Scandal (12 page)

Chapter Fifteen

A rash decision? Anna asked herself as she waited upon her rooftop hours later, the sky above her the dark, midnight black only ever found beneath mushroom caps, the moon a period that dotted the sky. Or a wise decision? For even now she could feel the slick moisture of her woman’s mound as she anticipated.

Desired.

Craved.

Yes, even burned.

For the truth of the matter was, she wanted him. Indeed, when looked upon as a bargain of mutual satisfaction, she might not have done so badly.

And yet still… to do such a thing, to agree to become a man’s mistress…

And so, as she stood near the edge of the roof, she tried to reason out the logistics of how she’d arrived at such a place, but the simple truth was, she was tired. Tired, she thought, as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, the fall of her hair an unfamiliar tug at the back of her scalp, for she rarely left it down. Tired of the worry that came along with being the sole provider of food and blunt. Tired of the fear that one day something might happen to her, something that would cause them to lose what little they had. Tired of working so hard to get… nowhere.

Tonight she would secure her future.

“Anna.”

She didn’t flinch. Indeed, she’d been waiting for him.

“You may still change your mind.”

She slowly turned, her coverlet clasped around her. As an answer, she let it drop. And though there was only the light of the moon by which to see his face, she could tell that the sight of her naked body was such a shock, such an instant arousal, he might have refused to let her change her mind should her answer have been no.

But she wasn’t changing her mind. Instead, she crossed to the bed she’d made near the center of the roof, and she felt the quickening already, felt her body warm and heat and moisten in anticipation of their joining. She stopped next to the ruined canvas that she’d covered with blankets, then slowly stepped into the center, the canvas a sigh against her tired feet. When she faced him again, she discovered he hadn’t moved.

“I feel I should be remiss if I do not point out that you do not have to do this. We could try, on the morrow, to locate another ship. You might still be able to—”

She moved her hair, which had fallen over her breasts, behind her back. And standing there with her nipples erect, her body quickening, she realized that Rein staring at her was the most erotic feeling she’d had in her life. It was more erotic than spying on the woman and her customers across the street, more so than listening to Molly’s tales of erotic adventure, more, even, than the fantasies she’d had in recent years.

He didn’t say a word.

She waited, wondered…

“Do you have any idea,” he said, “how often I’ve dreamed of seeing you thus?”

The skin along the curve of her breasts tingled.

“I’ve touched you in my dreams, Anna. Seen your body arch with a woman’s pleasure, but all that pales in comparison to the vision you are now.”

As if he touched her now, the back of her neck prickled. The heat between her legs liquefied, culminating in a slick wetness that awaited his touch, too.

“Lie down,” he ordered.

She shivered in… what? Fear? Anticipation? Desire?

She sank to her knees, flicking her long hair over one shoulder as she slowly lie down.

He came to her then, stood over her, stared down at her as she looked up at him with desire claiming her mind. For long seconds, neither of them moved, then he slowly flicked open the catches on his shirt.

And through it all, she lie there. He had hair on his chest. She hadn’t known that about him, the sight of that masculine trait making her throb all the more.

Get to it,
she silently urged, taking in his muscular shoulders and well-shaped arms.

He bent and removed his boots, straightening so that he could undo his breeches. Every muscle in her body froze for an instant as he pulled them off, her eyes following the material’s descent until he flung the things away and straightened, naked.

He was hard. She’d known he would be, but at the tip of that hardness was a glistening drop of moisture that made Anna’s thighs begin to burn twice as hot.

“Spread your legs.”

This was it, then. She hadn’t expected it to be so soon. Or so businesslike. But she shook her head. They’d made a bargain, the two of them. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to get to it.

He knelt between her legs, and when he did that they touched, though only in one place—one unexpected and erotic place. His manhood rested in the valley of her womanhood—just there—no place else, though his minty breath warmed the coolness of her cheeks as he said, “I’m going to do things to you tonight, Anna, things you’ve never dreamed of. And when I’ve finished, I shall do them again, and again, so that you will never, ever forget this night.” He bent his head, drawing his tongue across her nipple, her body arching into him with such speed, she let out a moan.

“And me,” he added, green eyes so full of promise, they sent new shivers through her. “I shall never forget it, either.”

And then he was gone.

She pushed up on her elbows. His head hovered over her womanhood.

Oh, lord…

Would he do that to her again? Would he kiss her as she’d dreamt of him kissing her the whole time she’d been at the market today, her mind replaying what they’d done the other night?

He drew his tongue over the center of her.

Her head arched as she let out a moan, her knees falling open farther. He licked her again and she realized that she didn’t care if they never joined, as long as he would do this to her, over and over and over—His tongue thrust inside her.

“Rein,” she moaned, her eyes opening, blurry stars above her as she moved her hips toward him in offering, moved in the way he’d taught her to move. And then a new sensation filled her, one less soft… more hard.

“Show me, Anna,” he said, drawing his finger out and up her slick wetness. “Move for me. Let me learn from the way your body writhes how you like to be touched.”

His finger. He had his finger inside of her and she wanted—

He entered her once more. She wanted him. She moved, just as he asked her to do. At that point she would have done anything to gain her release. She wanted to feel it again, to experience the bliss, the lovely, wonderful bliss… the forgetting.

“That’s it,” he said. “Yes,” he whispered.

She moved, lifting her hips as he held his finger inside of her. And there was no shame in knowing that he watched her like a male cat watched a female cat. She moved until she felt pain, drawing back a bit and then trying again, disappointed when that pain prohibited her from having him touch her deeply. But then he touched the nub of her womanhood and she about came up on her elbows. Her hips lifted, the pain stopping her from hitting that place again, but she didn’t care, for now he used the palm of his hand to rub up the length of her and she forgot all about pain as her slick wetness created a new kind of longing, a longing that made her want to join with him. That was truly what she craved. Him. Inside of her. Now. But instead he moved alongside of her, his dark hair falling around his face as he bent his head and gently, lightly kissed her, his breath smelling oddly of mint. That was all he did—kiss her. No pressure to open her mouth, just a brush of his lips that felt like a stray hair and that took her by surprise with its gentleness.

“I’m in awe,” she heard him say.

In awe? In awe of what? And then he touched her again and she didn’t care.

“You are a virgin.”

Did that matter? She had a momentary thought that it might, but then he kissed her again and this time it was as unlike the previous kiss as the earth was from the sky. This time when his tongue entered her mouth, she recognized the rhythm now, the same rhythm they’d shared in the past. She knew herself to be close now, could feel the pressure build, that gloriously wonderful, heavenly building of release. She rode his hand as his tongue flicked and flicked and flicked until she could no longer breathe anymore, until she pulled her lips away, crying out, “Rein.”

That was the moment, the moment she’d been waiting for, the pulsing, pounding pleasure that rolled and rolled and rolled like the pressure of a wind, one that took her breath away with its force. He watched, his face now drawn back, his eyes black and intense as he watched her gain her pleasure. A breeze drifted over them, stirring her hair. She knew she should be cold, but she was so very far from cold.

“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of that.”

She saw his teeth flash in the darkness, saw his lips pull into a masculine smile.

“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of watching you gain your release.”

She did something then, something she’d been wanting to do since almost the first day she’d met him. She lifted her hand and swept his hair off his face. He seemed surprised by the gesture, for his eyes widened.

“What of you?” she asked. “If this is to be a partnership, I’m not living up to my end of the bargain.”

“No,” he said, reaching over her, pulling one of the scraps of material out from under the blanket, then sitting up so suddenly she moved onto her elbows to see what it was he did.

He reached between her legs and dabbed at her womanhood.

“What are you doing?” she asked, closing her knees and swinging them away.

“I’m cleaning you.” He held up the rag, and to her shock, there was blood on the surface.

“But, I—That is, we—”

“Didn’t couple? No. That we shall do later, when your body has had time to adjust.”

He’d broken her maidenhead, she suddenly realized, without using his manhood. “You’ve done this before.”

“I’ve initiated women before. Aye.”

She stared across at him, unblinking.

“Does that disturb you?” he asked.

Her eyes narrowed a bit, her full lips pressing together into something not quite a smile, not quite a smirk, Rein thought.

“No,” she said.

Of course it wouldn’t, Rein admitted. Why would it matter to her that he’d had other women? Why did it matter to him that she hadn’t had other men?

Because he hadn’t expected it, damn it. He’d assumed, living as she did in St. Giles—as willing as she was to engage in the giving and taking of satisfaction—that she’d not been innocent. And yet as incredible as it might seem, she’d been pure.

“How have you done it?” he found himself asking. “How have you kept yourself from men?”

She looked surprised by the question, and as he finished wiping, throwing the rag aside, he lay down next to her, the hardness of his groin making him want to groan when it came into contact with her leg. Bloody hell, if she only knew how much he wanted to part her legs, to push into her, to feel the silky softness of her womanhood as he took his pleasure.

She hadn’t answered, he realized. Had she felt his manhood touch her? Did she know how he trembled? Did she feel the slickness of his shaft?

“Anna?” he asked, because he needed her to talk. Needed her to distract him. Needed her to help him turn his thoughts from the two words pounding through his mind.
Take her. Take her. Take her.

Yet still she didn’t answer.

“Most women in your circumstances would have long since sold their bodies.

“I’m not most women.”

No, she wasn’t. And therein lay the crux of the problem. She wasn’t like any woman he’d ever known. She wasn’t like any other woman in
all of London
. Brilliant. Beautiful. Beyond amazing, she was a woman to treasure.

“Besides, if I’d given myself to a man for money, my mother would’ve likely turned over in her grave.”

She had a hair that clung to the side of her face as tenuously as a spider’s web ripped from its perch, and despite the warning to himself not to touch her, he reached out and gently drew his finger down her face, shocked at how that one touch seemed to terrify him at the same time it softened him.

“She taught me values, ideals that I’ve kept with me throughout all the years she’s been gone.”

“You were close?”

“As close as a mother and daughter could be.”

“And yet she left you to go off with your father.”

“Sailing was the love of her life, aside from my father and me.”

“Who stayed with you when she was gone?”

“We had staff.”

That made his hand still, a hand he hadn’t even known he’d been stroking her cheek with. “Staff?”

“I didn’t grow up as poor.”

He straightened a bit more, wondering—but, no, that was too far-fetched to be believed. “You come from wealth?”

“I come from brains. My father was clever at investing in things that paid out returns. Sad to say that when he died, the money went, too.”

Good heavens, for a moment there…

“Were there no other relatives? No matronly aunt with connections and wealth just waiting to take you in?”

“If there were, do you think I’d be here?”

And then her smile faded a bit. “Doing this?” she added. “Selling myself to a man for the coin he’ll bring me?”

Her lashes fell over her eyes like a cloud, blighting out the light that had been there a moment before.

“I have not
bought
you.”

She touched
his
cheek then, her eyes meeting his with a direct, amber stare. “Yes, you have, gov, but if I’d known how amazing it could be between a mort and a cull, I might have sold myself long ago.”

He drew back a bit, not liking her words. “You make yourself sound common when you speak in such a way.”

“I am common.” She smiled winsomely, sadly. “Selling yourself to a man makes you about as common as they come.”

He found himself cupping her face then, moving so that he half covered her, the heat of her body causing his manhood to ache.

“You are
not
common,” he said sincerely.

And then he saw it.

He saw the glimmer of light that caught the edge of her left lash, that sparked there for just a moment, glittering as she looked away and blinked and blinked, obviously trying to hide the evidence of her one tear.

“Oh, but I am,” she said softly. “As common as they come. My father was a simple seaman, my mother a pastor’s daughter afore she wed, and if she’s not rolling in her grave over what I’ve done, you can wager Grandfather Hartnell is.”