Count Maxime's Virgin. Susan StephensЧитать онлайн книгу.
Tara realised, but she still couldn’t relax. Her throat felt so dry she couldn’t have spoken a word to him even if she could have thought of something to say. One look from Lucien was all it took to make her nipples pucker, so she crossed her arms over her chest and remained where she was, dithering in the middle of the room.
Lucien shrugged off his jacket, and his look of amusement caught her mid-gulp as she weighed up the width of his shoulders. She turned away, but not before registering the fact that his fingers were supple and capable as he deftly untied his bow-tie, and this only stirred more rebellion in her lower regions, which she could have well done without. Leaving the tie hanging, he next freed some buttons at the neck of his shirt. Sneaking glances at him, she now decided he looked exactly like a man in an advertisement for some high end luxury product, though far more handsome, of course. She went all dreamy again as she imagined touching that smooth tanned flesh and feeling it warm beneath her hands until the jangle of Lucien’s heavy gold cuff-links hitting a glass bowl on the table jerked her back to reality.
‘Won’t you at least take your shawl off?’ Lucien encouraged. ‘Here, I’ll put it somewhere safe for you…’ He held out his hand.
She stared at him foolishly. By now he was folding back his sleeves, revealing powerful forearms shaded with black hair. ‘I was just about to take it off,’ she lied, wondering how a single inch of Lucien’s fabulous suite could be called safe while he was in it. She took off her shawl, conscious that an acre of untoned naked flesh was now on show. Freya’s hours at the gym had paid dividends for her, but Tara didn’t have the time between jobs to follow suit, and would have felt too embarrassed to strip down in front of everyone, anyway.
‘Come and sit here with me,’ Lucien invited, beckoning her over to one of the sofas.
She chose the couch facing his and perched tensely on the edge of it. She was careful to sit very straight and lift her ribcage as Freya had shown her, in order to prevent herself looking too plump. But, as she did so, Lucien murmured, ‘Impressive…’
Did he mean to give her confidence? She gulped in horror, realising too late that he must think she was displaying her breasts for his approval. She quickly hunched her shoulders and lowered her gaze.
‘Do I make you so nervous, ma petite?’
Risking a glance at him, she garbled something unintelligible that made him laugh.
‘I don’t think I am succeeding at putting you at your ease, am I?’ Lucien demanded softly, ‘though I’d very much like to do so…’
By sitting next to her? By draping his arm across her shoulders? She was about as far from at ease as she had ever been. In fact, she was quivering all over, wondering what Lucien expected of her.
‘Relax,’ he murmured, making her ear tingle with his warm, minty breath.
There was something so soothing in his voice she leaned into him. It felt so good just for a moment to rest her head against his firm chest and listen to the steady beat of his heart. Lucien made her feel so secure, and just for once she longed for rock instead of shifting sand, but when he brushed some errant strands of hair from her brow with his lips, she stirred self-consciously. ‘Relax,’ Lucien insisted.
She tried so hard to do what he wanted, but all the time her inner voice was warning her that this was no dream and was far more reality than she could handle.
‘What would you like me to do next, little one?’ Lucien murmured.
Her gaze flickered up, only to discover that Lucien’s had darkened from sepia to black. Did that mean the world of wicked thoughts in her head was an open book to him? His knowing look suggested that was exactly the case, and his next words confirmed it. ‘Shall we go to the bedroom?’
As he spoke Lucien touched his forehead to hers. It was such an intimate thing to do, her dreams took flight again. Oh, yes, she wanted to say, let’s go there now, but she heard herself reply, ‘I’m quite comfortable here, thank you.’ Her voice had grown very small, and she knew that at this point she was supposed to sound breathy and provocative, as Freya had taught her.
‘Then we’ll stay here,’ Lucien agreed with a shrug.
He didn’t seem the least bit disappointed in her, Tara noticed with relief.
‘Don’t look so worried,’ he insisted, cupping her chin. ‘I won’t bite…’
Or, at least, if he did, she would enjoy it, Tara thought as Lucien’s lips tugged in a wicked half-smile. Sensation streamed through her at this thought, which he must have sensed because the hand that wasn’t caressing her jaw began trailing a path of fire down her neck to her breastbone and, from there, unbelievably, incredibly, and quite fantastically, on to her bosom. She was transfixed. Whatever she had imagined about sensation, this was so much more—so much better. She hardly dared to breathe in case she distracted him as Lucien’s sensitive fingers continued to tease and coax and cajole. Smiling faintly whilst holding her gaze, he murmured something in his own language. She didn’t know what he said, but she could imagine and it made her groan.
‘I think you like that,’ he observed, continuing to abrade the tip of her nipple.
So much, he could have no idea. No one had ever touched her there before, and she doubted anyone could have coaxed so much feeling out of her. And yes, she liked it; she liked it a lot. Added to which, Lucien’s stern voice was strumming her senses and causing the ache between her legs to grow until she could hardly remain still.
‘You do like that,’ he approved as she groaned once more beneath his skilful touches. She wouldn’t know where to begin telling him how much. Her breathing was fast and shallow and her eyes were locked onto his burning gaze. She had no idea how to put her thoughts, her needs into words, though she was desperate to communicate them to him. Her biggest fear was that Lucien would tire of this and let her go. Unsure as she was of their final destination, she wanted to experience everything Lucien could teach her along the way. She was grateful when the flimsy top she’d had so much trouble tugging on proved no barrier to Lucien’s explorations. He drew it over her head quite easily and then stared openly at her naked breasts, making a sound with his tongue against his teeth and shaking his head in disapproval when she tried to cover them.
‘You should wear a bra,’ he said at last.
‘Should I?’ she said anxiously, even as his stern command sent a pulse of arousal darting to her core. Something else she’d got wrong.
‘Of course you should,’ Lucien murmured with amusement, ‘because that way there’d be more layers for me to unwrap, and I enjoy the process…’
She was beginning to understand the game, Tara realised, risking an uncertain laugh as Lucien peeled off her skirt.
‘You must never, never apologise,’ Lucien insisted. ‘Certainly not for your magnificent breasts.’
He weighed them appreciatively in his big hands as he said this and, rolling her head back, she sighed, thrusting them towards him for more of his delicious attention.
She wanted as much of this as Lucien had to give her, but the moment he turned away to reach for something in a drawer she took the opportunity to tug off her shabby knickers. Lingerie was the one thing she had put her foot down over. Freya had wanted her to wear an uncomfortable lacy thong, while she preferred her tried and trusted comfortable knickers. But they were very old now, and she couldn’t bear for Lucien to see them. By the time he turned back to her she had rolled them up in her discarded skirt.
Dipping his head, Lucien buried his face in her cleavage before rasping his stubble against her supersensitised skin, and by the time he tugged on her nipples again she could only cry out with abandonment. ‘Oh, Lucien, I can’t bear this…’
‘Can’t bear what?’ he demanded sternly. ‘This?’ He suckled fiercely on one nipple, teasing the other between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Or this…?’ His voice was firmer still as he slipped a hand between her thighs, teasing the silky curls.
‘Both,’