Seducing the Single Lady (8 page)

His abdomen was a taut plane of rippling muscles. His arms bulged at the biceps,
a pure display of sculpted strength. His sensual mouth was upturned into a proud, triumphant smile because she liked what she saw and he knew it.

She wondered if he knew how the sight of him was wreaking havoc with the pace of her heart and her ability to breathe. The ale had gone to her head. So had the adventures of the day and n
ow this lack of a decent breath. Dizzy. She was dizzy.

“Your shirt?”

“Off,” she said, her voice muffled as she lifted the linen over her head, revealing all the muslin binding around her chest. It had taken ages to wind and would likely take a few agonizing, dizzying moments to unwind.

Boots were next—
four thuds muted on the carpeted floor—followed by breeches. Followed by Damien’s unmentionables.

At the sight of him, utterly naked, Susannah did gasp. The muscles continued down his legs, strong. He put her in mind of one of the naked Roman statues she occasionally stared at for longer than was seemly (and really,
’twas the only reason to visit the British Museum). But unlike those statues…a fig leaf did not suffice. He was aroused and there was no denying it—his cock jutted out, long and thick.

He closed the distance between them.
She felt nervous—she shivered—with every step he took in her direction.

“Allow me,” he said softly. With his hands on her sides, he skimmed them up drawing her arms above her head.
“Now turn, slowly,” he said and she spun, step by little step, like a ballerina as he unwound the muslin, letting it flutter down to tangle with her naked legs.

As she turned, her thoughts spun wildly. What a wanton I am! This is too soon…it’s only been a day.
And yet the truth was, this had been a lifetime in the making. She was contractually bound to this man and this act with him. But she was doing it on her own time, on her own terms.

She h
ad planned to take a lover.

And in just one day she had kissed two.

The words society might use to describe her would perhaps be unkind. But Susannah had sweetness upon her lips, and had basked in two loving and adoring gazes and could not find it in her to regret a thing.

If one was going to be a young, pretty heiress, one ought to have as much fun as possible. Especially if
Damien did mean to marry her. Not that this wasn’t fun it was…

Terrifying.

Exhilarating.

Daunting.

Tempting.

“Susannah.” His voice had a nice rasp to it. His eyes…they had a certain depth and intensity she hadn’t ever seen before. Except for that day at the lake when he saw her
sopping wet with her white gown clinging to all of her new curves. “I had imagined this,” he said.

“You did?”

“But I imagined it all wrong,” he whispered as he looked reverently at her.

“What?”

“You are far more beautiful in this real moment than you were in my fantasies.”

“You fantasized about me?”
This revelation surprised her and warmed her heart. Here she’d thought he’d never considered her.

“Ever since that day at the lake.
Something had changed.”

“But you didn’t come for me,” she said. She understood his departure—she would have gone too. That he didn’t come when she had begged him had hurt. But…

“I’m here now,” he said clasping her cheeks in his hands and gazing deeply in her eyes. “And I’m not leaving anymore.”

“
Damien, as delightful as this conversation is and while there is a wonderful intimacy to talking with a man whilst in an advanced state of undress…”

“Shut up and kiss you already?”

“Mmmmm…” she murmured because his mouth had crashed down on hers. Where Frannie had been gentle, Damien was a force to be reckoned with. And reckon she did. Her tongue teased and tangled with his. He bit down gently on her lip and she dared the same. Whereas Frannie had tasted of sweetness and innocence, Damien tasted like pure, molten wickedness and it was delicious.

Susannah wrapped her arms around him an
d pressed the length of her body against him, drawing a groan from his lips. After years and years and years without any affection, she deserved this and she was going to revel in every moment.

His skin, hot
upon hers as he lowered her to the feather mattress. His body, a hard weight baring down upon hers. His arousal, warm and hard and pressing against her entrance. His fingers threaded with hers, their limbs entangled. She started to lose track of where he ended and she began. There was only this tangle of want and need and kiss and touch. It was thrilling like danger and secure like an embrace all at once.

It was just the beginning.

His kiss, hot, searching and exploring. His lips upon hers, a gentle nibble, the slightest pain that felt like pleasure. Damien dragged his mouth down to kiss her neck—who ever knew the skin there could be so sensitive? She shivered from the sensation, her body vibrating against his. Fireworks and sparks wherever they touched, which was everywhere. His kiss, lower now, upon her breasts. She sucked in her breath and held it. She knotted her fingers in his hair needing desperately to hold on as his mouth did such mad, wonderful, wanton things to her. His thumb, flicking across the dusky center of her breast, followed by his mouth and his tongue turning teasing circles around the stiff peaks. She writhed beneath him. She moaned. She arched her back: more.

It seemed he had learned a thing or two during his
Grand Tour. She was glad he had spent his time so well. And that was the last thought she had for a while.

Damien
could not touch her enough. A man did not encounter such beauty every day. Or ever. He drew a ragged breath and caressed her endless curves, from her full breasts down to the slight swell of her stomach, dipping into the curve of her waist and then following the flare of her hips. He’d had a hint of this wondrousness years ago. Still, he had fled—perhaps not like a man determined to sow his wild oats, but like a man who knew he wasn’t yet worthy of such beauty.

She would have been wasted upon him then. But he could appreciate her now, and damn did he ever. He lavished more attention
on her breasts—she liked that, he could tell by the sharp intake of her breath and the way her fingers gripped his hair, holding him there.

Never let me go.

He pressed kisses upon her belly, lower and lower and lower still.
Damien urged her legs apart. As much as he was dying—dying—to bury himself inside her and lose himself in the rhythm of making love he fought to keep himself in check just another moment longer. If she was truly to be the queen of pleasure, then she had to know…

This, oh G
od this was like nothing Susannah had ever known or imagined. His tongue traced a magical pattern around the most exquisitely sensitive spot. Around and around he brought her to slowly and surely to dizzying heights of pleasure. Her breath was fast and shallow now—it echoed in her head, sensations drowning out any other thought, such as it was afternoon and she was a lady and naked on a rogue’s bed. His touch brought her back, attuned only to a fire inside of her that burned brighter and hotter. His tongue made slow, deliberately teasing circles. Dear God, her heart was pounding. Dear lord, she could hardly breathe. Oh heavens, was that her voice shouting out his name?

Damien
. Yes. Damien. More. God. Yes. Damien.

He could wait no more. His heart was thundering in his chest and his blood was pumping furiously through his veins. His cock
had never felt harder and he thought he’d explode just from the sound of his name, in her voice, hoarse with pleasure as she climaxed.

Damien
dragged himself up to kiss her mouth. His cock pressed against her entrance, and he could feel it was warm and wet. He would die if she refused him now. She could wreck him, break him, ruin him now with one word: no. Did she know the power she held over him?

“Susannah…”

She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him slowly.

He
pressed against her entrance. So warm. So wet. He wanted, needed, would die if he couldn’t sheath himself inside of her completely.

“Yes,” she gasped. 
And any thoughts of going slowly or gently were lost as he buried himself inside of her. She shouted out. He might have done too. She was tight around him. Gasping from the pleasure. Their mouths collided for a desperate kiss.

Then driven by an instinct he could not deny, he thrust long and slow and hard and she met him each time with the movement of her hips. Her breaths matched his. They were one. Just one. It was everything.

They were one. Just one. This man with whom she’d battled her whole life…in this they were united. She felt shock. She felt joy. She felt the slightest pain and the greatest pleasure. The uncertainty was oddly thrilling—she did not know what to expect. She felt absolute trust—he would never, never hurt her. She could just lie back and claim him as he claimed her.

Damien
was losing himself completely and utterly. He held on tight, one hand holding hers, pining it to the mattress. He couldn’t let her get away. He laced the fingers of his other hand through her hair and it tightened in a fist. She moaned. Always pulling her hair, wasn’t he? “Yes,” she panted and he tightened his grasp even more.

In and out he moved, driven to distraction by the w
armth and tightness and wetness. She was as aroused by this as much as he was. He knew because of her heavy breaths, her sighs, her moans, the writhing of her hips as she matched his rhythm and the way she dragged her fingertips down his back only to press him harder against and deeper inside of her.

Then she cried out, shouted his name, in anoth
er climax. He felt her tightening around him and that pushed him over the edge. He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, inhaling her scent deeply and shouting her name. Susannah. Susannah. Susannah.

They lay the
re, still tangled in an embrace. Skin slick with sweat. Breaths still deep, hearts still pounding. The sun setting outside. If she didn’t marry him, he would die.

Susannah woke the next morning in her own bed in her own townhouse. Alone. Very alone. A fire burned in the grate. Light streamed through the windows. The hour was late—a glance at her clock told her so. This time yesterday she had ridden astride like a mad woman. That alone would have caused a ruckus amongst the ton.

And
at about this particular moment yesterday, she had kissed a girl, been challenged to a duel and was in the midst of fleeing for her life. The ton would be in an uproar if that were ever discovered.

Susannah collapsed back against her feather pillows, remembering what had occurred next.

She had taken a lover.

But not just any lover.
Damien. Her lifelong nemesis. The bane of her existence. The obstacle to her freedom. He had shown her such pleasure as she had never imagined. He had made love to her like it was the first, last and only thing important in the whole world. It had been the wild, passionate, exhilarating lovemaking of two lovers, indulging and discovering each other for the first time, utterly uncertain of what the future might bring.

It was like she had awakened, with every rule he had her breaking.

If, perhaps, marriage with Damien was to be like yesterday, the greatest of days, she might consider it. It was a risk she might take.

Consider it she did. Highland Park and Bedford Hills perhaps weren’t the exile she had imagined. Pushing aside the unpleasant memories, she focused on pleasant recollections of running through the fields, collecting heavenly scented flowers from the gardens, basking in the sunshine and roaming freely through the land and the village.

Before…

Before the years of hardship, lonel
iness, uncertainty and general dreadfulness. They had now run their course, so she had hope, and thus Susannah dared to dream that she might enjoy the country life—not during the season, of course. And if the lovemaking continued, she might find some enjoyment in marriage after all.

By some she meant exquisite, overwhelming amounts of pleasure.

Somehow all the walls she had built to keep him out had come tumbling down. She hugged her arms around herself wishing that she was surrounded by his embrace.

Perhaps she might send
Damien a missive letting him know that if he were to call upon her she would be at home. She would sign it Percy.

First, she rang for Abigail, who delivered bad news when Susannah requested her boy
’s attire.

“It’s in the wash ma’am. Needs extra hot irons. I
can’t imagine what you did to get them in such a state,” the maid said with a sigh.

Susannah
just smiled and agreed to an emerald green day dress instead. She paired it with sapphire and diamond earrings that made her eyes seem brighter. A matching bracelet encircled her wrist. And then the shoes…comfortable as the boots were, she did so love her pretty satin slippers. Today she selected a green satin pair embroidered with silver thread with a slight heel.