her desire for him was pouring through her, it was in her blood, a part of her now.

He moved against her, the evidence of his arousal clear. She had never been this intimate with a man, had never experienced what it might be like to have a man desire her as Blaise did now.

She placed her hand on his chest again. His heart was raging faster now, stronger. For her. She let her hand drift down, and she could feel the muscle beneath his button-up shirt, could feel the hard-cut definition. She sucked in a sharp breath as her fingers drifted below the waistband of his pants, the tips lightly brushing the solid length of his erection.

He sucked in a breath, his eyes intense on hers. She touched him again, more firmly this time, with more intent, cupping him, testing him.

It wouldn’t be so easy to pretend to be experienced. She’d thought she could do it, after all, given her age the likelihood of there being any real physical evidence of her virginity was low. But her basic knowledge of male anatomy hadn’t prepared her for Blaise.

You want him. Take him.

She squeezed him lightly, then more firmly and she watched his expression change to one of pure pleasure, a harsh groan escaping his lips.

She abandoned him then, letting her hands drift back up to his shirt collar as she slid one button through its hole at a time, slowly baring his chest to her, his torso. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

He was the epitome of male physical perfection. Rich brown skin, well-defined muscles with just enough dark hair sprinkled over them to remind her that he was a man.

Tight, defined ab muscles contracted as he drew in a breath and she could only watch the slight movement of his powerful body with awe. She had known he would be perfect. But she hadn’t quite understood how intimidating being faced with the perfection would be.

Never before had she been so conscious of just how lopsided this trade was. He was giving himself, his body, his experience. She was giving him her body, her imperfect, untried body and her knowledge of sexual tips and tricks that were limited to what she’d read in women’s magazines.

It was too far to turn back, but a part of her wanted to. Wanted to wrap herself up in her fear and run.

“Can we turn the light off?” she asked.

He pulled her to him, and she pressed her hands against his chest, loving the feel of his bare skin beneath her palms. He kissed her slowly, thoroughly.

“I want to see you,” he said softly.

They were the most terrifying words she’d ever heard in her life.

“I don’t…you don’t.”

“Ella,” he said, brushing her hair from her face. “I do. But if it makes you more comfortable, I can turn off the lights.”

“It’s just. I’m sorry, you don’t know how bad the rest of the…the rest of my body looks.”

“Have your other lovers had problems with your scars?” he asked, anger lacing his voice.

It was the question she had feared. The one she didn’t want to answer, because it would expose her, would let him know that the Ella she showed the world was a lie.

It was the question she had to answer now, honestly.

“I haven’t had other lovers.”

Blaise released his hold on her, his heart pounding hard, from arousal, from shock. “Not possible,” he said.

“Very possible,” she said, her voice tight.

She had no reason to lie. And yet, it was nearly impossible for him to believe. But he did. He had to. The look on her face, defiance mixed with shame, told him she spoke the truth.

He felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach. This moment was not meant for him; he knew that, emphatically and without doubt. This moment was for a man who could promise Ella love. A commitment. Something other than a few nights of careless pleasure.

He had made up his mind to resist her, to take control of the near mind-numbing desire she aroused in him. And yet, he had not done that. Now she was telling him she was a virgin. Of all his many sins, taking a woman’s virginity was not on the list.

He should keep it so. Keep that one blot off his record.

He was acutely aware of the imbalance between them. She was an innocent, of all things, and he…he had been with more women than he could readily tally up. He had followed his own flesh selfishly, had used love as an excuse to take his brother’s future wife into his bed.

But this was more than virginity. She hadn’t been with a man for a reason, and she had now decided that reason was no longer important. This wasn’t a no-strings sexual encounter; it never could have been with Ella. But this…this made it more.

And he had nothing to offer her. Not love. Not commitment. Nothing. He had no right to touch her, no right to seek his own pleasure in her, to feed his own desires with her innocence.

He should go. He should walk away now. Confess his mistake and leave Ella untainted by his hands.

Yet he could not turn away from her. From those wide blue eyes, filled with need, and confusion and fear.

He lifted his hand, and cupped her cheek, the tremble in his fingers likely visible to her. She affected him so strongly, her beauty, her vulnerability. The simple sweetness in her smile, the occasional sharpness of her tongue.

He lowered his hand. It felt hard to do. Heavy.

He tightened his hands into fists. Made the decision to go.

“Blaise.” She touched him lightly, her hand on his chest, fingertips exploring him, grazing his nipples. “Please.”

“Ella…”

She bit her lip, pink and swollen from the kisses they’d shared, her eyes glittering. Her walls were down, her defenses destroyed. He would be a bastard to take her now. A bastard to leave.

His spot in Hell was already secure, this would only stoke the fire. And he welcomed the burn. He was too far gone now. Too far gone in every way. There was no redeeming him, and there was no stopping the flame of need that had ignited inside him.

He pulled her back to him, kissed her, sliding his hands over her cloth-covered curves. She sighed, let her head fall back. He kissed her, kissed the scar that ran from her shoulder, up her neck and disappeared into her hairline.

She looked at him, eyes wide.

“Belle,”
he said, English deserting him completely for a moment.

“The lights,” she whispered, “please.”

It took him a moment to translate the meaning of her words, for understanding to penetrate his desire-fogged brain. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before releasing her and walking over to flick the lights off.

Ella let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. This would make it easier. He would still feel the damage, but it wouldn’t require her to reveal everything to him all at once. Confessing that she was a virgin had been enough. More intimate in some ways than what they were about to do.

She’d thought, for one, gut-wrenching moment that he would leave her when she told him she hadn’t been with anyone else. But he hadn’t.

When Blaise came back to her, he hesitated before putting his arms around her again and a stab of horror lanced her in the chest. “Don’t do this because you feel sorry for me,” she said.

He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. The moon, filtering pale light through the open window, gave her hints of his serious expression. “I am doing this because I want you. So much that my entire body aches with it.”

“Mine, too,” she whispered.

He placed his mouth next to her ear, whispered every illicit thing he wanted to do with her, while his hands roamed over her body, cupped her breasts, teased her nipples into tight points.

“Blaise.” She shuddered, gripping his shoulders as her arousal increased, her body aching with a hollow pain, the need to have him inside of her.

“I’m here,” he said, moving his hands to the zipper at the back of her dress.

She closed her eyes as he slid the zipper down. Cool air skimmed over her body as her dress fell to the floor, pooling at her feet. She was still wearing her high heels, and nothing but a small bra and panty set.

She could only see the outline of his body in the dim light, and she imagined that was all he could see of her. She still felt almost overwhelmed, her senses swamped with arousal, need, shame.

She heard the metal sound of his belt buckle being undone, saw him push his pants down his legs and add them to the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

“Stand in front of the window,” he said, his voice rough.

The window faced the lake, and she knew no one would see her. She crossed the room and went to stand in front of the glass.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. “Take your bra off for me,
cherie.
”

Her fingers trembled as she reached around and unclasped the flimsy article of clothing, freeing her breasts. She gasped as the air hit her sensitized nipples, as she became aware of the full weight of her breasts, longing for Blaise’s touch, for his lips, his hands.

“You have such a perfect figure,” he said.

She knew the moon was making her silhouette more prominent, outlining her body in a glowing, silver halo, revealing her shape while still concealing her scars. She turned to the side, to give him a different view. He sucked in a sharp breath, loud in the silence of the dim room, and a rush of power and desire assaulted her.

“Come here,” he said, another command.

In this situation, she found she enjoyed his commands.

He put his arms around her, drew her to him, and she wanted to simply enjoy the feeling of her bare breasts against his chest, his crisp chest hair teasing her nipples.

Instead she went still when he placed his hands on her back. She closed her eyes as he slid his palms over the worst of her scars. The left side bore the worst of the damage, all of the nerves destroyed. She couldn’t feel the fine points of his touch, the texture of his skin, the heat from his palm, she could sense only firm pressure, the weight of his touch, but nothing more.

She waited for him to pull away, to move his hands at least. He had to feel the scars, had to be aware of the dips and craters in her flesh.

He didn’t stop touching her, didn’t pull his hands away. He went on caressing her, kissing her again, his hot shaft pressed against her belly. When he did move his hands it was so he could shape the outline of her curves, grip her hips and slide her panties down her legs.

She stepped out of them, kicking them to the side.

He put his hands on her hips, got down on his knees. Ella put one hand on his shoulder, one on his head, running her hand lightly over his short hair.

Rough, masculine fingers skimmed her ankle as he worked the tiny buckles on her high-heeled shoes. His thumb massaged her instep as he removed the first shoe, and a shiver moved through her body. She’d never thought the act of shoe removal could ever be erotic, but Blaise took it there. By the time her second shoe had been dispatched, she was shaking, quivering beneath his touch.

He caressed the back of her knees with his hands, leaned in and kissed her there and she was shocked when a lightning bolt of need crashed through her. He worked his way upward, kissing a trail up to her inner thigh. Hot lips pressed against the tender skin and she let her head fall back on a sigh.

When he moved his lips to a more intimate place, licking, kissing, sucking, she moved both hands to his shoulders, clinging to him so that she didn’t fall over.

Her thighs started shaking, waves of pleasure washing over her. Just before she could reach the peak he pulled back, pulled away and stood. Desire gnawed at her, unfulfilled, unsatisfied.

He led her to the bed and she went gladly. He opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out a condom packet, placing it on the pillow beside her head. He moved his hand between her legs, stroking her, drawing wetness up and slicking his thumb over her clitoris.

She moaned, her muscles tightening, contracting. He continued to stroke her as he penetrated her with one finger, testing her. He added a second, stretching her slightly, making sure she was ready.

Everything in her was strung tight, she could hardly breathe, her body poised on the brink of cracking beneath the building pleasure. Her orgasm crashed over her suddenly, like a wave, swallowing her whole and carrying her, weightless and breathless to the shore.

He kissed her, reaching for the condom packet, opened it quickly and rolled it on deftly. “Ready?” He asked.

She nodded. She was ready. She was replete, and yet she still wanted more. Still wanted him. Inside her.

He entered her slowly, allowing her body time to stretch to accommodate him. It didn’t hurt, she simply felt full. Deliciously so.

She gripped his shoulders again, let her head fall back. He kissed her, deeply, passionately as he began to move inside her.

She was surprised by how quickly the pleasure started to build in her again, how fast he was able to bring her to the edge again, panting, clawing at his back. His movements became uncontrolled, as hers did, as she rocked against him, seeking her own pleasure as she gave all that she knew how to give to him.

“Blaise,” she said hoarsely when her second climax hit, deeper this time, the pleasure starting at her center and radiating out.