Gorgeous as Sin (21 page)

“Are you sure?” She was struggling with irrepressible desire when she’d always prided herself on logic.

“Bloody right, I’m sure.” He strode into her parlor.

“Because you’re stud to all of London,” she snapped back, inexplicably jealous of every woman he’d ever know.

“Damn right.”

“Don’t have me make you do something you don’t want to do,” she pettishly asserted.

“Believe me,
darling
”—the word more curse than endearment—“you’re not making me do anything. Or at least not rationally. I’m pretty much out of control.”

“Don’t blame me.”

“I don’t know who else to blame,” he growled. Then quicksilver, he made a course correction. “Forgive me. You’re quite blameless in all but your prodigious allure. I’m like a moth to the flame,” he added with a smile. “So just bear with me.” He shoved open her bedroom door with his foot.

She sighed. “We’re both operating outside the pale.”

“But it’s an enchanting land nonetheless.”

“Enchanting beyond belief.”

He gazed at her for a moment as he stood at the side of her bed, both avarice and wonder in his eyes. “Enchanting in a thousand ways,” he softly agreed. Setting her down a moment later, he dropped into a sprawl beside her, his head resting on his hand. “I must take care not to hurt you. Or hurt you anymore.” Leaning over, he gently kissed her cheek. “For which I’m vastly sorry.” As if recalling something, he pulled the jar from his suit coat pocket. “Although, there’s this if you wish.”

“I don’t need it. I feel extremely well.” She suddenly frowned. “Although, you’ve no doubt dealt with this problem before.”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, debating how best to answer. The women he played with weren’t novices. “Actually, no,” he said. “You’re the first”—he smiled—“in a variety of ways. All of them good by the way. I expect your fair skin might be the problem,” he politely added. “As for me, I’m dark as the ace of spades; my skin is impervious to wear and tear.”

“Him, too.” Reaching over, she touched the bulge evident beneath the linen of his trousers.

He grinned. “The Black Corsair if you like.” He ran a fingertip over the skirt fabric covering her mons. “And you have the sweetest little pussy. We’ll have to see if they can play together later.”

“How much later? ”

He laughed. “Greedy puss.”

“I wish I could say no.”

There—the proper Mrs. St. Vincent again. But rather than speak his mind, he politely said, “I’m glad you can’t.”

“Are you?” She shouldn’t have asked; it was gauche to ask a man about his feelings. Particularly a man like Fitz who was known far and wide for his disdain of the tender emotions.

“Yes, very much,” he softly said. “Because I can’t say no either.” He looked away for a second before meeting her gaze again. “I lectured myself against coming to see you, and yet here I am”—he grinned—“and bloody glad to be here.” His voice dropped low. “I was serious about dinner, too. Come dine with me afterward. My wealth and title insulate me from censure and by extension, you as well. You needn’t worry.”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

“About dinner or the dispensations allowed a duke? ”

She grimaced. “About everything.”

“At the risk of offending your virtuous sensibilities—” He paused abruptly as she gave him a skeptical look. “I’m speaking in general terms; you must admit you’re of a conventional bent, other than your flame-hot passions,” he added with a smile. “But back to my point. Life is to be lived, darling. Maybe not as prodigally as I do, but nevertheless lived. How sad it would be to grow old without ever knowing—”

“This bewitchment? ”

He nodded, neither willing nor able to define his feelings. He’d avoided sincere emotion too long. Or perhaps having been raised as he was, he had never learned to recognize it. “Are we done talking? ” he asked, malelike in his avoidance.

She smiled. “If you like.”

He grinned. “You know what I’d like.”

“The same thing as I. We are obsessed, or at least I am.”

“We both are. I was thinking of taking you home with me and keeping you locked away.”

“And I’d go if life allowed. But unfortunately, I have a store to run and a living to make.”

“I could take care of that for you.”

For a brief moment, silence fell.

Fitz cringed. He shouldn’t have even thought it, let alone said it.

Rosalind knew better than to take seriously what was expressed in the heat of passion, although the notion was enchanting. “Thank you, but I prefer my life as it is”—she smiled—“especially when you come calling.”

“Speaking of calling—only if you’re sure you’re well enough—why don’t we put some of this salve on my cock and he’ll come call on your pussy? ”

“It sounds like a lovely experiment. Smell it, too. It’s lavender scented.”

He grinned. “Then I’ll be bringing flowers when I call.”

“At the risk of adding to your conceit, you needn’t bring anything but yourself and I’m content.”

He held out the small jar. “Should I do it or you? ”

“Me, me,” she playfully said, fluttering her fingers.

“God Almighty,” Fitz whispered, “you’re the most endearing little bookstore owner I know.”

“And you’re God’s gift to women,” she replied with a smile. “But handsome men and carnal pleasures aside, Fitz, darling, just for the record, I have no intention of selling my store. I want to be perfectly plain about that. Sex is just sex.”

“Then, just for the record, I, too, intend to keep pressing my suit.” He flickered his brows and grinned. “I’m hoping you’ll finally see the light.”
And sex is just sex
was his gospel.

“I don’t want to talk,” she whispered, the subject too contentious. It was better to concentrate on sex and nothing more.

“I never do when I’m with you.” He smiled and brushed a fingertip over the soft curves of her mouth, as practical as she about what brought them together. “Now kiss me and make me happy.”

It turned out to be a kiss that wasn’t about sex.

It was a happy-to-be-together kiss.

There was a certain innocence in their kiss as well, as if they both hadn’t had others in their life before. As if the world was fresh and new.

“You can’t keep smiling like that when I’m kissing you,” Fitz teased. “I’m losing my concentration.”

“You should talk,” she said, trying not to smile and failing. “I don’t know whether to kiss you back or ask you what the joke is.”

“No joke, darling. I just never knew sex could be so much fun.”

“You’re just pleased because you’re getting your way.”

He always did. But he also knew that having everything didn’t bring happiness. “You decide then.”

“About what? ”

“About anything? ”

“Don’t be so generous. I might take you up on your offer.”

“Please do.” Realizing that he was actually willing to give her anything, he quickly stepped back from the brink of such unreserved sentiment and said with a grin, “Would you like the shirt off my back? ”

“You read my mind,” she playfully replied, as intent as he on not straying into the realm of earnestness. “The sooner the better.”

Even without his current incentive, he could shed his clothes quickly, and in record time he was undressed and helping Rosalind do the same. He was seated on the side of the bed, she was standing between his legs nearly nude now save for her drawers and silk stockings.

“I adore when you wait on me,” she purred, her hand on his broad muscled shoulder, her gaze on his bent head as he slid her drawers down her legs. “It’s very provocative. It makes me hot, hot, hot.”

He glanced up, his grey eyes amused. “Everything makes you hot, sweetheart.” Then, grasping her waist, he lifted her off the floor, kicked her drawers aside, and set her down again.

“Everything about
you
makes me hot.”

“Better yet,” he murmured, rolling one garter and silk stocking down her leg. Looking up a second later, her stocking and garter discarded, he held her gaze for an overlong moment. “Since now you’re
my
current addiction.”

“Sexual addiction.”

He shook his head and began removing her other stocking. “My everything addiction—my eat, sleep, every-waking-minute addiction.” His useless detour to Clarissa’s a case in point.

She smiled. “How sweet.”

“Fuck, yes,” he said, but he was smiling too as he dropped the second stocking on the floor. “You fucking up my life is sweet as hell.”

“How nice of you to say,” Rosalind murmured, sultry and low, his wanting her as much as she wanted him delicious and wonderful. And not at the moment open to the threat of logic.

“Just so long as you like the things I
do
,” he softly replied, lifting her up and depositing her, seated, on the bed, “we’ll get along famously.”

“We already do,” she said, watching him lie down beside her, cross his arms under his head, and stretch out in all his powerful, virile glory.

“This should smooth the way even better.” He held out the jar of salve.

“I’m not sure I need this.”

“Why take a chance? I heard the doctor was very good.”

Rosalind was tempted to ask how he knew and who had told him and how much she was involved in that conversation, but this close to his splendid erection that was her
continuing
addiction, she thought better of it and instead, took the jar from him.

He in turn was tempted to ask whether this episode would be featured in chapter two of
The Duke’s Doxy
but decided against it for similar reasons.

The scent of lust pervaded the small sunlit bedroom.

Subverting smaller discontents.

Sitting cross-legged beside him, she uncapped the jar, scooped out a small dollop of lavender-scented salve, and said with a gratified smile, “I think he’s bigger than usual.” Fitz’s upthrust erection lay hard against his stomach, stiff and massive, the red crest brushing his navel.

“He’s been thinking of you.”

“What a sweetheart.” Bending low, she brushed the swollen tip with her lips, drew it into her mouth for a fleeting second before sitting up again. “He smells like soap.”

“I just had a bath.”

Her first thought was to ask why, but she doubted he’d tell her, and in any case she didn’t really wish to know why he was bathing in the middle of the afternoon. “How thoughtful of you,” she said instead and reached for his penis.

At the slight umbrage in her voice he automatically braced himself, not entirely sure of her mood. But he visibly relaxed as she gently grasped his cock.

She grinned. “Nervous? ”

“Not anymore.”

“I wouldn’t be so foolish when I need this.”

“Much obliged,” he drawled.

Both highly motivated, they avoided the subtext of their conversation in favor of imminent sexual satisfaction.

Drawing his rigid erection away from his stomach, she held it upright and placed the dollop of salve on the turgid head of his penis. “It looks like you just came,” she said, admiring her handiwork.

“Keep it up and I might,” he said, a muscle twitching over his high cheekbone. This little game was going to require considerable restraint when he’d been wanting to fuck Mrs. St. Vincent since he dropped her off this morning.

“You have to wait.” She drew a portion of the ointment down one side of his penis, her finger gently tracing the thick webbing of dilated veins on her descent.

“Then you have to hurry,” he said on a suffocated breath, calling on all his willpower to resist doing what he wanted to do. And it wasn’t playing this game.

“So I’m not always the one who wants to rush.”

“You just came.”

“And you didn’t? ”

That small fretful tone again. “Not since last night,” he lied.

“Then I’ll hurry and you wait just a little and,” she said, the pique gone from her voice, “we’ll see if we like this”—another swift brushing downstroke that gleamed down his erection—“or not.”

Very soon—not as soon as he’d have liked, but soon—his penis was glistening with ointment.

“It looks very tempting,” she said with a little wistful sigh. “I wish it was eatable.”

“Next time I’ll bring jam.”

“Bring lemon curd. I love it almost as much as I love him,” she murmured, sliding her fingertips around the shiny head of his cock.

It was his own fault, he decided, letting her come first. Usually she was famished for sex. Although he also knew with anyone else he could have waited for hours. Not a thought he cared to dwell on. “If you indulge me now, darling, you can name your price.” An unprecedented declaration from the Duke of Groveland who had always been able to take his pleasure with a notable insouciance.

“My goodness!”

Her look of feigned surprise was so operatic he burst out laughing, momentarily distracting his thoughts from orgasmic goals. “Don’t plan on making a living on the stage, darling.”

“And I suggest you refrain from making such outrageous offers. Someone might take advantage of you.”

“The offer’s still open. You have five seconds. Five, four, three, two—”

“Stay with me tonight.”

“Little fool, I would have anyway. Ask for something later.” Past waiting, like some randy adolescent, he pushed her onto her back, rolled on top of her, and put his glossy cock into her luscious cunt.

There was something to be said for a frictionless fuck, the ointment adding a new impressionable dimension to the concept of unreserved access. He had to deliberately curb his forward progress in order not to batter her and the head of his cock in the bargain. But once he found his rhythm, the lady quickly accommodated him, and with a familiarity of considerable practice now, they made their way to that blissful elysian of orgasmic delight and sensory bewitchment they’d discovered together.