Sin (22 page)

Jesus, he couldn’t even think of it.

Afraid that another shot could come, he used his body to shield Venetia. She was slumped at the base of the tree, eyes shut.

“Wake up, sweetheart. Wake up,” he begged. Her lashes flickered and hope rushed through him. He turned, scanning the woods around him, but even the dark trees disappeared in the thick fog. The men around him—who had seen Venetia faint after the shot—crashed through the woods, seeking the shooter, but the bullet could have come from anywhere. Shouts carried through the trees. Had it been an accident? Or the killer taking advantage of another deadly opportunity? Why? Over that blasted book?

Face pale, Venetia sat up, brushing at grass and dirt. Large and luminous, her eyes met his. “B—bother, I am getting a little tired of this.” A weak smile flickered over her fragile lips. Heavy droplets of moisture dropped from the shifting leaves and ran down her face.

He scooped her into his arms, she was so slim and light. “Are you hurt?” His brain couldn’t function beyond harsh terror.

“The bark scratched my back—other than that I’m fine. Alive.” Large and luminous against her white mask, her eyes met his. “You’re rescuing me once more. You seem to be making a habit of this.”

He started back down the lane, men surrounded—shouted, laying blame for the shot, asking questions. Rage gripped him as he took the road in long strides. The need to rip a man to pieces surged, left him shaking. His back teeth ground together. “Go find the bloody bastard,” he shouted.

They rounded the bend. In his arms, Venetia was shaking. Her lips were pale, trembling. She tightened her grip on his arm, her eyes poignant with worry. “What of the gypsies?”

“The shot that—” He stumbled, regained his balance. “That almost hit you, broke the tension—made the good men see the insanity of what they were doing. But Chartrand will take their leader hostage—”

“How can he do that?”

“To hold until the magistrate arrives. Swansborough will ensure there’ll be no rough justice. No one was killed—” His gut wrenched at how close it had been. He didn’t feel Vee’s weight as he ran, as he dodged mud. He needed to get her back to their rooms. He would assign his grooms sentry duty, to ensure they were safe.

Returning to their house seemed an endless journey. At least it gave time for Venetia to calm. Once he had her in his room, on his bed, he took off her damp and muddy cloak, threw off his greatcoat. He handed them to the waiting footman. A maid stoked the fire, set it roaring, left a pile of thick warmed towels and went out.

He reached for Vee’s bonnet but she’d pulled it off first. Shaky fingers traced the ragged edges of the hole. “It’s huge.” He grabbed it from her, tossed it to the flames. It hissed, sizzled. As though that could make the nearness of tragedy go away.

“Marcus—help me undress.” Her hushed voice made his heart ache.

He opened her wet dress at the back. Heart pounding, he kissed her damp skin—her graceful neck, her slim shoulders, the top of her spine. Beneath his lips, the pulse at her throat grew steadier.

She let her gown fall to the floor.

“Your corset’s knotted,” he growled, but a quick zip of his razor along the crisscrossed lacing cut her free. He closed the razor, tossed it back to the bowl.

He wrapped her mist-dampened hair in a heated towel. Wrapped another—enormous and cozy—around her shoulders.

She was safe. Alive. He kissed her wrists until she closed her eyes at the pleasure of it. He kissed the crook of her elbows, her fragrant underarms. On his knees before her, he kissed and sucked her toes. He licked the sensitive place behind her knees, making her sigh in rapture as he drew stockings and garters down her legs. She stepped out of each, and stood before him, wearing only her dry shift and towels, never more beautiful or more tempting.

He rose up on his knees—the hem of her shift caught on his neck and lifted, exposing her glistening cunny to his mouth.

“I want you. I…I want nothing to be barred to us,” she whispered. She gazed down at him, holding back her curtain of auburn hair.

He wanted to glory in the heavenly gift of having her with him. Gently sliding his hand around her delicate foot, he lifted her right leg, opening her sex to him. He balanced her foot on his shoulder. Her smell surrounded him, lured him, tempted him. He slid his tongue into the snug passage of her quim. Her rich taste exploded on his tongue—salty, sweet musk.

Venetia gasped and gripped Marcus’ bedpost. She hung on tight as waves of pleasure rocked her. Oh, it felt so wonderful to have his tongue plunge in, filling her with wet heat, rippling against her walls.

So wonderful, but she wanted it all.

Heavens, she could have been killed. Why on earth was she preserving her virginity? She didn’t want marriage, she wanted to make love with Marcus. He must understand she would make no demands of him. Earls didn’t marry naughty artists who had no money or connections.

She wanted to seduce him but how could she overwhelm his defenses? How could she make him lust and desire with such intensity that he couldn’t stop? He’d made love to so many women—women here had tried to tempt him yet he’d honored his promise to protect her. How to shatter his control?

She had no idea—

His tongue laved around her clit and she arched up on her one foot.
Oh…heavens!

He played magical games with her hard clit, encircled it over and over with his tongue until she was dizzy and clinging to him. Expertly he slicked each side, and she rocked into his mouth. If he just did that…kept doing that…oh Lord, she would come for him. Come all over him. Like an onslaught of tide, her orgasm built. She rubbed herself against his tongue fervently, so very close…so wonderfully close…

He stopped. She cried out, “No! No!”

“Touch your nipples,” he said. “I want to watch you touch yourself.”

From beneath his tousled hair, he watched. This was her chance to entice him. Gathering courage, she gave a flirtatious smile as she cupped her breasts. The sensation of her palm on their undersides made her moan. Before his hungry eyes, she strummed her nipples with her own thumbs.

It worked. With languorous, sable-soft strokes, he tongued her clit more.

Closing her eyes, she saw stars. Bright, shooting stars against velvet black.

He flicked his tongue, right on the very tip of her clit. Torture, wonderful torture. He teased her anus with his fingertip. Her leg became shaky, but she fought to stay balanced. Her breasts tingled with pleasure. Agony raced through her, flooding her cunny with hot liquid.

His gaze was approving as she fondled her breasts. She loved pleasing him. She grew more excited. More wild and daring. She pulled at her nipples and the spark of pain thrilled her. She wanted to be rough. Aggressive. Naughty and bad.

“Lick my cunny!” she cried, flushing, “Suck my quim.”

He broke the rhythm to groan, “Yes,” and devoured her like a madman.

She ground her clit against his tongue…lost control. All she could do was thrust her hips and rub and rub—

She came, crying out his name. Her hair flew wildly, slapping her breasts, her face, her lips. Moans and cries strained her throat. She pinched her nipples tight as the pleasure washed over her.

As the spasms died away, she thought she’d fall. He lowered her to the carpet. She was on her knees, he on his. She felt sensuous and wild.

“Lie down,” she urged huskily. “I wish to suckle you.”

He lay back on the carpet, legs spread so she could kneel in between. His cock stood in a rigid curve, the veins prominent, the head swollen and shiny. She planted a kiss on his ballocks, then traced her tongue up the shaft.

“Heavenly,” he moaned. He arched his head back and closed his eyes.

Exactly the moment she needed. In a heartbeat she straddled his hips and settled her cunny down on his shaft.

“What are you doing?” His eyes snapped open. She splayed one hand on his chest, hoping to keep him down.

She rocked on him, drawing her wet nether lips along his cock, soaking him in her creaminess. “I want this. I want to make love.”

“Venetia—” He caught hold of her hips, as though to lift her off but if he’d truly wanted to unseat her he could have. This gave her hope.

She settled her weight on his cock, so it was pinned between his flesh and her wet quim. “I could have died today. I want to have this one wonderful experience with you. Only with you…”

It wasn’t just lust that made her want him so much. It was more…

No. She wouldn’t think of love. Not now. Only sex and pleasure and filling the ache inside her.

She held up his cock so the magnificent length stood straight in the air, and poised her cunny over him. “I want you, Marcus. I need you.
Please
.”

“God, God, God,” he moaned. “Sweeting, I want this. Hell, I do, but—”

His shaft was slippery and the head was slick with his juice. She sank her teeth into her lip and lowered. His cock slid in, gliding on their blended juices, until it pushed at her barrier. Her cunny clenched the hot thickness filling it and fireworks seemed to be exploding in her head.

“Please…” her voice died away.

He cupped her breasts, squeezing above her thundering heart. “God yes, let me make love to you.” In a lower voice filled with masculine heat, he groaned, “Let me fuck you.”

V
enetia plunged down on his cock with one strong thrust and her lusty cry became a shocked squeal.

Marcus cursed himself. He should have stopped her. Should have realized she’d race to do the deed. She sobbed with shock and pain and he lifted her up from his prick, settled her down so she straddled his stomach. “Sweeting, the pain will stop.”

She nodded, lids dipped over her eyes. “It’s easing now.”

Her maidenhead was torn. It was done. At least she had climaxed already, had been wet and relaxed. He’d never made love to a virgin and he hated to think Vee had felt pain.

“Now, temptress, we’ll do this on my terms,” he said, “And it will be good, I promise.”

Not romantic, but the best he could do. He could barely think. He rolled them both over.

She made a delectable picture. Her fiery-red hair spilled around her. Lust and need and trust shone in her eyes. Arousal had tightened her nipples, and the dusky red points tempted his mouth. He bent to suckle and his cock, huge and heavy with his desire, pushed between her spread thighs. The swollen head nudged inside her sopping quim, determined to invade. She was so slick, his prick slid in a few inches.

He moaned. It was like dipping his prick into a river of fire. Before he could stop himself, his hips arched in the first long stroke. Her velvety walls gripped him with such exquisite snugness he had to marshal his control and thrust slowly to ease his cock inside.

She gripped his biceps, her eyes wide with wonder and surprise. “It feels so perfect.”

“No more pain?”

“No, it’s…simply perfect. Nothing is barred to us now.”

Her innocent desire touched his heart and set his blood boiling. He wanted this to be unbelievable for her. Easing himself back out, he slid in once more. Deeper. He had to bow his head at the heat, the grip, the pleasure. Venetia stayed still, her brows drawn together as though concentrating on every sensation as he slowly, agonizingly, filled to the hilt. His black curls brushed her red ones, his cock entirely buried.

“You are enormous!”

He was only a man, and pride swelled at her guileless exclamation. Laughing, he nibbled the irresistible curve of her neck. “Relax, sweeting. We must let you get used to me.”

He licked her erect nipples, so delightful to play with. He thrust slowly, worshipping her breasts with his mouth, her cunny with his cock. At the end of each stroke, he pushed his hips forward, penetrating deep. As deep as he could go. He wanted every inch inside her.

Her hands slid up to his shoulders, her nails gouged his flesh. Just her touch set his skin on fire. The softest stroke of her fingers sent pulses of pleasure to burst in the fire consuming his cock.

Venetia began to move with his thrusts, to lift her hips to meet his. Her eyes glowed at him—alive, beautiful, filled with delight. Awe and agony played across her face. He watched, mesmerized, forgot himself. He lost his rhythm and, like a callow boy, he backed off too far and his cock fell out.

She reached for his prick as fast and desperately as he did. Their hands collided. Fingers twined, they struggled to force his unbending cock back inside. She moaned in delight, he groaned as though his life had been saved.

“Your clit should be sweetly sensitive after your orgasm.” Marcus lowered, resting close to her, so her hardened nipples stroked his chest as she arched up and he pushed down, deep into her blazing sheath. He had to arch his head back at the intensity. “I can ride high…” he had to stop, to suck in a deep breath. “And tease your lovely, stinging clit, but I want you to prime it. Rub yourself until you are close, my sweet, and then…”

His thrusts sped up—sooner than he’d wanted, but his cock, his body, no longer obeyed his command. “To make a woman come with just the thrusts of a man’s cock is a miraculous business—”

She just looked up at him, enraptured, mystified.

“Move your hand now,” he instructed. He wanted nothing in the way.

She did and her arms locked around his waist. Then she clutched hold of his ass, her fingers gripping into his cheeks. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he rode her faster, driving his cock in her cunny to the hilt, kissing her clit with his groin. Her moans came louder and louder.

“Yes, yes, yes. But do it harder,” she demanded, “It’s so good when you do it hard.”

His sweat dripped now, his muscles bunched with each forceful thrust. What was he doing? She was precious, he was pounding her. But she cried out in pleasure at each slap of his body.

She clung to him. Her legs hooked around his. She thrust up to him, her hands separating his arse cheeks. He howled. Howled with the pleasure! God, it was incredible to have his anus tugged like that. Sensation roared from his hole to his balls—they were impossibly tight and ready to fire.

“Is it good? Tell me.” He panted. “I want to make you come.”

Her hips circled in an exotic dance. She was trying to milk him with her hips, trying to pleasure him. “Oh it’s good. I love having you fuck me.”

He almost fired. He clung to control. His brains evaporated, but he fought for that goal—Venetia’s beautiful pleasure.

Her legs embraced his waist, exposing her tender anus. He reached down teased with his index finger, balanced his weight on his wrist.

“Oh!” she squealed as his finger slid up her ass, irresistibly tight.

“Does that please you?”

“Yes, yes! I want you in both places—yes, push your finger deeper. Fill me. I—”

She screamed and ripped her nails down his back. Around his cock, her cunny pulsed and squeezed.

His brain exploded into flames. Every muscle went rigid and he pinned her to the floor as his body bucked and writhed with his orgasm. Wave after wave tore through him. His muscles liquefied, his head seemed to shatter.

His cock swelled to three times its size before finally, mercifully, shooting his come deep inside her.

Her fingernails scraped into his ass, sending a last whoosh of seed through him, until he was certain every possible ounce had drained. But she began lifting to him again. Almost unconscious with pleasure, Marcus shuddered as her tight walls pulled along his sensitive shaft.

“No, no, angel, I can’t.” He rolled off her, collapsed at her side, his arm flung over her warm, damp belly.

Venetia felt wonderful, sated, heavenly, splendidly alive—goodness, what had she done to him?

She rolled up onto her hip and gazed down at Marcus. He flopped over onto his back and grinned at her. Slick with perspiration, his dark hair hung over his eyes, which still looked dreamy and dazed. Against the woven green-gray pattern of the rug, his golden-bronze body was beautifully displayed.

His nipples were taut, his chest hair soaked and matted down. A small cut marred the perfect sweep of his jaw—a nick from the straight razor he’d used on his face in the morning, the one that had cut her corset.

Excitement rushed through her, setting her nerves tingling. Making love to him had been as magnificent as she’d dreamed, and now, he was stretched out alongside her, hers to explore. But she felt too uncertain to touch him.

He traced the length of her arm with his fingertips, coasting to her neck. His turquoise eyes glowed. She felt treasured.

“You want more, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.” He gave a playful groan.

Shyly, she met his heavy-lidded eyes. “My virginity is gone. There’s no reason we can’t enjoy sex all night.”

His low, masculine laugh rumbled. “You plan to kill me, don’t you?”

She frowned. His cock slumped against his thigh, still long, but spent. “You mean…you can’t?”

“I can, sweeting. If you let me have a little rest.” He ran his fingers along her breasts, down to her nipples. Goose-bumps trailed in their wake. “But you must be tender.”

“No. I’m hardly sore at all.” She toyed with his cock, velvety soft and surprisingly heavy. To her delight, a drop of rich, white fluid rolled out of the tip. But he yelped and eased her hand away.

“Verrry sensitive,” he warned, huskily. Flicking back his untamed hair, he cast a heated gaze over her, lingering at her eyes, then her quim. “Are you certain you aren’t sore?”

Venetia’s enthusiasm, her raw lusty need astonished Marcus. He’d thought she would want to cuddle and go to sleep. But Venetia slid down his body and coiled her fingers around his soft cock. She stuck out her tongue and licked it lavishly from hilt to tip.

God, she was a natural. Adorable.

Then she took his floppy member entirely into her hot, sweet mouth. Arousal shot through him. She teased him mercilessly with tongue and teeth. Blood rushed down to his cock, leaving him light headed.

His cock began to swell, pushing against the sharp edges of her teeth.

He drew her back, whispered. “I want to harden completely inside your cunny, Vee.” He urged her to stand, and as she did, he planted a kiss between her thighs. His semen clung to his lips afterward. Licking them, he tasted her ripe juice and his sour, tangy seed.

His body was aflame, but he forced himself to ask once more. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“Then hold on to the edge of the bed and bend over.”

To ask her to assume that position was unforgivably sinful. But he couldn’t resist having a view of her drenched cunny from behind. A tempting, precious diamond. From behind, he eased his finger into her sheath, into liquid fire, and stirred. The sight of her round, smooth bottom had his cock standing proud once more.

She circled her ass in the most tempting way, slowly spread her legs wider in an invitation Marcus couldn’t refuse.

Venetia gasped as his staff filled her wet quim and she had to grip the sheets to keep from being pushed forward. This was so wickedly wonderful. To present her up-tilted bottom to him, to be taken from behind. She felt a little twinge as his cock nosed inside and she hesitated.

Should she do this?

Oh, but she couldn’t resist. And the pain was gone. Arching her back, she pushed her bottom toward him.

Hands on her hips, he held her and began to thrust. In that slow, sensuous way she now knew so well. Turning her head, she saw his face. Alluring agony turned his features into harsh planes, his mouth into a tense gash. His entire being seemed to be concentrating on fucking her.

She loved it—loved to lift her bum to feel him smack hard against it. Her thighs shivered with the contact as his thrusts quickened. Her breasts bounced.

She angled forward, forcing her bottom back, taking him so deep she felt the push against her womb. She bent low, so her breasts grazed the silk sheets of the bed.

God, yes.

And he, the wonderful devil, began to thrust harder. So hard he lifted her to the very tips of her toes each time he drove deep.

Over and over. Faster and faster.

“Yes, be fierce!” she begged. “Be wild—I love this!” She felt the tug at her anus—felt her bottom slacken, open for him. His finger slid in. Once again he teased her derriere and her nub, while plunging in her quim—

Pleasure exploded inside her, raced through her, shattering between her thighs. Lush waves rolled over her. Her body sang to it, soared with it. She fell to the bed and he collapsed with her, buried deep. Lost in her own ecstasy, she dimly realized he was coming too. Groaning her name, jerking with his powerful release.

“God, God, it’s never been like this,” he vowed as he slumped against her back.

Did he truly mean it? How could she, a novice, give him pleasure that he’d never known before?

Heat. Venetia was curled up against something hot. She opened her eyes. The rumpled bed stretched before her—heat and the tickle of soft hair and satin skin was against her back. Marcus’ arm stretched over her. She rolled beneath it, to lie on her back. His eyes were open, thoughtful. Without words, with only a soft smile, she hooked her arms around his neck. He was hers—she knew it as she drew him down on top of her.

Was she dreaming? No—it was more wonderful than a dream.

He kissed her lavishly, then moved down her body and pleasured her quim with his mouth. Her thighs were sticky with his semen. He could taste his come and hers inside her…she was drenched, sore, but she felt desire mount. He suckled her until she came. The orgasm rippled over her and she fell back in rapture. The second left her gasping. The third left her delirious with sensual delight, unable to speak, her throat raspy from her cries.

She knew he was rigid. “Let me please you.” she whispered.

But he wouldn’t. He cradled her in his arm and reached down to wrap his large hand around his shaft. She didn’t understand. Why did he not want her?

Uncertainty must have shown in her eyes.

“You need to be treated gently.” He began pleasuring his organ in his tight fist. Venetia watched his thrusts, studying the rhythm, the pattern, the way he slid his palm over the head on every third stroke. Then, nervous, she reached down and fondled him, too. She squeezed the head. He moaned and came in a sudden rush of white seed onto her fingers and his. Together they’d pleasured him, and together they tumbled into sleep once more…

Freshly baked bread. The rich scent of chocolate. The scents swept into her dreams and Venetia blinked open her eyes. Her arms stretched wide across the bed. She was alone.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

Marcus’ soft, sensual voice brought her entirely awake. Sitting up, she saw him at her escritoire, a single candle casting warm light on his haggard face. His long legs stretched out on either side of the dainty seat. He was fully dressed. She saw her own handwriting slanting across the paper he held. Her list of suspects.

He pointed to the tray pulled up at her bedside. Enormous. Covered by silver dishes. Marcus walked over to it. “Apparently the cook sent up a magnificent feast to buoy your strength.”

Before her eyes, he seemed to throw off his tension, as though doing it to comfort her. Venetia sat up and hugged her knees. Strength! She had been shot at. She felt strangely calm about it now—as though it had not truly happened to her. Was it because she spent a night lost in erotic pleasures? Had making love given her the warm courage she now felt in her soul?