Cheryl Holt (19 page)

“This is killing me. I want to be alone.”

“No, you don’t.”

“It hurts to be around you, to care about you and to have you so angry with me.”

“I’m not angry.” His wrath had faded like leaves on the wind. “You’re everything to me. I adore you. I . . . I . . .”

He halted. He’d almost blurted out that he loved her,
and he was astounded. He didn’t love her. He didn’t love anyone, and his nearly proclaiming himself was a further indicator of his muddled condition.

Such an exclamation would be folly. She would embrace the words, when they weren’t true. Heightened sentiment had no lasting value, and around her, he had to be cautious.

“If you’re fond of me, as you contend,” she rebuked, “you have a terrible way of showing it.”

“I admit it. I’m an oaf, a boor. Forgive me.”

He’d never been so at a loss with a woman, but then, she wasn’t like the harlots with whom he consorted, and she had to be treated differently. He kept forgetting.

Needing to be closer, needing to communicate what he couldn’t convey aloud, he dipped down and kissed her. They might quarrel, but they never failed to connect physically. When he was holding her, their problems seemed petty, their disparities minor.

She didn’t resist his advance, and she joined in, clutching at his jacket as if it was a lifeline. Their bickering had drained the energy out of her. She felt lighter, rubbery, as if her bones had melted, and he had the distinct impression that if he released her, she would crumple to the ground.

He jerked at the belt of her robe and yanked off the garment; then he lifted her, propelling her back so that she was braced to the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist. The hem of her nightgown was bunched up, and she was open wide, her privates splayed, his crotch flattened to her own, with only the fabric of his pants separating them.

His tongue was in her mouth, his cock a hard rod at
her center, and he thrust against her, the motion relieving some of the ache but increasing the agony, too.

Her gown was summery, her shoulders bare, and he tugged at the straps, exposing her breasts, relishing their weight in his hands. He thumbed her nipples, making her squirm, making her writhe. Breathless and distraught, she broke off the kiss.

“Please don’t,” she begged. “I can’t revel with you anymore.”

“I can’t stop. I have to have you.” She emitted a soft groan that might have been joy or despair, but he ignored it.

“What do you want from me?” she wailed.

“I don’t know,” he honestly replied.

“Where are we headed?”

“I haven’t the foggiest.”

“Where will we end up?”

“I couldn’t begin to guess.”

“You’re mad,” she stated.

“Very likely.”

At that moment, he was a bit crazed, capable of any nefarious conduct. He spun her, lugged her to the bed, and dropped her onto it.

Emily wasn’t sure what had happened, but suddenly, they were wild for each other. He was pinning her down so that she couldn’t wriggle away, but she wasn’t about to escape. Amazingly, she was impatient to dally, and she couldn’t wait for the spiral of ecstasy to commence.

She would try anything to forget Reginald and the gruesome day she’d endured.

Her knees were bent, her feet dangling over the edge of the mattress, and he knelt on the floor, positioning himself between her legs. He drew off her nightgown, revealing her thighs, her loins, her belly, and she let him look his fill.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m going to kiss you.” He shoved two fingers inside her. “Here, where you need it most.”

“No, it’s too personal, too wrong.”

“It’s not wrong, Emily.” He stared up at her. “When we’re together like this, everything is allowed. Everything!”

“But I don’t want you to know me like this.”

“It’s not up to you.”

“Michael!”

“Be silent!”

He leaned down and licked his tongue across her, tasting her, delving into her tight, wet sheath. He found her sexual center, and he jabbed at it until her hips were flexing, until she was arching up in a desperate attempt to avoid the sensation he was inflicting.

“Desist!” she pleaded. “I can’t bear this.”

“Just about there,” he coaxed.

“No . . . I don’t . . . I can’t . . .”

Her mind and body were at war. When ardor flared between them, her body welcomed it, but her mind couldn’t abandon the moral restraints she’d been taught. She recognized that their actions were wicked, but in view of what he could give her, limitations seemed irrelevant.

She was rigid with desire, her feminine core weeping with its need for release.

“Let go, Emily,” he urged.

“I can’t.”

“Do it for me.”

He sucked at the taut nub, as his fingers kneaded her breasts. In an instant, she leapt into the inferno, and he held her down as she struggled and cried out.

The spiral went on and on, and as it waned, as she floated to earth, he was nuzzling up her torso. He blazed a slow trail to her cleavage, her nape, her chin, her mouth, as he kissed her, and she savored the tang of her sex on his lips. It was an aphrodisiac that inflamed and provoked, and she sighed with resignation. “I can’t believe I allowed you to do that.”

“I scarcely gave you a choice.”

“I hate you,” she claimed.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. You bully and coerce me so that I can’t ever say no.”

“Why would you want to?”

“Because I’m hurting. I can’t abide it that you mean so much to me, but I am so insignificant to you.”

He scowled. “Is that what you think? That you don’t matter to me?”

“How could I presume otherwise? You’re like a sultan with a harem.”

“I’m not, Emily.”

She supposed they could have entered into a lengthy debate over whether he had any genuine feelings for her, over why he trifled with her and with others at the same time, but it was futile to argue over the kind of man he was, and the kind of woman she was. They were oil and water.

“I don’t care,” she insisted, waving away any declarations he might make, declarations she wouldn’t credit. “I don’t care about any of it.”

And she truly didn’t. Not at that moment anyway. Later on, she’d rue and regret, but when she was still quivering with pleasure it was difficult to concentrate on anything but her uncontrollable, baffling need for him.

He clambered onto the bed, dragging her with him so that she was draped across him, and he commanded, “Remove my clothes.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“But if I remove your clothes, we’re likely to . . . to . . .”

“Precisely.”

She understood what he planned. There was no need for conversation or extensive deliberation. “My common sense has flown out the window.”

“Good.”

“You tempt me to commit sins I never imagined.”

“You’re an absolute wanton. I’m convinced of it.” He rotated them, so that he was on top and she was on the bottom.

“Are we going to mate? Right here? Right now?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not ready.”

“I am.”

He tugged off his jacket, his cravat, his shirt, so that his upper body was bared, and he raised up, his breast at her lips. “Lick me,” he instructed. “As I do to you.”

Tentatively, her tongue flicked out, dabbing at the pebbled nub. “Like this?”

“Yes, and suck it into your mouth.” She complied, and he added, “Harder.”

She nipped and played till he couldn’t stand any more, and he fumbled with his trousers, loosing them, easing them down around his flanks. Where previously she might have panicked and stepped back from the precipice, on this occasion she did nothing to stop their forward progress. Wherever he led, she was happy to follow.

Holding him, massaging him, she took his cock in hand, her thumb teasing the crown. He was shaking, beads of perspiration on his brow, and he clasped her thighs and lowered himself between them. His phallus brushed across her. “I have to finish this. I can’t wait any longer.”

She considered protesting, but what would be the point? She craved this, too. It seemed as if she’d always been searching for him, as if her entire life had been a chain of events delivering her to this place.

“Are you sure?” she queried.

Surprisingly, she was more worried about his subsequent reaction than her own. She wasn’t positive he should proceed, was certain he hadn’t reflected on the ramifications and that he’d feel awful afterward.

“I’m very sure.” Stretching her, he nudged in the blunt end. “This will be painful. The first time.”

He wedged it in farther, and she squirmed, suddenly unnerved by the swift escalation, by his steely determination. She’d thought she was prepared, but it was happening too rapidly. She was eager to discuss what was about to transpire, to pry out more of the details, or cuddle while she came to grips with what she was about to relinquish.

“Can we talk for a minute?”

“No.”

She tried throwing him off, but she had no leverage. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“You can’t.”

“It’s too big. You’ll never fit.”

“Hush.” He kissed her, every fiber of his being focused on completion.

“I’m frightened.”

“Don’t be.”

“Michael!”

Briefly, he paused to assess her nude torso, and he smiled, a feral, possessive smile that thrilled her, that terrified her.

“You’re mine, Emily,” he said. “All mine from now on.”

In a smooth, exact move, he broke through her maidenhead, impaling himself to the hilt. There was a tear, the rush of her woman’s blood, and she cried out and arched up.

He was very still, letting her acclimate, and gradually, the ache faded. She exhaled a slow breath, and on her relaxing, he began to thrust, pushing in and pulling out, then pushing in again. With each penetration, her distress diminished, her anatomy accepting him. She joined in, flexing and adopting the rhythm he’d set.

He was resolute, his tension extreme, and he’d abandoned any pretense of gentleness or sympathy for her virginal state. His hips were methodical, disciplined, working like the pistons of a huge machine, and she clutched at him as if she were on a ship at sea and navigating stormy waves. The uproar increased, the tumult at a fevered pitch, when he moaned and went taut, every
muscle suspended; then he yanked away and spilled himself on her stomach.

Exhausted by the intense effort, he collapsed onto her, and she cradled him, reveling in the quiet aftermath, but assailed by the enormity of what they’d done. What would they say to each other? How would they act?

Without a word, he slid to the side and walked to the dresser to fetch a towel. He returned to her and wiped away the stain of his seed. There was blood on her thighs, on his phallus, and he swabbed it away.

He couldn’t—or wouldn’t—look at her, and she was left with the distinct impression that he was embarrassed. She shifted with unease. Was he lamenting his behavior so soon?

“Are you all right?” she inquired, unable to bear the awkward silence.

“Me?” He was startled by her question. “Of course. How about you?”

“I’m fine.”

As if afraid to touch her, he dawdled on the edge of the mattress, so she opened her arms in invitation, and he snuggled into them.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

“I’ll live.”

“I didn’t mean to be so rough.”

“You weren’t.”

“You arouse me beyond my limits.”

“What joy to my ears.” She smiled. There was something immensely satisfying about driving him to distraction.

He kissed her and smiled, too. “Any regrets?”

“Nary a one. How about you?”

He shook his head and chuckled. Down below, his cock was partially erect and prodding at her abdomen. “I want you again. Already.”

“I can tell.”

“I can’t get enough of you. So . . . can we put to rest this silly notion that you don’t matter to me?”

“Yes, we can definitely put it to rest.”

The moment was wonderfully intimate. He was staring at her, his blue eyes searing her with his affection and esteem, and she was delighted to read the fondness written there.

Though she might occasionally have her doubts, his regard was more strident than he could ever admit. He was a male, after all, so perhaps verbal professions were beyond him. He had to show her physically what he couldn’t articulate aloud, and for now, she’d let it be enough.

She’d be patient, and she’d hope for the best. She was convinced that, deep down, an honest and reputable fellow was lurking, and if she could bring him to the surface, they could have a future together.

“I’ll spend the night with you,” he said. “We’ll make love till dawn.”

“Amorous activity seems to be rather draining for you. Are you certain you should dare it more than once?”

“Hah! I can do it till morning,” he boasted, “if you can keep up with me.”

“Rascal.”

“Always.”

She hugged him, content and excited to begin anew.

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