When It's Perfect (24 page)

“Marcus.”

For seconds the feminine whisper went unnoticed. Then at once, as meaning dawned, he sat up straight in his bed, in blackness, his gaze sharpened for intrusion, his mind whirling with acute anxiety. Hope.

And there, as a vision in those very same dreams he cherished, she stood at the foot of his bed, beyond the sheer curtain that hung down from the posts, shadowing her curves, and her beautiful face.

Marcus blinked quickly several times, afraid this vision would vanish. It didn’t. She remained there, covered with a light dressing gown, her hair hanging to her waist, waiting, it seemed, for a reaction from him.

His heart started beating hard and fast. This was real. Mary stood before him in his bed chamber at what had to be midnight.

“Why are you here?” he heard himself murmuring, his voice low and raspy.

She drew in a shaky breath, then very slowly, with extreme care, she opened her dressing gown to expose the fullness of her figure, wearing nothing but black. No, not just black. Her black corset with ruby nipples, tightly outlining her waist, lifting beautiful breasts, exposing a hint of black stockings.

“Oh, God…” It was his voice, he was sure, but still, he couldn’t move, couldn’t believe this was happening to him.

“You were right, Marcus,” she said softly, “I made this one for me.”

He wanted to reach for her, but in an insane instant of sanity, he also remembered he wore nothing and was only modestly covered by a sheet. It would do no good to frighten her, or raise her nervousness if she should see his swollen member, hard as it was. Instead, he held his hand out, palm up, silently asking.

For seconds she stared at it, seemingly unsure of what to do.

“Come to me, show me,” he ordered in a low, intense voice that told of gentleness and trust to come.

He could see her head tilt back, and then with resolve, she stepped around the foot of the bed and toward him on bare feet, taking his large hand in hers when she could reach it.

“You’re more than I dreamed,” he said at last, shivering from the cold in the room, and the sight of her marvelous figure, scarcely concealed behind a shimmer of black.

“I know,” she replied, lifting her free hand to touch his face.

That startled him; it had been months, maybe years, since a woman had reached for him in softness.

He let her explore as she stood before him, the room in almost total darkness, the wind howling off the cliff to shake the very foundation of the house. As his nerves felt now.

Her fingertips drifted across his temple and down his right cheek as she caressed every bump and curve, tracing a fine line along the stubble at his jaw.

“I can’t stand up, Mary,” he mumbled, his throat hoarse. “I’m not wearing anything.”

He hoped that would be the one needed phrase to alert her that if she didn’t want to continue, she’d best stop, before it went too far.

Instead, she completely ignored that and asked, “How did you get this scar, Marcus?” The scar above his right brow; she grazed her thumb along it now.

He gently grabbed her wrist and pulled it away. “How did you get so beautiful?”

She sighed in the darkness as he placed his lips on her palm, kissing it once, then again. It felt so soft and smooth, and he brushed his lips back and forth against it.

“I thought you’d be more interested in the corset, my lord,” she teased, sounding almost amused.

He looked up to her face, still hidden in shadow. “I’m interested in the entire package, Miss Marsh.”

“You’re obviously a wealthy man.”

“Wealth is a relative term, of course,” he stressed, reaching up to touch the silk just above her hip.

She jerked back slightly, unexpectedly, as his fingers skimmed her stomach, them moved gradually upward until he reached the outline of her breast, the ruby shining at her nipple, but she didn’t pull away. He

thumbed it, feeling the hard, cool tip hiding the prize beneath. She sucked in a breath.

“Can you feel that?” he asked, though he knew she could, so pointedly, erotically.

“Yes…”

He placed his thumbs over the rubies, then drove his hands upward, brushing the top of the silk and lace until he felt soft, warm skin above the curve of her breasts.

Her breathing fluctuated, grew heavier, and she leaned her head back at the feel.

“This makes me crazy,” he said, running his fingertips along her collarbone.

He could have sworn she smiled.

“It’s supposed to make you crazy.”

He smiled in return. “I’m sure your garments are produced for that desired effect, Mary, but I was talking about you.”

She gazed down at him again, her features hidden in darkness, her soft hands laying timidly on his shoulders. “I couldn’t tie the laces very well all by myself,” she said very quietly and slowly, watching him.

Marcus felt his heart begin to race, his cold body now hot with mounting desire that refused to remain checked. “Shall I tie them for you?”

A moment of brave decision, and what impacted him as nothing else has was the lack of hesitation in her reply.

“I want you to
untie
them, Marcus.”

The beauty of her voice, those carefully chosen words, would ring through him forever. The way she said his name, as if she marveled at the sound of it on her tongue, would fix itself in his memory.

Seconds of silence passed. And then he wrapped his palms tenderly around her neck, his thumbs stroking her cheeks as he rose to his knees on his bed to face her directly, the sheets and blanket falling back to expose all of him.

She never looked away; eyes remained locked, though in the dimness of his bedroom, more feelings were exchanged in touch than in observation.

As if to finally fuse the unthinkable with desire, to make it real at last, she reached forward and placed her mouth on his.

Marcus shuddered within as she begin to kiss him faintly, as she coaxed him along that marvelous brink of surrender. He followed her

lead, pressing mouth to mouth, absorbing her warmth at his hands.

She tasted so good, felt so perfect, and he stroked her jaw with his thumbs, her neck with his fingers, attempting to take in every wonderful second of pleasure.

At last she grew bolder, deepening the kiss, opening for him, and then flicking her tongue along his upper lip. He gave as she took, offered just as she wanted, and soon he heard the smallest of moans from deep in her throat.

He reached behind her to the ties of the garment that separated their skin to skin contact. The lace on her back felt rough, tingling his palms.

She leaned forward slightly to give him better access as she sensed his need, and he responded by pursuing the kiss with vigor.

Her lips scorched his; her tongue darted into his mouth to mate with his in a show of eagerness. His hands moved quickly to the strings that bound her, and when he discovered them, tied into a loose, uneven bow, he gently pulled until he felt them give way.

Gradually her hands wandered closer, upward, boldly moving into the unknown as she began to explore him, caressing his neck and upper back, her nails tracing fine lines across his shoulders. Still, he urged her lips to respond to his, never giving in to the desire to break away to see all of her.

Her hair fell loosely over his hands as they continued to hold her corset against her back, their silky strands tickling his skin as she moved her mouth in rhythm with his.

At last she pulled away just enough so that she gazed into his eyes while he took the first move in freeing her body from the restricting jeweled and lacy barrier that sent his heart racing.

She never faltered in her desire to give him everything.

She was beauty and desire and uniqueness all wrapped up into a package of hope for him, and he hadn’t yet had the nerve to glance down at her body.

With her help, the corset slipped away, and then she reached over to lower her stockings, which drifted to a soft heap on the cold floor.

Marcus bit down hard, his emotions and nerves tingling at seeing this woman, who so often shied away from him, give him all of herself because their attraction to each other could no longer be ignored. He could only make out the slightest of female forms as she stood before him, but instinct and recent closeness told him so much more.

Gently he cupped her face in his palms, feeling the heat radiating from her flushed cheeks. Her warm breath came quickly, but still, she didn’t back down or turn in fear or a rational change of mind. She

reached up instead so that her hands grasped him in exactly the same way, cupping his head as her kiss became bolder.

“Mary…” he whispered against her lips.

She pushed her fingers though his hair. “Are we safe here?”

Her timidity was to be expected. But he reassured her as he stroked her neck with his palm. “You could never be safer. No one will dare enter.”

“Except me,” she noted, a soft trace of amusement coating her words.

“I left it unlocked for that purpose, dear lady.”

She laughed quietly. “Beast.”

He placed his forehead on hers to murmur, “You’ll always be safe with me, wherever I am.”

She nodded faintly as humor faded and the urgency returned. Then, pulling him closer, she brushed her lips back and forth against his, renewing the arousal, breathing heavily now so that their exhalations mingled in the cold night air.

“Lie down with me,” he insisted, his voice carrying only to her ears.

She didn’t comment, but she climbed onto the mattress with one knee, then the other, to face him squarely.

“God, I wish I could see you better,” he said with an ache she certainly had to feel.

“Touch me, Marcus,” she replied, her warm breath to his cheek.

With a groan in his throat, he grasped her around the waist and pulled her down on the bed beside him. Then, as if in dream, he slowly raised his hand, skimming her stomach until he cupped one marvelous perfectly formed breast.

A slight gasp escaped her at his warm caress. His heart raced from the exquisite feel of delicate flesh, her pert nipple that stood out already against his fingers, begging for more. She arched her back a little, and he kissed her neck, her chest, her shoulder, lowering his head until at last he kissed what she wanted him desperately to kiss.

He took her nipple into his mouth, its taste and feel electrifying him.

He sucked, swirled his tongue over the rigid point while his hand moved to the other to give it equal time as she gripped his head, her fingers threading through his hair.

She moaned very quietly again, holding back in fear of being heard, and Marcus wished above all things that he could hear every loud whimper she felt as she felt it, that she had the freedom to let herself go.

One day…

It was all too unreal for him, so lovely to have a woman beneath him, giving and receiving, wanting him as he wanted her. Quickly the tension mounted, she held him tighter, her legs restless as they moved on the sheets. He leaned over her slightly, just enough to wrap one leg around hers as his mouth moved up to grasp hers once more.

She shuddered beneath him at his ever more demanding kiss, but he had yet to touch her fully, body to body. She yearned for it, though, just as he did. He could sense her eagerness, her abandonment, and the thought of being inside of her—only her—made his heated blood boil.

“Marcus,” she whispered against his mouth, “Marcus—”

He knew what she wanted.

With his lips stealing hers, his palm still on her breast, he inched his form closer to hers so that at last, with strength of will and a surge of desire, he folded himself completely over her.

She jumped at the initial feel of him, his hard, powerful body pressed against her female softness. But as his erection brushed her hip, instead of pulling away in shock or fear, she instinctively scooted into it, craving it, satisfying every concern that lingered.

He drew his tongue across her lips, then plunged it deeply into her mouth, and she reacted in kind, grasping him behind his back, clinging to him, holding him tighter.

The wind whipped the walls from beyond the bay; the shutter banged again twice, three times. They ignored it, caught in their own surrender of wills and time.

Marcus ached to feel how wet she was. Her lust burned in her; he could feel her heart pounding beneath his, and his desire to be joined intimately with her consumed him. He yearned to feel her soft, feminine walls surrounding him, coaxing him to the edge of oblivion. His release grew imminent with each rub of her fingers on his back, each buck of her hips into his hardness, each harsh breath they shared between every brush of lips to lips, lips to skin.

As if sensing his need, she lifted herself into him, pulling him tighter against her, crossing her leg over his knee, pressing her breasts into his chest.

Marcus released her mouth and pulled his face back an inch or two to gaze down at her. He couldn’t distinguish more than curves and shadows in the darkness of his room, but he sensed her need to be a part of him. He lifted his hand from her breast and drew his thumb across her lips, very slowly, and she kissed the pad of it. Her devotion and desire melted him inside. They were, in truth, the perfect gifts to him.

“I’ve wanted you for a long time, Mary,” he whispered.

She nestled her cheek in his palm. “I know. It’s not something you hid very well,” she replied, her voice edged with humor.

He smiled. “I’m so relieved I was that obvious. I was beginning to fear you didn’t understand.”

She chuckled softly.

He stroked her jaw as seconds passed in silence. Then, in returned gravity, she breathed, “Promise not to hurt me, Marcus.”

That small, hesitant plea sliced through him like a knife to his gut.

Her eyes bore into his, though in blackness he only felt her defenses, couldn’t mark the level of anxiety within her. She couldn’t begin to understand the deepness of his response to the sight and feel and knowledge of her, or the level of his emotion he only dreamed of sharing. He couldn’t express it in words if he so wanted to. At best, he could only show it.

In a tenderness that surprised even him, he leaned into her once more, and as he placed his lips on hers, he lowered his hand from her cheek to her stomach, caressing her sensitive skin as he moved, until at last his palm covered the mound of soft hair and hot flesh that drew him to bliss.