Читать книгу Blood Secret - Sharon Page - Страница 6

2

Stripped Bare

Lucy spread her fingers to cover her private place again and clamped her arm over her breasts. She desperately tried to look everywhere but at this naked man who stood before her. But her eyes betrayed her, and her gaze slid to him. She caught glimpses of broad, straight shoulders. Glimpses of his pectorals, with the dark circles of his nipples, and the long, hard muscles of his thighs.

And once or twice her gaze strayed back to that part that revealed how much he anticipated having her.

“Lady Lucy,” the duke said coolly. “You offered me the free use of your lovely body. Please move your hands. I wish to enjoy the view.”

“I—” She couldn’t. She simply could not stand in front of him so boldly. Already she was blushing like fire because he could see so much of her, just as she could see every inch of him. If she wanted. If she looked.

He could see her generous thighs, her hips, and her stomach. He had already seen her naked bottom, even if it was only for moments. She felt so ... embarrassed, ashamed, humiliated. Her body was too lush, too curvaceous. Her body had always been a curse. When she’d been just thirteen, she had begun to shift into dragon shape. That had been bad enough, for it had taken her years to learn how to control it, to learn how to live with the pain of the shift. Then her body changed from slender and boyish to this rounded, embarrassingly wanton-looking shape.

Lucy glanced at the duke through her lashes, but he had turned his back to her. He strode to a cupboard. At least he wasn’t ogling her, but she was surprised he wasn’t. As he opened the door, he said, “Lady Lucy, just because you are paying with your innocence, does not mean the surrender has to be unpleasant.”

Unpleasant? It was mortifying. She’d had no idea she would feel this awkward and embarrassed. She’d thought she could do this, but all she wanted to do was run for the door. She kept her gaze fixed on her arm, ensuring it shielded her breasts. And ensuring she did not look at his muscled back. Or his naked buttocks. “Could we not just ... just go to the bed and put out the lights?” she asked desperately. “I did not think you would want to stand in front of each other without any clothes.”

A flash of red flew at her and she jerked back. A robe, she realized, as it billowed and floated to the floor. His Grace kept his back to her as she pulled it on. She firmly fastened the belt and knotted it.

She had to get this over with. Keeping her eyes downcast, she moved to the bed. She would lift the covers and get in. Surely, he would then join her. She was shaking at the thought of what would happen once he got into bed with her. His naked body would rest over hers. She would open her legs. And he would go inside her. She knew that much of this business. She would close her eyes and not think of what was happening to her. She’d overheard the maids in her home whisper about sex. They said for some men, the act did not last long. Only minutes. Hopefully the duke would be such a man.

Before she reached the bed, he turned. Lucy sensed it out of the corner of her eye and she looked at him. She saw the firm, taut plane of his stomach, the bulge of his chest muscles, the taut indents of his haunches. His hair was gold and spilled to his shoulders, the way men had worn their hair decades before. Her gaze went down, where it should not go, and fixed on the wobble of his erection as he moved toward her.

Really the dark would have been much better. She could have faced this if they were beneath covers in a shadowy room. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes—tears of frustration over her predicament, of anger over her brother’s stupidity.

The duke prowled across the bedroom and this time she couldn’t look away.

His erection was so ... astonishing. It was long, thick, topped with a acorn-shaped head. It was flushed as much as she was sure her cheeks were. Pronounced veins twined along it. Golden hair curled above it and his large testicles dangled below. It was a primitive-looking thing. It looked so ... odd on the smooth, sculpted planes of his body. Yet it was intriguing, and a strange ache shot from her belly to the place between her legs. She clutched the belt of the robe.

Fear. Anger. Nerves. And illicit, forbidden, wrong physical desire. How could she feel so many different things at once?

Lucy had been supposed to marry four years ago, just after she had turned eighteen. Her father had brought him to the house as a suitor from the Drako family. Allan Ferrars. He had been handsome, charming. Dragons had to marry dragons, her father had said.

But Mr. Ferrars had hidden his true person behind a gentleman’s gloss. He was rough. Cruel. She had caught him attacking one of the maids. She had rescued the girl by shifting to dragon-shape. Forgetting Mr. Ferrars could change, too. He had thrown her across the room, had swiped her stomach with his brutal claws. As she’d struggled to her feet to attack him in return, she had realized Allan Ferrars didn’t love her at all. Then Jack had caught them... . Jack, her brother, had shifted shape and had fought Mr. Ferrars. They had been forced to destroy Ferrars to survive... .

She mustn’t think about that. Not now. But she would never forget that moment when she’d realized she could have married such a man. She could have blindly gone to her wedding night without any idea she had wed a vicious brute.

It had scared her. It had made her vow never to marry. And here, now, she felt the old fears surging up. She was going to be intimate with this man, this stranger, and she was ... terrified to know what it would be like.

“Look up for a moment, my dear.” The duke’s baritone voice was gentle in the quiet room.

She jerked her gaze up, her cheeks burning as hot as dragon fire, but her blood felt ice-cold.

He smiled, and lines bracketed his full, firm lips. He was a handsome man. Mr. Ferrars had been terribly good-looking too. That was what she had learned. Beautiful men believed they could get away with anything.

“I know you are nervous, my dear,” he said softly. “I promise I will be very gentle. I will make this good for you.”

How could it be, when she’d been forced to do this by the actions of the brother she had always adored, by his debts? And by the arrogance of the duke? She stalked to the head of the bed and pulled back the covers. “I just want to get on with it.”

“All right, then, we shall.”

She didn’t look at him. She clambered onto the bed and slid beneath the sheets still wearing the robe. Her toes touched something hot—a bed warmer—and she squeaked.

A low, seductive laugh made her scowl. Her fiancé had possessed the same sort of deep, sensual laugh. It used to make her heart beat fast. It had made her blood hot and her skin feel too tight. Now, hearing it on the duke, it screamed a warning in her head.

How had she thought she could do this?

She must do it. Lucy nudged the warming pan aside with her toe and slid further under the covers in this strange, unfamiliar bed.

But she had changed. She used to tremble with girlish desire at a deep, masculine laugh. She used to look at a handsome man and feel desire. She had dreamed of kisses. Of more ... of pleasure and sex and intimacy.

Allan Ferrars had changed her. He had ruined everything for her. She didn’t feel those things anymore. She was only two and twenty, but after his attack upon her, she’d felt so much older. So wary. So cynical. She had been afraid of love after that, afraid of any stirring of desire. Certainly, her heart would never be touched—unless by a man she knew she could trust completely.

Sinking her teeth firmly into her lower lip, Lucy looked up at the duke, who stood at the foot of the bed. She could not trust this man at all—he had carelessly, cruelly ruined her brother, and by extension that meant he had ruined her family. Her heart hammered like the thunder of dragons running. “Stop laughing and come and ravish me. I cannot stay out all night. I simply cannot.”

The duke sighed. So loudly she could hear it. “My dear Lady Lucy, I do not approach sex as you seem to think I do. I’m not just going to get on top of you and plow you while you grit your teeth and shut your eyes. You will enjoy this or I will not consider it payment for your brother’s debts.”

Sinjin folded his arms over his chest. Lady Lucy Drake, who lay beneath his sheets, grimaced as though she was about to take foul-tasting medicine.

He scratched his jaw, his fingertips grazing over his smooth skin. After he had become a vampire, unlike others, he had never grown stubble again.

Lady Lucy had come to him. She had offered her body. Why did he feel as though he was the villain, about to ravish a terrified and unwilling victim?

Worse, his mind was urging him to do it. He drank blood, but while he was the type of vampire that fed on blood, consuming the fluid didn’t satisfy him unless he could also drink in the powerful emotions of his prey. It was his victim’s desire, or fear, anger, horror—along with coppery-tasting blood—that satisfied his undead body.

Emotions rolled off Lady Lucy like fog pouring down London’s twining streets. She would be a feast for a vampire like him. And she was a dragon. He should feel no pity for her. Had dragons felt anything for him when they had murdered his family? Had those dragons showed a scrap of pity when they had killed his younger brother and sisters?

Anger. In him, it drove his sexual desire instead of quelling it. It washed away pity and sympathy. It hardened his heart. It brought ice flooding through him. Ice gave him the hardness to slay dragons.

He was going to pleasure Lady Lucy Drake. He was going to use her to find his nephew. Then he was going to do to her what he did to every dragon. He would summon the ice to toughen his heart, he would take out his sword, and he would rid the world of one more deadly beast.

But he said gently to her, “You’re afraid.” Which was obvious—she had her robe wrapped around her up to the base of her throat, the covers pulled up to her chin. He sat on the edge of the bed.

She tipped up her chin. “I don’t understand why you don’t just get in here with me. Why are you drawing this out?”

Sinjin cupped her cheek. The feel of her dewy skin against his palm—it made his jaw ache with hunger, with desire, with need. She went tense beneath his touch.

“Drawing it out is supposed to be part of the fun,” he informed her, watching the way her eyes widened in obvious dismay. Softly, he let his thumb brush her lips. Velvet and plump, just as he liked them. “It is called foreplay, my dear. Most women enjoy it.”

“We made ... a bargain. I will do what you want. I promise you that.”

He could terrify her and feed off that emotion. He could do what she so obviously wanted—fuck her without conversation or care, thus evoking her anger and hatred. The power of her hatred would sustain him for a week.

But there was another way he could satisfy himself, he realized. Make Lady Lucy enjoy her seduction. He imagined she would feel so many emotions, he would feel like a drunkard unleashed in a brewery.

She was lovely. Her skin was alabaster and the scarlet robe was an erotic splash of color against it. Her lips were a deep wine red. Her hair, still pinned in place, was ebony, and promised to feel like silk. She had fetching dark nipples, the kind whose bounce could hypnotize a man. And she had the covers drawn almost up to her throat.

“As for going home ...” He lifted her hand to his lips. “I think not, my dear. Not tonight.”

He whisked the bedcovers down and had the belt of her robe undone before her hands could move. One of the advantages of vampiric speed was how quickly he could disrobe a maiden.

Ironically she would be the first maiden in his bed—he normally seduced experienced women. Ironic because the dragon slayer was supposed to save the maiden. And he was bound—bound by duty and by the vow he had made on the day his family had died—to slay Lady Lucy.

He left her robe on but open, then drew the covers over her again. Stretching out beside her on the bed, he propped his head with his hand. He lay on top of the covers, while she was securely ensconced beneath.

Pink flooded her cheeks. Her chest rose and fell swiftly beneath the blanket. But her dark brows had knitted together in a deep frown, and fire snapped in her eyes. “That was ... unconscionable. You did that without even asking! And how did you do it so—so quickly?” She scuttled away a few inches beneath the covers and looked as indignant as a fishwife.

“You did encourage me to get on with it quickly. Now, would you prefer me to take my time, my dear?”

“I would prefer—” She closed her eyes and her teeth ripped at her lip. “I don’t know what would be best. In my head, I know it would be best to just do it now. But then my courage fails me... .”

“Shhh.” Sinjin bent over and lifted her fingers to his lips to kiss them. It was the first touch of his mouth to her skin. It was just a light caress of his lower lip across her knuckles, but it hit him with surprising force. It was like tasting fire. His head swam with lust and desire. The taste of her skin, the scent of her blood—it was remarkable. It was all that was sweet and delectable about pretty young ladies. But there was spiciness too. Her blood smelled of heat and cinnamon and cloves and jasmine. That had to be the dragon blood in her.

Wide, nervous blue eyes gazed at him as he gently pressed a kiss to each knuckle. “There’s nothing to fear, you know, Lady Lucy,” he lied smoothly.

Her brow rose. “I’m giving up everything. That does tend to make a woman fearful.”

“No one has to know what has happened between us. Most English gentlemen are not very clever. I’m sure you could still convince one you are a virgin on your wedding night.” For the first time in his life, he felt a flicker of conscience. She was not going to have a wedding night, was she? Not after he did his duty and destroyed her.

She shook her head. “I will never marry.”

He jerked guiltily. But he had to play his part. Seducer, not dragon slayer. “You are a beautiful woman. Irresistible to most gentlemen, I should think.”

“N-no.”

He flicked out his tongue and touched the very tip of her index finger. She squeaked softly, like a startled mouse. “I think you liked that. Let me show you other places that will like to be kissed.”

“My lips?” She drew back. “Could we not do this without kisses?”

Sinjin blinked. Strange. Most women wanted the kisses. Most women hungered for kisses. They seemed to believe kisses were the proof of a man’s regard. “As you wish. No kisses on your lips. But you cannot deny me the pleasure of putting my mouth everywhere else.”

“Everywhere?” she gasped.

Lucy blinked. He could not mean everywhere, could he? Where else could a man kiss a woman but on her hand and her lips?

The duke bent to her and pressed his lips to her neck. The oddest jolt of fire leapt from there. It rushed through her veins like flames licking at the sky.

His long hair also tickled as he stroked his mouth along her throat and reached the rim of her ear. He brushed back her hair. Surprisingly, his breath was cool. Almost icy. She’d heard her maids speak of men blowing their breath by their ears—something that hadn’t sounded at all enticing—but the maids had described warm breath. The duke’s breath was cold.

Still, the brush of it did feel surprisingly ... good.

He nibbled her ear, making shivers tumble down her spine. “Where do you like to touch yourself that pleases you, Lady Lucy?”

“W-what on earth do you mean?”

“What parts are sensitive to your touch? Have you touched here?” He stroked the exposed skin at her collarbones. Goodness, how could it feel so hot—like a candle’s flame flickering close to her skin? But fear crawled back inside and nestled around her heart. This was wrong. Forbidden. She was supposed to do it, but not like it. She might be committing the sin of sex without marriage, but it was for necessity. Forgivable—as long as she didn’t behave like a wanton and actually like the sin.

But try as she might, she could not deny his caress made her ache inside. The sort of ache she’d known before Mr. Ferrars had attacked her and had frightened her so badly.

“Well, of course I have touched there,” Lucy said simply, embarrassed. “I would scratch it when I have an itch.”

The duke laughed. A low, rolling laugh that rumbled like thunder. “Have you ever scratched here?”

Sinjin tugged the sheets from her hands and slid them down enough to expose the swell of her breasts. His body tightened with arousal at the sight of the full, generous curves. His erection bucked against his stomach.

Tracing her full breasts with his lips, he heard Lady Lucy whimper. From fear? Or desire? He couldn’t be sure. She was tense beneath him. He waited for signs of resistance. But she stayed still. So he lowered the sheets lower, until it slipped below her nipples. Marvelous dark brown nipples. Applying the lightest pressure, he drew the left one to a hard peak. It plumped up beautifully in his mouth.

Bringing out his vampiric skill, he flicked her tongue around her nipple. She let out a soft groan. And he recognized it as a sound of pleasure. “Yes, Lady Lucy, you like that.” Pursing his mouth, he suckled. Beneath him, she squirmed. A smile played at his lips.

If things had been different ...

Hell, she was one of the family who had stolen his nephew. She was one of the clan of beasts who had mercilessly killed his family. Things could never be different. Yet still, he had to pleasure her.

He gave a tug at her nipples. “No! Oh goodness, you can’t do that!” But he didn’t stop and her moans grew deep and throaty. He knew the dragon in her could take and enjoy a great deal of sensation. Her fists pressed against his shoulders as though she was trying to push him away. But she did it weakly, as though she was beginning to understand she didn’t want him to cease—she wanted more instead.

He suckled. God, she was delicious. And she was moving beneath him. She arched to press her breast to his mouth.

She was so damn delicious. Enough to make him want to forget who she was ...

No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t let himself forget what dragons like her had cost him. He couldn’t forget his mission—if he did, he could lose his nephew forever.

While he sucked each nipple in turn, he shoved down the sheets. Lady Lucy didn’t protest. She was lost to the sensation now—he could feel the emotions roiling in her. No doubt she was fighting her response, but at the same time, the pleasure would be flooding through her. She would hate herself for feeling this for him, a man she didn’t know, who held her in his power. Yet she would want more. Hunger for it. Do any wanton, naughty, sinful thing to get it.

He pushed the sheets to her thighs. She gasped in protest. He ignored it, and slid his hand along the smooth curve of her stomach. She had generous curves, Lady Lucy Drake. For a fleeting moment, he wondered what she looked like when she became a dragon. They were beautiful creatures—not the fearsome beasts of storybooks. Their scales glowed like pearl, their forms were graceful and strong, their eyes as brilliant as diamonds. It was almost possible to forget how vicious and deadly they were.

Crisp curls met his fingers. He stroked there, then lower, pushing his fingers between her nether lips, and he touched the hot, slick skin of her quim. His fingers coasted along her clit—she cried out at the contact.

“Good, is it?” He played with her until she quivered beneath him like a frothy dessert. Her eyes were shut tight. She was lusciously moist.

Her scent reached his nose. And hell, he was lost. Lost in wanting her. He rolled over her, coaxed her legs apart with his, and settled between, playing with her sweet cunny all the while.

Then he released her taut clit, grasped his cock, and he guided it to touch her. She moaned. Then gasped. Her hands flew up to push on his chest.

“I—Oh! I’m not ready. Please. Can we wait? Just a bit longer?”

He circled the tip of his finger on her clit and watched her squirm. Watched her cheeks turn pink, and her breaths turn to gusty gasps. “I thought you were in a hurry to be ravished, so you could get home.”

“I—I just need a moment. I thought I could. But I can’t—”

His senses drank in pure fear. She was terrified. Actually frightened out of her wits. “Why are you so afraid of me?” he murmured. “I’ve done nothing to hurt you.”

“It—It’s not you. I was ... my fiancé ... I can’t stop thinking about what it was like, when he attacked me. When I realized he was willing to kill me, that he was not going to hold back because he had asked me to marry him.” She shook with fear. Her dark blue eyes grew wide with remembered horror.

“I don’t understand, love. Your fiancé tried to kill you?”

“Oh goodness. It—I shouldn’t have said anything. It doesn’t matter.”

She was wounded, this dragon. He needed to seduce her to pry the information from her, but obviously he could not seduce her until her fear abated. “Shh,” Sinjin soothed. “It does matter. I don’t want you to be so afraid.” He lay beside her and drew the sheets up over them both, covering them in warmth.

“I can’t—”

“I’m just going to hold you, my dear. While you tell me what happened to you.”