One Wicked Night (7 page)

Serena felt her undergarment cling to the tops of her breasts in a valiant effort to cover them. Lucien hooked his thumb on the tautly-stretched fabric. The chemise fell to her waist, baring her breasts, tight nipples and all, to his rapt gaze.

He swallowed hard as he reached out to caress her. When he took her breast gently in hand, his thumb brushing its beaded center, she closed her eyes for a brief moment and reveled in the cascade of warm pleasure.

Lucien covered her mouth in a hot, urgent kiss. Serena found her arms still pinned to her sides by the sleeves of her chemise. Denied the luxury of clasping her hands around his powerful shoulders and bringing him closer, she returned the kiss with her mouth, using it to communicate the depth of her need.

He pushed her chemise over her hips, down to the floor. Naked, she stood before him, he still fully clothed. She watched his gaze sweep across her breasts, over her abdomen. His eyes stopped at the golden triangle of hair covering her femininity. She shivered. The appreciation in his eyes dissipated her misgiving, replacing it with anticipation that burned like a flame.

She stepped forward, against him. His arms tightened around her, bringing her against the hard crush of his body. At the abrasion of his clothing against her flushed, tingling skin, she shifted restlessly in his arms, seeking some form of relief from the ache he had created.

“Soon, sweetheart,” he promised, then captured her mouth in a blistering kiss. When she responded in kind, his palm cupped the center of her desire, fingers probing within the moist folds.

She felt hot and boneless, like a candle that had melted into a puddle of burning wax. A tiny moan escaped her mouth, and she clutched him for support.

“Take my cape off, sweetheart,” he whispered, coaxing her legs further apart.

With shaking fingers, she unhooked the garment and watched it ripple to his feet, even as his fingers probed her femininity more intimately, testing the swollen bud of her desire. While she gasped at the kaleidoscope of sensation, he tore his cravat away and freed the buttons of his waistcoat with his other hand. With a soft curse of impatience, he turned the attention of both hands to his clothing to strip off his shoes and shirt.

He stood clad only in trousers, the firelight playing over his flesh, creating a vision of shadows and strength. The only naked male body she had ever seen was Cyrus’s, and she was awed by the differences in Lucien’s.

Chest bare, he stood more powerful, more inspiring, than Michelangelo’s
David
. His flesh was smooth and carved with muscle, his abdomen ribbed. A fine, soft sprinkling of hair extended across the breadth of his chest, ending at the ridge of his muscles. The downy dark hair picked up again just above his waistband, and formed a thin, intriguing line that disappeared into his pants.

Sweet heaven, Lucien was gorgeous. He was a beautifully rugged male, clearly virile enough to satisfy any woman in his bed. She had experienced the touch of his fulfilling hands and would soon know the ecstasy of his lovemaking. She bit her bottom lip nervously.

He reached for her. His palms, warm and reassuring, rested on the top curve of her hips. “Don’t bite your lip. Bring it to me so I can kiss it.”

She closed her eyes against the pleasure of his voice washing over her. The feel of his flesh, hard where hers was soft, aroused her. “You do, too,” she said hesitantly.

“God, sweetheart, you don’t know how much I needed to know that.”

Serena never had the opportunity to reply. Instead, Lucien lifted her onto the sheets. He didn’t wait an instant before bending to worship her breast with his tongue.

Stunned by the unexpected sensation, she grasped his shoulders. She withheld a groan, the admission of her pleasure, until his lips caressed her nipple to an aching point while his tongue paid it swirling homage.

He lifted his head and smiled at her pleasure, not the cocky smile she would have expected, but a smile of sharing. Gently, he reached up and pulled the remaining pins from her hair. The mass cascaded around her face and across her shoulders, faintly golden against the crisp white linen. She knew it was a wet, tangled mess. But Lucien’s expression said otherwise. His fingers slid through the strands with reverence.

“You are . . . beautiful,” he breathed. “That word seems so inadequate. I have never seen hair your color. At first, in the dark and the rain, I thought it merely blond. But it I see now it is more like white gold.”

She shrugged shyly. Cyrus had never said a word about her hair color, good or otherwise. “Nothing so spectacular as that. It is simply what I was born with.”

“I think it is spectacular, and on you it is perfect.”

Casting her gaze away, she smiled. “Thank you.”

Shaking his head, he lay on the bed and urged her to lie beside him, face to face. Wrapping his arms around her, his hands swept down her back and took her buttocks in his palms. He squeezed her, shifting closer, before drawing her leg over his hip. He caressed her thigh, while his lips conducted a leisurely sweep up her neck, then across her jawline and cheeks. When his mouth finally touched hers, a welcome succor pervaded her, mixing with a charge of desire.

He slowly ravished her with his kiss. As he did, he exposed emotions and passions trapped under the daily facade of logic. Thoughts no longer ruled her actions. Instead, when Lucien rolled her to her back, fitting his hips intimately between hers, she welcomed him with a soft gasp of pleasure. He pressed against her, the silk of his trousers rubbing her neediest spot to higher arousal. Instinctively, she lifted her hips to him.

Wordlessly, he rose. Serena watched through heavy lids as Lucien removed his trousers and drawers. Firelight played over him. The natural tone of his skin was many shades darker than her own. And Serena’s curious eyes followed that trail of dark hair she had noticed earlier. As she had suspected, the line continued downward, over his navel and lower, spreading around his stiff sex to frame it.

Her first sight of the aroused male body appeared to be what Cyrus had told her to expect, only different. This male specimen was more compelling, not only because the man himself was exceedingly well formed, but because he
wanted
her—and made no attempt to hide that fact.

The mattress creaked, then sagged beneath his weight once again. Before she could breathe or speak, he kissed her once more, positioning himself on top of her. Of their own will, her legs opened for him, and with a groan, he accepted her invitation.

Awareness flooded her with pleasure. The heat of his hard chest against the softness of her breasts; the rasp of the downy hair on his legs teasing her tender inner thighs; the cadence of his breath against her neck.

Briefly, she felt his hard shaft probing the folds of her femininity. He found his mark and surged forward in one powerful thrust.

Serena gasped as a jagged bolt of pain tore through her. Gasping, she tensed as he sank deeper into her body. She cried out as the sharp pain cut her again.

A frown blazed across his face, dark with suspicion. Then he lowered his mouth and swept the inside of hers with his tongue. Invaded by heat and the enticing taste of man and wine, Serena returned the kiss, recreating the delicious desire he had given her previously.

When the kiss ended, he lifted his head, still wearing a slightly puzzled expression. Suddenly he shook away the question on his face. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I shall be more careful.”

To prove his point, Lucien withdrew almost gingerly. This time, he prolonged his entry, each inch of his flesh lingering at her entrance before sinking in like molasses. Another pinpoint of pain speared, but it dissipated quickly, replaced by a pleasurable fullness. Blazing heat radiated through her moistness and penetrated her body deep within her core. It felt like heaven.

“God, you’re tight,” he rasped in her ear.

Not really certain what he meant, or if that condition were good or bad, she simply nodded.

With the next lunge of his hips, that ceased to be an issue. His stiff flesh stayed within her only an instant before withdrawing. A split second later, he returned with a firm thrust. Again and again, his shaft penetrated and retreated, creating the delicious agony his hands had begun in the carriage, and his body promised to finish here in his huge bed.

As he plunged again within her, she arched her back in bliss, meeting him.

“Yes. That’s it,” he chanted, fitting his hands beneath her hips and tilting her up to further feast on her response.

That position lent her a new degree of sensitivity. Her body bucked beneath his, instinctively reaching for fulfillment. His plunges inside her increased, deep and controlled and ruthless. Jolts of pleasure dashed from her most forbidden flesh, where Lucien made his welcome invasion into her, all through her body.

The sensations rushed upon her, stealing her breath. The sudden vortex of pleasure was both towering and swirling within her. It frightened her as it threatened to rob her sanity and consume her.

Pushing on his shoulders, she wriggled beneath him, trying to break free before the tidal wave of need crashed over her body and swallowed her whole.

Finally, as he thrust into her once more, what she’d feared most became what she needed most. Ripples of release stormed throughout her, pulsing, vibrating, until the explosion inside her culminated with a blinding burst of satisfaction and a loud, staccato cry.

An instant later, he buried his face in her neck. His fingers tightened around her hips, grasping her, tilting her up with need. His whole body tense, he groaned, flooded her with something hot and thrilling, then fell against her, spent.

Serena lay beneath him, torn between wonder and the fervent wish he would say something. As he drew in long breaths, she felt the slick perspiration between their bodies and the heat of his skin touching her everywhere.

When his breathing slowed, he stroked her hair away from her forehead. His eyes, an even darker green by the mesmerizing firelight, lay open to her, stripped of all artifice. She saw the emotion churning within him, compelling him to speak.

“You are . . . unbelievable.”

The awe in his voice, coupled with the raw emotion in his eyes, opened a path to her heart, connecting her to him on a level that went beyond mere physical joining. Something profound and elemental moved inside her, misting her eyes with tears. Quickly, she averted her gaze, praying he would not see her reaction or guess that, until tonight, she had known neither completion nor ecstasy.

His arms winding around her shoulders, Lucien held her close. Further touched by his intimate gesture, Serena fought a new onslaught of tears.

Wordlessly, he held her against his chest, sheltering her in the solace of his embrace. He dusted her face with soft kisses while she listened to his breathing, felt his heartbeat against hers. Closing her eyes, she sighed, feeling the tension ebb from her body. Lucien’s fingers feathered up and down the naked length of her back. And soon, she slept.

****

Lucien rolled away from the slumbering beauty in his arms and tucked the covers around her. As he rose and donned his pants, he marveled at her placid expression. Hell, he was still shaking from a climax so stunning, it surpassed anything in memory, recent or otherwise.

Kneeling, he brought his face level with hers. Her hair was by far her most magnificent feature. The white-gold length streamed about her in a straight, silken cloud. But that wasn’t what fascinated him. It was her face.

Both oval and angelic, it showcased her honey skin and raspberry red mouth to perfection. His eyes traced the firm, sloping line of her jaw and her round, stubborn chin. Next to one platinum brow lay a tiny mole, but rather than detracting from her striking beauty, it enhanced. With her as temptation, how could he resist?

Lucien smoothed a curl from her cheek, rosy from the rub of his whiskers, and turned away. Despite the relaxation curling through his body, his mind was in turmoil.

The last time he’d had a woman in his bed was three months ago. That night, he had left his daughter in the care of servants, writing off her tears as a child’s antics for attention. He had spent the evening with his former mistress, indulging in mindless, emotionless sex. When he had arrived home in the wee morning hours, Chelsea was dead.

Closing his eyes with a pained grimace, Lucien reached past the decanter of wine he had poured from only an hour ago, and instead grabbed the Irish whiskey. He drew it to his lips, gulping in long swallows. As the liquor scorched its way down his throat, he felt satisfaction and a certain safety that, if he consumed enough, he could eventually drown his guilt.

But the images haunted him: her tiny body trampled by the carriage, the white nightgown reddened by her blood. That next morning had been a shock of disbelief and questions—and astonishment to learn that Chelsea had left the house determined to find her mummy and bring her back home to her daddy so they could all be happy.

He brought the bottle to his mouth once more for a long swallow.
Bloody hell
. His self-induced celibacy had been torture, but he had not weakened from his penance—until tonight. He should never have listened to Niles. True, the man was his only friend at the moment, but the pup was wrong. All his aloneness was not unhealthy; it was deserved. But no, Niles had insisted just this morning that he accept his life without Chelsea and carry on. Lucien shook his head in self-disgust. Like a fool, he had listened.