Absolute Pleasure (20 page)

"You are so wet for me."

"Gabriel!"

He withdrew, and cupped her instead, letting her adjust to the unaccustomed stimulation.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm caressing you as a man caresses a woman. I'm making love to you with my hand."

"It feels ... terrible."

"Liar." He was gratified as her hips began to respond. "I'm helping to spur you toward the end."

"What end?" she wailed. "Cease this torment!"

"Soon." His suspicions—that she'd never previously brought herself to orgasm—were correct, and he preened at the knowledge. "It will abate."

"But how?"

"I'll show you." He propelled her onto the sofa so that she was sufficiently reposed.

Modesty inciting her, her primary instinct was to shield herself, a forearm over her breasts, the other across her lap, but he pried them both away, situating them at her sides.

"I want to look at you."

"This is so embarrassing."

"No, it's not,
bella."
Titillated beyond measure, his phallus was raging with its need for immediate satiation, so he mitigated some of the building urgency by pressing into the frame of the sofa. "Anything ... everything ... is allowed when we're here alone. Remember that."

While he slipped off her shoes, he left on her stockings and garters, and he grasped her ankles and raised her knees so that she was curled into an alluring ball. Up until this point, he'd really and truly meant to draw her in the nude, so that he'd have some body sketches, but on having her so flagrantly displayed, his artistic intentions flew out the window.

Dramatically altering his course, he spread her, opening her so that he had an unimpeded view of her core. Her nether lips parted, her pink pussy winked at him from behind the wall of her womanly hair. She was slick and glistening, ready for his male attention, and the copulation that would ultimately ensue.

The spectacle inflamed him, and he couldn't resist kissing up her calf, past her knee. He nibbled at her inner thigh, and she went rigid, striving to secure her legs, but he was sufficiently positioned that she couldn't.

"You can't proceed much higher." She scowled. "Can you?"

"Of course I can."

"You're not going to ... to ..."

"Assolutamente."
He was ablaze with lust, every pore crying out for surcease from misery. "Lie back. Shut your eyes."

He neared his target, and her whole body tensed. "Gabriel! Let me up!"

"No." He scorched an impassioned, insolent trail up her torso until his gaze linked with hers. "You trust me, don't you?"

"I most affirmatively do not!"

He laughed, long and loud. "Good, then. Your anxiety will make your leap from the pinnacle more profound."

"I don't understand you. Stop talking in riddles."

"I'm overcome by desire, and I'm beyond caring about what you want. That's a man's tendency. That's why you shouldn't offer yourself unless you're prepared to follow through."

"I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"Of what I don't know."

If he'd been any kind of gentleman, he'd have slowed, he'd have taken her trepidation into account. Unfortunately for her, he'd never been a gentleman, and his masculine drives were demanding satiation.

"I informed you of the consequences if you visited today. I wasn't joking." More gently, he appended, 'Try to relax."

He widened her, then he eased down and burrowed into her pussy, flicking at her with his tongue. Piercing her succulent abyss, he delved far inside, thrusting and prodding at her until her hips began to skirmish and flex against his seeking mouth.

"Yes,
bella,"
he encouraged, "that's it."

"What's happening?" she lamented. "I don't like this. It makes me—oh, I can't describe it."

"It's your passion rising. You're struggling toward a peak of gratification. I'll lead you to it."

He wound his hands under her legs, flinging them over his shoulders, while he reached up and found her breasts. Fiercely, he kneaded her nipples while he bothered her from below. She strained and grappled toward release, and he toiled to give her what she inherently craved.

He laved her clit, the nub swelling and throbbing. With each stroke, she stiffened and gasped.

"You're there,
bella.
Let go."

"I can't."

"Yes you can. Do it for me."

He latched on to her clit, sucking hard while he harassed her nipples, and her body hurled her to where she needed to be. With a cry of alarm, she vaulted into a powerful orgasm.

Lurching and bucking, she battled to escape his clutches and the overload of agitation, but he wasn't about to let her avoid the onslaught He held her down, riding out the tumultuous undulations with her.

She soared to an amazing zenith, then gradually floated back to earth, and he was there beside her. He'd abandoned his perch between her legs, and had kissed a path up her enchanting, sweat-soaked body. As her perception was restored, he peered down at her, holding her and kissing her, letting her taste the salty tang of her sex on his mourn and tongue.

Upon seeing her so discomposed, something in the middle of his chest reeled and spasmed, and it dawned on him that it must be his heart. The ice in which it had perpetually been encased was melting, sensation returning, and it was painful.

What he'd fought against for so long, what he'd shunned and deftly eluded, what he'd sworn would never transpire, was starting to occur He was becoming absurdly, senselessly attached to her. In precarious and risky ways, the tentacles of connection were extending, taking root, binding them so tightly that there could never be a separation.

While a part of him rebelled by signaling an alarm, another part impelled him to welcome the circumstance, to delight in it, to cherish her forever.

Near to love,
he thought.

She stirred him in an unfathomable manner, making him crave and yearn and want. Every remarkable thing he'd ever longed to obtain suddenly seemed within his grasp.

Which was ludicrous. They'd done nothing more than engage in a rousing episode of sex. That's all there was to it. He was confusing lasciviousness with more gallant sentiments.

There'd never be anything more between them than a brief, heated dalliance. They'd never marry, or have a family. Even if Gabriel went temporarily mad and decided that Elizabeth was the love of his life, that their combined lack of money didn't matter, her father—and very likely his own—would never consent to it.

A bastard, a confidence artist, a user and abuser of women, was hardly the sort of man who would be selected to wed the daughter of an earl. Besides, they didn't suit. Their antecedents were too diverse.

They currently enjoyed an invigorating physical attraction, which he intended to exploit, but if by some quirk of fate they ended up together, tragedy would result when they were confronted with their incompatibility.

Sex was their sole common thread, but from lengthy experience, he appreciated how rapidly sex became stale and boring, and he had no doubt that the same would eventually happen with her. They'd be naught but two wretched people for whom fornication had been the only uniting factor and, into perpetuity, they'd both be unhappy.

Even if she'd have him—with his eccentric routines and queer habits, with his night hours and hectic schedule, with his demanding, domineering disposition—he'd likely drive her crazy within a fortnight.

Still, it was fun to dream, fun to conceive of what might have been. Yet, that's all it was: a dream. Though
he'd sporadically fantasized about a wife and family, it was not a lifestyle he could ever embrace.

Shaking himself, he stumbled back to reality, sustaining only a twinge of regret as he cast aside his whimsical notions.
 

Why be saddened,
he asked himself,
over something that was never meant to be?
He'd never wanted children anyway. Had he?

He was behaving like a fool. The woman had had an orgasm. Nothing more, nothing less, and he needed to maintain his perspective.
     

With his resolve for distance firmly in place once again, he shifted away from her and sat up. Straightening his clothes and hair, he fussed with his trousers, endeavoring to find some ease for his unassuaged cock as the ill-mannered rod pulsated against the placard of his paints.

While he'd originally resolved to fuck her relentlessly throughout the day, he now recognized his folly: He'd momentarily forgotten the inherent pitfalls in growing close to her, so there'd be no sexual alleviation. Not this day, and perhaps not ever. He needed to keep his wits about him.

His craving for Lady Elizabeth had spiraled him to new heights of covetousness, and he wouldn't careen down such an insane road.
    

Determined, in control, he stood, searching the room for chalk and parchment. Sketching her was the best method for reducing his ardor, for keeping his libidinous impulses at bay. He scooped up his materials, centered the stool, and sat on it once more.

Concentrated on his enterprise, he glanced up, (Cleared his throat, and said, "Could you scoot up on the pillows? With you slouched like that, I don't have enough light"

Chapter Twelve

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Why?"

Disconcerted, her head whirling, her body drumming with stimulation that was just beginning to wane, Elizabeth sat up and glared at Gabriel. He was staring at her as if she'd committed a huge sexual gaffe, and she desperately sought to hide the proof of how thoroughly she'd unraveled, for he plainly didn't care to witness it.

Where a moment earlier, he'd been holding her close and whispering soothing love words, now he was distant, aloof, acting as if he scarcely knew her and couldn't fathom how she'd come to be nude and lounging on a sofa in the middle of his studio.

Disturbingly, she couldn't help but wonder if perhaps the sumptuous peak to which she'd ascended had terminated her chastity, and thus, he was finished with her. For her entire life, she'd been warned that men despised defiled women. Had he gotten what he wanted, and now, in the fickle way of males everywhere, he had ceased to be interested?

"Am I still a virgin?"

"Yes, of course you are."

"So when I... I didn't... you weren't..."

She had no capacity for making such a confidential inquiry. She wasn't sure what virginity entailed, or how it was surrendered.

"Don't worry. Your virtue remains unsullied."

When they'd been in the throes of passion, she'd felt pretty and adored, but with him detached and being so haughty, the splendid bond they'd generated had vanished. She simply felt naked and foolish. And cold!

Her skin was speedily cooling, and she glanced around, searching for a throw or shawl with which she might cover herself, but there was none to be had. She was exposed, on display, and didn't wish to be.

She stood, meaning to stomp over and fetch her cloak.

"What are you doing?" Gabriel asked, surprised.

"I want my clothes."

"Well, I'm ready to draw you again. Sit down."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not in the mood for posing. And I'm freezing."

He was perched so closely that she couldn't move around him. There was no avenue of escape. Arrogantly, he settled a hand on her waist and eased her down, and she had to admit that she was glad he had, for after what she'd just endured, her legs were shaky and unsteady.

"Stay there," he commanded in his imperious, tyrannical fashion.

Marching to the back room, he returned with a gauzy length of red cloth. In a futile effort to furnish warmth, he draped it across her lap, but the material was so flimsy that it offered scant protection.

Dawdling behind the sofa, he fluffed and fussed with it, adjusting it so that it shielded her privates but nothing more. Irritated, she yanked it away from him, and fully covered herself, erasing his exact positioning with a flick of hex wrist.

"Elizabeth! I had you arranged!"

"I don't plan to lie about while you're looking at me like that"

"Like what?”

"Like you've never seen me before. Like you're angry with me." She gulped down a surge of tears. How could
he jump from ardent lover to reserved artist in the blink of an eye? "What have I done to upset you?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are you acting like this?"

"Like what?" he echoed.

"Don't be obtuse; it doesn't become you."

At her admonishment, he spun away and went to his shelf of painting supplies, effectively ignoring her as he pretended to scour through bowls and jars, hunting for an unrevealed object she was quite sure he didn't need.

"I've never been with a man before." She spoke to his unyielding back. "If I did something inappropriate, then tell me. I'm eager to learn. Just show me what's required, and I'll try my best."

He uttered an odd choking sound.

"You did fine," he insisted, though from how he was avoiding a rational discussion, she was positive she'd made an unforgivable mistake, but she was so unschooled in libidinous matters that she couldn't begin to speculate what it might have been.

The erotic conduct he'd disclosed was breathtaking, stupendous. He had pushed her to a shocking summit, and the rise and fall had transpired so swiftly that she hadn't had opportunity to reflect on whether or not she had performed adequately.

Her eyes a virtual pair of daggers digging into his shoulder blades, she challenged him to face her, but he didn't. He was stiff as a statue, except for a hand that pressed against the front of his pants as if he was suffering some major discomfort.

"Well, then"—she rose and wrapped herself in the scarlet fabric, determined to reach her clothes with her head held high—"I'll be going. I'm sorry I didn't perform as your other lovers obviously have."

"My
other
lovers!" He whipped around, blazing with temper, when she had no idea why. Would she ever understand him?

"I'm not an idiot, Gabriel. I imagine dozens of women have dallied with you on this accursed sofa. Apparently, they know something about this sort of activity that I don't. I apologize that I failed to meet your amorous expectations."

Overtly furious, he stomped across the floor, until they were toe to toe. "You believe I'm disappointed in you?"

"What else should I think?”

"You're mad!" He clasped her hand and laid it on the placard of his trousers. A prominent ridge was manifest. "Do I feel like I'm
disappointed?”

He stroked her palm against it, and the strange crest seemed to come alive. "What is that thing?"

Almost violently, he shoved her hand away, the red wrap slipping so that she was nude, once more, and he gripped her hips and ground his loins into hers. Automatically, her legs spread, allowing him access to her intimate parts, and he took advantage, flexing slowly and meticulously. The precise thrusting instigated a myriad of explosions deep inside her.

"It's my cock. My phallus."

"What is it for?"

"For mating. For coupling with you in sexual intercourse."

"How does it—"

Ere she could complete her sentence, he clutched her buttocks, lifted her, and twirled her around so that she abruptly found herself lying on the sofa with Gabriel insolently kneeling between her legs. He lowered himself, crushing into her core with more force than ever before, the action patently agonizing for him.

Through gritted teeth, he muttered,
"Dio!
I want you so badly."

"Then show me what you mean," she brazenly declared.

"Don't tempt me."

He braced himself, arms locked, as he worked his hips in a brutal rhythm. Her body recognized the maneuver, and her thighs widened, so that she presented him with a welcoming cushion against which he could lean and push.

With each impact, his pants roughly inflamed the area betwixt her legs that was still sensitive from his prior ministrations. A sizzle ignited, one that she now identified as the initial spark of passion, and she was delighted to realize that me marvelous diversion he'd initiated minutes prior could be repeated. Her anatomy was responding with avid enthusiasm, ready for a second round.

"Why are you making this motion? What are you attempting?"

"It's a prelude to fucking," he crudely explained, then with his ringers, he fumbled through her womanly hair and fondled her extensively. "Men and women are formed differently."

"How?"

"A man has a kind of staff between his legs. When he's preparing to fornicate, it enlarges." He placed her hand on his trousers once again, so that she could handle the curious appendage. "He rubs it back and forth, and the increased friction causes a white cream—his seed—to gush from the tip. The eruption is accompanied by a great wave of pleasure, much as you enjoyed when I licked you with my tongue."

"But your bodily cream didn't emerge. You derived no satisfaction from the event. Is that why you're so annoyed?"

"Woman!" he scolded. "I'm so bloody hard for you that I'm about to burst the seams in my pants."

He thrust, letting her perceive his size and shape, and the agitation was indescribable, instigating tingles of corporeal excitement and a renewed throbbing in her breasts.

"I desire you," he said. "You're the only topic I ever contemplate. All that I crave. Do you hear me?”

"Yes"—she nodded hesitantly—"I hear you."

"Then I shouldn't be forced to listen to any nonsense to the contrary."

What was his point? The blasted fellow was a walking, talking enigma. Riddles! That's what he was spewing! Was he irate or not? Dissatisfied or not? Unhappy or not?

"If you lust after me so intensely," she cautiously ventured, "why did you reject me just now?'

"Because I... I..." His cheeks flushed, and he couldn't expound upon what was inciting him to such asinine comportment.

She watched in stunned silence. The bounder was embarrassed! My goodness! What a peculiar turn of events!

'Tell me," she prodded.

Every possible emotion—regret, ire, yearning, concern, tenderness—played across his beautiful face. He appeared lost, perplexed, unable to rationalize his rampant bewilderment, and her animosity faded.

Dared she hope that he was experiencing some of the same maudlin upheaval that routinely plagued her?

Despite how deliberately he endeavored to feign apathy, he was fond of her; she was convinced of it. But he was a man. And a proud, vain, imposing one, at that Presumably, any number of elegant, charming women had drifted through his life, but very likely, he'd never developed an attachment to any of them. Maybe the affection he was encountering was as novel and confounding to him as it was to her.

She took pity on him, resolved to ease him through his arduous predicament. "Had you determined that you've been moving too quickly for me?"

"Precisely," he admitted, then he heaved a sigh of relief that she'd granted him a means of wiggling out of his dilemma.

"You know"—she strove for nonchalance—"when I ponder my relationship with you, it frightens me."

"Why?"

"What I feel for you is so overwhelming. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. And I'm not deferring
just to the physical. I mean the emotional, too. I care about you; much more than I ought."

"Aye," he said neutrally.

"But I'd never deny myself the joy of spending time with you, or of becoming better acquainted." She caressed his chest, and his heart beat fiercely behind his ribs. "Do you worry that I might develop into a complication?"

"Occasionally."

"Well, don't. Worry, that is. On the day you decide you're tired of me, just say so, and I promise I'll go peacefully. I'll never contact you again."

"Bella— "

"Hush, now." She pressed a finger to his lips, cutting him off. It had been difficult enough to offer him such an easy conclusion to their affair. She couldn't abide having to listen to whatever justifications he might have provided as to why her sentiments weren't reciprocated.

"You make me sound so cold-blooded."

It wasn't that she found him to be callous. She just had no illusions about their liaison. They had no destiny—that fact was a given—so mere was no reason to pine over some frivolous by-and-by that would never arrive. If he could affect equanimity, so could she, and if she could bestow peace of mind by conferring a facile summation to their amour, then she would. She wanted him concentrating on her, and not on some nebulous apprehension about the morrow.

Determined to keep him from focusing on issues that just didn't signify, she trailed her hand down till it was on the protuberance in his pants.

"What did you call this thing a bit ago? A cock?”

"Si.
Or a phallus."

She massaged it, liking how she had him squirming. "Is it painful when it's so enlarged?"

"It can be."

"How do you alleviate the situation?"

"I told you: with friction, so that the seed erupts."
  
.

"Could I make that occur?"

"With scarcely any effort at all."

"What would I have to do?"

"Stroke me with your hand, or your mouth. Or, I could put it here"—he grazed across the opening in her body that she hadn't ever really considered before—"but that would result in my taking your virginity."

"So that's how it transpires," she mused. "You propel this ... this cock inside of me?"

"Quite vigorously."

"Does it hurt?"

"Just the first time. And you'd bleed."

"It doesn't seem very pleasant."

"The initial episode usually isn't—for the woman."

"But for the man?"

"A man can spill his seed at the drop of a hat. It's an indulgence he hungers for above all else."

"Why isn't it as fulfilling for the woman?"

"It can be—if her partner is an adept lover. The female needs to relax before she can comfortably accommodate a phallus." He shrugged. "Many men don't grasp how to accomplish the feat. Or if they're too provoked, they can't bear a delay."