Chapter Fifteen

N icolas's heart thumped madly in his chest. He tried to even his breathing, but his body vibrated with need, and his cock strained painfully against his trousers.

"Take it off," he managed, "and get in bed."

The silk robe slid from Violette's shoulders and pooled on the floor. He sucked in a breath, and his gaze followed her, entranced, as she walked to the bed. Long legs, wide hips, but her torso was slight, her breasts small enough to fit in his palms, the rosy tips pointed, as if begging for his mouth to resume teasing them. Her skin, too, bore the mark of her arousal, its creamy whiteness contrasting with a lovely flush on her collarbones and cheeks.

Perfection. How was it possible that such a woman was trusting him with such a precious gift?

Fucking hell, he was nearly out of his mind for her. He'd lain with many beautiful women. Some of them far outmatched him when it came to bedroom skills, but every one of them paled in comparison to Violette, like paper lanterns next to a full moon.

And it wasn't just her body. Guy had once told him that virginity was merely a state of being rather than a state of mind, but Nicolas had never fully understood what he meant until tonight. Her skin seemed to ripple, as if passion simmered just beneath the surface before blazing under his touch and building to a shattering peak. Even through the cloth, he'd felt her clench against his cock. He'd never in his life been as hard, as needy with lust.

Damn it all, he'd fall to his knees and beg if she wished. But Violette wasn't here to play that sort of game. She stretched on the dark green velvet bedspread, stark desire burning her gaze as she watched him undress.

But when he pushed down his trousers and his cock finally sprang free, she frowned slightly and bit down on her lip. The last time he'd been with an inexperienced girl, he himself was young and green, nearly a decade ago. Back then he didn't have the slightest idea what he was doing, nor how to calm his partner's nervousness.

Violette, on the other hand… He couldn't bear thinking she might be apprehensive, not even a little. And it was up to him to make sure she wasn't.

He joined her on the bed, his breath shaky. Be gentle. Smooth. Don't hurry. Even if it felt like holding back a raging river. She pressed a hand to his chest, as if testing its firmness, then let her palm slide down to his belly, lightly stroking the trail of hair that led to his manhood, up and down, up and down. He bit back a groan. If she kept doing that, her introduction to the pleasures of the flesh was going to be dramatically short-lived.

She looked down at his cock and frowned. "I was told this would be painful."

He caught her hand and kissed it. "At first, yes. Until you get used to me. But in time, if I'm doing everything right, you should be able to reach the same peak that you just experienced."

Her eyes widened. "That's… possible? Feeling that way when you lie with a man?"

He almost laughed. "Why shouldn't it be?"

"My mother made it sound… thoroughly unpleasant. Tedious, almost. Just waiting with one's legs spread for it to be over."

Good Lord, the people who taught aristo girls about marital relations should be locked up in Bicêtre prison. He shook his head. "Let me show you, love. Then you'll know what to expect."

He kissed her. Stroked her hair, her neck, her breast, swirling his thumb over her nipple before squeezing softly. Violette moaned and arched against him, but he took his time, his hand inching lower to her belly, before finally reaching the soft tuft of hair between her legs.

"Now just lie back and let me touch you here," he murmured against her lips. "If it hurts, tell me so. I'll stop."

She nodded and closed her eyes. He gently parted her folds, still slick from the pleasure she'd taken on the chair, and delicately teased her entrance while pressing the base of his palm to her mound, right over her tender nub. She whimpered and her legs fell apart—slightly at first, then in earnest when he swirled his finger and dipped in the wet heat. Just a knuckle for now. No need to hurry. It was just like watching a flower open its petals.

"Do you like that?" he asked.

Her eyelids fluttered open. "Yes. Yes , go on."

His finger slid deeper, and her eyes squeezed shut again. Breathy sighs emerged from her lips each time he plunged, deeper and deeper still, following the rhythmic movement of her hips. They jerked up to meet him now, spurring him on, and the sighs turned to little cries. His cock was hard as stone, aching for release, blood pumping madly throughout his body. Devil take it, he couldn't wait any longer, and she was more than ready for him.

He pulled his hands away, and she groaned at the loss, face flushed, eyes opening to meet his in a pleading manner. He positioned himself over her and rubbed the head of his cock over her folds.

"Oh, that's… Oh God ," she mewled. "Nicolas…"

Bloody fucking hell, when she said his name like that… It was miracle he didn't come on the spot. "I'm going to enter you now, same as I did with my fingers. This is where it can be painful, so I'll go as slow as you wish."

She nodded frantically. " Please , I… I want you inside me, I don't care if it hurts."

Her hands circled his torso, fingers digging into his lower back, urging him forward. He pushed. A wave of pleasure racked his body through and through. Heavens above, the feeling of her tight, slick sheath around him was more exquisite than anything he'd known, and he wasn't even fully inside her yet.

Limbs trembling, he rolled his hips. Control your movements. Not too fast. Blast, this was more strenuous than any savate match he'd known.

Violette winced, and he drew back instinctively. "No," she breathed. "Don't stop. I need you. Don't ever stop."

The fire within roared higher at her words. He jerked his hips more sharply, and she cried out. Pleasure or pain? She lifted her knees, hooking her legs around him, and drew him deeper. He couldn't think, couldn't slow down. Delicious tension built at the base of his manhood, tighter and tighter, closer to snapping with each thrust.

But if he could get her there again first…

He titled his pelvis to create more friction against her sensitive nub. This time, her cry was unmistakably one of pleasure, somewhere between a wail and a moan, and she clenched around him.

"God, that's so good, love," he panted. "So damn good. I'm going to come."

" More ," she nearly sobbed. "Please, Nicolas…"

He plunged into her fully, holding nothing back as she reached her peak again, but he was already on the brink. He had to pull away, now . The tension snapped, and his seed spurted onto her belly in time with swells of pleasure rushing through his body. He let his head fall in the crook of her neck, breathing hard.

For a moment, she simply held him close, catching her own breath, stroking his hair.

"I understand now," she said in a small voice.

He rolled to his back and grinned at her. No victory, no fight, no win had ever felt so thrilling. "Understand what?"

She smiled. "Why mothers don't tell us it can be this good. We'd want to do it all the time."

He laughed and brushed her tousled hair back from her cheek. "Well, luckily, I have no plans today but seeing to your pleasure."

She kissed his palm, and her smile widened. Lord, her eyes were so bright, it nearly knocked the breath out of him again.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to finish my plate first. Perhaps this has whetted your appetite as well, just like savate ?"

Indeed. Though he felt as if it might never be fully satiated again.

*

"I should never have sent for your clothes. I like it you much better in nothing but my dressing gown."

Violette looked up from the book she was reading and leaned her head against the back of the divan. Nicolas turned up the points of his collar and slipped his cravat around his neck, his mouth curled into a dashing smile.

Her heart fluttered. Heavens, he cut such a handsome figure in his tailor-made breeches and tight waistcoat of blue silk brocade. But not so handsome that she didn't want him to take all of it off again so she could gaze upon his perfectly sculpted muscles and golden skin.

"I could say the same for you," she replied. "This is the first time I've seen you fully dressed for the past two days."

Or was it three? The hours were starting to form a sensual blur. Outside, tiny flakes drifted from dark gray clouds that turned daylight into dusk, and they hadn't left Nicolas's apartment since he'd brought her here.

Violette turned back to her book but found herself reading the same sentence over and over again. Not that the subject was particularly interesting to her. Nicolas owned a dozen books, all of them about naval history and famous battles of Antiquity. If she were to stay here longer…

As soon as the thought entered her mind, she tried to push back, but it wormed its way back to the forefront.

You have no money, no home. You depend on him now. What will happen a week from today? A month?

By God, she could hardly imagine, with the Boneman a lurking threat to them both, and Emile still on the run—hopefully, or else that meant he was cold in the ground. But she couldn't help but wonder what Nicolas would offer her, what he expected, if anything.

A kept woman. A mistress. The words rang out in her head in her mother's stern, disapproving voice.

Violette closed the book and glanced at Nicolas again. He was studying his reflection in the mirror over the hearth, fingers working deftly to tie his cravat into a simple knot. However many years she lived, she would never regret what had happened between. Better to be his mistress than any other man's lawful wife. The trust he inspired, the warmth of his embrace, the bone-crushing pleasure he brought her… Her cheeks flushed. Only this morning, he'd taken her right there on the divan, flipping her over and grabbing her hips before plunging into her from behind, and she'd pleaded for more with each vigorous thrust.

She was still sore from it, but that didn't keep her body from aching for him. The fire, the thirst, it never stopped. Still, they could not stay here forever. Sooner or later, they would have to go back out into the world.

He turned toward her and grinned, as if he'd felt her gaze on him. "What is it, love?"

The word rolled off his tongue so lightly and naturally. Was it a common term of endearment for him? Or did it mean more?

She couldn't possibly ask him. Not now, with everything they had to deal with. She opted for an easier question. "Are you going out?"

He finished his knot and gave it a little tap. "No, but Marbois might drop by later today. He wishes to speak to me about our plans for a proper gymnasium and savate ring, though I'll have to find something temporary in the meantime. I can't have my students practicing on cobblestones in the middle of winter."

"Maybe we could go out, just for a short while," she suggested. "A stroll around the Parc Monceau, for example. What harm could that do?"

He joined her on the couch and leaned in for a kiss. "None, I suppose. But do you even have proper attire for snowy weather?"

She sighed. "I've made do with my shawl until now. It's quite warm."

His gaze roamed over her, lingering on her hips and bosom. "We must have a new wardrobe made for you. Coats, shoes, dresses worthy of your beauty."

An image flashed through her memory, the women at Cransac's party bedecked in silks and jewels. Mistresses. Dolls dressed up in finery to show off how much their lovers could spend on them. She frowned. No, Nicolas would never treat her that way. He simply wanted to take care of her.

He lifted her chin with his finger. "Tell me what's troubling you, love."

She smiled. "It is nothing. I think I just need some fresh air."

"I'd rather put an expression of perfect, blissful content on your lovely face, fresh air be damned."

He kissed her again, and she let her hands slide up to his cravat to pull him closer. Heavy heat gathered in her breasts, in her belly, between her legs, deep in the hidden core that he knew so well how to tease and stroke and fill.

He gathered up her skirts to slip his hand underneath. "I'm telling you, we should forgo clothes altogether. I'll welcome Marbois as bare as the day I was born if I have to."

She laughed, and his mouth traveled down to her neck in playful nips and licks. Goodness, the wetness was already starting to gather, making her slick with want…

A knock sounded at the door.

"A message for you, sir," came Pierre's voice.

Nicolas stopped and called over his shoulder. " Sacredieu , can't it wait?"

"The boy who delivered it said it was urgent."

"Blast." Nicolas rose from the divan and smoothed his clothes. "Wait here, love, I'll be right back."

She straightened and brushed her skirts back into place. The door stood ajar, and low murmurs drifted in from the corridor. She rose and tiptoed to the door, her light steps muffled by the carpet. Eavesdropping was a nasty habit she should have done away with long ago, but what could be so urgent? Perhaps it was news of Emile? A painful knot formed in her stomach.

"…quick as I can, of course," Nicolas whispered.

"Yes, monsieur ."

"And if anyone tries to break in, you take her to the staircase immediately, do you understand?"

The knot tightened. Lord have mercy, what was happening?

"You can count on me, monsieur ."

"Good. Fetch me my coat."

She quickly padded back the divan. A moment later, Nicolas entered again. Smiling. His expression perfectly polished and pleasant.

The mask was on.

"I'm afraid I must leave. An urgent errand, but I won't be long."

"Did Malenfant send you that letter? Did they find Emile?" she blurted out.

"No, nothing to do with Emile." He took her hand and kissed it. "I swear to you, Violette, you'll be the first to know when I have news."

There was no lie, no deceit in his eyes. But there was something else. Something the mask couldn't hide completely. And it looked almost like fear.