The Raven Prince (18 page)

Anna beheaded a kipper and poked the tines of her fork into its side. She should have expected it, but she hadn’t. The problem was that while she had been making love, he had been . . . well . . . having sex. With a nameless prostitute. It was very depressing.

She made a face at her decapitated kipper. And what in heaven’s name was she supposed to do about tonight? She hadn’t planned on staying in London more than two nights. She should be leaving for home today on the first coach. Instead, she sat in Coral’s breakfast room mashing up an innocent kipper.

Anna was still frowning moodily when Coral strolled into the room wearing a sheer, pale-pink wrapper trimmed with swan’s down feathers.

The other woman stopped and eyed her. “Did he not come to the room last night?”

“What?” It took a moment for Anna to register the question. “Oh. Yes. Yes, he came to the room.” She blushed and hurriedly took a sip of tea.

Coral helped herself to some coddled eggs and toast from the sideboard and gracefully dropped into a chair across from Anna. “Was he too rough?”

“No.”

“You did not enjoy it?” the other woman pressed. “He couldn’t bring you to climax?”

Anna nearly choked on her tea in her embarrassment. “No! I mean,
yes.
It was quite enjoyable.”

Coral unperturbedly poured herself a cup of tea. “Then why do I find you this morning morose when you should have stars in your eyes?”

“I don’t know!” Anna found to her horror that she had raised her voice. What was the matter with her? Coral was right, she’d gotten her wish, spent a night with the earl, and still she was dissatisfied. What a contrary creature she was!

The other woman had arched her eyebrows at her tone.

Anna crumbled a bit of toast, unable to meet her eyes. “He wants me to go back tonight.”

“Rea-lly.” The other woman drew out the word. “That is interesting.”

“I shouldn’t go.”

Coral sipped her tea.

“He might recognize me if we meet again.” Anna pushed the kipper to one side of her plate. “It would be so unladylike to return a second night.”

“Yes, I do see your problem,” Coral murmured. “One night at a brothel is perfectly respectable, whilst two comes perilously close to being dιclassι.”

Anna glared.

Coral smiled whimsically at her. “Why don’t we go shopping for those fabrics you told your mother-in-law you would be bringing back. It will give you time to think. You can make up your mind later this afternoon.”

“What a very good idea. Thank you.” Anna set her fork down. “I’d better go change.”

She rose from the table and hurried out of the morning room, her spirits lifting. She only wished she could abandon her thoughts of tonight as easily as her breakfast. Despite what she’d told Coral, Anna was very much afraid that she’d already made up her mind.

She was going to return to Aphrodite’s Grotto and Lord Swartingham again.

T
HAT NIGHT, THE
earl entered the room where Anna waited without saying a word. The only sounds were the quiet shush of the door closing and the crackle of the fire. She watched him pace forward, his face in shadow. Slowly, he shrugged out of his coat, his big shoulders bunching. And then she glided to him before he could make the first move, before he could take control. She stood on tiptoe to kiss his mouth. But he deflected the movement, drawing her close to his body instead.

She was determined this time to make their dance more personal, to make him understand that she was real. To touch at least some of him. She took advantage of her position and quickly worked the buttons on his waistcoat open. It came undone and she attacked the shirt beneath.

He reached to catch her hands, but she already had the shirt partly undone. She greedily reached for her prize: his flat, masculine nipples. Her fingers stroked through his chest hair until she found them; then she swayed forward and licked his nipples as he’d done the night before to hers, feeling vaguely triumphant that she’d gained the upper hand so soon. His hands fell away from where they had risen to catch her wrists. He caressed her bottom instead.

His height was a hindrance to her—she couldn’t reach all that she wanted. So she pushed him back into one of the armchairs by the fire. It was important to her that she win this battle tonight.

He sprawled there, his shirt half-open in the firelight. She knelt between his outspread legs and slid her hands into his shirt, all the way up to his shoulders; then her fingers smoothed down his arms, taking the fabric with them. She pulled the shirt off him and let it fall to the floor. That left her free to run her hands over his beautiful, muscled shoulders and arms. She moaned her delight in finally being able to feel the power and warmth of his body. She felt light-headed with anticipation.

He stirred and brought her hands to the front of his breeches. Her fingers trembled, but she brushed his hands aside when he tried to help her. She pushed the concealed buttons through their holes, feeling his erection growing all the while beneath her fingers; then she reached inside to draw him out.

He was gorgeous. Thick and large, with pulsing veins that stood out along his shaft. A swollen crest. The sight filled her with heat. She made a crooning sound in her throat and spread the placket of his breeches as far as it would go so she could look at his chest and stomach and penis. She adored the sight: the black wiry curls of his pubic hair, the thick column, standing now to his navel, and the heavy sac of his testes beneath. His naked skin gleamed, as if gilded by the firelight.

He growled and ran his fingers into the hair behind her head. He gently urged her mouth down to his penis. For a moment, she hesitated. She’d never . . . Did she dare? Then she remembered their battle. This was but one skirmish, but it was important she win them all. And besides, she was excited at simply the thought. It was this last that decided her.

Tentatively, she grasped his erection and brought it away from his belly to her lips. She looked up. His face was flushed with arousal. Her eyelids lowered, and she enveloped the crown of his penis in her mouth. His hips jerked when her tongue touched him, and she felt the triumph rise in her again. She could control a man this way. She could control
this
man. She glanced up again. He was watching her as she licked and suckled his manhood, his ebony eyes glittering in the firelight. His fingers flexed in her hair.

She let her eyelids fall as she brought her mouth down as far as she could over his length. Then she slowly pulled up, pursing her lips and sucking on the thick shaft as it withdrew from her mouth. She heard him moan, and his pelvis arched convulsively. She licked around the ridge below the head. It felt like chamois over iron and tasted of male musk, the salt of sweat, and victory. Surely after this—after tonight—things would somehow be different. She explored that area with her tongue for a while. Then she felt his hand cover hers. He guided her fingers in a slow stroke up and down.

He groaned.

She moved her hand faster as he urged her to take his penis into her mouth again with a nudge of his hips. This time when she drew back up to the head, she tasted a saline drop at the tip. She licked the slit at the top to see if there was more. He groaned again. Anna wriggled in excitement. She’d never done anything so sexually stimulating in her life. Her body was damp and slick, and her breasts seemed to throb with each groan she wrung from him.

His hips began to move rhythmically as she worked him. The sensuous, liquid sounds of her mouth on his body were explicit in the still room. Suddenly he bucked, gasping, and tried to withdraw from her mouth. She wanted to feel his finish, though, wanted to experience this intimacy together, wanted to be with him at his most vulnerable. She held on and sucked more strongly. Tangy warmth filled her mouth. She almost came herself with the knowledge that she’d brought him complete satisfaction.

He sighed and bent down to draw her into his lap. They sprawled there for a while, the fire in the grate snapping. She leaned her head on his shoulder and pulled her hair out of her eyes with a hooked little finger. After a time, he drew her gown from her breasts. Languidly, he played with her nipples, stroking and squeezing gently for many minutes.

Anna drifted, her eyes half closed.

Then he lifted her to pull the gown all the way off. He turned her around and settled her on his lap, naked and facing him. Her legs draped over the chair’s arms. She was splayed before him. Vulnerable.

Was this what she wanted? She wasn’t sure. But then his fingers feathered across her belly, down to where she was open to him, and she no longer cared. He played in her curls before skimming lower. She inhaled sharply, waiting—anticipating—where he would touch her next.

He stroked through her, parting her down there.

She bit her lip.

Then he brought his fingers up, wet with her juices and smeared them over her nipples. Vaguely she was aware that she should be shocked, but somehow in this place, with this man, she was beyond the mores of society. He worked her nipples, sliding and tugging as he made sure they were both thoroughly covered with her body’s moisture.

She caught her breath at the animal sensation. It was so crude, what he was doing, and it excited her terribly.

He bent his head and sucked a nipple into his mouth. He had made sure to sensitize her flesh, and she moaned and arched uncontrollably at the contact. He returned to her mound and slid his long, strong middle finger into her hollow. His thumb flicked across her stiff bud, and at the same time, he moved his finger in her.

Mewling noises built in her throat. She felt moisture sliding between her thighs.

He chuckled and brought his thumb down firmly on her sensitive knot. He suckled at her other breast. The sharp sensations at two different points of her body mingled and compounded one another until she grabbed his shoulders and arched her hips involuntarily. He brought his other hand to her back and held her steady as his thumb began to rotate.

She came explosively, gasping and shaking. She tried to close her legs, but the chair held them open. She could only hump her hips mindlessly as he pleasured her. Finally, when she began to whimper, he lifted her bottom and pushed her down on his manhood.

His breathing was labored as he slowly penetrated her slick passage. He forced her down relentlessly until she’d taken all of his thick warmth and was stretched almost painfully open. Then he carefully lifted her legs, one at a time, over the chair arms and brought them to either side of him. He lifted her up onto her knees so that just the head of his erection remained, stretching her entrance. He kept her there, balanced on top of his penis while he sucked and licked at her swinging nipples.

She moaned. He was driving her out of her mind. Frantically she tried to sink down on his burning erection, but he laughed darkly and held her poised on the edge of pleasure. She tried swiveling her hips, swirling the crown in her passage.

He broke at that, pulling her down on him again and surging into her almost violently.

Oh, yes.
She smiled savagely in satisfaction. She rode him, watching his face. He caressed her breasts and tilted his head against the chair. His eyes were closed, his lips drawn back from his teeth in a near snarl; the flickering firelight made a demon’s mask of his features.

Then he lightly pulled on both her nipples at the same time, and her own head arched at the sensation. Her hair cascaded down her back, swinging and brushing both her legs and his. She began to come in long, drawn-out waves, her vision clouding. His hips bucked against hers. He grabbed the cheeks of her bottom to hold her down on him, his penis fully sheathed in her passage as he ground and ground and ground against her softness, his head rolling against the chair as he came.

She fell forward, panting in the aftermath, to lie against his naked shoulder as he cradled her in his arms.

His face was half turned away, and she lazily watched him as he recovered. The lines that habitually creased his forehead and bracketed his mouth were softened. His long, inky lashes lay on his cheeks, hiding his piercing eyes. She wanted to stroke his face, to feel it with her fingertips. But by this time, she knew that he would not allow it.

Had she won what she wanted? She felt tears sting the corners of her eyes. Somehow it wasn’t right. The lovemaking had been even more wonderful tonight. But at the same time, as if in proportion to her physical ecstasy, she felt the gaping hole in her psyche more keenly. Something was missing.

He suddenly sighed and shifted. His flesh slid from hers. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, laying her down gently. She shivered and tugged the coverlet over her shoulders, watching him. She wanted to speak, but what could she say?

He buttoned his shirt, tucked it in his breeches, and then buttoned those as well. He ran his fingers through his hair and grabbed his coat and waistcoat, walking to the door in the loose-jointed way of a man recently satisfied. He paused by the door. “Tomorrow.”

And then he was gone.

Anna lay there a minute, listening to his retreating footsteps, feeling melancholy. She was roused by bawdy laughter somewhere in the house. She got up and cleaned herself with the water and towels that sat conveniently by. Anna tossed the wet cloth down and then looked at it. The basin and linens were provided with the room to wash after a sexual encounter. It made her feel tawdry, like a whore, and wasn’t she perilously close to that state? She was letting physical desire so rule her that she met a lover in a brothel.