Scoundrel's Kiss (22 page)

"Will you change your mind?"
she asked.

"I've no mind left to
change."

He walked slowly toward her, and she
could only stare, mesmerized The only other man she had seen naked and aroused
was Hugo, the duplicitous thief she had taken as a lover to spite her sister,
and even that had been fleeting. Ada's affair with Hugo had been a secretive
one, conducted behind Meg's back. He had never...
displayed
himself with
such brazen delight. And he never had so much to display.

"You do this on purpose," she
said, echoing his choked words from before dawn. "To taunt me, I
suppose."

"No, to see what you'll do
next."

He stood before her, his thick member
level with her mouth. A dare. She liked it, for daring required a little
imagination and maybe even a touch of humor. She licked parched lips and heard
him groan softly. She shifted slightly where she knelt, the hot wetness between
her thighs allowing skin to slide over skin with no resistance. Deep muscles
clenched without thought, wanting him. Needing him to fill her.

But first that dare. She had never
imagined such an erotic and unfamiliar act. Sex with Hugo had been terse,
unsatisfying, leaving her nauseous and regretful. Now her stomach
 
tensed in anticipation. Gavriel waited,
his eyes filled with a
 
need akin
to begging, and her imagination lit with pictures of everything she wanted,
everything she wanted to do.       

Kissing him there, taking him into her
mouth—the ideas would not be ignored, thrilling her with heady power.
After
too long being the weak one, that power was as tempting as
 
the pleasure of touch.   
                     
                     
       

With deliberate slowness, she lifted
one of Gavriel’s hands,
 
then the
other, and placed them on the back of her head. As soon as his palms met her
hair, he squeezed to gather thick handfuls. He pulled, bringing her face even
closer and forcing her to break eye contact. She could count the quickness
 
of his pulse along the turgid veins of
his phallus.                 
 

He tasted mildly of salt, her tongue
touching his most sensitive skin. He hissed and clenched his hands tighter.
Tension radiated from his arms, a fine trembling. Primal and arousing,
 
cleaner than sweat, the spicy masculine
scent of him filled her
 
nose.
Teasing him with tiny licks became a rushing thrill
 
unlike like any drug. More potent. Less predictable. It
had
 
life—tensing and
anticipating, in awe of his control and wondering at her own.   
                     
                     
           

She allowed the head to glide between
her lips, taking him
 
gently into
her mouth. Her eyes rolled shut and she focused on nothing but the foreign
texture of him. Smooth, silky smooth,
 
but hard and ridged. She traced circles with her tongue. He groaned and
began pumping a slow rhythm with his hips.

Tentatively, accepting that languid
rhythm, she slid her good hand up his leg. Yes, that scratchy hair. Yes, those
long ropes of muscles. Touching him was just as strange and arousing as she had
imagined. She cupped his buttock as he tensed, relaxed, tensed again. Her
tentative touching gave way to rougher caresses, digging fingernails into that
taut flesh.

Gavriel released her hair and framed
her face with his broad hands. He would be able to feel his own hardness
distending her cheeks. Wetness rushed between her legs at the thought, that
sensuous ache blossoming into hot desire. She moaned. He responded by pulling
free of her mouth and kneeling, chest-to-chest before her.

The sudden change dizzied her. His eyes
held no clues as to the sudden end of their game. "Something the
matter?"

He shook his head, unflinching.
"You don't want me to finish alone, I assume."

"Finish alone?"

'To have my release now, instead of
between your legs."

She rubbed two fingers along her lips.
They felt slightly numb. "Oh."

He bent at the waist and kissed her
shoulder. Chaste. Soft. With such tenderness. "I'd not be so
selfish," he said, his voice dancing shivers across her skin. "Not
without your permission."

"I want..."

He kissed her right shoulder. Instead
of pulling away, he nuzzled closer and found her neck. Sensation budded her
skin, goose bumps everywhere. He smelled of water and sunshine. His hair
tickled her cheek. Dipping lower, he took one nipple into his mouth: She gasped
and arched. One of his arms supported her lower back as he leaned over her,
arching her deeper. He licked that sensitive peak, just patient strokes of his
tongue, unhurried and maddening.

Ada wiggled inside her own skin. Just
when had he assumed control of this seduction?

"You want what?" he asked.

"I—
oh."

He caught her nipple between his teeth
and sucked. Her eyes closed again, lost in his caress. She found herself lying
on her back, once again stretched against the warm earth, but this time her
back was bare. The grass tickled and scratched,
 
layering sensation across her heated skin. Gavriel
followed
 
her down and took the
other nipple in his mouth, repeating that thorough, precious torture. 
                     
                   

Kissing again, their mouths dancing in
a sweet rhythm, he slowed and stilled. The low sun haloed his head and
lightened
 
the sharp ends of his
hair, his face deeply shadowed.   

"Gavriel? What is it?" 
                     
                     
     

"Some moments are only for now,
although we pay for them forever."

She fought the sudden assault of tears.
So very tired. Her
 
body craved,
but her mind was beyond the capacity to manage
 
that craving. She understood what it meant to
want,
only
for the moment. Consequences be damned. She grieved at finding herself in that
terrible, inevitable place once again.           
 

"Then make these moments
dear," she said. "That is what
 
I want."               
                     
                     
             

He reclaimed her mouth with a groan,
the languorous
 
mood between them
turning frantic. Hard hands gripped her hips, kneading and pulling. Every
sensation banked by their
 
solemnity flared to life, hotter and more desperate. He raised
 
her arms over her head and held her
wrists in one hand. The
 
imprisoning position should have frightened her, unable to
 
move beneath his solid weight and
unyielding hold, but she
 
thrilled
in his raw power. Her body wanted his. And held in
 
the grip of those shocking desires, she found only pleasure
in
 
submitting. 

His free hand found the nub at the apex
of her thighs. She parted her legs without thought, only sensation guiding her.
A cry built in the back of her throat as he circled his thumb gently, then
rougher and quicker. She raised her hips as much as his weight would permit, rubbing
against the hard, hot length of his shaft. But no matter how his thumb rocked
her ever closer to release, she refused to let go, not without their bodies
joined.

"Are you a virgin, Ada?" The
husky tone of his voice pulled her eyes open. The unaffected statue was gone;
in its place was a man losing control.
"Tell me."

In the eye of her own storm, she
calmed. "You would be gentle with me, wouldn't you?" "Yes,"
he ground out. She sighed and reached between their bodies, grasping his heavy
length.
^"
No need."

Groaning, he filled her with one firm
stroke. She cried out. He released her wrists and clamped a hand over her
mouth, burying his own mourn in the crook of her neck. His powerful hips
propelled their paired rhythm, fast and candid. Every thrust stretched her body
and threw her higher into the sky.

She wrapped her feet around his lower
back and locked one ankle over the other, absorbing his sweet violence. The
sheer rightness of his body over hers, in hers, left her dazed and trembling,
her climax crashing down like a warm, pelting rain. From beneath Gavriel's
muffling hand, she cried out again.

Rapid breaths fanned over her neck, his
hips jerking until he too was overcome by that pleasure. His body stiffened.
And buried in her one last time, he did not groan or shout— merely
whispered her name.

Chapter 17

Ada rested with her head against his
chest, hair draped around her shoulders like a blanket Gavriel concentrated on
the steady cadence of her breathing, lest his mind, body, and soul begin
another torturous contest Lust had dissipated, a cloud blown into strands
across the high, blue sky. In its place was exactly what he sought A place of
peace, no matter how brief.

He would have lain by the banks of the
Tagus and held her for eternity, nude beneath the tentative shade of spring
leaves. Yet the time spent in each other's arms felt more like a blink. Brief,
yes, but not without consequence. Not in the least.

Upon arriving in Ucles, he would find
either forgiveness or banishment. He would either become a clergyman or return
to the life that set him on course to collide with his father. Violently. Ada
had no place in either future, no matter their attraction.

He felt the need to protect her even
still, especially from herself, and knowing they would be separated upon
Jacob's return sat like a morn between his ribs. His own future was a shambles,
but he would not let her slink back into a life of misery and mindlessness.

When she raised her head, Ada wore no
more contentment on her face than he felt. She scrutinized him even as she idly
stroked his chest hair, down to the skin, petting. Silently she asked the same
question that battered inside his mind: What now?

"You and Jacob were lovers,"
he said quietly.

"Never."

When he had stood before her, naked and
aroused, offering his shaft, she had not shown surprise or fear. And he
remembered where they first met, there in the brothel. She had been desperate
then, desperate and in debt What other means of procuring her precious drug had
she employed?

The very idea of Ada's mouth on another
man burned him from the inside out. He could not breathe, so surprised at the
violence of his reaction. His throat ached as if he had swallowed bright red
coals.

He pushed her away and sat up,
untangling their limbs. "Then you were a prostitute," he said as
plainly as pounding blood would permit.

"I never was."

"Then what—?"

Ada gasped. He looked to the side,
expecting any manner of villains to intrude on their private idyll or Blanca,
at the very least. Although the girl helped arrange clandestine affairs for her
aunt, Gavriel did not intend to share this particular affair with anyone.

But no one approached. Ada had followed
him to a sitting position. Eyes rounded, she stared at his back.

Not this. Not now. I am not strong
enough.

"Who did that to you?" she
asked, her voice ragged.

He had kept her hands above her head
purposefully, to save her injured knuckles from further damage and to keep her
from touching his back. But she reached for him now, fluttering the softest
touch over ridges of scarred flesh. Although he knew her fingertips were
cool—knew it in his mind—he only felt the burning slice of a whip.
But he did not flinch or pull away. He had learned to hide his weakness,
knowing the punishment was worse for those who showed cowardice.

So he sat naked and perfectly still,
his back straight, as Ada scuttled closer. "Gavriel?"

"Leave it, Ada."

"Absurd, foolish man."

She stood and found her red gown,
shaking out the kirtle that still smelled of smoke. Smoke and Ada. He kept his
eyes pinned on the rushing water, deep shame conquering the desire to catch one
last glimpse of her naked body. He grabbed his tunic and breeches and struggled
into them, his hands numb and clumsy, hands that had only just held her.

"Jacob was not my lover and I was
never a harlot," she said, fully dressed, her face surprisingly composed.
"The man before you was my sister's intended. I was a wretched, selfish
creature—still am, truth be told. I'd believed no fate could be worse
than caring for my blind sister for the rest of our lives, alone together in
the woods, and I used Hugo as a means of hurting her."

From the first, he had been able to
feel when she lied, a bone-deep knowledge he found so unnerving. His hard stare
failed to find a lie in her posture or expression. He heard no deceit.

But, truth at hand—which was
worse? That she could sell herself, or that she could be deliberately cruel to
her own kin. At least he understood the latter.