The Trouble With Seduction (25 page)

Her skin prickled, raw and exposed. Neither of her husbands had looked at her like this. When they came to her, she was in her gown under the cover of blankets and darkness. Heat and moisture pooled between her legs and her hands moved to cover herself.

“Don’t,” he commanded, his voice husky and agitated.

This wasn’t part of her plan, but it definitely had an effect on him.

“You. Are. So. Beautiful.” The muscles stood out on his neck, and his heavy breathing made a rasping sound in his throat.

Everything in her quaked with alarm.

Her Aunt Eliza had warned he was a big healthy male and might be more demanding than her husbands, with more drive and stamina than she was used to. With the enthusiasm and skill Ravenhill had already shown, she half rejoiced, half feared the possibility.

***

Damen gripped the counterpane to keep from pouncing on her. Sarah stood in front of him in the dimly lit room like a goddess, a temptress, the very image of ripe womanhood. He could still taste her breasts in his mouth and feel their generous weight in his hands. His cock quivered at the thought of plunging into her; hearing her sighs and moans; feeling her hands roam his back and her thighs grip his hips as he drove into her slick warmth.

She walked closer. “You’re overdressed,” she breathed.

Thankfully, the buttons on his shirt and vest were not easy to manage. Damen didn’t dare remove his clothes. Much as his body cried out for more, sharing intimacies would be safer if he stayed in them.

He couldn’t let her disrobe him and fell to his knees to circle his arms round her legs and rest his cheek against her warm belly. His conscience assailed him with guilt. He was a wretch. Wanting her did not justify hurting her. Lying to her, compromising her, and then leaving her were the actions of a scoundrel, not a man in love.

But he could give her pleasure.

His blood surged as he inhaled her sweet scent. “Did your husbands ever kiss you like this?” He trailed his tongue down her stomach and darted into the sanctuary between her soft curls.

Sarah startled, quivering.

He held fast, suddenly ravenous, licking, diving, stroking, caressing. He was nearly going out of his mind as she whimpered and trembled. Her little moans and noises only increased his hunger.

He glided a hand down the inside of her lovely thighs and back up, spreading her to feast on her.

One, two, three caresses and she came apart on a choked scream, her legs quivering.

He held her tight until her release passed, then gently laid her on the bed.

Stretching out beside her, he traced her shapely body with his hand – the soft texture of her skin, her graceful arms, magnificent breasts, the slight hill at her navel, the sweet indentation on either side of her waist and the rounded edges of her hips.

He leaned down to lick a thin line across her collarbone, up her neck, and around the shell of her ear. She tasted like her perfume and soap and her own tantalizing scent.

She kissed the side of his face. “Do you know how wonderful you are?”

No. He wasn’t wonderful. He was a dog, scratching for scraps he knew he didn’t deserve. He wanted to make this good for her and refused to think how deceived she’d feel once she discovered the truth.

“Mmm,” was all he’d say as he dipped his tongue into her ear and was rewarded with a hitched gasp. His hand slid down to her mound and pressed through the wet locks, bringing a whimper to her lips.

Her legs shifted restlessly.

While his fingers teased, he laved a trail between her breasts, around a nipple, and couldn’t resist sucking it fully into his mouth. A moan forced its way around the plump mouthful. All his senses hummed with delight.

She shuddered and exhaled raggedly, tightening his groin to pure granite. What excruciatingly sweet torture it was giving her pleasure.

She sank her hands into his hair. “Does this mean you want to be my lover, Mr Ravenhill?” she purred through an uneven pant.

His body screamed ‘yes’ while his mind shouted ‘NO’ and again all he could say – with her breast in his mouth – was “Mmm.” She tasted like heaven. A brass band could march through the room right now, and he doubted he could tear his attention from her.

Perhaps that’s why his shirt and waistcoat slid down his arms before he realized Sarah had finally managed to release every last button.

‘Undressing is not an option’ repeated in his mind like sacred words. But with each quiver, each moan, each sigh from Sarah, he could feel another lace of his willpower snap. Now pure steel, his cock throbbed insistently against his trousers. Piece by piece, he’d unraveled until he doubted he could hold out much longer.

CHAPTER 22

“It’s time you got rid of these.” Sarah tossed his shirt and waistcoat to the side of the bed. “Mercy!” The sight of his magnificent torso arrowed straight to something deeply primitive in her.

“What’s wrong?”

“I… I… it’s nothing. You have such a – such a powerful frame.” Her cheeks heated.

“You don’t like my… frame?”

She blinked and bit her lip. “Very much.”

Before he could ask any more questions, she pushed him back against the pillows. “It’s my turn.”

Ravenhill’s clothes looked marvelous on him, but they did not do his magnificent physique justice. The massive ridges of muscles on his torso would have impressed Hercules.

Now nearly healed, it seemed his face had taken the brunt of the assault. Few bruises colored the skin beneath the sparse lawn of hair scattering in a ‘V’ down his torso. When had he refastened his trousers? Did he know his cock thrust out the top?

She straddled his thighs, careful not to touch his sensitive groin area and bent to flick her tongue around his flat nipple. His chest jerked and he started to roll to the side.

“Uh, uh. My turn.” She licked a circle around his other nipple. Air whistled through his teeth. She placed a trail of kisses around his chest and down the center of his stomach toward his groin.

“Sarah.”

Her gaze flew to his and locked. In his ragged rumble, her name almost sounded foreign, melodic. The inflection he gave it spoke of yearning and tenderness. Her heart clenched. How she loved the way he said her name.

And then it struck her. She was in love with him.

He was the first man to ever make her feel valued for her ideas, and intelligence. He’d given her courage and advised her how to fight the corrupt inspector. He’d assisted her in trying to solve her husband’s murder. He was the only man who’d talked to her as an equal, and his every act and deed showed he believed her capable of making her own way in the world.

“What do you like to be called, Mr Ravenhill?” She lightly licked the crown of his cock and swirled her tongue around the edge.

He exhaled sharply. “Good God!”

“Did I hurt you?”

He seemed unable to speak, at first, and gasped for air. “What are you doing?”

She’d got excited and taken a shortcut, but she was prepared. She released the rest of his buttons. “If I’m naked you must be as well. Off with these!”

He frowned deeply.

“Now!” she commanded.

He reluctantly raised his hips and allowed her to shuck his trousers and smalls.

“I’ve prepared something for you.” She reached over him, opened a little door in the headboard, and pulled out a little bowl.

Humming to calm herself, she filled the spoon with whipping cream.

“What are you doing now?”

She smoothed the cream onto his cock and drew her tongue along the vein down the middle, around the rim and across the stout head.

“God,” he moaned harshly, clenching the counterpane.

Opening wide, she filled her mouth and gently suckled, clutched the root with her hand and slowly pistoned.

He exhaled a string of creative profanity, his body quivering with tension, and finally gave in to the urge to rock.

Never would she have imagined Mr Ravenhill would be so under her power.

She licked and swirled and pumped until he sat up with a growl – “Enough!” – pulled her atop him, and clung to her as he came to a shuddering climax against her stomach.

When he returned to himself, he breathed in her ear, “Where did you learn that?”

“Did you like it? It’s the modern way, isn’t it?” Usually it took an hour and full bowl of whipping cream to bring her husbands to release. Ravenhill barely needed a spoonful.

She reached into the headboard’s cupboard and pulled out a damp cloth. Cleaning away the whipping cream had an astounding affect. “Are you already…?”

“Umhumm,” he smiled roguishly and drew her down for a kiss that sent her head spinning.

“And yes, I liked it.”

“Both my husbands were from earlier generations. It is the modern way, isn’t it?”

His warm hands smoothed up and down her back. “I can only say the old-fashioned way is still in very high regard.”

By now, her breasts had become so sensitive, his chest hair made them tingle. Since the rookery, when they’d pressed so intimately through tight spaces, she’d wanted to explore the ridges of his muscles, the texture of his skin, the thrill of his naked body against hers.

Slowly, she dragged herself up his length. Then slid down.

His cock found her cleft and lodged.

“Sarah!” He grasped her arms “We can’t!” His eyes had turned so dark and fathomless, she had the sensation she was swimming in their depths.

“So to do it properly, it must be done the old-fashioned way?”

His molten gaze seared her as she slid farther, lodging him a little deeper, and rose back up.

This is how she’d wanted to be with him. She lightly circled his nipples with her thumbs and sank down again.

“Sarah we can’t!” He reached to grab her hips.

She seized his hands and locked with his dark gaze. “It’s my turn.” She lowered and felt her body resist his girth. They both shuttered as she slowly dragged herself up again, the raw friction devastating every sensitive nerve ending. “Do you like this?”

His answer was a stark moan.

He pulled his hands free of hers, rose to clasp a breast, and sucked it into his mouth. His tongue’s light abrasions bowed her back at an angle, somehow making room for his upward thrust, sliding in deeper. She almost screamed as the tension drove straight to her core.

The strain made her legs tremble, and her inner muscles quake. She could barely breathe.

“This isn’t…” He quickly flipped their positions.

Suddenly, he was exactly where she wanted him – his magnificent torso covering her, weighing her into the pillows.

The exquisite feel of him, on top of her, had her quivering with delight.

He stilled and kissed her deeply, tenderly, as if she were the most precious gem in the universe. “I love you, Sarah,” he whispered against her lips.

His words registered in the pit of her stomach, heating, thrilling, rising like a warm blanket to surround them both.
He loved her
.
Dear God
. The thrill of such an admission… the gravity of it. She’d never wanted anything as badly as him.

“Wrap your legs around me, Sarah.” He slid his hands under her buttocks and slowly rocked, groaning with satisfaction. “Is this good for you?”

The slight elevation tipped her hips to meet him more fully.

“Yeees,” she whimpered and gripped his shoulders. Her inner muscles grappled with his girth, but managed to accommodate him better in this position. His thrusts soon found a tantalizing spot, making her body quiver and insist on moving.

“Oh, you like that.” A smile colored his husky rasp and he pressed with more intent.

Tingling heat shot to her core.

His skillful awareness of her most secret place made her heart pound with fevered excitement. He clutched her bum harder, directing each heavy thrust to stimulate and possess the locus of her enjoyment, turning her into a writhing, craven thing.

The musky scent of sex and citrus and sandalwood filled the air, exciting her all the more.

Her inner muscles quivered with erotic delight. And she couldn’t keep her hands from roaming the muscles of his back. With each thrust, her body felt like a spring winding tighter and tighter.

All of a sudden, she broke apart, unspooling in a powerful electric euphoria that seared through nerves and tendons and rippled to the ends of every bone and sinew.

He stilled, holding her close until her climax eased. Then he rocked hard, pumping, gusting, driving hard, driving deep.

“Ah, Sarah! God!” He gasped and quickly pulled out. The friction of his swift withdrawal left her quaking with loss. He clutched her hard to him as he throbbed and jerked in fierce spasms, releasing against her stomach.

When he finally came back to himself, he rolled to her side and cleaned her, then wrapped her in his embrace, holding her tight against him.

Her release left her overwhelmed and near exhaustion. Her emotions felt raw, chafed like some outer layer had been rubbed away, laying bare the fragile center.

“I love you,” he murmured again against her hair.

Warmth flowed to her heart and spread throughout her body. Tears, so close to the surface, burned her eyes.

Neither of her very
proper
husbands ever told her they ‘loved her.’ On the rare occasion Hardington became amatory, he called her ‘jam tart.’ Edward called her his ‘special girl.’

She hadn’t even known Mr Ravenhill a month, yet he was more precious and in tune with her than either of her husbands. But it took years for real love to bloom, didn’t it?

True and genuine love didn’t happen in so short a time. Her emotions were running wild. Once the heat of lovemaking wore off, he might realize he didn’t really mean it. She’d overheard her brother and Lumsley discuss such a thing happening.

She wanted to tell Ravenhill she loved him, but it risked everything – her heart, her self-respect. What if he was lying? What if he realized later he wanted to take it back? She didn’t want to be a silly fool. She should play it safe, demur, change the subject – for once, not say exactly what was on her mind. She opened her mouth to prevaricate, and her heart filled her throat. “I love you, too,” came tumbling out.