Passion for the Game (Georgian #2)

Passion for the Game (Georgian #2) Page 29

Why had she come? Why send him that note, so sweetly worded? Perhaps he was indeed a pleasure to her. He hated the part of him that said,

That is enough. Take what she will give you. Because it was not enough. It could no longer be merely sex between them. He could not share her bed knowing that he was excluded from sharing the rest of her life.

“Have you changed your mind?” she murmured, glancing over her shoulder when he hesitated too long.

He stared at the heart-shaped patch near her mouth and longed to kiss it. The scent of her fil ed his nostrils, more heady than liquor. “No.”

Christopher began the difficult task of unveiling her lush body, peeling back the yards of material that separated them. He was accomplished in the art of undressing a woman, but never had his hands shaken during the task.

Slowly, he managed, and the back of the crimson gown gaped open, the rich color a stunning contrast to her olive skin. His head lowered, his tongue traveling along the top of her shoulder. He felt her shiver and knew he would perform the same service to the rest of her. He would tug on her nipples with the hot suction of his mouth, then spread her legs wide and lick inside her. She would beg for surcease, arching and writhing beneath him. By the time he was done with her, no other man would satisfy and she would know what he had felt these last days—starved before a banquet and yet unable to eat.

He pushed aside the left flap of the red garment, his gaze arrested by the puckered pink scar left by the knife wound. His eyes closed against the emotions that moved through him. Then he felt the raised line of flesh beneath his fingertips, his hand having lifted without conscious direction.

Maria gasped at the touch.

“Does it stil pain you?” he asked, opening his eyes to watch his movements.

For a long moment she said nothing, then she nodded.

“I will be gentle,” he promised.

“No,” she argued breathlessly, “you will be on your back.”

The memories her words envoked were so powerful, he shuddered. How many times had he relived their one night together, her above him, her nipple in his mouth, her cunt sucking his cock until he came in a pulsating rush that left him gasping and drained. That he was moments away from experiencing the same ecstasy made his bal s draw up tight and ache to be emptied. He was desperate to be one with her. In body, in passion. To fuck her harder, faster, and deeper than she had ever been fucked before and to have her pay him in kind. Have her respond with a similar wildness of need and hunger. For him.

Only him.

“Hurry,” she urged, her body rigid.

Christopher paused, understanding that she felt vulnerable, knowing that the change in the rules of the game had her wary and slightly frightened.

He was uncertain as Well, taking tentative steps as he trod new ground, never having bared himself in such a manner before.

So he deviated slightly, gripping the back of her gown and rending it open with a quick, hard tear. She stepped out of the remnants and faced him, her waist hugged by a corset, her legs lost in her skirts.

“Discard your breeches,” she ordered, “and lie on the bed.”

He studied her as his hands moved leisurely to do as she bade. She wanted control. He would give it to her, showing her by example that he was willing to put himself in her hands, if she would do the same for him. “I want you naked, as Well.”

“Later.”

Nodding, Christopher freed his cock and shoved his breeches down. Maria’s gaze dropped to his erection, goading him to take it in hand and pump it, bringing his seed to slip out over the head.

“See what you do to me?” he asked, holding his cock out to her like an offering.

What looked like sadness drifted across her delicate features. A low moan escaped him as he continued to masturbate for her view. Pleasure coiled around his spine and made his cock swel further.

“I have been too long without you, Maria. Did you miss me the same?”

“I wrote to you.”

“Will you punish me for desiring some sign of your affection? For wanting you to visit me in my bed, rather than the reverse?”

“Stop,” she said hoarsely, her gaze riveted to his industrious hands. “I want you hard and thick inside me, not spent.”

Christopher dropped his hands to his sides, leaving his cock reddened, weeping seed, and curving upward. This was entirely new to him, this forfeit of power. He doubted he could do this for anyone else. A lesser woman would not have the deep-rooted command required to take the control from him. Even Emaline, with all of her vast experience, hadn’t been able to master him in the bedroom. It was why she sometimes serviced him herself instead of granting him the use of one—or more—of her girls. She occasional y needed the luxury of simply being fucked rather than being the one to do all the work.

So he waited, his breathing harsh, his skin misted with sweat. The anticipation rose, charging the air, inciting him further. Sex could be boring if the action lul ed. That was not the case now. The space between him and Maria fil ed with a palpable energy, just as it always had.

“Have you changed your mind?” he prodded, tossing her words back at her.

Her brow arched. “Perhaps I am not ready.”

His brow rose to match hers; he knew she was lying by the high flush on her chest and cheeks, and the rapid lift and fall of her breasts. He knew she was wet, knew that watching him pleasure himself had also pleasured her. “I can make you ready,” he offered solicitously.

For a moment she did not move, his dark-haired temptress with her creamy skin and deep red lips. Her chemise, corset, and underskirts were white, hinting at an angelic image that was ruined by those knowing eyes with their impossibly thick lashes. He could see her delicious nipples through the sheer cotton, and his mouth watered with the urge to suck on them. The tiny heart-shaped patch teased him to kiss that lush mouth, to slide his cock into it and thrust until he burst. More cum beaded on the tip of his cock and slid down the burning, pulsing skin of his shaft.

“Would you all ow me to take you with my mouth?” he asked. “It would please me to make love to you that way.”

Her gaze darkened at his choice of wording and her lips parted on panting breaths. She nodded and stepped past him, her skirts swaying with her agitated stride. There was no hesitation in her. When she was decided, she never looked back.

He fol owed, his brain in a fog of lust and deep yearning. She took a seat on the settee, her back ramrod straight. The pose was prim, until she hooked one knee over the curved wooden armrest and pulled back the masses of white material, baring first her beautiful y curved calves, then her lithe thighs, and final y, the silken heaven between her legs.

Christopher growled low in his throat, sinking to his knees without preamble, his large hands cupping her inner thighs and spreading her so wide that nothing was hidden from him. She was slick and hot, as he had known she would be. Luscious Maria, the Wintry Widow. Except when she was with him. Then she melted.

“I love to see you this way,” he confessed. “Open to me, will ing and craving.”

Dipping his head, he licked up the seam of her sex, relishing the hiss of pleasure that escaped from between her teeth. After this night, she would never forget him. She would lie in her bed, remembering the feel of his mouth upon her, and long for the pleasure only he could provide.

He surrounded her with his lips, his tongue flickering over the tight knot of her clitoris with light, teasing strokes. Her fingers drifted into his hair, caressing the sweat-dampened roots, her back arching into the intimate caress with a startled cry. He held her hips down, the circle of his mouth creating a soft suction that intensified her thrashing and brought her to harsh, panting breaths.

“Christopher! Dear God…”

She bowed upward, her grip in his hair painful but welcome. He dipped lower, thrust his tongue inside her, felt how tight and drenched she was, how deeply he affected her. Grateful that he could, because he was undone, his body trembling with need and tortured desire.

He moved upward again, sucking the hard bed of nerves in an unfaltering rhythm, forcing her to take what he gave her, forcing her to see what they had—a deep affinity that grew more precious to him by the day.

Her orgasm nearly prompted his, her cunt clenching around his tongue as he drove it into her repeatedly. He didn’t stop, refusing her attempts to push him away, his mouth working her, taking her, making her cry out in climax again. And again, until neither one of them could take any more.

He rose, gripping the gilded lip of the settee back with one hand and aiming his cock at her slit with the other.

His penetrating lunge into her body rocked the settee to its rear legs, the brutal jolt wringing a curse from him and a breathless cry from her.

Christopher paused a moment, his eyes squeezed shut as her cunt rippled around him in the final throes of orgasm. Only when she lay quivering in the aftermath did he risk looking at her.

“This is heaven,” he gasped. “I want to live inside you, feel you suck me deeper and deeper until we are one.”

Maria stared up at the golden god who caged her so thoroughly and wondered how the events of the evening had spun so far out of her control. She was tender and swol en, oversensitive and stuffed ful of rock-hard cock. His hands gripped the sofa on either side of her head, his lean hips cradled in the apex of her thighs, his rippled abdomen clenched tight and dripping sweat onto the pile of skirts gathered at her waist.

He stared down at her with open lust and affection, shaking the very foundations of her life. How could she give this up? She whimpered as

Christopher’s cock throbbed inside her. In this position she had no leverage, and his impressive endowments felt almost too huge to be comfortable. He withdrew and she spasmed around him, her body unwil ing to give up the pleasure of his. Then, using his muscular legs to push forward and his arms to pul the settee downward, he lunged into her again, hitting the end of her, his heavy bal s slapping erotical y against her bottom.

Maria moaned helplessly. Her only recourse was to clutch his waist and brace herself for his thrusts, which grew in strength and speed until the private sitting room echoed with the unmistakable sounds of hard fucking. Her cries rose in volume, competing with the rhythmic banging of the sofa legs against the floor and the curses that rasped from Christopher’s throat every time he sank into her.