Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

S ebastian had always considered himself a man in control. He made wise choices when it came to his sexual quarry and he never put himself in a position where he couldn't escape. But tonight, as he backed Marianne across the antechamber and into her bedroom on trembling legs, he couldn't say no. Even though he should. Even though he would ruin her, ruin himself by what he was about to do.

He needed her more than breath right now. When he thought of some brute towering over her, fist raised in violence, he needed to ease the horror of that image by making her lift in pleasure, not duck in fear.

He pushed all those thoughts aside and gently parted his mouth from hers. He turned her back to him and began to unfasten the long line of buttons along the back of her pretty gown. She shivered as his fingers stroked the soft skin he revealed and blushed as he parted the dress wide before he let her face him again.

"Do you know how much I wanted to see you that night in the orangery?" he asked as he slipped a finger beneath the edge of her gown and began to tug, drawing the satin fabric over her shoulder, down her upper arm, repeating the action on the other side before he let the dress fold forward and reveal the pretty chemise beneath.

"You did?" she murmured, her voice shaking like her body shook. Fear and anticipation in one. He wanted to make it only pleasure that made her tremble.

He nodded. "All I could think about was you, touching you, seeing you, tasting you. Tonight I want to do all those things."

Perhaps if he did, it would burn this need for her away, lost in the fire he was stoking in them both. It had to, didn't it? Make this drive stop? At least he had to try.

She stared at him a long moment, long enough that he feared she might have become overwhelmed and want to say that one little word that would bring this to an end. Even though that would be better for them both, he found himself praying to every deity he'd ever heard of that she wouldn't.

But at last she pressed her palms against her hips and tugged her gown down to drop around her feet.

"Yes," she whispered.

He caught his breath at the sight of her in only her chemise and stockings, standing in firelight, so beautiful he could hardly stand it. Why had he not realized how beautiful she was before? Why had no other man every written soliloquies about her exquisiteness? Plucked her like some rare rose to decorate hallowed halls? They were all fools, him included.

"Am I a disappointment?" she asked, her hands coming forward to clench against her stomach.

He shook his head. "Far from it. I am drinking you in, savoring every moment of the gift of seeing you like this."

"You're the only man who ever has," she said. "I know you know that, but I admit it makes me nervous."

"Excited?" he asked as he moved forward and slipped a finger beneath the thin chemise strap, lowering it gently.

She nodded again and then inhaled sharply when he drew her hand through the chemise strap and revealed one gorgeous breast. He cupped her, measuring her weight, stroking a thumb over her distended nipple as she dipped her head back and let out a shaky sigh of pleasure.

He couldn't resist the sleek expanse of her throat and brought his lips there, nibbling and kissing the column until her hands came up into his hair and she leaned into him for support.

"Tell me what it will be like," she whispered.

He lifted his head from her neck and met her gaze, holding there as he removed the other strap of her chemise and tugged it away so she was naked for him. He drank in the curves of her, the softness, the undeniable draw.

"I'll put you on the bed," he said, hearing how breathless he sounded. "And I'm going to make you ready for me. I'm going to explore every inch of your body until you are writhing, clamping a hand over your mouth so no one in this house hears you moaning my name."

She swallowed hard and her pupils dilated. He smiled at the reaction, at how responsive she was.

"Eventually I won't be able to hold back anymore. And I'll need to be inside of you. I'll start with my fingers. I'll feel how slick you are with desire as I ready you. It will drive me mad, it will make me ache to feel you pulse around me."

"Sebastian," she whimpered.

He chuckled as he backed her toward the bed. "I'll undress?—"

"Will I get to touch you then?" she asked.

"Fuck," he muttered, and his hands shook as he pressed her back to the edge of the high mattress, letting his fingers stroke over her bare skin.

She was only in her stockings now and she looked good enough to devour. He would have to be very careful not to go too fast, but when she said things like that, when she made him picture her mouth and hands on him, it broke some of the thin threads that made up the rope of his control.

"Yes, you'll touch me. But it won't be to ready me, Marianne, because I've been hard for you for days, weeks." He caught her hips as he kissed her again, drinking deeply of her taste and the way she surrendered and arched against him. He pulled away and lifted her so she was on the edge of the bed, their faces more even now.

"Your legs will be wide for me, like they were that wonderful night in the orangery," he continued while he cupped both breasts and massaged them. She whimpered and he continued, loving how she shifted against him. "And you'll be dripping so when I finally rub my cock against you, it will feel so good for both of us. I'll slide inside, very gently this time."

"It will hurt?" she gasped.

He heard both her desire and the touch of fear in her tone. Of course she would be fearful, ladies were often told that this act would not be pleasant. And some men, he would not call them gentlemen, made no attempt to help it be so.

He lowered his mouth to one nipple and began to stroke his tongue across it. He sucked and she turned her mouth into her shoulder to stifle a little cry. How he wished they were at his house instead of her brother's so he could hear her moan and gasp and cry out at full voice. Like it was an opera of pleasure.

"It might a little, since you're untried. But if I've done my duty, you'll be very wet to ease the way. I'll be gentle, even though you'll be driving me so mad by then that I'll want to claim you like a wild animal."

Her gaze jerked to his and he could see how she liked that descriptor. The idea of him losing control and pounding into her, rough and desperate. It was too bad this could only be one very imprudent night, for he'd love to get to the point where he could learn all her likes. Teach her how to unleash her wild. Teach her how to tame his.

He swallowed at that unwanted thought. He'd avoided being tamed for a very long time. He didn't want that.

"And then what?" she asked, smoothing her hands over his still fully clothed shoulders and chest.

"I thrust into you, over and over. I rotate my hips against you so that you feel the echo of me in your clitoris. And you start to rise in a rhythm no dance master ever taught you but you'll know by heart. You'll feel the pleasure bloom between your legs, like it did the night I licked you. And you'll come and it will ripple around me and drive me to the edge."

She was trembling and she nodded. "What happens when you reach the edge?"

"I come. Different from you. I won't spend inside of you, so we won't create a child. But it will be glorious. It will rock the world from its axis for a few brilliant moments."

"Sebastian?" she whispered.

He nodded and met those dark brown eyes, losing himself for a moment in the warmth of them. "Yes?"

"I'm so wet already," she whispered. "I can feel it on my thighs."

He felt his eyes widen at that unexpected, wicked sentence. Goddamn, but this woman had depths she hid. She was a natural at eroticism and it drove him wild.

"Can you now," he drawled, pleased he could still utter a sentence when she was saying such things.

"So if you want to skip the first part…"

He laughed as she trailed off and then lowered her back on the bed with her legs hanging off the side. "Oh sweet, the first part is so wonderful. I wouldn't want to skip a thing."

And he realized it was true. He didn't want to miss a moment of this wicked, stolen night with her. He wanted to savor each one just as he savored her body. He knew that he wouldn't come out of this unchanged, any more than she would. But for the first time in his life, that thought didn't worry him. It excited him. As did she as he lowered his mouth back to her throat and began a lazy trail down the apex of her body.

She was his tonight. He wasn't going to rush anything.

S ebastian's mouth was hot on her bare skin as he trailed it along her collarbone and then between her breasts. Marianne tried to stay in the moment as he paused there and kissed a heated trail to the breast he hadn't kissed or sucked earlier. She hadn't known that her body was such an instrument, one that could be played by the right man. That was him, for every time he stroked his fingers over her skin, every time he licked or sucked her, it was like he brought some new part of her to life.

She rose up against his tongue, digging her hands into his thick hair as he sucked her nipple gently, then harder, and sent sparks careening through every nerve of her body. How had she never known she could feel this kind of pleasure? Or was it only accessible with this man, who was so much more experienced than she was? Who knew how to wake her like she was some fairytale princess in a distant tower.

He returned to the other breast, taking his time to tease and torment. What she had said to him earlier, the words that had made his eyes widen and his hands grip tighter at her body, was true. She already felt so wet. If that was what he needed to take her, he had it in spades.

And yet he didn't rush. His mouth glided lower, across her ribcage, along her belly as he smoothed his hands to her hips. She expected him to duck between her legs like he had before, but instead he nibbled the line of her hip and down her outer thigh. She was writhing by then, covering her mouth just as he'd said she would to keep the moans and gasps of pleasure from being too loud.

He looked up at her with a wicked, knowing smile as he dragged his mouth across the line where her stockings were tied to her thighs. He caught one end of the bow in his teeth and drew back, unknotting the ribbon and loosening the stocking. She sat up on her elbows, unable to stop staring at him with her clothing between his teeth, his hands denting her flesh, his eyes flashing with heated desire.

She had never imagined she could make a man look like that. Most especially not this man. This known lover of women much more interesting than she.

He dropped the ribbon from his teeth and ducked his head to kiss her thigh again. "God, you drive me mad."

He moved to the other thigh and untied that ribbon as well. Then he began to roll her stockings down, tracing the flesh he revealed with his tongue. He licked down her thigh, over her knee and across her calf. He nipped her ankle gently and she gasped at unexpected pleasure.

When he tossed the stocking over his shoulder, he cupped her opposite leg with both hands and glided back up the length of her until he could repeat the motion.

And now she was fully naked, splayed out on her bed, nothing to hide her or protect her. She was afraid, but not as much as she could be. Mostly she was excited, trembling with sensation, ready for him to cover her and let her feel his weight.

But he didn't. When he reached her thigh with his tongue, this time he edged higher, opening her wider with his shoulders. "Sebastian," she gasped, gripping his still-clothed shoulders as he licked her sex.

"Oh yes, say my name, Marianne. Say it over and over while you quake," he grunted, and spread her open wider with his thumbs.

He dove into her sex, swirling his tongue across her, sucking her, doing all those wicked things she'd dreamed of since that night in the orangery. She lifted into him, clenching the edge of the bed with one hand while she tugged at his hair with the other. And all the while she moaned his name, her voice broken as he lifted her to the very highest peak of pleasure.

But he didn't let her fall. Not like last time. He simply tortured, keeping her on the edge with expert precision. Only when she was trembling and bracing and reaching for pleasure did he pull away, his mouth slick with her juices, and rose to his full height.

Without breaking eye contact with her, he stripped out of his clothing at what could only be described as lightning speed. His jacket joined her dress on the floor, then his waistcoat. When he finally tugged the linen shirt over his head she gasped.

He was so stunningly beautiful. Like a statue in the museum, all angles and muscle. But he was alive. He was warm and moving, hers to touch, if only for this night.

He removed his boots with a strangled curse at the effort and then his trousers and there was his cock. That instrument of pain to some and pleasure to many. She had never seen one of those. All those statues she'd compared him to already had them covered or broken off in an attempt to force modesty. His was hard and jutted up against his stomach.

"I understand what the fuss is about," she murmured as he returned to her with a wide smile.

"So many compliments," he whispered. She reached for him, gripping his base, stroking to the head. He bent his head back over his shoulders and barked out, "Marianne!"

"Was that wrong or right?" she asked, hesitating.

"Very right," he gasped. "Do it again."

She stroked again and he looked into her eyes as he moaned. Just as when he'd touched her, she felt the tingle that answered. Pleasuring him was just as much a pleasure to her. But she wanted more than this.

She wanted the other things he'd described in such detail. She wanted to feel him inside of her, she wanted to be claimed at last.

"Please," she whispered as she rested back on the bed.

He shook his head. "You dangling off the side is very nice when I eat your pretty pussy, but when I take you, you won't be half off your bed. Onto the pillows, please."

She scooted back and he crawled up with her, covering her at last. She expected him to take instantly, but he made no move to do so. He pushed her hair, which had come out of its style as they kissed and teased, out of her face and then leaned down to kiss her so very gently that it brought tears to her eyes.

She tasted herself on his lips, arousing and also proof that he was taking care of her. And she loved him for it. She'd felt that in the orangery, but it was more powerful now. More overwhelming and bigger.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him as he shifted to stroke his cock against her as promised. It felt so good that she whimpered.

In that moment he began to push into her body. The emotions mixed with the sensation of the invasion and she gasped as she lifted up into him, taking him farther inside. There was no pain, more a slight discomfort at being filled. But when he bent his head to kiss her again and held still inside of her, the discomfort faded. She was left only with the tingling power of being joined with this man she loved.

The echo of that truth kept ricocheting, meeting with his first full thrust and drawing her pleasure higher instantly. She gripped his bare shoulders, burying her face into his flesh and crying out in a muffled tone. He took again, rotating his hips to hers. She followed suit and the pleasure ticked higher again.

Over and over he took, each thrust drawing her back to the edge. Each mounting feeling making her heart swell even more. This was the man she loved and he was doing this wonderful thing with her. This thing no one could take away. She felt the ripple of pleasure, increasing every time he moved, and then it turned to a torrent as wave after wave of release washed over her.

He thrust through it, a little faster now, a little harder, his hands tugging her closer, like they could merge in this moment of searing sensation. She almost believed they could, she certainly wished it were true.

His neck tensed, cords of tendons outlined on the flesh, and then he withdrew and stroked his cock. She leaned up again, watching as he came. It was different than when she did, for thick ropes of fluid came from the head of him, splashing hot on her stomach and thighs as he moaned low and hungry.

He collapsed down over her again, his arms coming around her, his mouth finding hers as their panting breaths merged and quieted together at last and this moment, the one he claimed they were stealing, washed over her. She knew three things as the warmth and comfort filled her: she was in love and she never wanted this to end.

But she also knew that it would. That was the thing she knew most. It would end. Because whatever she felt, Sebastian didn't. And she had to keep herself from being too tied up in wanting him to return those feelings or else she would end up with a broken heart.