Powder of Love (I) (17 page)

“Good Lord.”

“It’s haunted me to be wanted like that,” she whispered.

“Surely men have wanted you and have been less obscene about it.”

She shrugged. “But it’s not the same. You… It’s like an infection. I’m feverish with it.”

He nodded his agreement. And then all that he’d learned from Clermont came to him. He touched her cheek, ran his fingers along her throat. “I can help you with the fever and not take your virtue.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are ways for a woman to gain fulfillment.”

She still looked puzzled.

“Gratification,” he tried. “Relief from the urges of the body.”

She blushed. “I only want to touch your skin.”

“And I want more. But we can do less than the ultimate act. For you. For you,” he repeated and wondered if he could control himself. But he let himself taste her skin now. He kissed her mouth, her throat, and down, allowing his mouth to settle at last on her breast, as he’d dreamed. Her nipple hardened in his mouth. He sucked greedily and loved the way she moaned, the feel of her breast, soft under his hand, hard in his mouth.

She shuddered, and her hands were in his hair. He stopped when she swayed on her feet.

In the corner was a settee, and he led her to it. Very carefully and slowly, as if undressing a sleepy child, he pulled her gown off. And then undid her petticoats. She watched, fascinated, and did nothing to help except step out of the gown that pooled at her feet. He spread the chemise on the leather, sat her down, and knelt between her legs so his head came to her breast. She opened her legs wide, and he laid his hands on her thighs to look at her. Unashamed and naked, she stared down at him, breathing hard enough to make her breasts quiver with the rise and fall. Gooseflesh rose on her arms.

His own body was screaming for release, begging him to bury himself in the naked flesh, but he only used his face and hands. At last, though, he could touch her and marvel at the body he’d imagined, so much better in reality. Any reality he’d known.

She was more passive than he’d expected, but he felt her tremble, could hear her gasps, and he knew that though she was quiet, she was on the edge of exploding. He tasted her breasts again and kissed the small indentation next to her navel. Down, through the dark curls, he kissed her skin. When he reached her sex, she gasped and put her hands on his forehead to push him away.

“You cannot want to do that.” She was firm again, the Miss Ambermere he knew.

“Yes, indeed I do,” he said and gently pushed her hands away. He was surprised by how much he wanted to kiss her there, lick and suck as he’d heard for tedious hours of Clermont’s descriptions. This was far better. It was real.

“Do people do that?” She groaned as he found her clitoris and lapped at it. She tasted warm, sweet and sour and perfect. He wondered why he’d thought it would be disgusting. Pushing closer, he greedily sucked and licked.

She gave a keening moan. He so wanted to put his fingers inside her and feel the slick tunnel he dared not use. Yet he could see from the small opening to her body that she was indeed a virgin, and didn’t want to erase the evidence of her virginity, so he contented himself with the taste of her and running his hands over the moist folds of her flesh. But she suddenly pushed forward—hard—and his thumb, stroking the tantalizing view, slid inside her.

“Oh,” she squeaked. But then she rolled her body on his finger. “That’s your hand inside me,” she said with wonder. “Your mouth on me. Your hand in me. It’s so…ah…” She pushed again, as if trying to fit more of him in her.

He couldn’t resist. He slid two fingers into her, ignoring his cock’s angry ache. He’d memorize the feel of her.

“It’s you,” she said. “You. Thank you, ah!”

He could feel her body shudder and tighten, and the passage in her grew even tighter and slicker.

Reed gave up the fight. He’d trade everything he’d ever own and years of his life to put his cock in that lovely, tight place. She wanted him. She wouldn’t mind. He wouldn’t come inside her. He’d have her at last.

He was even reaching down to his trousers when her shaking body went limp and she grabbed his head again. Her grip on his hair was enough to distract him from his single-minded move toward her body. She moved her trembling hand to his cheek, trying to direct him up to her.

“Oh please,” she said. “It’s too wonderful. Put your skin against mine again. I’m cold and I want you.”

He’d come back to his senses and didn’t pull down his trousers. But he did lie on top of her and wrap his arms around her, as she did him. He managed to keep some of his weight on his elbow though she wrapped her naked, very wet body around him.

“I apologize. Your trousers will be made…disgusting,” she said with a small, embarrassed laugh.

Not disgusting, but the evidence would be clear. “That’s all right,” he said. He had no intention of moving, because he’d either move away from her warm, delicious body or he’d move into it, and neither alternative was tenable.

She slid her hand between them, over his belly and down.

He growled. “What are you doing?”

“Your trousers.” And she had managed to insinuate her hand into the front of his trousers when she stopped. Her cool fingertips brushed his very erect, very hard cock.

“That’s you,” she whispered. “May I see?”

“You’ve had relief,” he said harshly. “Please. Don’t demand too much of me.”

“My relief. What of yours?”

He was shaking. And then she was kissing him, her mouth warm and relentless against his, holding his hair again so he wouldn’t escape her grasp. No longer the passive female, her legs were wrapped around his waist so that her very wet pussy was pressed to his belly. And one hand was reaching down again, sideways between them. He jerked as she stroked him. Her kiss was bold even as she tentatively explored with her fingers, then slid her palm over him.

She pushed his chest, and he at once scrambled up and off her body. She followed and tugged down his unbuttoned trousers. His cock sprang out, almost pointing to the ceiling with the need for release. She knelt in front of him, just as he’d done, only now he stood and she was on the floor.

“Very odd,” she said with some amusement. “But I think I like it.” She stroked his cock from balls to head with one finger and watched his face as she did it again.

She patted the settee. “Go on. Lie down.”

So he did. He settled onto his back, naked, chilled, and as sexually stimulated as he’d ever been in his life. It would take very little for him to burst. His balls were tight and full.

And the air hissed through his teeth as her hand curled around him, less tentative.

She was over him now on her hands and knees, one foot resting on the floor, leg straight because the settee wasn’t large enough for them both when he lay on his back. Passive, he thought. Let her do what she will. He clenched his fists to stop himself from grabbing at her. He wouldn’t die from want. And he wouldn’t be the one to take her virginity.

She, however, had no scruples about taking her own. “My cousin left me some books,” she said with a breathless laugh. “So I know I can do this.”

“You mustn’t.” But he didn’t move and silently begged her.
Please, please. Ride me.

She rose up, and her skin grazed his as she scooted along his body until her pussy hovered over his cock, which lay flat on his belly. She stared down at it for a minute as she clutched the base in her fist. He would not allow himself to come. He’d seize and keep control. He squeezed his fists tighter and swallowed as she clumsily placed the head of his cock against her. She gave an experimental push. Then a mewl of frustration when he didn’t enter easily. The heat and wet were almost too much. He’d wanted her for so long, just the touch of her on the head of his cock was wonderful.

She tried again, and they both gave a shout, as when she pushed her body down, his cock shoved hard up and into her. He was almost entirely surrounded by tight, wet woman.

“Ow,” she said, sounding surprised. Then, “Oh.” She didn’t move for a few moments.

“So that’s done,” she said at last, breathless.

“I’m s-sorry,” he breathed, but he wasn’t thinking, only willing her to move.
Go on
. His body forced him to give the tiniest nudge upward.

“Oh,” she said. “There’s more. But this is so much already. So much. You’re up to my eyebrows, I’d swear it. You. Inside me.” She rocked a little, and a small moan escaped her. “How very odd to be so…so full of you.”

He didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

When she gave another experimental wiggle, he had to move too and to groan.

“Do you like this?” She leaned close, her breath warm on his chin. He opened his eyes to look into her face. She bent to kiss him, and the tips of her breasts brushed over him. He shuddered.

“Yes. Yes,” he managed to say, willing himself to hold still. He rested his hands lightly on her hips.

She made a small, twisting squirm on him again, an exquisite sensation as her flesh gripped him.

“You mustn’t,” he began, and then she wiggled again with more conviction, and he could feel the slick warmth so tight around him, he gasped and had to push up.

“That’s nice,” she said with an exhalation of breath. “I like it. Very much. Mmm.”

He groaned and clutched her hips. “If. You. We keep doing this,” he said, forcing the words past unbelievable desire. “I will spend inside you. And that. Would. Be bad.”

“Of course,” she panted. “So we should stop.” She gave another wiggle, purred, and then began to move up and down on him. God, he’d never felt anything so wonderful in his life. He clutched her tight against him and breathed in her flower and now musk scent. Rosalie using him. He hoped she’d never stop. She had to stop.

She stopped.

“You’re gasping, and you’re pushing up hard too,” she said. “I was afraid of what you said. Spending inside me.”

He held her tighter. She’d escape him and leave him empty and cold. “Rosalie,” he said so hoarsely, he barely knew his own voice. “I need you.”

“It’s good to be filled with you.” She pressed her lips to the side of his throat, and her hair, sliding out of its elaborate chignon, tickled his chest. “This is much better than I expected,” she whispered.

He thrust into her, at last up to his balls inside her, ignoring the slight squeak of surprise. Pushing hard into her, he then held her still so he could feel every inch of himself inside every inch of her. Squeezed in the perfect, wet heat of her, he felt the excitement in every cell of his body; from his toes to fingertips, all rejoiced in the sensation. Rosalie.

But then she was out of his grasp and on her hands and knees over him again, smiling down at him. His cock landed with a plop onto his belly. He wanted to scream his frustration, but he managed a smile back at her. With shaky fingers, he reached up and pulled her down to him one last time for a long, slow kiss of thanks.

She slid off the settee, and he began to sit up to follow.

“No, wait,” she said. “You must tell me what to do.”

“Pardon?”

She reached out, and without any warning, wrapped her hand around his cock. They both looked down at her hand, very white against the angry plum red. “My fingers barely reach,” she said. “You are quite large. You’re all hot and wet. From me. From being inside me. Amazing.” She shook her head again. “Now what?” All businesslike, and he wasn’t going to argue.

He let himself fall back onto the settee. “Move your hand on me,” he managed.

“Up and down?”

He nodded.

Her grip on his throbbing cock was light, tentative.

“Tighter?” she asked.

He nodded again.

She fell to the task with enthusiasm, and the soft, small hand on his cock—Rosalie’s hand on him—would have been enough to bring him off. When her other hand reached over and stroked his balls, that was more than enough.

“You’re drawing all tight down there,” she said, “and growing, and—Oh my.”

Her touch didn’t falter; her hand moved up and down on his cock, her rapt, interested face watching.

His eyes closed only for a moment as his head went back and what felt like gallons of semen shot from his body.

“That is impressive,” she said as if speaking of a good hand in cards. But her eyes glittered as she moved to him again, and they kissed. Now soft, warm kisses. Affectionate kisses with a tinge of lust rather than lustful kisses with the flavor of affection. Both were good. Both were what he’d always wanted.

“Thank you,” he said at last.

“Thank
you
,” she said, and the glow in her eyes as she examined his face made him want her all over again. Not passive. No. He’d be on top or perhaps even behind her, and he’d go deep into her over and over.

She glanced down. “It shrank, but now it’s growing again.”

“Not surprising.” But reality hit him at last.

This was already too dangerous. The middle of the day in the middle of her library. The door was locked, but it wasn’t safe. Hell, it wouldn’t be safe if they were alone in the middle of Broadway.

He kissed her forehead, rose from the settee, and picked up the rather bedraggled chemise. “I don’t suppose you want to wear that again.”

“Yes, I do. Some of the dampness might be you. I’d love to feel that on my skin. Perhaps I’ll even be able to smell it. Quite a distinctive scent. Pleasant.”

His skin prickled alarmingly. She sounded besotted. God knew he felt besotted. He stopped reaching for his clothes so he could watch her lovely naked body and then admire the way she writhed into the corset. She reached for her petticoats and shook them out. When she caught sight of him watching her intently, she again smiled. A new shy-but-knowing smile. One of his favorites already.

Hell.

As a method of getting rid of the itch, the horrible hankering they had for each other, this was a disaster. As a form of pure, happy pleasures, it worked better than anything else he’d encountered.

He’d said he didn’t want to be careless and then promptly thrown care out the window so he could hold her instead.

He forced himself to face unwelcome facts. She had given up her virginity, and he’d taken it so easily. Though he suspected she might not completely believe virginity was a woman’s most precious possession, there had to be some consequences to such an action.