Seven Years to Sin
Page 9

She wavered, her first steps not quite steady. Whether that was from the wine or her own nervousness, she couldn’t say.
He was impossibly handsome. Irresistibly so. He lounged in the insubstantial chair like a sleek panther, all restrained power and suppressed violence. The muscles of his thighs were clearly defined, reminding her of his strength, which had always captivated her. It was all too easy to imagine how his body would work on a woman’s … on hers …
A shiver moved through her as she remembered the sight of his strong hands gripping the gazebo post.
“I can warm you,” he murmured, reaching out to her. He heated her simply by looking at her. “I fear you are too much for me.”
“In what way?”
With her eyes on the bulge in his breeches, she answered, “In every way.”
“Allow me to prove you wrong.” He beckoned her with a rather arrogant crook of his finger.
She looked at her glass, wishing it wasn’t empty.
“I have the bottle here,” he reminded. “Bring your glass and I will pour what remains of it.”
She decided to forgo the wine but take everything else on offer. It was a conclusion hastily reached, and she rushed to him before her mind could be altered by sobriety or common sense. Knowing he could make her forget everything but him, she hurried to feel his hands on her and lost her footing on the polished wood sole. Her wet heel slipped, sending her into an ignoble tumble.
He stood so swiftly to catch her, she barely registered his movement. All she knew was one moment the sole was racing up to meet her, and the next she was flattened against Alistair’s large, hard body.
“Fortunate that you left the glass behind,” he teased, but his voice was whisky-rough. His blue eyes were dark as sapphires.
For a moment, Jess was at a loss for what to do. Her mind was too engaged by the feel of his body against hers and the smell of his skin.
He sat and draped her over him. “Damned if you haven’t made me weak in the knees.”
At eye level with him, she was riveted by the fierceness of his gaze. For lack of something wittier, she said, “I’ve made you all wet.”
“It’s my turn to perform a like service for you.”
The licentiousness of his reply made her laugh.
One dark, winged brow rose. “Do that again.”
“Not wise. It could have been painful had you not been so agile.” Thoughts of his agility had a now predictable effect.
“Not the fall,” he said wryly. “The giggle.”
Her chin lifted. “I think not. I do not giggle on command.”
Alistair’s fingers fluttered along her rib cage. Tickled, she writhed and laughed.
He quit as quickly as he’d begun. “No more of that. Any further wriggling on your part will take this farther than I intend while you’re impaired.”
She realized his erection was pressing rather insistently against her thigh. The understanding that she’d been rubbing against that part of his anatomy made the blood rush to her head, which increased her intoxication.
“We are being very naughty,” she pronounced.
“Not nearly naughty enough, but I intend to address that. Hold tight.” He pushed to his feet and crossed to the bed. Setting her down on the edge of the mattress, he urged her to lie back, then sprawled beside her with his head propped in his hand.
The change in position affected her immediately, thickening her blood and slowing her ability to reason. She felt more naked on the bed than she had while standing. Her arms crossed her breasts.
His smile was warm and very amused. He stroked a finger across the back of her forearm, sending tingles racing through her body. “Wouldn’t you rather touch me, than yourself?”
The thought was extremely tempting. “Where?”
“Anywhere you like.”
Exhaling audibly, she lifted one hand to cup his cheek. His skin was whisker-coarse due to the hour. She liked it. A sweet warmth moved through her before she realized what she was doing.
His smile faded, and he grew very tense. Alarmingly so.
She pulled away abruptly. “Clearly I do not know how to conduct an affair properly.”
After a sharply drawn breath, he pulled her hand back to where it had been. “Affairs are meant to be improper.”
“But not romantic,” she argued. “I will endeavor to touch you with only consummation in mind.”
Alistair rolled to his back and laughed. He continued to laugh until she took his former position by lying on her side. His amusement was catching; she stared down at him with a smile.
“You succeeded beautifully,” he said finally, his eyes still crinkled at the corners. “That is singularly the most unromantic utterance I have ever heard.”
Jess felt silly, but accepted for her silliness. It was lovely being encouraged to be herself.
He reached up and cupped her cheek as she’d done to him. The tenderness behind the gesture was a surprise delight.
“Do you like that?” he asked.
“It’s very sweet.”
“I thought so, too, when you did the same to me. Why don’t we agree to do whatever feels natural to each of us?”
Lowering her head, she licked her lips and moved to kiss him. She saw the understanding of what she was about move through his eyes. Once again, he grew very still. Expectant. Watchful. He gave her the lead in the approach, but when their lips connected, he took over. Snaring her nape with his hand, he adjusted the fit of her mouth, his lips opening under hers with barely tempered hunger.
Jess gasped as she fell into him, the lone support of her arm giving way. His lips were firm, but soft; his skill evident, but restrained. Where Tarley’s kisses had been reverent, Alistair’s were laced with sheer carnality. There was a wicked decadence to the way he tasted her. The approving groans, bouts of sudden fervency followed by savoring licks, and the gentle movements of his lips made her mad for a deeper connection.
Canting her head, she tried to take what she wanted. Surprisingly, he allowed her to. His touch at the back of her neck did not restrain her. It kneaded, as if he couldn’t help but touch and was restraining himself to an innocuous part of her anatomy.
As if she would or could protest a roving exploration.
She turned her head to gulp down much needed air. The tender pressure of his fingertips spread outward from that one relatively innocent place, creating the phantom feel of his fingers running down her spine and between her legs. “Alistair …”
His given name slipped from her lips with remarkable, breathless ease. He reacted to it abruptly, rolling until she was once again on her back and he loomed over her. As he took her mouth, his hand ran down the length of her torso, stroking along her waist and coming to rest at her hip. He gripped her hip bone with a clenching of his palm, nowhere near painful but more than enough to relay his fervency. That telltale grasp excited her, made her feel powerfully feminine and seductive.
Her hands lifted to his hair, pushing into the thick tresses, gripping the strands by the root and tugging—a returning message to him that she was feeling equally passionate. The slow, deep thrusts of his tongue into her mouth so perfectly mimicked what she wished would happen between them that she grew slick and hot between her legs, the sensitive flesh of her sex swelling and throbbing.
She arched upward, pressing her aching breasts into the embroidered silk of his waistcoat. His grip on her hip tightened, pinning her down.
“Easy,” he crooned, caressing her as if gentling a skittish mare. “I have you.”
“Not yet,” she breathed, feeling as if her body was no longer her own. “Not enough.”
Alistair’s mouth moved to her jaw, then to her right ear. “Let me take care of you.”
“Please.”
His lips slid along her throat, sucking soft enough to be felt but not enough to mark her. The sweet greediness of his mouth on her skin burned across her nerve endings in delicious torment. Her fingers spasmed in his hair, her toes pointing as he kissed across her collarbone. He made her feel more intoxicated than the wine had, while also heightening her senses. It was the best and worst sort of madness.
“Please what?” he asked, his breath gusting over the pebbled tip of her breast. He watched her as his tongue flicked lightly over her nipple. Dark satisfaction burned in his gaze when she cried out and clung to his shoulders. The velvet of his coat was soft beneath her touch, reminding her that he was completely clothed while she was completely bare.
She found the dichotomy delicious. It made her feel wanton and unabashed, two descriptors that had never been applicable to her before. “Please touch me.”
“Where?”
“You know where better than I!” she cried, trying to tug his head to her breast, but unable to overcome his greater strength.
“I will,” he promised in a low tone. “I will know your body better than anyone ever has, better than you. But for now I am still learning. Tell me what you like and how you like it.”
Arching her shoulders back, she lifted her nipple to his mouth in flagrant offering. “There. More.”
Alistair bared his teeth in a look of such feral pleasure only a fool would call it a smile. He wrapped one hand around her breast and squeezed with just enough pressure to make her want more. “With my hand?”
“With your mouth.” It was the claret that gave her the courage to be so bold, and even with the added bravery, she closed her eyes against the overpowering feeling of vulnerability.
She felt the humid warmth of his exhale the second before his lips wrapped around her. The sound that left her was so raw and needy she could not believe she’d made it. Then his tongue curled around her nipple and his cheeks hollowed on a drawing pull she felt all the way to her womb, and she no longer cared what desperate sounds she made.
Lifting her leg, she wrapped it around his boot-clad calf and moved sinuously beneath him. He’d slid beneath her skin seven years ago, and he was finally relieving the itch he had left behind.
His talented mouth lifted from her, leaving her bereft.
“Lie still,” he ordered gruffly. His face was flushed and his eyes bright, almost feverishly so.
Alistair was as lost to the lust as she was. Emboldened by his tenuous control, she offered a woman’s knowing smile. “Make me.”
Chapter 7
Alistair was riveted by the woman beneath him. She burned too hot to be the same icily reserved girl he used to follow with his gaze. Whether it was the claret or her passion for him, he didn’t care. He was damned grateful. Still, if she continued to writhe against him, he wouldn’t have the wherewithal to stop himself from fucking her raw, a step he would prefer to take when she was fully sober and in complete possession of her mental faculties.
“Make you,” he repeated finally, as her self-satisfied smile widened and she tested him again with another seductive wriggle. “And how would you suggest I go about doing that?”
The slight marring of a wrinkle between her brows ruined the image of worldly seductress. She had no idea, he suspected. He, however, had a delicious one in mind.
“You could exhaust me,” she said finally, biting her lower lip. The gesture did not hide the avid manner in which she awaited his response.
Too much for her, she’d said. He had a niggling suspicion that once she’d lost all her reserve in bed, he might have a devil of a time keeping up. And God knew his appetite was ravenous when it came to her. The thought brought beads of perspiration to his forehead. How in hell was he going to walk out of this room with his cock as swollen as it was?
“Untie my cravat,” he ordered.
“Umm …” she purred, clearly pleased with the notion of removing clothing from his person. Her hands went to the knot at his throat and began working as efficiently as her inebriated state allowed.
For his part, he was delighted that the thought of undressing him was such a pleasing one for her. He could not have chosen a better location to conduct their affair than Jamaica, where the humidity and heat lent themselves well to wearing as few clothes as possible.
When she pulled the length of linen from around his neck, he caught her wrist and grinned. Bending his head, he took her mouth, distracting her with a lush kiss. Her fervent response damn near distracted him as well, but he managed to turn her body to lie parallel on the mattress instead of perpendicular, and to secure the cravat to one of the headboard posts. Even when he caught her wrist and raised it above her head, she didn’t struggle. Instead she groaned into his mouth and sucked on the tip of his tongue, jolting him so violently he felt a scorching drop of pre-ejaculate bead on the tip of his cock. She tasted of wine and lust and sin, and he wanted to drink her down. Every drop. Suspecting that even if he did, his thirst for her would go unquenched.
Only when the knot tightened around her slender wrist did reality return to her. She gasped and yanked her mouth away, her neck arching to see what he’d done. Kneeling, he caught the other wrist and secured it before she could protest.
“What have you done?” she cried, her gray eyes wide with excitement but tinged with wariness.
“Made you lie still, as you challenged. You should know how I am in regard to challenges.”
She spoke in a small voice. “I am not certain I like this.”
“You will.” By necessity, he’d perfected the fine art of bestowing carnal pleasure. It had not been in his best interests to satisfy a woman to the extent that her interest in him was appeased; satiety alone would not have kept him afloat. No, what he’d needed was to create an addiction to his touch and the bullish stamina of his cock. He had focused single-mindedly on pursuit of that knowledge, all the while telling himself that he was honing his skills for Jessica. That he was not ruined for her, but more valuable. It was an argument he did not fully believe, but he couldn’t allow himself to think of the alternative—that she might reject him for his past.