Succumb to Me (15 page)

She whimpered when he removed his finger from
her depths and gripped her thighs, spreading her legs far apart to
accommodate his breadth. Kneading her, he bent and ran his tongue
up her cleft, tasting her as no man ever had ... or ever would.

Winter jumped in shock, but Logan held her in
place as he parted her folds with his tongue. He slid his hands
around to cup her buttocks, tilting her up towards his mouth as she
slid down in her chair and moved her thighs to hook around the arms
of her chair. She wanted his hand back on her ... inside her ...
but then he latched on to her clit, and she jerked as if scorched,
biting her lip to keep from screaming with pleasure.

He suckled her, rubbing his tongue in rough
circles around the swollen nub. He knead one rounded cheek as he
brought his other hand around, plunging his fingers deep inside her
again ... hands slipping in her juices as he lapped up every
precious drop of her desire.

“You do too much,” she said on a gasp,
jerking as he suckled her flesh with a voracious hunger that made
thought elope with willpower from her mind.

“I love how wet your sweet cunt gets for me,
Winter,” he said, his breath hot against her sex as he fingered her
tight core.

Hearing the dirty word only seemed to
increase her desire. A hard spasm of pleasure wracked her insides,
making her womb contract violently.

“Do you like feeling my tongue on your
clit?”

She nodded, weakness invading her limbs.
“Yes,” she said, whimpering.

“Would you like to feel my tongue inside your
tight little hole?”

Winter bit her lip, nodding.

“That’s not good enough. I want you to say
it. Beg me to fuck you with my mouth,” Logan said, his dark eyes
following her every movement.

“Say it,” he commanded. “Or I leave you here
unfulfilled.”

Winter closed her eyes against his
knowing look, feeling weak and foolish, but addicted to pleasure.
She had to know what she was reaching for.
Needed
to know.

“I want you to put your tongue inside me,”
she whispered. A delicious shiver slithered up her backbone with
the naughty words escaping her mouth.

“Mmmm. I like hearing that pretty mouth talk
dirty,” he murmured. And then spoke no more.

He lapped her slit, replacing his fingers
with his tongue. The rough slide of his tongue into her tight
passage made her buttocks rise off the cushion of her seat. If she
thought she’d liked him drinking her juices before, she especially
did now.

His tongue forged a path inside her, slipping
through her resistance, teasing the edges of her hole in a way she
hadn’t thought possible.

Logan rubbed her clit with his thumb,
roughing the swollen nub as he mimicked the sex act with his
mouth.

He thrust into her, harder, faster ...
faster. Small whimpers tore from her throat. She tried to remember
where she was, to contain the passion trying to tear out of her
with every move. Winter bucked against his mouth, running her hands
frantically through his hair, pulling him closer and closer.

She was building to something. Tension filled
every pore, stretched her to the limits of understanding. She felt
her toes curl in her shoes. Her body quaked with feeling, hummed
with fiery demand. Her legs flexed under his sure touch.

He moved to suck her clitoris, pushing two
thick fingers inside her. It burned. It stretched. They felt so
right and good that she relished the pain….and wanted more of
it.

His mouth drew a sigh out of her with each
rough stroke of his tongue, until it scorched her mind away and
there was only the feel of his fingers ramming into her again and
again.

He pushed her higher and harder, until she
was aware only of the desperate, agonized whimper that seemed too
loud to her own ears. She bit the edge of her palm, trying to hold
back the sound, to keep them from being discovered by one and all.
She prayed the play would keep the audience distracted from the
activities of their box.

Her body tightened as ripples of bliss began
from her clit and exploded through her body with such power and
force that she straightened in the chair against Logan’s mouth. She
wrapped her thighs around his head, stiffening as her senses burst
in a wave radiating out from her core, vibrating through her every
nerve, debilitating every fiber of her being.

The first orgasm of her life ripped through
her, cresting a wave of ecstasy so exquisite, forceful convulsions
made her see stars behind her eyelids. She thought she was going to
die from the sensations erupting inside her.

Winter collapsed back with a long moan,
utterly spent, her swollen lips quivering with the tremors of her
orgasm.

She felt movement as Logan straightened and
propped on her parted thighs. Winter opened her eyes and looked
down at him in wonder, too weak to move.

He smiled roguishly and said, “I promised you
would like it. I have more to show you. Tonight, when you are
readying for bed, leave a window open for me.”

Winter nodded shakily, trembling inside and
out at the sensual promise in his voice.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Logan watched Winter as she dozed in the
carriage, the silky curve of her cheek illuminated by a sliver of
moonlight leaking through the curtains. With painful clarity, he
remembered another time when she’d been the one to watch over him,
protect him.

He would give anything to see that kindness
in her once more, that empathy for a complete stranger. In all his
years, he’d never encountered another person willing to help
someone in pain and need. He ached to see her as she had been then,
as kind as she was beautiful, to know that life had not damaged her
irrevocably, replacing a warm heart with one of ice.

* * * *

1815

Six years earlier

“My god!” The girl’s startled gasp roused
Logan from unconsciousness. He shifted on the cobblestones and
groaned. Every bone in his body felt bruised near to breaking. He
knew he couldn’t be dead. Dead people didn’t feel this much
pain.

He had no idea how long he’d been lying
there, listening to people ride past on the street not ten feet
from him before he’d fallen into darkness. No one had bothered
stopping to help. He knew they’d seen him—they’d just chosen to
ignore him, considering him no more important than another insect
living on the street.

“You’re alive,” the girl said breathlessly,
kneeling down beside him on the dirty street, uncaring of the filth
strewing the cobblestones. A gentle hand touched his shoulder. The
faint smell of honeysuckle teased his battered senses. He tried to
open his eyes but they were sealed shut with what he assumed was
his blood. He rolled painfully onto his back, felt the warmth of
the sun on his face instead of the dark chill of the grave.

“Who did this to you?” she asked quietly.

“I’m ... stranger ... here,” he managed to
gasp out beyond the pain ripping through his throat. The O’Reilley
brothers had done this to him. They’d left him for dead. Five or
six of them at least had ganged on him in the alley, surrounding
him, beating him with wooden clubs until he could no longer stand
and fight them off. He’d encroached on their territory for too
long—no one wanted English scum in America, especially since they
were at war. He would kill them if he recovered.

He felt her shake, knew she had nodded in
understanding, sympathy tendering her movements even more.

He felt the touch of silky fabric glide
gently across him, over his eyes and mouth, patiently wiping the
blood away from his swollen face. He managed to open his eyes as
she worked over him, saw the face of an angel kneeling beside him,
pale ringlets limned with golden light from the setting sun. He
slowly sat up, felt his head swim under the pressure. He clasped a
hand over his eyes, taking a moment to recover.

“Can you stand? We need to get you help.”

He shook his head, felt the world spin before
righting itself once more. “No. My home. Not far from here,” he
said, his voice a strained whisper, barely audible. He’d been
struck in the throat and all but lost his voice. She nodded,
helping him to his feet and standing under his arm for support.

With painstaking progress, he led her down
the alley behind the well-kept facade facing the street. The river
beyond glimmered with the last light of day. She took him deep into
the seedier side of town, with no thought for her own safety, and
he immediately admired her bravery ... and her kindness.

They reached his small apartment and he
collapsed into his bed. She tucked him under the covers and fetched
him a cup of water. He drank it greedily before sinking back into
the pillows. He shivered, feeling the grip of a fever beginning to
take hold.

“I wish you would allow me to call a doctor,”
she said, feeling his forehead with her hand. “You’re too ill to be
left here alone. I shall stay with you until you are better.”

He shook his head. She needed to be gone
before it was full dark. He would kill himself if something
happened to her. A lone girl in this neighborhood after dark ...
she would be prey too tempting to resist. “I have ... someone who
can ... come,” he lied.

She nodded, trusting him. How long had it
been since he’d encountered trust? He couldn’t remember the last
time.

She rose from his side, moving away. He felt
a sudden desperation to know who she was, to have the name of the
angel who had saved him. “Your name?” he asked hoarsely, his voice
faint, swallowing the pain.

“Winter Stevens,” she had said softly and
walked out of his life.

* * * *

The memory had been a balm to him through
those dark days when he’d struggled through the fever that burned
inside. He’d nursed the image of her sweet face in his mind when
he’d been struggling to succeed, when it looked like he would never
succeed on his own merits.

The carriage swayed as they rode to her home.
She sighed softly. He leaned over her, smelling the honeysuckle in
her hair, felt the rush of longing well inside him again. He’d
dreamed of holding her so long, he could dream of nothing else. Now
he was inches from possessing his angel.

Logan touched her, cupping her cheek, hoping
against hope that he had been wrong about her, that she had not
become as tainted as he’d believed.

There had to be some hope that the Winter
he’d known was still there, buried beneath the harsh exterior life
had built around her. For if he could come back from the brink,
couldn’t she?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Winter did as Logan bade her. She left her
bedroom window unlocked as he’d requested, getting dressed for bed
as she nervously waited to see what he was about.

Sitting at her vanity, she was brushing her
hair when she heard the scrape of the window being opened.

Her heart immediately leapt into her throat.
She dropped the brush on the floor, ignoring the clatter as she
stood to face the intruder into her room.

He was wearing a black cloak to obscure his
face from her sight.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
Winter asked, rising from her chair and backing against the vanity
until it hit the back of her thighs.

The stranger advanced on her, grabbing her
arms and pulling her roughly against his large, hard body. “Don’t
make a sound. I won’t hurt you, but you must do exactly as I say,”
he whispered.

Winter froze and pretended to be frightened,
accelerating her breathing as if she was terrified. She knew it was
Logan, playing some bizarre game with her. Secretly, deep inside,
she thrilled at his illicit presence in her bedroom and the naughty
feelings he evoked within her.

He’d come prepared to take her captive, she
saw, when he withdrew a length of silken black cordage and wrapped
it around her wrists.

“Take off your nightrail. Now.”

With shaky hands, she unbuttoned her
nightgown and allowed it to fall to the floor, leaving her nude to
stand before her intruder.

“You should know better than to undress in
front of an open window, my lady,” he murmured, tying her wrists
together in front of her. “I’ve been watching you for some time
now. I know there is no one here who can help you. Unless you want
your mother to come and find you beneath me.”

He walked around her, touching her roughly
with his hands, exciting her with his words. The rough feel of his
clothing brushing against her sent shivers up and down her skin.
She felt herself growing moist in her nether region, enticed by his
erotic game.

“No. I don’t want my mother to find you in
here,” she whispered.

“Good. We shall play a little game, you and
I.”

The world went dark as he slipped a scarf
over her eyes and tied it behind her head. She made a little
gasp.

“Shhh. I won’t hurt you if you do exactly as
I say,” he whispered in his deep, husky voice.