Читать книгу Hot Silk - Sharon Page - Страница 8

Mr. Sharpe’s hands deftly undid the knot in her corset ties, then slid up to loosen the lacing, and Grace made a simple decision. She would not think. She wanted this. Her body was molten, her arousal slick between her thighs.

Earlier she had given her innocence to the wrong man, to an arrogant and vicious man.

Mr. Sharpe was not a vicious man.

She believed it—

No. She’d promised she would not think. She would simply do.

Wriggling out of her loosened corset, she let it fall to the floor. Undressing before a stranger was not something she should feel so comfortable with—

No. No thinking.

Grace lifted the hem of her shift but stopped at her upper thighs. Her drawers were gone. Lord Wesley still had her drawers. She had not collected them before she snatched up the key and ran from his mocking laugh. I wouldn’t marry you, love—good Lord, you are an impoverished nobody. But I do like the idea of acquiring a new mistress. The remembered words hurt. She hoped the fiend had burned her drawers but feared he would hang them at his club, a souvenir of his beastly behavior.

“Don’t think.”

Mr. Sharpe’s deep whisper, the ripple of his warm breath across her neck, sent a shiver of desire down her back. Had she tensed beneath his touch? How had he guessed at her thoughts?

“I won’t,” she answered, breathless, and she moved from him to whisk off her shift and let it flutter to the carpet. There, she was nude. He could see every inch of her back—the slope of her shoulders, the curves of her very plump bottom,

He made a low sound in his throat, like a growl. “God, you are perfect.”

Instead of turning back to him, she walked to the bed. Only three feet, but it felt like eternity. She was aware of the sway of her hips, the jiggle of her derriere, the foolish way she stubbed her toe into the floor due to lack of attention.

She was so aware: of the harshness of his breathing, the warmth of the fire, which allowed her to prance naked with nary a goose bump, even of the sensual textures of her room. Soft velvet hung around the bed, and the counterpane was embroidered silk. A fur throw was flung across a chair’s arms and the soft carpet gave way to the smooth, cool floor.

And as she reached the edge of the bed, she also felt an awareness of her own body she’d never known before. It was as though she could feel her skin breathe. Her nipples stood proud, flushed a dark pink. Her quim throbbed, hot and creaming and yearning to be filled. At the bedpost, she turned, and saw him stripping off his clothes with graceful, deliberate motions. His coat and waistcoat were gone, and, as she watched, startled, he lifted his shirt.

White linen skimmed up over bronzed skin.

Grace clutched the bedpost. His rippled abdomen came into view. Soft golden hair curled over the flat plane of muscle. He shifted, revealing a glimpse of his navel.

Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to drop to her knees and kiss his indented navel, rim it with her tongue and taste his skin. She wanted to stroke those hard, cobbled muscles and explore—

She had to fist her shaking hands.

He lifted the hem of his shirt to his shoulders, his motions casual and unconcerned, as though he did not know she ogled his every move and now had her left fist pinned between her teeth.

She was certain he did know—he flexed his hard, sculpted pectoral muscles before her eyes—but his shirt hid his face and the grin she knew would be there. His nipples, she saw, were dark bronze and as hard as hers.

Then he threw the shirt aside, revealing his entire naked torso and the wicked glint in his vivid blue eyes.

Huge and powerful, his was a body that should intimidate. His shoulders were broad and straight, strong enough to carry a cannon, she suspected. She could imagine him climbing the rigging of a ship, risking his life and laughing all the while.

His well-hewn body did not frighten her, but it made her moan with honest need.

What living, breathing woman did not appreciate a handsome chest? But she had never yearned so much to touch a man’s body before.

She let go of the bedpost and walked toward him, pleased to see his hands pause on his trouser buttons and his Adam’s apple bounce with a swallow. Her breasts swayed as she moved. He looked at them, and his blatant appreciation made her feel bold. “Do you like them?”

He let go of his trousers and bent to the hollow of her throat. His tongue flicked and she squealed at the shock of sensation. Gently his tongue swirled, trailing down, inch by precious inch, toward her breasts. She shivered at the amazing sensitivity of her skin. Her nipples shocked her by standing harder, growing long and pink.

She could not believe she was letting a man she did not know do—

No thinking!

He rose. Met her gaze. “They’re beautiful, love.”

His golden hair fell about his face and floated over her bare skin. Casually he blew strands away from his lips and even that simple, unconscious, sensual motion ignited her desire.

She could not believe her naked breasts were only an inch away from his hot, bare chest.

“You are beautiful here—” He brushed a kiss to her chin. “And here.” Giggling, she shut her eyes as his soft lips neared. His lips touched her lashes, and she marveled at how erotic it was to feel that caress.

Wet heat surrounded her right nipple and she arched, opening her eyes. The tip of his tongue circled around her areola, making it pucker. His lips parted and her blushing nipple disappeared into his mouth. His cheeks hollowed and she cried out as the pleasure seared her.

He stopped suckling and she whimpered.

Hoarse, raw, his voice washed over her. “But it is the sound of your sighs and moans of pleasure that are the most beautiful to me, Grace.”

The look in Devlin’s narrowed eyes stunned her. It wasn’t lust. It was more than that. He looked awed, as though she was truly beautiful. As though she was lovelier than he expected, or he was more struck by it than he’d planned. And, strangely, she liked that.

After all, he was more beautiful than she had expected, and she was far more struck by it than she’d planned.

His mouth claimed her nipple once more, but with such maddening gentleness she thrust her breasts forward and clutched his silken hair. Chuckling against her skin, he obliged her by sucking harder while stripping down his pants.

Nothing came between his hot skin and his trousers.

Daringly, she touched the ridge of his naked hip. Marveling. Of course, the lean line of his hip was hard, the indent above velvety soft, and his stomach…it was an entrancing lacing of pure muscle.

He scooped her up. Not as a gentleman would lift a lady to carry her if she had sprained her ankle. No, he grasped her bottom and drew her up, forcing her to hook her legs around his waist.

“Mr. Sharpe!” Her soaked and sticky quim pressed against the broad head of his hard cock trapped between them.

“Devlin. I would like to hear you call me Devlin, sweetheart.” Surprisingly agile with his trousers around his knees, he made his way to the edge of the bed, then fell. She shut her eyes, certain she’d be squashed, but he caught his weight on his powerful arms, laughing.

Pushing up, he straightened and yanked off his boots, but his hot gaze never left her. She lay with one arm over her nipples, one hand covering her blond nether curls, clinging to modesty. Immodestly, she stared at his cock. Now that he wasn’t pressed against her, she could see it—curiosity made her look, carnal appreciation kept her staring.

Her father’s paintings had mocked male members—exaggerated them. Some were long and thin and scarlet tipped. Others short and thick and oddly purple.

Mr.—Devlin’s—cock captured her with its audacious size and pure beauty. Jutting out, his thick cock curved upward toward his navel. She doubted she could encircle it with her hand. Dark gold hair surrounded it and a pair of large ballocks dangled below.

What would it feel like inside her? Would it be too large? Would it hurt? Just staring was making her honey flow and her hand was no longer merely covering her privates. To her shock, she realized she was stroking her creamy lips. In front of him.

His knee pressed into the bed. Glinting honey-gold in the firelight, his hair fell around his face. “I want you on top, Grace. You can—”

“No!”

Frowning at her desperate shout, he paused. She hurried on. “I want you on top. That is the way I want it…please?” She spread her legs in welcome and held out her hands, revealing herself to him in the most intimate and vulnerable way.

A bewitching smile curved his lips and he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingertips. “Anything to please my lady.”

He left her and took something from a pocket of his trousers. Grace stared as he rolled a covering over his cock, mesmerized by the casual way he touched himself. She knew of such things from her father’s pictures—a sheath, to prevent a pregnancy.

Don’t think.

Then the gentleman vanished with a blink of her eye and a rogue took his place. The broad shoulders moved over her, his lean hips nudged between her thighs, and his strong legs spread hers wider. Bravely, she touched him, skimming her hands over his smooth shoulders, letting her fingertips graze down to the crinkly hair on his chest.

She wanted to relish every inch of him. This was to be the memory she would treasure and she would make it perfect.

Sharing a smile with Devlin, astonished by how natural it felt to touch him, to delight in it, Grace reached down. Eager to touch his cock, to explore him, to pleasure him…

“Oh God, Grace,” Devlin groaned as Grace’s long, slim fingers curled around his aching shaft. Her fingers gripped tight, then slid up and down. They traced the veins that pushed against the skin and made a mind-melting journey up to the straining head.

Miss Grace Hamilton was exploring, and he could barely hold on to his control. He ground his back teeth, fighting the urge to ease her hand away and slide inside her. Deliberately, her hand closed around him and began to jerk him with rhythmic motions.

He stopped her, clasping his hand around her small wrist. “I want to make love to you. To be inside you. Do you want that?”

Before she answered, he guided his cock to her wet, steamy lips, stirring her bubbling honey. He slicked his cock along her clit and she gasped, “Oh yes!” Then she gave a desperate moan that made his cock jerk and his balls contract.

He lifted her leg, touching satin-soft skin, aware she wore her stockings and garters. The gossamer white silk against her ivory skin was erotic, but need hit him so hard he wanted to rip the pretty fabric with his teeth.

He’d never tumbled with a woman who wasn’t experienced, boisterous, and willing to give as good as she got. He still bore scars from fierce fingernails and tearing teeth and he liked a woman hammering her heels into his arse.

Tensing, he tightened his grip on his cock. Control, man. She’s precious and you have to make this good.

Miss Grace Hamilton moaned as he slowly thrust into her, his buttocks tight, his legs and arms stiff with the force of restraint. Beneath him, she wrapped her free leg around his hips, snaked her arms around his neck, and rose to him with a fevered cry of pleasure.

God.

Her hips worked, rising and falling to slick her snug cunny along his shaft. Artless, eager, exquisitely beautiful—she was a treasure a man like him did not deserve. Bracketing his arm around her head, he captured her lips as he slowly thrust in and drew out. A soft whimper spilled into his mouth as he sank into her to the hilt. She surprised him by kissing him hungrily, dueling her tongue with his.

“Harder,” she whispered against his mouth. “I like this, but I want you deeper. Harder.”

His control shattered. Arching forward, he plunged into her, plundering her mouth and pinching her nipple, rolling it to give her pleasure. He surged in and out, riding high. The slap of his chest against her breasts drove him mad. The slick heat of her pussy milking his cock had him on the brink of explosion.

Her fingernails sank into his shoulders.

Make her come. Make her. Do it for her.

Shifting his angle, he worked until she cried out in shock against his mouth. He slipped his hand beneath her, and found her snug anus with his fingertips. Stroking her sensitive place inside her pussy, teasing her nipple, tickling her rump, he hung on until he took Grace to the brink.

“What—?” Her eyes opened wide, searching his, both alight and confused.

Captured by their sparkling green depths, he murmured, “You’re going to come. I’m going to make you come.”

“It feels like heaven. Like whipped cream and sugar and better than any sin I’ve ever indulged in.” She moaned and her moan was both sweet and fierce.

He’d never felt so connected with a woman while making love. Staring at her beautiful flushed face, he kept pumping, teasing, stroking—

“Oh! Oh God!” Her head lolled back; then her body arched beneath him. Her cunny clutched his cock, hugged it, pulsed around it.

Like a battering wave, his orgasm rose, flooding his brain, and he almost cried out, caught himself on the brink, and sank his teeth into the silky pillow beside her head. Groaning into it, he joined her in ecstasy, pumping his burning semen into her fluttering quim.

God.

“It was glorious,” Grace whispered. “Perfect. Amazing. Magnificent.”

Devlin, her highwayman, gave a gravelly laugh and snuggled into her side. This was an intimacy she’d never imagined—being cuddled by a powerful naked man while her heart still hammered and her body felt as though she floated on velvet clouds.

Beneath her sweat-slicked body, her sheets were a jumble, reminding her of how wild she’d been. Regret speared her suddenly—she had made a private vow to put aside her impetuous behavior and act like a lady for the sake of her family.

And now she lay, sighing with pleasure, beside a naked highwayman.

Muscular and strong, his arm cradled her protectively, just below her breasts. “What is wrong, love?”

She shook her head, blinking tears. She had started thinking again and now she could not stop. What had she done? Her behavior was scandalous. This was how her wild, bohemian father would behave. Self-indulgent, her mother had called it.

Fighting tears, she whispered, “My family has no money. We will end up in a workhouse. I was going to marry well. I was going to save us all.”

Devlin’s lips nuzzled her neck but she pulled away.

“I’d marry you, love, but it would scandalize you and destroy your reputation.”

I’d marry you.

His words struck her mute. She had never expected he would even consider marriage.

Devlin rolled up onto his side. Tangled and free, his hair rippled to his shoulders. His eyes sparkled. “No doubt I don’t have long for this world—someone will run me through or get a noose around my neck. If you were my wife, you would inherit a bloody fortune—but I fear it would put you at too much risk.”

Did he feel he owed her an offer? Hastily, she said, “I wouldn’t want to marry you.”

He cupped her bare breast and teased her shoulder with his tongue before murmuring against her ear, “If you’re in trouble, Grace, I’d like to help you. How much do you need?”

She jerked away. “Pay me? You want to pay me? As though I’m a mistress? Or a courtesan?”

A voice in her head screamed, Take it! Take it. Your family is going to starve. You must say yes.

What was wrong with her? How could she want to say yes to being paid like a prostitute?

What shocked her was not his offer. What shocked her was that she wanted to say yes.

“It’s not payment, love. It’s a noble use for my ill-gotten gains. I stole this money, sweetheart. From gentlemen who gamble away fortunes, who drink a king’s ransom in brandy, who lavishly give diamonds to whores. Giving it to you is the right thing to do. Can you not see that?”

She struggled to sit up and fought to cover herself with a sheet. “Accepting it is not the right thing to do.”

“For God’s sake. It might be more noble to starve, but it’s insanity. You need the money. You deserve the money.”

What else would he think of her? She’d gone from one man’s bed to another’s, within hours! She slid off the edge of the bed, pulling enough white sheet to cover her. “Why are men so blasted…cruel after making love?”

In the silence that stretched, while her silver-tongued pirate gaped at her in surprise, she thought of a painting of her father’s she had once seen but had not understood. A gentleman, a peer on bended knee, pursuing a lady, kissing the lady’s hand while she turned away and tried to resist. And then, after the lovemaking, the undressed and disheveled lady was clinging to the peer while he tugged on his trousers and tried to escape.

Devlin wanted to help her, but he was offering her money because he’d shared her bed.

It wasn’t that she’d expected anything. She hadn’t. But he’d discounted her just as Lord Wesley had done. Not as cruelly, but it hurt.

Wesley had wanted to insult her and forget about her.

Mr. Sharpe wanted to pay her and forget about her.

He reached for her, but she stepped back, almost tripping over the sheet.

“Grace.”

“You can leave with your purse intact, Mr. Sharpe. All I wanted from you was—” What? Excitement? Better memories?

Now, she wasn’t certain.

“I only want to help you, Grace. How can that be wrong? How can that hurt you?” He raked his hair back. “Damn it, I don’t understand. What bloody crime did I commit?”

This time she could not run away. Not from her own bedroom without a stitch of clothing on.

The mattress creaked as he jumped to the floor. He stalked toward his clothes. “I’ll go, Grace, because I won’t hurt you or scare you by staying. But this is not over, love. It wasn’t my intention to make you angry or hurt you.”

She turned away as he flung on his clothes—most of them, at least.

Her heart had been broken again. The hurt she’d hoped to erase burned even stronger within her, a hot ache around her heart.

She had turned to Mr. Sharpe, certain her heart would not be engaged, but the minute she’d tumbled into intimacy with him, she’d let herself fall in love. Well, not exactly love…a hope, a need for connection, a want for partnership.

Now she knew—she couldn’t make love without involving her heart. It was as simple as that.

The moment her bedroom door shut with a click, she was no longer sure why she’d driven Devlin Sharpe away.