Emily's Seduction (6 page)

A renewed flood of honey gushed from her core, slicking their connection.

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, sucking in his breath as he did. Her panting echoed in his ears. But he moved at his own pace, until that moment he was fully engaged within her, filling her, stretching her.

He had burned for her. Yet he had abstained. Always with other women he had made love to them in order to escape himself. To forget. But with her he could escape nothing. She forced him to feel every emotion, to face himself.

Facing himself wasn’t always a pleasant thing. He would run from her now, if only he could. But he was bound to her with every beat of his heart.

Damn him for being vulnerable. For allowing himself to open to her and become addicted to her love.

And double damn her for it.

He withdrew suddenly, swiftly. Completely.

She cried out.

He laughed softly.

“Oh, damn you,
damn you,”
she gasped.

He gave her a few more quick, sharp slaps to her arse. “Watch how you speak to me, you naughty girl.”

She let out a long and lingering wail.

He put his cock to her cunt again. “That’s what you want?”

“Yes, yes, oh yes.”

“And did you miss it?”

“God, yes.”

“And did you touch yourself in the night? Did you try to assuage the need with your own fingers?”

“And why must you even ask…? You
know
I did.”

“My vanity demands it, sweetheart.” He entered her, on one long, slow, slide.

She gasped, a sound of both relief and pleasure.

He slapped her bottom several times, firmly “That’s my girl—take all of me.”

“Yes, yes,
yes
,” she moaned the words, pressing herself back against him, grinding her buttocks into the hardness of his lower belly.

His balls slapped the soft cushion of her mons.

He leaned forward and retrieved a bottle from her washstand. It was the oil they used when too many climaxes made her usually dripping core dry up.

She attempted to rise but he applied steady pressure on her head, keeping it down.

The scent of gillyflowers permeated the air, girlish, wholesome. He oiled his fingers then replaced the bottle. He touched the base of her spine and then traced down slowly, right along until he reached her anus. She gasped.

“Every part of you belongs to me now.”

“Yes…” Her voice hitched a little.

He circled the puckered ring. “There are many ways we can give each other pleasure. I’ve told you this before.”

He pressed into the centre—the tight ring resisted him, but he knew she would deny him nothing. She loved him. She wanted to please him. At times, she seemed to live to pleasure him. Her natural sensuality, her curiosity, would also work in his favour. Was it unfair of him to take advantage of those factors? Yes, probably. But, then again, there was nothing fair about the way she made him feel, either.

“I won’t hurt you.” He continued to circle and then to press, each time working a little deeper.

Her internal muscles clenched. She moaned and arched backwards.

He worked his finger back and forth in a slow, gentle fashion. She moaned and writhed wildly. Fire raced through his blood, in equal parts to the sensuality of her response and also to the sense of power and mastery her submission to this gave him.

He leaned close to her ear. “Be still, very still.”

She seemed to try but with limited success.

Two of his fingers were within her anus now. Moving. And then he rocked his hips and the head of his cock rammed against the mouth of her womb. He released his hold on her neck and reached beneath her to brush her sensitive nub. And then he was fucking her, both her cunt and her arse and he was touching her most pleasurable spot. Her cunt and her arse contracted on him again and again and again, demanding his response. His seed roiled up his cock and jetted into her in fierce bursts of white hot pleasure.

* * * *

Pleasure warmed Alex as he let his eyes trace the soft, sleek lines of Emily’s slender form as she sponged herself with scented water. She turned and her mouth dropped open. With her large sherry brown eyes, bobbing shoulder-length ringlets and apple-sized breasts with their small, light pink nipples, she looked very young in the firelight. Like a bride.

Her full, red mouth fell open. “Have you been watching me the whole time?”

Alex laughed softly. “Yes, and enjoying it most shamelessly.”

He got up and came to take her hands and pull her close. He hated himself for the distance he’d put between them.

However, now, knowing Aimee was safe, he could breathe again.

With the anxiety past, he hated most of all having lied to Emily, yet what other choice had he? He could never tell her. Never. He scanned her gaze for any trace that she suspected his deception.

In return, those wide-open eyes seemed to probe too deeply. His neck and shoulder muscles went rigid and he had to look away.

She was dearer to him than anything.

Yet there was a chasm between them.

If she were to somehow be enlightened about the whole truth of his past, how would she ever understand? She could never know what it had been like at eighteen to be faced with the twin evils of torture combined with seduction. And, if she did understand, pity would replace her love.

But it wasn’t her fault. She couldn’t help being so fresh and whole and fully alive. And she was so ready to share it. That was a large part of why he had fallen in love with her.

He couldn’t deny that he was glad he’d been the first to slide his cock into her hot, tight depths. Damned glad. But, now that infatuation was giving way to deeper love, he could bear her being a little less pure.

Maybe a lot less.

With the devil surely on his shoulder, he made a suggestion. “Wear the green velvet gown.”

* * * *

At supper, Peter insisted, as he always seemed to do of late, on flirting shamelessly with Emily. However, that didn’t disturb Alex half as much as the way Emily returned Peter’s attentions with apparent giddy pleasure but then glanced down at her plate and blushed.

She didn’t realise what she was doing. But Alex did. He knew in his guts that she was not just a little attracted to Peter but a lot. His neck and shoulders tensed and he turned his attention to his glass of port, downing it in three swallows. God, if they were in public, what she was doing would be termed making a spectacle of herself. Or worse.

Peter was correct. She really had no idea how much she could be swayed by her own innate desires—or how wolfish a man like Peter was capable of being to make a conquest of her.

Her soft giggle made him look up. She caught his gaze and offered him a sugary smile.

All the while, lusting in her heart for his cousin.

His unsullied girl, so unknowing of herself and still poised on the brink of womanhood. He knew how easily a young person’s natural carnality could be turned against them. Make them do things they wouldn’t otherwise do…

The scent of a dripping water pipe hung heavy in the air. A soft cough stirred Alex’s fuzzy brain. He tried to move but he couldn’t easily. Three nubile yet lush female bodies were wrapped about his. Entangled with his limbs. Pinning him to the divan. Not just any women—or at least not like women he’d ever seen before. They were each a model of perfection, in every way possible.

His balls felt like lead weights, aching. Sore. He was completely exhausted to the point he felt lightheaded and he only wanted to be alone in his own pallet. In the chamber he shared with Nicolo.

He looked up, across the room to the other large divan. Steely grey eyes met his, half-mast and glassy. The old satyr’s voyeuristic desires had been finally met.

The blond-haired devil spoke, “And you said you would not oblige me. You said you would only share yourself with a bride, someone you wed in your own Puritanical faith?”

The last words were spoken snidely. Derisively.

Alex dared to speak back to the devil. “You were raised in the same religion and what you do now goes against the religion you have converted to as an adult.”

The blond devil laughed, deep and cynical. “You’re so idealistic. I can only wonder for how much longer.”

If Alex had the energy to do so, he would have been angry. Sexual congress was a sacred gift from God to form a deep and loving bond between one man and one woman. No one had the right to take that away and certainly not like this.

He felt sick into the pit of his soul.

He’d never do this again.

Even if it meant a bastinado beating.

He’d never do this again.

Never…

God. The illusions and self-deceptions of youth! He could not recall all the faces, just a general vague impression of blonde and vivid redheads, smiling lips, downcast eyes and bouncing, lush breasts. The devil loved to purchase those girls in the markets, bring them to his house and watch Alex fuck them. After that, they’d be sent on to the devil’s bordellos. And beautiful, flawless women like that were eventually sold into a private harem. But to be personal, intimate with them and never know their eventual well-being had been crushing. Yet he couldn’t resist the temptations presented to him. What eighteen-year-old could? Especially when the alternative was so excruciatingly painful.

And then Paris. Oh, Christ—what had been left of his soul after the excesses of Paris? He had no excuse for Paris. There had been no devil waiting to punish him for failure to perform. There had been only his natural, voracious drives.

“Alex?”

He refocused his vision on Emily. Her eyes were wide, her face a little pale. He suddenly felt unclean. Old. Satyric. What the devil was he doing with a fresh, naïve girl?

“Alex!” She’d gone completely white.

“Yes, my love?” His voice sounded indolent, strange to his ears.

“You were laughing.”

“Was I?” He ran a finger around the rim of his wineglass. He felt disconnected from himself. From this moment.

“Yes, it was the most terrible thing I have ever heard… Empty, cynical.” Her brows drew together, an expression of something almost like sorrow.

To reassure her, he smiled at her and winked. Inside he still felt distant from her and everything else, including himself. “Well, I was thinking of something quite amusing.”

Peter’s forehead wrinkled and he raised a silver-blond brow. “Maybe you should share it with us, cousin.”

“I don’t think so. It is a very personal jest.”

Silence fell, the emotional mood as tight as a violin’s string. Alex ate chicken that tasted like wood. Peter cleared his throat and then launched into some droll story about one of his New York clients. Alex couldn’t focus on it. His attention was drawn to Emily.

She appeared to have recovered. She’d been laughing—no, giggling was a more apt term. Quite flirtatiously. Candlelight glowed softly on her pristine ivory complexion. Spots of colour, like the rose blush on a spring peach, shone on her cheeks. Her eyes sparkled like sunrays on morning dew. But her lips were swollen, bruised…like a woman who’d recently been well and truly fucked. As she had.

And, in the moment while their gazes locked, her eyes grew heated. She wanted more. She always wanted more. He loved that about her. Endless fucking. He’d dreamt of such a woman for years. One single woman to fill his boundless needs.

But would she always be happy with one single man?

Would she eventually be unfaithful, the way that Peter had insinuated?

She believed in the purity of love. She’d hate herself. She’d hate him for tying her down.

Yet it seemed inevitable. The lying. The hiding.

The four glasses of port he’d imbibed soured, and bitterness rose in his gullet.

But what if a person’s self-discovery could be made softer, easier. Safer?

* * * *

After supper, in the study, Alex pulled Emily into his lap. He’d done that in front of Peter before and so it didn’t bother her. She enjoyed the feel of his strong thighs beneath her. His strong hands holding her waist. His comforting scent as he and Peter spoke of politics, of the debates in Congress over the creation of a National Navy and the resending of the British Orders of Council. Their voices lulled her and she laid her head on his shoulder and grew drowsy.

Why didn’t he make their excuses so Peter would leave? He’d asked her to wear this green velvet gown. Since the first time she’d worn it, it had been a special thing between them. They had employed it and the satin chemise she wore beneath to such sensual decadence that just to wear it made her insane with sexual hunger.

Her breasts had been taut with her expectation, the lips of her cunt swollen, aching with desire all through the meal. Just in anticipation of being alone with him. Two weeks of pent-up lust was simply unbearable. She’d been so edgy she’d drunk far too much wine. It made her a little dizzy. It made her want to be wild. Free. To writhe and scream.

Now Peter wouldn’t leave and Alex seemed in no hurry to urge him to do so.

A pleasant sensation tingled through her and her nipples drew into stiff peaks. She realised he was caressing her breasts through the velvet bodice. She tensed. “Alex?”

“What?” he breathed against her cheek, as if she were the one out of order. The strong odour of port on his breath only fuelled her own sense of intoxication.

“Peter.”

“What about him?”

“He’s still here.”

“Are you embarrassed?”

Her face flamed. “Yes, of course…”

“Why? I am only showing you affection.”

“I should imagine Peter is embarrassed, too.”

“He’s not.” Alex’s hands moved to the back of her gown to her laces and began tugging.

She couldn’t look at Peter. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because he asked me if he might watch us sometime.”

Her heart began to hammer.

“
Watch us?
”