Seven Nights to Forever (16 page)

Reaching up, she pulled the pins from her hair, letting them drop to the plush rug beneath her bare feet. The dark length tumbled about her shoulders, the ends tickling her breasts. She gave him a moment to soak up the view and then, letting her hips sway, she walked slowly to him.

The crisp scent of the chill night air and the spicy hint of a man, of James, filled her senses. Pushing aside the ache that threatened to build anew, she peered up at him from under the fan of her lashes. “One of us has too many clothes on.” She infused her voice with a soft, teasing lilt to match the smile on her lips.

His response was to drop his arms to his sides.

She was quite proud of the fact that her hands did not shake as she slowly slipped the buttons free on his nut brown coat. Lifting up onto her toes, she pushed the coat from his shoulders, his muscles hard as iron beneath her hands. Fortunately he was not one of those fashionable gentlemen who preferred the cut of their coat to be so strict they were next to impossible to remove without considerable effort. She caught the coat as the sleeves slipped from his wrists. A neat fold, and she placed it on the nearby dresser.

“Did you have a pleasant day at the office?” she asked, as casual as could be, as she set to work on the small fabric-covered buttons running the length of his pale yellow waistcoat. Her day had been spent cloistered in her bedchamber, willing herself to forget James and the feel of his hands on her body and the taste of his kiss. An effort in futility if ever there was one.

Her question was met with silence. She looked up and lifted a brow.

“No,” he said, more grunt than a word.

“Well then, perhaps I can make up for it.”

The waistcoat joined the coat on the dresser. The room was so quiet she could hear the soft
swoosh
of linen sliding against linen as she untied the simple knot on his cravat. The backs of her fingers brushed his jaw, his day’s beard a gentle scrape. A slow tug, and she pulled the long length of white linen from his neck, exposing his throat.

He did the courtesy of whisking the shirt over his head. Her initial assessment of him had been unerringly accurate. There was not an ounce of fat on his frame. She followed the thin line of dark hair to where it disappeared behind the waistband of his trousers, and then her gaze drifted lower.

What could only be a substantial erection tented the placket of his trousers. He was most definitely not unaffected by her. She curled one hand at her side, wanting to reach out, to feather her fingertips over the arched length, to feel it jump in a silent plea for more. To have the weight of him again in her palm.

Her insides fluttered, her body clenching at the memory of that thick length slowly filling her until he possessed her completely. Her head went light, a heavy wave of arousal washing over her.

The sound of a throat clearing recalled her to her senses. She blinked then snatched the shirt from his outstretched hand. She didn’t bother folding it, but simply tossed it onto the pile on the dresser.

She trailed her fingertips lightly over his abdomen, just above his waistband. His skin was as soft and smooth as she remembered, but this time she was able to watch as his muscles quivered under her touch.

Refusing to look at his face, she tugged on the buttons on the placket. With his brown trousers hanging on his hips, she undid the string on his drawers. Then she pushed them down, dropping to her knees to slip off his shoes and remove the last of his clothes.

Still on her knees, she looked up. Somehow she kept the purr of appreciation inside. By God, the man was magnificent in the nude. His cock jutted proudly from between his legs, the heavy weight of his ballocks drawn up tight. Raw, brute strength radiated from every line of his body, from his powerful thighs to his impossibly broad chest to his strong, corded forearms. She wanted to touch every inch of him, to feel what she had previously been denied. To finally press her bare skin against his.

Instead, she arched up under his erection, tipping her face up to let her breath fan his ballocks. His breath hitched. His cock twitched. A drop of fluid beaded at the flushed crown. Careful to avoid the one place where she knew he wanted her touch most of all, she got to her feet, coasting her hands up the outsides of his thighs.

She turned her back to him and crawled onto her bed and up the mattress to the headboard. The heat of his gaze scorched her skin, made her derrière tingle with awareness. Her shoulders and back propped up on the pillows, she positioned herself on the bed, spreading her legs just enough to tempt with one knee slightly bent up and the other casually straight. After taking a moment to arrange her hair so the dark waves framed rather than obscured his view of her breasts, she arched a brow at him. “Do you plan to join me?”

Again silence.

“Or perhaps . . . you would prefer to watch.”

With a light touch, she traced one nipple, brushed across the hardened tip, briefly captured it between forefinger and thumb. Then she cupped her breast, gently kneaded the weight, and then drifted her fingers down her chest, pausing to circle her navel before grazing the dark triangle of hair between her thighs.

She swore his cock hardened even further, seeming to strain toward her, the tip glistening wet, the head flushed plum red. His breaths had turned heavy, his chest visibly working under the effort. Hands clenched so tightly at his sides his knuckles had gone white. Yet he made not one move to join her on the bed.

He was the one who had wanted to move into her bedchamber. She hadn’t dragged him here. But if he wanted to prop up the door all evening, then he was more than welcome to.

A perverse need to torment him grabbed hold. To make him pay, in however small a fashion, for the pain he had caused her last night. For the horrid, yet necessary reminder that she was nothing but a whore to him.

No matter how unpleasant, the reminder had indeed been necessary. Kindness and compassion were dangerous commodities, ones she could not afford to trade in. Desire and lust . . . those she knew well. Just as she knew her place was in this bed, and not his own.

Blocking out the ache for more, she focused solely on him and let her bent leg fall open. Wanton and shameless, she drifted one fingertip lower to slide between the folds of her sex.

SWEAT
pricked between his shoulder blades. A bead slid down his back, tickling his heated skin. James couldn’t take his eyes off her. Sprawled on the bed, the dark waves of her hair draping her shoulders, her beautiful lush body on display, she was temptation incarnate. A vision straight from his most decadent fantasies.

With a smile that screamed sinful pleasure, Rose lightly circled her clit before dropping down to her core, gathering the moisture there. So slick and wet. So ready for him.

He ground the inside of his cheek between his teeth. Lust roared through his veins, demanding he take her.
Now.
His damn cock was so hard it hurt. Yet he was locked to the spot, as if an invisible wall stood before that bed. A part of him wasn’t so certain he liked this side of her—bold and confident and completely at her ease playing the seductress. He couldn’t ignore the nagging sensation that she was performing, simply going through the motions. But the baser side of him panted for more.

Arching her lower back, she continued to torture him. Swirling, playing at her entrance. Her head tilting back slightly, her hips lifting the barest bit into her touch. A slow, sensuous rhythm his body knew only too well, the memory from the night before last forever branded on his senses.

Need rocked through him, so strong it nearly brought him to his knees. His muscles tightened, coiled to lurch forward. To claim her. Mark her as his own. To take everything she offered and give her more. So much more she would never want another man again.

As if she somehow knew he was teetering on the edge, she brought that teasing finger up to her mouth. Heavily lidded gaze locked with his, she traced her bottom lip.

“Are you certain you don’t want a taste?”

And with that, she shoved him over the edge.

He leapt forward, landing on the bed. The next moment he was on top of her, crouched between her spread legs, his face mere inches from hers.

“Yes, I want a taste,” he growled. Chest heaving, he leaned down, breaching the remaining distance, to take exactly what she offered. He drew her bottom lip into his mouth, gently sucked on it, savoring the taste of her. Sweet as honey, it lit up his tongue.

Releasing that plump lip, he pulled back just enough to hold her gaze. The brazen, teasing glint was gone, replaced with a need that fueled his even higher. She moved not a muscle, and neither did he. Tension shimmered in the air between them. Crackling and sparking. Drawing tighter and tighter.

“Kiss me.”
Threadbare and breathless, the plea trembled past her lips.

His mouth came down to claim hers. Her lips opened eagerly beneath his. He swept his tongue inside, explored the hot depths of her delicious mouth. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she arched, meeting the pure passion of his kiss. She writhed beneath him, bare skin sliding against his. Every move she made caressed his erection, trapped between their bodies, ratcheting the need for more until he couldn’t hold back another moment.

Panting, he broke the kiss, dragged his lips across her cheek to her ear. “I want you.
Please
.”

“Yes,” she said on a moan that matched the raw need in his hoarse plea.

He reached down, positioned himself at her core, and pushed inside. Hot, silken heat surrounded his length. Gripped him so tightly he had to stop for a moment lest the reins of control slip completely through his fingers. The orgasm was right there, teasing the base of his spine. Dragging in a ragged breath, he forced it back.

And then he slid in that last remaining distance, burying himself to the hilt.

“Oh, James.”

Her lashes fluttered, her light blue eyes glittering with desire. Her parted lips plumped from their kisses. Her cheeks stained with a pink flush of passion. The sight held him in awe. Something lurched up inside him, a force that tightened his chest. Three years of celibacy could have been a decade for all he cared. All that mattered was that he was with Rose now.

A small hand tugged on the back of his sweat-slicked neck. A thin whimper slid past her lips. Capturing those perfect red lips, he eased back, savoring the lush friction, the hot tug of her most intimate flesh along every inch of his length. And then he glided home.

Her legs came up to wrap around his waist, holding him to her. Skin against skin, they moved together. The firm mounds of her breasts pressed against his chest, the soft curves of her body fit perfectly against the hard bulk of his own. It was an unbelievable feeling to be with a woman who wanted
him
. Who welcomed him with open arms. Who derived pleasure from his touch. Her gasps for more, her sweet sighs, the scent of her aroused body mixed with the hint of roses. The sensations swamped his senses, had him desperate for more.

But first, he needed to give her more. Needed to be with her when the pleasure claimed her. Shifting his weight to one arm, his rhythm unbroken, he worked one hand between their bodies. With his thumb, he found her clit. Circled the hard bud. Not in a soft, light tease but in a determined caress designed to wring the climax from her.

Her legs tightened around his waist, her hips bumping against his. Matching her pace, he sped up his thrusts. Driving deep and hard. Her kisses turned desperate. Stark and needy. Devouring his mouth. Her hands clutched his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He felt the tension building within her. And then she went taut in his arms, her sleek heat clamping around him, milking his length. He drank up her cries of pleasure, his own body demanding he follow her over the edge. The orgasm he had somehow kept at bay suddenly gripped his ballocks. Tearing his lips from hers, he reared back onto his knees and grabbed his cock, the length slicked with the proof of her pleasure. Two strokes and the climax rushed through him. He let out a hoarse grunt as pearly white seed shot from his cock, landing on her abdomen, her chest, a drop reaching one hard nipple.

He dropped down onto his arms. Hanging his head, he struggled to catch his breath. It felt as though that climax had ripped all the energy from him, leaving him ten times more exhausted than an hour ago when he had knocked on the back door of the brothel. The soft, lulling drag of the arch of her bare foot over his calf tempted him to just collapse beside her and let the heavy haze of lethargy overtake him.

With effort, he resisted the temptation and lifted his head. Only a heartless cad left his seed to dry on a woman’s belly.

“Do you have a . . .” He glanced about, his gaze landing on the washstand. “I’ll be right back.”

A quick kiss and he dragged himself out of her bed. He grabbed the small towel next to the white stone washbasin, dunked half the length in the water, and wrung it out. Strides slow and heavy, he returned to the bed and then sat on the edge.