The Trouble With Being Wicked (31 page)

“I want to see you,” he said.

She stepped back obediently. The desire pooling in his eyes made her feel beautiful, as beautiful as when he’d tried to give her fresh cut blossoms from his garden.

He threaded his hand through her long hair and tangled his fingers in the curls. “You are the most perfect woman I’ve ever seen.” Using her hair as a rope, he pulled her head back to expose her neck. The barest whisper of his lips against her skin spread bumps along her arms and tightened her nipples. He lifted one heavy breast and admired its nipple swelled to a rosy crest. His breath heated her flesh. “Look how you respond to me. Oh, God.”

Like a man opening a treasured gift, he gently pressed her to lie on the bed and arranged her hair in a fiery halo around her. “You’re not shy,” he observed, lowering his long body over hers.

She couldn’t be. Not when he made her
feel
.

She wrapped her legs around his hips and slid her arms around his broad back, suddenly wanting him naked against her. But his clothing formed a solid barrier between them. Even his neck was guarded by his cravat. “There, there,” he murmured as she jutted her hips to rub against his rigid shaft through his breeches. “So eager, and I have yet to begin.”

His dark hair was mussed, his expression taut with need. His breath was every bit as uneven as hers. He thrust his hips against her, watching her eyes widen and then close with pleasure. “This is so much better than I had imagined,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Me, too,” she murmured.

He drew back and grinned at her. “Is that so?” Then his face disappeared as his body descended between her legs. His cheek paused at her flat belly. He pressed the side of his face against the concave dip beneath her navel and drew a breath jagged with need. Then the folds of his cravat tickled her as he continued his southward path.

She grasped the coverlet in greedy handfuls, spreading her knees in wanton welcome.

“Do you want this?” he asked, his breaths heavy against her sex.

“Yes, yes, yes.” She would explode against his tongue the instant he set it against her swelling flesh.

“Like this?” He licked the inside of her thigh.

Her only reply was a low, needy moan.

“Like this?” He drew a wet oval around her sex. His tongue dipped just a heartbeat before tracing the juncture of her thigh.

“Mmmh—hh—no.” She dug her nails into the coverlet and squeezed her eyes shut. How hard would she come against his mouth?

“Look at me.”

She shook her head against the pillow.
 

“Celeste, darling. I want you to see how badly I want to taste you.”

“No.”

“No?” He laughed low. “I promise you, I do.”

“I mean—I can’t—watch—Oh—God! Please, Ash. Do what you must.” Her hips were twisting violently against the sheets. Every so often, they met his face for a brief jolt of pleasure. But she needed something more substantial from him.

“What I
must
?” He brushed a kiss over her hard little pearl and she cried out in ecstasy.

“Celeste,” he said roughly as she writhed. “Celeste.”

She opened her eyes as he’d asked. She drank in the sight of him pleasuring her. A sheen formed on his brow as his tongue worked her sensitive flesh. Then, in one powerful, tight explosion, her entire body tensed. Her fingers tangled in the coverlet. “Oh, God, Ash!”

After that she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t breathe. In the aftermath of the explosion she had only a single word to describe it.
 

Ashlin.

Chapter Twenty-One

Having him cherish her body made her feel beautiful, fulfilled in a way she’d never dreamed. To her horror, tears leaked from her eyes. Foolish woman that she was, she couldn’t stop them. How could she bear to lose him when his interest waned, as it undoubtedly would? How would she ever be able to give herself to another, now that she’d felt so precious with him?

Ash scrambled to lie beside her and gather her into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

Savoring his arms around her, she curled against him. She’d never known such pleasure or such heartbreak. She pressed her thighs together as though she could keep the aftershocks coming. As if she could keep him.

He stroked her hair until all the tension went out of her. Then he kissed her brow. “Perhaps we should stop.”

“No,” she protested. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he murmured, kneading her shoulders.

“You aren’t,” she lied.

“Then turn over. Please.”

She didn’t question it, but did as he bade. He straddled her thighs. With his large hands he massaged the back of her neck, her shoulder blades and the curve of her spine. Edging his body toward her calves, he squeezed her bottom and the backside of her legs. She was languid, tears and tension gone, when he completed his self-imposed task.

He rose from the bed. The sound of fabric rustling against fabric sent her onto a new wave of awareness. Mussing her hair around her face to hide her eyes, she peeked through her curls and observed him as he undressed. There were taller men than Ash, but he stood a good head above most. His shoulders were broad. Too broad to peel his coat from them without some trouble. Hungrily, she waited as he unbuttoned his waistcoat and drew off his shirtsleeves. Dark patches of hair, under his arms and sprinkled across his chest, gave him the appeal of a pirate. Breeches hugged his hard thighs, but it was the coin-shaped dent of his navel that drew her attention. She wanted to dip her tongue into it, then lower…

He moved to the edge of the bed. Finally, she would feel his naked chest against hers, warm and comforting, his muscled arms holding her to him as though she were prized.

She reached toward him. Gingerly, she walked her fingers down the flat stones of his abdomen. She let her fingers hover just long enough for him to play the scenario out in his mind.

He grabbed her hand. Questioningly, innocently, she raised an eyebrow. But he didn’t answer with words. The lustful way his gaze traveled along her body, pausing over her bottom before traveling back up to her face, told her more than enough. He looked at her as if he’d never seen a naked woman before.

Enjoying the attention, and perhaps wanting to make him suffer for the pleasure he’d caused her, she rolled onto her back and arched her spine. She stretched her arms above her head like a cat, savoring the possession in his eyes. When he looked ready to pounce she turned again, this time onto her side, and gave him an uninterrupted view of the indentation of her spine and the womanly dip of her hips.

He groaned and yanked off his boots. His breeches hit the floor with a swish, quickly followed by his stockings. The musky smell of his unspent seed filled the room and she glanced at his shaft, admiring the proud column jutting toward her. The tip of his smooth head was already wet. He straddled her, turned her onto her back and lifted her hips. She let her knees fall away to reveal the rosy bud he had so wonderfully abused earlier, and gasped when he held the long, wide length of himself against her folds. Desperately, she lifted her hips higher, inviting him into her slick channel. Begged him to possess her as thoroughly as his eyes promised he would. But he gave her a smile filled with need and jerked away. “Not yet, darling. Let me feel you first.”

It became a game, one designed to torment her. “Shh,” he’d admonish her, pulling away, only to rub his length against her again. After a several torturous moments, she found his rhythm. Their moans filled the room, each sound rent from their excitement. At last, when she thought she could take no more, he fit himself at her opening and paused. “Darling.” His voice was a struggle of passion at war with honor. “I can stop if you wish it.”

“No.” She exhaled sharply at the sweet agony of him poised at her opening. She needed him deep within her, claiming her, taking everything she offered, wanting her as badly as she required him. “Please don’t stop now.”

“Thank God.” He thrust his thick, long shaft into her. She was ready, else he would have been too large, too unrelenting. Instead, he fit perfectly. His low moan vibrated between them. His desire for her was heady. It excited her almost as much as his thorough attention to her pleasure.

He waited, his breath ragged, then drove into her a second time. “Ash,” she cried, already near climax.

“Dear God, I know,” he murmured against her hair. He pumped harder. His hand came between them, curving around her breast. Her wild cry was a desperate plea for him to never stop.

His shaft swelled in her. Again and again, her body convulsed around it. Riding wave after wave of euphoria, she clenched around him a final time, tightening as if she meant to squeeze out every last drop of his seed.

“Ash, come with me,” she said between ragged breaths.

“Darling, I can’t—Oh—God—” He covered her body. His mouth found hers. She held him tightly as he battled his release, scratching her nails lightly over the bunched muscles of his shoulders in a silent plea for him to surrender everything. His seed, his heart, his soul. With a final shout, he pulled out from her and exploded into a fistful of sheets. His face contorted and his body wracked with shudders.

He collapsed on top of her.

* * *

After a while, he asked, “Am I crushing you?”

She ran her fingertips lightly down his back. He
was
crushing her, but she welcomed it. “No.”

“Good.” Within moments, he was asleep. As his weight settled over her, the imprint of his thumb at her collarbone claimed her as his.

For just this one night, she believed it.

She awoke hours later to find herself still covered by his warm body. His fingers idly trailed the curve of her naked hip. They made love slowly, mouths wet, open, taking, giving, discovering each other in the new light of day.

Her first thought upon returning from this euphoria was that he must go
.
Before she became more enamored of him. Irritatingly, or perhaps disappointingly, she didn’t have to make him. After Hildegard brought a repast of toast and chocolate, he was all too ready to leave. He collected his clothing and, with a touch of regret for the creases, drew on the wrinkled affair with as much lordliness as he could muster.

As soon as he left, Celeste rose from bed and began issuing orders. The Dollond was treated to a thorough cleaning. Her bedclothes were washed, aired and remade. Strangely, it all made her feel less in control, as though her life would now be spent waiting for him.

No. She’d known women who’d fallen into that trap. She was stronger, more experienced. She had friends. She had her sessions with Lucy. She needn’t to devote herself to the moments Lord Trestin deigned to spend with her.

Resolved, she called for her bath. After a hot soak, she donned her favorite walking gown and set out with a footman. It had been ages since she’d seen Elizabeth. Why had she waited so long to check on her friend?

Belatedly, she recalled Captain Finn had moved Elizabeth to larger accommodations. After inquiring at Sophia’s house, she found Elizabeth’s new apartments and knocked on the door. An unfamiliar butler showed her into a parlor done in subdued colors. Celeste frowned. The calming gray and green was less jarring, but what of Elizabeth’s tastes? It seemed wrong, somehow, to abandon the blues and yellows that had brightened her previous home.

Celeste settled herself on an overstuffed chair only a man could think went well in a formal parlor. She stood again when Elizabeth entered. “How good it is to see you!” Celeste said with a smile. “I’m embarrassed I haven’t come sooner.”

Elizabeth stopped just short of Celeste and exhaled, as though harried from whatever task she’d been about, and brushed a wisp of chestnut-colored hair from her face. She smiled. “It has been awhile, hasn’t it? I can hardly keep track of the time, let alone which day it is. But look at you! I’m insanely jealous of your lovely cheekbones.” She puffed out her own cheeks. “I eat every time Jonathan eats.”

“Jonathan?” Celeste tried to keep censure from her voice.

“Oh, yes, that.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Family names are so important to our men, aren’t they?”

She’d been proud enough to carry on her family’s name back in Devon, but it didn’t seem worth mentioning now. Celeste stepped forward and hugged her. “Is everything well?” she asked against Elizabeth’s ear.