Secrets of Seduction (7 page)

Hawk drew a long, labored breath. No sane man could resist her beauty, and arguably there were times when he was not wholly sane—like now, when his head was reeling much less from the liquor that had
loosened his self-imposed inhibitions than the powerful shock to his senses.

Craving her warmth, he reached for her. Her eyes closed this time while her back arched again, her creamy breasts trembling, peaking, filling his hands.

Lowering his head, Hawk kissed one exquisite crest. When Skye whimpered softly, he remembered the rough stubble on his jaw and wondered if he had hurt her. But when he began to suck on her nipple, her sigh of pleasure told him he was mistaken.

He intensified his ministrations, his lips closing more firmly on her breast, his tongue coaxing the taut bud to greater arousal.

She was straining against him now. Her fingers curled in his hair, pulling his mouth closer, as if begging him not to stop.

He had no intention of stopping. All he cared about just then was touching her, exploring her. His blood was pounding violently, but as he stretched out beside her, he willed himself to patience, knowing he had to see to her pleasure first.

Reaching beneath the hem of her nightdress, he grazed the curls at the apex of her thighs, then lightly cupped the rise of her woman’s mound, molding it.

She gave a soft gasp, but when he parted her silken folds, her thighs opened wider, unconsciously giving him better access. He ran a finger along her quivering flesh, teasing the small nub of her sex, rolling it back and forth, caressing with his circling thumb. She shivered with delight. Then he eased a finger inside her, finding a hot slick moistness and causing her to moan.

Not relenting, Hawk probed deeper, using his thumb to rub and tease. A sob of pleasure escaped her. A
heartbeat later she shuddered, her hips twisting and writhing as he stroked her to passion.

It was not long before he brought her to climax. Gripping his shoulders, she came against his hand in a rush of sensation. Hawk draped his arm around her, holding her still when she jerked against him. When it was over, she lay there unmoving, limp and sated, rapture on her exquisite face.

Eventually her eyelids fluttered open and she stared at him in wonder. She seemed stunned, dazed … perhaps because she had never climaxed before?

Hawk was pondering that intriguing question when she swallowed and spoke hoarsely. “Don’t leave me.…”

His heart melted at her pleading whisper. “I won’t. I want you too much.”

He wasn’t about to leave now. She was lush and wet and in a state of sweet sexual arousal, and his manhood was hard and near to bursting. The thought of how she would feel when he plunged inside her made his pain even worse.

“I want you, too,” she murmured almost shyly. Reaching out, she brushed his loins in a tentative exploration.

Her delicate touch made Hawk inhale, partly in surprise. Given her genteel upbringing, combined with her appearance of fragility, he would have presumed her to be an innocent. But any doubts about her experience faded when she curled her fingers around his shaft. Hawk nearly groaned.

In truth he was gratified by the bold way she fondled his body. She seemed to have forgotten all about
her nightmares, and modesty as well. It was as if the caressing darkness had cast away
her
inhibitions.

In response, Hawk crushed the last of his own resistance. Sitting up, he yanked off his dressing gown and then eased her nightdress from her body.

He hesitated a moment then, staring at her tempting form. Firm, proud breasts, slender waist, elegantly curving hips, sweet thighs, the nest of pale curls shielding her cleft.

She was slick and swollen, her pink flesh glistening in the firelight. His cock swelled in response. He wanted to remain tender, gentle, but it was damned difficult when all he could think about was losing himself inside her delectable warmth.

When she sought to pull him closer, he moved over her, easing his thighs between hers, settling his weight. Fitting himself snugly between her thighs, he let her feel the thick length of his erection.

He was breathing more rapidly now, surrounded by her scent, her taste, her texture. Yet strangely, she seemed more calm. She gazed back at him steadily, her face flushed with desire. He could see that she wanted him, would welcome him as her lover.

She was the epitome of an erotic male fantasy, offering herself to him this way.

Without further delay, he mounted her, probing her entrance with the head of his shaft, parting the tender, swollen lips of her femininity. Her cleft was slick with her moisture, reducing the friction as his cock eased in. She was tighter than he expected, though. Through his carnal haze, he noticed the slight grimace on her beautiful features.

He slid inside her as carefully as possible, and when
he was finally sheathed, he held himself still, letting her body grow accustomed to the thickness and length of him.

She was biting her lip, but then she moved her hips slightly, as if testing the fit. When she managed a soft smile, it was all he could do to control his triumph. Lowering his head, he pressed light kisses on the fullness of her mouth as he began to move inside her.

When he felt her inner muscles clenching around his throbbing shaft, he ached to increase the rhythm. Instead, he captured her luscious mouth more fully, kissing her urgently, plunging his tongue inside the way he wanted to do to her body.

The wildness running through him built rapidly and his desire rose to a fever pitch. He needed her, he needed this, with a kind of desperation he’d never felt before.

She seemed to have the same need, for her slender legs and arms wrapped around him tightly.

Hawk knew he should go slowly, should strive for finesse, but the tight, glorious fit was driving him mad. It had been too long and he was too far gone. He burned for her, burned with the primitive need to claim her.

His mouth devouring hers, he thrust harder inside her. In return, she clung to him, her nails scoring his back as passion flared white-hot between them.

Then his whole body ignited with consuming heat. Hawk went rigid an instant before all his pent-up passion exploded. His climax blasting through him over and over, he found his own fierce, shuddering release.

In the aftermath, he collapsed upon her and buried his face in her lustrous silken hair, his breath coming harshly in the quiet chamber. The pleasure he’d had with her had been shattering, Hawk realized as he
breathed deeply of her sweet, clean fragrance that was tinged with the potent musk of sex.

She hadn’t climaxed a second time, though. Vowing to do better, he eased his weight to one side and would have rolled off her, but she wouldn’t let him go.

Her arms were still wrapped around him, her fingers drifting lightly over his back. She was stroking his scars again, Hawk knew, yet he couldn’t bring himself to object.

He exhaled in a weary sigh.

Lady Skye Wilde. A paradox if he’d ever met one. A passionate, sensual creature one minute. A tender, ministering angel the next. She radiated sympathy and compassion as she cradled him to her breast, holding him, comforting him with her hot, sweet body.

Oddly, he cherished the comfort. Even more oddly, Hawk felt a sense of peace for the first time in a long, long while.

Peace and exhaustion. Lethargy sank over him, making all his bones feel heavy—not surprising since the explosive passion had drained him of all energy. The countless sleepless nights had taken a toll also, as had the spirits he’d drunk throughout the evening.

Whatever the reason for his release, he was finally able to let go of the pain and dark memories.

Giving in to exhaustion, Hawk fell asleep holding her, deeply, amazingly content.

Rays of morning
sunshine slipped beneath the window curtains into her bedchamber, allowing Skye ample light to study the earl’s slumbering form. He had slept peacefully through the night, as had she. Wrapped in his warmth, she hadn’t wanted to move.

At dawn she’d risen to wash herself, don her nightdress, and stir the fire to remove the chill from the air. Now she was sitting on the bed beside her lover with her legs drawn up, her chin resting on her knees as she watched him.

Her lover
. The term filled her with delight. So did her memories of his incredible lovemaking.

Aunt Isabella had warned her what to expect, but knowing the physical principles was not the same as participating. The actual experience had exceeded her wildest fantasies. It had been like drowning in sweet fire.

Yes, there had been pain at first, but the discomfort had quickly faded. She felt different now, Skye decided, taking stock of new sensations assailing her: The unfamiliar
delicacy of her body. The unaccustomed ache between her thighs. The sensitivity of her breasts. The tenderness of her mouth.

The stubble shadowing Hawkhurst’s jaw had scraped her skin, resulting in whisker burn, yet she didn’t mind. How could she when he’d given her the most blissful pleasure of her life?

Simply looking at him gave her pleasure. He lay on his side facing her, the covers drawn up to his waist, exposing his bare torso. He was dark and sinfully handsome, with his high cheekbones and chiseled jaw-line. His magnificent face, she now knew, was matched by a magnificent body. Strong, graceful, long-limbed. She was frankly awed by the heat and steel beneath his smooth flesh.

Not all his flesh was smooth, however. The sight of his scars in the growing light of day made her ache with sorrow. It appalled her that such a beautiful work of art should be so disfigured.

His back had suffered the worst damage. His shoulders in particular were covered with puckered burn weals that were thick and hard. Oddly enough, he had other scars, too, perhaps the results of his dangerous profession. One was rounded, as if made by a bullet. Two more were long slashes, possibly from a knife or sword blade. But those were insignificant compared to the burns.

She could only imagine the physical pain he’d suffered from the castle fire, even discounting his emotional pain. The thought brought tears to Skye’s eyes. Foolishly, she wanted to press her lips against his ravaged skin and take away the hurt.

She would have to hide her sadness and sorrow
from Lord Hawkhurst, though, for he wouldn’t want her pity. He wasn’t the sort of man who invited pity. Even in sleep, he was arresting, powerful.

She hadn’t meant to go so far as to lose her virginity to him last night, however. She’d flung herself against him, true, clinging so tightly she’d nearly choked him, but her motives had been entirely innocent at first. And then his consoling warmth had seeped into her bones, driving away the chilling fear of her nightmare. She could feel her trembling subside as he expertly molded his lips to fit hers. With his masterful arms holding her and his tender kisses kindling her senses, he’d inflamed her to aching arousal.…

Apparently she had done the same to him, Skye reflected, her gaze lingering on his bare, smoothly muscled chest. It was no wonder that Hawkhurst had reacted as he had, considering the brazen way she had explored and fondled him. Yet there had been an intensity in his embrace, almost a desperation, as if he needed her more than his next breath.

The same need had filled her. A hunger so strong that she felt dazed. She had longed to be part of him.

She couldn’t regret becoming a woman in his arms. In truth, she was amazed by how right their joining had felt—as if she’d never lived until he’d touched her, kissed her, melded with her.

She couldn’t help wondering if their consummation was a sign that they were meant to be together. She could picture this man as her husband, and waking next to him each morning. Indeed, the past night could have been their wedding night, Skye thought dreamily. But regardless of whether Lord Hawkhurst was her
life’s mate, she would never be able to look at him again without remembering the feel of him moving inside her.

Fresh pleasure flooded her as she remembered his hardness inside her, his urgent thrusts as he took her.

The quivery feelings in her midsection persisted as Hawkhurst finally stirred awake. When he first spied her, a faint smile of greeting touched his mouth, while his gray eyes held unmistakable warmth. He reached out to touch her bare toes that were peeking from beneath the hem of her nightdress—to see if she was real, she supposed.

At the intimate contact, Skye felt her stomach turn fluttery again, but then a frown claimed his mouth.

Raising his head, Hawkhurst glanced around the bedchamber before returning his gaze to her. He must have recalled where he was and whom he was with, for those fathomless gray eyes leveled on her with an intensity that unsettled her.

Skye felt a flush stain her cheeks. She could no longer ignore the fact that she was still dressed in her nightclothes, alone with a naked man in her bed. A splendidly naked man who had plumbed the secrets of her body the night before.

The stomach-tightening awareness of his maleness made her feel shy and uncertain. She wanted to appear casual and sophisticated, but she was in way over her head, Skye silently admitted. How did one behave after a blazing night of passion with a new lover? With a
first
lover?