Perilous Risk (17 page)

Never.

And she had done a great many decadent, carnal things in her time.

But she had never been this painfully aroused, or this wet.

For any man.

Yet, he just sat there. Staring at her. Yes. Appreciating her. Yes. But nothing more.

She ached and ached and ached for his merest touch!

He didn’t care.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She tensed her arms, trying to bring them up to wipe her eyes. But the bindings held fast. Hot humiliation flooded her face.

She blinked hard and swallowed several times, frantically trying to stop the deluge of tears. But her vision grew blurry.

Holy mercy! Never before had she
cried
because a man wouldn’t fuck her.

No man had ever denied her like this.

Really denying her, not just playing a carnal game.

But this man had denied her always. Refused to share about his family and his private stories with her. Refused to make love with her at Eastwood Place.

Now he refused her again.

He said he wanted her but she had no idea what his game was. It certainly didn’t seem to be about desiring her.

The springs squeaked. The seat rocked. Rebecca caught her breath.

He was moving close.

Pouncing on her, to be more exact.

He grasped her shoulders. The heat of his breath blew over her face.

“Christ.” His tone was harsh, his grip on her shoulders tightened. His breath blew hotter.

Her heart was pounding. Her mouth was dry. She didn’t dare breathe. She couldn’t move a muscle.

Heated wetness—his tongue!—touched her cheek and traced the track of her tear.

She released her breath in a half-gasp, half-laugh.

He kissed and licked his way down her cheek, laying a trail of fiery, tingling sparks.

His breath tickled her ear. She panted, arching her neck, dying to feel his lips.

He fastened his mouth on the flesh in the hollow beneath her ear.

She gasped.

He sucked, hard.

She moaned.

He pulled back.

“God, Rebecca.”

She opened her eyes.

His look was so fierce, he was practically glaring down at her.

That certainly didn’t help her pounding heart. She took a gulp of air and held it. Waiting. Her gaze searching his face. What the devil was he thinking now?

He took a finger and traced the remaining tear streak on her other cheek. “Crying for my cock?”

It was as though she’d been stripped of all self-protection. All dignity. It didn’t matter. “Yes,” she said softly.

A pained expression crinkled his gorgeous face. He touched her shoulders. “Here.” He moved off of her. “On your knees.”

She went weak all over.

God.

He had relented. God.
He had relented.

He helped her off the squabs. With her hands tied and her arms over her head, it was awkward. But soon she found herself on her knees on the carriage floor. The position made her feel girlish, deliciously reckless, wanton.

How many years since she had sucked a man to spending in a moving carriage?

Some time previous to Badajoz… Oh, God, no, don’t think about that!

She swallowed, hard, pushing the shadows back down into their crypt.

It didn’t matter. The shadows ran away as though they had never existed, for there had never been a man or a moment such as this.

Stephen was undoing his fall, jerking at the buttons and issuing several soft curses when his fingers slipped.

She bit her lip, a pins-and-needles type of tingling hummed in her hands and feet as she watched him.

Waiting for him to reveal his cock.

His fall was open. He was on the last two of his inner buttons. She began to shake, so hard she had to tighten the muscles of her legs to remain steady.

He pulled himself out.

Her gaze took him in all at once. The head, swollen and glistening with the seed that already leaked from it. Corded veins that she fancied she could see throbbing and pulsing. His shaft was impressive. Massive.

Her channel clenched, hard. The desire to touch him made her strain against her bounds and she had to ball her fists to keep from trying.

He was beautiful. Simply magnificent.

She was drooling. She couldn’t help it.

He put a finger to the edge of her mouth and drew the wetness across her lower lip.

“You’ll stop when I say.” His tone was resolute.

She nodded, afraid to do or say anything that might cause him to grow cold again. If he denied her now, she would simply die.

He held his erection up. Making himself look even larger.

He put his hand under her chin, gently, whilst urging her with a slight nod.

She leant forward until she placed her lips on the head. At the heated, velvety smoothness over steel sensation, she closed her eyes. He leaked, viscous, silky fluid that wetted her lips. She opened her mouth and licked him clean, lingering over the salty taste.

Heavens, it had been forever since she had tasted a man like this.

She should have teased him but she could hold off no longer. She opened her mouth wide and slid down on his thick length. She moved slowly, very slowly, savouring every throb, every ridge and vein on his shaft as it slid on her tongue.

She was swallowing him, deeper and deeper.

“Christ.” He spoke softly. There was reverence in his tone. He caressed her hair, his touch gentle, barely there.

A smile stretched her lips, making things a bit harder for her. She knew that reaction well from men. They thought because she was so petite, because she had such a petite mouth, that she wouldn’t be able to swallow a man’s entire cock. Especially if he were large.

Or
very
large.

She made an effort to relax her throat and she took the last inches of him inside. Then she moved back and forth, applying a slight suction, waiting to see how much of that he really liked. Men were different in that. At his low groan, she tried a little more.

He fisted his hands in her hair.

She let his length come almost all the way out then worked the ridge under where the head met the shaft with her tongue and was rewarded when a copious amount of fluid came gushing out. She laughed in her throat as she quickly swallowed him whole on one swift slide.

She redoubled her efforts, moving herself with all the skill and sensuality she possessed.

He arched his hips and tightened his grip on her hair, pressing deeper now.

She gloried in his use.

Tears of relief and release were streaming down her cheeks. She had forgotten how much she loved this. How much she loved serving a man’s pleasure.

She had thought herself too old for this—or at least maybe too old to do it for any man worth servicing.

But Stephen was gorgeous, and wonderfully virile, in his prime.

Wasn’t she the damned luckiest woman in the world tonight?

Stephen opened his eyes a slight ways. Rebecca was watching his face, her eyes glittering in the lamplight, their pupils huge with desire.

Her timing, her pace, the nuances and degrees of her suction and pressure—God, she was skilled.

But it was her tears, the gleaming streaks on her lovely face, that threatened to become his undoing. He had never seen a woman be so emotional, so open during an act like this.

He groaned and angled her head this way and that. She moaned, deep in her throat, the vibrations carrying to him, threatening to make him come. He tightened his grip on her hair and pulled himself out. “Enough.”

She rocked back on her heels but kept her eyes down and she licked her lips. “Was it—”

“It was perfect.”

Her chest rose and fell with a deep sigh. “Maybe I am out of practice?”

Her voice was small, unsure, girlish.

He cupped her jaw, gently. “You known damned well you were perfection.”

“But you don’t wa—”

“No,” he said firmly, the quickness and sharpness of his tone more to stop himself from thrusting his hips forwards again and sliding back into her small, hot, wet mouth.

Her shoulders sagged a little and she lost some of that rosy-cheeked radiance.

She didn’t like stopping. He loved that about her.

He bent and kissed her.

She was so sweet, so gentle, just as he had remembered her to be. He caressed her tongue with his own. Her mouth tasted as sweet as strawberries.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about earlier, at the inn, about his fingers exploring the hot slickness of her quim.

It no longer mattered that he didn’t want the first time with Rebecca to be in a travelling carriage.

God, he wanted—he
had
to be inside her. Now.

He was aware that beneath his lust, he was rather angry.

Some at her, yes, for being so irresistible, for having such power over him. But mostly his anger was directed at himself. The feeling of anger and lust—and maybe some fear too, because he had never lost his control like this before with any lover—swirled around and around, making him feel all out to sea, lost. He was drowning, yes, that was it, drowning in the pure self-indulgence of emotion. But he was powerless to save himself.

The only way back was through the current.

He closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. Then he opened his eyes and worked quickly to untie her wrists. He massaged her wrists a moment then caressed his hands up and down her arms. “You feel all right?”

She nodded, her beautiful blue eyes full of questions.

“Go recline on the other seat.”

He heard the resignation, the defeat in his voice. Damn, he hadn’t intended that to show. What would she think? How could she possibly understand what this moment of giving in to his urges, his passion, meant?

It was like a death of sorts. He might never be the same. God, this could destroy everything, all the self-discipline he’d worked so hard to instil in himself.

It could destroy all that he was.

And yet, he still couldn’t stop himself.

In the next moment, she lay there, all kiss-bruised lips and erect nipples. The rich green leather a perfect foil for her gold-brown hair.

She gazed up at him, uncertain, then lowered her eyes.

Bracing a hand to steady himself, he moved over her. “My beautiful girl.”

He tried to make his tone far lighter than the one he’d used with her a moment ago.

She flashed a glance up at him, her eyes glittering now with eagerness. In that moment, she reminded him of the Rebecca of bygone days, with her indomitable spirit.

At the thought, desire surged through him. The pressure was unbearable. “Come, sweeting.” He caressed her thigh. “Spread yourself for me.”

Then she parted those shapely, porcelain-hued legs, spreading wide her light brown mons. She pulled her knees up and parted her legs wider to reveal her glisteningly wet, deep pink inner lips.

He held his breath. The beauty of her—Christ, he had dreamt of this moment for so long.

“Raise your arms, place them behind your head and leave them there,” he ordered.

She moved her arms, slowly, achingly slowly, making her diminutive breasts draw up and her hardened nipples jutted invitingly. He stared at her, admiring her, devouring her until he just couldn’t help himself. He bent and suckled her nipples. Licking them, savouring their firmness. Then he leant back and touched her erect nub, rubbing gently until her hips arched and she bit her lip.

“Don’t come.”

“Oh God…” A shudder wracked her frame.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Have to…have to…”

“No.” He manoeuvred his tall frame and somehow knelt down in the cramped space. He hadn’t considered the need to kneel in the carriage when he had purchased it. Next time he would remember to get a larger one. “If you come, I’ll punish you.”

Rebecca watched as Stephen lowered his head. The lamplight played on the blue highlights in his hair, the yellowish glow made his white shirtsleeves appear more like ivory. The smell of the leather seats, of his woodsy-spice cologne, mingled with the unmistakable scent of her own arousal.

He put his hands into the apex of her thighs and pressed them further apart. Then he put his head between her legs.

The stubble on his cheeks bristled against her thighs as he moved closer. He thrust his tongue through her lips, into her core.

Tingling fire flashed up through her cunt, through her belly and then her whole body. She cried out and her hips bucked. Warm wetness slid over her like soft, sick velvet.

He tongued her nub, tracing it with circles. Gradually, increasing the speed. He entered her with two fingers, crooking them and pressing up against the forward wall of her channel.