“Don’t be crude!” she snapped.
“I will be whatever I damn well please!” the earl roared. “I pay enough for the right.”
“If it is so painful for you to part with coin, release me and find someone less expensive to see to your needs.”
Despite the sounds of the surf, Christopher thought it might be possible to hear the grinding of his teeth, but he could not stop. It took every ounce of control he had to prevent entering through the window and beating Eddington to a bloody pulp. The only thing restraining him was the knowledge that Maria’s trust could not be taken by force. She had to extend it freely.
He moved away, his mind rapidly disseminating his association with the notorious seductress. She was embroiled in something vastly unpleasant, seemingly against her will, yet she had not sought assistance. He was her lover, a wealthy one at that, and he would help her if she asked, but Maria was too accustomed to dealing with matters on her own.
Hardening his aching heart, Christopher refused to feel discarded or forgotten or to blame her for acting in self-preservation. She was an intelligent woman. She could learn, and he would teach her. Kindness. Tenderness. How much of either had she ever been shown in her life? He, perhaps, was not the best man to approach for such things, but he was capable of learning, too. He would find a way to open himself to her, so that she could feel safe opening herself to him.
So he departed as swiftly as he had come. He returned to his carriage as a different man than the one who had left—somber still, but now leaden with an introspective shroud that Philip was wise enough not to disturb.
Maria paced the length of her room with a swift, agitated stride, her dressing gown swirling around her legs.
“Where are you?” she grumbled, her gaze moving once again to the open window, waiting impatiently for her golden-haired paramour to appear. She had been home for two days now and knew from her spy in the St. John household that Christopher was at home as well, yet he did not come to her. She’d sent him a missive that morning to no avail. He had not replied, nor had he appeared.
Here she had rushed home and hurriedly bathed the dirt of travel away in preparation for his visit, only to cool her heels for days. Deep in her chest an ache blossomed and grew.
Christopher might have lost interest in her while she was away. While she had considered that possibility, the realization wounded her in a way she could not have prepared for.
She paused at the window, looking down, seeing no movement. Her eyes closed on a harshly indrawn breath. He owed her nothing, yet she was angered at the hurt he had inflicted. She was furious that he had not given her the courtesy of a simple farewell. Even one written on paper, rather than spoken in person, would have been preferable to this silent dismissal.
Damned if she would allow him to treat her like this! She had bared herself in that note, made it clear how she wished for his company. It pained her to think of it, how deeply attached to the man she had become. To seek him out, to beg his attentions.
To be discarded without a word.
Seething, Maria disrobed and then called for Sarah to assist her with re-dressing. She donned crimson silk and then took a moment to apply a heart-shaped patch just above the corner of her mouth. Slipping her dagger into the hidden sheath in her gown, she then ordered her carriage brought around. Every moment that passed intensified the burning in her blood. She was spoiling for a row, and by God, the pirate would indulge her whether he wished to or not.
Outriders surrounded her coach as they left the relative safety of Mayfair for the squalor of St. Giles, which served as home to beggars, thieves, prostitutes . . . and her lover. She sat in the unlit comfort of her carriage and felt her ire simmer dangerously. By the time she arrived at the pirate’s home, she was a menace waiting to be unleashed, a fact that must have been obvious. Her calling card was accepted from her footman, and she was escorted from the carriage into the foyer without delay.
“Where is he?” she asked with ominous softness, ignoring the large group of both men and women who filtered from various rooms to watch her.
The butler swallowed hard. “I will inform him of your arrival, Lady Winter.”
One finely arched brow rose. “I can announce myself, thank you. Tell me where to go.”
The servant opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, then finally said with a sigh, “Follow me, my lady.”
Maria took the staircase like a queen, her head held high, her shoulders squared. She might be a lover scorned, but she refused to act the part.
A moment later she swept into the room opened by the butler and paused inside, her heart in her throat. A jerking wave of her hand to signal for the closing of the door was all she could manage.
Christopher lounged before the fire in a state of semiun-dress, his feet and throat bare, his torso free of both waistcoat and coat. His head was leaned back, his brilliant blue gaze hidden in repose. Such a beautiful yet deadly creature. Even now, furious as she was, he affected her as no other man ever had.
“Christopher,” Maria called quietly, her throat so tight at the sight of him that her voice came out as barely more than a whisper.
A slow smile curved his lips, but his eyes remained closed. “Maria,” he purred. “You came.”
“And you did not come. Although I asked for you and I waited.”
He finally looked at her, his gaze narrowed and considering. “Is it so terribly wrong for me to wish you to make the effort to reach out to me?”
“I no longer have time for your games, St. John. I came for what you owe me—a clean severance.”
She turned to depart, only to find that she had miscalculated. Christopher moved swiftly, pinning her to the door with his body.
“This is no game,” he rasped with his lips to her ear.
Maria made every attempt to ignore the longed-for feel of his hard, muscled frame. He towered over her, his heated breath gusting intimately against the crown of her head. When he rolled his hips against her, she collected what he was telling her. It was impossible to feel him through the masses of underskirts and skirts, but there was no doubt he was aroused.
She fought off the flare of pleasure the knowledge gave her and said coldly, “Why then did you not come to me?”
Christopher moved, his hands leaving the paneled door to boldly cup the upper swell of her breasts. His powerful legs kept her pressed to the door as he fondled her. “I always come to you, Maria. I needed to know that you would seek me out in return.”
She sucked in a breath as desire, hot and insistent, flared at his words. But he had made a grave error in judgment by freeing her hands and a second later he knew it. She sank the veriest tip of her blade into his upper thigh.
He pushed away from her with a curse, and she spun to face him, her hand reaching behind her and thumbing the lock.
A tiny spot of blood spread around the hole in his breeches. “Do you draw weapons on Eddington, as well?” he asked softly. “Or does his coin spare him?”
Maria paused with her blade held in front of her. “How does Eddington signify?”
“That is my enquiry.” He nonchalantly drew his shirt over his head, revealing the golden expanse of his rippling abdomen. His bare chest had healing cuts and his ribs bore yellowed bruises. Her throat tightened at the sight of his many injuries, her heart pained at her contribution to the marring of such masculine beauty. He tore at the linen, ripping a strip long enough to tie around his muscled leg. “Are we familiar enough yet to share such secrets?”
“Is Eddington the cause of your refusal?” she asked, her stomach churning at the knowledge that he was aware of her continuing association with the earl.
Christopher crossed his arms and shook his head. “No. I speak the truth to you, Maria, because that is what I want from you in return. I want to support you. Help you. If only you will allow me that right.”
His tone was so low, his gaze so earnest that she was arrested by him and the feelings he was engendering. Her dagger fell from nerveless fingers to thud on the floor.
“And what rights will you grant me?” she asked, her chest lifting and falling rapidly.
“What rights would you prefer?” Christopher stepped close again, lowering his head to swipe his tongue across her parted lips. “You could have gone to Quinn or Eddington tonight. Instead you came to me despite your anger. I have something you want, Maria. Tell me what it is, so that I may give it to you.”
The last was said with a distant ache in his tone, which he quickly covered by taking her mouth in a deep, possessive kiss. His hands came up to cup her shoulders, pulling her fractionally closer.
Yet even as Maria realized that she had the power to hurt him, she also understood that he had the power to wound her in return. And he was doing it so well, weakening her with his kindness and seeming lack of guile.
“Perhaps all I want from you is sex,” she said coldly, her lips moving against his. “You have a body built for sin and a mind well-schooled on how to use it.”
His grip tightened, betraying a direct hit. It was deeply unpleasant to know that she had deliberately hurt him in order to protect herself, but she could think of no other way to act. This side of Christopher was far too dangerous. She could manage herself around the coarse pirate. She was not confident in her ability to survive the charms of the impassioned, gentle lover who was appearing more often. The rough seduction of their first sexual encounter had softened to these liaisons of sweet kisses, intimate recollections, and admissions of yearning for the other’s company. If she trusted him, it would be a romance. Since his motives were suspect, it felt like a siege, and she could not afford to be conquered when the safety of Amelia was the prize.
“You want my cock,” he whispered, “so I shall service you with it. You have only to ask for what you need. I am prepared and more than willing to provide it. In bed, or out.”
Her eyes closed, shielding her thoughts. She wished she had the strength to set aside her longing and focus solely on the task at hand, but the quivering in her limbs told her it was best to flee while she was still able. The information Welton and Eddington wanted would have to be gleaned by other means. She would find a way, she always had.
“Undress me,” she whispered, firm in her intent.
“As you wish.” His tongue traced the shell of her ear, making her shiver. “Turn your back to me.”
Maria took a deep breath, and did as he asked.
Chapter 14
C
hristopher’s fists clenched tightly as Maria presented the row of tiny buttons that coursed down her spine. He fought with his hands, ordering them to cease their trembling. He ached for her tenderness, some sign that she cared for him beyond his sexual prowess.
Why had she come? Why send him that note, so sweetly worded? Perhaps he was indeed a pleasure to her. He hated the part of him that said,
That is enough. Take what she will give you.
Because it was not enough. It could no longer be merely sex between them. He could not share her bed knowing that he was excluded from sharing the rest of her life.
“Have you changed your mind?” she murmured, glancing over her shoulder when he hesitated too long.
He stared at the heart-shaped patch near her mouth and longed to kiss it. The scent of her filled his nostrils, more heady than liquor. “No.”
Christopher began the difficult task of unveiling her lush body, peeling back the yards of material that separated them. He was accomplished in the art of undressing a woman, but never had his hands shaken during the task.
Slowly, he managed, and the back of the crimson gown gaped open, the rich color a stunning contrast to her olive skin. His head lowered, his tongue traveling along the top of her shoulder. He felt her shiver and knew he would perform the same service to the rest of her. He would tug on her nipples with the hot suction of his mouth, then spread her legs wide and lick inside her. She would beg for surcease, arching and writhing beneath him. By the time he was done with her, no other man would satisfy and she would know what he had felt these last days—starved before a banquet and yet unable to eat.
He pushed aside the left flap of the red garment, his gaze arrested by the puckered pink scar left by the knife wound. His eyes closed against the emotions that moved through him. Then he felt the raised line of flesh beneath his fingertips, his hand having lifted without conscious direction. Maria gasped at the touch.
“Does it still pain you?” he asked, opening his eyes to watch his movements.
For a long moment she said nothing, then she nodded.
“I will be gentle,” he promised.
“No,” she argued breathlessly, “you will be on your back.”
The memories her words envoked were so powerful, he shuddered. How many times had he relived their one night together, her above him, her nipple in his mouth, her cunt sucking his cock until he came in a pulsating rush that left him gasping and drained. That he was moments away from experiencing the same ecstasy made his balls draw up tight and ache to be emptied. He was desperate to be one with her. In body, in passion. To fuck her harder, faster, and deeper than she had ever been fucked before and to have her pay him in kind. Have her respond with a similar wildness of need and hunger. For him.
Only him.
“Hurry,” she urged, her body rigid.
Christopher paused, understanding that she felt vulnerable, knowing that the change in the rules of the game had her wary and slightly frightened. He was uncertain as well, taking tentative steps as he trod new ground, never having bared himself in such a manner before.
So he deviated slightly, gripping the back of her gown and rending it open with a quick, hard tear. She stepped out of the remnants and faced him, her waist hugged by a corset, her legs lost in her skirts.
“Discard your breeches,” she ordered, “and lie on the bed.”
He studied her as his hands moved leisurely to do as she bade. She wanted control. He would give it to her, showing her by example that he was willing to put himself in her hands, if she would do the same for him. “I want you naked, as well.”
“Later.”
Nodding, Christopher freed his cock and shoved his breeches down. Maria’s gaze dropped to his erection, goading him to take it in hand and pump it, bringing his seed to slip out over the head.
“See what you do to me?” he asked, holding his cock out to her like an offering.
What looked like sadness drifted across her delicate features. A low moan escaped him as he continued to masturbate for her view. Pleasure coiled around his spine and made his cock swell further.
“I have been too long without you, Maria. Did you miss me the same?”
“I wrote to you.”
“Will you punish me for desiring some sign of your affection? For wanting you to visit me in my bed, rather than the reverse?”
“Stop,” she said hoarsely, her gaze riveted to his industrious hands. “I want you hard and thick inside me, not spent.”
Christopher dropped his hands to his sides, leaving his cock reddened, weeping seed, and curving upward. This was entirely new to him, this forfeit of power. He doubted he could do this for anyone else. A lesser woman would not have the deep-rooted command required to take the control from him. Even Emaline, with all of her vast experience, hadn’t been able to master him in the bedroom. It was why she sometimes serviced him herself instead of granting him the use of one—or more—of her girls. She occasionally needed the luxury of simply being fucked rather than being the one to do all the work.
So he waited, his breathing harsh, his skin misted with sweat. The anticipation rose, charging the air, inciting him further. Sex could be boring if the action lulled. That was not the case now. The space between him and Maria filled with a palpable energy, just as it always had.
“Have you changed your mind?” he prodded, tossing her words back at her.
Her brow arched. “Perhaps I am not ready.”
His brow rose to match hers; he knew she was lying by the high flush on her chest and cheeks, and the rapid lift and fall of her breasts. He knew she was wet, knew that watching him pleasure himself had also pleasured her. “I can make you ready,” he offered solicitously.
For a moment she did not move, his dark-haired temptress with her creamy skin and deep red lips. Her chemise, corset, and underskirts were white, hinting at an angelic image that was ruined by those knowing eyes with their impossibly thick lashes. He could see her delicious nipples through the sheer cotton, and his mouth watered with the urge to suck on them. The tiny heart-shaped patch teased him to kiss that lush mouth, to slide his cock into it and thrust until he burst. More cum beaded on the tip of his cock and slid down the burning, pulsing skin of his shaft.
“Would you allow me to take you with my mouth?” he asked. “It would please me to make love to you that way.”
Her gaze darkened at his choice of wording and her lips parted on panting breaths. She nodded and stepped past him, her skirts swaying with her agitated stride. There was no hesitation in her. When she was decided, she never looked back.
He followed, his brain in a fog of lust and deep yearning. She took a seat on the settee, her back ramrod straight. The pose was prim, until she hooked one knee over the curved wooden armrest and pulled back the masses of white material, baring first her beautifully curved calves, then her lithe thighs, and finally, the silken heaven between her legs.
Christopher growled low in his throat, sinking to his knees without preamble, his large hands cupping her inner thighs and spreading her so wide that nothing was hidden from him. She was slick and hot, as he had known she would be. Luscious Maria, the Wintry Widow. Except when she was with him. Then she melted.
“I love to see you this way,” he confessed. “Open to me, willing and craving.”
Dipping his head, he licked up the seam of her sex, relishing the hiss of pleasure that escaped from between her teeth. After this night, she would never forget him. She would lie in her bed, remembering the feel of his mouth upon her, and long for the pleasure only he could provide.
He surrounded her with his lips, his tongue flickering over the tight knot of her clitoris with light, teasing strokes. Her fingers drifted into his hair, caressing the sweat-dampened roots, her back arching into the intimate caress with a startled cry. He held her hips down, the circle of his mouth creating a soft suction that intensified her thrashing and brought her to harsh, panting breaths.
“Christopher! Dear God . . .”
She bowed upward, her grip in his hair painful but welcome. He dipped lower, thrust his tongue inside her, felt how tight and drenched she was, how deeply he affected her. Grateful that he could, because he was undone, his body trembling with need and tortured desire.
He moved upward again, sucking the hard bed of nerves in an unfaltering rhythm, forcing her to take what he gave her, forcing her to see what they had—a deep affinity that grew more precious to him by the day.
Her orgasm nearly prompted his, her cunt clenching around his tongue as he drove it into her repeatedly. He didn’t stop, refusing her attempts to push him away, his mouth working her, taking her, making her cry out in climax again. And again, until neither one of them could take any more.
He rose, gripping the gilded lip of the settee back with one hand and aiming his cock at her slit with the other.
His penetrating lunge into her body rocked the settee to its rear legs, the brutal jolt wringing a curse from him and a breathless cry from her. Christopher paused a moment, his eyes squeezed shut as her cunt rippled around him in the final throes of orgasm. Only when she lay quivering in the aftermath did he risk looking at her.
“This is heaven,” he gasped. “I want to live inside you, feel you suck me deeper and deeper until we are one.”
Maria stared up at the golden god who caged her so thoroughly and wondered how the events of the evening had spun so far out of her control. She was tender and swollen, oversensitive and stuffed full of rock-hard cock. His hands gripped the sofa on either side of her head, his lean hips cradled in the apex of her thighs, his rippled abdomen clenched tight and dripping sweat onto the pile of skirts gathered at her waist.
He stared down at her with open lust and affection, shaking the very foundations of her life. How could she give this up? She whimpered as Christopher’s cock throbbed inside her. In this position she had no leverage, and his impressive endowments felt almost too huge to be comfortable. He withdrew and she spasmed around him, her body unwilling to give up the pleasure of his. Then, using his muscular legs to push forward and his arms to pull the settee downward, he lunged into her again, hitting the end of her, his heavy balls slapping erotically against her bottom.
Maria moaned helplessly. Her only recourse was to clutch his waist and brace herself for his thrusts, which grew in strength and speed until the private sitting room echoed with the unmistakable sounds of hard fucking. Her cries rose in volume, competing with the rhythmic banging of the sofa legs against the floor and the curses that rasped from Christopher’s throat every time he sank into her.
His cock was thick, long, and hot, and he conquered her with it, seduced her with it, giving her exactly what she wanted. And exactly what she could not have.
It was raw, passionate sex. Lust tempered by far deeper emotions. Her gaze was riveted by the display of his clenching abdomen and the glistening length of his cock as it worked in and out of her with brilliant precision. The question of whether the memories of their first night together were embellished or not was answered. Christopher St. John was an expert lover, even when rutting at a fevered pitch. He plunged high and hard, hitting that spot inside her that had her toes curling.
“Yes!” he growled when she whimpered in near delirium, his raspy voice filled with pure masculine satisfaction, his gaze hot as he watched her fall apart beneath him.
Dear God, he was devastating her, making her care when she couldn’t.
“No!” she cried, frightened by the feelings he evoked, her hands pushing ineffectually at his straining shoulders. “Stop!” She beat at him with her fists until she penetrated his single-minded focus.
He thrust deep and stilled, his chest heaving, his thighs quivering between hers.
“What?” he managed between labored breaths. “What is it?”
“Get off me.”
“Are you
insane
?” Then something flickered over his features, his gaze lowered. Before she knew his intent, his head dropped, his lips pressing a lingering kiss to her puckered scar. “Am I hurting you?”
Maria swallowed hard, her heart beating so desperately it felt like it could burst. “Yes.” He was killing her, breaking her.
“Christ.” His sweat-covered forehead pressed to hers, his harsh exhales gusting across her face.
Inside her, he throbbed. Her body, uncaring about anything other than climax, sucked at his cock, luring it deeper.
He inhaled deeply, then knelt on the edge of the seat and thrust his arms beneath her back, embracing her. He struggled to his feet with her clasped tightly to him, impaled on his rigid cock. How he made into the next room and the bed, Maria would never understand.
Christopher sat on the edge and then fell back, keeping her atop him. “You ride,” he said hoarsely. “Take your pleasure from me in a way that will not pain you.”
Maria nearly cried.
Her fingers clenched convulsively into the velvet counterpane. Who knew the infamous pirate could be so sweet, so caring? The fierce look on his handsome face reminded her of who he was—a notorious criminal who survived in a brutal underworld by his wits and lack of conscience. But here he was, subjugating his raging needs for hers . . . offering himself to her, to do with as she willed . . .