Marissa Day (6 page)

In the middle of all this opulence stood Sir Thomas. He still wore the emerald coat he had on at the ball, but he had discarded his cravat and collar so that his white shirt hung invitingly open. A blush crept into Jane’s cheeks as she became acutely aware of her nightdress.

“Welcome, Jane.” Sir Thomas came forward and caught up her free hand. He bowed deeply as he kissed it. His mouth was soft and warm against the delicate skin on the back of her hand, and Jane found herself wishing he would never stop.

“I was afraid you might not come.” He straightened to look into her eyes, but he did not release her hand. “That was foolish of me. I should have trusted you more.”

Jane found she had difficulty drawing breath. Her blush deepened, and the heat from it seemed to flow directly to her fingertips clasped in his strong hand.

“But what is this?” she managed to say, gesturing about the decadently furnished room with her lamp.

“Ah, Jane,” Thomas took the lamp from her and set it on a small mahogany table. “Let us for the moment say this is our place.” Holding both her hands, Sir Thomas led her deeper into the chamber. “Here, you and I may meet without interference, or interruption. Please, sit.” He lowered her onto one of the sofas. It was in the Grecian style, backless with curved arms at either end, made more for reclining than sitting upright.

“And this all came to be by magic, I suppose?” Jane joked to cover her uncertainty. “You are a fairy prince come to steal me away underhill for a hundred years?”

“And if I was?” Without looking away, Thomas raised her hand to his mouth once more and rubbed her fingertips against his sensuous lips. That small, bold caress robbed Jane of what little breath she had remaining, and her eyelids felt suddenly heavy. She wanted nothing more than to lean back against the sofa’s conveniently curved and comfortably cushioned arm while he caressed her in this way and any other his invention could devise.

Years of practice at maintaining appearances came to her aid and Jane stiffened her spine. “Then I should say my prayers like a pious Christian maiden, and banish you back to fairyland.”

“Oh, that would be a most cruel fate.” Sir Thomas turned her hand over, and with his thumb began to make slow circles against her palm. This new, intimate motion poured a wealth of feeling into Jane, destroying her ability to concentrate on anything except that small place where his skin moved restlessly and rhythmically against hers. “How shall I convince you as to my true nature?” He wondered aloud and slid his hand up hers, stroking his fingertips against the sensitive underside of her wrist. “Ah, I have it. Have you heard that the good neighbors, as they themselves prefer to be called, have no hearts?”

“I . . . believe I have heard something of the kind.” It was so hard to keep her voice steady as he caressed her wrist and played with her fingers, delicately touching each one like a connoisseur examining a piece of fine porcelain.

“Well, then.” Sir Thomas lifted Jane’s hand to his open shirt, guiding it under the linen so that her palm pressed against the bare skin of his chest. “Do you feel my heart, Jane?”

She nodded. She felt the heat of his skin, the crisp curls of hair, the rise and fall of his breath, and, yes, his steady heartbeat. How she ached to move her hand, to explore the landscape of his body, but he held her firmly. Then, he lifted her hand from his chest, and instead pressed it against his cock.

“And do you feel this?” he whispered.

She did. She felt how hard and thick he was, and how maddeningly separated from her by his silk knee breeches. But touching him even this much caused a riot of sensation in the exact center of her physical being, and she turned soft and liquid there. Jane’s mouth began to water and she hardly knew why. Her breasts seemed to swell even while her stomach had clenched tight.

“I am no Fae, Jane.” Thomas moved her palm up and down. “I am a man who wants to please you.”

Jane abandoned resistance and closed her eyes, the better to concentrate on the sensation of stroking him. He controlled her hand entirely, but he guided her so she could feel the shape of his balls, his shaft, his blunt tip. The combination of freedom and restraint thrilled her in some unaccountable way and Jane groaned.

Thomas leaned close so his lips brushed her ear, but he kept her hand in place against his cock. His breath on her cheek and throat smelled of brandy and spices and she breathed deep. “Jane, I want to stretch you out beneath me where I can watch the whole of you as I work upon you with hands and mouth and cock. I want to hear you scream with delight and beg for more. And if you cannot hold yourself still to learn all I have to teach you, I will tie you down until you gain the discipline you need to obey me as master of your body’s pleasure.”

Although she felt she could scarcely draw breath, Jane made herself say, “I am to be a servant then? A light wench you may bid to come and go whenever you please?”

“Oh, you will come at my bidding.” She could feel his grin as his mouth moved lightly down her throat to her shoulder. His teeth grazed the skin there and she shivered. “And I shall teach you all the ways that bidding is to be done. As for the rest . . .” He pulled away suddenly and Jane’s eyes flew open. He was smiling at her, his expression a combination of mischief and desire that shot straight to her heart. “Say rather that I am your good teacher, and like any master of art brought to instruct a young lady, I expect attention and obedience.”

“Shall you prove a very strict tutor?” She could not believe she was falling in so easily with his heated flirtation. Like his firm and controlling hold on her wrist, it touched some previously unimagined part of her, adding a savor to this sensual scene and deepening the fire in her veins.

“That very much depends on how unruly my pupil proves to be. If she is good and tractable, she will find herself amply rewarded.” Thomas’s fingers caressed her throat, and moved down to the top of her breasts. Jane’s nipples tightened abruptly. “But I do warn you, Jane.” His green eyes darkened and he laid his finger against her lips. “I will be a stern taskmaster in the matter of your pleasure, and I will not countenance argument. When I say to do a thing, it is to be done. Disobedience will be punished. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” It felt good to move her lips against his finger. Jane found herself seized by a number of thoughts, all of them wicked, all of them weakening her, softening her, opening her further to her need and his oh-so-evident desire.

“Tell me what you are thinking, Jane.”

Her first instinct was to shake her head, for she could not possibly confess to such indecency as filled her mind at that moment. But she pushed that aside. “I want your arms around me,” she whispered. “I want my body, my . . . my breasts against you. I want your fingers in my mouth so I can suck on them, hard. I want to kiss you, I want you to kiss me. I want . . .” She hesitated.

“Say it.”

“I want your cock. In my hands. Inside me.”

“That is good, sweet Jane. Very good.”

And all at once, she was in his arms, and he was kissing her. His tongue licked her lips sensuously, pressing at the seam of her mouth until she parted them so he could slip inside. His tongue slid along the edge of hers, a caress filled with heat and promise. It felt wonderful, and she opened to receive him more fully. She clung to him, wrapping her arms tight around his shoulders, and she writhed in his hard embrace to rub her aching breasts against his chest. In answer, Thomas laid her back against the plush, slanted arm of the sofa, without once breaking their deep kiss.

At last he lifted his mouth from hers. Jane gasped for breath and a tiny moan escaped her. Thomas swung himself about so he straddled the sofa. The spread of his legs displayed for her the outline of his magnificent erection. He lifted Jane’s right leg and rested it against his powerfully muscled thigh to remove her slipper. Then, he ran his hand under the hem of her nightdress, up her bare calf, causing her to moan again. That only broadened his grin, and his hand rose higher, to the back of her knee, to her warm inner thigh. Unbidden, her hips strained upward.

“What do you want, Jane?” He stroked her thigh firmly. “You must say what you want.”

“Higher,” she croaked. “Please.”

“Ah.” He curled her leg around his hip, resting her heel at the split of his buttocks. “For that, Jane, you must give me something in return.” He lifted her other leg and removed her other slipper. “Undo your ribbons. Show me your breasts.”

With his touch gliding up her calf to her thigh, Jane found her hands had gone clumsy. She could barely find her bows and was ready to weep in frustration. Thomas did nothing to aid her, only continued his lazy, appreciative exploration of her legs. At last, she managed to undo the knots and pull the gathered fabric open, exposing the curving tops of her breasts to the candlelight and his gaze.

“All of them, Jane.” He slid his heated palm up her inner thigh, almost to her drenched tangle of curls. Almost, but not quite. “Offer them to me.”

Jane’s hands trembled. She reached beneath the soft linen of her nightdress and slowly lifted out her right breast. The touch of her own hand against that so-sensitive flesh mixed with the heat of Thomas’s gaze and the touch his hands and body between her legs. How would it be if she caressed herself, perhaps even fingered her own nipple? It would feel good, she knew it, especially with him watching her like he did now. But not as good as his knowing touch. She lifted out her other breast, and could not help but let her hand linger there. His eyes sparked when she did. He liked to see her touching herself. He’d said as much, and now she had proof of it. That knowledge added fuel to her inner fire.

She scooped her hands under her heavy breasts and lifted them up.

“Please,” she said again.

“Oh yes,” he breathed. “My good, sweet Jane.”

With both hands he reached out and clasped her breasts firmly. He ran his thumbs across their burning tips, and smiled wickedly as she mewled. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he bent forward and circled her aureole with just the tip of his tongue. Jane gasped and arched her back. In response, Thomas wrapped his lips around her pebbled nipple and sucked her deep into his hot mouth.

Dizzying pleasure washed through Jane. She sighed and moaned and struggled, her naked calves rubbing against his silk-clad hips. Her hips arched of their own accord, and she felt herself strain open. But Thomas seemed too busy pleasuring her breasts to notice. His mouth moved from one nipple to the other, as his hands plumped and squeezed mercilessly, maddeningly.

“Yes.” She moaned. “Oh, Thomas, yes!”

“Ah-ah.” He lifted his mouth from her breasts, leaving only his strong, blunt fingers to play with her, and that was nearly as maddening. “When we are like this, you must call me Master Thomas.”

“Yes.” She moaned again.

“Yes, what?” He pinched her left nipple and the startlingly sweet pain robbed her of the ability to speak.

“Yes, Master Thomas,” she gasped finally.

“Very good, Jane.” He squeezed her breasts tight together, kissing each nipple in turn. “So very, very good.” He slid his mouth lower, planting hot, wet kisses on her ribs, licking the curve of her belly, moving lower, dragging the nightdress with him.

No, surely, he didn’t mean to put his mouth . . .

As soon as she’d thought it, she felt his lips against her damp, sensitive folds. She cried out, startled, but he pressed his mouth more firmly against her, until Jane’s surprise melted into fresh delight and she sighed. She felt him chuckle, and then she felt his tongue pressing into her slit. It was very strange. In fact, it tickled. Jane gasped and squirmed, laughing. But Thomas clasped her hips with both hands and held her firmly down. He began to lap and suck in earnest then, running his tongue up and down her slit, until he found the throbbing pearl that was the center of her pleasure; her clit, he had called it in the dreams. He pressed the tip of his tongue there, and searing delight tore through her.

“Oh yes!” she cried, knotting her fingers in his hair. “Oh, Master! Yes!”

He was relentless. He held her hips tight as he tormented her clit with his hot, wicked tongue, then licked down again and plunged straight into her sheath. Jane wailed and strained against his hands trying desperately to urge him deeper.

But her lover, her tormentor, straightened up and she cried out in her disappointment. This only served to make him laugh.

“You want more, Jane, I take it?” he asked as he disentangled her from the nightdress entirely and cast it aside.

“Yes, yes,” she panted. “More, please, more.”

She moved to reach for him, but he pressed one hand flat against her mound of curls, and slipped one finger into her slit. He found her pearl, circled it with his finger. She couldn’t speak. She could only feel, and it felt so good. Then, swiftly, his finger plunged into her sheath.

“So tight,” he murmured. “How long has it been, Jane? How long has it been since you’ve had a cock in this hot, wet pussy?”

“Years.” She moaned, and he slid a second finger inside her.

“My poor Jane. Alone in the dark with no one to care for your pleasure.” His fingers began to thrust with a steady rhythm. “But it’s good now, isn’t it, Jane?”

“Oh, yes!” she cried as he thrust in.

He’d played with her thus before, in dreams, but those dreams created a mere shadow of the feelings that flooded her now. His mouth had primed her to pleasure. With each thrust of his fingers, her hips arched to grind against the hand holding her down. Her bare bottom caressed the plush sofa and her calves rubbed his silk-clad hips. So very many layers of sensation, all blending to a single glorious whole as his fingers glided in and out of her sheath.

“Harder!” She was beyond thought. There was only need. She felt as if something wild were trapped within her and it struggled to be free. Her hips bucked up into his hand, forcing his fingers deeper, for it was only his touch that would release this unbearable sensation inside her.