Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

T he prince's lips were on hers, hot, demanding, knowing. He kissed like an angel and a devil all at once. This was the true meaning of sin, and now she understood why a woman would surrender her pride, her reputation, her virtue, even her future, just for one stolen moment with a rake. Just to be wrapped in his arms. Just to know his silken seduction. Because it was heady and powerful. It was dangerous and wonderful. It was forbidden and wrong and yet, somehow, it felt wickedly, deliciously right.

But she didn't dare fool herself into believing that she would be so moved by any other skilled seducer. That any other rake would make her feel this way, surpassing all her carefully constructed walls. No indeed, there was something about this man that called to her on the deepest, purest level of her being.

Nando.

She shouldn't think of him in such intimate terms. She shouldn't have called him by his given name. She shouldn't have kissed him. She shouldn't have come to his chamber.

Wrong, Eleanora told herself as she returned his kisses, this was so wrong. She was following in her mother's ill-fated footsteps. If anyone were to discover her here, she would be finished. And yet, she couldn't stop.

He kissed down her throat. "Eleanora."

Her back arched, her body beyond her control. It was as if her desire for him ruled all. She was his. Helplessly, hopelessly his.

Just for this stolen moment, she told herself as his sinful lips blazed a path over her collarbone. He kissed her as if he had all the time in the world, savoring every inch.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, kissing his way to the curve of her shoulder.

His teeth gently nipped the skin there, through the layers of her gown and chemise, and she felt a corresponding ache deep inside her. She knew she wasn't a beauty. But she felt like one beneath his sensual spell, his worshipful touch and skillful mouth.

He made her feel as beautiful as she'd ever felt.

"I want you desperately." He kissed back to the dip at the base of her neck, bringing one of his hands up to gently cup the swell of her breast.

She inhaled sharply at the contact. He rolled his thumb over her nipple through her stays, and she thought she might perish from the wonder of it.

"Nando." His name left her in a broken pant.

He was going so slowly. She needed more. Faster. Now.

"Yes, love?" He rubbed his face against her throat, the prickle of his golden stubble making her intimate flesh pulse.

"Please."

She wasn't even certain what she was begging him for. Release, perhaps. She was aching and ready for him. So, this was it. This was the reckless, dangerous rush of a woman casting her future to the wind.

"Tell me." He found her ear, nibbling on the lobe, licking the hollow behind it until she shivered. "I want your complete surrender."

He was going to make her say what she wanted. And she was going to oblige him. Because she'd come too far. There was no turning back now. What was happening between them was inevitable.

"Take me," she whispered. "Take what you want."

"What I want is to please you." Again, the rasp of his whiskers on her throat sent heat pooling between her thighs. "I want to please you so well that you forget everyone and everything."

Blessed angels.

"Then do it."

He strung a line of ravenous kisses along her jaw. "Patience, sweetheart."

"We haven't time for patience. Someone could find us here alone together."

He lifted his head, his blue gaze searing into hers. "I don't give a damn about anyone else right now. All I care about is you."

Pretty words. The practiced promise of a rake. Eleanora knew that. Or, at least, her rational mind did. The rest of her, however—her wanton, aflame body—wasn't interested in examining his motives.

All I care about is you.

No man in all her life had ever truly cared about her. They had wanted her for their various reasons, but none of them had harbored a single concern about her. And foolish though she was, she believed Nando when he said those words.

His hands were traveling over her, following the curves of her body that she took great care to hide in her shapeless, unbecoming gowns. And then tapes were coming undone, and her gown was loosening, the bodice gaping, the entire dress falling to the floor. She stood before him in her chemise, stays, and petticoat, toeing out of her slippers.

The heaviness of desire mingled with the weight of the moment. She was going to give herself to this man. To this sinful prince who had been waging a campaign of seduction against her from the moment they had met.

For the first time since she had started her new life as Eleanora Brett, she was seizing what she wanted. Making a choice that was for herself alone. She wanted the pleasure he promised. Wanted him .

She reached for the buttons on his shirt, wondering at how he had managed to get the garment over his head, given his injury.

"It required rather a lot of patience that I no longer have," he said, as if he had read her mind.

No doubt, he had seen the question on her face.

It hardly mattered, because in the next instant, he grabbed hold of his shirt with one hand and rent it entirely in two. She stared at the ripped halves, drinking in the sight of the golden, muscled skin beneath. He was lean and powerful and deliciously male, his chest lightly dusted with a smattering of hair that caught the light, making it glint. Her fingers itched to touch him.

He tugged the ruined shirt from his upper body using his good arm, and she spied the bandage. The reminder of the would-be assassin's bullet was sobering, stealing some of the fire from the moment.

"Your injury—" she began, only to be cut off by him.

"Can go to the devil. I'd take you if I were on my deathbed, which I am, quite thankfully, not."

She might have laughed were the circumstances not so dire and had her heart not been thudding so violently and had her entire body not been on fire. He was grinning, and he looked so deliriously appealing that all she could do was give in to the need to touch him. Her hand on his bare skin. He was hot, so hot, his skin surprisingly sleek and smooth, the crisp hairs a delightful abrasion to her wandering hand.

Oh.

She liked the way he felt. Liked the way the scent of soap clung to his skin. He must have recently bathed. Perhaps even that morning. Unbidden, an image of him fully naked at his bath flooded her mind, making her knees go weak. Before Eleanora could think further, she stepped into him, closing the distance between them, her other hand tracing lightly over the chiseled wall of his abdomen.

"Yes," he said, his voice a low growl. "I love your hands on me."

She loved her hands on him, too. And her mouth. Before she knew what she was about, she pressed her lips to his chest, just over his thudding heart, then over the prominent ridge of his clavicle. Up his neck as he had done to her, the corded muscles tensed as she boldly opened her mouth, tasting the salt of his skin.

"Eleanora, you undo me." He wrapped his uninjured arm around her waist and guided her to the bed at the opposite end of the chamber.

The rest of her garments came off in a haze of lust, his mouth traveling reverently over every new patch of skin he revealed. Until finally, there was not so much as a stitch left to cover her, and he positioned her on his bed in a sideways fashion. She found it most peculiar until he sank to his knees before her, nudging her legs apart.

She stiffened instantly, her thighs tensing, keeping herself shielded.

But then he gazed up at her, such raw, naked longing on his handsome face, his eyes hooded and his gaze darkened. "Trust me, Eleanora."

She shouldn't, and she knew it.

But somehow, she did.

He kissed each of her knees, and she softened, her body relaxing, her thighs parting. And then he dragged his mouth higher, all the way to her center. He kissed her.

There.

On her aching sex.

Eleanora nearly swooned. She wasn't entirely an innocent; one couldn't be, given the life she had lived in her earlier years and the people with whom her mother had surrounded herself. All denizens of the underworld in one form or another, whether noble lords who were indecent voluptuaries or actresses who were seasoned mistresses. Mama and her friends had talked, particularly when they had been in their cups, without regard for who was listening.

Yes, she had known such an act—shocking and sinful and intimate as it was—was possible and, more than that, enjoyable. But knowledge and experience were two entirely separate entities.

Because Nando's lips on her throbbing flesh was a revelation. And then he deepened the kiss, his tongue flicking out to tease that sensitive bundle of flesh that she sometimes toyed with alone in the dark of night, until the pressure building inside her bubbled over and pure bliss rocked through her. Recently, she had touched herself with thoughts of him in mind. But she had never imagined his beautiful face buried between her thighs. Nor had she imagined how impossibly good it would feel, the velvety heat of him laving her swollen bud, of his mouth sucking on her until her toes were curling in the air, until her bottom was rising instinctively from the bed and she was pressing herself shamelessly against him.

She felt helpless, on the edge of something incredible. His gaze found hers, relentless and scorching, and the intensity of his stare and the pleasure he was giving her were so overwhelming that with a whimper, she fell back against the bedclothes, her eyes fluttering closed.

His mouth left her. "No hiding, Eleanora. I want you to watch as I make you come."

Oh, he was wicked. She should ignore his command, and yet she braced herself on her elbows, surrendering to his whim as she had everything else this evening. She had already decided she would be his, so why not indulge both him and herself? Later, she would have nothing but the memory of these lone moments of sinful surrender to keep her warm through the lonely nights.

"Mmm," he hummed, the vibration making her bud pulse, and then he resumed his sensual torture, licking and sucking until she was writhing beneath him.

Her hips pumped in desperate rhythm, and he cupped her bottom with one hand, still favoring his wounded arm. He released her with a lusty, wet sound that should have embarrassed her and yet had the opposite effect.

"Perfection," he praised before capturing her swollen nub and sucking hard again.

It was more than she could withstand. The pleasure that had been building to a crescendo finally burst, and she threw the back of her hand over her mouth to stifle the moan she couldn't hold in. Wave after wave of pleasure washed through her, leaving her lying limp and sated, certain she would never be able to move again.

But he wasn't finished. His tongue flicked, fast and frenzied, working the flesh that still buzzed from her release back into a state of desperate need.

"More," he demanded, sucking, licking, nipping. "Come on my tongue again. I want you screaming my name."

She intended to tell him that she wouldn't be screaming at all because she was far too dignified for such a response, when he lapped at her entrance. Any hint of coherent thought vanished.

A few shallow strokes, and then his tongue sank inside her. And it was glorious, the slick glide of him penetrating her slowly, again and again. Her hips swiveled, her fingers clasping the bedclothes in a tight grip as her body twisted and tangled around him, seeking more, more, more. He gave it to her, plundering her deep. Again and again, the friction of his stubble against her highly sensitive folds taking her closer to her second pinnacle.

He made a low sound of approval, rubbing his face in her sex as he filled her with his tongue. Just when she thought she couldn't bear any more, he stroked her pearl with his thumb. Pure sensation seized her in a ruthless grip, so powerful that she couldn't hold it off even if she wanted to. She was helpless to do anything but surrender, riding out her pleasure, her heart galloping.

When the last wave swept over her, she was out of breath, collapsed in the bedclothes. Nando lifted his head for a moment, his mouth and chin glistening with her wetness, his breathing ragged, his blue eyes scorching. To her shock, he licked his lips, as if savoring the taste of her, like she was delicious and he couldn't get enough.

"You need a cloth," she protested, trying to scramble into a sitting position, embarrassed by the mess she had made of him.

He shook his head. "No cloth. I want you all over me so that when I go to sleep tonight, it's to your scent."

His words ought to have left her cheeks stinging. Instead, all she felt was more desperate longing. She took in the sight of him, so impossibly gorgeous and strong, bare-chested. Her nipples ached, her breasts were heavy and full, and every part of her felt as if she were meant to be here, in this moment, with this man.

"Once more," he told her, the tone of his voice leaving no question as to what he meant.

He intended to pleasure her again .

Eleanora wasn't certain if she would survive a third such climax, and yet she knew he would wring another from her with his expert hands and mouth.

"I'll swoon," she protested lightly.

He grinned. "I'll be gentle, sweetheart."

She thought she might burst. Such care, all for her. He was a more-than-proficient and generous lover. He was, she knew instinctively, the sort that her mother's friends had sighed over once upon a time. Hers until she had to return to the world she now inhabited and left this unfettered wanton she'd become behind forever. There could be no place in Eleanora Brett's life for sin. The only pleasure she could know was from her own shy fingers, nervously exploring hungry skin.

How lonely and empty the life she'd forged for herself seemed, compared to this decadent taste of freedom and iniquity. But then, Nando was joining her on the bed, helping her to position herself with her head on the pillows, as if she were to spend the night sleeping at his side. It wasn't sleeping he had in mind, however, and he made that apparent when he leveraged himself on his uninjured forearm and dipped his head, his lips latching on to the peak of her breast.

He slid the hand of his injured arm slowly up her inner thigh, until his long fingers trailed deliberately over her seam. He grazed her almost painfully sensitized bud, and she jolted beneath his touch, renewed need burning instantly to life. He sucked hard on her nipple, and her back arched from the bed, her body desperate for more of his lovemaking.

When her hips danced beneath his ministrations, his swift inhalation made her realize she had jostled his injured arm, which he had taken care to keep mostly still.

"I'm so sorry," she said on a rush. "Have I hurt you?"

He kissed the swell of her breast. "Never mind a small bit of pain. I'd die a thousand times over, and gladly, just for the chance to lick your sweet cunt and your hard nipples and make you come on me a third time."

With that, he sucked the tip of her other breast into the silken heat of his mouth and strummed over her clitoris with greater determination.

She swallowed hard at his blunt words, at the vulgarity. She was more than familiar with such plain speaking from her past, and yet Eleanora had never known until now the effect such sinful words could have upon her. The combination of his bold speech and the attention he lavished upon her breasts and sex had her already at the edge.

He caught her nipple in his teeth and tugged, eliciting a sharp pull of desire from deep in her womb—a need to be one with him, to be claimed by him. The sensual torture he spoiled her with was glorious, but her body still wanted his completely. She wanted him inside her.

Again, as if he were so attuned to her that he could sense her every want, read her mind, Nando gently grazed a fingertip over her opening. She spread her legs, beyond the point of caring about her conduct or fretting over how she would feel about her actions later. She flattened her feet on the mattress. One upward tip of her hips brought him where she wanted him, his finger invading her. It was torment. It was exquisite. She wanted more.

"Nando." She rolled her hips restlessly, seeking, endlessly seeking.

He dappled kisses between her breasts, over her shoulders, her collarbone. "Deus, I love it when you say my name. I don't think my cock has ever been this hard."

With that, he sank his finger all the way inside her, grimacing as he did so, for the action was not without pain on his behalf. Nor was it on hers—the sensation was unfamiliar, so good and yet almost beyond her body's ability to withstand.

Everything was building within her, making her senses intensely aware. Her toes curled into the smooth, cool bedclothes. Her head tipped back on the pillow. Her hands sought his body wherever they could reach, committing every stern angle and elegant plane to memory.

Later, she would think of this. Later, she would remember how wondrous it felt, Nando's finger deep inside her, his thumb stroking her bud, his lips traveling over every inch of her skin as if he could not get enough.

He took her mouth in a deep, drugging kiss as his fingers worked their magic on her, his tongue slipping inside to tease hers. Another stroke and she came undone, crying out into his kiss as she tightened on his finger, a potent surge of pleasure overtaking her. His kiss gentled as he coaxed the last ripple of her release from her. Until slowly, he withdrew, lifting his head to stare down at her with raw tenderness, his customary devil-may-care air entirely gone.

"You are the most glorious woman I've ever beheld," he murmured with such conviction that she believed him.

Words failed her. She could do nothing but cup his cheek, astounded by the rush of feelings coursing inside her. Perhaps it was the effects of what he had done to her, perhaps her wits had been thoroughly addled by desire. But she couldn't stem the tide of emotion, rising ever higher, threatening to drown her.

No, she could not, must not, did not dare to fall in love with Prince Ferdinando. And that was how she needed to think of him again. Not as a man whose body had worshiped hers, but as a powerful royal who would forever be unattainable in all the ways that counted to a woman of virtue.

Even if she was now a woman who had decidedly cast her virtue to the wind.

He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm. "Bruno will be returning soon. We should get you dressed."

Dressed?

Her dizzied mind whirled. Somehow, she hadn't expected that. She had anticipated that he would finish what he had begun, that he would take her fully. But the mention of his dedicated manservant had her jolting to reality with the swiftness of a dousing of cold water.

What had she done?

She was lying naked in bed with a prince. With a man who was a notorious rake. And beneath her employer's roof.

"No," he said suddenly, bussing a kiss over her brow. "Do not regret what we've shared. I'll not allow it. I can see your clever mind at work."

"This was a mistake." Eleanora disentangled herself from him, feeling suddenly cold.

She had wanted more, and now she would not have it. She had wanted his body atop hers, his cock inside her. Had wanted to give herself to him. But perhaps he had taken his fill. Perhaps the conquer was all he had been after.

Eleanora slid from the bed.

"It was not a mistake." He followed her, looking regal and feral at once, clad in nothing but his trousers.

Her gaze dipped for a moment to a place it ought not, the thick ridge rising in stark relief beneath the fall of his trousers. Evidence of his own unsated desire. He had wanted her, then. Still wanted her. She didn't mistake that.

Not that it mattered now.

Her hands trembled as she took up her chemise and threw it over her head to shield her body from him. "Pray do not argue with me, Your Royal Highness. I never should have come here. Doing so was terribly foolish. And what I have allowed…"

Her words trailed away. What she had allowed could not be undone. She would harbor the memories forever.

"What you have allowed, you will allow again." He retrieved her stockings for her, his jaw tense. "This is just the beginning, Eleanora."

She shook her head, averting her gaze from the sight of him, so unfairly handsome, so very much everything she wanted and could never have. "This is the end of something that should never have begun."

"Damn it, do not be so stubborn. Look at me."

Eleanora couldn't bear to. With grim determination, she donned her stockings.

"Eleanora."

She finished and found her stays, discarded on the floor in the same haphazard fashion as the rest of her garments.

" Eleanora ."

His voice was more insistent, but she was determined to remain impervious. He had given her pleasure. Intense, wonderful pleasure. That was all. Nothing more could come of this impossible situation. She pulled on her stays and reached behind her for the laces.

"Let me." He clamped a hand on her waist and turned her.

"Your injury," she protested.

"If I could pleasure you, I can bloody well tie your laces."

Heat washed over her, her cheeks warming as thoughts of just how thoroughly he had pleasured her returned. "Thank you."

"Come to me again tomorrow," he said, his voice urgent at her ear as her stays tightened.

He knew his way around a woman's undergarments.

But of course he did. She knew his reputation all too well.

"I cannot come to you, Your Royal Highness, and you know the reason," she managed, trying to ignore how wrong it felt to refer to him formally now that she knew him so intimately.

"Call me Nando as you did when I was inside you."

When I was inside you. Yes, he had been, had he not? His finger long and deep, reaching a place she had never known existed before.

Her eyes fluttered closed. How was she to withstand him? Or, for that matter, withstand her own yearnings? Even now, she craved him.

She inhaled sharply, then exhaled, slipping out of his reach to retrieve her petticoat. "You mustn't speak of such things."

"Oh, mustn't I?" he drawled, following her like a beast stalking its prey. "Then I suppose I also shouldn't speak of how delightfully wet you were for me or how deliciously your sweet cunt gripped my finger when you came. I certainly won't speak about how I love the way you taste, how I could lick you all day long."

Her ears were on fire as well as her cheeks now. She didn't want his words to affect her, and yet how could they not? She was still wet, and the place where his finger had so recently been throbbed with remembrance. As for his tongue…

No, she wouldn't contemplate the rest.

Eleanora yanked the petticoat over her head. "Surely you have any number of ladies eagerly vying for the chance to occupy your bed. Save your vulgarity for them."

"To the devil with anyone else. They aren't the one I want. You are."

Her fingers fumbled over the buttons fastening her petticoat into place. "Flattery won't sway me."

"Then perhaps this will." In two strides, he was before her, crowding her body with his, one arm banding around her back to pull her into the wall of his bare chest.

She had time to refuse him. She knew what he was about to do as his mouth descended for hers. But she didn't want to. She wanted one more kiss. Her lips met his, clinging hungrily. The kiss was furious and frenzied, a collision of need and frustration. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him to her for as long as she dared.

Surprisingly, he was first to break the seal of their mouths, staring down at her with a fierce expression. "You are mine, Eleanora Brett. You have been from the moment I first saw you, and nothing and no one can change that."

She licked her lips and stepped away, finding her gown. "I belong to no one. You would do best to forget me. Forget any of this ever happened."

"Impossible," he bit out.

She hauled the gown over her head and stuffed her arms into the sleeves. "Good day, Your Royal Highness."

With what she knew could scarcely pass for a curtsy, Eleanora fled from the chamber and the temptation of a prince who could never be hers.