Perilous Risk (44 page)

“You have me now, Rebecca. You don’t need anyone in your life who is less than respectful or affectionate towards you.” He moved his hand all the way up to her shoulders and began to massage the point in between the blades. He turned closer to her and put his face into the silken cloud of her golden-brown hair. The scent of violets washed over him. The scent of Rebecca.

The opiate was truly taking effect now. He felt no pain. His cock was beginning to harden and lengthen. She must feel it.

“Stephen?”

“Hmm?” He pressed his increasing erection into the softness of her belly. He was leaking. He would make her pristine, modest little nightdress wet. So wet.

“How did you become a…what you do?”

“You mean how did I become an assassin?” He could hear the distraction in his voice. He was rubbing his shaft against her. And he was getting harder and harder by the moment. God, he loved how hard she could make him just with her presence. Just with her scent of violets and womanly flesh. And her innocent muslin nightdress.

“Yes, how did it happen?”

“It’s not a very nice story, my love.” He fit his face into the curve of her neck, smelling her, kissing her, tasting her.

“But I’d like to hear it.”

“Now?”

“Well, yes, now.”

“Not now…later.”

“You will fall asleep later.”

“No, I will make an effort to stay awake. I will share my past with you. I promise.”

Her body went limp. He could sense the quieting of her mind. He wanted to come against her, just like this and drench her pretty little gown with his seed. But he also wanted to come inside of her. Yet, he was already stroking his cock. With his free hand, he gently rolled her onto her back. She was still passive as a rag doll. He bent and bit lightly at her nipple through the thin cloth, enjoying the feel of the rigid peak between his lips. He tongued the cloth until it was completely wet. He stroked himself steadily, letting the tension build at his own pace.

“Stephen?” she asked, sounding a bit confused.

“You’re here for my pleasure, are you not?”

“Yes, always.”

“Then hush. Be still.” The sensations crested now. He made no attempt to hold back or prolong them. He inhaled, sharply. His come rushed up through his shaft, the quaking pleasure took his breath. His seed jetted out. Spilling over his hand. Spilling all over her.

She gasped.

Several panting groans forced themselves up and out his mouth. He was a little dizzy but he fought the urge to lie down. Instead, he pushed back the covers and moved off of her and stared at her there in the gown that was soaked with his come. Soaked in his pleasure.

Satisfaction surged through him, fierce and primal.

He felt omnipotent. Indeed, his erection wasn’t fading. It was as though he were eighteen again. Eighteen, the age when he had first set eyes on Rebecca, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. “Who owns you, girl?”

Her expression lit with—what? Pleasure? Love? And yet something more, a worshipful look.

She lowered her eyes. “Stephen Drake.”

He pushed up her nightdress to reveal her mons and he trailed his fingertips over the fine golden-brown curls. “Who owns this gorgeous, luscious little place?”

“Stephen Drake does.”

He sank his fingers deeper. Wetness drenched his digits. He delved deeper, into her hot, tight cunt, searching along her forward wall, feeling the slick rings, feeling for—

She arched her hips and gasped.

He pressed harder there, again and again and also brushed his thumb over her swelling nub. Her nub seemed to throb and strain to his touch. She moaned.

He drove her right to the edge of release then paused.

“Stephen.” Her voice held a note of begging. It was highly gratifying.

He withdrew his hand then tugged at the hem of her nightdress. “Here, let’s have this off of you.”

He helped her to remove the garment and then he left the bed to retrieve some silk rope from the chest that his valet had recently brought from his Mayfair townhouse. He returned to her.

Her eyes grew huge. Not with excitement. “No, I don’t want to play, not like that.”

He tossed the rope to the bed and sat beside her. He took her hand. It felt cold now, a little clammy. “You’re still thinking of Barnet?”

She nodded.

“I know, sweeting, but I hate to see you allow them to ruin something that is a playful pleasure for you.”

“I can’t help how I feel.”

“If you give in to this fear now, it will grow larger and larger and overcome you.” He stroked her back, trying convey his deep sympathy whilst remaining firm enough to impress the seriousness of the matter upon her.

“Yes, I know, but must I face it tonight?”

“Fear can be a paralysing thing.” He caressed her neck. “When I was first assigned to a seek out a target, I was young, just barely twenty-one. By then, I was not the gangly youth you may remember.”

She laughed softly. “I adored that gangly boy.”

“They had taught me how to dress, how to talk to women, how to develop the muscular fitness of my body. I had also been carefully trained in all the methods of seduction and manipulation of another person’s emotions and thoughts. But training and actual practice are quite different.”

She held her breath, afraid if she said anything, he’d stop talking.

“To glean certain bits of vital information, I had to seduce my target’s wife, a titled lady at least two decades older than myself. I was terrified.” Humour made his hoarse voice richer. “But somehow, I succeeded.”

She bit back the urge to smile. Of course he had succeeded.

“The husband did not care. But the lady had another lover. A possessive and jealous lover. I was blissfully unaware, focused solely on completing my mission. But the day after my target’s demise, I had to stay on, for appearances and so as to arouse as little suspicion as possible. There was an archery contest.”

She drew in her breath sharply.

“Ah, you thought I was jesting, did you not?”

“I did, oh I am so sorry, I did.”

“I won’t bore you with any further details, except to say when it came her lover’s turn, he missed his target and hit me square in the throat. They say I was very lucky it did not hit a vital artery in my neck. But oh, my God, Rebecca, the pain. The long, dreadful recovery. I could not eat or drink well to say the least. There were several infections and fevers.”

Sympathetic tingling shot from her belly down to the soles of her feet. She curled her toes. “Oh, Stephen! How horrible for you.”

“I lived.”

“Yes, but oh God!” She curled her toes again.

“Afterwards, I was not eager to go out into the field again.”

“Yes, I can imagine, to say the least.”

“For weeks, I lay in bed, letting my motherly housekeeper take care of me and reading and reading and not living. I had been paid well by my superiors, they were actually pleased with my work. But I would not have been able to maintain a house and a servant indefinitely. And I was buying books at an alarming rate. Claret as well, as the coolness of wine seemed to ease my throat more than anything else.

“I also adored eating the juicier fruits—oranges, melons, pineapples—and these were not cheaply acquired either. I could never have gone back to being a mere enlisted man in the Dragoons at that point. I was getting too used to the finer things.”

“Father always accused me of not accepting the place I was born into. He did not approve of me
whoring
myself for the finer things.”

Stephen frowned. “You never whored yourself. Never. A man like the Earl of Ruel can afford to spoil his favourite mistress. It would have been petty and mean of him if he had not.”

“Father did not see it that way.”

“If we were merely lovers and I was poor and could not afford oranges and pineapples and claret and fancy waistcoats, and you were wealthy, would you buy me these things?”

“Of course.”

“Would you buy them to pay me for carnal acts?”

“No, I would buy them because I would want you to be happy.”

“Then that’s all there is to it. It is simply the way of our world that powerful men offer protection and support to their chosen companions. But you loved him well and he was fond of you. That’s not whoring.”

“I fear Father was correct. I have become accustomed to luxury.”

“Listen to me, Rebecca. You and I were born common, yes. But both of us were meant for better things. You’ll see. We shall travel and have all the adventure and luxury that you like.”

“You promised me a daughter.”

“Yes, that too, God willing.” His voice went hoarser with love.

Hope filled her heart, stunning her with its force. She swallowed hard then asked, “You must have arisen from that bed. What happened?”

“My superior came to me with a dossier on a man who was selling poor children as personal slaves to the highest bidder. They wanted him dead for other reasons, mostly his political espionage. But they knew what it would take to ignite my idealistic zeal to kill this man. I could not resist. Despite my real, lingering fears, I left my invalid’s bed and went back to work.”

“Goodness, Stephen, what a story.”

“That’s how my voice came to be changed and how I learnt to put my fears behind me.” He studied her closely. “I was losing a vital part of myself during those months I let fear rule me. I determined never to let it rule me again. And I don’t want to see fear control you.”

“I see what you mean,” she said.

“That’s my good girl.”

She held out her hands, meeting his gaze, her eyes huge, pale blue. Beautiful.

Brave.

He took her hands, feeling the fine bones, tracing his fingertips over the nearly translucent skin over her blue veins at her wrists. He felt the weight of her trust. Yet he could feel the tension of her holding her breath. Waiting for what he would do.

He wanted her more on par with him for this particular episode of lovemaking. There would be other times to make her feel utterly mastered, to thrill her with a sense of his domination. This time was about her healing from the harrowing experiences she’d been dealt at Gerard and Barnet’s hands.

He stood and shed his open dressing gown. Then he took her hands. “Come, let’s do something different tonight.”

Sensuality sparkled in Rebecca’s beautiful pale blue eyes. “Different?”

“Yes.” He tugged on her hands.

She stood and allowed him to lead her across the chamber until her back was against the wall.

Gently, he pulled her hands behind her back then tied them, loosely, with the silk rope. Her breasts began rising and falling faster against his body. “Pull,” he said, “Feel how easily you could free yourself if you chose.”

She pulled, slightly. Then she nodded and her body relaxed against his.

He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of violet water and soap. “What will you say to me if you truly wish to stop?”

“Halt.”

“Good girl.” He spent several moments kissing, licking, sucking and biting at her nipples, until she began to writhe. He worked his way in a line down her flat stomach, her mons, then gave her several barely-there flicks of his tongue to her nub.

A shudder tore through her and she jerked her hands and came loose, swinging out at her sides.

He looked up at her.

She dropped her mouth open. “Uh-oh.”

He chuckled.

She held out her hands. “You better tie them again.” She licked her lips, her pupils dilated with desire. “You better tie them harder this time.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said.

He saw the trust in her gaze. He kissed her wrists, one and then the other. “My brave, beautiful girl.”

Her breath came increasingly as pants, her small breasts rising and falling. The sight of their bright pink tips lit a charge in his blood. He quickly pulled her arms above her head and secured her wrists again. Then he admired the way the position accentuated those lovely breasts.

He ran his hands over the stiff peaks again and again, then suckled and bit her nipples until she was shrieking her pleasure.

“Stephen, please, oh please…”

The scent of her arousal filled the air, driving him mad. He trailed another line of kisses down her belly. This time he bent on one knee and, spreading her wide, slid two fingers into her wet heat. He stared at her nub, so red, so erect. Her inner lips were swollen, slick.

She was utterly beautiful and her scent was like exotic flowers. Like jasmine.

He traced his thumb over that erect little bud and watched her hips jerk. He bent forward and nipped at her, ever so lightly. Her hips bucked, rocking him on his feet. He smiled. God, he loved her intense carnality. There would be other nights to tie her to the bed and press her down and tease her without mercy. But tonight, in the wake of her father’s hatefulness, he just wanted to spoil her with pleasure. To make her come and come and come.