Surrender to the Devil
Page 36
“Yes,” came out on a sigh as though she could already feel the silken strands tumbling around her shoulders.
And they were like silk against his fingers as he searched for the pins that held her hair in place. Someone had gone to a great deal of bother with the ribbons, but even those he was able to work free and toss to the floor. Her hair began to fall and he gathered it in his hand, before leaning back and draping it over one shoulder. It pooled in her lap.
“Gorgeous,” he whispered.
“It’s unruly.”
He grinned. “I like unruly.”
Hungrily, he returned his mouth to hers. He knew she wasn’t innocent. God knew, she couldn’t work in a place like Dodger’s and remain innocent, but sometimes there was a hesitancy in her movements as though she wondered if the stroke of her tongue over his teeth was allowed, if he would object to her exploring his mouth as he did hers. He almost told her that he would find fault with nothing she did, but he didn’t want to break the spell of the moment. Bringing his hand up, he cradled her breast in his palm, relishing the weight of it. He skimmed his thumb over her nipple, felt it pearl in reaction to his touch. He wanted to feel it gliding across his tongue. He licked and kissed his way along her throat, dipped his tongue into the hollow at its base, before journeying farther down, slipping his finger into her bodice and lowering it, giving his mouth access to her creamy breast and her pale pink nipple.
Gasping, she dropped her head back, lost in bliss.
With practiced ease he turned her slightly and laid her back on the sofa as he knelt on the floor, then cursed himself because he wanted nothing with her to be what he’d done with a hundred others before. He wanted nothing to come easily. She was different, his Frannie Darling, in ways he couldn’t comprehend but wanted to explore at his leisure.
Cradling his face, she brought his mouth to hers and kissed him deeply, almost greedily. She’d put up so much resistance that he’d begun to doubt that she wanted him with the fervor that he desired her—but it was there: the passion, the desperation, the need to be touched.
He broke off from the kiss and nipped at her chin before giving his full attention to her one exposed breast. “Perfection,” he whispered on a heated breath before he closed his mouth over it.
She turned into him, her fingers clutching his shoulders. She was as untamed as the animals he’d observed in the wilds. She was not a proper miss. She held nothing back as she ran her hands into his hair, along his chest, beneath his waistcoat, as though she wished to touch all of him and was frustrated that so little of his flesh was available to her. But he knew if he began removing his clothes he’d be unable to stop. He’d break his promise. He’d take her here and now and damn the consequences. Unconvinced that she wanted the full measure of what he could give her, he reached down, slid his hand beneath her skirt, and skimmed his fingers up her leg.
She jerked and whimpered when he reached his destination: the honeyed center of her womanhood.
“Shh, shh,” he cooed as he rained kisses over her face. She was so wet, so hot, so ready to take what he couldn’t yet give without remorse. Never before had he hesitated with a woman, never before had he questioned his actions, never before had he wanted a woman to initiate what he would gladly finish. She was lost in passion, fevered with desire, and he wanted her to have no regrets, wanted it to go no further than she expected.
She clung to him, writhing against him as he used his fingers and mouth to heighten her pleasure. As her back arched, she gasped and he blanketed her mouth with his, swallowing her cry of pleasure, acutely aware of her heated body throbbing against his fingers, pulling from him a deep groan of satisfaction.
He’d never given pleasure without receiving in kind, but tonight it seemed imperative that he not take complete possession, even though it left him with an almost unbearable ache. Drawing back, he saw the wonder and tears in her eyes. She averted her face.
“Don’t turn away from me,” he pleaded.
“You said only a kiss.”
Cradling her face and turning her back toward him, he gave her a wry grin. “I fear I got carried away with wanting to bring you pleasure.”
She squeezed her eyes and a tear rolled down her cheek. Leaning in, he gathered it up with a kiss.
“It’s nothing to cry over, sweetheart.”
“I never…I didn’t know.” Her voice was rough, as though her throat was clogged with tears.
Astounded, he asked, “Has no one ever brought you pleasure before?”
She gave her head a quick shake. He shifted his gaze to where he’d raised her skirts, to her slender legs…
She was a virgin? How could that be? She worked in Dodger’s.
As a bookkeeper, not a whore, you stupid clod.
“What about you?” she asked softly.
He dragged his gaze back to her eyes. “Pardon?”
“You’re not…you didn’t.” Her cheeks burned a bright scarlet, obliterating her freckles.
“No, I didn’t, but I promised to take no more than a kiss. Tonight it is a promise I’ll keep.” Bringing her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to her fingertips. Little wonder the others were so protective of her.
Inside the coach, he held her as though he was loath to let her go. Frannie hadn’t expected that. But then there was little about him that did meet her expectations.
“I want to see you again,” Greystone said quietly.
“I’m not certain that’s wise. We are of different worlds, Your Grace. In yours, I am but one night and in mine you are destined to be merely a memory.”
And they were like silk against his fingers as he searched for the pins that held her hair in place. Someone had gone to a great deal of bother with the ribbons, but even those he was able to work free and toss to the floor. Her hair began to fall and he gathered it in his hand, before leaning back and draping it over one shoulder. It pooled in her lap.
“Gorgeous,” he whispered.
“It’s unruly.”
He grinned. “I like unruly.”
Hungrily, he returned his mouth to hers. He knew she wasn’t innocent. God knew, she couldn’t work in a place like Dodger’s and remain innocent, but sometimes there was a hesitancy in her movements as though she wondered if the stroke of her tongue over his teeth was allowed, if he would object to her exploring his mouth as he did hers. He almost told her that he would find fault with nothing she did, but he didn’t want to break the spell of the moment. Bringing his hand up, he cradled her breast in his palm, relishing the weight of it. He skimmed his thumb over her nipple, felt it pearl in reaction to his touch. He wanted to feel it gliding across his tongue. He licked and kissed his way along her throat, dipped his tongue into the hollow at its base, before journeying farther down, slipping his finger into her bodice and lowering it, giving his mouth access to her creamy breast and her pale pink nipple.
Gasping, she dropped her head back, lost in bliss.
With practiced ease he turned her slightly and laid her back on the sofa as he knelt on the floor, then cursed himself because he wanted nothing with her to be what he’d done with a hundred others before. He wanted nothing to come easily. She was different, his Frannie Darling, in ways he couldn’t comprehend but wanted to explore at his leisure.
Cradling his face, she brought his mouth to hers and kissed him deeply, almost greedily. She’d put up so much resistance that he’d begun to doubt that she wanted him with the fervor that he desired her—but it was there: the passion, the desperation, the need to be touched.
He broke off from the kiss and nipped at her chin before giving his full attention to her one exposed breast. “Perfection,” he whispered on a heated breath before he closed his mouth over it.
She turned into him, her fingers clutching his shoulders. She was as untamed as the animals he’d observed in the wilds. She was not a proper miss. She held nothing back as she ran her hands into his hair, along his chest, beneath his waistcoat, as though she wished to touch all of him and was frustrated that so little of his flesh was available to her. But he knew if he began removing his clothes he’d be unable to stop. He’d break his promise. He’d take her here and now and damn the consequences. Unconvinced that she wanted the full measure of what he could give her, he reached down, slid his hand beneath her skirt, and skimmed his fingers up her leg.
She jerked and whimpered when he reached his destination: the honeyed center of her womanhood.
“Shh, shh,” he cooed as he rained kisses over her face. She was so wet, so hot, so ready to take what he couldn’t yet give without remorse. Never before had he hesitated with a woman, never before had he questioned his actions, never before had he wanted a woman to initiate what he would gladly finish. She was lost in passion, fevered with desire, and he wanted her to have no regrets, wanted it to go no further than she expected.
She clung to him, writhing against him as he used his fingers and mouth to heighten her pleasure. As her back arched, she gasped and he blanketed her mouth with his, swallowing her cry of pleasure, acutely aware of her heated body throbbing against his fingers, pulling from him a deep groan of satisfaction.
He’d never given pleasure without receiving in kind, but tonight it seemed imperative that he not take complete possession, even though it left him with an almost unbearable ache. Drawing back, he saw the wonder and tears in her eyes. She averted her face.
“Don’t turn away from me,” he pleaded.
“You said only a kiss.”
Cradling her face and turning her back toward him, he gave her a wry grin. “I fear I got carried away with wanting to bring you pleasure.”
She squeezed her eyes and a tear rolled down her cheek. Leaning in, he gathered it up with a kiss.
“It’s nothing to cry over, sweetheart.”
“I never…I didn’t know.” Her voice was rough, as though her throat was clogged with tears.
Astounded, he asked, “Has no one ever brought you pleasure before?”
She gave her head a quick shake. He shifted his gaze to where he’d raised her skirts, to her slender legs…
She was a virgin? How could that be? She worked in Dodger’s.
As a bookkeeper, not a whore, you stupid clod.
“What about you?” she asked softly.
He dragged his gaze back to her eyes. “Pardon?”
“You’re not…you didn’t.” Her cheeks burned a bright scarlet, obliterating her freckles.
“No, I didn’t, but I promised to take no more than a kiss. Tonight it is a promise I’ll keep.” Bringing her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to her fingertips. Little wonder the others were so protective of her.
Inside the coach, he held her as though he was loath to let her go. Frannie hadn’t expected that. But then there was little about him that did meet her expectations.
“I want to see you again,” Greystone said quietly.
“I’m not certain that’s wise. We are of different worlds, Your Grace. In yours, I am but one night and in mine you are destined to be merely a memory.”
