Seven Years to Sin (Historical #1)

Seven Years to Sin (Historical #1) Page 25

Deep inside her, she felt him lengthen and thicken. It made her stomach flutter to think he could climax just from kissing her. He broke away, panting, fighting the inevitable.

Catching his wrists, she pulled his hands away and straightened. She laced their fingers together and lifted, sliding her sex along his cock in a satiny-slick caress. She lowered her body slowly, using his upraised arms as leverage, keeping them occupied so that he couldn’t shield his face behind them.

Alistair’s breath hissed through his clenched teeth, his blue eyes so dark they looked like sapphires. He was flushed, his lips swollen from her kiss, his black hair tousled by her grasping fingers. She’d never seen anything as extravagantly beautiful in her life.

Her heart swelled and caused her chest to ache. Rolling her hips, she lifted again. Lowered. Listened to the soft liquid sounds that betrayed her own raging desire. She watched him from beneath her lashes, searching for clues to his pleasure. How fast to stroke over him, how deep to take him, which angle made sweat bead along his hairline.

“Jesus,” he gasped when she thrust down hard, his body quaking at the jolting impact. He was deep, the broad crown of his penis touching the end of her. The tension, strung wire-tight through his powerful frame, was tangible.

Jess tightened her grip on his hands and began to ride him in earnest, pumping hard and swift, tightening on the upstrokes, releasing on the downstrokes. Taking him to that deep place inside her that made his head thrash and his legs kick restlessly beneath her.

“Wait—” He struggled to sit up. “Damnation … Slow down!”

“Let go,” she coaxed breathlessly, reaching behind her and between his legs to tease the taut heavy sac of his testicles. “I’ll hold you.”

“Jess.” Alistair yanked his hand free of her grip and grabbed her hips. Holding her immobile, he pounded upward, his hips pistoning with such speed she could only grip his forearms and let him have his way.

He gave a feral growl at the first wrenching spurt of semen and released her abruptly, his arms dropping to the bed so his hands could fist the counterpane. His back bowed up from the bed, his neck arching. The ferocity of his orgasm was magnificent, the way he bit out her name even more so.

“Yes,” she urged, riding out his climax, holding off her own so that she could absorb every nuance of his release. She was riveted by his pleasure, awestruck that she could make him feel so strongly about an act he’d once disregarded completely. “God … you’re beautiful.”

And totally vulnerable. Undone. Emotions raced across his face—pained ecstasy, need, love … even anger.

Alistair rolled them both, taking her to the edge of the bed. He was thrusting before she could catch her bearings, grinding against her, the friction of his thick cock forcing the orgasm from her overstimulated body. She cried out as the spasms flowed through her, her fingers gripping his sides, her legs opened wide to accept everything he had to give her.

His mouth covered hers, muting the sounds they made as they climaxed violently.

I love you, she exhaled into his near-frantic kiss, no longer able or willing to contain the words or the sentiment behind them.

In answer, he caught her close and crushed the air from her lungs.

The dipping and swaying of the ship felt apropos to Alistair, whose existence was similarly rocked. His fingers tangled in and out of Jessica’s luxurious hair, his thoughts focused on the three little words he was almost certain she’d said to him.

He knew from experience that women said such things in the throes of powerful orgasms and paid them no mind later. He knew she’d been flush with her own feminine power, finally understanding how easily she could unravel him and strip him bare. He couldn’t fight it when he was with her; he had no idea how to.

And now she was so quiet curled up against him, their skin cooling and breaths slowing. For the moment, he was well and truly spent; the dearth of arousal left him with no distraction from his turmoil.

Why wasn’t she saying anything? Why didn’t she repeat the words aloud?

He began speaking only to save his sanity. “I began my sexual experiences as most randy adolescent boys do: with anyone who was pretty enough and willing.”

“Dear God.” Jessica laughed softly. “I expect girls were throwing themselves at you shamelessly.”

Though it was true, Alistair said nothing to that, having no desire to rouse any misplaced jealousy. “My eldest brother, Aaron, took me carousing with him one evening. I was nearly fifteen, and I wanted so much to be as worldly as he seemed to me. We eventually found ourselves at a small gathering in the home of a demimondaine.”

Her head lifted. She looked at him. “At fourteen years old?”

“Nearly fifteen,” he reminded. “And not very innocent, if I ever was. Remember, my mother was forced to explain early on why Masterson couldn’t bear to even look at me.”

She folded her arms across his abdomen and rested her chin upon them. “He is the only one who could ever feel that way.”

His fingertips drifted along her delicate jaw. “There was a courtesan at the party. I caught her eye, and she caught mine.”

“What did she look like?”

“She was slender. A blonde. Delicate looking, with pale blue eyes. Depending on her mood, they occasionally appeared almost gray.”

“Oh …” Jess’s eyes became stormy. “Fortunate for me that I fit into your preferences.”

He held back the smile certain to get him into trouble. “Actually, it was you who’d recently set my preferences, a fortnight before, when I met you. She just happened to fit them.”

Confusion marred her brow, then a dawning awareness moved across her expressive features.

“She was a poor substitute, I’m afraid,” he went on, his gaze lifting to the wall beyond her shoulder. “Nowhere near as refined as you. She’d long ago lost the ability to care for anyone more than she cared about herself, which suited me fine. I didn’t have to like her to want to fuck her.”

Jess jolted softly at his crudity, but held her tongue.

“For a short time, our affair was ideal. She found relief from her boredom in instructing me how to bed a woman properly, and I was an eager pupil. She taught me how to focus on the mechanics of the act, most likely in an attempt to prevent me from becoming emotional over her.”

“Did it work?”

“After a fashion.” He shrugged. “Perhaps not enough, because one day I arrived and found she had an acquaintance with her. Another courtesan. She wanted me to service them both, which I did.”

Her arms came around him, slipping through the small gap where his reclined back curved away from the affixed headboard.

“Soon one friend became two,” he said. “Sometimes she didn’t participate at all. She merely watched. There were other men as well, when she felt like having two or more cocks in her at once.”

“My God,” Jessica whispered, her eyes big and dark in her pale face. “Why did you go? Why didn’t you leave her to her own debauchery?”

“Go where? Home? My presence caused tremendous strain between Masterson and my mother. She was made miserable when I was around. Regardless, I never acted against my will. It wasn’t odious, Jessica. At that age, I had a cockstand damn near all the time, and her bedsport provided plenty of opportunities to alleviate it.”

His voice was carefully light, but she must have recognized the underlying emotion. Her cheek rubbed back and forth across his stomach, her nose nuzzling through the thin strip of hair bisecting his abdomen.

“I should not have pushed you so hard today,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”

Alistair snorted. “I cannot accept an apology for giving me the best orgasm of my life.”

She pulled her arms out from beneath him and wriggled her way up his torso. “The best orgasm so far,” she corrected, straddling his hips and embracing his shoulders. “Henceforth I will endeavor to bring you greater and greater pleasure every time we make love.”

His cock twitched in its initial effort to rally. She’d wrung him dry in every respect.

“Not yet,” she said, with her lips to his ear. “Let me hold you; I promised you I would. You don’t always have to use sex to show me how you feel.”

The rush of longing that assailed him was nearly too great. It stung his eyes and burned in his throat. He set his hands on the bed to hide their unsteadiness.

“Was she the only woman you cared for?” she asked, leaning fully against him.

“If that is what you want to call it.”

“What would you call it? Lust?”

“I’ve no notion. I know it was never like this.”

“But there are women who’ve loved you.” It wasn’t a question.

“Those who have, came to lament it. The detriments outweigh the benefits.”

Her fingertips curled around the back of his neck, kneading the tense muscles. “There is no shame in what you did.”

“You don’t know what I did.”

“I know you. I love you, and I will not regret it.”

Alistair was horrified by the violent shudder that moved through him. She was deep under his skin now, able to see everything he was so adept at disguising on the surface.

God, he didn’t want her to see …

“You don’t know that, either,” he said sharply.

“You’ll have to trust me, Alistair, and take my word for it.” Her embrace lightened, her body withdrawing as if giving him room and permission to flee.

In truth, he was tempted to. He’d done things in his life that made him unacceptable … the very nature of his birth made him unsuitable for her. She’d suffered so much to become the polished, elegant, irreproachable woman she was. And with his courtship, he would destroy the social esteem she had worked so hard to attain. If he could, he would keep her captive in his bed, the one place he knew he could make her forget everything but the pleasure he could give her.

Alistair caught her close, fighting for the strength to be gentle when he felt so violently. She needed tenderness and sheltering, and he was like a battering ram against her, constantly trying to crash his way through the defenses she’d been forced to build as an abused child. “I do trust you,” he said gruffly. “Don’t I tell you everything?”

“You tell me all the disreputable things about yourself.” Jessica pulled back to look at him. “And you say them with such defiance, as if you’re daring me to turn away from you.”

Better now than later. With every day that passed, she became more and more indispensable to him. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to breathe without her. He already felt that way at times.

She kissed one corner of his mouth, then the other. “Remain constant, and I will remain with you.”

“You are my every desire.” He groaned as she moved sinuously against him.

“Prove it,” she breathed.

As always, he accepted the challenge. He knew his strengths—he could disregard his conscience, he was adept at making money, he was attractive, and he was good at sex. It was precious little to offer to a woman such as Jessica, but he would offer it in spades and pray it would be enough to keep her.

Chapter 18

Hester paused on the threshold of her bedroom and stared at her sleeping husband. He’d come to her often over the past sennight, seeking surcease from his torment in her bed. She tried to comfort him, tried to tell him that no one remembered a boxing match a week old, that he wasn’t humiliated or diminished, but nothing she said or did soothed his inner turmoil. She was exhausted from the effort, disheartened, and sickened by his weakness and her own weakness for him. Despite everything dark and twisted that had passed between them, she still couldn’t wish him ill.

It was her greatest failure that she couldn’t save the man she’d once loved from himself. She could not even save their love, which had withered and was surely dying. As much as it pained her, she could no longer afford to waste her energies and affections on a man who couldn’t accept and value her efforts. She had a child to consider now, a tiny being who would need all her time, attention, and adoration. The strength she hadn’t been capable of finding for herself, she’d found for the babe growing within her.

Her shoulders went back and she moved toward the bed.

Regmont had the potential to be such a wonderful man. He was handsome and emminently charming. He had a fine wit and was brilliantly adept at everything he set his hand to. Women coveted him and men respected him. Yet he saw none of those admirable qualities in himself. Sadly, his father’s demeaning and belittling words were all he heard in his head; they drowned out the praise directed his way. He felt unworthy of love, and he reacted to those feelings in the manner his father had taught him by example—through violence.

But she couldn’t make excuses for him any longer. His most prominent traits were the need for absolute control over her—from the clothes she wore to what she ate—and manipulation. He laid the blame for his rages on the spirits he drank to excess and, sometimes, on her. If he couldn’t accept his own culpability, there was little possibility he would change. She had to take steps to protect her child.

As she neared, he stirred, one sleekly muscled arm reaching toward her side of the bed. His head lifted from the pillow when he felt her gone. When he found her, he gifted her with a slow and sleepy smile. A soft tremor flowed through her. Tousled and naked, his golden masculine beauty was undeniable. An angel’s face hiding the demons that ruled him.

He rolled to his back and pushed up to recline against the carved wooden headboard. The sheet pooled around his hips, leaving the breathtaking expanse of his chest and stomach bared. “I can hear you thinking from here,” he murmured. “What thoughts have you so occupied?”

“I have something to tell you.”