The Taste of Innocence (31 page)

Indeed, she wasn’t yet sure herself how to relate to him when others were about; it was hardly any wonder if he felt the same. The same sense of feeling their way.

Halting before the fireplace, arms crossed beneath her breasts, she stared into the flames. Then the handsome clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour; she looked at it and frowned. Eleven o’clock. Where was he?

As if in answer, she heard a footstep on the anteroom’s tiles—a familiar stride. Lowering her arms, she lifted her head, swinging to face the door as it opened and Charlie entered.

He saw her, hesitated for an instant, then closed the door. And came toward her.

She studied his face, searched his eyes as he neared…and sensed a hesitation, an uncertainty, one that echoed in her heart.

She also saw, more clearly, more definitely, the falling of the curious barrier that had seemed to stand between them through the day. Saw intent return to his eyes, replacing his impassivity, saw desire rise and edge his features.

By the time he halted before her, the firelight playing over him, glinting gold in the waves of his hair, there was no doubt in her mind that at least between them here, nothing had changed, that all was as she’d thought.

His gaze lingered on her face; he searched as she had, then his gaze lowered to her shoulders, all but bare beneath the diaphanous silk, slowly fell further to her breasts, then to the indentation of her waist, to her hips, her thighs, clothed tantalizingly in ivory silk and lace…his lids fell.

He drew breath and raised his head. Eyes closed, jaw tight, he murmured, “You are so desirable it hurts to look at you.”

The words grated, as if they’d been dragged from him. She smiled. “Then keep your eyes closed.”

She moved nearer on the words, her voice sultry again as she responded to him, his transparent desire awakening hers. “Keep your eyes closed and let me guide you.”

Ease you. Her hands on his chest, she stretched up, and kissed him. For a moment, he let her, then he responded, his head angling over hers, his arms rising to close around her. To hold her against him as he supped from her mouth, as he tasted her, and let her taste him. She inwardly sighed and sank against him; reaching up with one hand, she cupped his nape, then slid her fingers into the softness of his hair and gripped, urging him on. For long minutes, she savored their play, the confident, assured give-and-take, then she drew back, broke the kiss.

“Keep your eyes closed.” She whispered the words against his lips; as she drew back, she saw them quirk. Smiling, she set about divesting him of his clothes.

Although he obediently left his lids down, his long lashes casting crescent shadows over his high cheekbones, he didn’t keep his hands still; as she wrestled him out of coat, waistcoat, and shirt, his hands roved over her silk-clad body, touching here, tantalizingly caressing there, making her nerves leap and tense, then tighten in anticipation. In reply, she gave her fascination full rein, running her hands over the acres of muscled chest she uncovered, glorying in the heavy muscles and bones of his shoulders, the taut ridged lines of his abdomen. Their interaction became a sensual game, one that heightened their senses, and left them both breathing rapidly, yet still very much in control.

Aware, and intent.

He reached for her again as her fingers found the buttons at his waist; she stretched up and once more covered his lips with hers. The kiss was hotter, desire escalating, the passion more intense; she felt the heat spread beneath her skin, felt the flames of need flare deep within her, yet for once in this arena, she had a definite aim.

She pulled back from the kiss. “Don’t forget—eyes closed.”

He shifted, lips thinning, fingers tensing on her back, but he acquiesced. He had to ease his hold on her and let her slide down, out of his arms as, trailing a few brief kisses down the center of his chest, she crouched before him, drew his trousers down, then turned her attention to his stockings and shoes. She dispensed with all swiftly—then grasped her chance.

She’d overheard Maria and Angela, her two older married sisters, whispering; she’d understood enough to leave her wondering. Now she had her own husband, she was curious as to whether he, too, might like…

There was only one way to find out. Bracing her hands on the taut muscles of his lower thighs, she went to her knees before him, then slid her hands up, following the heavy bands of muscle to where his erection stood proud, angling stiffly from its nest of curls, as if begging for her attention.

Even before her hands closed about his length, he guessed; he sucked in a breath. But then her fingers curled about his rigid flesh and he jerked. And couldn’t seem to breathe. “Sarah?”

The word was weak, equal parts shock, astonishment, and question.

“No looking, remember.” Leaning her forearms against his rock-hard thighs, she paused to study what she held for only a second, then she bent her head, parted her lips, and slid them slowly, lovingly, over and down the hot silk rod between her hands.

He groaned. His entire body locked, every muscle rigid as, recalling her sisters’ words, she used her imagination to interpret them. Liberally.

His breath hissed in through his teeth. His hand found her head, his fingers tangled in her hair; for a moment she wondered if he would tug her away, but then his fingers firmed. Seconds later, she realized he was directing her, teaching her…what he liked.

A rush of giddy happiness rose through her, and she eagerly applied herself to learning, to discovering how best to plea sure him in this way. A brief glance upward revealed his head held high, features tight with fierce plea sure; no sight could have pleased her more.

Delighted, she devoted her full attention to her ministrations, to learning all she possibly could.

That last was implicit as the minutes stretched, and Charlie clung by his mental fingernails to some semblance of control. How? Where? A very large part of him didn’t care. Had no interest what ever in how she’d known, but was avidly, greedily, hungrily absorbing every last iota of plea sure she was so unexpectedly and intently lavishing on him.

The wet heat of her mouth, the gentle, increasingly bold suction, the tantalizing flick and glide of her tongue, the soft caress of her hair against his thighs as her head moved so evocatively, so erotically, effortlessly commanded every wit he had. He was her sensual captive, wholly and completely ensnared in her web.

Yet even though his eyes were closed, his lungs tight and aching, even though every muscle he possessed was locked and straining, it wasn’t solely physical reaction that held him at her mercy; the mental impact of her actions was infinitely more devastating. The implication of her going so willingly to her knees, taking him into her mouth, and so patently delighting in pandering to his senses, in learning of his darker desires and fulfilling them, resonated through him.

She and that power, the power she now wielded, or that wielded her, that functioned through her, was seducing him. And succeeding. She and it operated on so many levels, he was helpless to counter, to shield himself against her, and it. Against all that she and it together made him feel.

Passion and desire he’d weathered often before, but with her both were shockingly heightened, infused with that power and therefore more potent, infinitely more intense. More addictive.

And into the mix, arrogant possessiveness had swirled. He’d never felt the like, not with any of the countless women he’d bedded, but with her, his wife, possessiveness didn’t just hover, it raged. And drove him.

To night…until he’d walked into their bedchamber, he hadn’t known how he would behave, how their interaction would play out, to what level.

Some part of him had hoped, prayed, that to night he would be able to suppress his reaction, to step back, to draw a line and hold to it, to continue the process he’d started that morning to get their relationship back on the track of a conventional marriage.

Throughout the day, he’d managed to hold aloof, but just the sight of her standing waiting for him before his fire, the flames flickering over her, lovingly revealing her figure beneath the translucent gown, had been enough to overwhelm his determination and shatter the guard he’d hoped to maintain.

As for this…

His chest hurt, tight, lungs seizing as her lips firmed and slid, as her fingers rose, sliding upward on his thigh. Sunk in the wet heat of her mouth, his erection was one massive, throbbing ache.

He dragged in a shuddering breath and forced his lids up. He looked down, at her on her knees, leaning into him, her glorious hair rippling over her shoulders, gilded in the firelight, shifting as her head moved and she pleasured him. He saw his fingers locked on her head, felt hers slide higher, circle the base of his staff, and tighten.

For one instant, he let his senses drink it all in, let that inner self he so rarely let loose glory in her and her devotion, then he gathered his will, fought and drew his strength to him.

Breathing was a battle; his head was swimming as he forced his hand from the golden silk of her hair, followed the curve of her jaw, then slipped his fingers beneath the gilded veil to grip her chin.

“Enough.” The word was weak; she complied more with the pressure of his fingers than the command.

Releasing him, she sat back; hands resting on his thighs, she looked up the length of his body to meet his eyes.

Her expression, the glow in her eyes and her face, held him silent for a heartbeat; had any madonna ever looked so content? Then he reached for her; closing his hands about her upper arms, he drew her to her feet.

“You opened your eyes,” she murmured.

He met her gaze for an instant, then holding her before him, bent his head. “My turn.”

He kissed her. Not as before, not with any veil or screen, nothing to mute the raw hunger she evoked in him, the staggeringly powerful mix of passion, desire, and need—the need to possess her.

Completely and utterly.

To possess her body and soul, as she already possessed him.

That’s what she and that power demanded.

So be it.

Sarah relished the passion raging through his kiss, inwardly gasped when he deepened the caress, ruthlessly commanding, his tongue probing, then retreating, only to return, echoing the possession she knew was to come.

Senses unfurling in the spiraling heat, she thrilled when his hands, curved about her shoulders, eased their grip—to reach for the edges of her silk and lace robe. He stripped it from her; it slid down her back to the floor. With two quick tugs he had the shoulder ties of her matching nightgown undone; it whispered down her body to pool about her feet.

As his hands slid about her waist, gripped, and he drew her forcefully against his naked length. Hot, hard, so male, the promise in his body affected hers like flame, melting, softening, heating anew. Sending fire down her veins to pool low in her belly, feeding her hunger, making the odd empty ache within her burgeon and grow.

He held her trapped in the kiss, yet she wanted to reach for him, to use her palm to caress that part of him she longed to feel inside her, filling her, stretching her, feeding that empty ache, satisfying the desire that beat heavily in her veins. But when he’d pulled her into his arms, she’d gripped his shoulders; as his arms tightened, then his hands slid down her back, molding her to him, she couldn’t find the strength or will to push him back enough to reach between them.

Then he angled her and did, his fingers finding the curls covering her mons, and playing. Deliberately, evocatively. His touch was more intense, more openly driven; as he pressed further and found the soft flesh between her thighs already swollen and wet, his caresses grew ever more demanding, more intimate, more invested with a possessiveness that thrilled her.

His lips on hers, holding her wits captive, with one knee he nudged her thighs apart, and slid first one, then two long fingers into her sheath. She felt the heat from the fire playing over her skin as his hand worked between her thighs, feeding the conflagration within.

Her body was no longer hers but his to command, her senses wholly caught, trapped in the moment. In the escalating desire, in the tension that rose through the fire and gripped her.

Then he buried his fingers inside her and she shattered. She gasped through the kiss, but he pressed her on; instead of falling weightless through the familiar void, she found herself riding a crest of incendiary passion. It swept her high, then he withdrew his fingers, gripped her waist, and lifted her up against him.

She broke from the kiss; from under heavy lids, breasts heaving, her hands gripping his shoulders, she looked down at his face, tipped up to hers.

His expression was graven, a mask of urgent desire. “Wrap your legs around me.”

She could barely make out the gravelly command; it took an instant to register that his palms had slid beneath her bottom, supporting her weight, then to make her muscles obey her enough to obey him.

Immediately her thighs clamped about him, he lowered her hips, and she realized—felt the broad head of his erection nudge against her entrance, then he pressed in, and drew her down.

As he thrust upward.

Head falling back, she gasped as he impaled her, as the sensation of him riding hard and high into her body engulfed her senses, and dragged them down.