To Love a Wicked Scoundrel (24 page)

His hands gently cradled her, then pushed with rough abandon through her hair, further to coast over her shoulders and sweep the cotton gown to the floor leaving her exposed in nothing but the lacy negligee she’d found too tempting to resist.

‘You little minx, playing at dressing-up games. You deserve a dressing down.’ His eyes roved over her face and his honeyed words entranced her. ‘But first things first. Do you like how you look?’

His raspy whisper gave rise to goose bumps across her skin and she swallowed hard and forced a slight nod.

He spun her, the affect dizzying, and she knew she would crumble if he did not hold her tight, his leg hooked like an anchor around her ankle. There she stood, wrapped in his arms, her back against his chest, her senses flooded with the scent of shaving soap, the lingering taste of their deep hot kisses, and the insistent heat of his thigh pressed firm beside her own. She glanced at their reflection in the full-length mirror and averted her gaze.

‘See yourself.’ His husky rasp caused shivers to trace down her spine. ‘I want you to see yourself as I do. As you are.’

She raised her eyes to the mirror and the perfection reflected overwhelmed.

Constantine stood behind her, holding firm to her waist as if she might flee, his handsome profile against her cheek. She watched his eyes, burning with a wicked glint, as they coasted over her reflection with unabashed desire. A rush of exhilaration caused her breath to catch.

There was no doubt the lacy French nightgown was exquisitely made, but Isabelle remained entranced by the image of the man at her shoulder, mesmerised by their intertwined bodies and the glint of moonlight and flickering fire that cast fleeting shadows across their skin. She rubbed against his warmth and the brush of his muscular chest teased the bare skin of her back, while the strength of his arousal nudged her silk covered bottom.

‘You are a masterpiece.’ His husky whisper against her ear shot an erotic tremor to her core and she turned and reached to encircle his neck, bringing his mouth downward. Her kiss was an invitation, and glory, he did not miss the mark. His palms skimmed her shoulders and lowered the ribbon straps. The gown slithered down her body, as smoothly as a raindrop on glass, until it pooled at her bare feet.

Her would-be lover remained dressed and she would have nothing of it. Her fingers found his collar and swept inside to free the robe from his shoulders. With anxious tugs, she yanked the shirttails from his trousers. A low rumble of laughter vibrated against her lips and she could not help but smile, a delicious sense of wanton abandonment motivating her every move.

‘I prefer you untucked, milord.’

‘I live to please you, milady.’

Their kiss renewed, deep and wonderful, and she obeyed his command. He moved her backward, his body a guide in gentle insistence as his trousers rubbed with sensual friction against her bare legs with each small stride.

She crushed the velvet draperies as her body buffeted against the wall and a rush of contrasting sensations piqued her senses, the hard press of his chest against her breasts, the rough fabric of his clothing, and the warm, soothing brush of thick velvet at her back.

‘Isabelle.’ He said her name against her mouth and it vibrated through every pinnacle of her being. ‘You are all luscious curves and delectable beauty.’

She offered little aside from a whimper. His hands traced her skin to illustrate his words, down her arms, across her belly, the slope of her hips, to cup her breasts, the heat of his palms as they brushed the peaked tips, a delicate torture.

‘So lovely.’

His voice dipped lower with insistent entreaty and she pulled back, barely breaking the kiss as her pulse beat fiercely in objection.

She moved her trembling fingers to his jaw in an attempt to gain his attention. ‘What are you going to do?’

A wicked laugh caressed her neck as he pushed free and nipped a path across her collarbone.

‘Make you forget your name.’

He moved, but even the scantest space between them was an unbearable void.

She grasped his shoulders as he lowered his head to paint strokes across her skin with his tongue and feather kisses mixed with delicious love bites. Her body grew tight and anxious.

‘No, tell me the truth.’ She pressed hard against the drapery as a series of wonderful sensations coursed through her. ‘What will you do?’

He chuckled, a low throaty sound, and moved to kneel before her. ‘Watch you break all your little rules.’

She moaned, much to her mortification, as the hot heat of his answer met the sensitive skin of her stomach. She was lost, poised on the edge of a great abyss. ‘Tell me, please.’ She begged, her ability to speak at war with her attempt to reason. She could feel the press of his knees on the carpet near her feet. What did he mean to do? She forced her eyes open and looked.

Constantine glanced upward, his beautiful features bathed in fire-lit intimacy. ‘Sweet, sensible Isabelle. You insist on knowing what comes next.’ His voice, low and liquid, caused her to shiver. ‘I intend to slide my hands over you, my love, and learn your every curve. To taste your perfectly rounded breasts and lick the pale tips until you beg me to stop. To trail my tongue down your belly – ’ he showed her with exacting detail ‘ – lower, to revel in the delicious joys of your body until the day when I push myself into your softness, feel you wrap around me in aching need, wet and hot and ready, as I thrust myself fully within your tight satiny heat.’

‘Oh.’ Any other question evaporated. She closed her eyes and envisioned the seductive images. She wanted the same more than she would ever confess.

He pressed a hot, openmouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh and she quaked with the intimate caress as his thumb passed over the same spot.

‘You have a birthmark here.’

She tried to smile. ‘Just one of many imperfections.’ She despised the dark pink mark even though it was no bigger than a sovereign.

‘It is the shape of an upside down heart. A kiss from Cupid, no doubt.’ He paused and she could not know what he was thinking. ‘So lovely.’

Again he kissed the mark, and then his fingertips, with the lightest caress, touched the most intimate part of her. She did not dare look now and her head dropped back against the curtains.

The room grew hot, although the fire waned. Her breathing slowed and it was as if time stalled. Everything was sensation; the scrape of his jaw against her thigh, the vibration of low murmuring, the strength of his hands locked to her hips. In that quiet moment as his mouth descended to her sex, Isabelle was for ever changed.

It was exquisite torture, the devil’s doing, each stroke of his tongue against her cleft stoked a relentless searing heat. She clutched the draperies and crushed the velvet in her fisted palms, but still it was not enough. She needed to touch, to feel him while he offered her divine pleasure. She thrust her fingers into his sable soft hair and the press of his head angled against her belly heightened her arousal. She grasped him too tightly, she knew, but what did it matter? She could never stand, her entire body aquiver with sensation.

‘Do you like that?’ His wicked whisper teased the damp skin of her inner thighs and she trembled in answer. ‘You are so wet for me. So deliciously wet.’

He swept his tongue across her core and she bucked forward, at a loss for control against his unbearable torture, and at the same time desperate for more.

‘And you taste – ’ He dipped his head to caress her with his tongue before he pressed his fingertips between her sensitive folds and rubbed with delicate accuracy. ‘You taste exactly how I dreamed you would.’

It was all too much. Nothing made sense. Everything made sense.
He
made sense. And his wicked, wicked tongue. She couldn’t breathe. Her fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulders, begging for support as the beauty of it all overcame her and with a shudder, she lost herself to the exquisite brilliance, as if she touched a star and captured it in her heart.

Constantine wanted to taste Isabelle as she climaxed, lick into her sable fleece and tease her as she found release, but neither could he deny himself the thrill of watching her in all her glorious beauty. He slipped his fingers between her silky folds and his thumb rubbed over her slick bud. A sharp ache resounded in his chest as he flicked his gaze upward.

Her eyes closed in blissful surrender and portrayed beauty beyond compare. Her hair fell forward in flaming waves of disarray. A few damp tendrils clung to her neck where the graceful line led to the sleek curve of her shoulder. He followed the ripe curve of her breasts with each stilted inhale and the motion entranced him. The fragrance of her skin – rosewater and musky desire – drove him mad with desire. He took her in and held his breath.

When her hold on him loosened, he pressed a soft kiss to her sex, and gathered her in his arms to walk to the bed. She lay against him, her head naturally inclined to rest at his shoulder, her bare body nestled against his chest, as if they were made for each other. He sighed and placed her on the coverlet with gentle care.

Her eyes remained clouded. The strain of his desire was rampant but he had promised he would not ruin her, but he wanted to, more than he needed to breathe. The contrary emotions twisted his heart.

‘Take off your trousers.’

The soft-spoken command set his pulse racing. He stood over her, his fingers immediately at his waistband, his brain sluggish to follow. ‘That would not be wise.’

‘I want to see you as you have seen me.’ A note of importance laced each word. It resonated when she spoke again. ‘Please, Constantine.’

He could not deny her. He removed his trousers, then undergarments, and his sex jutted forward to where she sat on the bed’s coverlet, all creamy white skin and delightful innocence.

There would be no turning back now, no matter what foolish ideas they used to convince themselves otherwise.

She viewed him with beguiling curiosity and every muscle tensed under her scrutiny.

‘I do not know what to do.’

Her admittance pleased him more than he’d ever confess.

‘Do what you feel.’

Sensing her hesitation, he reached forward and guided her hand over his length in one swift motion. He refused to allow her inquisitive touch near the tip or all control would be lost in a heartbeat, however, smart, witty Isabelle proved a quick study. His passion strained as she grasped him and wrapped her fingers with gentle finesse, his sex growing harder with each confident stroke.

‘Like this?’

His answer was mostly a groan. ‘Yes.’

His eyes fell closed beyond his power and he concentrated instead on the persistence of her touch and the impossible task of delaying his climax. Her hand stalled for the briefest instant and her other hand found his hip. The mattress shifted, and he heard the soft rustle of fabric.

Her mouth came down on him with unexpected ecstasy, and his body lurched. He told himself to object, to convince her she did not have to please him the way he had rejoiced in bringing her pleasure, but words failed him, and he shamelessly allowed her to coast her tongue across his length, to slide her lips around his shaft, the erotic brush of her hair against his tensed stomach muscles nearly his undoing.

He would never last.

Isabelle gave and gave as only she would, in offer of all of herself. Still his conscience forced through the unbearable ecstasy that tormented his body. He could not allow her to continue. He slitted his eyes for a glimpse of her prone form, and then pulled back with the last shred of control.

He kissed her then, deep and hard, eager to erase all self-doubt, and joined her on the mattress in a smooth movement. They kneeled atop the coverlet. Stormy grey eyes searched his face with keen awareness as emotion hummed over his skin. He reached for her and cradled her cheek in his palm.

‘Forget the world, my love. For this one night, forget it all.’

He did not know what she thought, what she felt, but he knew he had never wanted anyone more. He watched her blink twice and the rapid rise and fall of her bosom slowed. Then her gaze traveled from the top of his head, downward, leaving a wash of hot heat in its wake.

His heart pounded in wait of her answer. His hands trembled. The desire to take what he so wanted overwhelmed him.

Isabelle’s skin, pure cream, held a dewy sheen. Her lips were parted slightly, her hair tangled and she never appeared more beautiful. She offered him a tremulous smile and his heart thudded in his chest. When she backed away, he did not know if she would refuse him, if he had asked her for too much.

She slid across the bed to the pillows without breaking the heat of his stare. He watched as she pushed aside the coverlet and lowered herself to the silk sheets, her auburn hair strewn across the white pillowcase just as he imagined since he first met her. She gave him a smile, this one an inviting curl of the lips, and leaned forward, her hand seeking his. It was as if she had reached for his heart.

He did not hesitate. He could not, had he tried. He settled above her and pinned her to the mattress, bracing his weight with his arms. He reveled in her perfection, her round sweetness crushed against his taut torso. For all the appreciative compliments he offered earlier, he fell silent now. No words could express his emotions, and he had to be patient no matter how much he yearned for her.

It was her first time and, in many ways, his as well. He had never allowed himself more than the physical act, his body’s release. With Isabelle, his emotions tied tighter with each potent kiss. He wrapped his hand around her neck in true possession, and the silky strands of her hair caressed his hold.

‘Are you sure this is what you want, my love?’ He asked thickly, although he had no idea where he found the strength.

‘Yes. Be with me.’

The words whispered through the silent room. Her mouth welcomed him with fervent need and the knowledge that he would soon possess her made him heady, deliciously happy, as he explored her body in excruciating detail. His tongue grazed her nipples, suckling one then the other, her back arched to encourage him to continue his quest. Her body shifted beneath his and she opened for him, as natural as a new blossom reaching for the sun.