Notorious Rake, Innocent Lady. Bronwyn ScottЧитать онлайн книгу.
The dress was on her side of the table. She simply had to make a dash for it and the gown would be hers. He feinted left, then right, keeping her attention while he made his decision. He would not stand a chance if he wasted a precious second going around the small table. He would have to go over it.
Paine lunged, coming over the table and taking Julia to the ground with him. She wriggled against him, struggling, tantalising with every movement.
‘That’s not fair!’ she protested, obviously wanting to be put out by his audacity, but not quite able to void the laughter from her voice.
‘You gloated too soon,’ Paine teased, enjoying the friction of her naïve movements against the fabric of his trousers where she lay beneath him. He inched forwards and grasped at the hem of the gown. ‘I win. I have the dress and I have you right where I want you, right where you belong.’ He ground his hips meaningfully against her pelvis, his member in an overt state of readiness that could not be overlooked.
Julia angled her head back to see her discarded gown clutched in Paine’s hand. She stretched to reach and take it from him. Paine pinned her gently with the power of his body. ‘Do you think I would relinquish your gown so soon after winning it?’ Paine tut-tutted.
‘Please, give it back to me.’ The earlier playfulness was replaced with a plea. He was alert to it at once.
‘All right.’ Paine sat up, straddling her between his thighs. He needed to be careful not to push Julia too far. Such games of love-play could easily be misconstrued as something more sinister. He didn’t want her frightened. That was never his intention.
‘You may pay a forfeit.’ He kept the tone light to remind her his intentions were not motivated by evil.
‘What?’ She was all wariness. She wanted to play the game, wanted to trust him, but knew better than to do so. Damn Mortimer Oswalt and her uncle for teaching her such cynicism already. It turned his insides to think of what a month of marriage, let alone a lifetime of marriage to Oswalt, would to do her.
Paine reached out a gentle hand to stroke her cheek. ‘The forfeit is simple. Have breakfast with me.’ He gestured to the tray waiting on the low bedside table. ‘I went to a lot of trouble to put it together. I went out for it.’
‘Just breakfast?’ Julia queried.
‘Just breakfast.’
‘I can go after breakfast?’
‘If that is what you wish,’ Paine answered solemnly. He meant it. He would keep his word, although he hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. This would be a breakfast Julia Prentiss would not soon forget.
Julia sat cross-legged on a pile of colorful pillows in the middle of the floor, securely garbed in a satin robe Paine had generously loaned her from his wardrobe. Paine lounged next to her, propped on an elbow, and dressed only in a pair of thin silk Indian-styled trousers, having forgone the wool trousers he’d worn out to find breakfast. He peeled a section of orange and offered it up to her, creating the effect that he was a loyal squire serving his queen. Having such a handsome man staring at her in overt adoration, serving her every need, was highly intoxicating.
It was also highly hazardous. She almost believed she was a queen when he stared at her thus, almost believed a host of other things, too: that last night had been more than a discharge of a duty, a fulfilment of a contract between them; that he’d felt what she’d felt at the end; that he’d stolen her dress and conjured up the forfeit because he didn’t want her to go. Most dangerous of all, that there was something real between them, that their night together didn’t have to end. That was the biggest folly of all.
‘I love oranges. We seldom have them in the country except at Christmas,’ Julia confessed, using a finger to wipe an errant dribble of juice from her chin.
‘They taste better when someone else feeds them to you.’ Paine hoisted himself up to take her head in his lap. He looked down at her with a soft expression in his blue eyes that did strange things to her stomach. He could feed her worms for all she’d care when he looked at her like that—as if she was a divine goddess and he a devout worshipper. This man was far more rakish, far more seductive than any rumour had suggested. He was a consummate master at his trade.
‘Is it always like this?’ She arched her neck back to see all of his handsome visage staring down at her.
‘No, hardly.’ He held a succulent orange slice over her mouth and made a show of gently squeezing sweet drops of juice on her lips. Julia felt her breasts tighten in analogy, remembering the way he’d manipulated her nipples with soft pressure until they’d been erect with need.
‘I can see why,’ Julia said softly. ‘If such pleasure was so readily available, I doubt anyone would get much of anything done.’ She blushed at her own frankness and Paine laughed again, popping another slice of orange in her mouth.
‘How is it that you are privy to such carnal knowledge?’ Julia asked between bites.
‘I shouldn’t tell you. A master never shares his secrets,’ Paine flirted. ‘But I can hardly have you walking around London thinking just anyone can do this.’ He dribbled juice on her lips. She flicked her tongue across her lips to gather the juice and heard him groan at the action, a low throaty groan that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with pleasure. It was a small, thrilling piece of power to think such a simple motion could affect a man of his experience.
He offered her a slice of orange dipped in ground sugar, sliding it into her open mouth and letting her suck the juice from it. She closed her eyes and sucked hard, wholly unaware at how the sight of her savouring the rare treat with abject delight was pushing the limits of Paine’s restraint. His hand clenched in her hair.
She opened her eyes and looked up at him, recognising the intensity of the need mirrored in his gaze. He wanted her. His eyes said it. His body said it. She was sharply alert to the intimacy of his lap, the thinness of the silk fabric. She had only to turn her head slightly to encounter the full dimension of his rock-hard manhood. Julia thought of the orange slice, of its slightly phallus-like shape, of sucking the juice from it. Would Paine like that? The look in his eyes suggested he would. Hesitantly, Julia turned her head. She parted her lips and mouthed him through his trousers.
Paine gave a sharp gasp at the contact. She drew back, worried the idea wasn’t to his liking after all. ‘Don’t stop, Julia, don’t stop,’ he pleaded, a gentle hand urging her head back to his straining member.
Julia was giddy with power. She sucked hard until Paine made no effort to confine his satisfaction to groans, but gave full vent to his enjoyment with loud cries.
‘Julia, pull it out, let me be in you.’ He panted, close to his end.
Julia found the hidden slit in his trousers and pulled free the swollen member, slick with its own juices. Her hand clenched about its tip, revelling in what she had wrought. She reached over his head for the trifle box he’d used last night and rummaged quickly for a sheath.
‘Now, straddle me, Julia.’ Paine instructed, helping her to roll the thin sheath over his sex. ‘Take me inside you and ride.’
Julia lowered herself on to him, exhaling in wonderment as she slid on him. He was so large, much larger than she’d thought last night. Yet he fit perfectly, filling up the space inside her. She began her motions and he joined her in a seamless rocking rhythm that teased her, then ultimately fulfilled her as she found the place she’d found last night, soaring in Paine’s arms. He drew her down to him as he shuddered his own release, muffling his cries in her shoulder.
They lay together, their breathing slowing in unison as the initial power of climaxing ebbed. Julia wanted to stay clasped against him, warm and sated in his arms, for ever. Reality intruded. If she moved, breakfast would be over. She would have to go. But she no longer wanted to.
She wanted to stay. She wanted to feel this pleasure he’d awoken in her again and again. She didn’t imagine such pleasure could be found with Oswalt. She fought a shudder. The horror of doing such intimate things