Captive of Sin (26 page)

As slowly as if he waded through deep water, Gideon raised his ruined hands. He set them on either side of her head and tipped her face up.

The moment held untold importance. It was as if he’d never touched her before. The brush of his scarred palms on her cheeks made her shiver with pleasure. He stared at her, flicking back stray tendrils of her hair with his thumbs.

With spine-tingling attention, his gaze traced her features. His black eyes glowed as if he looked upon his soul’s desire. Deep in her bones, she finally recognized that he loved her and always would. He didn’t want to love her, but he did. Perhaps he’d never say the words again, but the awe and worship on his face crushed any lingering doubts to dust.

A shaky sigh escaped her. His eyes focused on her parted lips. She grew taut with uncontrollable longing. Surely he’d kiss her like he’d kissed her this afternoon. She desperately wanted him to kiss her again. Her hands curled into his hips to urge him closer.

“You’re so beautiful, you break my heart,” he murmured.

“Gideon…” she choked out.

Any further response to that astonishing declaration was lost as with sudden decisiveness, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.

Gideon felt the moist cushion of her lips flatten against her teeth. Then, sweet moment indeed, she sighed and parted to let him in. He thrust his tongue inside, testing the hard smoothness of her teeth, the hot honey of the interior. His heart raised a paean of rejoicing as her tongue fluttered, retreated, returned to stroke and caress.

She learned fast, his darling wife. Only this afternoon, his deep kiss had shocked her. Only yesterday, he would have been incapable of touching her, let alone sharing this astonishingly sensual kiss.

Every second he held Charis in his arms felt like a miracle.

Very deliberately, he licked the roof of her mouth, the insides of her cheeks, delighting in the contrasting textures. Delighting in her response as her tongue brushed the sensitive underside of his.

She moaned and pressed her mouth harder against his. He sank into hot, succulent blackness.

He lifted his head and rested his forehead against hers. They panted, sharing the small space of air between them. The act felt as intimate as that extraordinary kiss. As if one life united them.

Feverishly, he slid his hand up her rib cage to where her breasts strained against her bodice. He slid his hand under the neckline, found a pebbled nipple, and pulled gently.

“Yes,” she sighed, and traced the line of his mouth with her tongue.

Hunger slammed through him. Drowning out all other sound, his blood thundered. He leaned forward and bit her lower lip. She shivered with excitement, her hips jerking against him.

“If you want that dress to stay in one piece, take it off,” he said unsteadily.

She gave a breathless gust of laughter. She hooked her hand around his neck and sent him a scorching glance under her eyelashes. “You’ll have to help. It laces up the back.”

“Damn fool fashion,” he grunted.

Her face was flushed with need. Her lips were swollen and red with their frantic kisses. Her eyes were a deep and mysterious green. Tarns in the Penrhyn woods. He moved his thumb against her cheek, feeling the warm smoothness of her skin, the sticky remnants of tears.

She pressed her cheek into his ravaged hand. How quickly he’d accepted that his injuries didn’t repulse her. Odd when he’d nearly died of shame revealing them.

He’d intended the searing honesty to break the connection between them, destroy her foolish infatuation at last. Instead, uncovering his secrets forced him to admit he was her slave and always would be.

“I don’t want you to see anyone but me,” she said huskily. Her voice was thick with the tears she’d shed. He wished he could promise there would be no more sorrow, but even at this joyful moment, he knew that would be a lie.

“I don’t.” He swallowed to dislodge the painful constriction in his throat. “I won’t.”

Gideon kissed her again. The desperate urge to possess faded, and his mouth moved with piercing tenderness. He raised his head and looked deep into her eyes. Her spirit shone clear for him to see. Brave. Generous. Honest. So full of love, it left him humbled.

He gently turned her around and began to undo the pretty red dress. Inch by inch, clumsy as a lad with his first woman, he revealed the smooth skin of her back. He pushed apart the edges and traced a line of kisses between her shoulder blades. Her breath faltered, then quickened. She lowered her head. He accepted the unspoken invitation and kissed a path up to her hairline. Her scent was stronger there. Carnations. Warm skin. Woman.
Charis.

He buried his nose in the soft mass of hair and breathed deep, drawing her essence into his lungs. Into his heart.

He returned to unhooking her dress. “I’ll need all night to get you out of this confounded rag,” he growled in frustration, as yet another fiddly attachment refused to cooperate.

“Are you in such a hurry?”

The wench laughed at him. God help him, he liked it. “Yes.”

Finally, the hook released. He turned his attention to the next one down. The line stretched endlessly.

She flexed her shoulders, and he fought the urge to bend
her over the nearest chair and take her from behind. This morning he’d leaped on her with a passion unlike any he’d ever known. The need to thrust his aching cock into her tonight made this morning’s passion seem a mere milk-and-water fancy.

Patience, Trevithick. Calm down. She deserves better than a quick tumble. She deserves every ounce of skill you can muster.

He sucked in a breath and spoke more steadily as he reconsidered his earlier answer. “No. I want to show you everything you’ve missed.”

Another of those voluptuous shivers rippled through her. Dear God, when she did that, he threatened to explode.

He rode the surge of desire and concentrated on the next hook. After spending the last week in rags, he could understand she didn’t want to ruin the dress. But if the damned thing didn’t come off soon, he’d shred it.

“Show me everything?”

Her overt curiosity made him smile. “Well, everything might require more than one night.”

Her quivering sigh was answer in itself.

As though he unveiled something sacred, he slid the dress down her slender body.

Gideon’s breath stopped.

She still wore corset, shift, petticoats. The sheer covering did little to hide the glories beneath. His rod throbbed, but he ignored its greedy insistence.

His eyes traveled down her straight spine to the firm bottom, pressing enticingly against the white lawn. With shaking hands, he released the tapes holding her petticoats. They fell with a whisper.

He’d never undressed an Englishwoman. Never dealt with such complicated garments. His Indian lovers had worn the graceful native costume. He had a sudden yen to see Charis in exotic silks.

One day…

He stepped in front of his bride. She was slender and graceful as a young willow. His gaze traced the lovely curves, returned to her breasts, pushed up by the corset to press against the chemise.

She raised her arms with a gesture of such natural sensuality, his heart jammed in his throat. A few deft tugs, and her hair fell in a curtain of shimmering bronze. Her scent filled the air so thickly, he thought he could touch it.

She blushed under his fiery regard. It surprised him how she suddenly became the shy, inexperienced girl.

She was a shy, inexperienced girl.

He must remember that. The unfettered passion in her kisses was deceptive. He turned her around again and tugged at the corset laces. “Infernal contraption.”

She laughed softly as he finally found the knack of it. Desperation lent his fingers a deftness they’d lacked earlier. He burned to see her body without all these confounded draperies spoiling his view.

Swiftly, he slipped the corset off and draped it over the chair he’d fantasized bending her across. Cold sweat covered his skin. If he didn’t control himself, he wouldn’t survive this interminable disrobing. “Why do Englishwomen wear so many clothes?”

“Perhaps to torment Englishmen?” She turned to face him.

“You’re wearing nothing for the rest of the week.”

She gave a throaty giggle that made his gut clench with desire. “You’ll shock the servants.”

“The servants can go to Hades.” He tugged the delicate shift over her head. With a satisfied gesture, he tossed it to the side, not caring where it landed.

Charis’s color mounted, and she raised shaking hands to cover her bosom. He bit back a groan and drew her close for a long, openmouthed kiss. She kissed him back with gratifying enthusiasm, her brief shyness fading.

Again, he reminded himself to be careful, considerate, controlled.

Difficult to remember restraint when her hands ran up and down his back in a wild dance of desire. Or when her mouth clung to his as if she’d die if he stopped kissing her.

Slowly, he slid his hands up to cup her breasts. Her white flesh was exquisite, the nipples firm and dark. He couldn’t resist sucking one sweet point into his mouth. She cried out and arched closer.

He licked and suckled, following the broken pattern of her breath to test her arousal. When she moaned and trembled in his arms as though tossed in a storm, only then did he turn his attention to her other nipple.

His patience with her clothing had vanished long ago. With one ruthless movement, he ripped her drawers away. Now nothing separated him from her body. She gasped with shock and tugged at his hair. The fleeting pain only built his arousal.

He continued feasting on her breasts while one hand fell to the curls at the base of her belly. For a moment of delicate suspense, his fingers tangled in the damp softness.

He drew on her puckered nipple and slid his hand between her legs. She moaned, and a shudder ran through her. Her hand curled against the bare skin of his back. Parting her, he explored her folds. He took his time, savoring the delight.

She thrust her hips forward. He twisted his fingers, seeking. He stroked sleek petals.

And found his goal.

Very carefully, he touched her, teasing without initiating climax. Even so, her body tightened in immediate, uncontrollable response. Her soft, guttural cry alerted him to how close she was.

He raised his head from her breasts. More than he wanted to live another day, he wanted to watch her face during her first orgasm. To his shame, she hadn’t come close to her peak when he’d taken her before.

By God, she’d come tonight. Over and over. Until neither of them saw straight.

Her head tilted back, her breasts jutted forward, her eyes
flickered closed, her lips parted on a raw moan as he touched her again, with greater purpose. He increased the pressure. She shivered, and he felt a sharp sting as her nails dug into his back.

She stiffened on a cry, and he felt her cross the barrier. Sensual pleasure roared through his veins as he watched her find bliss. Her trembling thighs clamped around his hand, her body quivered as though she had a fever. Hot female moisture drenched his fingers. Her heady scent was rich in his nostrils.

She’d never looked more beautiful. He’d remember this sight till the day he died. He’d remember it with gratitude and love.

After a long, shuddering moment, Charis opened misty eyes and stared at him in bewildered astonishment. “Gideon?” Her voice was hoarse and low.

Reluctantly he withdrew his hand. “Are you all right?”

“I…I think so.” She sounded more surprised than ecstatic. “What was that?”

He laughed softly. “A taste of what’s to come, my darling.”

Before she could question him further, he snatched her up for another kiss. After what she’d just experienced, her response was deliriously uninhibited. For the first time, her tongue invaded his mouth. The kiss became aggressive. She strained against him. Her nipples pressed into his chest, her arms encircled his neck, her hips thrust into his with an evocative rhythm.

Need surged like a tidal wave. But unlike this morning, it was need tempered by care. He intended to find joy tonight, but more than that, he intended Charis to find joy.

He swung her into his arms and carried her toward the bedroom. In graceful surrender, she rested her head in the crook of his shoulder.

“It’s time, my wife.”

He staked a claim he knew he had no right to make. But neither God nor the devil would stop him now. The world had stolen so much from him. It wouldn’t steal this.

He kicked open the door. It crashed against the wall. Overwhelmingly conscious of her naked body and the moist brush of her breath against his skin, he strode across to the bed.

He laid his precious burden upon the sheets. He waited for her to cover her breasts or her sex, but she lay motionless, open to his gaze.

Perfect.

Time halted while he drank in her beauty. She still wore stockings and slippers, tied with ribbons around her neat ankles.

“Why are you smiling?”

He hadn’t realized he was. “There’s no end to an Englishwoman’s armor. I’d forgotten your blasted shoes.”

To his surprise and delight, she raised one leg and pointed her toes in his direction. He caught a tantalizing glimpse of the dark mysteries between her thighs. The sight made his cock swell and strain with agonizing need. He locked his teeth and fought back the rip of desire. He was going to do this right. And that meant maintaining at least a shred of control.

“Why don’t you take them off?” she asked in a sultry voice he’d never heard from her before.

He wasn’t giving her everything her own way. He let his smile broaden, become knowing. “Later.”

His hands dropped to his waistband, and he roughly tugged his trousers open. Her eyes rounded. She licked her lips. His arousal built another notch, bathing his body in sweat. His heart raced with excitement.

Swiftly, he tugged off the rest of his clothes. He hadn’t undressed in front of a woman since well before Rangapindhi. He’d imagined if he ever did, it would be an occasion of embarrassment and concealment.