Chapter 13

Chapter

Thirteen

N ic forgot his resolutions. He forgot his latest plan, to place her safely in Theodore's hands, before setting off for Paris. He even forgot the abominable ache in his leg, although it did give a nasty twinge when he dropped to his knees before her chair. All he cared about was the touch, the feel, the scent of Olivia Monteith. His world was full of her and only her, and as her soft mouth clung to his, his practiced fingers were busy unhooking her dress and letting it fall to her waist, so that he could release her glorious breasts into his hands.

Olivia clutched his shoulders, then her arms slid around his neck, clinging to him as if she thought she might fall. Gently he began to taste her, his tongue laving the curves and circling the peaks. While he worked on one breast with his mouth, he held the other in his hand, his thumb brushing back and forth over her turgid nipple. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she made little sounds of enjoyment.

Nic glanced up at her through his lashes. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed, and her mouth reddened from his kisses. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and this time he wasn't going to let some foolish idea of gentlemanly conduct or past history stop him. She was his for the taking and he'd bloody well take her.

He planned to lift her down onto the rug beside him, but as he began to ease her from the chair, she seemed to know what he was about, and slid down herself, so quickly that she landed on the floor with a bump. Nic caught her in his arms, and they tumbled to one side, landing amid a tangle of legs and a flurry of her skirts. Her face was resting so close to his he could see the faint sprinkling of freckles on her nose, and the thick frame of her dark lashes about her bright blue eyes.

Olivia smiled.

Nic, the hardened rake, who thought he could never be emotionally touched by a woman, knew he'd been wrong.

Reaching out, he cupped her cheek and leaned forward to kiss her, tilting his head so that he could make the most of her lush mouth. She responded eagerly, without a hint of coyness or doubt, wrapping her arms about his neck and wriggling against him. He slid his tongue between her teeth, teasing her. He was aware that his cock was painfully hard, but he was trying to hang on to some vestige of his famous technique, when all he wanted to do was plunder her.

Physical pleasure, he reminded himself feverishly, trying to focus, was a matter of balancing control with passion, using technique to increase excitement by stepping back from the brink, over and over again, so as to intensify the final climax. There was a certain pragmatic quality about making love, and usually he had no trouble in remembering that.

Olivia gave a little groan, throwing her foot over his legs, sliding her calf along his thigh, as if she wanted to climb inside his flesh. He rolled over onto his back and pulled her along with him, so that she sprawled across him, all soft curves and heated womanhood. Her hair, hanging from its pins in loose strands, tickled his nose. He nuzzled against her arched throat, working his way up to her mouth, and then nipping at her lips.

She squeaked. He felt her breath in his ear, and her fingers tugging at his starched and ironed neck cloth. Abbot would be appalled at such cavalier treatment of his creation, but neither of them cared. She pulled the crisp linen away and pressed her nose into the hollow of his throat. He drew up her skirts, feeling her stockings and her garters, and then the warm, bare flesh of her thighs. She gave a gasp and wriggled against him, eager for more contact. Nic was happy to oblige.

As she fumbled at the fastenings of his shirt, Nic revisited the familiar territory of her silky bloomers, cupping the full globes of her bottom in his palms, arching his hips against her. She groaned, her mouth open. She'd given up on the fastenings of his shirt, and instead she'd pulled the cloth up to his shoulders, exposing his bare chest to her gaze. Now she began to kiss him, nuzzling the dark hair that grew there; her breasts rested against him, the peaks brushing his skin.

She was so sensitive that even that brief contact must have affected her, because she looked up at him, her eyes heavy and bright beneath her lashes. Slowly, daringly, she bent low and allowed her nipples to brush against him again. He took them in his fingers, tugging at the hard little nubs, and she gasped. Her body was still resting on his, and her thighs opened and slipped down, so that her knees were anchored on either side of his slim hips.

Olivia pressed her palms against his chest and sat up, gazing down at him through the tangle of her hair, watching as he stroked her breasts, lost in sensation. Nic was watching her. Each time he stroked her, a tremor seemed to run over her soft skin, and he could feel the heat from her. She was ready, more than ready, but there was still a long way to go.

He stretched up to take her nipple in his mouth once more, and at the same time slipped his hand inside her bloomers and began to stroke her warm, slick flesh. She moved against him, her eyes closed, her entire being focused on the sensations he was creating within her. The flush beneath her skin, the hard peaks of her breasts, the little sounds coming from her, all told him that she was very close to her climax.

He slid his fingers inside her, using his palm to press down on her sensitive bud. Olivia bucked against him, nails digging into his chest. "Nic," she wailed. He began to tug at her nipples with his mouth, rough, his fingers slipping in and out of her, bringing her closer and closer to her peak. And then she was there, gasping and crying out, her body clenching on him as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

Nic gave her only a few moments to recover. Suddenly he was feeling selfish. He didn't want to wait. He needed to be inside her, possessing her, while she moaned into his mouth.

He sat up, lifting her in his arms so that she was still cuddled against him, her legs straddling his, her skirts bunched around them. Her body was open and ready; she was as relaxed as a virgin could be. Nic reached down, unbuttoning his trousers, freeing his rigid cock.

"Put your arms around my neck," he commanded her in a deep rasp.

She complied, still dazed from her first climax.

He cupped her face in his palms, forcing her to look into his eyes. For a moment he simply gazed at her, enjoying the disheveled picture she made, and the fact that she was his. "Now," he groaned, and thrust forward, bringing her hips against him at the same time, and breached her maidenhead in one strong, smooth motion.

She hardly had time to cry out before he was kissing her, caressing her lips with his, sucking on them, and murmuring soothing words. Soon she was returning his kisses, winding her arms about his neck and opening her mouth in her growing passion. He cupped her breast, gently squeezing the full flesh, taking his time although his cock was threatening to explode where it was lodged deep inside her. But he held his hips still, and forced himself to retain control.

It was Olivia who moved first, rocking her hips against him, tentatively at first, and then with growing confidence. The stem of his shaft was rubbing against her sensitive bud, giving her pleasure, and she bit her lip as the excitement began to tighten inside her. He began to move with her, sliding slowly out, and then slowly back inside again. He was wondering if there was a place in rake heaven for men who could show such patience as he, when all he really wanted to do was be a caveman.

But that wouldn't gain him the result he desired. Gentle patience now would be time well spent in the future. It would repay him well as Olivia became more experienced and they could enjoy more varied pursuits together . . .

His mind froze as he realized what he was thinking, what he was considering. The future, what future? But before he could do anything about it, Olivia reached down between their bodies and wrapped her fingers around the base of his thick shaft, holding him firmly. He tried not to wince as his sensitive flesh ached for more.

"Nic," she whispered, her breath warm and sweet against his throat. "You're inside me. Deep inside me. You've made me yours."

"Not yet," he said .

"When then?" she demanded, leaning back to look into his face. "I don't think I can wait much longer."

She was right; it was time. Cupping her bottom, Nic lifted her, and laid her down on her back on the rug. Her legs were apart, her body wide open to his perusal. He ran his fingers down the slick cleft, and then back again, circling her bud with one fingertip.

"Nic," she groaned, and he knew she was going to come again, and this time he wanted to be inside her when it happened. He set his cock at her entrance and paused. The anticipation was beyond anything he could ever remember, and he'd felt a great deal over the years. He gave himself a moment to revel in it, and then he thrust into her.

Her body was tight, enveloping him, rippling as he moved with increasing momentum. The ache inside him was building to beyond anything he'd known before.

"Nic, please . . ." she gasped.

"A little more," he said, driving hard now, and pressing deep. He forgot to be gentle, he forgot it was her first time. She whimpered, her hips moving beneath him, and he shifted slightly, so that his shaft rubbed against the little nub, ensuring her ultimate pleasure. She cried out, and her inner muscles clenched about him. Her body was wracked with shudders, and she arched up against him, as if to gain the last drop of ecstasy. At the same time he felt himself release inside her, his body going rigid. He shouted out her name, feeling the tremendous wave of pleasure roar through him.

I've given her this , Nic told himself feverishly. Whatever happens from now on, I've shown her the pleasure to be found between a woman and a man . He believed, arrogantly perhaps, that any further experience she might have would be measured against this one.

For a time they lay still, but Nic was already becoming aware that he was heavy and he lifted himself up, taking his weight from her. She made a little sound of protest, as if she liked to be squashed. He bent to run his tongue lazily over her breasts, and felt her shiver in response.

She turned her head and smiled at him, and he knew then that it was true—she was his. She was completely and totally his.