My Favorite Thief (20 page)

Harrison's mouth moved like warm velvet against hers, caressing her, coaxing her, igniting a flame deep within her belly. Slowly, he traced the tip of his tongue along her lips. She sat there, her breath trapped within her chest, her senses reeling, clinging to him. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she was aware that it was wrong for her to permit him to touch her so, but she was unable to summon the slightest inclination to make him stop. It was glorious to be touched with such masculine hunger, his hands moving like a restless flame across the dips and swells of her, awakening her flesh to the sensation of his caresses. Harrison's palms moved down the length of her back, across the flare of her hips, up the expanse of her ribs. She could feel herself melting beneath him, her body shifting and softening as it responded to his touch. His tongue flickered again across her bottom lip, teasing, enticing. Her lips parted of their own accord, stunning her even as she sighed into his mouth. Her mind swirling with the heady sensation of being desired, she tentatively tasted him. Emboldened and aroused, she tasted him more.

Harrison groaned while his hands roamed possessively across the soft curves of her body. It had been well over a year since he had felt anything more than the most distant flicker of desire, and a desperate yearning was flooding through him. The feel and taste and scent of Charlotte was overwhelming, stripping away all sense of time and place, until his entire existence was focused purely upon that moment, and he was aware of only two things.

He wanted her.

And incredibly, she wanted him.

It was this that made him slowly unfasten the small black beads at the front of her gown, revealing the ivory calico of her camisole. He tugged upon the slender length of ribbon holding it closed and slipped his hands inside, peeling the layers of summery fabric off her shoulders to expose the lacey corset she wore beneath. He felt her stiffen slightly, uncertain, and so he pulled his mouth from hers to rain reassuring kisses upon the pink seashell of her ear, down the ivory column of her neck, across the pulsing hollow of her throat. He inhaled deeply of her as he continued his path of kisses, worshipping her with his hands and his lips, his palms cupping the soft round of her breasts as he buried his face between them. She threaded her fingers into his hair, her breaths coming faster now, as he undid several of the fastenings at the front of her corset, nuzzled one breast free from her lace-trimmed chemise and drew its crimson peak into his mouth. She arched suddenly and gripped him tighter, pulling him close. He took in her sweet softness, then moved to her other breast, sucking upon the lush swell until it formed a dark berry against the wet roughness of his tongue.

Charlotte closed her eyes as Harrison eased her back against the sofa, too intoxicated by the sensations eddying through her to summon any sense of propriety. Pleasure was pulsing through her, making her feel wondrously alive and whole and free. She ran her hands down the hard wall of Harrison's back as he leaned over her, marveling at how powerful he felt with nothing but the thin silk of his dressing gown stretched upon his enormous, muscled frame. His lips were on hers again, his tongue plundering the secrets of her mouth, drawing a moan from her as one hand caressed her breast while the other moved down and disappeared beneath the tangled froth of her skirts. There were only two simple petticoats beneath her gown, which posed little hindrance to the ascent of Harrison's hand upon her uninjured leg.

He moved languidly, his fingers trailing upon her ankle, then grazing up her stockinged calf, until he came to the frill of lace where her drawers ended at her knee. He drifted along the length of her thigh, his touch gentle and sure. Then his hand slipped inside her drawers, causing her to gasp. He distracted her with a long kiss while his fingers began to stroke the silky triangle of her womanhood. She felt hot and restless, and a mysterious ache began to blossom between her legs.

She wrapped her arms around him and drew him closer. Harrison continued to stroke her, his hand roaming languidly over the soft mound, then moving away to fondle the creamy skin of her legs. She shifted in his arms, wanting more, but not really understanding what it was she wanted. In the next instant his finger slipped inside her. She sighed with pleasure as Harrison caressed the secret folds of her, altering his rhythm and his touch, lightly, then harder, quickly, then with long, slow strokes, until finally she was shifting restlessly beneath him.

He pressed hungry kisses across her lips and cheeks and neck, over the hills and valleys of her breasts, along the tightly laced contours of her body. And then his kisses were moving down, and before she understood his intent he flicked his tongue into the scorching heat of her. She gasped, with shock and pleasure and desire, all melded into one staggering sensation. It was glorious and it was shameful, it was the most exquisite pleasure she had ever known and also the darkest, and the combination of these forces rendered her unable to move. She should stop him, on some distant, incomprehensible level she understood that, but it would have been like trying to stop her heart from beating wildly within her chest, or her blood from racing desperately through her veins. And so she closed her eyes and held fast to him, acutely aware of the warm summer air against her naked breasts, the soft drape of her skirts cascading over the sofa, the rough feel of Harrison's jaw against her thighs, and the scalding slickness of his mouth upon her. She threaded her fingers into the dark tangle of his hair, opening herself wider, astonished by her wantonness and yet somehow also empowered by it.

A terrible need was unfurling within her now, something deep and hollow and relentless. She writhed beneath him, wanting him to touch her more, to kiss her more, to feel his hands and mouth all over her body until there was no part of her that he did not know and accept. His tongue moved deeper now, and then he eased his finger inside and began to slip it in and out as he swirled his tongue over her, slowly, deliberately. She couldn't bear it, she was certain of it, but again and again he touched her and kissed her and licked her, exploring her and pleasuring her until there was nothing beyond her and Harrison and the most magnificent ecstasy she had ever known. She opened her legs wider, inviting him to know the most intimate secrets of her, too overwhelmed with these sensations to wonder at the trust she was placing in him, which seemed so natural and right. Harrison's tongue swirled faster, his finger thrusting deeper, his hand stroking her breasts and her corseted belly, pressing down upon the aching hollow within.
Please, please,
she pleaded feverishly, not knowing how much more she could bear.
Please, please, please…

Her breaths were coming faster now, shallow little sips of air that could not fill her lungs, and her body had suddenly become still and strained, every muscle and nerve locked in a spasm of desperate need.
Please, please, please,
she begged, not sure if she was whispering the words aloud or not, not certain of anything except that she had to hold on and endure his scalding caresses and intimate penetration while she reached and reached for whatever it was he was trying to give her. She stretched and grasped, until there was no more air to be had, for her lungs were bursting and her blood was pounding and her mind was filled with the excruciating awareness of Harrison's touch, which made her feel more beautiful than she had ever dared imagine. And then suddenly she cried out, in ecstasy and wonder. Ripples of pleasure surged through her as she collapsed against the sofa, fighting to fill her lungs with air as the tension gradually seeped from her body.

Harrison threw off his dressing gown and stretched over her, fighting for some semblance of control as his hardness brushed against her searing wetness. He wanted to plunge himself into her, to slake the unbearable need roiling within him. It had been a lifetime since he had been overwhelmed by such pure desire, a lifetime since a woman had awakened in him the raw hunger of lust. But this was not just lust, although he was far too aroused to understand just what, precisely, it was. He pressed himself a little further into Charlotte, feeling as if he had been awakened from a lonely sleep, to find this magnificent woman waiting for him, with her enormous eyes and her gentle, healing touch. She was an enchantress and an enigma, one minute shy and retiring, an instant later brandishing the most stunning courage and passion he had ever known. She moved him, confronted him, inspired him, making him feel stronger than he really was. His desire for her was staggering, rendering him unable think of anything beyond that moment. And so he eased himself into her, wondering if it was actually possible to die from such excruciating pleasure.

Charlotte looked up at him, her eyes wide. He searched her gaze for some sign of reluctance, vowing that if he saw it he would stop, although he had no idea how he would manage such an extraordinary feat. But all he saw was trust, simple and absolute. He bent his head and brushed his lips over hers, tenderly, wanting to make her understand with his touch what he barely understood himself. And then, feeling the last taut threads of his control begin to break, he whispered her name, and buried himself inside her.

She stiffened suddenly. He summoned every fragment of his self-control to hold perfectly still, hating himself for having caused her pain. He would have done anything to ease her suffering, but he had no experience with virgins, and didn't know whether even the movement of withdrawing might only cause her further distress. And so he kissed her lips, her eyes, her cheeks, raining tenderness upon her, whispering soothing words as he waited for the clench of her body to ease. She exhaled a shivering breath, and with it her body started to soften.

He began to move within her, slowly, leashing the unbearable desire surging through him as he forced himself to take care. He tasted her deeply now, and he could feel her desire once again as she began to sigh and shift against him. Her hands moved over his naked back, his shoulders, his buttocks, learning the hard contours of him, shyly at first, and then with a fierce possessiveness. Never before had he been so moved by a woman's touch. He was losing something to her, he understood that now, could feel it with every aching thrust, every beat of his heart, every desperate breath. She was exactly what he had never thought to find, someone strong and independent and caring, a woman who had seen him near his very worst and hadn't turned away in horror. But there was much about him that she didn't know, and the realization was agonizing. He had no right to her, he understood that, for he could only offer her a lifetime of uncertainty, and ultimately, a burden that was far too great for even someone as strong as she.

He groaned and moved faster within her, holding her tight, wanting to make her part of him, so that when she left him she would still carry some part of him with her. It was foolishness to indulge in such fantasy, but still he clung to it, pushing aside the world that existed beyond them.

Stay with me,
he pleaded silently, knowing he could never ask her to make such a sacrifice, not when he knew firsthand what kind of misery that life would entail. Again and again he pulsed within her, feeling as if he were dying as she opened herself to him and wrapped her arms around him and kissed him with fervent ardor. She was writhing against him now, her breaths puffing in hot little gusts, her fingers clawing at his shoulders as she lifted her hips to sheathe him deeper in her. He tried to slow himself, to gain some semblance of control, but she was rising up and gasping for air as she clenched her body around his, until he could endure no more. He buried himself deep inside her, feeling shattered and lost as he poured himself into her.

Charlotte lay completely still, holding Harrison tight, feeling the powerful drumming of his heart against hers. Nothing had prepared her for what had passed between them. She had understood the rudiments of the sex act from the time she was seven, for the whores who had peopled the landscape of her childhood had thought nothing of making lewd comments to a young girl who was indubitably headed for the same career. She also had her father to thank for crudely educating her on what a man expected of a woman. But then he had broken her leg, putting a quick end to his hopes for making her a prostitute. Most men would tolerate almost anything from a whore, including filth and ugliness and disease. But mercifully, that didn't include raping a child who was also a helpless cripple.

In that perverse way, her leg had actually protected her.

None of that, however, was remotely related to what had just occurred between her and Harrison. She held fast to him, memorizing the weight of his body upon hers, the sheen of his skin beneath her palms, the feel of his breath upon her neck. Her body was liquid, as if she had been soaking in the hottest of mineral springs, and the pain which she lived with constantly had seeped away. She supposed on some level she felt ashamed. After all, unmarried women did not share their bodies with men, at least not in the world Genevieve had made her a part of. But that tenet of polite society seemed inconsequential against what had just raged between her and Harrison. Charlotte had never expected to experience such passion—had never known such a thing was even possible. She had long ago accepted that no man would find her desirable. Yet Harrison had. And more, his feverish longing had roused the flames of her own need, until she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

A melancholy yearning began to unfurl within her, deep and relentless and frightening. She closed her eyes and turned her head to the side, her arms wrapped around him as she fought the tears pooling in her eyes. She did not want him to sense her longing. It would only make her seem pitiful and foolish, and she could not bear to have him think of her so.

Not after the way he had looked at her as he gave himself to her.

“I must go,” she murmured, seeking to break the spell that had woven around both of them. She unwrapped her arms from his back, trying to put some distance between them. “Oliver is outside waiting for me.”