Unexpected Pleasures (23 page)

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Authors: Mary Wine

BOOK: Unexpected Pleasures
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He lifted his eyes to lock stares with hers. There was such ferocious determination in his eyes she almost feared him.
But he chuckled softly and drew his finger down the center of her slit to the opening of her passage.
“Do you still not trust me, Justina?”
His finger circled the opening to her passage, sending short little jerks of need up into her belly. She felt empty, the walls of her passage yearning to be stretched around his length.
“Is that what this is? A test of my faith in you?”
He thrust one thick finger up into her body and she gasped. Sensation spiked through her, dragging her closer to the edge of climax but dropping her abruptly short of the cliff's edge.
“Yes.”
His tone was deep and rough. She opened her eyes to find him watching her with eyes flickering with flames so bright she would have sworn she felt the heat burning her face.
“I want to hear you cry out with pleasure while you know that I am taking none for myself.” His finger returned to the top of her slit, pressing down on top of her clitoris and wringing another cry from her.
“I want you to surrender, Justina, and take every bit of pleasure I give you, and I want to listen to you enjoy my touch without my own enjoyment interfering.”
It was too much to resist. His finger was pressing just hard enough to send her into a pulsing storm of need without granting her relief from the waves smashing into her. Her eyes closed and she arched up to his hand, seeking out the last bit of pressure that she craved, but he withdrew his touch, making her hiss with frustration.
“Stop teasing me, Synclair!”
“Only when you ask me for it, Justina.” Her eyes opened wide and she discovered him watching her while he held the phallus mere inches from the opening to her passage.
She wanted it. Craved it deep inside her, and yes, there was a part of her that wanted to know he pleasured her while gaining none himself.
She wanted to be the focus of his attention.
“Yes! Give me pleasure, Synclair! Make me cry with it.”
“My plan exactly.”
He pushed the toy forward, the smooth marble slipping easily into her. She gasped because it was just as hard as his cock and yet not as hot. He must have warmed it with his body because it wasn't cold, either. Her passage took it eagerly, stretching as he pushed it deeper and farther into her. Her back arched to make sure she took the entire length and pleasure began to twist through her belly. He had built her need up so much that she could already feel it beginning to crest. The phallus filled her completely and that was all her body needed to take what it craved.
“Not yet, my beauty.”
She was suddenly empty and frustration ripped a snarl from her lips.
Synclair chuckled at her and pushed the toy back into her body. She locked stares with him to discover no mercy in his eyes. There was nothing but determination and savage enjoyment of having her completely under his control.
“You will gain your pleasure when I decide, Justina.”
“Bastard.”
He pulled the marble length free in response, his expression unrelenting.
“Say you are mine, Justina, mine to do with as I please.”
“No!”
That single word was born from the years of being forced to obey. She surged up off the surface of the bed, determined to resist being put in her place once again. Synclair captured her, pulling her struggling body to his and locking her in place before rolling her onto her back once more.
“I won't ... I can't!”
He thrust his cock into her, filling her sheath with hot, hard flesh. His hands framed her face, forcing her to keep her eyes locked with his.
“You can trust me, Justina, for I will never take more from you than I give.” His hands tightened, pulling her hair while his cock felt as though it was growing larger. “I love you. I always have.”
His body bucked, shaking the bed as he began to ride her with hard motions.
“Oh God ... yes!”
She wanted to scream; she wanted him to make her scream in spite of every reason she had to refuse such an outburst.
“No mercy this time, Justina! Do you hear me? I am going to take you.”
“Yes!”
It was the only word her mind could form. Her body was a swirling storm of clashing sensations. Synclair pressed his hands flat on the surface of the bed and pushed his upper body away from hers. His hips were thrusting hard against her and she could hear their flesh slapping when it met.
“Wider ... spread yourself for me.”
His breath was raspy, and she didn't care if he was possessed of a demon that would devour her once he was finished, so long as he didn't stop. She lifted her feet and opened her legs wide so that he might drive his cock deeper and faster into her center. Her breasts were swaying with the motion of the bed. It was wild and she opened her eyes to see that Synclair looked more like a barbarian than any man she had ever seen.
The sight pleased her ...
“More!”
She reached up and grabbed the headboard, lifting her hips up to meet every hard thrust. Her eyes closed again as her body's pleasure took precedence over every thought. Pleasure was twisting in her belly so tightly, it felt like it would snap her in two when it finally crested. Justina didn't care. All that mattered was the driving need to keep pace with him, to urge him faster and harder and ...
Pleasure broke over her, tumbling her like a fallen tree in the grip of a storm. She twisted and thrashed as the climax tore through every inch of her flesh. There was no way to tell if it was pleasure or pain because it was so intense. Her heart threatened to burst with the effort of keeping pace and she cried out with enjoyment.
Synclair growled. It wasn't low or deep, it was a sound full of victory. His body bucked frantically a few final times before he shuddered and his seed began to spill deep inside her. He drove his length deep, intent on pumping it against the mouth of her womb. A second tremor ripped through her, deeper and weaker than the first climax, but her eyes flew open because she had never experienced a second climax before.
Her open eyes locked with those of her lover, mesmerizing her while the pleasure washed over her and left her lying helpless on the surface of the bed. If he had drawn a knife and made to slay her, she could not have moved.
His arms shook and bent until he was only an inch above her. Heat radiated off his body too hot to tolerate because her own body was so warm. Their breathing was raspy, filling the chamber with the sound of their panting. The bed jerked once again as he rolled over and landed on his back beside her. Her thighs ached when she moved them, surprising her because she couldn't recall noticing that her muscles were strained.
No, of course not, she had been too intent on the moment. On being possessed so very completely. Now there was only the rapture that coated her from head to toe; she couldn't think or move.
And she didn't want to either.
“Promise me that you will wed me, Justina. That is what I need to hear from your lips.”
Justina groaned but Synclair rolled onto his side, propping one elbow against the bed and resting his head in the palm of his hand. One brief glance showed her that the man was not in the mood to be denied his request.
“I do not understand what drives you, Synclair. We are good lovers but that is not what anyone should choose a wife for.”
He blew out a harsh breath and reached over to cup her chin when she would have looked away from him.
“I am not a boy, Justina. What you fail to grasp is the fact that I crave passion, deep, soul-shattering pleasure of the flesh, and I want a woman who can meet me in that desire. What I don't want is to keep a string of mistresses, discarding one after another and blaming them for the fact that true satisfaction requires a deep intimacy that is only found with a soul mate. I meant it; I love you.”
She witnessed it shimmering in his eyes, and also the first hint of fear she could ever recall seeing in him. She couldn't endure that fear, her heart rebelled against every logical reason her mind offered up to refuse him.
“I do love you, Synclair. More than you might ever know. That is why I persist in telling you—”
His mouth covered hers, sealing her well-meant arguments behind a kiss that was sweeter than anything she had ever known. It cut through the harsh edges of reality and burned every rule until there was nothing except the man kissing her. She reached for him and clung to the man she loved while he kissed her softly and the night closed around them.
“That is why you must belong to me.”
Synclair pulled the covers over them now that their bodies had slowed down enough for the winter chill to begin biting into them. Justina shivered and Synclair pulled her closer.
“Trust me, Justina.”
She heard his voice in her dreams and couldn't stop herself from doing it.
Bessie Portshire was happy. She hummed a little tune of springtime while making her way toward Justina's chambers. There were personal guards for the Viscount Biddeford standing at the entrance to the area, but she did not allow them to concern her. Most of the higher nobles set their retainers to securing the area around where they lived in the palace. Her own father did the same.
“I am here to see the Lady Wincott.”
“The lady's chambers are on the right, third door.”
The men did not bar her path. They didn't even look directly at her but kept their eyes on the hallway in back of her. Bessie smiled and counted the doors before lifting her hand and rapping softly on the third one. She glanced back down the hallway and was grateful to see that she had escaped everyone who seemed to be forever clinging to her skirts. She drew a deep breath, eager to spend the evening with someone she wouldn't need to guard her expression against or consider each word before she muttered it. Sometimes, being the daughter of a duke was exhausting.
The door opened and a maid stood there with her head bowed. Bessie entered quickly, intent on having the door shut and enjoying some rare privacy. The maid closed the door with a soft sound before she walked to a table and began pouring a glass of mulled wine for her.
Bessie could smell the cloves, and it made her smile, for it touched off memories of evenings spent with her mother when she was still too young for court. She missed those simpler winter days.
“The mistress shall attend you shortly, Lady Portshire. Lady Wincott requests that you enjoy the wine while you wait.” The maid brought her the goblet on a small tray, the scent of other spices growing stronger as the servant drew close. Bessie picked it up and sniffed at the dark brew. She detected a hint of nutmeg and cinnamon along with the cloves. Considering that it was not a feast day, such spices were a treat. She sipped at it and smiled when she tasted sweet sugar. Her mother had always feared that her teeth might rot because she liked sweets too much, so sugar had always been locked away and only allowed for celebrations.
Bessie drank more of the wine, enjoying the way it seemed to coat her tongue. The maid disappeared on quiet steps while Bessie continued to enjoy the wine.
 
“Wait.”
Francis de Canis placed a hand on Biddeford's chest to keep him from entering the room where Bessie was nursing her goblet of tainted wine.
“Give it a bit to do its job.”
“I want her to know that she is being drugged.” Biddeford pushed the hand aside that de Canis had put on him. “I have wasted a great deal of time courting that girl. It will be very satisfying to watch her fear when she hears that she will lose her wits.”
“The potion doesn't work that way. She will be as impressible as a child, open to suggestion, but easily frightened, too.”
The viscount made a disgusted sound beneath his breath.

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