Suzanna Medeiros (5 page)

Since he showed no sign of moving, she raised her hand to undo the dress’s hook at the nape of her neck. The movement caused her breasts to thrust forward, and the appreciation in Andrew’s eyes spurred her to continue.

She’d made sure to choose a dress that would be easy for her to remove on her own. She lowered her arms and bent them behind her back to undo the second hook in the middle of her back and the one at her waist. That was all it took to loosen the bodice. With a simple movement of her shoulders, it slid down her arms. Andrew lifted a brow in surprise when he realized she wasn’t wearing a chemise.

She stepped out of the dress and bent to retrieve it, and her breasts threatened to spill out from the short corset she’d worn. She knew Andrew waited to see if they’d succeed, and when she straightened he let out a sound of disappointment. She placed her dress over her cloak on the chair and stepped out of her shoes before turning back to stand before him in her short corset, stockings, and drawers. This bravado was new to her and her resolve not to show how nervous she felt slipped a notch when Andrew didn’t move, his eyes half-lidded with desire, waiting to see what she was going to do next.

When the silence stretched on, she realized he was making a statement. He’d been willing to take the upper hand yesterday, but now he was letting her know if she wanted to make love, she was going to have to take the initiative. Fine. If that was how he wanted the evening to proceed, she was up for the challenge. She straightened her shoulders and approached the bed. Climbing onto it, she kneeled sideways beside him.

His nostrils flared, and from the rigidness of his posture she could tell his restraint was costing him dearly. She held back a smile of satisfaction. His eyes remained fixed on her breasts when she leaned forward to unbutton his waistcoat. He shifted toward her when she reached the last button so she could draw the garment off his shoulders and down his arms. She started to rise from the bed, to bring the garment to the chair, when he clamped a hand around her wrist to stop her.

She froze. Their eyes caught and held, and the very air thickened around them. He released her arm but held her in place, instead, by gripping her waist. His warm hands burned into the bare skin between her corset and drawers, where he stroked her in maddeningly slow circles. Reminding herself to breathe, she laid the waistcoat on the bed beside them and raised her hands to untie the knot in his cravat. She unwound it and tossed the rumpled piece of fabric next to the waistcoat.

She couldn’t resist touching the skin that showed above the open neck of his shirt. His flesh was hot, and a few hairs peeked out from beneath the bottom of the opening. His pulse beat an erratic rhythm under her caress.

“You’re killing me,” he said, his voice tense.

This time she didn’t hide her smile. In a swift movement, she tugged his shirt from the waist of his trousers and, with his help, lifted it over his head. She placed her hands over his chest and elicited a sharp intake of breath from him when she ran her hands over its broad expanse. Gathering the rest of her nerve, she lowered her hands and traced the muscles of his abdomen before following the line of hair down to where it disappeared into his trousers. She’d never performed such an intimate act for her husband, so her hands weren’t steady when she reached for the fall of his trousers and undid the buttons. She could feel his erection straining against the barrier and a shiver of anticipation raced through her.

Tension fairly vibrated from Andrew and she knew he warred between allowing her to continue and taking control. When she pulled the fall aside and reached in to stroke the hard length of his arousal through his smallclothes, he lost the battle. Before she realized what was happening, he’d reversed their positions and pushed her down onto the bed amid the pile of his clothing.

“Your clothes…”

“I could not possibly care less about whether my waistcoat will be wrinkled,” he said through gritted teeth. To underscore his words, he shifted her aside to grab the offending articles of clothing and tossed them onto the floor.

Miranda remembered how much Hathaway had hated to be seen less than impeccably dressed. The fact that Andrew did not share the same concern—that he seemed only to care about being with her—sent another thrill of excitement through her.

He quickly stood to remove his last remaining garments and joined her, again, on the bed. This time, however, he straddled her. In this position she couldn’t ignore his erection, which jutted out proudly from its thatch of dark hair. Venturing into territory about which she knew nothing, but anxious to learn more, she reached out to touch him.

“Like this,” he said, taking her hand and wrapping it around his erection and showing her how to slide her hand up and down. She marveled at the softness of his skin that covered his hard length.

Remembering one of the drawings she had seen in her husband’s book, she gave his shaft one final squeeze before releasing him.

“I would like to try something,” she said, her voice husky with arousal. “If you would…”

She placed her hands on his thighs and pushed. She wouldn’t have been able to move him if curiosity hadn’t gotten the better of him. He hesitated only a moment before moving off her. He kneeled at her side as she rose to a sitting position.

“On your back.”

He raised a brow at her command but complied. He lay, sprawled on the bed, every masculine inch of him on display. She drank in the sight. The perfection of his body almost overwhelmed her and she couldn’t help but wonder how many other women had seen him this way over the years. For that matter, she didn’t even know if he currently had a mistress.

The jealousy that swept over her was overwhelming and decidedly unwelcome. Andrew wasn’t married and he’d never said she would be his only lover. She hated the idea that he might be sharing these same intimacies with another woman but tried to push aside the images that rose in her mind at the thought. She needed to concentrate on the present and the moments she could steal with Andrew Osborne.

Remembering the way he had touched her the night before and the heightened pleasure it had aroused, she leaned over him and explored his body with her hands and mouth. When she flicked her tongue over his nipple, he jerked.

“If you’re going somewhere with this, you’d better hurry. I won’t be able to restrain myself much longer.” His voice was rough and she knew it was testing the very limits of his self-control to hold back. Even at the young age of nineteen, he’d been a man of action—rarely content to sit and wait, and certainly not one to let others take the lead.

She ran a trail of hot, openmouthed kisses down his abdomen. When she reached his manhood, every muscle in his body was taut.

“Miranda…” His voice held a hint of warning.

Not sure what she was doing, relying only on that drawing she had seen, she wrapped her right hand around the base of his erection and took him into her mouth. He almost jumped off the bed and the groan that escaped him filled the room.

Remembering how he’d wanted her to stroke him with her hand, she began to move her mouth up and down on him. He tangled his hands in her hair, helping her with the rhythm. She’d imagined this act would be distasteful and had wanted only to show him the same pleasure he had shown her the night before when he had used his mouth on her intimately. But having him fill her mouth now, the taste and smell of him overwhelming her senses, excited her and she felt a rush of wetness between her thighs. His obvious enthusiasm for her ministrations let her know that he, too, enjoyed what she was doing. She was surprised, therefore, when his hands tightened around her head and he pulled her away from him.

Worried she’d done something wrong, she stared at him for a moment before saying, “I thought you were enjoying it.”

“I was—too much—but you won’t conceive a child if I spill inside your mouth.”

Flustered, she looked away. For those few short moments, she’d actually forgotten they weren’t really lovers. She’d had to lie to him so they could have this brief liaison. She might have gotten carried away, but it was clear he hadn’t.

She remained kneeling beside him while he rose onto his elbows.

“Take off your drawers,” he said.

She’d been so engrossed in what she was doing she’d forgotten she still wore her undergarments, and it was clear Andrew liked to make love without any barriers between them.

She moved to the side of the bed and removed her drawers. She still had on her corset and stockings, but when she started to remove her garters, he told her to stop. Confused, she glanced at him over her shoulder.

“Leave them on and come here.”

She hesitated. Somehow, wearing only stockings and a corset, bare in between and the latter pushing her breasts up so they almost spilled over the top, made her feel more exposed than she had yesterday when he’d stripped her of all her clothing.

“Come over here,” he repeated.

Doing her best not to show her unease, she moved back onto the bed and sat beside him. It was more than a little ridiculous, given everything that had already happened between them, but she covered her mons with her hands. She expected him to laugh at her belated modesty, but instead his expression was tense.

“On my lap,” he said, sitting now.

Evidently she was no longer the one in control of this encounter, so she did what he asked. Taking a deep breath, she moved to sit sideways on his lap, very conscious of his jutting arousal. He placed his hands on her hips, surprising her, and moved her so she was on her knees. He brought her down over him, spreading her legs so she was straddling his thighs, his arousal between them.

He kissed her then, for the first time since she’d entered the room. Unlike the kisses they’d shared the evening before, this kiss was softer, like the start of the first one they’d shared just two days before in her town house when he’d come at her invitation. He spread featherlight kisses on her cheeks, the lids of her closed eyes, even her nose. When he reached her mouth again, he kept the kiss light, brushing his lips over hers. Frustrated, she tried to deepen the kiss, but he held her at bay. When he dragged her lower lip between his teeth, she heaved a sigh of frustration and ground herself against his hard erection, now trapped between them.

That spurred him on because he stopped teasing and opened his mouth to allow her entrance. Almost desperate for another taste of him at that point, she took the lead, exploring his mouth as she had his body. He tangled his tongue with hers and the nature of the kiss deepened. Darkened. They were both panting for breath now.

His hands tightened on her backside, urging her on as she writhed against his erection.

He drew back slightly and spoke against her mouth, the words coming out between harsh breaths as she continued to rub herself against him. “Now, Miranda. Take me inside you.”

His desperation inflamed her further and she knew what he wanted her to do. She’d also seen an illustration of this in Hathaway’s book. She rose up on her knees until the blunt tip of his manhood was pressed against her entrance, where she was almost impossibly wet. Using one hand to hold him in place, she impaled herself on his hard length.

Her breath huffed out on a long moan when he was finally where she needed him most, deep inside her. In this position, he was deeper than before. She swayed against him and lowered her head onto his shoulder, enjoying the way he filled her.

“You’re still killing me,” he said in a hoarse voice, his hands flexing on her hips.

He lifted her until just the tip of him was inside her, then dragged her back down. She released her breath on a shaky sigh but followed his lead and started to move up and down over him.

When she had found her rhythm, Andrew turned his attention elsewhere. It took little effort for him to scoop her breasts out from the top of her corset, and she arched into his hot hands while continuing to move over his hard length.

He fondled her, squeezing her breasts as he knew she liked and flicking his thumbs over their stiff points before covering one with his mouth and suckling hard. Shafts of liquid heat shot straight through her to where they were joined.

Her movements became quicker, less elegant, as her heart raced and her breaths came out in pants. He reached between them to touch her right where she needed him, and she exploded around him, his name mixed with another moan.

She sagged against him, spent. He simply held her while her heartbeat slowed. It took her a full minute to realize he was still hard. She lifted her head to look at him.

“You didn’t finish.”

His green eyes were dark with unfulfilled desire.

“No, but I will.”

He lifted her again and slammed her down against him. She was too wrung out to help him, and when he realized that he flipped them over so she was now beneath him, his hardness never leaving her. His face showed signs of strain.

“I can’t wait, Miranda.”

She lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. “Don’t.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and moved his face deeper into the caress. But he indulged himself only for a moment before starting to move again. Each thrust was hard, desperate, and before long a similar desperation rose within her. Again. She clung to his shoulders and wrapped her legs around him, meeting each slam of his body against hers.

He didn’t last long before arching his back and burying himself deeply one last time. With a guttural sound, he exploded. The rush of his hot seed inside her triggered another orgasm, and she had to bury her mouth against his neck to keep from screaming.

Chapter Five

Miranda had been expecting James Hathaway for days now, ever since her meeting with the solicitor earlier in the week. She’d been the one to initiate that meeting, but the fact that her husband’s nephew was now at the town house caused a wave of sadness, almost suffocating in its intensity, to sweep through her. She’d known this day would come but was still unprepared for the final sign that this phase of her life was over. She wouldn’t miss the town house and its ever-present reminder of her marriage, however. What she’d miss most was Andrew.