The Notorious Lady Anne: A Loveswept Historical Romance (26 page)

Slowly she spread her fingers until they were splayed across his chest, her pinky resting precariously close to his nipple. He held his breath, waiting for her next move.

Her thumb stroked him above the waistband of his breeches. His skin puckered, but not because he was cold. She placed her other hand on him. Her skin was so hot, it seemed to warm him to his very bones. Would the rest of her be as scorching? Would he have the opportunity to find out?

Dear God, please don’t stop now
.

He called on the very last of his control. “You should go.”

Her gaze met his, bold and daring, like the pirate she was. “What if I don’t want to?”

Her thumb slipped beneath his waistband. He grabbed her fingers to stop her. “I can’t guarantee—”

Her other thumb grazed his nipple and he groaned.

“I’m not here for guarantees,” she whispered. “I know there are no guarantees.”

She didn’t understand what he meant. He hadn’t meant he couldn’t guarantee her a future. He wasn’t able to guarantee his self-control, but he didn’t have it in him to clarify. Words jumbled in his head, fracturing coherent sentences.

Her breath brushed his chest, and before he was able to stop her, her mouth replaced her hand. His body jerked and a growl erupted from him.

“Emmaline.”

“Don’t tell me to stop.”

“I can’t—”

She looked up at him with a wicked smile. “Ah, but you can.”

He’d never seen this side of her before. A wanton woman, her face flushed with desire, her lips a cherry red. What was left of his tight control slipped another notch. He clenched his hands at his sides. If he touched her, it would be over. He wanted to take his time, to unwrap her like a gift, but his body wasn’t willing and wasn’t able to comply.

Her other fingers joined her thumb, touching the sensitive skin of his stomach and making him suck in a breath. The tip of his erection was centimeters from her fingers. He forced himself not to move, waiting with breath held, his vision blurring. She smiled a knowing smile and popped open the top button of his breeches. His cock screamed in agony, the skin so tight he feared he would burst.

Her breathing became erratic, her cheeks even more flushed, as the next button gave way. He wore no underclothes, and the rough fabric rubbed against his erection, worsening his already inflamed state.

The last button slid free, and she spread the plackets and his manhood sprang free. Emmaline sucked in a breath. Nicholas ground his teeth together.

She looked up at him. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Never?” His vision turned black for a moment.
Hell and damnation. She is a virgin?

She looked down at his straining cock. “Never.”

“You should leave.”

She tilted her head to the side and raised her eyes to his. “What if I don’t want to?”

“I think you understand what will happen if you don’t. Emmaline, I have no control here. I can’t—ahhhhh.” She wrapped her fingers around him and he cried out, his head falling back, his chest heaving. Instinct made his hips want to pump into her hand, but he forced himself to stop which made the sensation that much more delicious.

Her fingers explored, and like the pirate she was, she employed no tentative touches, but
bold strokes that were followed by pulsating pleasure. Lightly, she swiped her finger across the head. Nicholas was panting now, his entire focus on her hands and what they were doing to him.

Suddenly she stepped back, leaving him cold and hot and aching. With a seductive curl of her lip, she shimmied her shoulders and the robe fell to the floor, pooling around her feet. Crossing her arms in front of her, she clutched the hem of her shirt and raised it, inch by incredibly slow inch.

Her stomach was well muscled and flat, her hips slim and tapering to an even slimmer waist. There was no excess on this woman. She was all muscle from hard labor. His gaze dropped to the triangle of curls between her legs, glistening with her wetness. He groaned. And then the shirt was gone, revealing full, tight breasts.

She sauntered toward him wearing nothing but a seductive smile, her hips swaying. For never having done this before, she was killing him.

“Touch me,” she whispered, and took his hand, placing it on her breast. He let his fingers explore as hers had, light touches coming close to her nipple, but never making contact. She arched her back and hissed in a breath, her eyes glazed. “Yes,” she breathed.

He touched her other breast, cupping its fullness, weighing it and finding it absolutely perfect. He bent and licked her nipple. She cried out, clutching his head, her fingers digging into his hair. His hand moved down her side and she shivered.

She widened her legs, giving him access, and he plundered, touching her wet center, his finger instantly slick. Emmaline cursed in French, and Nicholas smiled before swooping down and kissing her on the lips, stifling the words. She kissed like she moved through life—with abandon. Giving everything she had, holding nothing back. She pressed her hips against his finger, wanting more, and he could do nothing but oblige, rubbing her until they found their own rhythm and her breathing increased. She pulled away with a fierce look of concentration and confusion.

“Let it go,” he whispered.

“I can’t … I don’t …” She threw her head back, revealing the long column of her throat.

A groan tore through her, and her hips bucked harder. Nicholas almost forgot about his own aroused state, he was so caught up in hers.

“Ohhhhh,” she moaned, but the sound almost came out as a question.

“It’s alright, my love.”

Her back arched and she ground herself into his hand. Her scream of release rent the air, and he quickly pressed his mouth to hers so she wouldn’t awaken the household.

Her orgasm ripped through her, stiffening her muscles. It went on and on until finally she collapsed against him, her body flush with his.

“That was amazing.” Her voice was slurred and he chuckled, proud he was the first to bring her such joy.

“It’s better if we’re lying down.” He looked at the bed, a small part of him ashamed at his behavior. He hadn’t even laid her down on the soft mattress.

“I don’t think I’d survive better,” she mumbled against his skin.

“Sweetheart, that’s merely the beginning.”

He gathered her in his arms and laid her gently in the middle of his bed. Her hair spread across his pillow, her face pink from her orgasm, her legs splayed as if her bones had melted. Her drowsy eyes looked up at him, still unfocused, still lost in the sensations she’d just experienced.

He lay beside her, his intensely painful erection brushing her thigh.

“Your turn,” she said with a smile.

“I don’t think—”

“Oh, no. You’re not going to get out of this.”

It wasn’t that he wanted to get out of “this,” but rather, he was worried she was having second thoughts. Technically, she was still a virgin, and if she wanted, he would let her leave this bed intact. It would be his death, but he would do it.

“Are you sure?” he asked, the gentlemanly part of him rearing its ugly head.

“Positive.”

She touched the tip of his head and his cock sprang up, eager for its share of the action. “Show me,” she whispered. “Show me what it’s like.”

He rolled on top of her, his erection nestled in the wet junction of her thighs. His sadly slipping self-control nearly vanished, but in this he knew he had to go slow. “It might hurt.”

“I know. I’ve heard.”

He shook his head at this confusing woman. So naïve at times, and so knowledgeable at other times.

“Spread your legs.”

She obeyed his command, probably the only time she’d ever obeyed anything he told her. With his hand on his cock, he guided himself to her entrance. Sweat beaded his brow. Every part of him wanted to plunge forward, to take what she was offering, to claim her as his, but no matter how brave Emmaline appeared on the outside, he was very aware there was a vulnerable core to her. He was damned if he was going to injure that part.

Slowly he thrust forward, meeting resistance almost immediately. She was incredibly tight. Wonderfully, beautifully tight. Her muscles grabbed onto him, embracing him while at the same time inhibiting him. The pressure was unbelievable, exquisite, painful and breathtaking.

Her brows were drawn together, her top teeth sinking into her bottom lip. He was hurting her, but there was naught he could do about it. Unfortunately, for a virgin, pain came before the pleasure, and he would make damn sure she would remember the pleasure and not the pain.

He inched in farther, almost halfway there. Good Lord, he wasn’t sure he was going to make it all the way. He wanted to explode and forced his body still. He brushed the hair away from her face and smiled. He hoped it was a smile, but it felt more like a grimace.

“It won’t fit,” she said with a worried look.

“It will fit.” Of that he was absolutely sure.

She grabbed his hips, and with a determined look, thrust her hips forward, impaling herself on him with a gasp.

He groaned and grabbed her shoulders. “Lie still.” Leave it to Emmaline to take matters
into her own hands. His chest tightened with a feeling he couldn’t name.

Slowly he pulled out, before plunging forward again, setting up a slow, even rhythm. She had to be hurting, but she showed no sign of it, looking up at him with those wide, curious eyes.

“Move with me, Emmaline.”

She seemed to think about it for a moment, possibly trying to decide how to move, but then she figured it out. Her hips pumped and they danced together in perfect harmony. He reached between them and parted her lips, finding her sweet spot. Her gaze flew to his, full of wonder and excitement. Even though she’d found completion not minutes ago, she quickly raced toward another, and he wasn’t far behind.

He moved faster, his bollocks tightening in anticipation. Emmaline’s hips were practically coming off the bed at the same time Nicholas slammed his hips toward the bed. His control snapped. There was no turning back now.

His release raced toward him. “Come for me, Emmaline.”

Small mewls escaped her, increasing in intensity. Her muscles clenched around him. Her release came upon her at the same time his seed shot from him, so forceful that black dots danced before his eyes and his head swam. Quickly he pulled out, spilling himself on her flat stomach, but he feared he’d been too late. It was a distant fear, however. There, then gone. Beneath him Emmaline sank into the soft mattress. Her arms dropped to the side.

“Oh my,” she said, and he laughed, rolling off her. He cleaned off her stomach with the edge of the bedsheet while she watched him. Gone was Lady Anne, in her place just Emmaline. Two components of one person, making a whole that baffled him, but he wouldn’t think about it now.

Tonight was for them, Nicholas and Emmaline. No one else. He curled onto his side and tucked her into him. He fell asleep with the scent of her hair—ocean breeze and warm sunlight.

When he awoke the sun was high in the sky and he was alone.

Emmaline swiped her arm across her sweaty forehead and made her way to the house. She was late for a meeting with Phin to discuss their next move against Blackwell. The careening was finished. And this morning she and her crew launched the ships back into the hidden harbor. A few minor repairs were still needed, but she was far ahead of schedule and happy with the progress they’d made.

The work had been grueling, but not mentally taxing, which left her with too much time to think about the night before. She still wasn’t sure what woke her in the middle of the night. Had Nicholas cried out? His eyes certainly looked haunted. What nightmares stalked him? What secrets did he harbor? It irritated her that he’d managed to ferret out her secrets so easily, yet kept his to himself.

She certainly hadn’t gone to his bedchamber to do
that
, but when he’d looked at her with those smoldering, dark eyes filled with passion, she’d been helpless and lost. His bare chest was a siren call, urging her forward, making her do things she’d never contemplated with another man.

She’d wanted to touch him. Wanted to feel his tight restraint unravel. And she’d reveled in the control she had over him. For once she’d had the upper hand, but not for long. He’d done things to her she’d never thought possible. Never dreamed of. Never imagined.

Yet when she awoke in the early morning hours still snuggled against his warm body, feeling more content than she ever had before, she’d also been more scared than she ever had before. Her heart raced, and her breath came in gasps. She had to leave before this contentment overtook her and she began to believe in silly things like forever. Slowly, she slipped from Nicholas’s embrace and slid out of bed, swiping her robe off the floor, not willing to waste time looking for her sleep shirt.

Despite the heat of the day, she’d been experiencing chills ever since. She wasn’t ill. She
rarely became ill. This was something entirely different. This was panic in its purest form. She knew panic, understood panic, had trained to overcome panic with knives and swords and pistols, but her problem couldn’t be solved by running a person through or shooting a hole in him.

She was smart enough to know what happened in Nicholas’s bedchamber had been life-changing. Suddenly she understood what her crewmen had been joking about, and lusting about, and wishing for all those long months at sea. Suddenly she understood the simpering females at all those boring soirees, when they whispered behind their fans and discussed men’s … attributes.

All this time she’d been living half a life, intent on her revenge, not realizing she was only partially alive. And it wasn’t merely the physical. That had been nice—beautiful, even—but that was only part of it. What frightened her was the closeness, the connection to another human being that went further than she’d ever hoped or ever dreamed of.

Something inside her cracked open last night, and Nicholas hadn’t hesitated to worm his way into the fissure. He touched her where no other person dared touch—both physically and emotionally.