The Regency Season: Forbidden Pleasures: The Rake to Rescue Her / The Rake to Reveal Her. Julia Justiss
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and embarrassment filled him. Looking around, he found Diana sitting silently in the chair, gazing into the fire, her cloak wrapped around her.
‘I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant for that to be an exclusive experience,’ he said. ‘I assure you, I can do much better.’
And he meant to. Of the many things that had attracted him to Diana during their courtship, one that had drawn him most strongly was her passion. She’d gloried in his kisses, giving herself to him with wild abandon, guiding his hands to her breasts, moulding her hands over his erection. He might not be able to love her again or truly forgive her, but they could at least have the honesty of pleasure between them.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said.
‘It does to me,’ he replied, and held out his hand.
This time, he vowed as she took it, he would undress her slowly, as he’d dreamed of doing so many times. Kiss and caress each bit of skin revealed. Use all the considerable skill he’d amassed over nearly a decade of pleasuring women to give her the same intense release she’d just given him.
‘I didn’t hire you a lady’s maid,’ he said, turning her so he could begin unlacing the ties at the back of her bodice. ‘I shall perform that function myself.’
She didn’t reply, which was just as well, for as the ties loosened, the bare nape of her neck so distracted him he’d not have comprehended her words anyway. Unable to resist, he bent to kiss her.
That intoxicating violet scent wrapped around him again as he tasted her skin. Desire returning in a rush, he slid his hands into her hair, winnowing out the pins with his fingers until the heavy mass fell to her shoulders and cascaded down her back. Wrapping his hands in the thick lengths, he pulled her closer, moving his lips from her neck to the shell of her ear.
Already fully erect again, he parted the hair and pulled it forward over her breasts, unveiling the pins and lacing that secured bodice and skirt. Making quick work of those, he peeled off the top and nudged her to step out of the skirt, then guided her to the bed.
Seating her on the edge, he tilted up her head and took her mouth, moving his lips slowly, gently over their silken surface as he dispensed with her stays. At the pressure of his tongue, she parted her lips, allowing him entry to the softness within.
While he licked and suckled, he moved his hands to cup her breasts, full and ripe under the thin linen of her chemise. His breathing unsteady now, he thrust a pillow behind her and urged her back against it, then slid the chemise up, baring her from ankle to waist.
Going to his knees, he slowly rolled down her stockings, kissing and licking the soft skin of her knees, calves, ankles, toes, then moving in a slow ascent back up to her thighs. Urging those apart, he kissed his way slowly higher, while his hands moulded and caressed her hips and derrière.
By now, he was more than ready to enter her and find consummation again. But wanting this time to give maximum pleasure to her, holding himself under tight control, he moved his mouth closer and closer to her centre as he slid a finger over and around the nether lips. Another bolt of lust struck him as he found her moist and ready.
Unable to wait any longer, he moved his mouth to her core, parting the curls to run his tongue along the plump little nub nested within. But though his own breathing was by now erratic, Diana did not, as he’d expected, grip his back or wrap her legs around his shoulders. She didn’t arch into him, her body picking up the ancient rhythm leading to fulfilment. Eyes tightly closed, she simply lay against the pillow, her face tense, her hands fisted.
Perhaps she’d been schooled that an uninhibited response was unladylike—he’d have to re-educate her about that. Or perhaps complete possession was necessary to trigger her reaction—he was certainly ready!
Murmuring, his hands gentle and caressing, he moved on to the bed and straddled her parted thighs, positioning himself over her. Kissing her, he lowered himself, slowly penetrating her.
He thought she flinched, and halted. But as he pressed carefully downward, her body greeted him in hot, slick warmth. Thrilled, he pushed deeper into the soft, yielding depths, until he’d sheathed himself completely.
Sweat broke out on his brow and his rigid arms trembled as he stilled deep within her, battling the urge to thrust and withdraw, thrust and withdraw in wild rhythm to reach the pinnacle that shimmered just out of reach.
But though her body was obviously primed to receive him, Diana did not moan, or tilt her hips to pull him deeper...or move at all; she lay, eyes still closed, passively beneath him.
Knowing that even remaining motionless, he’d not be able to stave off his own climax much longer, and wanting desperately to bring Diana with him on that journey to ecstasy and back, Alastair wondered what to try next.
Granted, his previous amours had all been experienced, or at least enthusiastic participants. Almost, he was ready to withdraw completely—except that despite her self-control, her body didn’t lie. The peaked nipples and liquid heat within told him that she wasn’t unreceptive. The tightly closed eyes, clenched fists and rigid posture told him she was exerting all her will to resist responding.
Well, he’d see about that. Slowly he began moving in her, rocking deep, caressing the little nub with every stroke, then bending to suckle the taut nipples.
But though he was soon riding the razor’s edge, trying to stave off climax, Diana remained stiffly unmoving. Desperate, he redoubled his efforts.
Only to have her place a hand on his sweaty chest. ‘Go ahead, finish now,’ she said, her eyes still closed. And rocked her hips to force him deeper.
He wasn’t sure he could have resisted much longer anyway. But as she finally moved beneath him, the dyke of his control broke and wave after wave of pleasure crested, washing over him with a force that robbed him of breath and consciousness.
Suddenly aware that his weight must be crushing her, he rolled to the side and up on the pillow.
‘May I wash now?’ she asked, not meeting his gaze.
Too passion-drugged for coherent thought, he simply nodded. And watched as she slid off the bed, walked to the bureau, and calmly plied the sponge and linen towelling, then turned to face him, still naked.
Despite the perplexing episode that had just transpired between them, she was still so lovely, still called so strongly to some uncontrollable something deep within him, that all he wanted was to pull her back into bed and love her again.
‘May I dress now? Or do you require...more tonight?’
That prosaic question dashed whatever remained of his sensual haze, unleashing a boiling cauldron of emotions. Disappointment. Puzzlement. Curiosity. Embarrassment.
Anger.
No previous experience had prepared him to deal with an outcome like this. But he’d not take her again tonight, much as he wanted to, not until he’d had time to figure out what had happened and what to do about it.
‘That will be all for now,’ he said curtly, the dismissal eroding what little remained of the euphoria. She nodded, seeming entirely untroubled by the cold, transactional nature of the interlude.
In silence he dressed her. ‘Have Marston summon you a chair,’ he said at last, when the final tape had been tied, the pins replaced and her hair, much too thick for his fumbling attempts to recreate a coiffure, had been thrust under her bonnet.
‘Will you require me tomorrow?’ she asked, still not meeting his eyes.
‘I’ll send you a note. You’ll make yourself available?’
‘As you wish. Goodnight, then, Alastair.’
With a nod, she exited the chamber.
Alastair listened until her footsteps faded down the stairs. Then, with an oath, he poured himself a glass of wine and downed it in one swallow.
What the hell had just happened?