The Virgin's Auction (7 page)

The tension that had held her so tight and trembling was meltin
g, changing into something else; an intense, quivering, bone-melting something else; such a strong sensation. Like a tide, sweeping her away. She tried to examine the feeling, to conquer it with her will, control it.

But there was too much going on, in her mind, in her body, and outside her body.
She couldn’t focus; could not hold it all together.

Into his mouth she sighed again, and their breaths mingled. His large hand came up to cup her head.

She was weightless. At sea. All caught up and adrift in the unknown. Her body was so warm, hot almost. No,
his
body was hot. It felt burning against her side.

She pressed a little harder ag
ainst his lips, wanting more of . . . something. He moved his own lips across hers, and back again; a small caress. Then he delicately slid his tongue across her lip.

The smallest
flick, and it was gone, his lips pressing hers more firmly. Again, a second flick, on her damp inner flesh.

She hummed a little, and discovered her fingers were wrapped in his shirt front
; But before she had time to ponder that further, he opened his mouth and took her lower lip between his, sucking gently.

“
Ohhh,” she uttered almost silently.

His fingers were in her hair, massaging her scalp. She took a deep breath and breathed in the scent of
him again, learning it. There was pipe smoke from the tavern, and sandalwood, and under that a clean, fresh smell that was very masculine. She breathed it in again, and realised she could breathe so deeply because her dress had been loosened.

Before she could react to the thought he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue slickly over hers, a coaxing visitor.

Her own lifted shyly, hesitantly to meet it, and she forgot completely about the dress. There was so much sensation; so strange and so pleasurable. She wanted to melt into him. Her clothes were harsh and chafing against her skin. Ripples of heat went up and down her spine.

Then there was a jolt, a spear of pleasure that arced from her chest to deep in her abdomen. She threw back her head and gasped, registering that his hand was on her breast, his fingers squeezing her nipple.

“Exquisitely sensitive,” he murmured in satisfaction, moving his mouth down her neck, dropping his head down to press his lips against the creamy flesh he had revealed. One hand stayed behind, massaging the back of her neck just under her skull. It left her weak, surrendered in his grasp.

He flicked her nipple with his tongue tip and then sucked on it gently. She thought she might pass out from the wash of pleasure. Her dress was undone now, sliding from her shoulders, his fingers on the tabs of her petticoats. The petticoats loosened, eased away.

He switched his attention from one tender nipple to the other and she lay drowning in delight, head tilted far back, eyes closed and body pressed against him. One ribbon at a time he untied her small clothes until at last she was naked to the waist.

With one arm wrapped firmly round her torso, the other hand supporting her head, he stood, lifting her free of her clothing. He walked over to the bed, his mouth still hungrily lavishing her breast. She felt the weightless whirl of her movement in the greater whirl within her head.

He laid her down upon the pillows. She sank deep into their softness as he came down against her, his hard body unyielding behind the fine cloth of his clothes. Her hands were resting on his shoulders, palms shaping the great curves of muscle they found there, hot through thin cambric.

She kept her eyes tightly closed as she arched under his drifting hands.

This was good. She had thought cold acceptance would be right, but this was better. This was making it impossible to dwell on . . . on all the things . . . what things?

She burrowed into the sensations, so extraordinarily intense, such a surprise. She didn’t want to think.

In moments she was utterly lost, her body undulating with his touch. Her hands wrapped themselves deeply in his clothes and tugged, pulling him close to her. He responded as if he knew exactly what she wanted, bringing his weight to rest a little on her.

Instinctively her legs parted and he settled between them. It
was so right to have him there; to have the firm man-weight of him there where she had begun to burn. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she kissed him with untutored passion. He returned the kiss, stroking a hand firmly up and down her flank, then scooping it under her buttocks to tilt her hips to a slightly different angle.

“
Ohhhh,” she cried out in wonder as the friction suddenly heightened. He began to move against her, massaging her with his whole body. She clutched at him. This was . . . this was . . . Ah! She had not known.

He was unfastening his own clothing now. Much less complex than her clothes, it did not take him long. Piece after piece it was flung aside to lie somewhere on the floor, completely forgotten. She only registered the change it as a new revelation of his skin.

His bare skin against hers was the most glorious sensation. For long, long minutes they lay together, connected from head to toe on the velvet covers of the wide bed. Their hungry hands roved over each other. Melissa discovered the firm texture of a man, so different from her own softness. Sleek skin laid out over hard muscles, burningly hot.

His smooth hair was satin under her fingers. She pressed him closer, then closer still. Their mouths never parted.

Then he withdrew from her gently, an awful lack. Eyes closed she quested for him, found him inches away, pursued him to press up against him, wanting the return of that drugging mouth, those hands. He obeyed her need, hard palms squeezing and relishing her soft flesh, her confusion swept away in an instant, swamped by a bliss that forestalled thought.

The next time he drew away she followed immediately, instinctively, her eyes still closed tight as if looking at him might break the spell of her own desire. She pressed the puckered tips of her breasts to his chest, crying out at the intensity of the fire that radiated out from those rosy points through her whole body, most particularly that empty place between her legs. A fire intensified by the momentary lack.

Perhaps that was why he broke the contact: to make reconnection more stimulating.

She would not have it. He did not have the right to take away what was hers. She clung to him, wrapped her legs tight about his torso, encouraging his weight to lie just there upon that perfect spot, to soothe the emptiness. Pushing him into place and then rubbing against him.

When he rolled them to their sides, relieving the pressure, she moaned in disappointment at the loss. But an instant later his fingers were there, deftly weaving patterns where she was so very, very sensitive.

She cried out once, then again as her mind filled with a mass of swirling colours and flashing light, thoughts scattered hopelessly. A shaking overtook
her, and a yearning as if she was reaching for something. She sobbed into the curve of his shoulder and then bit him heedlessly. He growled at her, a feral purring. Wave after wave of pleasure washed against her until finally she was swept aside by it, quivering and lost.

Chapter Five

He held her close, soothed her with gentle whispers of reassurance as she shook powerfully against him and then clung limp and unresisting. Tenderly he smoothed the soft, fine little curls back from her forehead, placing delicate kisses there against her hairline.

Again that astonishing protectiveness surged in him, the desire to wrap her up and keep her safe from all harm, the most delicate, deliciously succulent treasure.

When her arms fell back against the covers and she lay as if drifting to sleep, he eased himself away and then moved to lay with his head between her thighs, inhaling the feminine aroma of her, a sweet musk with undertones of honey that threatened to take all control from him. He wanted to protect her, yes. But also to possess her utterly, every inch of
her perfectly formed, the unwrapping of her one delight after another.

He lowered his head and enclosed her pink folds in the warmth of his mouth, breathing on them to awaken them. She sighed and moved her head on the pillow. With a blunt index finger that looked shockingly coarse against their petal freshness he stroked them gently, their moisture lush and slick. He purred a little in satisfaction at that puffy flower, engorged and wet for him, slipping his single finger inside her.

She was very tight.

She moaned, and he bit back his own moan as her internal muscles gripped him in welcome. His mouth still on her, he stroked and sucked her with tongue and lips. With his index finger he found the small, raised area of internal flesh he was seeking, and began to exert a firm, slow-moving pressure.

At that her eyes flew open, she moaned again loudly and squeezed his head between her thighs. He did not pause in his ministrations, reaching instead with his free hand to roll one of her nipples between his fingertips. She shook and cried out loudly, clenched fists gathering great handfuls of the bedclothes as she tried to squirm away from that overwhelming pleasure.

He simply followed her up the bed, mouth hungry and unrelenting.

Then she collapsed, letting out a wail of mingled triumph and despair as she climaxed.

He felt the warm gush as more liquid seeped over his fingers.

He smiled with satisfaction, loving the feelings, the sounds, the unfolding of womanhood. He had never had a virgin before, never thought the idea appealing.

She was a revelation.

Hesitant at first, so he thought she might say him nay and end their fun; which would be a shame. The princely sum he had paid would be a loss if it came with no profit of pleasure; though he would regret far more the loss of his prize: this fierce, nervous, courageous beauty.

Then she surprised and delighted him with her eager enthusiasm, a hundred times more desirable when her quiet acceptance became passionate response, setting him ablaze so he struggled to restrain himself, wanting to devour her all at once in a gulp when she was a banquet to be savoured.

Had he ever felt greater lust than this? He could not think of a time. He was dazed by it, holding himself in check only by force of habit honed by years of considering the arts of love a sport to be mastered like any other.

His instinct would have him spread her out on the bed and thrust his body into hers before she had the wit to escape. The urge came over him in waves, so he had to deliberately still himself,
draw back, go more slowly.

When she started to pursue him in his withdrawals, seeking out his touch, his body for her pleasure, it challenged his control more than he thought any man could bear and stay sane. She did not know what she asked of him, so unknowing, drowning in her own newborn responses,
defenceless and vulnerable before him. It racked him to his very soul.

An innocent succubus, infinitely tempting.

He wanted to keep
her this fresh, this pure forever.

He wanted to plunder her, to take everything of her for himself.

He was certainly crazed by lust, imagining all the things he would do to her, that they would do together. He was painfully, unbearably hard, had been so for so long now the torment of it seemed eternal.

One night was not enough. Not nearly enough.

He needed at least a month; maybe more.

He would make her his mistress, with a little house of her own somewhere nearby. A house he would occupy every night. He would pleasure her in every room, until she was so content there she would never move again.

Yes.

Beautiful creature.

He would cherish
her, tutor her kindly in her chosen trade. A tuition they would both enjoy.

She was limp, boneless as he raised himself over her, face above hers and weight held on one elbow.

“I am afraid this is going to hurt,” he said gravely.

Her eyes flew open at that, as he simultaneously began to push himself slowly into her.

“No, wait!” she cried out in panic, feeling a great burning pressure between her legs.

He stopped, the pressure undiminished.

“You choose a most inconvenient time,” he said, his voice husky and strange. “For what do we wait, little flower? You sold, I bought, and this is mine.”

She gazed up at him helplessly. He looked implacable, this stranger demanding his due: entrance to her body. She could not speak. There were no words.

After a moment he took one of her hands in his, laid her palm on his wide chest and said: “Feel this. Feel that pounding. My heart is beating out of my chest to be nearer to you. Don’t be scared.”

He shifted his weight so he could take her other hand, and he pulled it down between their bodies, putting it onto . . . onto something hard, hot, smooth and rigid; a bar that spanned the distance between them.