Dangerous Seduction: A Nemesis Unlimited Novel (35 page)

“You’ll join me now, won’t you?” She smiled, stroking her hand along the cool sheets.

His answer was to slide into bed and pull her to him. The length of his body burned hers, the small tremors that shook him echoing within her. When they kissed, and she tasted herself on his lips, desire roared back to life. She wrapped her leg around his. He gripped her tightly. His forehead lowered to hers, their breath mixing hotly.

“Alyce,”
he rumbled.

“Simon.”

He rolled her onto her back, easing her thighs open. He was dark and golden above her, severe and beautiful as a saint, but there was nothing saintly in his eyes. Their gazes locked. She felt the tip of him at her entrance. Yet he held himself still.

“Yes,” she said.

His eyes briefly closed, as if giving thanks, then they opened again. Slowly, so slowly, he slid into her. She was stretched, filled. Rosy pain spread, petal by petal.

He watched her face every moment, his own tight. “Hurting you.”

“It’s good.” She wasn’t capable of lying, not at this moment, with him inside her and the world changed forever. Yes, it hurt, but the hurt was good, and she held it close. Like a prize.

When he’d sunk himself fully within her, he stilled. Breathed in and out harshly. “Ah, God.” His whole body shuddered and sweat gleamed over him. Holding himself back—for her.

“More, Simon.” She squeezed her thighs around his hips. She wouldn’t be refused.

He drew back, sliding out gently, then pushed forward again. More pain, followed by unexpected pleasure. She melted around him, and the pain lessened.

He felt the change in her. His hips thrust with more strength, more speed. His eyes closed. He growled. She reveled in his pleasure, moving past the hurt and feeling only him, everywhere inside her.

Then he made an agonized sound, and pulled quickly from her body. His own body bowed, his head thrown back, and liquid spilled in hot streams onto her belly. It seemed a blissful torture.

With a groan, he collapsed beside her. One arm he flung over his head. But his other hand found hers, and their fingers laced together.

“Goddamn it,” he said, his voice edged with self-blame. “Your first time, and I was a sodding brute.”

“You weren’t.”

“The pain—”

“And the pleasure.” She turned her head toward him. “I’d thought, wondered … but I never knew. How good it could be.” It would never be this good again, not after he left. But she couldn’t let herself think of that now. “I’ve also heard,” she added, smiling, “that it gets even better the more you do it.”

He grinned. “Very true.”

He rose up from the bed, and disappointment pierced her when he let go of her hand. But then he went into the bathroom and returned with a dampened washcloth. Carefully, tenderly, he cleaned her, and showed no embarrassment when he cleaned himself. Thin streaks of blood appeared on the cloth as he wiped himself off.

They stared at each other. But she had no regrets. This had been
her
choosing. No promises had been demanded, and none had been given. She expected nothing but this night.

So she plucked the cloth from his hand and set it aside. Set it all aside. Tonight was hers, and for just these few hours, she could pretend that
he
was hers.

*   *   *

They dozed, wrapped together. She didn’t know how much time had passed, but when she woke, the lamps were out and moonlight and shadows bathed the room. He stirred behind her, nuzzling the back of her neck, his hands drifting over her body. He stroked her breasts and she pressed herself into his touch. She thought once she’d had her release, she’d be sated, but with his languid caresses, hunger suddenly swelled.

She felt loose-limbed, soft. When one of his broad hands moved down her stomach, then lower, to caress her folds, her need built even higher. She lifted her arms and hooked them behind his neck, leaving herself stretched and open. As he touched her, she moaned, writhing, wanting. His cock was hard and hot against her back. He pulled her legs apart.

Slowly, he sank into her. Pain again, at first, less than last time, and it dimmed and pleasure grew. He continued to thrust deep, and as he did, his fingers circled and rubbed her sensitive bud. All the while, he whispered into her ear. Soft, coaxing words. Telling her how beautiful she was, how they were made for this, for each other, and he wanted to be inside of her forever. The climax hit her with the force of a thunderclap. His own followed right after, with him pulling out and spilling upon the sheets as he rumbled her name.

They quietly panted together in the aftermath. She ought to be exhausted. Her body echoed with lovely soreness and tiredness. The day had been long and tumultuous, exciting and frightening. But with Simon’s sweat-dampened, naked body cupping hers, and her mind spinning, she was awake as if it were noon. Time was slipping away, grain by grain. She wanted whatever she could grab hold of.

Eventually, she asked, “Are they all like that? Rich people?”

He stretched and rolled onto his back, pulling her along, so she lay partially atop him, her hand splayed across the tight span of his chest. She thought he might dismiss her question, tell her it was far too late to talk about these things and to just go to sleep.

But he didn’t. “Those men—Harrold, Stokeham, Tufton—they’ve built their wealth because they don’t give a damn about anyone but themselves. I’ve known dozens, hundreds of businessmen who’ve grown fortunes without treating other people like animals. Or worse than animals.” He exhaled slowly. “But the fact that Nemesis exists is proof enough—there are plenty of bastards in the world who’ll crush the spines of anyone beneath them. To make money. To feel better about themselves.”

He shrugged. “I’ve seen acts of incredible kindness and cruel brutality.”

“There’s got to be a meaning to it, a pattern.” She stroked her fingers through the fine hair on his chest, memorizing the feeling.

“Wish that there was. I wish we could predict it. The best we can do is encourage compassion in others, and see the signs of cruelty as early as possible so we can stop it.”

“And if you bait and blackmail men like Jack Dutton in the process…”

He offered another shrug. “To quote Marco, quoting Machiavelli,
‘Il fine giustifica i mezzi.’
The ends justify the means.” He turned to her. “You’re not having second thoughts?”

“Not after hearing those horrible women blather on about the
undeserving poor.
Whatever the hell that means. It’s as if … they’ve blinded themselves on purpose. As if they’d rather be sightless than see what’s really around them.”

“It’s a choice many people make.”

“Some of us don’t have that choice.”

He brushed his lips back and forth across her forehead. “That’s why we fight back, however we can.”

Alyce settled deeper into his embrace, feeling the length and energy of his body, the soft, thick blankets and crisp sheets enfolding them. A moment out of time. A memory that she’d hoard, belonging only to her and Simon. This wasn’t real life. Even if the scheme for the mine worked out, she’d go back to being a bal-maiden. Her pay would be better, and every day wouldn’t be such a battle, but she’d remain Alyce Carr of Trewyn, Cornwall, helping her sister-in-law as she raised her nieces and nephews. She’d also take a more active role in the running of the mine, and damn anyone who said she couldn’t because she was a woman. Her path was clear.

Simon’s was, too. Hearing him speak of his work for Nemesis, the determination in his voice, the quiet anger at the brutality of the world—this was what he was meant to do. He was a ruthless scoundrel of dubious but also unquestionable morals. When he left, as he’d have to, it would hurt like hell. She’d never known anyone like him. She never would again. Even if she left Trewyn, left the mine, and sought her fortune elsewhere, there wouldn’t be another man like Simon.

“Why does time have to move?” she murmured. “Why can’t we stick a pin in it, the way those scientists pin butterflies?”

He let out an uncharacteristic sigh. “Time has wings, but we can’t pluck them off, we can’t make it stop flying. There’s only one thing we
can
do about it.” In a sudden move that robbed her of breath, he flipped her onto her back, pinning her arms above her head. His body stretched over hers, hard and relentless. And his gentleman’s face was taut with need. “Enjoy every goddamn minute we’re given.”

She arched up to meet him for a blistering kiss. Though they’d already loved several times this night, they couldn’t get enough of each other. She struggled against his hold, wanting to touch him, but that only made him tighten his grip on her wrists. And curse her if his blatant show of strength didn’t make her burn all the hotter.

They wrestled against each other, a rough give-and-take that stole thought. All she knew was this wild dance, hot and slick. His cock curved thickly against her stomach. A sudden image filled her mind, her body, making her wetter.

“Let go,” she gasped, breaking from the kiss.

“Not a goddamn chance,” he growled.

“Trust me.” She smirked. “You’ll want to let me go.”

He raised a brow. A moment later, he released her wrists.

She slid out of bed and hurried into the bathroom. Grabbing another washcloth, she ran it under the warm water tap.

Emerging from the bathroom, she found him stretched out on the bed, the covers thrown off, splendid in his bold nakedness. He watched her with glittering eyes as she climbed onto the bed and knelt beside him, holding the warm, damp cloth.

“Hold on to the headboard,” she directed.

His mouth curved at her demanding tone, but he did as she commanded. He reached back and gripped the curved brass headboard, the movement revealing all the lean, solid shapes of his muscles, making the curves of his biceps round even more impressively.

“Don’t move, and don’t let go,” she continued.

“Her true colors come out,” he said, his voice low and unsteady. “Dictatorial, that’s what you are.”

“If that word means bossy, then, yes. Now quiet and let me work.”

But he wasn’t quiet at all when she began gently rubbing his cock with the washcloth. He groaned and growled as she ran the soft cloth up and down his shaft, caressing him, cleaning him. Circling around the base and then up, to swirl around the tip. She went slowly, so slowly, and with every stroke, he writhed and twisted and cursed.

He started to reach for her, and she gave him a stern look. “Don’t let go, I said.”

His eyes narrowed with a look that said he’d obey
for now.

She slid down him, then continued stroking him with the cloth. But it was growing cool, and the last thing she wanted was to subject him to the effects of cold water. So she set the cloth aside. His eyes flashed as she pushed his thighs open and knelt between them. Her heart throbbed in fear and excitement—she’d never done anything like this. But what he’d done to her earlier on the chaise had given her ideas.

This was their night. And she’d deny herself nothing.

So she gripped the base of his cock, and lowered her head. All the while, their gazes held.

Her tongue swirled around the head. So silken and tight, and that tiny kiss of salt beading at the very tip. An inhuman sound clambered up from his chest. Growing bolder, she took the head fully into her mouth. Sucked on it. The headboard rattled as he tugged hard and let out a series of curses or maybe prayers. She couldn’t tell the difference.

She lowered down further, taking more of him into her mouth. Her eyes glided shut. She couldn’t fit all of him in her mouth, so she wrapped her hand around his shaft. Then moved. Sucking, licking, up and down. Imitating the strokes she’d used with her hand, and the way he’d been inside of her. But deliberate thought evaporated as she lost herself in the pleasure of giving him pleasure, his delicious taste and feel, and how he shook and shuddered beneath her touch.

And still, she wanted more. She pulled him from her mouth. He made only the lowest sound of protest before she straddled him, placing the head of his cock right at her opening. She held herself there for as long as she could stand it. They didn’t speak, only stared at each other, both of them gasping, and if she looked anything like he did, they were both ready to level the whole of Plymouth with their need.

It was a trust, too. If he’d wanted to, he could’ve let go of the headboard. But he held, restraining himself, holding himself down as if she’d captured him. This man who wanted freedom above all else was giving it up, for her.

Her heart strained against the cage of her ribs. And she saw his own heart, reflected in the brightness of his eyes. It was almost too much. She wanted to duck her head to hide from it. But she never refused a challenge or turned away from something difficult. So she lowered herself onto him.

They both hissed as he filled her. His thickness, his fullness—they were everywhere, and she welcomed them, taking him into herself. She paused once he was seated fully inside. Just to feel him. To know this moment.

Her hands braced on the planes of his chest, she began to ride him. Leisurely at first, as she discovered angles and movements. Then faster. She learned that to tilt her hips just
so
rubbed her bud against him, and if she leaned in just
this
way, the head of his cock brushed against a sensitive point inside her, sending shudders of pleasure through all parts of her body. She moaned with every new discovery.

“Yes, Alyce,
yes,
” he panted. “So … beautiful … learning your … power.”

He was carved like oak, burnished with sweat, strained tight as he gripped the headboard, the cords of his neck standing out. The look of a man who never loved his suffering more.

Control broke. She gripped his shoulders and rode him hard, flesh to flesh, until the orgasm broke her apart. She splintered into fragments of light and sensation. Losing awareness of everything but pleasure.

She crumpled against him, her face to his damp chest.

“I’m letting go,” he rumbled, his voice as taut.