Читать книгу Being Wicked - Lacy Danes - Страница 10

Grace swallowed hard, her throat working to find the words her mind could not. What had happened here?

Winston’s body pressed her to the wall. “The door or my room?” His words rang as some unsolved riddle in her mind.

Her heart pounded in her ears.

What did she want?

She came here tonight to be desired once again, to feel passion once more, and to retire with a single person for the night.

Winston preferred her to leave. None of this made sense. Maybe he didn’t prefer that. Maybe he wanted her in his bed, but his mind was telling him…No!

“Grace?” His thigh pressed up against her heated sex.

A ripple of dew waved through her cunny and her blood heated. She slid her tongue out and wet her dry lips, wanting more of the erotic sensation. “Winston, do you desire me in your bed? Or are you saying you would take pity on me and bed me rather than watch me play with others? Or is this some other game you learned in India?”

He pulled slightly back from her and gazed at her face. “No game, Grace.”

“I—if this is simply pity, I will scream, and you will be removed from my body by one of the footmen.”

Winston’s free hand slid to her hip and pulled her toward him. The friction as her cunt slid along his thigh shot straight up her stomach and she bit her lip, holding back a groan.

His fingers then trailed her thigh and he lifted her knee into his crotch.

His stiff erection pushed against the soft spot below her kneecap. “Does this feel like pity, Grace?”

“Mmmm, you are a man, Winston. Men get aroused simply by seeing a woman’s form.” Unable to hold her body’s reaction at bay, she trembled against his cock.

“No, you are wrong, Grace, and you just lost your chance to decide.” He let go of her face and wrapped a hand around her shoulders, pulling her to him. Heat caressed her every pore. He hefted her up like a child and she laughed.

“Winston, what are you doing?”

“Making your decision for you, Grace,” he answered, tilting her back over his shoulder and heading to the stairs. Her upper body hung partially down his back as he strode up. His hard shoulder pressed into her belly, and with each step, he made his intentions clearer.

Winston Greydon was about to bed her.

A smile curved her lips. He had turned into a sexual man. He certainly handled her as Oscar had—with presence, with knowledge, with ease. Maybe this time she should not be so easy to handle.

My goodness, Grace, you have known that about him all your life. Don’t fear him. He was your friend.

Reaching the second floor, he turned to the right and down a long corridor. At the end, he pushed open a door and carried her into the center of the room. The dark wood floor, the only thing before her eyes, was a stark contrast to the whites of his stockings.

He tilted her and lowered her down his body. Every pore of her being sparked and jittered, as if igniting the coals in a fire grate. Her slippers hit the floor.

Winston stood, his body still pressed to hers. He raised his hand and skimmed fingertips above her ear and into her up-done hair. “Not speaking, Grace?”

Grace kept her head tilted down and looked up at him through her eyelashes. His eyes, clear blue water, flowed with desire and his lips curved up with confidence. Winston’s expertise was evident in the way he held her; in the way he pressed her to the wall in the entry; simply in the way he brushed his fingertips along her skin.

“Very well, you will be making noise soon enough.” His fingers traced her collarbone and the hairs on her nape stood. He turned and walked toward the other side of the room.

She inhaled a breath and savored the feel of his finger on her skin, then glanced about the room.

Amazing! The stories of this house said each of the rooms glittered with decadence, scandalous art, and erotic delights. But this room glowed with warmth and calmness.

This room reminded her of what she had read in books of India: the heat, the lazy afternoons lounging about, because the sun shone so bright, it made everything feel red and gold, like the walls in this room. Each wall was covered in a rich red, with golden and yellow patterns of birds and flowers.

She spun about, and on the far wall, opposite from where Winston now stood, was a large copper tub set into the floor. Surrounding the tub lay red and black carpets. A stack of towels and containers perched on the edge. Three large candelabrums stood about the tub with unlit candles. She inhaled, and humid scents filled her nose. What scent was that? Cloves and…She could not place it. She inhaled again—a soothing aroma nonetheless.

Turning back toward Winston, she gazed at the bed. The carved platform stood only three paces from the tub. It was low to the ground and covered in the same rich crimson as the walls.

At each corner of the bed frame, there resided an elephant head carved with elaborate detail. Their smooth, wide ears tapered down to a ridged and looped trunk. Images of ankles and wrists tied to each of the four elephants’ trunks as Winston’s fingertips trailed her body in a fire that engulfed her and made her eyes widen. Winston. She glanced across her shoulder at him.

He stood with no shirt on, no shoes, and only his trousers. His smooth chest held no hair, not like Oscar’s. His nipples peaked on rounded muscles. Grace’s fingertips pinched together as if rolling the sensitive flesh that tapered down his flat stomach to the edge of his pantaloons.

“Undress, Grace.”

He didn’t move, but his stomach muscles visibly tensed.

“Undress…” Reaching up, she pulled the tie to her shift and the shoulders loosened.

Oscar had never asked her to undress for him. He had always been the one to disrobe her. Doing so was one of the intimacies he could do, and she had savored every brush of his fingers, hands, and lips on her skin as he did so. She worried the inside of her cheek. How should she go about undressing for a man?

How would Oscar have wanted her to undress?

Like a cat playing with its food, she would tease Winston just a bit…before doing as he wished.

His eyes darkened and he stared at her, unmoving.

She rotated her hips and kept her fingers tightly on the strings to her shift. In her mind, music as exotic as the ladies of India, with their dark skin and hair, drifted in the air. Their bodies, covered in rich red and green silks embroidered with gold and silver threads, danced with her.

She pressed the balls of her feet into the floor and bent her knees slightly, then rocked her hips, as Emma had been doing in the ballroom below. With each rock of her hips, she slowly turned around in a circle.

Her hands rubbed the skin of her breasts, hard nipples poked the palms of her hands. In her mind, the women of India rubbed her breasts, then trailed hot hands along her naked thighs.

“Grace!”

Grace’s eyes opened, and the beautiful, exotic images faded.

“You are a delightful dancer, Grace. I wish you to undress for me.”

Her fingers shook on the strings to her shift. Take a deep breath, Grace, and relax. She swallowed and lowered her eyes from his.

“Grace. Undress now.” The words were soft but firm, a reminder to listen to him.

She held in a frown. He didn’t wish for her seduction. He wanted her to listen to him. She did want to please him. She simply had no idea how to go about such an act. Oscar’s wishes were all she understood. Yet, Oscar had said all men at their base were the same. So why wasn’t he enjoying the tease? He had not enjoyed the teasing in the ballroom with Emma, either.

She closed her eyes and slid her fingers beneath the gathered shoulder of her shift. She would do as he asked. Her fingers glided along her skin in a light trace, which left goose bumps in their wake.

She imagined her fingers were Winston’s slipping the cotton fabric down her shoulder as her body trembled and her pussy clenched.

Oh, how she wanted him. Wanted his hands doing so to her body. The masculine trail of his heat on her skin. She trembled and shook with intense lust. Lust for Winston. She could not deny how he created passion in her.

She licked her lips but didn’t dare open her eyes. Her heart beat in her throat as she slipped the other shoulder down to her elbow. She wished he would come show her what he wanted or would tell her from where he stood.

The crisp cotton caught on the pebbled flesh of her nipples, then slipped down to pool at her waist. The humid air caressed her naked breasts, as if his breath washed across her flesh.

She swallowed hard and pulled the sleeves down her wrists and off her fingers. The shift slid in a hushed whirl down her legs to pool at her feet. She flinched at how quickly the fabric left her body, leaving her breasts and sex exposed to his view.

She kept her head tilted down. Her eyes firmly shut. She stood and trembled, yet she was not cold. Not at all. Relax, Grace.

“The garters, Grace.” His voice came from closer to her and off to her side.

He had moved!

She swallowed. Oh. Oh, what was he doing? She should look. Open her eyes and see where he was and what his expression was, but she couldn’t. Her shoulders slumped. Her eyelids simply would not open so she could gaze upon him.

A fevered ache spread through her body. She didn’t wish to know what he thought of her naked form. Her arms jumped as she fought the urge to cross her forearms over her breasts.

Why did she struggle so? On the one hand, she was shy because this was Winston; on the other, she wished him to devour her every inch. She ached for his touch…for his approval of what he saw.

She reached her hands down her belly to the top of her thighs, then slid lower over the soft roundness of her right leg. Reaching the gathered garter below her knee, she unfastened the silk and let the two-inch piece of cloth fall to the floor upon the heap of white that was her shift.

She did the same with her left leg and straightened her body back up to standing.

He cleared his throat, the sound coming from the other side of her. “Grace, roll your stockings down, one at a time. When you reach your slippers, leave them pooled at your ankles.”

Was he circling her? What was he doing? The image of him inspecting her from every angle quickened her breath. She inhaled a shaky yet steadying breath, and then another.

The scented air in the room filled her senses and her muscles relaxed. That is it, Grace. Don’t be shy. Be bold. Be the woman Oscar wanted you to be….

That woman, so far, had angered and frustrated Winston. He said he liked her as the lady he remembered.

She was someplace in between now.

She was not the outgoing plaything Oscar wanted, nor was she the proper lady Winston remembered.

She was simply Grace.

She could be nothing more than Grace—plain and simple.

She leaned down and slid her fingertips beneath the edge of her stocking. Sliding the silk down her legs, she let it sit pooled on her ankle. She repeated the same with the other side, then stood back straight. She stood still with her eyes closed, her nipples ached and her sex throbbed.

“What are you thinking, Grace?” His voice was soft and strong. The air swirled about her. “Do you enjoy displaying yourself for me?”

She trembled. Her legs shook. She adored his gaze upon her. No longer the innocent girl, she wanted him to ogle her mature, womanly form.

He circled her. Though she could not see his eyes, his stare caressed her skin, her hair, and her face. All his thoughts and his energy were on her. He looked her over from a very close distance, as if she were a piece of art he appreciated. She inhaled and smelled nothing but him.

“Answer, Grace.”

What had he asked her? If she enjoyed displaying herself for him. “A mixture.”

He laughed. “‘A mixture.’” The two small words held the remains of his laugh. “Indeed. You are unsure who you are, Grace? The perfect lady? The trained plaything? A mixture of boldness and shyness. Your body reactions show your struggle. The way you undress for me and keep your eyes closed. You are shy, Grace. Take down your hair.”

She lifted her hands to her upswept hair. Her shaking fingers pulled out the first of the many pins. Each tiny piece of metal she pulled, her curly hair loosened.

She inhaled deeply, simply feeling him. The heat of his body enfolded her…closer…closer as he moved to her while she worked her hair, letting each pin simply fall from her fingertips as she tugged it from her heavy locks.

In a rush, it tumbled down, washing her shoulders and back in cool silkiness.

She swallowed as quivers of excitement rippled through her.

“Open your eyes, Grace.” The smell of port and tobacco infused her.

She slit her eyes open, her gaze fixed firmly down. His bare feet in view. His fingers slid up her temple and into her hair. The caress was so gentle yet firm, her head gently nuzzled into his palm. The fingers in her hair fisted and he pulled the hair taut. Slowly he tilted her head back. Her gaze studied his face.

He smiled at her. The blacks of his eyes engulfed the sapphire blue. Winston. Winston would show her…

Just what Winston would show her, she simply couldn’t fathom.