Chapter Five

Catherine lifted her hand to the door. Had she waited long enough? Did she seem too eager? Her heart was beating so wildly it was making her feel a little giddy. She told herself that she didn’t have to be here, she could say no or change her mind, and probably he would not care. But she didn’t want to say no, and she didn’t want to change her mind. She wanted to be with this man, she wanted to discover the pleasures she had been missing, and if she stepped away now then she might never have another chance.

She knocked and heard steps moving toward her before the door opened.

Albury had taken off his jacket. His shoulders looked broader in his white shirt, and the long line of his muscled legs was lovingly embraced by skintight pantaloons. His shirt ballooned out over his waistband but beneath it she could see the buttoned flap and the swell of his manhood. Realizing she was staring, she quickly lifted her gaze to his.

He was smiling, but his expression was quizzical.

“We are in agreement then?” he said quietly. “While we are here, we will spend our time in pleasure, but once the road is clear, we will go our separate ways.”

“Yes. I agree.” She sounded impatient. Didn’t he believe her? To further persuade him she put her hand up and rested it lightly in the center of his chest. His skin was warm through the fine linen, and she could feel the hard curve of bone and muscle moving with each breath. Before she could explore further, he took her hand in his and led her into his room, closing the door behind them.

His room was much like hers, but Catherine wasn’t interested in that. It was the man before her who held her attention. He was still holding her hand, his thumb brushing over her palm. He drew her closer. She could see a pulse beating in the hollow of his throat and she needed to press her face to it. Because he was taller, she had to stand up on her tiptoes before she was able to nuzzle against him and let the clean scent of his skin fill her senses.

She had never explored a man’s body before, but now she wanted to see every part of him, run her hands over him, everywhere. She rested her cheek beneath the jut of his jaw, on his smoothly shaven skin, and at the same time she felt him taking down her hair. Slowly, pin by pin, until he could run his fingers through the thick tresses. A tug on those tresses lifted her face to his.

She gazed up at him, lost in the fire in his eyes, and then his mouth was on hers.

He licked across her lips and, when she opened them, slid his tongue inside. It was shocking to her, the intensity of feeling, the rush of sensation. Catherine had never been kissed like this before. So completely, so thoroughly. She was panting when he drew away, her skin hot and tingling, her breasts tight and aching.

“Oh, yes,” he said, his voice deeper and full of satisfaction. “You taste delicious.” He smiled down at her and she felt her bones melt.

Eagerly, wanting to lose herself again in this new, heady delight, she stretched up for more kisses. She felt his hands fumble with the back of her gown, where there were hooks that held it together. With a groan of frustration he turned her about and set to work again. As he bent closer his warm breath on her nape made her shiver in delight, and he gave a soft laugh. He pressed his lips to her skin, one for each hook undone, until her bodice loosened and began to slip over her shoulders.

Large, warm hands slid beneath the cloth and cupped her breasts over her satiny chemise, and suddenly all of Catherine’s senses were centered there.

With a soft moan she leaned back into him. There was an ache between her thighs, as if she was readying herself for him. An ache her husband had never accomplished, let alone satisfied. He had never even tried to bring her the pleasure she knew was possible. The bodice of her gown was at her waist now, and Albury pushed her chemise down to join it, baring her completely to his touch and his gaze, as he turned her back around.

No man had ever seen her naked before, apart from the one who had purchased her to complete his collection. That first night of their marriage he had told her to strip and then admired her from a distance. She had felt frightened and vulnerable, and just for a moment those feelings rose up again. But Albury’s gaze was so different. She could tell she wasn’t an object to him, to be looked upon with the cool gaze of a curator. She was a flesh and blood woman, and he did not try to hide his craving for her.

He groaned, reaching to brush his fingertip gently over a nipple, then rolling it gently between his fingers. Watching as it tightened and peaked.

“Oh!” She gave a gasp of surprise and wonder that such a light touch could send her senses spinning.

He did it again, feeding on her reactions. Then slowly he walked her backward to his bed until she sat down. Catherine wondered if he would push her flat, take her with raw urgency, but instead he stood before her and without haste began to unfasten the ties of his shirt. Her gaze was riveted to him and his slow, sensuous movements. He was teasing her, she realized, as he lazily lifted the garment up over his body, disclosing all that warm skin and hard muscle. A line of hair ran down from the thicker patch on his chest, darker than the hair on his head, and vanished beneath the waist of his pantaloons. When he tugged his shirt off over his head, his muscles bunched and stretched, like some big, barely-tamed jungle animal. Her gaze ran over him, admiring, desiring, and found the now obvious bulge of his cock. If she had ever doubted that his hunger for her was as strong as hers for him, then here was the proof.

Catherine clutched her hands together as she looked up and met his gaze. She desperately wanted to touch him, but the duke had taught her that touching was forbidden. And yet her need to do so must have been obvious to Albury, because he took a step closer, so that he was within easy reach, and widened his stance.

“Unbutton me,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Take me out.”

She caught her breath and didn’t move.

“Unbutton me, Your Grace,” he teased, as though the use of her title could persuade her to obey him.

She needed no such persuasion. Her fingers were already at the flap of his pants, fumbling only a bit as she opened the buttons before she reached inside. Her hand closed around the hot, hard heat of him, and his head fell back on a deep groan.

“Yes, like that,” he rasped. His thighs were shaking. That her inexperienced touch could do this to such a man was a revelation to her. Any remaining doubts fled, and eagerly she pushed down his breeches, to uncover him completely. His cock was long and thick, with the flushed skin soft over rigid flesh. His seed was already leaking from the tip and on impulse she ran her tongue around him, closing her eyes as she savoured the unfamiliar salty taste.

He muttered a profanity and reached for her, tangling his hands in her hair. “Suck me,” he groaned. “I need... I need...”

She eyed him a moment, chewing in her lip. It was all very well to give her such an instruction, but his shaft was far bigger than the only other one she had ever seen. Not that she had sucked on the duke’s member, nor had he wanted her to. But this was different, and she was not averse to doing her utmost. She leaned forward and once again used her tongue before her mouth closed over the tip. She sucked and his knees shook.

“Fuck.”

His reaction, the profanity, made her look up, and she found he was observing her from beneath his lashes, a flush on his cheeks, and the lines of his face more finely drawn. “You are my every lustful dream,” he admitted in a strained voice, before he took a step back, allowing his cock to fall from her lips. “If we had more time I would like to spill in your mouth, but right now I would much rather be inside you. It is what I’ve wanted since I walked into the inn and you fell into my arms.”

Was that only a few hours ago?

“May I call you Catherine?” he asked, as he tugged off his boots and tossed the remainder of his clothes carelessly about. The polite question in such circumstances made her smile.

“You may. Should I call you—”

“Sebastian,” he said, kneeling before her.

His gaze was on her breasts, and he couldn’t seem to help himself as he leaned forward to kiss and suckle at the pink points. She clutched at his short and springy hair, and once again the scent of his citrus pomade filled her senses. The ache between her thighs had intensified to the point where she wondered whether she might burst. The need increased with each lathe of his tongue on her sensitive skin.

When he stopped, she murmured in protest, but he was unpeeling her from her gown and chemise, impatiently tossing both onto the growing pile. Only her stockings remained now, neatly tied above her knees. His gaze wandered up her thighs, to the dark wedge of hair, as he untied the bows, removing first one and then the other.

“You are very beautiful,” he said.

She shook her head a little wildly. “No, don’t say that.”

Startled, his gaze jumped to hers. “Surely you know it is the truth? You are beautiful.” His eyes narrowed. “Did Winstanton not tell you so, the old goat?”

Catherine swallowed, because those memories were repugnant.

“Tell me,” Seb insisted, staring back at her. There was a glint of anger in his eyes on her behalf, as if he genuinely cared. It convinced her to speak.

“Yes, he did tell me I was beautiful. In the early days, he had me stand before him at bedtime, and he would examine every inch of me. With his eyes. He said he wanted to be sure I was still perfect. And then he would spill in his hand so as not to despoil me.”

Sebastian listened to her in shocked silence. “You cannot be a virgin,” he growled. “You said you have a son.”

Catherine sighed. “He took me, sometimes, when he couldn’t help himself. But he was always angry afterward, claiming it was my fault his self-control had failed him.”

Winstanton had claimed it would be sacrilege to use her so basely. Only rarely did he poke and prod between her legs, grunting and groaning. And he always blamed her afterward. And when she had fallen pregnant with their son, he had loathed the sight of her. He called her swollen body an abomination, and after Jack was born, he had insisted on inspecting her once again, to be sure she was still perfect. Catherine had hoped for a lingering mark or two, something to keep him away from her, but apart from her swollen breasts there had been nothing to show she was now a mother.

“Catherine.”

Sebastian seemed to read the unhappy emotions crossing her face as she sat naked before him. Would he reject her now? Would he not want to make love to a woman with such a sordid tale to tell?

But he was speaking again, in a low urgent voice, and it was a moment before she grasped what he was saying. “Looking is all well and good, but I want to kiss every inch of you. I want to put my mark upon you, Catherine. I want you to feel me inside you. And even when I am gone, I want my seed to trickle down your thighs so that you will remember it was me who put it there.”

She wasn’t shocked. She was elated. He did not see her as cool and untouchable, something to admire behind a glass door in a trophy case.

“Yes, yes!” she gasped. “Touch me. Make me feel you.”

He began to trace her curves with hands and tongue, and it was so good. She had never been fragile. She was a woman who needed to be held and loved, and finally she had found a man who was happy to show her all that she had been missing. She was going to rejoice in every moment of it.