Powder of Sin (23 page)

“Oh please,” she said. “It’s too wonderful. Put your
skin against mine again. I’m cold and I want you.”

He’d come back to his senses and didn’t pull down
his trousers. But he did lie on top of her and wrap his arms around
her, as she did him. He managed to keep some of his weight on his
elbow though she wrapped her naked, very wet body around him.

“I apologize. Your trousers will be
made…disgusting,” she said with a small, embarrassed laugh.

Not disgusting, but the evidence would be clear.
“That’s all right,” he said. He had no intention of moving, because
he’d either move away from her warm, delicious body or he’d move
into it, and neither alternative was tenable.

She slid her hand between them, over his belly and
down.

He growled. “What are you doing?”

“Your trousers.” And she had managed to insinuate
her hand into the front of his trousers when she stopped. Her cool
fingertips brushed his very erect, very hard cock.

“That’s you,” she whispered. “May I see?”

“You’ve had relief,” he said harshly. “Please. Don’t
demand too much of me.”

“My relief. What of yours?”

He was shaking. And then she was kissing him, her
mouth warm and relentless against his, holding his hair again so he
wouldn’t escape her grasp. No longer the passive female, her legs
were wrapped around his waist so that her very wet pussy was
pressed to his belly. And one hand was reaching down again,
sideways between them. He jerked as she stroked him. Her kiss was
bold even as she tentatively explored with her fingers, then slid
her palm over him.

She pushed his chest, and he at once scrambled up
and off her body. She followed and tugged down his unbuttoned
trousers. His cock sprang out, almost pointing to the ceiling with
the need for release. She knelt in front of him, just as he’d done,
only now he stood and she was on the floor.

“Very odd,” she said with some amusement. “But I
think I like it.” She stroked his cock from balls to head with one
finger and watched his face as she did it again.

She patted the settee. “Go on. Lie down.”

So he did. He settled onto his back, naked, chilled,
and as sexually stimulated as he’d ever been in his life. It would
take very little for him to burst. His balls were tight and
full.

And the air hissed through his teeth as her hand
curled around him, less tentative.

She was over him now on her hands and knees, one
foot resting on the floor, leg straight because the settee wasn’t
large enough for them both when he lay on his back. Passive, he
thought. Let her do what she will. He clenched his fists to stop
himself from grabbing at her. He wouldn’t die from want. And he
wouldn’t be the one to take her virginity.

She, however, had no scruples about taking her own.
“My cousin left me some books,” she said with a breathless laugh.
“So I know I can do this.”

“You mustn’t.” But he didn’t move and silently
begged her.
Please, please. Ride me.

She rose up, and her skin grazed his as she scooted
along his body until her pussy hovered over his cock, which lay
flat on his belly. She stared down at it for a minute as she
clutched the base in her fist. He would not allow himself to come.
He’d seize and keep control. He squeezed his fists tighter and
swallowed as she clumsily placed the head of his cock against her.
She gave an experimental push. Then a mewl of frustration when he
didn’t enter easily. The heat and wet were almost too much. He’d
wanted her for so long, just the touch of her on the head of his
cock was wonderful.

She tried again, and they both gave a shout, as when
she pushed her body down, his cock shoved hard up and into her. He
was almost entirely surrounded by tight, wet woman.

“Ow,” she said, sounding surprised. Then, “Oh.” She
didn’t move for a few moments.

“So that’s done,” she said at last, breathless.

“I’m s-sorry,” he breathed, but he wasn’t thinking,
only willing her to move.
Go on
. His body forced him to give
the tiniest nudge upward.

“Oh,” she said. “There’s more. But this is so much
already. So much. You’re up to my eyebrows, I’d swear it. You.
Inside me.” She rocked a little, and a small moan escaped her. “How
very odd to be so…so full of you.”

He didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

When she gave another experimental wiggle, he had to
move too and to groan.

“Do you like this?” She leaned close, her breath
warm on his chin. He opened his eyes to look into her face. She
bent to kiss him, and the tips of her breasts brushed over him. He
shuddered.

“Yes. Yes,” he managed to say, willing himself to
hold still. He rested his hands lightly on her hips.

She made a small, twisting squirm on him again, an
exquisite sensation as her flesh gripped him.

“You mustn’t,” he began, and then she wiggled again
with more conviction, and he could feel the slick warmth so tight
around him, he gasped and had to push up.

“That’s nice,” she said with an exhalation of
breath. “I like it. Very much. Mmm.”

He groaned and clutched her hips. “If. You. We keep
doing this,” he said, forcing the words past unbelievable desire.
“I will spend inside you. And that. Would. Be bad.”

“Of course,” she panted. “So we should stop.” She
gave another wiggle, purred, and then began to move up and down on
him. God, he’d never felt anything so wonderful in his life. He
clutched her tight against him and breathed in her flower and now
musk scent. Rosalie using him. He hoped she’d never stop. She had
to stop.

She stopped.

“You’re gasping, and you’re pushing up hard too,”
she said. “I was afraid of what you said. Spending inside me.”

He held her tighter. She’d escape him and leave him
empty and cold. “Rosalie,” he said so hoarsely, he barely knew his
own voice. “I need you.”

“It’s good to be filled with you.” She pressed her
lips to the side of his throat, and her hair, sliding out of its
elaborate chignon, tickled his chest. “This is much better than I
expected,” she whispered.

He thrust into her, at last up to his balls inside
her, ignoring the slight squeak of surprise. Pushing hard into her,
he then held her still so he could feel every inch of himself
inside every inch of her. Squeezed in the perfect, wet heat of her,
he felt the excitement in every cell of his body; from his toes to
fingertips, all rejoiced in the sensation. Rosalie.

But then she was out of his grasp and on her hands
and knees over him again, smiling down at him. His cock landed with
a plop onto his belly. He wanted to scream his frustration, but he
managed a smile back at her. With shaky fingers, he reached up and
pulled her down to him one last time for a long, slow kiss of
thanks.

She slid off the settee, and he began to sit up to
follow.

“No, wait,” she said. “You must tell me what to
do.”

“Pardon?”

She reached out, and without any warning, wrapped
her hand around his cock. They both looked down at her hand, very
white against the angry plum red. “My fingers barely reach,” she
said. “You are quite large. You’re all hot and wet. From me. From
being inside me. Amazing.” She shook her head again. “Now what?”
All businesslike, and he wasn’t going to argue.

He let himself fall back onto the settee. “Move your
hand on me,” he managed.

“Up and down?”

He nodded.

Her grip on his throbbing cock was light,
tentative.

“Tighter?” she asked.

He nodded again.

She fell to the task with enthusiasm, and the soft,
small hand on his cock—Rosalie’s hand on him—would have been enough
to bring him off. When her other hand reached over and stroked his
balls, that was more than enough.

“You’re drawing all tight down there,” she said,
“and growing, and—Oh my.”

Her touch didn’t falter; her hand moved up and down
on his cock, her rapt, interested face watching.

His eyes closed only for a moment as his head went
back and what felt like gallons of semen shot from his body.

“That is impressive,” she said as if speaking of a
good hand in cards. But her eyes glittered as she moved to him
again, and they kissed. Now soft, warm kisses. Affectionate kisses
with a tinge of lust rather than lustful kisses with the flavor of
affection. Both were good. Both were what he’d always wanted.

“Thank you,” he said at last.

“Thank
you
,” she said, and the glow in her
eyes as she examined his face made him want her all over again. Not
passive. No. He’d be on top or perhaps even behind her, and he’d go
deep into her over and over.

She glanced down. “It shrank, but now it’s growing
again.”

“Not surprising.” But reality hit him at last.

This was already too dangerous. The middle of the
day in the middle of her library. The door was locked, but it
wasn’t safe. Hell, it wouldn’t be safe if they were alone in the
middle of Broadway.

He kissed her forehead, rose from the settee, and
picked up the rather bedraggled chemise. “I don’t suppose you want
to wear that again.”

“Yes, I do. Some of the dampness might be you. I’d
love to feel that on my skin. Perhaps I’ll even be able to smell
it. Quite a distinctive scent. Pleasant.”

His skin prickled alarmingly. She sounded besotted.
God knew he felt besotted. He stopped reaching for his clothes so
he could watch her lovely naked body and then admire the way she
writhed into the corset. She reached for her petticoats and shook
them out. When she caught sight of him watching her intently, she
again smiled. A new shy-but-knowing smile. One of his favorites
already.

Hell.

As a method of getting rid of the itch, the horrible
hankering they had for each other, this was a disaster. As a form
of pure, happy pleasures, it worked better than anything else he’d
encountered.

He’d said he didn’t want to be careless and then
promptly thrown care out the window so he could hold her
instead.

He forced himself to face unwelcome facts. She had
given up her virginity, and he’d taken it so easily. Though he
suspected she might not completely believe virginity was a woman’s
most precious possession, there had to be some consequences to such
an action.

She might be from a part of a higher echelon of
society, and unlike most damsels, she seemed determined to remain
independent. But such an exchange with any decent woman carried a
debt.

Marriage.

He could barely support the obligations he already
carried—his family back home—and now, no job, no prospects. After
his infatuation with Lily, he’d never again considered looking for
a wife, certainly not one so far above his social sphere. He’d
never marry to advance his prospects, and that would be what they’d
say. All of them. Hell, they’d said it often enough about his
alliance with Lily, the squire’s daughter. He didn’t particularly
care about society’s censure, but hadn’t Miss Ambermere had more
than enough of that sort of gossip in her life?

Marriage with a young lady like Miss Ambermere. He
found it hard to steady his breath at the thought. And then another
thought struck him: she might have absolutely no desire to be his
wife.

Wonder, panic, amazement—instantaneous and useless
responses. When all he wanted to do was be with her in the quiet
library, watching her. Living in the moment. The rest would come
soon enough.

He was used to dressing himself and was soon done.
She struggled with tiny buttons, and the corset wasn’t drawn
tightly enough for the stylish moss green gown to fit her
properly.

“Do you want help?”

Rosalie gave a slightly embarrassed laugh. “Yes,
please.”

Reed stood behind her and rested his hands on her
shoulders.

He was quiet as he followed her instructions.
Efficient and deft as Rosalie had known he would be, but something
had changed, and she didn’t like it. She found herself chattering
to cover her sudden case of nerves.

He squeezed her shoulder, and she fell silent.

His lips were near her ear as he whispered, “I am
honored that you gave up your virtue to me.”

She turned in his arms and pulled him close for a
kiss. But he only brushed his mouth lightly over hers. Then he
leaned back, a troubled expression on his face. Oh no.

“What we did was…”

She waited, praying he’d say something like
“beautiful” or “wonderful” or “life changing,” but expecting it
would be dreary.

“I…I am not sure.” His smile looked like a grimace.
“Perhaps we—I should not have gone so far.” He touched her arm, the
edge of the thumb drawn along in a careless gesture.

The bottom of her stomach fell out when she
understood. She pulled away, determined to wrestle with the last of
the small buttons on her wrist without his help. Recriminations,
and worse—regrets. He must have been annoyed that he’d allowed
himself to be swept into the passion that to him meant nothing more
than animal lust. She was angry with them both. “Perhaps I
shouldn’t have given myself to a man who didn’t want the gift.” She
didn’t want his guilt or hers.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” he said, and now
he was in front of her, gently cradling her face between his palms.
The light in his eyes was strong, direct, and all she could hope
for. She heaved a relieved sigh.

“I am grateful, Miss Ambermere. Rosalie. But perhaps
I was greedy to allow you to give it. I was caught up in the moment
and not conscious enough of the significance.”

Once again, he might have struck her in the belly.
Thanks for your body, but today doesn’t mean a thing.

She lightly grasped his fingers and pulled his hands
away from her face.

When she shook her head, the once neatly arranged
curls bobbed, and she busied herself with pushing and tucking her
hair back into place without a mirror. Better that than screaming
or punching the man. “You are being diplomatic,” she said at last.
“But I’m the only one responsible for my actions. You can’t take
blame, especially when I suspect all you truly want to do is assign
it.”