To Seduce a Sinner (18 page)

She winced. “Oh, dear.”

He nodded. “Oh, dear, indeed. The gander took exception to us invading his pond-side cottage. Chased us nearly back to Vale Manor. And there, my tutor finally caught up with us and gave me such a caning I could hardly sit for a week. Haven’t really cared for roast goose since.”

For a moment, he held her laughing brown eyes, the room quiet, the servants somewhere out in the hall. Jasper could feel each inhale, feel time seem to pause as he looked into his wife’s eyes. He was on the precipice of something—a turning point in his life, a new way of feeling or thinking—he wasn’t sure, but it was right beneath his feet. All he had to do was take the step.

But it was Melisande who moved. She shoved back her chair and rose.

“I thank you, my lord, for a very amusing tale.” And she walked to the dining room door.

Jasper blinked. “Are you leaving me so soon?”

She paused, her ramrod-straight back still toward him. “I hoped you would accompany me upstairs.” She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes grave, mysterious, and just a little teasing. “My courses are over.”

She closed the door very quietly behind her.

MELISANDE HEARD A
muttered curse followed by a sharp bark as she left the dining room. She smiled. No doubt Vale had forgotten Mouse’s leash tied to his wrist. She mounted the stairs quickly, not looking back. She could feel the beat of her pulse, was aware that he would be following her. The thought sped her feet as she reached the upper hallway.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind her on the stairs, drawing swiftly closer. He must be taking the treads two at a time. She reached her bedroom door, her breath coming in short pants of excitement. She pushed through the door into the empty room and ran to the fireplace, where she whirled around.

Vale prowled into the room a moment later.

“What did you do with Mouse?” She struggled to keep her voice even.

“Gave him to a footman.” He locked the door.

“I see.”

He turned back to her and halted, his head cocked. He seemed to be waiting for her move.

Melisande inhaled and glided forward. “He sleeps with me usually, you know.”

She grasped the edges of his coat and drew them apart, urging it from his arms.

“In this room?”

“In my bed.” She laid his coat carefully on a chair.

“Ah. Indeed.” His eyebrows were drawn together as if he were puzzling something out.

“Indeed,” she repeated softly. She pulled loose hi Sullfons neck cloth and laid it on the coat. Her hands shook as if she had a palsy.

“In the bed.”

“Yes.” She unbuttoned his waistcoat.

He shrugged out of it and dropped it to the floor. She glanced at it and decided to leave it. She began working on his shirt.

“I would think . . .” He trailed away, seeming to lose his train of thought.

She drew his shirt off over his head and looked at him. “Yes?”

He cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should sit down.”

“Why?” She wasn’t about to let this go the way of their wedding night. She laid her fingertips on his chest and traced down lightly over his stomach, reveling in the freedom to touch his bare skin.

He sucked in his belly in reaction. “Ah . . .”

She reached his breeches and found the buttons.

“Slow.”

“You think we should slow down?” she asked gently. She slipped buttons through their holes.

“Well . . .”

“Yes?” The flap of his breeches sagged open.

“Ah . . .”

“Or no?” She slid her hand into his smallclothes and found him hard and heavy, waiting just for her. Warmth pooled at her center in anticipation. She’d have him tonight—have him the way
she
wanted.

He closed his eyes as if in agony and said quite distinctly, “No.”

“Oh, good,” she murmured. “I concur.”

And she slipped her other hand into his breeches to cradle him.

He swayed a little before planting his feet.

She was caught in discovery. Oddly, her hands had stopped shaking, finally, now that she touched the most intimate portion of his anatomy. She could feel the crisp hair brushing the back of her fingers, and her palms were filled with hot flesh. She wrapped her left hand about his width and explored him with her right. Soft skin, granite-hard muscle beneath. The slight bumps of veins, a wide flanged head. She ran her fingertips across that head, sensitive skin to sensitive skin, and felt the tiny slit. The moisture that seeped from that slit. She rubbed the moisture in little circles and at the same time squeezed with her left hand.

“Oh, God,” Vale implored. “You make me weak, my lady wife.”

She smiled, a secret, feminine smile of triumph, and stood on tiptoe, his cock still in her hands. “Kiss me, please.”

His eyes opened, and he looked at her almost wildly. Then he grasped her arms and bent his head to kiss her. His mouth was open, wet, a little desperate—exactly the way she wanted it. She made a humming sound of pleasure in her throat and stroked Sat ope him firmly. He groaned and thrust his tongue into her mouth, his cock into her hands. She captured his tongue and sucked. His big hands dropped to her bottom, squeezing. A thrill of pure pleasure rushed through her center.

He pulled back suddenly, gasping. “Sweet my heart, maybe we should . . .”

No.
She shoved his breeches down, off his hips. She examined his beautiful, bared cock and felt her internal muscles squeeze at the sight.

“Melisande . . .”

His penis was a dark red, proud and erect, his balls drawn up tight and hard beneath. She placed her thumb under the head, in that small, sensitive indent on the underside. “What?”

“Don’t you . . . ?”

She glanced back up at him. Her husband looked a little dazed.

“No,” she said quite firmly, and leaned forward to lick his left nipple.

He jerked in reaction and pulled her toward him, smashing her hands between them.

She relinquished her prize and, placing her palms on his chest, pushed him backward to a chair. He stumbled a step before bending impatiently and stripping off his breeches and smallclothes, followed by hose and shoes. He sat splendidly naked in the chair and then seemed to realize she was still dressed.

“But—”

“Shh.” She laid a fingertip across his mouth, feeling the humid brush of his breath, the smooth satin of his lips.

He closed his mouth, and she stepped back. Her hands went to the laces of her bodice, and he watched intently as she took off her clothes. The room was hushed, save for the pop of the fire and the sound of his breathing. The firelight highlighted his big body. His broad shoulders more than spanned the chair back. His long fingers gripped the arms of the chair tightly, as if he held himself in check. The muscles in his upper arms swelled with the tension. And below . . .

She caught her breath as she stepped from her skirts. His hard thighs braced his erection, which pointed aggressively up. The sight made her legs tremble, made her core heat and liquefy. She met his gaze, and he no longer looked dazed. He stared at her, intent, focused, no trace of a smile on his wide, expressive mouth.

She took a steadying breath and let her stays drop to the floor. She wore only a silk chemise now, fine as a dragonfly wing. As she stepped toward him, he started to rise from the chair. But she put a hand on his shoulder and placed one knee by his hip in the chair.

“Do you mind?” she asked.

She was gratified that he had to clear his throat. “Not at all.”

She nodded and raised the hem of her chemise to her hips before climbing into the chair. She straddled his lap carefully and let the chemise fall. Then she sat. For a moment, all she could do was savor the heat of his thighs against her bottom. She could feel his body hair tickling her most intimate parts.

Then she smiled and wove her arms about his neck. “Will you kiss me?”

“God, yes,” he growled.

He pulled her tightly against his chest, his arms strong around her back. She almost giggled; it was so wonderful to finally be held by him like this. But then he brought his mouth to hers and all laughter fled. He kissed her as if he were a starving man, and she was the first bite of bread he’d seen in weeks. His mouth was wide, moving over hers, gasping for breath, nipping at her lips. His hands were hard on her, and she wondered if she’d have bruises in the morning.

She lifted a little, bringing herself closer to his cock. He froze, his mouth still on hers, as if waiting to see what she would do. She scooted forward in his lap until his penis lay beneath her, trapped firmly between their bodies. Then she slowly rubbed herself against him. The head of his cock parted her folds, and she ground her secret flesh against him. Her eyes fluttered closed at the exquisite feeling.

He broke their kiss and tried to reach between them.

“No.” She opened her eyes and gazed at him sternly. Then she ground against him again.

His face was flushed, his lips wet. The long vertical lines about his mouth had deepened until his face looked saturnine.

She ground against him, the heat building, her folds slippery now. She still held his eyes, defying him to stop her.

Instead, he brought both hands between them and covered her breasts. “Do it now.”

She raised up on her knees and pushed against his cock. She was panting now. He watched her and brought his thumbs and forefingers together, pinching her nipples. She gasped and arched her back, but his cock slid to one side. Frantically, she reached between them to hold his slippery length steady. She ground against him. She could feel her folds, swollen beneath her fingers. She imagined her sex, crimson and wet, flowering against his cock. She rubbed the head of his penis against her clitoris, biting her lips, striving, struggling toward that goal.

Then he leaned forward and sucked a nipple into his hot, humid mouth, and she went over the cliff. Rushing, panting, she shattered in space. Her chemise collapsed like tissue beneath his tongue, and he sucked hard on her nipple. She watched him through slitted eyes, her head thrown back in pleasure.
Vale.
She was shuddering against him, trembling, still between heaven and earth, not wanting to return.

His hands were soothing now instead of hard, running up and down her back. She quivered in his arms, her breathing beginning to subside, even as her need to have him inside her grew urgent. He shifted and wrapped his hands about her waist, lifting her without any show of effort. His cock was suddenly lower, at her entrance. She lifted her head, and her eyes met his implacable ones. He held her gaze and pushed against her, into her, stretching her passage, making her shudder with renewed pleasure. She tilted her pelvis and bore down, taking his entire length, seating herself firmly on his penis. Female to male. Wife to husband.

Their eyes were still locked, and she wondered what he thought—if he was surprised or pleased or displeased. Or perhaps he didn’t have any such coher Sanyed,ent thoughts at all. His wide mouth was stretched, almost frowning, and his eyes were narrowed. A bead of sweat ran down his jaw. Perhaps he didn’t need to think. Perhaps he only felt.

And so would she. She leaned forward and licked the bead of sweat, tasting salt and man—her man now. She took his face between her hands and bit his lower lip. He grunted, tightening his hands and lifting her, sliding his cock from her sheath, and then letting her body drop on his again.

She wanted to laugh, wanted to sing. She was flying and free—finally free—making love to the man she loved. She swiveled her hips the next time he brought her down, and he pulled his lip from between her teeth and muttered a curse. Then he was moving beneath her, surging up like a wave, roughly pushing his flesh into her as if he wanted to mark her.

She grabbed his broad shoulders and hung on. Her legs were wide, her breasts jiggling, and her mouth was open against his face, kissing, licking, biting. And all the while, his cock plundered her. Leaping. Demanding. Plunging.

Until all his muscles tightened at once. He shook his head, his teeth clenched, his body rigid, and she felt the hot wash of his seed into her body. He jerked once. Again. Then exhaled as if all the air was leaving his body at once.

She trailed kisses down his face and over his jaw, watching him, her husband, as he relaxed from their lovemaking. Gradually his muscles loosened. His hands fell from her waist. His head lolled against the chair back. And still she kissed him. On his neck, his ear, his shoulder. Light, soft kisses.
Vale. Vale. Vale.
She couldn’t say aloud what her heart sang, but she could worship him with her mouth. His body was hot, his chest damp beneath her palms. She could smell the musk of their bodies, intimate in sex. This was right in a way it never had been before. All the various pieces of her life—her world—were in their correct places, all aligned in harmony. At peace.

She could stay here forever.

But he shifted beneath her and withdrew his flesh from hers. She bit back the cry of loss, because he was lifting her and carrying her to the bed. He lay her down and bent over her to kiss her gently on the lips. Then he turned away and left the room through the connecting door.