The Pleasures of Sin. Jessica TrappЧитать онлайн книгу.
have the eye of the devil.
A thin layer of perspiration covered his tan skin making his shoulders look glossy, as if they had been highly polished with a cloth.
Standing in front of him, she tried to imagine where his heart was. No movement on his chest indicated its beating. Mayhap he had no heart at all.
His face was stony and unreadable, but his eyes were like glittering waves on the blue ocean as he gazed at her. “Kneel and remove my boots.”
She smarted at his tone, and sank to her knees.
Hate swelled in her heart. He was the most vile, loathsome blackheart she’d ever known. For certes, undressing him was part of her punishment for slapping him in the chapel. Get your enjoyment from this, devil. Tonight will be the last time you command me. She narrowed her eyes at him, but held her tongue.
Mentally, she counted the hours until sunset when the signal would be sent. When that time came, she wanted him as vulnerable as possible. Even wearing only half a suit of armor, he looked capable of killing a man in cold blood.
Or a woman.
She suppressed a shudder, remembering what her sister had told her about the lad who spilled ale on his paltock.
From her position on the floor, he looked even taller than before. Grasping his large black boots by the heels, she pulled off one then the other.
The muscles in his legs were enormous—like Grecian pillars. The chain mail gave little clinks and the mattress creaked as he stood and indicated for her to remove his chausses and the metal codpiece that protected his privates.
“I do not think I should,” she started. Her mouth felt dry as sand and her heart raced as she speculated what he looked like beneath the metal protector. She had some knowledge of the shape of a man’s sex—she’d bathed with her twin brother Nathan when they were children: ’twas like a stubby sausage.
She stood abruptly, not wanting to let on about her curiosity. Her inquisitiveness was something her father oft railed about. And it was evil itself to even want to look at a man she hated so much.
“You should remove the rest yourself. You have no need for my assistance.”
“’Tis part of what I require of you, wife. I have called for water, next you will bathe me. As a proper wife would.”
Bathe him?
She swallowed. Was it her imagination or did the codpiece move slightly of its own accord?
Spellbound, she stared at it to see if it would move again.
It did!
Of all the devilish things!
Mayhap her paintings had not been accurate at all if a man’s member was thick enough to move a piece of metal with its swelling. She’d based her miniatures on what she could remember of her brother when they had been mere children.
But this…this was interesting. Perhaps she could paint it when she safely reached Italy.
Her gaze flicked to her art supplies stacked neatly in the trunk. In a safe cleft beneath the floor planks under her desk, a half-finished work depicting a naked gladiator was hidden along with a number of other unfinished or inferior paintings. Montgomery had been correct that artists sometimes hid their work.
That gladiator piece was the first one she’d been so bold as to do a complete frontal view of a male figure. Unsure of the exact size and color of a man’s member, she had not finished it. It did not seem right to paint a vague sausage-shape as she had done with her other erotic art.
At once the thought of having Montgomery unclad was more than simply making him easier to kill. Doing so would allow her to finish the painting with an edge of realism. That would, for certes, allow her to study with her brother’s tutors when she reached Italy.
Emboldened by the thought, she untied the strings holding the codpiece and lifted it away. A large bulge lay beneath it, straining against the chain mail chausses. Eager now, she slid these down his legs until he was clad only in his hose.
She skimmed her hands over the ties, slowly undid the stays and peeled them down his long, long legs. The crisp hair on his thighs prickled against her palms. She felt hot, dizzy. And completely curious.
Without allowing herself time to think, she pulled the strings on his brais and let them slide to the floor.
She gasped as his member sprang loose. ’Twas so much larger than she’d expected. Much different than the ones she’d painted. It bobbed in the air seeming to defy the laws of nature that pulled things downward. Not like a flabby sausage a’tall!
Amazed, she stared at it and as she did, it seemed to grow even longer.
Hell’s fires. All her paintings had been wrong! She’d painted men’s members afore, but they looked nothing like this. She’d gotten the color wrong. And it had a slight purplish tint at the end and a very interesting vein that bulged down the length.
Reaching out, she touched it with one finger.
Her new husband hissed and she lurched. Straightening, she looked up at him.
She’d been so entranced by the size and sturdiness of his body, she’d ignored Montgomery the man.
He gazed down on her, his intense cobalt eyes blazing. His dark brows drew together in an enigmatic scowl that made her wonder what he was thinking.
Shivers raced down her spine. The dagger felt hard and steely betwixt her breasts.
“I’ve never had a woman inspect me like a prized stallion.”
She stepped back to put some distance between them, and composed her face. “I was not.”
Montgomery chuckled, the sound throaty and warm.
She felt her cheeks heat, and tore her gaze away from his to glance around at the bare walls of her room.
Of a truth, she had been looking over him that way. But only for the sake of her art, she told her seared conscience.
Reaching out, he grasped her hand and drew her forward.
A frisson of heat skipped through her, seeming to land right in her woman’s core. She scowled, wondering what she should do.
Turning her face to one side, she peered into the bailey and hoped for the signal.
Naught but men and horses and servants were in the field.
Catching her glancing out the open window, James marched over and drew the curtain closed.
Devil take it! She’d have to find a way to open them a crack if she was going to see the candle in Adele’s window.
Night was still hours away though. She had time.
Montgomery’s male member bobbed in the air, pointing the way as he walked back to her. It had lost some of its size and stiffness but was still rather impressive. Brenna found it impossible not to watch, wanting to memorize the look of it for her paintings.
“You are very curious for a virgin.”
Her gaze snapped to his face. His lips lifted in a smug, half-smile. Arrogant. He’s beautiful and he knows it. Absolutely flawless and exquisite.
Like Gwyneth.
Unlike herself.
Swallowing, she raised her hand self-consciously to the scar on her cheek and was glad she still wore her headdress and wedding veil to cover up her hacked off hair. Between her fascination and her anger, she’d forgotten how most men reacted to her looks—or lack thereof.
He stepped toward her and touched the scar, running his index finger along the bumpy ridge from her nose to her ear.
She shivered and ducked her head.
Catching her chin between his fingers, he turned her face back up to his. “What happened?” He appeared more