Perilous Risk (51 page)

She jerked her eyes back to his face. God, he couldn’t mean to—Not yet, surely… Peculiar, heated chills swept over her. She tried to take a step back, but found her arse flush against the bookshelf.

He leaned closer; so close that his Scotch-scented breath tickled her face. “And just in case you are wondering, Lady Cranfield—the answer is most assuredly yes.”

She should demand that he put his arm down so she could pass by and leave. She really should. But she couldn’t stop looking at his hard mouth and wondering what it would feel like upon hers. He was so close to her that his breath blew on her lips. If she moved but a fraction, she’d be kissing him.

Kissing him.

Dear God. Her breath began to come very fast and short. Her throat went tight with a suppressed moan.

His eyes burnt as brightly as aquamarines. He looked so fierce. If he kissed her, if he dared… Oh God, it would be so harsh. That cruel-looking mouth could express itself no other way.

Excitement rushed through her, sending tingles to every point of her body, even her toes.

But no, he wouldn’t. Not yet.

He kept leaning closer. He didn’t close his eyes. Instead, he seemed to focus all the harder upon her.

Heart pounding and unable to move away, she braced herself for his assault.

His lips brushed hers, barely. A gossamer caress.

He lifted his head.

It was done.

Ended.

And it hadn’t even begun.

He held her chin, appearing so cool, so unaffected. His kiss had seemed to sear her. An urge to put her fingers to her lips arose in her. She resisted it, for it would give away too much of how she was affected.

Never show your feelings.

He traced his thumb along her lower lip, slowly, deliberately, as he studied her with eyes that now glittered with something powerful and predatory. Heat pooled in her pelvis, low and spreading even lower.

She went weak all over, as if she’d lain in a sunny window seat for too long. Her knees almost buckled. She forced them to lock. To be strong.

It should not have affected her so profoundly. It had just been a peck—not a true kiss at all. William had poured out all of his skill upon her and hadn’t garnered even a tenth of the reaction in her that this man’s peck had.

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.

HER MYSTERY DUKE

Erotica Romance ~ Light BDSM ~ Rubenesque / BBW ~ Regency
Historical ~ May-Dec ~ Non-virginal Heroine ~ Kept Woman / Courtesan ~ Novel Length, approx. 85,000 words.
Is he insane? Or is he the answer to all her naughty dreams?

Jeanne Darling spent her adolescence coping with her father's increasing illness and insanity. Left alone by his death and plunged into poverty, she did what she had to do to survive. Now still reeling from the overwhelming physical and emotional demands her father's care required, she values her peace above all. She doesn't need anyone or anything except her writing and the safety of her rented garret chamber. She's about to rise above her past and create financial independence for herself. What she absolutely does not need is the mysterious and possibly insane stranger who walks into the coffee shop and into her life.

David Somerville, the Duke of Hartley, has known pain and betrayal from the people closest to him. Born to privilege, power and wealth, and filled with idealistic vision for humane change, he gives all of himself to his political career. He keeps his life circumspectly under control. But one day, all the carefully arranged threads of his life unravel and his life intersects with Jeanne's in a way that challenges his view of everything he thinks he knows.
Leagues apart in society, they can have only one possible future, that of protector and mistress. And neither wants to risk deeper connection. However, their overwhelming attraction and resulting sexual games provide them with pleasures neither of them has ever known. Will their sensual journey lead them to discover a more emotionally profound side to domination and submission? Or will their seemingly insurmountable differences and passionate personal goals drive them apart?

HER MYSTERY DUKE is a work of historical erotic romance. Though it contains elements of light BDSM, it is not meant to be a guide to or an accurate portrayal of modern BDSM lifestyles or practices. This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual acts and frank sexual language. It also contains light bondage, anal play, sexual toys, cunnilingus, fellatio, masturbation, voyeurism and spanking.