The Price of Pleasure (18 page)

Grant stalked the room. It seemed much smaller than usual, hemming him in. “You give her too much.”

Ian exhaled in impatience. “I'm going to see her today. Anything you'd like me to tell her? Any flowers to deliver?”

“Tell her I'll be busy this week.”

“Does idiocy run in our family, or did it only strike you?” At Grant's lowering look, Ian finished Grant's coffee and strolled away.

Grant slammed his fist against the table. He wanted to forget everything about yesterday, forget that he'd ignored propriety and honor, and forget the things he'd done with a virginal girl in a
shed.
He feared he'd treated her like a whore, bruising her and showing her things no proper lady would ever dream of. And that worry tore at him. He wasn't right when he was around her, and the sooner they parted, the better.

After an incredibly miserable day, he lay in bed, aroused as usual and wondering why he didn't go take what she offered. Technically, they didn't have to marry. But if he was a true gentleman, he'd offer for her. And if he offered for her, then he could have her. All of her…

He heard a light tap, and was instantly on his feet, stabbing his legs into his trousers and yanking open the door. Victoria stood, almost shyly, just outside with the wind molding her skirts to her legs. Did she wear nothing beneath? He grabbed her arm and pulled her in.

“How in the hell did you get down here?”

“I walked.”

“You could have been killed. You—”

“Well, actually, I bought this map and then had the hotel owner mark all the particularly bad spots.” She showed him the map. “See my course? I had to zigzag a bit, but—”

“Where are your damned underskirts?”

“I didn't want to wake Cammy getting those petticoats out.” The bubbly excitement left her voice, and she admitted softly, “I missed you. You never came around.”

He grasped his forehead with one hand. “We have a problem, you and I. What we did at the beach was wrong. And it can't happen again.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “It had to. And it has to happen again.” Catching his gaze, she whispered, “I feel like I'll lose my mind. All I can think about is you and your hands on me.” She brought his hand up and laid it on her breast.

He groaned. “Why do you do these things?”

“Because it feels so wonderful.”

“So all you're doing with me is obeying impulse?” he asked in a low, cruel voice as he yanked his hand away.

“What's wrong with impulse?”

“Everything.” He ran a hand over his face. “What if you have these impulses with another man?”

“But I won't. I only feel this way for you.”

“How can you know that?”

“I know that when my mother first met my father, she fell for him, never thinking of another man for the rest of her life. I feel that way about you.”

He'd sucked in a sharp breath during her admission, then let it out slowly. “If anything else had happened, you'd be forced to marry me.”

“Anything else? So we're not going to have to marry just from what we did?”

“We don't have to marry for that.”

“Then the way I see it, we can do just those things again.”

“That's not how it works.” Did he sound like he regretted that fact? “Things might…get out of hand.” He set her away. “And then, did you ever think that I might get you with child?”

Her eyes rounded.

“Obviously not,” he said, his tone sardonic. “You see—this is not a game, this is your future—”

“Oh, but, Grant, I would love to have a child.”

He stilled. Why did her words affect him to such a degree? Was it the delighted sound of her voice? The wide, easy smile accompanying her words? “There can be no children.”

“You just told me there might—”

“We're not married. You have to be married.”

“Then let's get married.” Her tone made it sound as though this was a foregone conclusion. One plus two equals three. “You said I needed to marry. Why not you?”

He shook his head forcefully. “Victoria, I think you are understandably curious about men, but that's all it is. Curiosity. And it's centered on me because I'm the first man you've been around since you became a woman. Surely you don't want to settle on me for the rest of your life. Don't you even want to meet other men? Or be courted?”

She ignored his question, stood on her toes, and kissed his neck. Such a gentle touch, a sweet touch, and already his blood was firing, driving him to do things to her body that weren't
sweet.

This mission would conclude far differently than he'd planned. He could envision it now: Victoria would step onto England's shores as a girl stripped of her prospects and innocence, married, most likely with a child got upon her—by a lecherous older man who was her
guardian
. He'd robbed her of ever having a choice.

The bastards at the club would slap his back and tell him slyly, “Well done.”

She sat on the bed and slowly tugged the silky ribbon at her bodice. The material gaped, and she drew it lower.

He growled low in his throat. In a heartbeat, he had his fingers curled around the material against her breasts.

To yank it up.

As soon as he removed his hands, she gave him a challenging lift of her eyebrows and pulled it down. He snatched it up again.
Down. Up.
She tugged it down once more. “Stop!” she cried, when he seized the material out of her fingers and up again.
“You're going to rip my bodice!”

“I'm not going to rip your bodice—unless you don't let it go,” he added with a growl. “We
are not
doing this.”

“Yes, we
are
. And if you rip my new dress, you can say farewell to your trousers.”

“Promise?” he grated, then felt appalled with himself.

“Hah! You want this too.” She took her eyes off his face and regarded his jutting erection inches from her. She leaned farther down his torso to where, God help him, he could feel her breath at the line of his trousers. She kissed him, a sweeping touch of her lips over his skin. “Can I touch you?” she whispered.

Trust that she truly knows what she wants. Give her credit. Trust her.

He was lost. “Do as you will, Victoria.”

T
ori ran her hand down the front of his trousers and up again, feeling him hard, straining against the fabric. She'd seen him twice before, but when she freed the trousers and he sprang forth, she gasped, enthralled all over again.

Knowing she could never get used to feeling him like this, she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking, not as she had in the past, but lovingly, slowly exploring every nuance of his flesh. She wanted to experience everything and sensed he was on the verge of finally capitulating.

Everything.

“Grant, yesterday when you kissed me…privately?”

“Yes?” he hissed as her palm rubbed the head of his erection.

“Can I kiss you privately?”

“You play at things you don't understand.” His voice was raw.

“Then teach me.” She knew he was at the precipice, one foot over the abyss. The slightest push…Tonight, she would show him no mercy. “Show me how to give you pleasure.”

“Victoria, you don't know what you ask.” He looked anguished. Torn.

But he hadn't said no. Tentatively, before she lost her nerve, she placed her lips on his skin.

He groaned, hands clutching her shoulders, grating her name. “You don't know what you're doing to me.”

She looked up and found him staring down at her kissing him. His breathing was ragged, the muscles in his torso and chest contracting and flexing. His eyes were dark and watchful, as if he was witnessing something he couldn't quite believe.

Such a small touch brought him to this? She increased the pressure, tasting him with her tongue as he'd tasted her. His hips bucked again and she pulled back.

“Is this wicked?” she asked, returning her lips to his skin.

“Yes.”
He placed his hands in her hair, and she noticed they shook wildly. He'd drawn his leg up beside her on the bed.

“Since I like kissing you here so much, I must be wicked.”

He groaned at her words, and then more deeply when she ran her tongue up his length.

“And since you like it…”

“Like
it? Like isn't the word I'd—” He sucked in a breath when she took him fully in her mouth. She glanced up, his flesh still between her lips, to find his head thrown back and his torso rigid all the way down to the base of his manhood.

“Ah, God, Victoria.” At once he lifted her and placed her before him. The grip on her arms was hard. “You make me feel like a beast, I want you so much.”

The warning in his eyes excited her. “Do as you will.”

He made some fierce noise in the back of his throat, then freed her dress and yanked it down. When she stepped out of it, he tugged her pantalets off and tossed them aside.

She'd been eager for him to see her black silk stockings with their provocative openwork stitching, but now embarrassment suffused her. When his fingers traced the lacy patterns on the stockings and then almost playfully tugged on the black satin garters high on her thighs, she reached down to remove them, but he took her hands.

“Leave them.” His voice sounded tortured.
“For me.”

She nodded, eyes wide. He sat then and lifted her into his lap, dragging her shift over her head. He moved her body, her legs over his, laying her back in his arms to stare at her bared breasts. With a growl, he leaned over to put his lips on her nipples, suckling them almost painfully. They soon became numbed until every lash of his tongue on them was felt coursing between her legs. She spread her thighs, and an obliging hand trailed down her belly. His fingers parted her.

“So wet for me,” he rumbled against her breast as he fondled her sex. “So perfect.”

When he swept a glance down her body, she arched her back, tempting his mouth back to her nipples. She hadn't thought anything could feel better than his stroking her, but then he delved a finger
inside
her. She gave a sharp cry and her hips reared to his hand. He held her sex, stirring his finger in her, making her moan.

“Grant! This feeling…Make it…
Help me.
”

“How, Victoria?” He placed her on the bed and pressed her back with one huge hand across her breasts. Kneeling between her legs to lift her bottom, he brought her to his mouth as though to drink her.

“Help you”—he kissed her then and groaned against her flesh—“with my lips?”

“Yes!” She raised her hips in offering.
Yes, his lips.

“Or with my fingers?” He stroked her then, making her moan low. Her head thrashed. When he drew his fingers from deep inside her, she whimpered, opening her legs wider. No relief came.

She glanced up, and saw he'd removed his trousers and returned. He reached up to palm her breasts and massage her nipples, and his manhood rose over her, resting up on her belly. It was thick and visibly throbbing, the head moist. Her mouth fell open in awe. So beautiful, so strange. So
compelling…
He looked down to see her staring at him, and she thought his lips nearly curled.

“Please!” she cried.

His whole body was tight, like he was about to explode. “What do you want, Victoria?” Then he leaned down to whisper in her ear, words she knew should be
unspoken.
She couldn't believe the language, yet it wasn't even what he said, but the way he spoke to her, the ferocity, the
want,
that made her moan.

Then he pressed his finger inside her again, making her gasp and shudder. She fell back, arms raised above her as the tension wracked her body. When he withdrew only to push back into her, need spiraled in her, mounting with each push and withdrawal, until it peaked and finally shattered. As her body spasmed and her back arched, he rasped what he was going to do to her after she came from this, places he would lick her, places his fingers would find and rub, how badly he wanted her mouth on him again, sucking him deep….

“Oh, yes,”
she moaned long and low. She could feel her body squeezing around his clever fingers. He was relentless, continuing to tease her, spreading the moisture in long, luxuriating strokes.

 

As though another man inhabited his body, Grant teased Victoria inside, testing her, stretching her tightness. After witnessing her abandon, there was no thought of denying himself this. She would be his. At this moment, nothing could please him more. He saw her lick her parted lips, saw her breasts moist from him, and the fair curls covering her sex….
Lost
.

Seizing her thighs, he spread her wider, then gripped himself to run the head of his cock up and down her folds, making sure she was ready to take him. He groaned as she became wetter against the head.

Finally, he allowed himself to push into her, but only just so. She was slick, but still so tight. Every muscle in his body quaked for him to plunge to the hilt, to bury himself in her regardless of how small she was. No, he
wouldn't
hurt her. He
could
control himself.

But she began moving, writhing to make him enter her more fully. He grasped her beneath to hold her still, groaning at the feel of her in his fingers, withdrew, and then entered just the head once more. She was too tight, impossibly so. He feared he would break her. “I don't want to hurt you,” he grated in a low, barely recognizable voice.

“Isn't it supposed to hurt?” she said on a breath. “A little?”

A little? Not this time. By the way her body clenched powerfully against his, he could swear she couldn't take more.

“It's going to hurt, sweet.”

She sighed. “I worried you'd be too big. And I don't know if I'm quite normal—”

He leaned down to kiss her, his voice rough against her lips as he said, “You are everything a man could want….” He met the barrier and she sucked in a breath. He flexed his hips, surging into her. She cried out—he froze.

“Victoria, are you all right?”

“I-I think so,” she whispered.

Grant believed he should be still. Let her body adjust to his size. Wasn't that what you were supposed to do with virgins? He'd never had to worry about this before. “Do you want me to stop?” As if he could. This would be the ultimate test, buried in her tight heat and having to give that up….

“Yes.”

No. Damn it, no!
his mind screamed. He couldn't give this up. He'd just achieved heaven. But he looked down and saw that her eyes watered. The idea of her hurting tore at him.

His body set with determination, he pulled out, but beast that he was, he withdrew slowly, lingering inch by inch to enjoy what he'd only tasted.

She moaned low in her throat. “Oh, wait. I like that.” Stunned, he drove back in. “
Ow,”
she bit out.

He pulled out once more, and again she moaned. He was losing his mind. “Love, you can't have one without the other.”

“Can you go in slow, like you go out?”

Could he? When every instinct demanded he plunge into her? Shaking, sweating with effort, he slowly, so slowly tortured himself in and out, finding a rhythm that pleased her and made him shudder. Sweat dripped from him onto her trembling breasts where it mingled with her own. He bent down to take a salty nipple into his mouth and drew on it. She moaned again, spreading her legs wider.

“Maybe a bit more quickly,” she whispered in his ear. Again, he shuddered.

As she wished, he pushed in faster. When he saw her breasts shaking with each thrust, he knew it was only a matter of time, and when she moaned he took the ground she gave. Over and over, his hips drove into her, his hands trapping her thighs wide or fondling her breasts.

“Ah, Grant,
yes.”
The harder and faster he took her, the more she called his name, until he was pounding against her and she was meeting him.

Then suddenly, just as he'd become so thick in her he could hardly move, she arched her back, breasts pushing against his chest. She cried out and he felt her squeezing around him, all along his cock, her body milking his.

No more.
He could take no more. A last pounding shove. Yelling out her name, he exploded into her, his orgasm pumping on and on, relentless.

When he finally was spent, he realized he'd been squeezing her in his arms as he helplessly continued to buck.

Slowly, thoughts emerged from the haze.
I'm holding her so tight, I might hurt her…. She's mine…. I don't know if I can let go.

He eased up to rise above her. As though clawing his way from a dream, Grant stared in disbelief at Victoria beneath him, at his body still languorously pushing inside her. He stared down at her delighted face and saw her tears.

What have I done?

Victoria lay in his bed, curled on her side. She slept lightly, with small twitches and movements of her eyes behind closed lids. Life on the island most likely had awakened that in her—that something deep within, that instinct reacting to sound, filtering the normal from the warning, the slapping of bristly palms in a breeze from the first low hiss of a storm.

He enjoyed watching her sleep, he realized, but she needed to get back. God only knew what he might do to her if she stayed, because he'd realized something about himself tonight. He was becoming more and more comfortable with losing control with her.

He shook his head, still staggered by his behavior. He'd never been free with a woman, never had more than a perfunctory release, certainly had never done what he'd pressed on Victoria—he'd always feared losing control, feared his needs being talked about among the women of his acquaintance. Perhaps that was why he never sought out women, and by no means slept with them more than once. He was far from a rake, but worried that if he ever got comfortable his restraint might slip.

And every time he'd eased the pressure himself, the fantasies and imaginings filling his mind had only reinforced what he already knew about himself and what he desperately wanted to hide. Men of his caliber should be able to control such baseness. But then, the men of his family had never been good at restraint. No one but him.