A Reckless Desire (22 page)

In silence, she now stood shamelessly, even proudly, before him in only her shift and stockings, her head held high and her hair streaming behind her. Her breathing was rapid from both the exertion of undressing and, as he watched her breasts rise and fall, excitement as well. Her knee-length linen shift was so fine as to be nearly translucent, with the dark triangle of hair at the top of her thighs a shadowy temptation. There in the moonlight, she'd never been more beautiful to him, nor more desirable.

Yet still she purposefully stayed out of his reach, and something about her expression warned him not to cross the invisible barrier she'd put up between them.

“Love me as I am, Rivers,” she said, her voice raw with emotion. “Here, now. Love me and want me as Lucia Maria di Rossi, and nothing else.”

He nodded, accepting, and understanding, too. He thought of how she'd worried that she'd lose herself through acting, that somehow the Mrs. Willow that they'd created together had come to mean more to him than she herself. She was wrong, achingly wrong, but words alone wouldn't prove it to her.

She'd said she wished to come to him free of any artifice, and she could not have chosen a braver way to make her point, standing here before him in only her shift. If this was some kind of challenge, some kind of dare to prove he truly loved her, then by God he would match it. He would not fail her now.

With his gaze still locked with hers, he pulled his arms from his coat and tossed it aside, followed in rapid succession by his waistcoat, his neck cloth and shirt, his buckled shoes and stockings. All that was left now was his breeches. He liked the feel of the warm evening breeze across his bare skin, the freedom of it shared with her. In all the times he'd come here, he'd never once stood on the roof this close to naked; perhaps all this time he'd been waiting to share the experience with Lucia. She'd asked him to feel, not to think, and there couldn't be anything less intellectual than standing bare-chested here beneath the moon.

Briefly her gaze flicked downward, over that bare chest to the undeniable bulge in his breeches. She didn't regard him with the coy appraisal that her cousin would have shown, but rather looked with unabashed interest, with eagerness, with desire, which only made his cock swell harder still.

“I'll take you as you are, Lucia.” He raised his voice to proclaim to the world, not caring who heard him so long as she did. “I'll take you if you'll do the same, and take me as you see me. Forget everything else, and take me only as a man. Your man tonight, Lucia, if you'll have me.”

She didn't answer, and for an appallingly long moment he wondered if he'd misread her. Then she swept her hair back over one shoulder, lowering her chin and granting him the merest beginning of a smile, and he knew he hadn't.

“You know I will,” she said softly. “Now untie your hair.”

“My hair,” he repeated, mystified. He wore his hair in a tidy queue, the way most gentlemen did, wrapped and tied with black ribbon by Rooke each morning; he was never seen without it. He'd be more comfortable without his shirt than with his hair untied, but if she wished it that way, then he'd do it. He reached up to the back of his neck and fumbled with the knot, silently cursing Rooke for being so thorough. Finally he undid the ribbon and raked his fingers through his hair.

“There,” he said. “Is that what you wished?”

“It
is,
” she said, her voice husky. “Your hair is like a mane of gold.
Il mio grande leone d'oro!
You
are
like a great golden lion, the fiercest, bravest king of all the wild beasts.”

He smiled, thinking of how this was odd and yet how very Lucia, and ridiculously arousing, too. Because of her, he did feel like a wild beast, barely able to keep himself in check. “If I am a lion, does that make you my lioness?”

She didn't answer, but reached down and seized the hem of her shift, and in one swift motion swept it over her head, leaving her only in her stockings and garters. With her body bathed in moonlight, she was more beautiful, more perfect, more enticing than he'd ever imagined.

She'd tormented him long enough. She might not be able to dance, but she certainly was a devilishly seductive Di Rossi, through and through. He tore away the buttons on his fall and shoved his breeches down and kicked them aside. Two could play this game—it was, in fact, much better if two did—and he was glad to see how her eyes widened at the sight of how flagrantly hard she'd made him.

This time when he lifted her from her feet and caught her in his arms, she didn't struggle, but instead melted against him with a willingness that inflamed him further. To have her naked against him like this, her velvety skin impossibly soft and as heated as his own, sharpened his lust even more.

Swiftly he carried her to the bed, and with one arm shoved aside the pillows. Not bothering to turn back the counterpane, he dropped her onto the bed. She stretched sensually with her dark hair fanned around her face, her body ivory-pale against the dark blue, and obviously delighting in the feel of the silk velvet beneath her. She smiled up at him, her eyes heavy-lidded and her white teeth pressing lightly into her lower lip, and held her arms up to him.

He lay beside her, and instantly rolled on top of her, kissing her hungrily. Mindful of how much larger he was than she, he braced most of his weight on his arms, but let himself glory in the feel of her body against his, how her breasts crushed softly against his chest and how at once she'd parted her legs for him to settle more comfortably between them. She'd called him her lion, and it was taking all his willpower not to ravage and devour her.

He slipped down to find one of her breasts, her nipples already hard from the evening air and from arousal. Her breasts enchanted him, not large in size, yet irresistibly lush to touch. Gently he sucked on the tender flesh, laving and teasing the tight little berry with his tongue, and she murmured wordless sounds of rising excitement as she arched wantonly beneath him, clearly wanting more.

Her hands roamed freely across his back, from his shoulders to his buttocks and back again. He suckled harder on her breast, grazing the nipple with the edges of his teeth, and in response she purred against his shoulder. Her fingers dug into his upper back, her nails sharp enough to make him grunt.

“Wicked,” he growled, coming up to kiss her again, and she chuckled into his mouth. Why in blazes had he waited so long, he wondered as he delved deep into the wet sweetness of her kiss. What possible, ridiculous scruple could have been worth them waiting for this?

Her legs were shifting restlessly beneath him, rubbing against his cock to tantalize him, and driving him past the point of restraint. His blood was pounding in his ears, driving him on, and he breathed deep of the heady scent of her arousal. He reached down between her parted legs and stroked her lightly and she tensed and arched against him, her hips bobbing in the air and wordlessly begging for more. He understood that tension, because he was feeling it, too, where the fever of desire made even the slightest caress almost unbearable. His cock was heavy and engorged with it. Yet she was soft where he was hard, her sex wet and swollen against his hand and her honey-sweet juices slick on his fingers—enough to drive him mad with lust.

Easing his finger between her nether lips, he rubbed and pressed the little bud at the top of her opening to build her need. She was moaning now in rhythm with his strokes, and he loved how she wasn't shy about the primal sounds she made, without any missishness. He dipped lower, deeper, easing a single finger within her to press deeply into her slick passage and tease her from within. In turn she clenched tight around his finger even as her nails clawed over his back at the delicious intrusion, even as her hips rose greedily to seek more.

“Shush, shush,” he whispered hoarsely. “My wild little lioness. You're so hot, you'll scorch me.”

She was panting now in breathy little catches, and she clutched at his shoulders as if she'd never let go. Her body was taut and feverish against him, and even in the moonlight he could see the flush that stained her cheeks and chest.

He pushed his finger deeper, curling against the front of her passage, and she rewarded him with a soft cry that nearly undid him. She was so tight, so small, so hot that all he could think of was how much he wanted to bury himself deep inside her.

“Please, Rivers,” Lucia begged in a ragged whisper. “Oh, please,
please.
”

And yet as she writhed beneath him, Lucia was too overwhelmed to be certain what it was she begged for. For more of the unbelievable pleasure he was drawing from her body, for more of the intimacy that came with his touch, for more of this passion: oh, yes, she wanted more of all that. But she sensed there was more than that, an intangible, glorious
more
that was maddeningly just beyond her reach.

“Please, Rivers,” she gasped again, her breath tight in her chest and her entire body on edge.

“Yes,” he said, as if he'd been waiting to grant her wish. His face was strained with concentration as he shifted over her, settling between her legs, and impatiently he shook his untied hair back from his face. With his palms on her knees, he pushed her legs apart to open her farther. He stroked her again, and she shuddered and arched against him, seeking more of his marvelous touch.

But this time it wasn't his finger pushing into her, but something blunter and larger, much larger. She looked down between her knees and saw his cock in his hand, so much larger and more rigid than it had appeared earlier, with the head an angry purple-red. She could not possibly take such a thing into her body, and frantically she tried to pull back and away, up against the mounded pillows.

“You're so small,” he said, gritting his teeth as he stated the obvious, and she whimpered with agreement. He drew back and wetted the head of his cock with his spittle to ease his way. He held her steady and lodged the head between her lips, and flexed his hips. He pushed, and pushed again. He was stretching her wide and it hurt, forcing her to accommodate him in a way she'd never imagined.

“Relax, Lucia,” he said. “Be easy, love, and let me in.”

She wasn't relaxed. She was holding her breath, every muscle tense, and trembling from the effort.

“Here,” he said, hooking his arms beneath her knees. “That should help.”

He nipped the inside of her knee, right above her garter, and stupidly she focused on how the red silk ribbon had come untied, the crumpled end trailing along the side of her leg.

He pushed again, and again, relentlessly making way until suddenly he was buried deep inside her, their bodies touching. He paused, breathing hard. She gasped at the unfamiliar pressure and the fullness of him inside her, and yet the first sharp pain was already fading. It was curious to hold him like this inside her and feel him pulsing within her passage. She'd feared she could not accommodate him, and yet it seemed somehow they were exactly the right size for each other. She'd always heard how a man possessed a woman, but she felt as if she'd possessed him instead, taking him so intimately deep inside her body.

Above her his handsome face sheened with sweat as he leaned down to kiss her, and once again he began to move his hips, slowly pulling back and then shoving into her again.

She liked having the fullness of him inside her, of how he could stroke her even more deeply with his shaft than with his finger. Instinctively she began to move with him, rocking her hips to meet his, and the tension she'd felt before began to return, coiling deep in her belly.

“Damnation, Lucia, but you're good,” he growled, his head bowed over hers and his eyes squeezed shut. “I should go slower, but I can't stop, you're that good.”

“I don't want you to stop,” she whispered, her hands roaming along the length of his back. “
This
is what I want, Rivers.”

“Then you'll have all of it, love.” He released her knees, and she curled her legs over his back to take him deeper, giving an extra wriggle to her hips as she did. He swore some sort of dark, muddled oath, and kissed her again.

“I won't last much longer if you keep doing that,” he said raggedly. “Are you close?”

She wasn't sure what he meant. They were as close as two people could be, joined together as they were, and instead of answering she kissed him again.

He was moving more forcefully now, his breathing harsh and his expression fixed. He thrust with a determined purpose and power that sent waves of sensation rippling through her, clear to the soles of her feet, and she felt her belly grow unbearably tight around him.

She struggled to breathe, her heart drumming in her ears. He lifted himself slightly and stroked her again where they were joined, relentless. She was so sensitive there that she cried out, but he did not back away, and in a rush she felt all the tension crash apart, convulsing around him in breaking waves that were so sublime she cried out again with the wonder and joy of it.

Rivers continued to drive into her, his thrusts frenzied with urgency and so hard that he shoved her across the bed. As her own pleasure began to subside, she watched him find his, contracting and jerking with the power of it, and his guttural shout when he spent truly was worthy of the lion she'd called him. Gasping, he collapsed over her, and let the last shudders vibrate between them.

As he lay against her shoulder, she held him close, not wanting to let him go. She was grateful that he was silent. Words would spoil everything, because no words could say enough. Exhausted, she was limp and spent and filled with contentment, and she felt closer to him than she'd ever felt to anyone. She had no regrets, none. He was hers for now, and she was his. No wonder she wished the moment would never end.

And it had been magic, she thought, pure, perfect magic, and as she gazed up into the sky overhead, she saw all the stars that he'd promised her.