Heaven Sent the Wrong One (9 page)

She suppressed the
mounting panic in her belly and lowered her lashes.

His gaze did not falter. She'd never seen him so grave
—yet so earnest. He kept his silence, unsmiling as he riveted her in a disconcerting stare. His expression spoke for itself. She knew—he was waiting for her to decide if she would have him, or if she would change her mind and decline.

God help her
—she would not. She would never refuse him.
Ever
. This time her resolve was stronger. She wanted him. Loved him. She was sure of that now. Nothing in the whole universe—not even herself—could stop her from being with him. No matter what came out of it, she had no wish to dwell on the consequences. She would not be one of those women who lived with regret, agonizing over the constant nagging in one's heart, wondering—what could have been. What should have been—what if?

No
—not her. Not tonight.

She bravely lifted her eyes and returned his gaze with a look that spoke volumes of how she felt about him. Her speech had deserted her, but she did not care
—there were simply no amount of words sufficient to justify how alarmingly in love she was with him.

He blinked, his gorgeous eyes softening. The tension left his face and he relaxed his shoulders. His adorable dimples appeared on his cheeks. She reached out and gently d
ipped a forefinger in one.

He caught her wrist and brought it to his mouth, pressing his lips firmly on her rapidly beating pulse. Then, without another word, he led her to a bedchamber done in blue and gold.

                
~                                   

Allayne watched Anna as he lit the fragrant logs in the fireplace. She moved about the palatial suite, touching a pillow, running a finger over the back of a chair, glancing at the gilt-painted ceiling, before finally peering out the window at the
scenery below.

He went to her and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"It's so beautiful," she said breathlessly, admiring the view. The street lamps below illuminated the magnificent building as evening rolled in, casting the architectural masterpiece in a golden glow interspersed with mysterious shadows.

"U-hum," he murmured, planting a kiss on her shoulder.

He spared not a fleeting look at the vista outside. She was his idea of what was beautiful—he need not focus his attention anywhere else.

"D-do you always do that?" Her voice gained a slight tremor as he grazed his lips along her shoulder to the side of her neck.

"Do what?" He nuzzled the sensitive skin behind her ear.

"Talk in monosyllables or in single words. I noticed you do that
often," she tilted her head to one side, giving him better access.

"U-hum." He nipped her earlobe lightly.

"Andrew," she said his name with a gasp.

"Hmm?" He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled its scent.

"Y-you're doing it again," she said in a strangled tone, sighing as he began to pluck the pins in her hair with his teeth, letting them drop on the carpeted floor.

"U-hum." He watched in fascination as the heavy mass of dark hair fell all the way down to her hips.

"Andrew," she uttered a little more sternly, glancing over her shoulder at him.

He chuckled. Her attempt to distract him with insignificant conversation only made it more evident how nervous she was. "Single words, monosyllables
—doesn't mean I'm not interested." He slid his hands upwards from her waist and cupped her breasts.

She literally jumped
, flinging restraining hands over his.

"Relax." He acquiesced, releasing the delicious mounds he longed to suckle, turning her slowly by the shoulders to face him. "You, my love
—talk too much."

"I
—I don't know what do," she said, sheepishly. For all her outward mettle, he could tell—this was a subject where she truly was inexperienced. She was excited—no doubt—but she was also a bit embarrassed and afraid.

He tilted her chin and looked into he
r eyes. "Trust me."

~

Alexandra recognized the mastery hidden beneath his angelic countenance. The underlying devilishness she had always sensed about him had resurfaced
, and somehow, it made him more desirable—more irresistible. She drew a shaky breath, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. "I trust you," she whispered, consigning her fate in the hands of Lucifer.

Then, he was kissing her, probing her mouth with his tongue, urging her to surrender herself to his care.

And she did. Welcomed the intrusion, drowned herself in his insistent caresses, accepted his masterful persuasion. He tasted of strawberries and wine, sweet yet intoxicating, forbidden yet temptingly divine.

He swooped her in his arms and sat her on the edge of the massive bed. Before she c
ould even utter a single word of protest, he'd swiftly disposed of her stockings and shoes, and was now halfway down the buttons at the back of her gown. In the next minute, he'd divested her of her dress and corset, followed by her chemise and drawers.

Al
exandra fought the hysteria rolling in her tummy. He was a man of few words and he certainly did not dawdle. She covered her breasts with her hands and squeezed her thighs tightly together, embarrassed to the roots of her hair as he dropped to his knees on the carpet, inspecting what he had unclothed.

"Open," he said in a low growl, placing his hands on her knees and pushing her legs apart.

Alexandra shuddered. He uttered a single word—and it was a command. What had happened to her Andrew with the laughing eyes and sweet be-dimpled smile? Who was this wild, snarling, lusty, domineering man? She clamped her thighs tighter.

"Anna," the admonition in his eyes sent shivers down her spine.

She swallowed. What should she say to him?
Please Sir, I'm the oldest virgin in England, —can you please slow down?

"Open," he repeated in a voice that sounded more ominous than before.

Alexandra gnawed on her bottom lip. He had made his intentions as clear as a summer day—he would not be denied. She eased the tension in her thighs.

He parted her legs and plastered his eyes at the thatch of dark curls no man had ever gazed upon.

She gritted her teeth in embarrassment and averted her face. Surely, he would be done in a minute and they could get on with their business.

But apparent
ly, that was not what he had in mind. Because the next thing she knew, he had hoisted her feet on the edge of the bed, and she was reclining on her elbows with her knees up, spread-eagled before him.

"Andrew!" She tried to cover herself with one hand, beyo
nd mortified at the indecency of her position.

"Relax," he murmured, catching her wrist and pinning it to her side.

"You're embarrassing me!" she complained indignantly.

Her umbrage seemed to have affected him, for he slowly rose and settled himself over h
er, fully clothed, with his arms resting on the bed on either side of her head.

"I was just admiring you, my love," he tenderly kissed her on the mouth, making her insides quiver. "Let me worship your body," he murmured between kisses, pulling slightly awa
y to look into her eyes, once again saying, "Trust me."

Trust me.

Two simple words that meant the world and stood for everything—complete submission, unquestioning faith in another—that only a woman in love could willingly bestow on her beloved.

"Yes," she
whispered.

The spark of desire gleamed in his eyes. He kissed her
—thoroughly—then stood up and brought the full-length mirror by the bed.

"What is that for?" She sat up.

He sat behind her on the bed and pulled her back against his chest, cradling her between his thighs. "Watch," he murmured in her ear, pulling her knees up to her shoulders and spreading her legs wide with her feet resting on the bed. "See how beautiful you are?"

She met his gaze in the mirror. Oh Lord, she gulped, following the direction w
here his eyes had wandered to; he could see her privates all the way up to her womb!

She attempted to hide her rapidly flaming face in his chest.

"Anna, look in the mirror," he said softly.

She peeked at her obscene reflection, gasping as he parted the sof
t folds of her sex further with his index and middle finger.

"Stop that." She tried to clamp her legs together, but he simply held her in place.

"Watch and feel, my love," he whispered over her shoulder. "I'm going to touch you here."

Alexandra stared, mes
merized, as he made gentle circular motions on the tiny pink nub at the apex of her sex with his middle finger. The sensation was beyond anything she could have ever imagined. Pleasure and then more intense pleasure built up, until every nerve in her body vibrated, tingled, and burned. A warm pool of wetness flooded her core. Her lids drooped languorously with a moan. She leaned backwards against him, rocking and pressing her hips harder against his hand.

"Look at me and tell me you want more," he said husk
ily, cupping her breast and rolling her nipple with his thumb in time with the caress of his finger on her sex.

Alexandra's lids flew open. The sight of his hands exploring her most intimate regions as he watched her reaction in the mirror was incredibly e
rotic. She felt wanton and wicked, but also beautiful and desirable.

"More," she replied in a breathless voice she barely recognized as her own.

She saw the satisfied gleam in his eyes. He slid the hand cupping her breast downwards, stroking her woman's flesh in tandem with his other hand, rubbing the sensitive nub at the peak of her sex. Alexandra squirmed restlessly with a strangled sob. What he was doing to her was just too much. She wanted to writhe and scream as the pleasure and pain interspersed, but oh God,—she needed more; she did not want him to stop!

"Andrew
—please—" she cried and squeezed her eyes shut, as the maddening sensations occluded her bliss and suspended her in purgatory.

"Open your eyes, my love," Andrew rasped in her ear.

She did what he asked out of desperation and stared at their reflection in the mirror. They made a striking couple—with his fair hair and solid, muscular physique, in sharp contrast with her dark locks and willowy figure. He was fully attired down to his boots, while she was stark naked, her feminine folds swollen with arousal from the wicked ministration of his fingers.

"This will make you feel better." He gently inserted one finger inside her, planting a reassuring kiss on her temple at her shocked gasp, before he ass
aulted her slickness with a titillating push-pull pattern.

Alexandra moaned and arched her back. Yes, it made her feel better
—oh, so much better—but it also made her feel worse. The pleasure he invoked had rapidly progressed into a state of constipated affliction, seeking immediate relief.

"Please, Andrew," she tilted her head up, "I want you."

"I know, love," he kissed her upturned lips. "Let me prepare you a little more so I won't hurt you too much."

"Is that what you're doing?" she asked with a catch in
her breath.

"Yes
—look." Another finger joined the first one and she moaned in delight at the heightened sensations it triggered. She felt a fresh flow of wetness saturate her sex.

"Open a little more for me, my love," Andrew said hoarsely, carefully easing
a third finger inside her. "Yes, that's it," he whispered, as she relaxed and whimpered blissfully, matching the movement of her hips with the rhythm of his hand.

Alexandra peeked at the sexually explicit scene they created in the mirror through half-clos
ed eyes. Andrew certainly knew how to pleasure a woman. He explored and tormented her so wickedly—not even the sensual books she had read could measure up.

She writhed and sobbed in combined agony and rapture, as he increased the tempo of his fingers and s
troked the inflamed nub of her sex with greater pressure. A sudden tension gripped her belly and escalated to an overwhelming crest, welling between her thighs like a dam of liquid heat waiting to burst out. She whimpered and stiffened, feeling the cramp course from her womb down to her sex, clenching and unclenching on his fingers. As the ripples of convulsions passed through her, she felt her walls give way with one last shudder, releasing a flood of warm infusion, leaving her thoroughly spent.

~

"God, A
nna," Allayne withdrew his fingers, stunned at the intensity of her passion. He shifted to let her lay boneless on the bed, hauling himself to his feet to undress.

He had wanted to bring her pleasure, to show her how it was done. But he'd also intended to
reveal his conduct in bed—the way he preferred to do things, in spite of the fact that she was inexperienced. His methods had always been unconventional—he was a man who liked erotica, a true epicurean who enjoyed uninhibited sex. It was important that his woman understood this and has an appetite to match his own.