Seductive as Flame (11 page)

Until finally, she threw her arms wide, uncurled her legs from his hips, lay sprawled beneath him, lithesome, graceful, breathing hard, and smiling. “You’re released . . . from your duties . . . my darling Dalgliesh,” she panted.

She’d apparently reached her limit.

But he didn’t move.

He wasn’t that unselfish.

He did ask though, polite and gracious, “You’re sure now?”

After a protracted moment, she languidly lifted her gaze. “I’m very sure. And thank you again.”

He found her simple frankness charming. Different from the usual flattery that always smacked of pretense. “You’re welcome,” he said with well-bred grace, as if he were exchanging courtesies after a game of croquet, as if his massive erection wasn’t stretching her sleek tissue taut.

She smiled. “Your endurance is impressive, but please be my guest. You’ve been more than patient.”

“In that case,” he replied with an answering smile, “I’ve been thinking about this since morning.” With masterful strength and smooth dexterity, he rolled on his back without dislodging his cock and helped her sit up. Adjusting her position on his thighs, his huge penis solidly embedded in her slick warmth, he ran his hands over her hips in a light, proprietary gesture. “I’ve been wondering if you could ride my cock as well as you ride your blue roan.” Raising his hips along with her weight, he slid off his trousers and underwear and kicked them aside. “There, that’s better.” He grinned. “I didn’t dare disturb your concentration before.”

“How considerate.” Bending, she kissed his smiling mouth. “You’re really quite exceptional, you know,” she murmured, sitting up again. “I must return the favor.”

He flexed his hips lightly and felt her body softly yield. “It shouldn’t be a problem. I’m already feeling immensely favored.”

His pearl studs on his shirtfront gleamed with his movement and she lifted her brows. “No diamond studs?” She hadn’t noticed before, intent on other things. “You of all people. I’m surprised.”

“Do you like diamonds?” A sudden coolness had entered his voice.

She laughed. “So cynical, Dalgliesh. I don’t want your diamonds. You know what I want.”

He grinned. “Where have you been all my life?”

“Waiting for this.” She touched him where their bodies met.

“Perfect.” Thinking the gods were definitely looking on him with favor tonight, he lightly gripped the outside flare of her thighs, and thrust upward, forcing her wider, filling her completely, utterly, to the limit.

Then—with consummate grace—a modicum past the limit.

She shut her eyes—the sensations excruciatingly fine, the pressure compelling, ravishing, the sense of powerlessness she felt with his hands holding her firmly, perversely satisfying.

“There, there, relax . . .”

His voice reached her through a hot haze of desire, and it took a moment before she opened her eyes, before she’d recovered enough to whisper, “I may not survive the night.”

“Of course you will.” He spoke softly, gently stroked her legs, soothing her, calming her. “We’ll take our time.”

“Such assurance. I won’t ask you how you know.”

And he had no intention of telling her.
“Trust me, you’ll be fine.”

She smiled. “What I don’t know, you can teach me.”

“That’s not necessary. Believe me, you can do no wrong.”

“At least I know how to ride.” And with that smiling statement, she gracefully rose to her knees, hovered for a fraction of a second on the very crest of his erection before lowering herself again in a warm, silken flow that added a new dimension to his memory of lascivious sensation. He dragged in air through his teeth as she repeated the exercise, his nerves jolted by ravishing, agonizing shock waves. When she came to rest a second later, fully impaled on his cock, he shut his eyes and gave himself up to her slow, languorous rhythm, each gliding, tantalizing skin-on-skin ascent and descent blazing a new fiery trail to Nirvana.

Her exquisitely accommodating rise and fall was facile and fluid, her thighs strong, her sleek vaginal muscles toned, resilient, forceful, and before long, Alec found himself resentfully wondering what it had taken to develop those muscles. This from a man who liked supple women who knew how to use their bodies. This from a man who’d always preferred sexually proficient females.

“You’re not paying attention.” He’d missed a beat.

“The part that matters is paying attention,” he said, his eyes half shut. “Don’t stop.”

“You’re not in a position to give orders right now,” she playfully murmured.

He opened his eyes fully. “What if I wanted to be?” His voice was suddenly softly speculative, his gaze less so, brute temptation rising unchecked. “Take charge, as it were. Of you.”

She smiled. “By all means—do.”

His engorged penis surged higher as if already given leave to take what liberties he wished. Her soft groan in response was gratifying and familiar. “You like hard cock, don’t you?” But his voice was taut, sullen. How many men had heard that soft, sensual groan, had stood stud for her, had been offered carte blanche?

She moved her hips in a faint rotation, measuring the towering grandeur inside her. “Shouldn’t I?” She smiled. “Surely, you of all people shouldn’t be questioning female arousal.”

“I’m not.” A blatant mendacity. Raising his hands, he cupped the plump weight of her resplendent breasts and struggled against a rash need to exert his authority, to mark her somehow as his. Fighting the urge to ruthlessly crush the soft flesh in his hands out of some inexcusable anger over something that shouldn’t matter, he gruffly said, “Show me what else you like. Entertain me.”

It was impossible to overlook the umbrage in his voice. “I’m sure your repertoire is more extensive than mine,” she said, not sure she dared smile, although she found his sulkiness appealing. “But I’d be happy to try entertaining you because I’m very pleased you’re here.” Rising smoothly to her knees, she slid her finger down his slippery cock. “And mostly here,” she added, plunging downward again, shuddering as her bottom met his thighs and their bodies were irresistibly joined.

It only took a moment to erase the unwanted images of other men enjoying her largesse. He was a sensible man. “Yes, definitely there.” But still troubled by his mad, unconscionable passion for this woman, by his outrageous cravings, his voice held a hint of curtness. “Now a little more speed, my pet, or I might decide to leave.”

She knew he wouldn’t. She knew he could no more leave than she could. But he’d given her so much already tonight, given her countless orgasms with exquisite artistry and skill and courtesy she could do no less for him.

He didn’t last very long after that.

And she wondered if he was so expert that he could come at will. Whatever the reason, he said, “Thank you,” through gritted teeth a few moments later, lifted her off him, and climaxed in his shirttails with a kind of efficiency she found strangely annoying. When it shouldn’t matter in the least. When they were both here for casual sex. When neither wanted anything more.

Correction. The Earl of Dalgliesh inexplicably wanted to possess her body and soul, own her completely, not let another man touch her. He wanted her with a blind rage and with an undemanding tenderness, and he could never have her that way or any way.

He was married.

He had responsibilities.

It was impossible.

CHAPTER 8

D
ALGLIESH HAD ROLLED off the bed so quickly after he’d climaxed Zelda was tempted to teasingly say,
Was I that bad?
But clearly he wasn’t in a playful mood; he was obviously determined to resist further dalliance. And while she sympathized with his wish to avoid entanglements, selfishly, she preferred he wait a few more hours before he reverted to type. “Don’t leave just yet,” she said, her voice deliberately mild, well mannered. “Please.”

Dalgliesh was stripping off his soiled shirt, and once his head emerged from the garment, he said without looking at her, “I shouldn’t have come.”

“But now that you’re here, why not—”

“No.” Dropping his shirt, he reached for his trousers.

Zelda’s lounging pose altered at the sight of his tautly muscled body on full display. She’d not seen him completely naked before. He was magnificent—like a gladiator from ancient times, she thought, coming up on her elbows to better take in the bonny sight. His tall, broad-shouldered form was honed to the inch, a hard, tensile energy and brute force conspicuous beneath the perfect conditioning.

His dark skin was even darker in the checkered light, his rough-hewn strength enhanced by the gloom, the raw, primal image stark—as if a barbarian had entered her bedchamber, or perhaps the devil in disguise or maybe only an archetypical libertine with an indefatigable cock.

Not that conjecture or cerebral concerns mattered in the least with lust flaring through her senses, ungovernable desire beating at her brain, Dalgliesh’s magnificent erection, splendid in profile, tantalizing her gaze. “Please, I’m without pride,” she whispered. “Don’t go. I
need
you.”

He turned, his dark brows drawn together in a slash of discontent. “Sorry, I can’t help you.”

“Why not? I only want a few more hours of your time.”

“My time?” Mocking and truculent, he slid one leg into his trousers.

“You know what I mean.” Sitting up, she slipped off the bed and moved toward him because she couldn’t bear to let him go without at least trying to dissuade him.

“Look, this was a mistake.” He thrust his other leg into his trousers and jerked them up at her approach, as if shielding himself from temptation.

“Do I frighten you that much?” She gazed up at him from very close range.

“Yes.” He took a step back.

“What can I say to change your mind?”

He surveyed her lush, shapely form—a swift, expressionless glance. “Nothing. You’re too tempting, that’s all.” He finished buttoning his trousers.

“It’s only sex,” she softly said.

“That’s the problem. It isn’t.” He wanted to fuck her until he couldn’t fuck anymore, and then he wanted to fuck her some more.

“It
could
be only sex.”

“I’m leaving in the morning.” He reached for his coat. “Did I mention that?”

“No.” Her heart began beating wildly. “Why?”

“Violetta. Why else?” he said, sliding his arms into the coat sleeves. “I’m taking Chris with me.”

“If we won’t be seeing each other again, surely you can stay a little longer.” She marveled that she could speak so calmly when she felt as though she were falling off the ends of the earth.

“Jesus, will you stop?” But his erection was throbbing with every beat of his heart, and he saw her glance at the obvious bulge in his trousers.

“Perhaps he wouldn’t mind staying.”

“I’m years past such juvenile impulses,” he growled.

“May I touch him then?”

“No.” He took another step back.

She followed him that time, reached up to lightly run her fingertips down his throat, and when he sucked in his breath, she slid her hand lower, over the crisp, dark hair on his chest, the hard, ridged contours of his stomach, the dip of his navel, stopping for a moment on the trouser button at his waist before beginning to slide it free.

“Don’t.” He brushed her hand away. “I’m not looking for any more problems in my life,” he said, his voice softly caustic. “And you’re a problem.”

“I won’t be I promise. It’s only sex,
only
that. In the morning you’re free of me. Please stay.”

He still hadn’t moved.

She was encouraged enough to slide her hands inside his open coat, twine her arms around his waist, lean into his tense body, and glancing up past his rigid jaw, offer him a small smile. “I’m without artifice, if that helps. I only want . . . him,” she said, moving her hips faintly to underscore her statement.

For a lengthy interval he didn’t breathe, every muscle and sinew in his body taut with restraint, self-denial contesting gut-wrenching desire. When his lungs were beginning to hurt from the strain, he finally exhaled. Then without legitimate excuse or justification, without so much as a modicum of logic or reason, he said, “You win.” His gaze narrowed. “But I leave at first light.”

“Yes, yes, whatever you say.” Her smile was bright with joy, and pulling his head down, she kissed him in exultation. “You won’t be sorry,” she whispered, releasing him, beginning to slide his coat from his shoulders. “You may order me about at will.”

“Christ, don’t say that.” He lifted his hand in a small wordless gesture of futility. “I’m already out of control.”

“We both are. If you hadn’t come, I would have found you, so don’t talk to me about control. And I never prowl the hallways looking for a bed partner—a particular bed partner,” she amended at his sudden frown. “But I would have tonight, so do me a favor and stop thinking so much.” She held out her hand. “Come, I want to feel you inside me for however long you can stay.”

A faint smile appeared. “Is that all you want—a five-hour erection? Why didn’t you say so?” But he took her hand and brought it to his lips, his gaze amused. “So then,” he murmured, his breath warm on her fingertips. “It seems I have my work cut out for me. How would you like it, Miss MacKenzie? Standing, sitting, or lying down?”

“All three.”

Sometime later, after being dazzled by Dalgliesh’s intemperate inventory of voluptuary sensation, after a particularly intense orgasm that left her light-headed and faint, Zelda lifted her head from his shoulder, slowly raised her eyelids, and expressed amazement in the high arch of her brows. “That was a professional performance.”

I know.
“You’re easy to please,” he said instead. “Can you stand or should I carry you to the bed?”

“I consider myself”—she drew in a ragged breath—“very fortunate to have met you. I can stand.”