The Naked King (22 page)

“Eep!” She saw a shocking expanse of white flesh and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

“There—that is much better.” Stephen wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back against him; the lawn of his shirt was soft on her skin, but his breeches were rough.

She felt a pronounced ridge rise against her backside.

“Anne.” His voice was husky now and, if it weren’t such a ridiculous notion, she’d say there was a touch of awe in it. “Open your eyes.”

Open her eyes? That would be far too embarrassing. “I can’t.”

“You certainly can. You must. I cannot continue seducing you if you do not.”

“Oh, for goodness sakes.” She cracked one eye open. Oh, dear. Her breasts and her thighs were on complete display. She couldn’t bear to—

Oh. One of Stephen’s hands was sliding over her skin to her breast. She opened her other eye to watch it. It was . . . odd to feel his touch and see his fingers, so dark against her flesh.

“I’ve lain awake hours thinking of you, Anne, imagining how you would look naked, but for once my imagination wasn’t up to the task.”

His words, dark and drugging, whispered in her ear, stirring tendrils of hair.

“Your skin is like silk. And see how your breast fits perfectly into my palm?”

She did see. She saw—and felt—how the tip of one of his slightly calloused fingers was circling her poor nipple causing it to harden into a tight, aching point.

She sagged against him—her knees no longer cared to support her weight—and felt the ridge pressing against the cleft in her bottom grow even larger.

“See how beautiful you are,” he said, “flushed with desire?”

Her face—no, her entire body—was flushed. She should be mortified, but apparently there was no room for mortification in her soul at the moment.

She looked up at his face reflected in the glass—his eyes were half closed, intent and focused on her body; his lips tilted up into a lazy smile. He looked as if he truly wanted her.

She definitely wanted him—and at the moment she especially wanted him to stop teasing her nipple and touch it.

He must have read her mind. He not only touched the sensitive point, he rolled it between his finger and thumb.

“Oh!” Exquisite sensation shot through her, right to the damp, empty place between her legs. She parted her thighs, thus looking even more wanton. But she needed to feel the room’s cool air on that heated flesh.

No, she needed to feel Stephen’s fingers . . .

She watched his other hand—the one not fondling her breast—splay itself across her belly. If only it would move a little lower. There was one specific spot in amongst her curls that was crying for his touch.

She waited. Perhaps he would read her mind again.

He didn’t. His hand stayed where it was as if grafted to her skin. The heat and weight of it felt wonderful, but she felt certain it would feel much, much more wonderful an inch or two lower.

Well, if the mountain would not come to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain. She tried to flex her hips to bring her ache closer to his fingers, but he was holding her so tightly, she couldn’t move. In fact, her motion must have encouraged him in a way she’d not intended—he pressed her more firmly against his erection.

“Is that a growl I hear, Anne?” Humor laced his voice; the annoying man knew exactly what he was about. “Am I doing something to displease you?”

“Yes—I mean no.”

“Yes and no? I don’t understand. Perhaps if you tell me instead of merely growling at me?”

She growled. “It’s not what you’re doing—it’s what you’re
not
doing. I want you to move your hand.”

“What, this hand?” He lifted his fingers from her breast.

“No. Of course not.” Her teeth were gritted now. “The other one.”

“Ah,
this
one.” He stroked her belly. At last he was moving in the right direction.

“Yes.”

His lips nuzzled a spot just under her ear. “And where would you like me to move it?”

“You know.”

“Anne, I am no more a mind reader than you are. Tell me.”

He knew; she knew he knew, but she had no patience to discuss the matter. “Lower. Move it lower.”

“An excellent suggestion. Like this?” He slid his fingers through her curls, but skimmed over the spot that most needed him.

“Not quite.” Desperation exploded in her. “I need you to
touch
me.”

He acted confused, but she saw the devilry and heat in his eyes. “But I
am
touching you.”

She was no longer in the mood for teasing—one did not dangle a loaf of bread in front of a starving man. She grabbed his hand and tried to push it where she wanted it to go, but he was far too strong. She couldn’t move him at all.

“Impatient?” He kissed the skin below her ear again and circled her nipple with the tip of his finger.

“Yes.” If he enjoyed torturing her, she would try torturing him. She pushed her bottom more tightly against his erection and wiggled a bit. She heard him inhale sharply. “
Touch
me!”

“So demanding.” She was savagely delighted to hear a thread of need in his voice. “Let me see . . . is this the spot?” He brought his finger down until . . .

“Ahh.” Her body shivered. “Yes.” This was nothing at all like her encounter with Brentwood. Stephen had loosened his hold on her a little, so she tilted her hips and spread her legs wider, offering him a bold invitation. She no longer cared what she looked like.

He accepted it. His finger slipped over and around her.

“You’re so wet for me, Anne.” His voice was husky; he sounded very pleased.

“Ah.” She twisted. It felt so good. It felt—

He stopped, his hand cupping her. “I think it’s time we went to bed, don’t you?”

Bed sounded like a very good idea, but . . . “You won’t stop doing this, will you?”

“Only for the time it takes us to move from here to there. And then I will do this and other, even more delightful things—things much easier to do on a comfortable mattress.”

“And you’ll be naked, too?”

He kissed her jaw by her ear; she heard him panting slightly. “Yes. In fact, I do believe it’s past time I shed my clothing.”

He let her go. She turned, trying to ignore the insistent throbbing between her legs, and attacked the buttons on his fall as he pulled his shirt over his head.

“Ohh.” As soon as she undid the last button, his long, thick male organ fell into her hands. Her eyes widened. Now she understood why it had hurt so much when Brentwood had done what he’d done in Baron Gedding’s garden.

Stephen
was
a mind reader. “It will be different this time, Anne.” He stroked his hand over her hair. “Your maidenhead is gone, and you are ready for me—the wetness that helped my finger slide over you will help my cock slide into you.”

“Oh.” It was true she hadn’t felt this damp throbbing when she’d been with Brentwood.

“Yes. And I will stop at any point if you wish me to.” Stephen had a rather strained expression on his face. “Just please decide sooner rather than later.”

“I won’t ask you to stop.” How could she have given Brentwood even a moment’s thought? This would be
nothing
like that time. Brentwood was selfish and cruel; Stephen was generous and kind . . . and she loved him.

And lusted after him, too. She stroked his male organ. How odd it looked, nothing like anything females had. It was hard, but soft as well. She ran her finger from its base to its tip and saw it jump as if it were a separate living creature. She found a drop of wetness and spread it over the velvety skin.

“Anne,” Stephen said.

She heard the pain in his voice and dropped her prize immediately. “I’m sorry. Does it hurt when I touch you there?”

He gave a strangled kind of laugh. “Not at all—quite the contrary.” She saw him swallow. “But if I don’t sit—or better yet, lie—down soon, I shall collapse.”

“Oh, dear.” His expression did look strained, but the rest of him looked wonderful. His chest and shoulders were so broad; his stomach, flat, the narrow trail of hair leading down to—she’d swear his male organ swelled even larger as she inspected it. Were his breeches too constricting? Perhaps he would feel better if she removed them. “Then we must get you to bed immediately.”

“Ah, yes, an excellent—What are you
doing
?”

She’d dropped to her knees to pull his breeches down to his ankles. His poor swollen organ was bobbing around by her face, so instinctively she’d given it a quick, soft kiss. “I’m sorry. I won’t—”

“No, don’t apologize.” He pulled her up as he kicked off his breeches. “You may do that with my blessing—my fervent blessing—but you must wait until we’re lying down.” He scooped her into his arms and strode toward the bed.

Chapter 19

He was going to die if he couldn’t bury himself in Anne immediately.

No. He slowed his pace. He couldn’t jump on her like a rutting animal. She wasn’t ready for that, and he certainly didn’t want to do anything that would recall Brentwood’s rough handling.

He laid Anne gently on the mattress and climbed in next to her, propping himself up on an elbow so he could see her beautiful body—and her face. He wanted to watch for even the slightest shadow of alarm.

She turned her head on the pillow, frowning at the lit candles. “Shouldn’t you snuff them?”

“No.” He cupped her breast and watched her blush. “I want to see you.”

She grinned. “And I definitely want to see you.” She ran her hand over his chest and then pushed slightly. Did she want him on his back? She pushed a little harder. Apparently.

He flopped down on the pillow. He would let her have the lead if she wished, though it was hard to imagine where her inexperience would take them. “What are you doing?”

She pushed herself up to her knees. “You said I could continue what I’d been doing once we were lying down.”

“Huh?” He was having trouble thinking. The sight of her glorious red hair tumbling over her shoulders and breasts was extremely distracting. Add to that her slightly parted knees that allowed him to see the hair between her thighs and a hint of her entrance where he would finally be in just a short while, and he was doing well to remember his name. “I, ah, thought you wanted me to continue doing what
I
was doing.”

“In a little while. I’ve discovered I want a turn now.” She directed her attention to . . .

Zeus! He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Anne was kissing his cock. Her lips moved lightly, maddeningly, all over it. If only she would . . .

She did. She touched him with her tongue, tentatively at first as though she were taking the slightest taste of him, and then more boldly. Much more boldly. She put her mouth—

“Anne!”

“What?” She frowned and bit her lower lip. “Don’t you like this? I thought you did. You were making little noises and moving about.”

He’d swear he actually blushed. “Of course I like it, but I’m afraid I can’t take any more.” He combed his fingers through her hair. “You’ve brought me to the brink, Anne. I want to be deep inside you when I finally lose control.”

“Oh.” Anne blushed, too.

“Come.” He tugged gently on her hair. “If you don’t object, I think we must leave the long, slow lovemaking for another night.”

“I don’t see what the hurry is,” she said, but she allowed him to guide her down onto the bed.

The moment her back hit the mattress, he came over her, his lips latching onto one of her nipples. If he hadn’t been on top of her, she was sure she would have shot right up to the ceiling.

Perhaps she did understand the need for haste.

His mouth moved to her other breast while his fingers played with the one he’d just left. Her hips twisted. She understood it very well. She was feeling rather desperate herself. She spread her legs wider to give him the hint he should move in that direction.

He was a very intelligent man. He proceeded promptly to exactly the location she needed him to be. Soon he would do what Brentwood had done, but this time it wouldn’t hurt; it would be wonderful. It would—

Her head shot up. He couldn’t be . . . He was between her legs and he was . . .

“
What
are you doing?!”

He raised his head. “Kissing you.”

“There?”

“Don’t you like it?” He dipped his head and flicked his tongue over the tiny, throbbing point hidden in her curls. “I’m just kissing you the way you kissed me a few moments ago.”

“Ohh.” She moaned as his tongue slid slowly over the point again. He was drawing her tighter and tighter, as he had in the green sitting room. Very, very shortly she would shatter, but this time she wanted him with her. She reached for him. “Stephen, I need you.”

“In a moment—”

“No. Now.” She couldn’t wait. “I want you now.”

“Yes, madam.” Stephen rose up over her. He paused and looked into her eyes. “You are certain? This is your last chance to tell me no.”

She had no breath left to waste on words. She grabbed his hips and pulled him toward her.

“I will take that as a yes,” he said, and then he was sliding into her.

She shivered. This was nothing like the time with Brentwood. There was no pain; there was only pleasure. She was in a warm bed, naked, with the man she loved, his body heavy on hers, his hard length deep inside her, and his heat all around her. It was heaven . . . well, a very carnal heaven.

He slid almost out and then back again slowly. In and out. The tension kept growing until she couldn’t stand it any longer. She gasped and gripped him so tightly she might leave bruises on his back and hips. She was close . . . so close.

“Ahh.” She was there. The tension peaked and shattered. Pleasure washed through her and in the midst of it all, she felt the warmth of Stephen’s seed spurt deep into her womb.

Had he given her a child? She hoped so.

He relaxed onto her. He was sweaty and heavy—and he was still inside her. She wrapped her arms around him. She never wanted to let him go.

“Are you all right?” He was looking concerned again.

“I am wonderful.”

He laughed. “And I am too heavy for you.” He lifted himself off, leaving her very cold and empty.

She stretched up her arms. “Don’t go.”

“I—”

Someone knocked on the door, and they both jumped.

“Who can that be?” Stephen whispered.

“I don’t kn—”

“Anne, the door is locked.” It was Evie’s voice. “Are you all right?”

“Tell her you’ll be right there,” Stephen murmured, “or she’ll set the household to searching for you.” He moved soundlessly out of the bed and across the floor.

“I’ll be right there, Evie.” Anne’s nightgown came sailing through the air to her. She glimpsed Stephen’s white arse like a moon low in the corner, before she scrambled into her clothes. He had his breeches on by the time she emerged from the voluminous white fabric and was pulling his shirt over his head. She’d never seen anyone get dressed so quickly.

“Anne!”

“I’m coming.”

Stephen stopped her as she hurried toward the door. “Sleep well, love.” He kissed her quickly. “I can’t wait until we’ll sleep together.”

“Yes, I—”

Evie rattled the doorknob. “Anne.”

“Go.” He gave her another quick kiss and headed for the window.

By the time she reached the door, Stephen had disappeared.

Stephen stretched, linked his hands behind his head, and grinned up at the bed canopy. His heart literally felt as if it would burst from his chest, he was so happy. Well, and that wasn’t the only organ swollen with joy. He glanced down to where his cock was making an obvious tent in the bedclothes. His valet, MacInnes, would be rather startled if he happened to come in and see this display.

He sighed. If only Anne were here, he could address the issue very satisfactorily.

His damned eager cock leapt at the thought.

Last night had been so different from his previous encounters he might as well have been a virgin himself. He’d engaged in sexual congress many times with many women, but the act had always been merely a pleasant physical release. One woman was as good as another, assuming she was relatively clean, free of lice, and unlikely to be carrying the pox. And while he’d always striven to help his partner find release—he
was
a gentleman—the effort had sprung more from pride in his performance than from any true concern for the woman.

All that had been different last night with Anne. Oh, his animal instincts had been very much involved, of course, but so had his heart. He was making love to
Anne
, not merely enjoying a quick tumble between the sheets with some willing female. Every touch, every kiss had been for Anne, with Anne. He’d have been happy to forgo his pleasure if that were necessary to give her hers.

He snorted. Well, not
happy
, but he would have done so without a second thought.

And he’d never wanted any of the other women here in his own bed. He’d not even wanted to sleep with them; it had made Maria cross as crabs that he always left her room shortly after he left her body. But Anne . . . He wanted her here with him. If she were . . . He grinned again. She’d still be naked from their lovemaking the night before. He’d just roll over and . . .

His cock was going to poke a hole in the bedclothes if he didn’t get up. He’d splash some cold water over himself and confine his appendage with breeches and a sturdy fall before going out to procure a special license. He wanted Anne as his wife as quickly as possible—and in his bed immediately thereafter.

He was just heading to the washbasin when MacInnes opened the door. The blasted valet saw his cock—it was rather hard to miss as it was roughly the size of a carriage axle and stuck straight out from his body—and raised one of his damn Scotch eyebrows. “Had some pleasant dreams this morning, then?”

Stephen wished he’d already washed so he’d have a wet towel to throw at his impertinent valet. “I am going out; you may help me dress.”

“Aye, ye’ll need some help getting that into your—”

“MacInnes!”

MacInnes laughed. “Testy, are you? Well, I’m afraid you’ve got more annoyances in store for you. You’ve got a visitor.”

“Oh?” Stephen could tell by the glee in MacInnes’s eyes there was something odd about this caller. “Who is it?”

“A female calling herself Mags.”

“Damn.” Mags would only come here if she had urgent news of Brentwood. He grabbed the first pair of breeches that came to hand.

MacInnes handed him a shirt. “At least this woman has solved the problem of getting your fall buttoned.”

Stephen glared at the man and then pulled the shirt over his head. “Where have you put her?”

“In the kitchen.”

“Give her some tea, will you, and tell her I’ll be down immediately.” Stephen pulled a pair of socks out of his clothes-press.

“The female doesna look like she drinks tea.”

“Then get her some brandy—just don’t let her go until I’ve spoken to her.” Where the hell had he put his shoes?

“I’ll tie her to her chair if I need to.” MacInnes stopped at the door. “If you’re looking for your footwear, I see one shoe under the desk.” He grinned. “Were ye drunk on brandy or Lady Anne’s kisses last night?”

Stephen feared he was blushing. He grunted noncommittally and bent to peer under the bed. “Just go deal with Mags.” Ah, there was the other shoe, but he’d have to crawl almost halfway under the bed to fetch it. He didn’t care to entertain MacInnes with
that
spectacle. He glanced back at his valet—the man was still standing by the door. “Well, go on.”

“Aye, I will, but first . . . Well, I just wanted to say we’re all—even your parents—happy about Lady Anne, ye ken.”

Stephen was definitely blushing now. How the hell did his valet know his parents’ thoughts on the matter? Not that it was surprising, really. No one stood on ceremony at the Priory; everyone knew everyone else’s business.

“Yes, well . . .” He cleared his throat. “I plan to get a special license today as soon as I hear what Mags has to say.”

MacInnes grinned. “Splendid. I will go deal with her immediately.”

“You could have dealt with her more immediately if you hadn’t stayed to tease me,” Stephen muttered after MacInnes left. He scrambled under the bed, rescued his shoe, and followed his valet.

When he arrived in the kitchen, Mags had a glass of brandy in her hand, and MacInnes was watching her as if she might steal the silverware—which she probably would if given the chance.

“Thank you, MacInnes. That will be all.”

MacInnes folded his arms, assuming his threatening mad Scot look. “I’m happy to stay.”

“That will not be necessary.” Did the man think he couldn’t handle Mags? He must know better—MacInnes had seen him win battles with much more intimidating opponents.

MacInnes hesitated long enough Stephen feared he’d have to bodily eject him, but fortunately it didn’t come to that. “Verra well. I’ll be just outside if ye need me.”

“And don’t have your ear to the keyhole,” Stephen murmured as MacInnes walked past. MacInnes gave him an innocent look, which confirmed he’d be eavesdropping. Oh, well. Mags couldn’t have anything of a confidential nature to disclose.

Mags took a long swallow of brandy and sighed. “That man’s got a fine arse. You know I’ve always liked Scots.”

“I didn’t know that, Mags,” Stephen said, hoping MacInnes
was
listening.

Mags nodded. “Aye. I swear they’ve the biggest cocks—don’t you think so?”

Good God. “I have not made a study of male genitals.”

Mags laughed. “No, I guess you haven’t—but I have.” She looked at the kitchen door. “Think he knows about the Temple?”

“I have no idea.”

“Tell him, will you?” Mags winked. “I’ll give him special service.”

“Ah. Yes. I’ll be sure he knows.” He’d wager MacInnes would not be interested. In their travels together, he’d found the man as fastidious about such matters as he was. “Now tell me why you’re here.”

Mags gazed longingly after MacInnes a moment more before she apparently shook herself out of her lecherous woolgathering. “Oh, right. I came about Brentwood, of course. He showed up last night, drunk. Said Lady Noughton had found out he was all rolled up and had shown him the door.”

Damn. He should have realized Maria would confront Brentwood immediately.

Mags took another swallow of brandy. “I told him I knew it, too. We had it out—quite a brangle—and I showed him
my
door.” She grinned. “Had him tossed out on his arse—I much enjoyed seeing Lord High-and-Mighty in the gutter.” She downed the rest of the brandy. “But you’d best be careful. He’s mad as a buck, and he knows you’re behind his troubles. I’d say he’s looking for revenge.”

Bloody hell, he had to warn Anne. “And you waited until now to tell me?”

Mags shrugged. “Had another customer. I
am
a business woman, you know.”