The Widow Wager (19 page)

He drove his tongue into her mouth with a deep, guttural moan, and she found herself being pushed back until her backside hit the edge of his desk. He trapped her there, leaning in against her so that she could feel the rigid length of his erection teasing her belly.

“Crispin,” she sighed against his mouth, her arms coming around his neck so she could accept him, accept what he offered. Even if it wasn’t everything, in this moment it was enough.

To her surprise, he leaned away from her, his blue eyes darkening with wicked need and equally wicked plans.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered. His voice was rough and raw.

“You are kissing me,” she said, tilting her head toward him.

He shook his head, dodging her lips. “Oh no, Gemma. Not on your mouth.”

She wrinkled her brow. Where in the world could he kiss her besides her mouth? As she stared at him in questioning, his eyes went wide.

“He never did this,” he said—a statement, not a question.

“Did what?” she asked. “I don’t understand.”

His smile widened. “Good. Then this will be mine. Only mine.”

“Crispin—” she began, but he cut her off by lifting her further on the edge of the desk. He dragged up one of the chairs behind him and sat down in it, inching himself forward so that he pushed between her legs, tightening her skirts around her thighs.

“What are you doing?”

He looked up at her. “You’ll like it, Gemma,” he promised as he slid a hand beneath her skirt and caressing her stocking-clad thigh beneath. “Oh, you’re going to like it.”

The feel of his hand on her leg made her gasp and she held her breath, watching as he did the same with his other hand. He massaged up her body slowly, giving every inch of her legs attention as he stroked higher and higher, closer and closer to her core. Her skirts lifted as he touched her, bundling around her thighs, then he shoved them higher so they tangled around her hips and stomach.

She was revealed to him, spread open, the only thing keeping her from flashing herself to the room was a flimsy pair of drawers. When his hands reached the edge of them, he stopped.

“Where do you think I want to kiss you?” he asked, his tone as hypnotic as the way he glided his fingers back and forth, back and forth over her thighs, teasing under her drawers, setting her on fire.

“I don’t know,” she gasped, gripping the desk edge.

He looked up at her, meeting her eyes with a dark and dangerous one of his own. “Guess.”

She swallowed. If her drawers weren’t there or if he parted their opening, he could easily lean in and place his mouth against her—

She felt her eyes go so wide it almost hurt. “Crispin?”

He chuckled, a very male and possessive sound, and reached up to find the waist of her drawers. He loosened the thin thread that held them in place and then glided them down, down, and tossed them away.

She squirmed. He had seen her naked. Naked didn’t bother her. She looked forward to naked because he could do so many wonderful things with his hands and cock.

But she had never been spread out in front of another person before, splayed and on display for his pleasure. She felt compelled both to watch him as he examined her and also to look away in embarrassment.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, pushing her thighs apart even further and reaching out to trace the trembling outer lips of her pussy. “So beautiful and tempting.” He glanced up at her, holding her captive with his stare. “And I want to taste you, Gemma. I want to lick you until you scream in pleasure. Until you beg me to stop, to never stop. Until you are weak with it.”

She couldn’t help it. Her breath was coming in little pants now, her heart was pounding. “Will you like tasting me?” she asked.

He nodded. “So very, very much. And so will you.”

He said nothing more, but his dark head descended and she tensed as his mouth met her entrance in a closed-mouth kiss. She dug against the desk edge, searching for purchase as he parted his lips and blew steamy, hot air against her already wet and trembling body.

“Crispin,” she whispered, a question, a plea, a prayer.

He glanced up at her with only his eyes, and then his tongue darted out and he licked her from top to bottom in one luscious, unexpected caress.

She jolted at the intimacy of the action, but also at the pleasure it elicited. Her entire body tensed and tingles shot through her that were reminiscent of those glorious moments of orgasm.

The spasm of her body seemed enough encouragement for him. He began to lick her in earnest, pressing a hand against her hip to hold her steady while his other hand held her body open so that he could taste and lick every single inch of her entrance.

She collapsed back against her elbows on the desk as the swirling pleasure grew. It began where his tongue pressed her, teased her, and spiraled out through her belly, her blood, her limbs. She found herself lifting into his mouth, seeking more, moaning even though it was possible someone in the hallway would hear her.

She was beyond caring. She wanted the release his mouth promised.

“Please, please,” she panted, her hips jolting again as he circled his tongue over her.

“Please what?” he asked, removing his mouth and eliciting a long, wailing groan from her. “Tell me.”

“I want to…to…”

“To come,” he finished for her.

“I want to come,” she begged. “Please let me.”

He didn’t respond with words, but by dropping his head back to between her legs. This time, though, he didn’t taste or tease. No, now he focused in earnest on her clitoris, sucking the little bud between his lips and pressing his tongue against it.

Her back arched and she screamed as the orgasm that had been eluding her hit her with full force. But it wasn’t like the others. No, this was never-ending waves of exquisite pleasure, sharp bursts that made her hips jolt and her fingers dig at the wooden desk top.

He dragged her through them all, continuing to play with his tongue even when she went limp, even when it was too much and she was spent with pleasure. He sucked and sucked, tasted and pleased until she let out one final moan and collapsed all the way back across his papers.

Only then did he stand up. She managed to look down at him and smiled. His eyes were wild with desire, his cock bloomed against his trousers, pressing for release. So tasting her
had
pleased him.

She parted her legs a bit further in invitation. “I think we need to solve that, Mr. Flynn.”

“I agree,” he growled, tearing open the flap of his trousers in a few swift motions and allowing his cock to burst free. He took himself in hand and she stared as he stroked himself, once, twice. Then he pulled her further down the desk by her hips and speared her in one smooth, wet stroke.

She arched again at the invasion, at the slide of his cock against exquisitely sensitive nerve endings. To her shock, she was already on the edge of orgasm once more—a fact he seemed aware of, if his grin was any indication.

He loomed over her, trapping her against the desk in the cage of his arms. As he began to stroke into her, he leaned down and kissed her.

She melted into him. He tasted of earthy sweetness.
Her
taste, and she was surprised by how arousing she found it. She lifted into his strokes as she greedily sucked her flavor from his tongue, and her body burst a second time. He pounded through her orgasm and just as her moans subsided, he made a guttural cry and spurted his seed deep into her body before he collapsed over her on the desk.

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as his panting breaths faded back to normal. Slowly, he eased up and their bodies parted. She found herself sorry for that moment and for the removal of his warmth as he stood up.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, reaching out to tuck a tangled curl behind her ear.

She laughed. “Those were not sounds of pain, Crispin.”

He grinned. “No. But the desk is very hard.”

She stood up and stretched before she began smoothing her skirts back down over herself. “Not as hard as the man, and I enjoyed it very much.” When she stood up, she found him staring at her, his eyes wide. She bit her lip. “Was I too crass?”

“No,” he sputtered, reaching for her hand. “I was just musing to myself how lucky I am to have been forced into marriage with a lady who knows what she wants. A lady as heated in the bedroom as I myself can be.”

She smiled in relief. “We are well-matched in that, yes.”

“The things I’m going to teach you, Mrs. Flynn,” he murmured as he dragged her closer and kissed her once more.

But even as she enjoyed the press of his mouth to hers, the need in his every touch, there was a small part of her that niggled, that wondered even though it shouldn’t…

Was this all they would ever share?

Kate made a hissing sound as she turned Gemma around to fasten her gown in preparation for a new day. “Is that a bruise?”

Gemma jolted from her memories of her and Crispin in his office the afternoon before, in their bed the night before, and shot her maid a glance over her shoulder. “Likely so.”

Kate stepped back and folded her arms. “Is there something I should know, my lady?”

“No more
my ladies
, Kate,” Gemma scolded. “New husband, no title. And there is nothing that you should know except that I am vastly satisfied by the physical affections of Crispin Flynn. The bruises are not from him bringing me harm, but pleasure, I assure you.”

Kate blushed and ducked her head as she began to fasten the dress. “Well, I am happy for you, my lad—Mrs. Flynn.”

Gemma nodded, but her serene smile was false. Her maid was happy for her. A strange notion considering that less than a week earlier she’d had no idea where she would be now. She still felt dizzy, a fact multiplied by Crispin’s passions toward her.

As Kate fastened her last button, there was a light rap on the door that led from the bedchamber to her dressing one.

“Yes?” she called out, smiling as Kate smoothed her gown here and there, making it perfect. It was not an easy task considering the dress was rather old. She had been looking forward to getting a few new things, but after hearing about Crispin’s financial troubles the day before…

“Good morning, wife,” Crispin said as he pushed the door to her dressing area open and leaned against the wall beside it most casually. “And…Kate, isn’t it?”

Her maid was blushing furiously as she bobbed out a nod. “Yes, sir.”

Crispin shot Gemma look and grinned. “Well, would you mind if I had a moment alone with Gemma, Kate?”

Kate picked up Gemma’s wrinkled nightdress—the one that had resided on the floor of their bedchamber until she hastily shoved it on before Kate came to help her—and said, “Of course, sir. Good day.”

Gemma clenched her teeth as Kate refused to look at Crispin when she rushed past him into the main room. He chuckled as he reached behind him and closed the door, trapping them in to the smaller room together. Suddenly the space that had seemed perfectly fine felt confined. Why did he have to smell so good all the time?

“Have you been whispering naughty secrets to Kate?” he drawled as he took a few steps toward her.

She took one backward and nearly tripped over a bench. “No.”

“Then why does she look like she knows what
you
did last night, my saucy little wanton?”

Gemma’s cheeks flamed at his words, but she was anything but offended. She actually wanted to laugh, but somehow refrained. She cleared her throat. “Actually, Kate saw a…a mark on me. And she was worried I might be being…er, harmed. So I had to explain that—”

The teasing left his eyes. “A mark.”

She nodded. “Just a little bruise.”

“A bruise. Let me see it.” He reached for her, but she batted his hands away. “No, Kate just fixed me.”

“And when I have seen what she saw,
I
will fix you,” he said. “Gemma, let me look.”

She let out a huff of irritated breath and turned her back so that he could unhook her gown. He did it quickly, efficiently, but she was shocked that she grew very aware of him as he did it. Of his fingers brushing her spine through her chemise, of his breath on the nape of her neck. Damn him for having so much power over her.

“Show me,” he said as he finished unfastening her.

She shrugged the gown off her arms and around her waist. She pulled the chemise edge free of her dress and lifted it just enough that he could see the round, fist-sized bruise on the backside of her ribs.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered as he reached his fingers out to gently trace the mark. “I did that?”

She turned around, dropping her chemise. “No. The desk did that. I must have been leaning on something. I assure you, at the time I didn’t even realize it. I was a bit focused on other things.”

She expected him to smile, but he stared at her ribcage, his face troubled. “And then last night I wasn’t exactly gentle. I must have hurt you when I—”

“Oh for God’s sake,” Gemma muttered, then cupped his cheeks with both her hands and pulled him down to kiss him. He was stiff with surprise for a fraction of a moment, then his lips parted and he let her in. After she felt he was sufficiently silenced, she drew back. “I
liked
what we did on the desk, Crispin. And I
liked
what we did last night. So please don’t waste time torturing yourself about it. It seems to be you have enough to torture yourself about while you brood without adding me to the mix.”