A Most Demanding Mistress (Fashionably Impure Book 2) (18 page)

Ruel traced her jaw line with his fingertips. Unthinkingly,
she leaned in to his touch.

“Of course, once he has kissed her, then it’s his turn to
wonder…” His voice sounded unnaturally loud to her ears. “How will she respond?
Will she withdraw, or can he ignite some hidden fire?”

She sensed that he was toying with her. She didn’t understand
flirtation—why had she imagined she could carry this ruse off? Was he making advances
in order to have a laugh with Francesca and her simpering friends later? Hurt
blossomed in her chest. She resented him for that. She ought to feel indignant,
superior, uncaring—anything but hurt.

“Please don’t make sport of me.”

She cringed. Was that quavering, pleading voice really hers?

An infinitesimal pause. “Now, why on earth would I do such a
thing?” His voice was as smooth as velvet.

“To please your vanity,” she replied, trying to regain her
wits.

“Here.” He placed her hand to his chest. The contours of his
muscles were hard, powerfully developed. Even more so than she’d expected. His
body heat radiated through the satin and, beneath her hand, his heart beat was
rapid and strong.

“Is that vanity?” He put a finger under her chin, giving her
no choice but to face him. “Is it?” He gentled his grip.

The warmth in his voice settled over her like luscious hot
chocolate. Melting her insides to quivering burgoo, rendering her speechless,
unable to move.

“My dear, lovely Lady Cranfield, I am going kiss you again.”

Then he touched his mouth to hers, more firmly this time.
Delicious, steady pressure. Her lips trembled and she clutched his lapels. He
lifted his head. At the loss, a throaty, pleading moan sounded in her ears. Had
it really come from her?

Clearly, now was the time for her to reassert some control
over her reactions. To put him at a more comfortable distance.

“Kiss me back.” At the commanding edge in his voice, hot,
sweet honey pooled in her belly.

No. Focus.

What had she wanted to ask him? Focus? Dear God, what
rubbish. She could scarcely remember her own name, much less anything else.
What madness had made her think she could maintain control over him?

He traced her mouth with his tongue. Deliberately;
lingeringly. This time she couldn’t hold back a moan. She had grown to dislike
it when William kissed her opened mouthed. It had always seemed such an
overheated, messy thing. But where was her coldness now? She was burning to
know what it would feel like to know Ruel’s full kiss. She had to know—just
once—or she would surely die.

Just once. Certainly once wouldn’t hurt.

Tentatively, tremulously, she opened her mouth.

He thrust inside, his tongue like a bold blade of flame as it
touched hers. He tasted of whisky and something smoky, too sensual to be borne.
Fire burst within her, spreading over her breasts. Of their own volition, her
hands slid up his muscled arms and she gripped his shoulders and moaned again.

She twisted and pressed her breasts against his chest, trying
to increase the sensation on her taut, aching nipples. However, her stays
prevented it. Her frustration vibrated deep in her throat, another longer, more
intense moan.

The sound startled her and, for a moment, it was as if she
was staring down at the two of them. She didn’t recognise herself, but she
couldn’t stop kissing him back. Couldn’t stop rubbing her breasts against him.

Who was this uninhibited strumpet?

His breathing changed, growing heavier. He cupped her face
with his large, long-fingered hands, angling her head. She went even more
boneless and allowed him to move her as suited his desire.

He probed more forcefully with his tongue, went deeper,
compelling her to open further, to melt against him more completely. He slid
his hand to her neck and threaded his fingertips through her hair. He lifted
the heavy mass off her neck. Cool air rushed over her nape. In one quick
movement, he tightened his hold on her hair and, with gentle but firm pressure,
he pulled her head back. Her shocked gasp came out as a mere whimper, muffled by
his demanding mouth.

No man had ever handled her like this. She’d never even
suspected a gentleman would handle a woman—even one of his whores—like this. If
she had any sense left, she ought to be frightened, offended—enraged.

Instead, her nipples pebbled painfully and heat twisted
through her insides.

He tore his mouth from hers. As she gasped for breath, a
sense of loss hit her so intensely that she felt disorientated. She stood
there, leaning against his hard body, panting open-mouthed, with her head pulled
backwards by his grip.

He studied her and tightened his grasp, pulling more harshly
this time. A violent shaft of desire stabbed her, womb-deep.

Warmth, and what looked very much like satisfaction, shone in
his gaze.

He laid his other hand along her collarbone in what could
only be called a blatant, sexually possessive manner. The skin crinkled around
his eyes. He was smiling, ever so slightly.

Something had just happened. She didn’t understand what it
was. If only she could think, she would be able to reason it out. However,
liquid warmth pooled in her lower pelvis and flowed out between her legs in a
gush that came so suddenly she gasped. Her sex throbbed as if it were a beating
heart.

Coherent thought was impossible.

He shifted and throbbing heat seared her, even through their
clothing.

His erection.

Its long, thick weight was more substantial than William’s.

Ruel brushed his fingers against her back. Tugging, pulling.

Undoing her laces.

She froze and placed her hands on his chest. “Don’t.”

The gown slipped and she automatically clutched the dark
purple silk to herself.

He took hold of her wrists, easily circling them with the
forefinger and thumb of each hand. “Let the gown fall away.”

He used the voice. The one from the dreams she only
reluctantly admitted to herself. The very confident, commanding tone that the
nameless, faceless man used in her nocturnal fantasies. Her secret lover who
would press her down and—

“I want you to remove the rest of your garments and then I
want you to lie on that crimson divan and display yourself for me.”

She threw a glance at the divan, her favourite spot in this
whole house. The image his words conjured—her, lying naked on the crimson
velvet, open for his perusal—burnt into her brain. Her inner muscles contracted
several times—hard. The folds between her legs swelled and grew slicker.

Of course, despite her wayward dreams, she didn’t really want
to do something like that.

Couldn’t possibly.

She barely knew Ruel. Yet there was that innate sense that
she could trust him. That she could give in to his whims and it would be safe.
A secret shared between them. Temptation tingled through her, increasing with
every beat of her heart.

Reckless.

She had never been reckless in her life. A trembling began in
her legs.

She turned back to him. His features were tight with desire,
his stare commanding and compelling. She wanted to be reckless with this man.

“The door is locked. The others aren’t going to come in
here—the gentlemen are all occupied with fencing and the ladies are busy with
their watercolours.”

She’d never allow herself the luxury of surrendering to this.
For this was pure emotion and it would be giving him too much of herself.

“I won’t do it.” She had intended to make her tone resolute.
That thready, pleading voice couldn’t possibly be hers.

“It would please me.” His firm tone sent a new wave of
lassitude through her limbs.

Need twisted in her lower stomach and a fresh cascade of
wetness slicked her intimate folds. It slid down her inner thighs.

Wait—How had they come to this moment? Where the devil was
the reserve and sexual coolness that had driven William into other arms? This
virtual stranger held some kind of special power over her. God. It was
unthinkable. It was terrifying.

“No.” Her strident denial echoed jarringly in her ears.

He released her wrists.

She pulled the gown up high and clutched it tight. She wanted
to run. She should run. But his large, strong body still stood between her and
the exit. Would he really attempt to stop her if she tried to flee? Her heart
pounded at the thought. Because she knew that if he put his hands on her and
stopped her, especially if he did it as forcefully and firmly as he’d behaved
thus far, she’d melt for him.

What a revelation! She’d never suspected such a creature
existed in her secret heart, waiting for someone to come along and draw her
out.

“You’d better leave now.” She pushed the words past her
shaking lips.

Also from Natasha Blackthorne

The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne

Intimate Secrets (Book One)

Catriona, Lady Blayne is recovering from a
most delicate situation. Driven to the brink of madness by love for her late
husband, a young man too ill to meet the demands of the marriage bed, she
teeters on the brink of scandal. Now she must face the carnal temptation
personified by her husband’s cousin and heir, James, the new Lord Blayne. His
sensual appeal, contrasted with his iron will and stern self-mastery fascinates
her. She can’t help but ask: what if sensual indulgence is the only way out of
her darkness? However, she is not free to explore the idea. There are those who
seek to control the young widow, keeping her imprisoned through emotional
manipulation and physical coercion. With her growing restlessness, the very
people she loves and trusts the most are becoming an increasing danger to her
sanity and safety.

James is determined to protect
Catriona—but he will not soften to her again. She rejected him once and James
can’t risk losing his heart a second time. As heir to the Blayne baronetcy, he
must marry a woman socially and politically appropriate. Such a scandalously
self-indulgent lady as Catriona won’t do. Yet the pretty girl he once knew has
grown into a beautiful, curvaceous woman that is every man’s dream.

Especially his.

Erotic Romance; Regency Historical;
Elements of Sensual Domination, Spanking and Light Bondage; Rubenesque Heroine;
Character-Driven Story with Angst and Strong Internal Conflicts; Standalone
Long Novel.

Reader Advisory: The characters discuss
issues of abuse which took place in the heroine’s backstory. Frank sexual
language & period appropriate sexual slang and general bedchamber
naughtiness.

She
had escaped her captors. Those who watched her.
Now Sunny stood by James’ bed, listening to the distant chime of the clock in
the vestibule.

One
single chime.

Soft
snores issued from between his parted, sensual lips. Despite the late hour, he
still wore a shirt and trousers. His collar lay open.

She
picked up the hem of her nightdress and pulled it up, over her head, then
tossed it aside. Cool air made gooseflesh erupt all over her. Tightened her
nipples. She shivered then noticed a bottle on the night table. She picked it
up and sniffed it. Whisky.

She hated whisky. But her mouth and throat were so hellishly dry. She put the
bottle to her lips and took a tentative swig, coughing and sputtering then
shuddering as the burn of liquor spread through her. The fire was thrilling.
Stimulating. Forbidden to her. She took another drink. And another. When the
bottle was drained, she replaced it on the night table. The bottle teetered and
she caught it. The chamber seemed to tilt and turn.

She
closed her eyes and licked her lips, waiting for the giddiness to ease. But it
wasn’t passing too quickly, so she sat on his bed. Though the bed rocked, he
made no sign that he’d noticed.

She
considered the way he lay in the bed, as though he had flung himself there. She
frowned. What cause had he to drink himself to sleep? Was he troubled by
something?

What
could possibly affect a Rock of Gibraltar that much?

He
groaned softly in his sleep.

She
smoothed the hair off his forehead, lingering a moment over the surprisingly
silky texture of the inky black strands.

She
slid her hand down the crisp linen shirt, down to the bare, hard flatness of
his abdomen.

Once
again, James moaned in his sleep. Sunny lay beside him and leaned close to his
face. He snored softly between slightly parted lips and the scent of whisky and
musky male sweat overwhelmed her.

She
placed her mouth on his. His lips were soft yet firm. She pressed her lips to
his more passionately. The lack of response sent a wave of frustration through
her. She slid her hand down the cool linen of his shirt, down to where the
shirt ended. The warmth of his flesh, the hardness of his muscled stomach, the
line of coarse hair, it all set her pulses pounding.

She
slid her hand further down, down, down, edging beneath the waistband of his
trousers, searching until her fingers met the coarser, prickling hair and then
the smooth warmth of his cock.

She
caught her breath.

His
erection swelled against her hand, making things very confined beneath his
fall.

He
groaned.

She
did her best to stroke him in the limited space.

He
groaned louder, harsher, rolling towards her. He grasped her hair, and the
brush of his fingers sent tingling chills down the back of her neck. His hold
tightened and he held her head in his grip.

Dull
pain spread over her scalp and gooseflesh erupted along her nape, down her
back. The sensation made her nipples harden and ache. She arched her back,
pressing against his chest. The crisp linen of his shirt abraded her tight
peaks. He pressed his lips to hers more firmly, definitely changing the balance
of power between them.