Wicked Intentions 1 (33 page)

“Perhaps.” She flicked a look at him, then concentrated on slipping off his neckcloth. “Is that why you tie them?”

“Who?”

“Tsk. I never thought you a coward, Lazarus.”

He sighed and closed his eyes. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

She began on the buttons of his waistcoat. “You don’t know why you tie them, or you don’t want to admit it?”

“How very stern you are, madam.” His voice held a hint of warning.

“Yes.” She nodded, her eyes on her work. “But I think I would never get any answer from you otherwise. Does their nearness give you pain? Does the thought of how apart you are from them—from everyone—cause you the anguish you feel when others touch you?”

“Your perception terrifies me.” He helped her remove his waistcoat. “I don’t know why I feel pain.”

“Is the pain physical or mental?”

“Both.”

She nodded as she began to unbutton his shirt. She could feel the heat of his skin, and his dark chest hair was shadowy beneath the fine linen. She felt her insides clench. “Then perhaps you tie them so they will not cause you pain.”

“Perhaps.”

“Or”—she lifted her eyes to meet his—“perhaps you tie them so that you have no need to acknowledge their humanity.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t that make me the devil?”

“Would it?” she asked softly.

His eyes slid away from hers.

“Are you afraid of their gaze? Is that what the blindfold is for? So you can’t see their eyes?”

“Perhaps I don’t wish them to see
my
eyes.”

“Why?”

“Perhaps I don’t want them to see the black at the center of my soul.”

She stared into his amazing blue eyes a moment, and he let her as if he was telling her something silently.

Then she looked away.

“You don’t tie me.” She felt her pulse speed. She wanted to take off his shirt, but then again, she had no wish to cause him pain. She smoothed her hands over the linen, feeling his warm muscles beneath. He had a lovely chest, broad and fine, the mounds of his shoulders flowing smoothly into the bunched muscles of his arms.

“No, I don’t.”

“Is it because I’m more important than those others or less?”

“More. Most definitely.”

She nodded, watching her hands on him. The thought that she was important to him made tears prick in her eyes.

“Am I more important to you?” he asked softly.

Of course he was. But she brushed aside the question. She was interested in his vulnerabilities, not her own. “Does this pain you? If I touch you through the cloth?”

“No.”

She leaned forward and softly kissed his shoulder. “I’m glad.”

“I answer your questions, but you don’t answer mine.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. Not yet. Don’t push.”

“What—” His question was cut off as she leaned forward and delicately licked one nipple through his shirt.

He inhaled. “I’ll need to know someday.”

“Perhaps.” She traced around his nipple with her tongue. The wet fabric was nearly transparent, and she could see the brown nipple beneath his shirt.

“Ahh.”

She smiled against his shirt.

“Temperance.”

“Don’t push.” She held the shirt flat against his chest to more clearly see him. His puckered nipple made a tiny peak.

“As you push me?”

“Am I pushing you?”

“Most assuredly.”

She tugged on a strand of his hair in reprimand.

He grunted. “Do you ask yourself why you have a need to push me?”

“No.” She traced downward to lay her hands flat against his belly. It felt firm and hot.

“Maybe you should.”

“Hmm.” She was distracted for a moment by the waistband of his breeches and the fall beneath.

“Temperance…”

“No.” She slid off his lap and to her knees between his legs. She flicked open the buttons of his breeches. “Do you feel pain now?”

“Hmm?” he murmured. He seemed enthralled by the sight of her fingers working at the opening to his breeches. Beneath, his erection strained at the cloth. Her mouth was dry, anticipating the sight.

But she wasn’t going to let him go that easily. “Lazarus? Am I hurting you?”

“If you are, it is exquisite.”

“Good,” she said as she laid his breeches open. His cock was tenting the front of his smallclothes. “Lazarus…”

“Yes?” he answered. “Ah…”

She wrapped her hands about his penis inside his smallclothes. She glanced up at him under her eyelashes. “Would you like to tie me sometime?”

He blinked as if awakening from a daze, his eyes growing wary. “No. No, of course not.”

“Now who lies?” she murmured as she gently squeezed, testing his hardness. “Would it hurt you if I took this out and touched it?”

He inhaled. “I think I could bear it.”

“Could you?”

“Please.”

His husky plea decided her. Carefully, delicately, she unbuttoned his smallclothes and pulled back the flaps. And then she simply looked.

He was truly magnificent, sitting in her worn armchair, his legs spread, his penis enormously erect. The fact that he still wore his shirt and breeches, hose and shoes, made the sight of his black pubic hair and ruddy cock all the more arousing. The sight was shockingly intimate. He looked like a king, arrogant and sure of his power.

“I love to look at you,” she said.

“Indeed?” he whispered, his voice a deep male purr.

She glanced up at him and at the same time wrapped her hand about his cock. “You’re sure you wouldn’t want me spread upon your bed? Powerless, helpless to your desire?”

His eyes had half closed, his cheeks flushed with sexual hunger. “I… I… perhaps.”

“Perhaps?” she murmured, her attention drawn back to the prize in her hands. Truth be told, her interest in the game had waned. “I’ve never known you to be uncertain as to your wants. Your desires.”

She squeezed very carefully, feeling the softness of his skin, the iron hardness underneath.

He gasped, arching his hips so that his cock thrust into her hands. “Damn it. Put it in your mouth.”

She bit her lip, a little shocked. She’d never done such a thing before. She stroked her finger over the tip of his penis, where a tiny slit leaked liquid. What would that liquid taste like in her mouth?

“Temperance,” he said, his voice very deep and very clear in the quiet room. “Suck me.”

She bent her head and stuck out her tongue hesitantly.
And licked. She wrinkled her nose. It was salt and musk, not unpleasant, but not what she’d expected either.

Above her, he moaned. “Please.”

Oh, to hear him beg. There was something in her, something wicked and base that lapped up that plea in his voice. She opened her mouth and placed the head of his cock inside.

Sucked.

His hips jerked, jamming his cock farther into her mouth. She almost backed off, but then she held him more firmly and flattened her tongue against him, sucking gently. His hands came up, stroking her head. She felt him take the pins from her hair, wrapping his hands in the locks, pulling gently. She wasn’t sure he even knew what he did. She leaned back a little, letting him slide from her mouth so she could look up at him.

He was watching her.

The knowledge made her wet. She laid her tongue against him and, locking her eyes with his, licked all the way around the head of his cock.

“Jesus.” His jaw gritted, flexing in the firelight.

She stroked down on his penis and opened her lips about him, sucking gently on the very tip.

His face was strained, the muscles standing out on his arms. “Take it deeper.”

And she did, swallowing as much of him as she could, her eyes still on his even as his hips moved under her. He covered her hand with his own to help her stroke faster.

He was gasping now, his cheeks furrowed, his face flushed. “Do you want it?” he whispered. “Stop now if you can’t take it.”

She couldn’t talk—her mouth was full of his cock—but
she wanted to see this. Wanted to bring him to the inevitable end. She watched him as she felt his cock swell in her mouth. Watched him as his hand jerked powerfully on his length. Watched him as he bared his teeth.

“Ah, God!”

She tasted salt and warmth. Felt tears fill her eyes as he spasmed helplessly. He was big and strong, but she’d brought him to this point.

She licked him as he softened, feeling tender, feeling somehow lost.

“Come here,” he ordered, and pulled her into his arms.

He tucked her head under his chin, and they lay there for long moments as he stroked her hair. Then he began to pull her skirts up. Wordlessly, relentlessly, he uncovered her limbs until she lay sprawled on him, the fabric of her skirts around her waist.

He looked down and she followed his gaze. Her dark curls were a shocking contrast to the whiteness of her skin. She wasn’t used to this, to a man examining her in the firelight, and she started to pull down her skirts to cover her nudity.

“Don’t.” He stayed her hand, his eyes meeting hers in command. “I want to see you.”

She shook her head, but the movement was weak.

He moved his hand to the juncture of her thighs, and she turned her head, hiding her face in his shoulder. She felt him pet her, stroking through her curls.

“Open your legs,” he said quietly.

She complied, swallowing shallowly, waiting for his touch.

It was so delicate when it came that she almost missed
it. He skimmed her inner thighs, up close to where her center waited for him. But then he skirted up, around her mound, touching only the edges of her hair.

“Watch,” he said.

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

She inhaled and raised her head.

His big hand lay over her mound, his fingers spread possessively.

“Don’t look away or I’ll stop,” he murmured.

She swallowed, watching as his fingers slowly slipped down to her far lips. He widened them, spreading her lips, revealing the deep rose within and her own embarrassing moisture.

“So soft,” he said, and ran his forefinger through her folds.

She was panting now, watching as his finger reached her apex and circled around her nub. Gently, he tapped her clitoris.

“Do you like that?” he whispered.

She wanted to shake her head, to look away, but if she did, he would stop and the mere thought was enough to make her think she’d die.

“Temperance,” he whispered, deep and intimate, “tell me if you like this.” He pressed gently, not quite hard enough. “Temperance?”

“Harder,” she breathed.

“What?”

She swallowed. “Harder. Touch me harder.”

He pressed again. “Like this?”

Oh, glorious bliss! Her hips rose of their own accord. She nodded jerkily.

He circled against her, using that exact amount of pressure. “Now watch. Keep your eyes open and on my hand or I’ll stop. Do you understand?”

She nodded again, mesmerized by that finger, growing steadily slicker with her own moisture. He ministered to her in the quiet of her sitting room, the only sounds her ragged breathing and the small liquid noises his hand made against her flesh. He rubbed faster and faster until her eyelids were heavy, until it was a herculean struggle to keep them open. She was afire, warmth and sweet pleasure radiating from her center.

And suddenly his hand twisted.

Her eyes opened wide as she watched him insert two fingers deep into her, and she gasped at the feeling and the sight. He brought his thumb down on her at the same time and she broke apart. The fire spreading through her limbs, her head thrown back, her vision blurring even as she still watched him work her flesh. Dear Lord, she’d never felt so wanton. She was trembling in his arms, her legs flexing, and still he shoved his fingers into her, spreading them apart, twisting them inside of her.

His other hand turned her head, and he was kissing her suddenly. His mouth open and wet as those clever fingers of his slowed.

“Temperance,” he gasped against her. “I need you. I need you now.”

He was lifting her, bringing her legs around, positioning her like a rag doll for his own pleasure, because she certainly could no longer move.

He rose, holding her, and reversed their positions, laying her back in the big armchair, her bottom on the very edge of the seat, her feet on the floor. He crouched before
her, and she saw that his erection was enormous. She watched as he took it in one hand and brought it between her legs. He pushed his shoulders underneath her spread legs and straightened, bringing them up so that she was helplessly draped across him.

He positioned his cock at her entrance, his mouth open and panting, and she watched him as he shoved himself inside her. His head was arched back as if he suffered some unbearable pain. As if he were about to expire.

“Oh, God,” he panted. “I can’t… I can’t…”

And he began pounding into her, shoving her back into the chair, clutching her legs against his chest so that she had no purchase, no way of defending herself against his assault.

Not that she wanted to.

The feel of him filling her repeatedly, just after her exquisite release at his hand, brought the warmth rushing back immediately. She crashed, wave after wave of pleasure beating against her, overwhelming her senses. She was only dimly aware of him straightening on his knees, still locked to her, bringing her bottom entirely off the chair as he slammed himself into her fully. He held her there as he spilled himself into her.

His big hands were on her bottom, spread and holding her. He ground himself into her as if he couldn’t get enough of her, as if he wanted to stay locked with her forever. But he was only a man after all. He slumped forward, somehow managing to bring her down gently. He disentangled her legs from his shoulders and then laid his head next to hers in the chair seat.

“Temperance,” he murmured, big and heavy and satiated on her. “Temperance.”

She looked at the ceiling of her little sitting room and knew she had to find the words to tell him what he meant to her. Knew she would lose him if she couldn’t let the words leave her lips, however painful and hard it was for her. She stood at a crossroads, and to make no decision was to lose everything instead. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would find the way.