Love and Let Spy (Lord and Lady Spy) (26 page)

He pulled another pin and noted his hands shook slightly. How many damned pins held this gown together? At this rate, it would take him hours to remove it. He pulled another pin, and the gown widened to reveal the space between her shoulder blades. She had a small freckle there, and he wanted to touch it, kiss it. Instead, he attempted to pull another pin, and all of the pins he held tumbled to the ground.

They made no sound, but Jane looked down, then over her shoulder at him. “Are you feeling well?”

“Perfectly well. Turn around.”

She turned, and he thought about retrieving the pins. No, he would fetch them later. He wanted this task completed. He pulled two more pins, and then wondered why the devil he wanted to finish this. He’d revealed some pretty underthing that clearly held her breasts in place. A light pink ribbon circled it, and he could imagine how it would look, the small pink bow nestled at the valley of her breasts. Her bodice gaped now. Thank God he was standing behind her. Or perhaps he should curse God. He had never noticed how lovely the rounded slope of a woman’s shoulder could be, or how alluring was the slim tapering of her waist. He pulled the last pin, and the bodice of the gown fell open.

She unwound the cravat from her wrists and allowed the garment to fall to the floor. Her hands were free now, but she still held the neckcloth, still refrained from reaching for him. She stood before him, wearing only her skirt now and the underthings, which seemed rather ineffectual, as they were so sheer he could see her pale skin through the linen.

She turned, and he forgot to take a step back. His gaze dropped immediately to the pale pink bow, which was indeed nestled at the perfect curve of her breasts. The underthing pushed them up slightly, so half moons peeked out from the lace and ribbon. It would take more than a tug on that ribbon to reveal her to his gaze, but he wanted to tug it nonetheless. When his gaze finally met hers, she was watching him. Her eyes were dark and hungry. She wanted him as much as he did her.

He closed his eyes. He would resist. He had to resist because…bloody hell. Why did he have to resist?

“Could you help me?” she asked, voice low and husky.

He opened his eyes. She was looking down at her skirt and tugging at a string. “I cannot work out this knot.” She continued tugging it.

“Let me see.”

Ignoring him—why had she even asked for his help anyway?—she yanked on the skirt. She was probably tightening the knot and making it worse. “Ah! So frustrating.”

“Move aside.” He pushed her hands away and stepped close, leaning down to take a look at the knot. It was only knotted twice, and he quickly undid it then looked up. His gaze was at a level with her breasts. He blinked as her skirt fell in a puddle at her feet, leaving her clad only in flimsy underthings. He forced himself to look at her face. “Is this a ploy to seduce me?”

“Did it work?”

He was as hard as a rock. His gaze drifted to her hands, still gripping the neckcloth. She followed his look and wound the material around her wrists again. “Better?”

Dominic stared at her. Did she have any idea how beautiful she was? How much he wanted to touch her? Dominic clenched his hands together to stop himself from dragging her into his arms, to stop his hands from sinking into her thick hair, caressing her soft skin.

“You could tie this more tightly,” she said. “Make me powerless.” She lifted her hands. “You could tie me to the bed, then you’d know I wouldn’t break the rules. I couldn’t touch you.”

Dominic blinked. “I am not going to tie you.” She was a virgin, for God’s sake. He wasn’t going to take her maidenhead with her tied to the bed.

“I trust you.”

The words speared straight through him. No one had ever said that to him. No one had ever looked at him the way she did, like he was absolutely delicious. No one had ever trusted him enough to give up all power.

“This is daft.” But he was imagining her tied to the bed, and his breathing had already quickened. Her hands would be secured above her head, forcing her breasts up. He could kiss them, kiss her. Anywhere.

“Loosen this knot.” She turned to him, presenting her back. Without thinking, he loosened the knot, and the heavy garment over her midsection sagged. She pulled and tugged and then slid it over her hips, taking the garment she called a petticoat with it. When she rose again, she wore only what looked like a nightgown, except it ended above her ankles. She had small ankles, slim and delicate.

“Do you want me to remove my chemise?” she asked.

Yes.
“No. Do you…” He swallowed. “Do you have anything underneath?”

“No. I’ve never stood naked before a man Dominic. But I trust you.” There it was again. That word.
Trust.
She freed one of her hands and reached for a white ribbon he hadn’t noticed just above her breasts. “It scares me to stand naked and vulnerable before you. And that is how I know I must do it.” With a tug, she pulled the ribbon, and the chemise opened then slid down her body.

Dominic realized too late what she intended. Too late, he decided he would not look. He would turn away and tell her to dress. He was not going to tie her naked to a bed. He swallowed. No matter how much the idea appealed.

But his eyes and his brain were not in agreement. His body had sided with his eyes, and he could not look away. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen—all porcelain and pink and gold. She was round and soft and everything a woman should be. He had seen the female form before, but always in paintings or statues or in tantalizing glimpses during a stolen rendezvous. He had never gazed at a woman like this, a woman who looked at him with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. A woman who wanted him, despite what she must have deduced had happened to him.

He had never wanted any of those women the way he wanted this one. Need burned in him. It terrified him too. But, as she’d said, perhaps the fear was something to confront rather than turn away from.

She backed toward the bed, settling herself so her back was against the pillow. She held out the cravat and wound her hands into the iron headboard. “I’m ready.”

He shook his head. Everything in him wanted to go to her, but he resisted. “I can’t tie you. I can’t make you powerless.”

“Will you stop if I ask?”

“Yes.”

“Then I am not powerless. I cannot do it myself. Tie me.”

As though he were walking in his sleep, he went to her, took the cravat and wound it around the iron frame and then her wrist. He tied it, but she looked up at him and shook her head. “Tightly.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

She smiled. “I’m not so fragile.”

Dominic tightened the fastening until he knew she could not free herself. Then he repeated it with the other wrist. And then he stepped back and gazed at her. He could have looked at her forever. She was that beautiful. She sat as demurely as could be expected, naked and tied to the headboard. She watched him watch her, and finally, she said, “You can touch me. I can’t touch you back, not with my hands.”

He moved forward, knelt on the bed. Raising his hand, he pressed it to her cheek. He leaned forward and kissed her gently. She moved her lips against his and sighed softly. His hand slipped down to her jaw, her neck, her shoulder, and then slid down her long, silky arm.

He repeated the gesture with her other arm, still kissing her. “Is that all you want to touch?” she asked. “Only my arms?”

“No.”

“Where else do you want to touch me? Show me.”

She was giving him permission, but he did not have to comply. He could move away. He could stop. His hand shook slightly as he moved it over her breast. He hovered several inches above her flesh, and she drew in a breath of anticipation. Her nipple hardened and peaked, and she whispered, “Please.” He couldn’t resist her. He filled his hand with her breast, her warm, ripe flesh pushing eagerly against his palm.

He bent to kiss her again, kneading her flesh and listening to the soft mewling sounds of pleasure she could not contain. His mouth dipped to take her nipple and rub it along his tongue. And then he took the other one, suckling until her hips rose and pressed against his hard flesh. His hands skated down her body, worshipping the curves and the indentions, careful of the wound on her belly, until he slid to the juncture of her thighs. He had never taken his pleasure in this moist place. He knew what to do. He knew the mechanics of the act that caused bastards to be born. But Jane was his betrothed. A child of theirs would not be a bastard.

He cupped her sex then slipped a finger so it lay against that warm wetness. She moaned and arched her hips, and he slipped inside her. His cock ached, but his entire being rebelled against taking her when she was bound. He did not have to complete the act, though. He could give her pleasure. He stroked her, in and out, and she moved against him. He knew she liked this. He knew what to do to please a woman in this way.

“The way you touch me,” she gasped. “I didn’t think…didn’t know.”

He felt his control waning at the sound of arousal in her husky voice. He used a knee to nudge her thighs apart and gazed down. She was pink and gold, and his hand was dark against her flesh. He touched a small nub at the apex of her folds, and she cried out. He glanced up at her, amazed at her responsiveness.

“Oh, yes. Touch me there,” she said, pushing against him.

He slid a finger over her, and she cried out again. Her face was flushed now, her eyes closed, her wrists straining against her bindings. Could he have done this without binding her? He was in control. She could not touch him, and yet she had so much more control than she could ever realize. He was having difficulty restraining himself. He flicked a finger over her again, and she stilled. Her whole body stiffened, and she gasped out his name.

He had never heard his name said in such a way. There was desire and pleasure and…love in every syllable. He watched her climax slide through her, and could not help but fall in love with her. Had any woman ever been as beautiful as this one? In the throes of ecstasy she took his breath away. He forgot, for the moment, his own needs and desires, and knew only that he wanted to give her more pleasure. He wanted to feel her stiffen, see her face when she found pleasure.

She opened her eyes, and they were impossibly dark and blue. She gave him a lazy smile. “You have done that before,” she said.

“Have I? I don’t remember anyone but you.”

She smiled, and he watched her. The color in her cheeks was high, and her lips were red and slightly swollen from his kisses.

“Oh, yes. I feel extremely wanton now. You are far too handsome. One look at you and I begin to imagine your hands on me.”

This was intriguing. He did not think he was particularly attractive. Not when one considered his blond, fair-skinned half brothers. Not when one considered her perfect blue-eyed beauty. He was dark and Gypsy in appearance. He looked at his dark hand against her thigh and felt as though his touch sullied her. But she wanted his hands on her. “Where have you imagined me touching you?” he asked.

“All over. But it’s not just your hands I imagine. Your mouth and your body feature quite prominently in my daydreams. I want to feel your body pressed against mine.”

Her invitation was tempting. She was ready for him. He could loosen the fall on his trousers and plunge into her. He thought if he could last and he could move the right way, he might be able to please her again.

And perhaps if he concentrated on the feel of her body beneath him, the scent of violets, he would not think of the past. The nightmares would keep at bay. He took a deep breath. “Are you certain you want this? It is not something either of us can undo once it is done.”

“I want you, Dominic,” she said, her voice caressing him because her hands could not. “Make me yours.”

He reached for his trousers and then paused. He could not do this with her restrained. He wanted her to be a willing participant. He wanted to trust her, wanted to give himself to her as she’d given herself to him. He reached for her bindings and tugged at first one and then the other. She watched him, brows arched. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

She lowered her hands. “May I touch you?”

He nodded, wanting her touch and fearing the nightmares lurking in the shadows. She wrapped her arms around him, bringing his mouth to hers. She kissed him slowly but with building urgency as her hands tangled in his hair and cupped his jaw. He’d never been touched like this, with gentleness and love and passion all combined. He felt his emotions churning and tamped them down. He would not allow himself to think too much. He would only feel.

Her hands slid down his body, which was still fully clothed, and cupped his erection. She slid her hand up and down it, then loosened the fall on his trousers so he sprang into the warmth of her palm. He’d never allowed himself to be touched like this, but he gave her freedom. Jane kissed him, stroked him, loved him. He had not known one could be touched this way.

And then she raised her hips, and he felt her warmth, knew he was poised to enter her. He hesitated just a moment and slid partly inside. She stiffened, and he looked into her eyes. “They say there is pain the first time.” He did not know how to bed a virgin. He did not know how to bed any woman. He pulled away, but she clutched at his shoulders.

“It has passed. Don’t stop. If you go slowly, I think I shall be well.”

How the devil was he supposed to proceed slowly, when every single one of his instincts told him to drive into her with hard, fast thrusts? He clenched his jaw and moved inside her again. She was so tight and so small. He could not catch his breath for the fierce desire he felt. He paused again until he felt her body relax, and then slid farther into her until he was embedded to the hilt. She stiffened, and he waited. He was in agony of waiting. Finally, after a bloody eternity, she murmured in his ear. “Yes. Now.”