Seven Wicked Nights (11 page)

He’d only touched her hand at this point, but it took all his force of will to keep from sliding his hands down the vision she presented. She wore slippers and a gown so thick it might have offered some modesty, had it not clung so to her form. Her very lovely form.

“I have something very important to say.” Her eyes were wide and luminous.

He cupped her cheek in his hand. She was warm; as he touched her, she leaned her head to cradle against his palm.

He didn’t remember leaning down to her, but somehow, his forehead touched hers and their lips were almost level.

“What have you to say?”

“I…I…”

He didn’t know how it happened, whether it was she who tilted toward him or he who was drawn into the kiss by the feel of her warm breath. Still, his mouth met hers, and the only words her lips formed were kisses. Long kisses, languid kisses. He might have lost himself in kissing her.

“I had hoped you wanted to say that,” he whispered into her ear. “Now might I repeat it louder?”

He took her mouth again. She tasted of cinnamon. She yielded in his arms as he drew her closer. His hands crept up her side, and found nothing but soft fabric and softer flesh underneath.

No corset. She wasn’t wearing a corset. She let out a little sound as his hand rose to her breast, and lust surged through him. He could feel the point of her nipple rising against his palm. His hips pressed forward, seeking hers—

“Ahem.”

Evan froze, his hand on her breast.

The tone behind them was unmistakable. “That will be
two
weeks’ leave, then, my lady?”

Elaine burrowed her nose into his neck. “Three,” she said.

He would have felt mildly embarrassed, had it not been so marvelous to hold her. Still, he waited until the pair of servants had shut the door before he returned to the task of discovering her.

“Will they talk?”

“James and Mary have been slipping out together for years.” Her breath was ragged as he kissed her shoulder. “I’ve not informed the housekeeper, and so—ooh.”

He cupped his hand around the solid warmth of her breast, the weight heavy in his hand. “What was it you wanted to tell me? You never did say.”

She reached up and pulled a pin from her hair, and all that pale expanse fell past her shoulders. His mouth dried. He wanted her right now. Instantly.
Sooner
than instantly. But he hadn’t waited all these months for her acquiescence to rush the experience.

“I wanted to say—”

He leisurely rolled her nipple between his fingertips, and she let out a little gasp. “What was it you wanted to say?”

“I—oh, Evan.”

He kissed the side of her neck, and she arched against him.

“Evan, I can’t think when you—”

He slid his hand down her side, drinking in the feel of her curves. She felt so right against him, so perfect.

“I was going to say—”

She broke off yet again as he leaned down further and closed his mouth around her breast. Under his ministrations, the nub of her nipple hardened. He could almost feel her body coming to life, recognizing wants that she’d never quite understood before. He could sense her desire in the tension of her fingertips, biting into his shoulders; could discern it in the uneven rhythm of her breathing as he lashed his tongue along the hard tip. She flattened herself against him.

“Evan,” she said shakily, “are you doing this on purpose? I can’t think, much less speak. And I so wanted to say—”

He set his finger over her lips.

“No,” he told her. “Let me say it first. I love you, Elaine. I love your wit. I love your strength.” He frowned as he slid his hand around her neck. “I
don’t
love these buttons—ah, there we are.” He’d loosened her gown enough that he could slide it over her shoulder, until he could expose the naked curves of her bosom.

“I love your breasts,” he said honestly. “I really love your breasts. In fact, it’s hard to kiss your sense of humor, but these…” He leaned down to taste her again. As his tongue circled her nipple, she gave another little cry. And God, did he love her breasts—and her rounded hips—and her legs, long and delicious, against him.

He backed her against the wall of the entry. His hips pressed into hers and his erection was hard against her belly. By some instinct, she knew to push back. She nipped at his ear, and his own breath stuttered.

“I love you, darling,” he said. “But I’ve just realized that you mustn’t say anything back.”

He pulled her shift up, his hand seeking the warm haven between her legs.

Still she pressed closer. “But I want to. I lo—”

He cut off her words with another kiss.

God. And here he’d thought that the slick, warm feel of her was more than he could handle. But all his reason was melting into heated slag, like so much scrap metal in a blacksmith’s furnace. It was more than he deserved, more than he could possibly imagine. He had her here, body and soul, her skin against his.

“Don’t you dare say it,” he growled. “Somehow, I’m supposed to keep myself from bedding you before dawn.”

Her breathing hitched. And then her hands slid down his back to his elbows. She tilted her face to his. “And why are you supposed to do that?”

If he’d had any thoughts left anywhere, they scattered. He took her hand in his and led her upstairs, lifting her up the last few stairs in his haste. The hall had never seemed so endless; his door had never creaked so loudly. His room had gone completely cold, but he scarcely noticed because she was here.

She looked around her curiously. The dark wood paneling of his room seemed harsh and masculine in the night, but she tinged everything she looked at in an ethereal feminine light. Even the bed, with its straight posts and functional, square frame seemed to take on an elegant look when she ran her hand along the covers.

He shut the door behind them and then turned to her. “I shall need to find my snow spectacles.”

She shook her head in confusion. “Snow spectacles?”

“They’re of Esquimaux design. You don them when you must walk on the snow in sun. Otherwise, there’s simply too much light for your eyes. The world can be too bright.”

She must have taken his meaning, because she smiled at him. And then, as he was striding toward her, she gathered up her disheveled gown in her hands and pulled it over her head. Her hair, loose, spilled over her shoulders.

His mouth dried. Her hips were round and full. The hair that covered her mons was only a shade darker than the gold on her head. Her breasts were…oh, God. They were irresistible. Round and firm and even better than he’d ever imagined. Her hips were wide and curved, and her legs… He could imagine them wrapped around him, clutching him to her.

She sat on his bed, and as she did so, she let her limbs fall to either side of her. And if that were not invitation enough, she crooked one finger at him.

“You are the most damnable thing.” He managed only a croak. He took two faltering steps to her and then knelt at her feet. “The most damnable, adorable, scintillating thing,” he whispered again. He set his hands on her knees, and she grinned at him once more.

Confident. She was so confident. It was what he’d always hoped for from her—her trust, finally given over to him. It was the best thing he could have imagined.

Oh, very well. Second best. But his imagination was turning to reality now, and he could have the very best, too. He slid her knees apart. The rosy folds of her sex unfurled for him. It would have taken a trice to divest himself of his clothing and slide inside her warm depths. But she’d come here because she trusted him. And by God, he was going to prove her right.

So instead of slaking his lust as he desired, he leaned forward. His lips found her inner thigh. She let out a gasp, and her hand went to his shoulder, half in question.

“Trust me on this,” he said.

And she did.

He took her sex in his mouth. His tongue traced her folds, already slick with desire. He learned the contours of her, the grip of her fingers against his shoulder, the gasp of her breath as he found the nub of her pleasure. He tasted her want, her sweet feminine musk. And she opened for him, letting him take her, trusting him to bring her pleasure. He could feel when her thighs started to tremble, when her hips rose to meet him. By the time she was bucking beneath his ministrations he was hard and all too ready for her. But he brought her all the way, lashing his tongue against her until she let out a strangled cry. Her fingernails bit into his shoulders. And she came. And came. And came.

He waited until her shuddering subsided. She had fallen back on his bed, her breasts full and round above her. He knelt over her and nuzzled the side of her neck. Forced himself to take in the wild scent of her and not go mad with desire.

“Oh, God,” she said. “Evan. Lord above.”

“Was that…was that your first, or have you ever done that for yourself?”

She looked up at him, suddenly ducking her chin. “It wasn’t my first.” A slight blush touched her cheeks. “But
you
will be.”

“Yes.” The air was suddenly fire around him. “I will.”

He trailed his fingers down her neck, feeling almost singed with his own desire. He removed his shirt and waistcoat slowly as she watched. When he pushed down his trousers, her gaze followed. If he’d been hard before, he felt like stone when she looked at him. And when she reached out…

Even expecting her touch, the tips of her fingers against his cock sent a thrill through him. He gasped, and she looked up at him…and laughed. Oh, that laugh. As if she knew his secrets. As if she was lost to propriety. As if she held nothing back—and gave everything to him.

He pushed her onto her back. He wasn’t sure how he got on top of her, how his hands tangled with hers. But his mouth found her breasts. Her hips rose up to his. His shaft found her opening, warm and wet.

“Elaine.” It was not just her name, but a prayer.

“Evan.” Her hand trailed down his back.

She was inviting, spread before him, and he’d been waiting for this for far too long. With one thrust, he seated himself firmly inside her. And God, she felt wonderful around him—hot, tight, her passage clenching around him. It would have been perfect but for the noise she made in her throat—not quite a whimper, not quite a protest.

“Did it hurt?”

She shook her head bravely, but her fingertips bit into his arm. Yes, then, it had. But she wouldn’t admit it. He needed to relax, to give her a little time to adjust to the sensation of being filled in this way. He counted sheep in his mind—anything to distract him from the instinct that was overwhelming him.

But then she squeezed him, her muscles contracting about him. He gasped, gritted his teeth. Impossible, though, to set aside the sensation that roared through him.

She did it again. “Do you like that?”

“Yes.” He shut his eyes. “No. If you do that again, Elaine, I’m going to—”

“Do it.”

He couldn’t hold off any longer. He pulled back and then thrust inside her again. She was white-hot friction around him, clamping down on him so hard he could almost see stars. Her hips rose to his. With every thrust, he could feel her breasts—hot and large and lovely, and God, he dipped his head to taste them once more, and she pulsed around him, all heat and tenderness.

She was wet, so wet. He felt as if he were wooing her all over again, tempting her with every brush of his fingers. She was close, so close. He leaned down and pressed his lips to her nipple. It contracted under his kiss. And soon it wasn’t just her need that he courted so gently, but his own. Her hips rose to press hard against his thrusts.

He couldn’t think of anything but the slide of his body into hers, the pressure, the sensation—and then, deep in the distance, a faint roaring that filled his ears. It was bigger than just him. It was a wave that swept over him, engulfing everything as he pounded his want deep into her.

As he did, her body shuddered underneath his and she made a low, keening sound.

God, yes—she was perfect, totally perfect.

When it passed, he slumped on top of her. “God, Elaine.” He kissed her, more gently this time. She was still pulsing around him in little shocks.

It seemed impossible that he could be
more
aware of her, with the edge taken off his want. But when he relaxed on top of her, his hands tangling in her hair, his lips pressing breathlessly into hers once more, he felt as if he knew her as intimately as he’d ever known anyone.

And he never wanted to let go.

E
LAINE SEEMED TO BE FLOATING ON A DREAM AFTERWARD
, a dream where Evan ran his hand down the side of her face, his touch as light as gossamer. It was a beautiful dream. Her whole body seemed to melt away in utter relaxation. She felt as if she’d walked fifteen miles: her whole body throbbed with the ache of past exertion, but now she had nothing to do but slip into lassitude.

His lips brushed hers, touched her forehead. His hand slid down her ribcage and then his fingers entwined with hers.

Somehow, in the months of their friendship, he had become dearer to her than anything she could have imagined. She adored his wit. She was rather impressed by the muscles of his chest, covered with curly golden-brown hair.