When Tempting a Rogue (18 page)

“Do it,” she challenged. So long she’d been the one in charge and now she wanted—no, she
needed
—someone to take charge of her. “Rip it off me. Take me to your bed and do what you will to me. I want you to.”

His gaze locked with hers. There, in the fathomless depths of his beautiful eyes, she saw the precise moment he passed the point of no return. Something primitive sparked there, and it sparked in her as well, although in a region considerably lower than her eyes.

He pulled. There was a rending of fabric, so loud in the stillness of the room it sounded like a shriek. And then she was standing there, her ruined shift hanging in tatters from her shoulders, exposed from breast to thigh—
sans
drawers.

Trystan pushed the rags from her arms and tossed them to the floor, his gaze seeming to drink in every inch of her. His expression was akin to wondrous, and his fingers trembled slightly as they reached out toward her. Vienne held her breath, trembled from head to foot.

“Please,” she whispered, “touch me.”

Again his eyes met hers. At the same time his hands came up to cup her breasts, thumbs sliding over the tight, sensitive peaks. Her knees weakened and her entire body seemed to throb in response. He wasn’t rough and he wasn’t overly gentle. The one thing that hadn’t changed about him was the fact that Trystan Kane seemed to instinctively know exactly how to touch her, how to pleasure her.

Vienne sighed in delight. And when he lowered his head, she combed her fingers through this thick, silky sable hair. She damn near sobbed when his tongue spent a hot, wet stroke over her desperate nipple.

His hands moved again, one holding her around her waist, the other sliding down her stomach to ease between her thighs. She parted her legs to give him easier access and felt the cool rush of moisture on her skin. All he had to do was lick her nipple and she was wet.

Long, talented fingers slid between the folds, immediately finding the knot of flesh that begged for his attention. One firm stroke made her shudder. The second jerked her hips upward and had her moaning aloud. Once more and she pulled his hair, on the verge of climaxing.

And then he removed his hand, leaving her on the verge, aching and about to implode. He stopped tonguing her breast as well.

Vienne looked at him from beneath her lashes. “If you leave me like this, I will kill you.”

Trystan grinned and reached around her to grab one of the chairs from the table. “Sit,” he commanded. And she did.

He was still wearing his trousers, the front of which bulged impressively. Vienne reached out and caressed that bulge. Trystan groaned, wrapping his fingers around her wrist so he could push her hand against his erection. She squeezed, anticipation mounting. It wouldn’t take much for her to sink to her knees on the carpet and release his glorious length from its cloth prison. She could take him in her mouth and make him beg for release.

Before she could do any of that, he released her wrist and slowly eased down onto his own knees in front of her. He took the champagne bottle from the bucket beside the table and set it on the floor beside him. Then he wrapped his hands around the back of her knees and pulled her forward so that her backside rested on the very edge of the chair.

“Spread your legs,” he commanded.

There wasn’t a single part of her that would dream of denying him, not when that undeniable tone of his voice made want her to shove her hand between her legs and finish herself off. She spread her thighs wide, until she could see a flash of pink through the ginger curls of her sex. Her hands went behind to grip the edge of the chair, bracing her weight so she could arch her hips invitingly.

Trystan trailed a finger along the sensitive flesh she offered him. Then he raised the champagne bottle so that the mouth of it hovered just above her quim, and tipped it.

Vienne cried out as the cold liquid made contact with her body’s heat. Shock and pleasure mingled, making her hips jerk and churn. Before she could recover, Trystan wrapped his arms around her legs so that the back of her thighs rested near his shoulders, and fastened his mouth on her.

“Oh!” She lifted her pelvis, bracing her weight on her hands and his arms so she could offer herself up like a feast on a platter. Trystan’s tongue lapped at the bubbles of champagne that tingled on her flesh. The sweet ache of arousal deepened and she could not contain the cooing sounds slipping from between her parted lips. She ground herself against his mouth, begging him in French to give her the release she sought. Higher and higher he took her, winding the spring inside so tightly she thought she might cry if he didn’t soon let her come.

And then he did. With one forceful lap of his tongue, Trystan sent her over the edge. Pleasure rushed up and seized her, obliterating all thought or reason, shaking her entire body for what seemed an eternity. She cried out—a long, keening cry the likes of which had not escaped her lips for far, far too long.

She sagged in the chair. He licked her again and she jerked, still so very sensitive. Panting for breath and feeling as though she’d just had her bones turned to pudding, Vienne watched as Trystan rose to his feet with a smug smile on his glistening mouth.

“I’m going to assume you liked that.”

“You know I did, you vain man. You should give lessons.”

“And share my secrets? I think not.” His fingers went to the front of his trousers, which he unfastened and slid down his lean hips. “I’m not done with you, woman.”

“I should hope not,” she replied saucily as he straightened, kicking trousers, stockings, and shoes out of the way. She had always admired the lean but shapely length of his legs, and still did—though now the muscle there was a little heavier and more pronounced. His hips were still narrow, the bones jutting slightly beneath his skin, but those weren’t what caught her attention.

Trystan Kane had what she personally believed to be the most magnificent cockstand in all of Britain, perhaps the Continent as well. Neither too long nor too short, too thick or too thin—it seemed as though it had been perfectly designed with her pleasure in mind, a fact for which she planned to thank God for once she’d had it inside her.

She slid to the floor, ending up kneeling at his feet like a penitent sinner. She slid her hands up the back of his calves, the hair tickling her palms. When she reached his thighs, she tugged him closer, opened her mouth and took the hard length of him inside. He groaned in encouragement, his hands gently cupping the back of her head. Vienne took him deep and then released him, hollowing her cheeks to form tight suction as she took him all the way once more.

“You are so very, very good at this,” he murmured, the compliment ending on a groan.

Inwardly Vienne smiled as he patted her on the head. One more stroke and she set him free. She rose to her feet and met his hungry gaze with her own. “Next time I will make you come that way, but right now I want that beautiful cock inside me.”

Trystan’s eyes glittered with mirth and seductive promise. “As you wish.”

She turned him around and then pushed against the hard wall of his chest so that he sat down on the same chair she had been in. Then she straddled him and wrapped her fingers around his hardness, guiding him into place so she could take him inside with one slick descent. Her body stretched to accommodate his, both of them shuddering and moaning at the incredibly intense sensation.

For a moment, Vienne sat on his lap, the two of them connected like pieces of a puzzle. Then she braced her toes against the carpet and pushed herself up. Down. Up.

Trystan held her hips, but he let her set the pace of their coupling. She gripped his broad shoulders as she moved, never taking her gaze from his face. At that moment, she had never seen a more beautiful or perfect man. Even though his nose was slightly crooked and a little large, and his mouth a little too wide, he was exceptional in his beauty. She loved the lines around his eyes and mouth and the light smatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose—she could look at them for hours and never suffer boredom.

She lowered her head and kissed him, slowly savoring the warm pliancy of his lips. She would never regret this night. No matter what came after, she would always be thankful that she had the chance to hold him again, feel him against her and inside her one more time.

One of his hands came up and began pulling pins from her hair as she rode him—languidly. Having already climaxed once, she wasn’t in a desperate hurry to do it again, although the urge was definitely building. When her hair tumbled freely down her back, she shook her head so the strands fell over her shoulders and breasts. He liked seeing her hair loose, falling between them as they made love. She knew this because he had told her years ago and she never forgot.

He smiled at her and she smiled back. Never had she looked a man in the eye as often and without shame as she did Trystan. He had seen her at both her best and worst, and still he was here with her now. Was she incredibly fortunate, or did he have some sort of mental defect when it came to her?

He ran his fingers through her hair, plucking up a strand and tickling her nipples with the ends. She squirmed, which only served to plant him as deep inside her as he could possibly go.

“You’re killing me,” he groaned.

Vienne grinned. “I am the one on top. I make the rules.”

He arched a brow, and then suddenly she found herself standing, empty and slightly bewildered. Trystan stood as well, his erection still high and firm. He took her by the waist and turned her around so that she faced the table.

“Put your hands on it,” he ordered.

Vienne did, aware that doing so set her hips and backside at a very provocative angle. Trystan ran gentle hands along her back; and when she felt his lips touch where his hands had been, she knew he was kissing what bruises remained. The knowledge tugged at her heart.

He nudged her legs apart and filled her with one thrust. His fingers splayed across her hips, holding her still as he teased her with shallow strokes. Gritting her teeth, Vienne bent her arms, lowering her torso onto the table so her hips were even higher.

It felt so good, what he did to her. It was so arousing to be completely at his mercy, all of her control stripped away. Every slick thrust brought her closer to a second climax, made her muscles tense. The only sounds in the room were their harsh breaths, little incoherent words of encouragement, and pleasure.

How did it feel for him, she wondered? Did the feel of her tight wetness make him half as mad as his hardness made her? Did he wish this could go on forever yet push all the harder toward the inevitable spending?

One of his hands slid beneath her, his fingers tweaking her nipple. Sensation flared and she gasped in sweet delight. She clutched at the tablecloth, their movements jostling dishes and silverware. Thankfully it was a sturdy table, so there was little worry of anything breaking should things become a little more intense—as they were, slowly.

His other hand left her hip to seize a handful of her hair. The gentle tug made her moan aloud. Was there nothing he did not remember about her sexually? With his fingers pulling and pinching at hair and breast respectively, and his glorious cock filling her, orgasm would not be far off. She widened her stance, taking him deeper. He grunted and began to thrust faster, pulling harder on her hair—but still not enough to hurt—and tormenting her breasts to the point where pleasure almost became pain but was still too good to stop.

“Yes,” she murmured, practically hissing. “Oh, Trystan . . .
Yes
,
please
. . .”

“Tell me you want it.” His voice was a hoarse growl.

“I want it.” Her eyes squeezed shut as she concentrated on the mounting tension inside her. “I need it.”

“What do you need?”

“You,” she gasped. She meant to say “your cock” but her mouth seemed to have other plans. “I need you.”

Obviously those were the right words to say because he began thrusting faster, harder. The pressure inside her swelled and tightened, building higher and higher until she came with a force that drove her up onto her toes, forehead braced on her fists as she cried out in the sheer bliss of it all. She felt Trystan stiffen, heard him stifle a shout as he came as well, pulsing inside her.

They stayed like that for a few seconds, until both their limbs decided to give up supporting them. Then they sagged to the floor and lay together on the carpet, still gasping for breath.

Neither of them said anything, but Vienne was hardly worried. It never had been their habit to talk after sex. Usually they had curled up together and fell asleep in each other’s arms. That wasn’t going to happen on the floor of Trystan’s home, not when there was a perfectly good bed only a couple of rooms away.

A quarter of an hour and some heavy petting later, Trystan was hard again. This time he took her to bed, and sprawled on the mattress so she might climb on top of him. He let her take charge and set the pace. For Vienne the victory wasn’t so much in being in control but watching his face when he came just after she did. At first he looked as though he was in pain, but then his expression changed to one of joy; and after he stiffened, he grinned and began to chuckle. She understood how he felt—it truly was that good.

She collapsed beside him on the bed, wrapping her arm and one leg over him in case he tried to pull away before she was ready to let him go. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight against his chest, and she knew he wasn’t going anywhere.