The Problem with Seduction (28 page)

He looked at her with open desire. Her pulse raced. He’d always been circumspect with her. Teasing, cajoling, and easy to be near, but the undercurrent was always there:
I want you, but I don’t
want
to want you.
At last he’d given in.

His hands roamed the dip of her spine, then lower, to cup her backside and bring her more fully against his arousal. He made an approving sound that sent a stirring of want straight to her core. Easily, he lifted her from her feet so that her breasts crushed against his chest and her arms were useless, and strode to the side of the bed.

She couldn’t take her eyes from him. He caught her staring and smiled deliciously. “Are you thinking I should have been carrying you hither and yon this entire time?” He let her slide slowly down the length of his hard abdomen.

Handsome, wicked man.

She returned his smile, feeling coy and beautiful. “It has its benefits.”

His gaze fell to the expanse of bosom smashed against his chest. “Certainly.” Then he stepped back and appraised her. He touched his first finger to his chin, as though deep in thought.

She rested her hand on her hip and thrust one leg out, tipping her head back. A coquettish smile invited him to look his fill. “Is this what you wanted to see?”

“The thing of it is,” he said, dropping his hand and stepping toward her. His hot perusal seared her. “The thing of it is, I very much prefer you to be looking at
me.
” With that, he shrugged out of his greatcoat. The heavy garment fell with a
whoosh
onto the bed. He made the same short work of his wool coat, cravat and waistcoat.

Her senses heightened as each layer came away. He watched her watch him. He seemed to enjoy having her attention. It was unusual for her to stand and do nothing, while he did the work. Her previous lovers had chosen her for her beauty and the pleasure she could bring them; her desire hadn’t entered into the equation. But hungering while a virile man removed his clothing piece by piece was no hardship for her, it would seem…none at all.

He slipped the knot holding his shirtsleeves at his neck and pulled the garment over his broad shoulders. Bare-chested, in only his form-fitting breeches and boots, with his carefully mussed hair now thoroughly disheveled, he held his arms extended at his sides, palms up. “I want you to see me, Elizabeth.”

“I see you.”
What did he mean?

He closed the distance between them. Shirtless, he seemed larger. Her heart raced at the intensity of his expression. “Tonight is between us, Elizabeth. When I fit myself into you”—she gasped at her answering desire—“I want you to say my name.
Constantine.
I want you to be just as desperate for me as I am for you. You must see
me
at your peak.”

Her mind filled with erotic images. Wetness surged between her legs and she squeezed her thighs together, fairly ready to sink her fingernails into his shoulders and beg him to take her right then.

But he was adamant that she understand him first. “
Me,
Elizabeth. Constantine. Not anyone else. Do you see me?”

She nodded. Then nodded again, more firmly still, when he still seemed unsatisfied.

“Thank goodness.” He grasped her upper arms and lifted her off her feet, then deposited her atop the coverlet. His knees straddled her thighs and his arms braced his torso over her heaving breasts.

She had but a moment to thrill at the sight of him finally poised to claim her before his lips swooped over hers. He devoured her with kisses, urging her with his lips and tongue and the gentle thrust of his hips against her belly to join him, and feel the same intensity that he did.

She did.
Oh, heavens, she did.
With every thrust of his hips, she wished them perfectly naked. If he took her at this very moment, she would be eternally grateful. But he was going to torture her. Draw it out long and slow so that she truly would be crying for release when at last he gave it to her.

She couldn’t be the only one of them who suffered so. She slid her hands around his back, pressing her fingers into the firm muscles bunched against his spine. Then she drew her nails just firmly enough down his back to leave red marks in his skin. He groaned into her mouth. His rough thrusts quickened.
Good.
She could never withstand an hour of this sweet assault. She wanted him filling her
now
.

His tongue stroked hers. One hand slid up to cup her breast through her bodice. The soft moans of pleasure—those were hers. The musky scent of need was all him.

Answering arousal thrummed between her legs. She struggled to part them but his weight trapped her skirts. She did her best to bring her pelvis against the hard ridge of his manhood anyway, determined to entice him with the promise of her soft, warm flesh splayed against him, but his eyes opened as his lips left hers.

Such a sharp blue. It pierced deep inside her, as if he wanted to see her very thoughts. “Cease trying to make me come.”

Her eyes widened. Half in feigned innocence and half in guilt. “I’m not.”

“Oh, woman. You are very, very wrong about that.” His lips curved up wickedly and he rubbed his length against her for good measure.

An unfair assault. Her breaths turned to gasping pants. “I can’t bear for you to take your time. I want you, Constantine. I’ve already waited so long.”

His jaw hardened. Beads of perspiration and the scent of his sex had begun to release, but a sudden heat flowed through him. He gripped her breast roughly, then seemed to realize it and looked down. When his gaze returned to hers, she saw a new emotion. A stirring, demanding possessiveness that frightened her.

She arched her hips to meet his.

He rose to his knees and reached for his cravat balled on the bed. “Stop. Trying. To. Make. Me. Come.” Then he inched forward and knelt beside her right shoulder, sitting back on his heels. The boyish position only made her ache for him more. Why was this man so comfortable around her? No one else had ever shown himself to her, not like Constantine did.

Without warning, he grasped her wrist and wrapped the cravat around it. She sucked in a breath. He caught her left wrist, too, and bound it with the linen. Her pulse pounded. All thoughts of his easy, likable manner were replaced with heightened anticipation. She’d been bound before, of course, but not like this. He wasn’t doing it for his pleasure. He was doing it for hers.

He rested her fettered wrists over her head, then raised one leg across her to straddle her waist. A feral look came into his eye. Her answering moan sounded more like a sob for him to hurry. He denied her. His hands smoothed over her bodice, cupping her breasts, and his lips parted with satisfaction as he rubbed her nipples through the fabric. First gently, then roughly, until his breath came quickly and little shocks of pleasure flooded her. She wriggled her hips, desperate to release the intense pleasure building between her thighs, but to no avail. He had her trapped. 

With him atop her, she could see the tight press of his manhood against his breeches. His head dipped, tufts of blond hair sticking up in haphazard directions, as he concentrated on working each nipple between his thumbs.

“What are you doing?” she gasped out.

Without answering her he inched his weight lower onto her hips, then bent his head fully and took one taut nipple into his mouth.

“Oh!” she cried as warm wetness dampened her bodice. “Constantine, you mustn’t—”

He paused just long enough to offer her an incredulous look.
Of course he must.
Then, without answer, he used his teeth to nip her through the fabric.

She yanked her arms hard enough to bring them over her head. He instantly reached up and pushed her bound wrists back toward the headboard. With a strangled cry of protest she succumbed to his torturous exploration of her breasts and his mad, insistent scheme to force her to join him in pleasure. To see him, as he’d put it. He wasn’t allowing her to treat him as she had all the others, by giving him the use of her body and nothing else.

If he was going to pleasure her, then for heaven’s sake, he must get on with it.

“Constantine, please…please, my lord…” She squeezed her eyes closed, at the same time clamping her legs together. It was no use. No relief could come from her own efforts, not with him magnifying her desire tenfold with every slow lick of his tongue against her swollen breasts.

“‘Please my lord,’ what?” He abandoned the soaked fabric to explore the probability of freeing her breasts from the scoop of her décolletage.

“Please my lord,” she gasped,
“lower.”

Constantine’s low chuckle sent shivers down her spine. He leaned forward and gifted her mouth with another hot, slow kiss, then pressed himself up from the mattress and obliged her by moving lower. His legs glided along hers until his weight settled at the foot of the mattress. Then he deftly unlaced her boots and set them on the floorboards beside the bed.

Turning back to her stockinged feet, he watched her face as he cupped his hands over her toes. He ran his palms over her shins until his hands disappeared under the lace hem of her frock. She’d never experienced anything as erotic as his fingers and thumbs slowly massaging her ankles, then calves beneath her skirt.

A smile curved his lips as he watched her breasts rise and fall with a quickening pace. His tormenting advance left her breathless, and when he tickled the backs of her knees with his fingertips and slid his first fingers into the edge of her stockings, she moaned softly.

He caressed her but a moment and then, with a flourish, flipped up her skirt. It settled in a pile around her thighs but he bunched it higher, until her stockinged legs were bared to him. Her lips parted. Her breasts thrust against her bodice. And farther down, at the core of her womanhood, she pulsed with want. “Please, Constantine. I can’t bear one more moment…”

His smile turned seductive. Reaching toward the V at her center, he walked his fingers up her left leg, paused, then finally—thank heavens—pressed his open palm against her womanhood. She cried out in relief. Oh, how she needed
this
. He’d made sure of it.

He worked her sensitive pearl in increasing spirals. Her heart tumbled toward him as if he wound her ’round his finger. Perhaps he did. One skillful digit graced her needy opening and slid fully inside her.
“Ohhhh.”
She squeezed against him, unendingly grateful for this small relief, and writhed her hips, searching for just the right position.

Yes, there…
there
…

He bent and licked her swollen flesh. Rough and slick at the same time, his tongue was her salvation.
“Constantine!”
She yanked bound wrists over her head. Her fingers gripped his hair and the cravat bit into her wrists as she came in a searing wave. “Oh, Constantine.”

It was almost a sob.

He shoved himself up from between her thighs, released his fall and withdrew his cock. “I can’t wait any longer, Elizabeth. I want you too badly to have any finesse.”

She parted her thighs wider and lifted her hips up. “Yes.
Now
.”

“Thank God.” He fit himself at her opening. She tried to push onto his thick member but he held himself back just enough to make that impossible. With his cock poised at her opening, he grabbed her wrists in one hand and pulled them over her head again. With her thus secured, he thrust into her tight opening. A bellow of relief rent from him at the same time she cried out.

His teeth gritted as he paused to let her adjust to him. Then he moaned again and began a slow rhythm, plunging deep into her then withdrawing almost completely before driving into her again.

His upper arms and shoulders sheltered her. His stubble brushed the side of her face like a scratchy kiss. She’d never noticed how much bigger he was than her. He could crush her, but he didn’t. He was slick and hard as he controlled his thrusts and kept his massive body stable above hers.

He smelled like warm musk and man, and the light scent of her sex. When he turned his head a fraction and kissed her cheek, then softly urged her lips open and explored her mouth with his tongue, all the while plunging deep inside her with his hard length, her whole body tightened and she came again.

“Oh, Con.” She contracted against him. He buried his face against her neck and her heart leapt. “Oh,
Con.
”

He didn’t answer. She’d swear he couldn’t. His hand clutched her wrists in a painful grip she welcomed. She loved that he’d lost himself. He’d pleasured her first, but now he held nothing back. Her entire body focused on withstanding the onslaught of his climax as he emptied himself deep inside her and groaned with the intense pleasure of spilling his seed.

Slowly, dreamily, she became aware of her surroundings. The shadowy room, for the sun was almost set and they’d not stopped to light a candle. The damp tendrils of her hair clinging to her neck. The weight of his impossibly large body sinking against her. Stickiness between her thighs and the coarse rub of the inn’s cheap coverlet. Their clothing, for she remained tangled in her skirts and he’d done naught by shove his breeches down.

She kicked her feet a bit and confirmed it: he was still wearing his
boots.

She couldn’t quite believe it. They’d mated like animals
.
After all of his pretending there was no attraction, that theirs was in fact the business arrangement they’d set it up to be, he’d taken her like a dockside whore against the wall of an alley.

She smiled. The inn certainly wasn’t an alley, and she couldn’t fault his eagerness. She’d been just as much a part of the urgency. It wasn’t fair, then, to try to reduce their coupling to a distasteful tup. He’d been clear that she was different to him than just a toss between the sheets…or atop them, as it happened. They’d come together because they’d needed to.

Because she’d wanted to.

That terrified her. She’d meant to
seduce
him. She hadn’t foreseen this. She worked her bound arms down and around his neck and snuggled her face against his hair. He breathed deeply, undoubtedly asleep, and she used the opportunity to explore his muscled shoulders and back.