Taming the Wicked Wulfe (The Rogue Agents) (31 page)

“A woman like you should be savored every night by a man that adores you.”

“He has his mistress and no need of me.”

“Children?”

“One.
 
Dead and buried.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”
 
There, she thought.
 
Even though he did not know it was his wife behind the mask, she had told him about the babe.
 
Feeling relief, she licked her dry lips before proceeding.
 
“I should not be here,” she slipped past him.
 
Now that she was here, doing what the girls had coaxed her into doing, she felt foolish and silly.
 
She also felt a bit angry.
 
This was her husband standing in front of her, willing to have intercourse with a woman he believed to not be his wife.
 
The thought sickened her.

“Then why did you come?”

Rebekah looked down at the firm hand that gripped her upper arm and kept her from leaving.
 
“To see if a man could find me attractive.
 
To see if I could entice a man.
 
To see if I am frigid, as I suspect I am.”
 
What is it about this situation that has me being so honest?
she thought.
 

“Does your husband not touch you, kiss you, hold you?” Thorn whispered.

“He tries.”

“And?”

“I always stop him before things can go too far.”

“Why is that?”

“I would rather not say.”

“Perhaps it will help me to understand you better.”

“I do not want to be understood.”

“Oh, but deep down I think you must,” he tipped her chin back.
 
“And something specific has brought you here, to me, and I will find out what it is.”

“No,” she struggled out of his hold.
 

“Stay,” it almost sounded like a plea.

“Why?”

“My marriage is a sham.
 
I am attracted to my wife, but she wants nothing to do with me.
 
I have been forced to be a father to children that are not mine, but I love dearly.
 
My life is in shambles, and you seem like a kindred soul.”

“Are you this open with every woman you wish to bed?”

“No,” he answered honestly.

“I have some requests.”
 

“What is that?”

“The mask stays on.”

“I am amenable to that.”

“Good.”

“You never seek me out.”

“I believe it is you who sought me out,” he observed.
 
“Agreed,” when he saw the look she gave him.

“Your other request?”

“No children.”

“Of course.”

“I have sponges in my reticule.”

“Prepared for a seduction?” Thorn asked, all of sudden feeling hunted.

“Can we not discuss this?
 
I haven’t very much experience at this.”

“But you are married.”

“And as I said, my husband has his mistress, and I stop him before anything intimate can occur.”

“I see.”

“I doubt it, but there it is.”

“Don’t worry, love, you’ve come to the right person,” and he swooped in, attacking her mouth with his.
 
Her gasp of shock allowed him access, deepening the kiss.
 
He felt her slowly relax against him.
 
“I am finding I rather enjoy the mystery that surrounds you,” he said after he pulled away from her.

“I’m glad,” she managed to get out as he began using his teeth to tug on her ear lobes.
 

“We need brandy or vinegar,” she whispered as he teased his tongue down her neck, “for…for the sponges.”
 
She grew irritated with herself for not being able to complete a sentence without stuttering her way through.

“Brandy tastes infinitely better than vinegar,” he whispered against her lips.
 

Her eyes widened as she gasped at his meaning. “I…well…oh,” she finally said.

“Your husband is a clod.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” she said before pulling him down for another drugging kiss, her body thrumming with excitement.
 
The mask allowed her to be another woman entirely and she found she enjoyed the freedom it gave her.
 
She pushed back thoughts that tried to encroach, attempting to ruin the feelings running through her.
 
Rebekah pulled away.
 
“I’ll pour us both a drink.”

“Forget it,” he tried to pull her towards the bed, but her glove covered hand slipped through his.

“No.
 
Get comfortable,” she backed away and crossed the room.
 
She poured brandy in three glasses.
 
She took a fortifying drink from one before replacing it on the small table.
 
Looking over her shoulder, she watched as he approached the bed and began removing his coat, waistcoat, cravat, and shirt.
 
His skin glowed in the dimly lit room and looked warm and welcoming to the touch.
 
Rebekah turned and brought out the vial and added a couple of more drops of the sedative the girls had given her.
 
She then dropped the vial into a nearby waste bin.
 

She turned around and both glasses almost slipped from her gloved hands.
 
The coverlet was thrown back and Thorn reclined on the bed, the sheet draped across his most private parts.
 
Rebekah felt she should be blushing or gasping for air, but all she could do was stand there and admire this man that was her husband.
 
This man that she could have been sharing a bed with for over a month, but thanks to her past, had to resort to hiding behind a mask before she could even approach him.
 
I can’t do this!

“Here.”
 
She shoved one of the glasses in his and set the other one down before turning towards the door.
 

“Stop right there,” he stood and grabbed her hand before she could reach the door, the glass she gave him still in his other hand.

“Could you do something about that?” She waved in the general direction of his member and averted her gaze.

“Bloody hell,” she heard him mutter.
 
She peeked behind her and saw him throw back the brandy before ripping the top sheet from the bed and one-handedly wrapped it around his waist.
 
“There.
 
Now, come over and sit.”
 
He pulled her to the edge of the mattress.
 
It dipped when he sat next to her.
 
“You really don’t want to do this do you?”

“I thought I did,” she whispered and looked up at him.

“May I ask you, why me?”

“Your reputation proceeds you,” she shrugged.
 

“I don’t know whether to be honored or to take offense.”

“I don’t know either.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“Not as much as you think.”

“You intrigue me.
 
I want to kiss you.”

“I think I want you to kiss me.”
 
Rebekah held very still while he moved in and claimed her lips.
 
This time the kiss was soft and gentle, not like the ravenous kiss earlier.
 
She felt wanted.
 
She felt like a lady and a woman all at the same time if that were possible.
 
His arms moved slowly, wrapping around her and pulling her against his chest.
 
She cursed the gloves for not allowing her to feel the warmth of his skin and the strength of his muscles beneath her bare palms.
 
Rebekah wrapped her arms around him so they were chest to chest with only the thin fabric of her gifted dress between them.

Thorn pulled away and dropped kisses from the corner of her mouth to her right earlobe.
 
He took it gently between his teeth, nibbling and suckling until he won a moan from the woman in his arms.
 
He moved back to her mouth and began methodically working the pins from her hair until it hung down her back.
 
It looked to be a rich, dark brown in the soft light, with streaks of cinnamon and honey shot through it, and felt like silk in his fingers.
 
Wulfe pulled away fascinated, watching the locks sinuously glide through his fingers.
 
“Everything about you excites me,” he slurred.
 
He looked at her and saw two of her floating in and out of one another.
 
He shook his head.

“What’s wrong?” Rebekah asked.

“Nothing,” he said.
 
“There’s just two of you now, both of you luscious.
 
Damn, but I wish…”

“What?”

“Not important,” he slurred and tried to kiss her once more, but he could not make her stay still.
 
Instead he watched her stand and move in front of him to stand in between his legs.
 
He felt hands on either side of his face gently tipping his head back as his dream lover covered his mouth with her own.
 
Thorn placed his hands on her waist enjoying the feel of her.
 
When her tongue touched his without coaxing he became lightheaded with the feeling.
 
He skated his hands slowly up her sides to heft the weight of her breasts in them.
 
He tugged the already low neckline of her dress lower until they popped free.
 

Rebekah started to cover herself when he grabbed her hands and placed them on his shoulders.
 

“Stay still,” he slurred huskily.

It was becoming more difficult to understand what he was saying.
 
Perhaps she had given him too much of the laudanum after all.
 
They had said only a few drops, but he had seemed so unaffected earlier.
 
She squeaked when she felt his tongue flick one of her nipples.
 
“What are you doing?”

“Shh.”

“Babes…” she started to say, remembering the time in the study when she he had tried something similar, but she had pushed him away.

“Men are grown babes,” he muttered before laving her breast and then taking it fully into his mouth, suckling strongly and deeply.
 

The oddest thing happened to Rebekah in that moment, a liquid heat pooled low between her thighs.
 
“Oh, my,” she whispered.
 
Her hands moved from his shoulders to the back of his head holding her to him as if she feared he would pull away.
 
She barely registered him insinuating one bare leg between hers or the tug of her skirt rising up her legs.
 
“Stop,” she muttered half-heartedly.

“You don’t mean that,” he said, his words barely understandable.
 
He turned his attention to her other breast, showing it the same treatment.
 
“Widen your legs just a bit, love,” he coaxed.

Whether she understood what he said or not, her body knew what it wanted.
 
She did as he asked and felt his fingers lightly trailing up her inner thigh.
 
Then he did something reminiscent of that long ago night—he touched her there in a place where it almost embarrassed her to think of.
 
Expecting it to be like last time, she stiffened in preparation of a quick and painful entry.
 
She felt both of his legs between hers.

“Sit.”

When she stood there looking dumbfounded, he gently pushed her down so that she straddled his spread legs.
 
She felt open and embarrassed and… “What are you doing?” she squeaked.

“Feel,” he said before returning her mouth.

And she did, everything, everywhere.
 
His mouth was eating hers as if he were ravenous and she were the only sustenance he could survive on.
 
One hand plied her breasts until they ached while the other focused on a part of her body she never knew could respond as it was.
 
“What…I…oh…” she moaned, unable to form coherent sentences, and willingly let his mouth take control of hers again.
 
Her eyes flew open and she looked directly into his as he sunk a finger deep within her core.

Hazel eyes with sparks of blue looked back at him through the mask.
 
“Bekah?” he asked, confusion lacing his already addled senses.

“Thorn, don’t stop,” she begged, feeling so close to what she was unsure, but something that promised skyrockets and cannons, surely.
 
She guided his mouth to her breast.
 
He pinched and tweaked that nubbin of nerves until she felt tremors deep within her body.
 
Using his thumb he applied pressure before again dipping two fingers deep within her hot, wet channel.
 
The explosion hit her hard.
 
“Thorn,” she moaned loud and low, throwing her head back, and riding her husband’s hand to completion.