I Kissed a Rogue (Covent Garden Cubs) (21 page)

He was handsome, unselfish, brave, kind, and intelligent. She had no defenses against a man like that. The more she gave of her body to him, the more she risked giving her heart completely.

The knot popped loose and the material at her shoulders immediately sagged. It would have slid down, but she quickly caught it, holding it in place over her breasts. He didn’t pull her hands away. Instead, he respected her right to cover herself and moved to push her thick hair off her shoulders. His fingers combed through it, twisting it around his hand until she had to raise her chin. Holding her in place, he bent and kissed her. His lips were tender, searching. He kissed her as though she were his lover, not the woman he’d despised the last seven years. When he urged her lips open, she parted for him, unable to resist kissing him in return.

A frisson of heat raced through her when their tongues tangled. His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue mating with hers, stroking hers, exploring her. And she never wanted him to stop. In that moment, she wanted to give herself to him. Though part of her rebelled against the vulnerability of the act, she opened her fingers and released the material of the nightgown. It slid off her shoulders and caught on the swells of her breasts.

Brook continued to kiss her, and she was his willing prisoner, held in place by his hand in her hair. His grip was firm but not painful, just enough to show her he was in control.

Finally, he drew away. The hand in her hair held still, but his other traced the bare skin of her shoulder.

“You’re like a marble statue,” he murmured. “So white and perfect.”

“So cold,” she said with a trace of bitterness in her voice.

“Not at the moment. At the moment, your skin is hot and alive. Shall I taste the heat of it?”

Surely the question was rhetorical, but she couldn’t stop the yes tumbling from her lips. He arched her neck back farther and pressed his lips to her shoulder. His mouth was warm and wet, and she shivered at the feel of it on her skin. He explored every inch of her shoulder with his lips and tongue, sliding into the valley of her collarbone and tracing the slope of her neck. Lila was all but panting. She had not known the skin of her shoulder could be so incredibly sensitive.

His lips lowered, kissing a path from the skin of her neck to the swells of her breasts. Her flesh burned with each slow, delicious kiss he placed. He must have heard her heart pounding as his tongue delved in the valley between her breasts, barely covered now by the thin material.

And then he took the edge of the nightgown between his teeth and pulled it lower until she felt the cool air on her breast and nipple. He groaned softly, looking at her far longer than was comfortable. Her hair was wrapped about his fist, but now he released it and used his other hand to slide the nightgown from her other breast.

She had the impulse to raise her hands and cover herself, but just as she moved to do so, he growled low in his throat, a very satisfied sound.

“Do you know how many times I’ve pictured you like this? Your hair down, your breasts bare, your skin warm to the touch?”

“No,” she whispered. She’d never considered that he thought of her in that way at all. Had he imagined her like this when he’d asked her to marry him that night at the ball, or was it something he’d thought of since they’d come to the cottage?

“More times than I will admit,” he said, glancing up at her with a small smile. “And yet”—he reached out, running the back of his hand along the side of her breast until he caressed the plump underside—“you are more perfect than I could have imagined.”

His hand closed on her flesh, one thumb rubbing lightly over her nipple. Lila inhaled sharply at the sensation, a sharp jolt of pleasure radiating through her body. Thunder rumbled again, and the flash of lighting—closer now—lit up the sky outside.

“You like that?” he asked, his thumb circling the hard flesh.

Lila couldn’t answer, didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to think about what he did to her.

“Let’s see if you like this.” He bent his head so she saw only the top of his hair. She felt his warm breath on the skin of her breasts and then something light flick across her nipple. She jerked, and when she settled, it happened again. His tongue, wet and skilled, circled her hard point, laving it until she was all but mad with the desire for more of his touch.

Just when she would have cried out from frustration, he took her nipple in his mouth, sucking hard on it and rolling the bud over his tongue. Lila moaned and arched, offering her other breast for the same treatment.

He obliged her, using his thumb on her well-used flesh, now swollen from his lips. When he pushed her back on the bed and came down on top of her, his arms braced on either side, she didn’t protest. Outside, the rain pattered on the roof, and the wind lashed at the boards on the windows. Inside, Lila was wrapped in her own storm.

He didn’t love her, but she could only describe what he did to her with hands and mouth as loving. He was gentle and thorough, responding to every mewl, every tensing of her body, every quick gasp. She wanted the pleasure he’d given her before again and again. His knee parted her thighs and pressed against her core so he rocked against her, and she, wanton now and beyond caring, moved her hips in the rhythm he showed her.

Finally, with a curse, he drew back and yanked her nightgown down to her belly. He lifted her hips and stripped it from her, leaving her naked before his gaze. He still wore his trousers, and her gaze dipped to the hard bulge where his manhood pressed against the material. Would he take her now?

“Not yet,” he murmured, notching her chin up so she looked into his eyes. They were so dark, she was almost lost in them. His knee nudged her legs open, and that she resisted. She was already so exposed. Lila felt herself blush at this removal of her last vestige of modesty.

“Let me see you, Lila,” he murmured, kissing her lips, then her chin, then her cleavage. “You’re so beautiful.”

She didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but she couldn’t resist the way his hands stroked her thighs or the way his mouth moved against her skin. She allowed him to part her legs, then closed her eyes as his gaze dropped and he looked at her
there
.

He looked for what seemed a long time before his fingers inched higher, touching the sensitive flesh just where she most needed him. He parted her folds and pressed one finger against her opening. She could feel the wetness there, was embarrassed by it, but he made no comment, merely circled her, teasing her, and coming closer and closer to the bud she desperately wanted him to stroke.

She opened her eyes and met his gaze. What she really wanted, she realized with horror, was for him to put his mouth on her again. But instead of complying, he continued to tease her with light touches, all the while watching her face for her reaction.

Lila closed her eyes again, squeezing them tightly, forcing herself to say the words. “Your mouth,” she whispered. “Please.”

He made no response, his fingers still stroking her, creating a slow building heat that made her want to squirm. Finally she opened her eyes and looked at him.

“You’re killing me,” he said, his voice rough. “I want you almost more than I can take.”

“Yes,” she said, understanding what he meant. Her entire body hummed, and she felt more alive than she ever had. And yet it wasn’t enough. There was still more, still something she reached for.

“You want my mouth on you? You’ll have it, but first I want to slip inside you.”

She frowned, uncertain of his meaning until his finger drifted down and slid inside her.

“Oh,” she moaned, not expecting the way her body clenched around that single finger or the way she pushed against it, wanting him to move deeper inside her. Instead, he slid out, then back in again. Lila’s breath came in loud moans as he continued his torment, skating up to glide the wet finger against that small, sensitive nub. But just as her body strained for release, he inched back inside her, this time with two fingers. Lila’s hips arched, and his thumb circled the wet nub.

She was dizzy, her head spinning. There was nothing but Brook—his eyes, his hands, his presence. She never wanted this to stop, and yet she all but sobbed with the need for release. When he finally pressed her toward it, she could hear herself murmur, “Yes, yes.”

“Look at me, Lila,” he told her. “I want you to see me when you come.”

She opened her eyes, her gaze on his. With his hard body burnished by the firelight and lit up by flashes of lightning, his muscles tense from the control he exerted, and his eyes dark with desire, he was nothing short of a Greek god. She would have done anything he asked at that moment.

His thumb pressed against her, and her hips bucked. With a scream, she fell into pleasure, fell into his dark eyes, fell into oblivion.

Even in her stupor, she could see the way his eyes warmed, the way he relished her pleasure as he might his own. Lila, who had for years rarely thought of anyone but herself, wanted to give this back to him. She wanted to give Brook the pleasure he’d given her.

The waves of sensation began to recede, and Lila relaxed slightly. But Brook surprised her by bending. With one of her legs crooked over his shoulder, opening her wider to him, he pressed his mouth against her.

His tongue entered her, stroking the spot his fingers had made sensitive. Lila called his name, arched for him. Even as her body resisted the onslaught of more sensation, she welcomed it. And then when she thought she could not take more, his lips found that delicate bud, and he teased and licked and sucked until, with a cry that rivaled the booms of thunder, she tumbled over the precipice once again.

Thirteen

She slept. She’d all but sobbed out his name before her eyes had closed and she’d drifted to sleep, sated and spent. She hadn’t bothered to pull the covers around her body, which suited him just fine. She had the most perfect body he had ever seen.

Her legs were shapely, her hips flared, her breasts fit perfectly into his hands. She had pale pink nipples that darkened to dusky rose when he stroked and licked them. The dark hair between her legs parted to reveal skin the color of a delicate orchid. He could have admired her all night, but that would not ease the throbbing in his cock. Instead, he covered her and brushed her hair back from her forehead.

Then he rose and walked to the one-paned window, letting the cool air seeping through the glass subdue the worst of his ardor. The storm that raged outside was expected. The feelings churning inside were not.

He hadn’t expected to want her so much. He’d had beautiful women in his bed before. After he’d been knighted, he’d had quite a few beautiful women in his bed. He’d become more selective in his bed partners after he’d rescued the brother of Viscount Chesham and became a hero. He did not relish being used by women seeking to gain status or entertain with gossip.

Lila was beautiful, but no more so than other women he’d known. And yet he struggled to contain the desire he felt for her more than he’d ever had to with any other woman. Was it her innocence? Those wide eyes and that furious blush?

He wanted to be gentle with her but could not resist making her scream with need for him. She’d sobbed his name before falling asleep.

His
name.

He’d liked the sound of it on her lips more than he liked to admit. He’d liked the way she looked at him when she climaxed, like he was the only man in the world.

He didn’t quite know what to make of this possessiveness. She was his wife, and that made her different. Brook had never thought much of the institution of marriage. His mother and father’s marriage had not made the state of matrimony particularly alluring. Even as a child, it had been clear to him that his mother only tolerated his father out of a sense of duty.

His father had been an honorable man who had treated his wife with the respect owed to a countess, but he hadn’t loved her. Brook had never once seen them so much as touch hands or exchange endearments, not even when they hadn’t known he observed them. They were in private just as they were in public—cold, formal, and aloof. When Brook came of age, he’d often wondered if his father had a mistress. Dane and he had discussed it, and his older brother thought the earl had not. This was no surprise, coming from Dane, who almost never stepped outside the lines Society had set for him.

Brook often stepped outside the lines. And now, with Lila, Brook was uncertain where the lines had been drawn. He wanted her, but how much was too much? How much desire was dangerous when he knew she was the kind of woman who could so very easily crush him if she caught the first glimmer of softness?

But perhaps he was being unfair. He had changed. Why couldn’t she also have changed? What if her recent actions—apologies, nursing him, cuddling stray kittens—were indications of who she really was? What if the spoiled, selfish girl had grown into a kind, thoughtful woman? If that was the case, might his desire evolve into something more?

Brook had turned away from the window to watch the rise and fall of her shoulders as she slept. Now he turned back, pushing the battle between his cock and his brain out of his mind for the moment.

Trees swayed in the wind and the rain poured down in sheets. Thunder shook the ground and lightning illuminated the fields beyond. He could sympathize with man or beast caught in the weather tonight. The wet roads and deep mud would keep his nosy neighbors away for the next few days.

Unfortunately, even if the weather had been ideal, he could not depend on his neighbors’ charity. He hadn’t had time to plan this escape and had been forced to leave without adequate provisions. With two, no—he glanced at the cats curled up by the fire, the mother watching him with one eye open—five mouths to feed, he would need to take action as soon as the rain cleared. He didn’t like leaving Lila there alone, even for a few hours.

He could take her with him.

But he had no horse, and that would mean walking several miles. He could only imagine how volubly she might complain at being forced to walk any distance.