Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord
Page 74
Isabel watched, transfixed, as his strong, tanned hands caressed the angle of the statue’s jaw, his fingertips tracing the line of her neck. He kept talking, his hands following his dark, lush words. “Her pleasure is articulated in the way her shoulders are thrown back, the way one arm reaches up to absently touch her hair, the way the other crosses her rounded stomach, as though to still the trembling there.”
Without thinking, Isabel’s hand mirrored the action of the statue. His words, the way his hands stroked softly across the marble, it was enough to shake her to her core. She looked to him then, meeting his fiery blue gaze, seeing the knowledge in his eyes, the passion there. He knew what he was doing. He was seducing her.
When he turned back to the statue, Isabel sucked in a long breath. “But perhaps the most telling indicator of her emotion is here.” He ran a hand across the smooth white marble to cup one of the statue’s br**sts in his hand. “Her br**sts are fuller than those of other Roman statues of the time …”
How could he remain so unmoved?
“And she is anatomically perfect. You will note the hint of a hardened nipple …” Isabel bit her lip as she watched the circling of his thumb, resisting the urge to mimic his motions.
She wanted his hands on her.
She released the breath she had been holding on a long, shaking sigh, barely audible. But he heard it. His head snapped toward her, and he released Voluptas. He met Isabel’s gaze, and she noted that his eyes had darkened to a lovely, promising blue. “Shall I continue?”
She took a step toward him, coming as close as she could without touching him. She noted the tension in his shoulders then, the muscle that twitched in his cheek in a motion that she was learning to recognize as restraint. He wanted to touch her, but was waiting for her move.
Well, she was through restraining herself.
Isabel set her hands to his chest, then used him as leverage to stand up on her toes, to get as close to him as possible. When she answered, she was not certain where the words came from. “Not with the statue.”
She kissed him.
There was an exhilaration that came from taking one’s own pleasure, Isabel discovered. He remained still under her kiss, not touching her, not moving against her lips, and Isabel realized that he was allowing her to take the reins.
She found she liked that idea very much.
She wanted to laugh at the heady sensation of her newfound power. But that did not seem at all appropriate.
She slid her hands up, wrapping them around his neck, pressing her body fully against his. He set his hands to her hips, holding her steady, and the feel of his warmth there through the layers of her dress sent a heady wanting through her. She opened her lips against his, softening, making it known that she was willing to be here, in this room, in his arms. When he did not take her mouth, she ran her tongue tentatively along his full, firm bottom lip.
And discovered the key that unlocked the lion.
He groaned against her, parting his lips and allowing her access to his dark, wicked mouth. She was nervous at first, unwilling to take what it was that she had asked for, but when his arms wrapped around her, all warm steel, and pulled her tight against him, caution was lost. Their tongues met, stroked, tangled, and it was long moments before he broke the kiss and lifted her to stand on the low pedestal with Voluptas.
Breaking the kiss, he commanded, “Stay,” and moved away to close the door that she had agonizingly left open. When the task was completed, he approached her, and she was struck by the way he stalked her, like a lean, powerful predator. Her heart was pounding in her ears as he came closer, finally stopping in front of her, appraising her as he had the statue.
Her position made her several inches taller than he was, and when she could no longer resist, she reached out to run her fingers through his hair, tilting his face up so she could look at him. His eyes glittered with unspoken promise, and she watched as his scar turned white under her gaze. She placed one lingering kiss on the end of the mark, just at the corner of his eyebrow, then took his mouth again in a heady kiss.
His hands spread over her body, encouraging her boldness, running up the side of her bodice to the place where fabric gave way to skin. Pulling away, briefly, he set his mouth to her neck, scraping his teeth along the rigid tendons there as she tilted her head back from the pleasure of the caress. He tugged at the top of her bodice, pulling until one breast came free of its bindings, and he paused, marveling at the straining tip, in line with his mouth. “My real-life Voluptas,” he whispered, the heat of his breath causing her nipple to harden even more before he set his lips and tongue and teeth to her breast and feasted upon her.
She clutched his head to her with a cry of pleasure, and lost herself to the powerful sensations that coursed through her at every knowing stroke, every magnificent tug. When he finally lifted his head, they were both breathing heavily, and she was leaning on his shoulders to remain upright.
“Before we go further,” he said, his words coming in harsh breaths, “I think we should discuss the matter of our marriage.”
She did not want him to stop. Could they not discuss this later? She reached for him. “Yes.”
He kissed her again, tugging her head down for a drugging caress that left her barely able to think. “Yes, what?”
What had they been discussing?
“What?”
He smiled, and the full force of his pleasure twisted something deep inside her. “Isabel. I think we should marry.”
She smiled back at him. “I agree.”
“Good girl.” He rewarded her with another long kiss before lifting her arms above her head placing her hands around the neck of the statue, her back bare and elongated against the cool marble goddess. Once he had positioned her to his liking, he returned his attention to her br**sts. She gasped when his teeth scraped along the edge of her nipple before his tongue soothed the ache there, and again when she felt cool air beneath her skirts, his hands chasing up her legs to find the place where she ached for his touch. He lifted his head. “Shall we do it soon?”
Without thinking, Isabel’s hand mirrored the action of the statue. His words, the way his hands stroked softly across the marble, it was enough to shake her to her core. She looked to him then, meeting his fiery blue gaze, seeing the knowledge in his eyes, the passion there. He knew what he was doing. He was seducing her.
When he turned back to the statue, Isabel sucked in a long breath. “But perhaps the most telling indicator of her emotion is here.” He ran a hand across the smooth white marble to cup one of the statue’s br**sts in his hand. “Her br**sts are fuller than those of other Roman statues of the time …”
How could he remain so unmoved?
“And she is anatomically perfect. You will note the hint of a hardened nipple …” Isabel bit her lip as she watched the circling of his thumb, resisting the urge to mimic his motions.
She wanted his hands on her.
She released the breath she had been holding on a long, shaking sigh, barely audible. But he heard it. His head snapped toward her, and he released Voluptas. He met Isabel’s gaze, and she noted that his eyes had darkened to a lovely, promising blue. “Shall I continue?”
She took a step toward him, coming as close as she could without touching him. She noted the tension in his shoulders then, the muscle that twitched in his cheek in a motion that she was learning to recognize as restraint. He wanted to touch her, but was waiting for her move.
Well, she was through restraining herself.
Isabel set her hands to his chest, then used him as leverage to stand up on her toes, to get as close to him as possible. When she answered, she was not certain where the words came from. “Not with the statue.”
She kissed him.
There was an exhilaration that came from taking one’s own pleasure, Isabel discovered. He remained still under her kiss, not touching her, not moving against her lips, and Isabel realized that he was allowing her to take the reins.
She found she liked that idea very much.
She wanted to laugh at the heady sensation of her newfound power. But that did not seem at all appropriate.
She slid her hands up, wrapping them around his neck, pressing her body fully against his. He set his hands to her hips, holding her steady, and the feel of his warmth there through the layers of her dress sent a heady wanting through her. She opened her lips against his, softening, making it known that she was willing to be here, in this room, in his arms. When he did not take her mouth, she ran her tongue tentatively along his full, firm bottom lip.
And discovered the key that unlocked the lion.
He groaned against her, parting his lips and allowing her access to his dark, wicked mouth. She was nervous at first, unwilling to take what it was that she had asked for, but when his arms wrapped around her, all warm steel, and pulled her tight against him, caution was lost. Their tongues met, stroked, tangled, and it was long moments before he broke the kiss and lifted her to stand on the low pedestal with Voluptas.
Breaking the kiss, he commanded, “Stay,” and moved away to close the door that she had agonizingly left open. When the task was completed, he approached her, and she was struck by the way he stalked her, like a lean, powerful predator. Her heart was pounding in her ears as he came closer, finally stopping in front of her, appraising her as he had the statue.
Her position made her several inches taller than he was, and when she could no longer resist, she reached out to run her fingers through his hair, tilting his face up so she could look at him. His eyes glittered with unspoken promise, and she watched as his scar turned white under her gaze. She placed one lingering kiss on the end of the mark, just at the corner of his eyebrow, then took his mouth again in a heady kiss.
His hands spread over her body, encouraging her boldness, running up the side of her bodice to the place where fabric gave way to skin. Pulling away, briefly, he set his mouth to her neck, scraping his teeth along the rigid tendons there as she tilted her head back from the pleasure of the caress. He tugged at the top of her bodice, pulling until one breast came free of its bindings, and he paused, marveling at the straining tip, in line with his mouth. “My real-life Voluptas,” he whispered, the heat of his breath causing her nipple to harden even more before he set his lips and tongue and teeth to her breast and feasted upon her.
She clutched his head to her with a cry of pleasure, and lost herself to the powerful sensations that coursed through her at every knowing stroke, every magnificent tug. When he finally lifted his head, they were both breathing heavily, and she was leaning on his shoulders to remain upright.
“Before we go further,” he said, his words coming in harsh breaths, “I think we should discuss the matter of our marriage.”
She did not want him to stop. Could they not discuss this later? She reached for him. “Yes.”
He kissed her again, tugging her head down for a drugging caress that left her barely able to think. “Yes, what?”
What had they been discussing?
“What?”
He smiled, and the full force of his pleasure twisted something deep inside her. “Isabel. I think we should marry.”
She smiled back at him. “I agree.”
“Good girl.” He rewarded her with another long kiss before lifting her arms above her head placing her hands around the neck of the statue, her back bare and elongated against the cool marble goddess. Once he had positioned her to his liking, he returned his attention to her br**sts. She gasped when his teeth scraped along the edge of her nipple before his tongue soothed the ache there, and again when she felt cool air beneath her skirts, his hands chasing up her legs to find the place where she ached for his touch. He lifted his head. “Shall we do it soon?”
