Wanton:. Noelle MackЧитать онлайн книгу.
expertise became more evident when she moved her hand over the front of his breeches, rubbing and squeezing the stiff rod trapped within.
She murmured naughty things in his ear. How much she wanted to see what she could guess at was the least of it.
Marko moved her hand to the buttons at one side. “All shall be revealed,” he whispered.
One by one, she undid them, single-handed, with great dexterity. He cared not where she had learned to be so wanton—he only wanted to receive pleasure from her experienced hands.
She dragged her gold-tipped nails over the taut flesh of his groin. The stimulating effect went straight to his cock, which was still trapped beneath the flap of his breeches. She had undone only the buttons on one side.
The pressure was agonizing, although she had moved to the side to help free his eager flesh. Severin settled herself beside him and undid the other buttons.
There. He groaned. His cock rose up of its own accord. She took him in her soft fingers and gently stroked the heated shaft, searching for his mouth with her own, kissing him tenderly.
Marko scarcely knew where he was at that moment. In heaven or about to be, he thought vaguely.
He reached over to cup her breasts within the velvet bodice. Her nipples were erect and easy to feel in his cupped palms.
He squeezed both breasts as gently as she was handling him, following her lead. If, later, she wanted him to be a little rougher, pleasuring her darker needs with love bites and firmer handling, he would do that.
For now, as aroused as he was, it was best to go slowly. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, kissing her lasciviously. He broke off only to breathe. “Severin…I wish I could rip this damned dress to pieces.”
She laughed a little. “But then we would not be able to leave the carriage.”
“Must we leave it?”
“Do you not want to lie with me, Marko?”
He wanted nothing more. At last, by a stroke of luck he would never understand, he had found a woman whose talent for amorous play went beyond his wildest dreams. Consumed by lust though he was, Marko knew that there was far more to Severin than that. He would never get enough of her. In just one night—and the night was far from over—his world had been turned upside down.
Eventually, he answered her question with sensual strokes and loving murmurs. “Yes. Yes.” She responded in kind. He could love her, he thought, befuddled. Surely the intensity of everything he was feeling, even its suddenness, was a sign of that celebrated emotion. They were off to a wonderful start.
Marko trusted his instinctive response. Dimly he remembered Kyril telling him that one just knew when the love of one’s life appeared, because there was nothing else like it. The body echoed the joy of the soul at that moment.
The carriage began to slow and Marko groaned, stiff all over with the aching need he felt for her.
“Where are we?” she asked softly. Severin pulled down her dress and patted her hair, breathless with excitement. “I am not fit to be seen.”
“I disagree.”
She moved away but she shot him a sensual look. It was clear that she was as thrilled as he was by the dizzying progress of their encounter. The odd feeling of déjà vu that had followed his first look into her eyes had been a sign of sorts. Marko was almost convinced that the mysterious Severin could be his one and only.
To join completely with her would naturally come next. He was drunk with new love and just able to keep from declaring the unexpected feeling then and there. He did not really know her. He wanted to, he would, but it would not do to rush that either.
She pushed aside the curtain that covered the small window of the carriage, and looked out.
He noted how her face had changed when the carriage came to a sudden stop. Had the sudden jolt brought her to her senses? Her rosy cheeks paled and the radiance in her eyes vanished. Marko leaned over, wondering if she had seen some swaggering ne’er-do-well who frightened her. The street was empty but it was familiar, at least to him. The driver had brought them to St. James’s Square and the house of the Pack, evidently tired of going in circles.
“Is this where you live?” There was a wary edge in her soft voice.
He thought nothing of her question. There were at least a thousand buildings just like it in the better neighborhoods of London, remarkable only for their anonymity. Which was precisely why the Pack had made it their headquarters—that, and its nearness to the Court of St. James. As well, its thick walls made it ideal for a lair, when they were in the mood for a Howl, the traditional celebration of the Pack, or just a wild party. “At times, Severin. Not always. The driver came here out of habit.”
She only nodded, pushing the curtain back a little more to look far up at the top windows of the house.
Marko sat back and fumbled with his buttons, willing his overexcited cock to soften. In another minute, he managed it. He could hear the horse stamp upon the cobblestones. Before long he would have to decide where they would stay the night, most likely at a hotel. Not here. And they could not stay forever in the carriage and expect the unwilling horse to trot through the streets of London indefinitely.
Severin sat back from the window. “That man—who is he?”
Marko craned his neck. So she had seen someone at a window. It must have been Feodor, who was now coming down the front steps of the house—but why would he have frightened her? The man was not a full-blooded member of the Pack and did not possess the masterfulness they prided themselves on. If anything, he was ordinary, except for his odd yellow eyes. Marko had no wish to talk to him at the moment.
“A distant cousin of mine. Feodor Kulzhinsky.”
Severin seemed uneasy. “And he lives here?”
“The house belongs to my family. All of us are free to come and go.”
She seemed to be studying Feodor, who strolled away. Excellent. A tedious explanation would not need to be made, Marko thought. Feodor could be inquisitive and might be especially so under the circumstances. Of course, Marko had never brought a woman to the house, although he had been advised that his cousin had sneaked a few by the major d’omo, and that they were not the sort of females that required introducing or expected politesse. Feodor had low tastes.
“I cannot stay the night with you,” Severin said suddenly.
“What? But we don’t have to stay here, my dear—”
She smiled a little wistfully. “I am sorry, Marko. Please take me to my house.”
“But—” He fought for self-control. Severin had aroused him to fever pitch and suddenly she wanted nothing to do with him. What had cooled her ardor?
She sat back. “Now.”
Mystified, Marko studied her, half-wild with sexual frustration. “Very well,” he said. “But you will have to tell me where that is.”
She gave him the address. He hoped it was the real one.
It had been. In the ensuing weeks, he’d been permitted the liberty of calling upon her there, if nothing else. They conversed often, sexually charged but outwardly sedate sessions that drove him half-mad with desire for her.
As for the rest of it—the ridiculous emotions, overwhelming feelings that he had mistaken for love—well, she had dazzled him. To some degree, he felt he’d been played for a fool, but it could happen when a man was not on his guard.
As to who would have the upper hand in their love affair, Marko realized two could play at being mysterious. He would provide tidbits of information, mostly misleading, about the Pack if she should ask. He would never give away all.
As far as the mystery of Severin herself, his connections insisted that she was not a courtesan and never had been,