Unlaced by Candlelight. Кэрол МортимерЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter Eight

      “Where are you taking me?” Sylvie gasped as Christian stood up and swung her up into his arms to carry her over to the door, the darkness of his hair tousled from her caressing fingers.

      “Upstairs to my bedchamber—”

      “But my clothes...? The servants...?” she protested weakly.

      “We can collect your clothes later, and I instructed Smith to dismiss the household for the rest of the night once you arrived,” Christian assured her with satisfaction. “Open the door, Sylvie,” he encouraged.

      Sylvie knew that Christian did not love her, that he had never loved her, but she appreciated that he had made love to her just now with tenderness as well as passion rather than the disrespect she had expected. A tenderness and passion that were irresistible to her...

      “Good girl.” He murmured his approval as she bent to open the door to allow him to step out into the deserted, candlelit hallway before striding purposefully toward the stairs, carrying her in his arms as if she weighed nothing at all.

      A single candle burned in his bedchamber, the green-and-cream brocade curtains at the windows and about the four-poster bed suiting him perfectly, as did the heavy oak furniture.

      Not that Sylvie spared too much time in appreciation of her surroundings once Christian had placed her in the middle of the bed, a mute shaking of his head halting her as she would have pulled the bedcovers over her nakedness, the steadiness of his gaze holding hers as he straightened to begin removing his own clothes.

      Sylvie forgot her own nakedness as he peeled off his fashionably tight jacket and waistcoat. Followed by his neck cloth, and then he unfastened the four buttons at his throat before pulling his shirt over his head, leaving the darkness of his hair even more tousled as he sat facing her on the stool before the dressing table in order to remove his boots.

      Sylvie’s breath caught in her throat as his hands moved to his pantaloons, the unfastening of those six buttons revealing that he wore no undergarments. Christian removed his pantaloons completely to stand before her completely naked.

      Sylvie’s fingers curled into the bedcovers beneath her, her throat moving convulsively as she swallowed. She had forgotten just how beautiful he was, shoulders and chest wide and muscled, waist tapered above that proudly thrusting erection, his legs all long and muscled elegance.

      “Do I still meet with your approval, Sylvie?” he prompted.

      “Oh, yes,” she breathed as she finally managed to uncurl her fingers from the bedcovers before moving up onto her knees and moving to the side of the bed where he stood, gaze heated as she gazed down at his proudly jutting manhood before reaching out to curl her fingers about that hardness encased in velvet. “Oh, yes,” she repeated achingly.

      Christian groaned low in his throat as he thrust slowly into her caresses. “Sylvie...!” he gasped achingly, his hands moving up to cradle each side of her face as her head lowered and her little pink tongue darted out to continue the seduction.

      Satisfaction gleamed in her eyes as she glanced up at him briefly before parting her lips wide and taking him fully into the heat of her mouth. Christian caressed and plucked at her breasts even as he thrust into that moist heat, until he knew he was about to explode as the pleasure became too much even for his rigid self-control.

      “No more!” he groaned before reluctantly pulling free of her, his cock a throbbing ache. “I want to be inside you when I come, Sylvie,” he breathed raggedly. “But not quite yet,” he murmured as he laid her back against the bedcovers before kneeling between her parted her thighs to gaze down in appreciation at those moist and swollen lips. He lowered his head, fingers lightly caressing her opening as his tongue rasped moistly around that pulsing nubbin without ever quite touching it.

      “Christian!” Sylvie cried out, back arching restlessly even as her hands moved up to grip his shoulders tightly.

      “Tell me, Sylvie. Tell me what you want.” His hands cupped beneath the globes of her bottom as he breathed lightly on that throbbing nubbin, eyes gleaming with satisfaction as her nether lips pulsed and parted against the caress of his fingers.

      “I need you to touch me there—” She broke off with a gasp as Christian gave her the lightest of caresses with his tongue. “More, Christian. Oh please, more...!” She raised her hips in restless invitation.

      His hands tightened on her bottom as he lifted her into the rasping stroke of his tongue, holding her captive as he stroked time and time again until he felt her exploding beneath him in a trembling, shuddering climax.

      Christian reared up onto his knees, taking his weight onto his elbows as he positioned his erection at her entrance before thrusting deeply into that hot and welcoming channel, paying great attention to one nipple to prolong Sylvie’s orgasm even as the rhythmic convulsing of her inner muscles took him crashing over the edge of his own pleasure and he released, long and satisfying, inside her.

      * * *

      “Christian...?”

      “Am I too heavy for you?” he murmured against the warmth of her throat, his body stretched out above hers.

      He was a little heavy, but Sylvie was loath to relinquish their closeness just yet. “No,” she denied even as she reached up to caress the heat of his shoulders, fingers lightly caressing down his muscled back. “I merely wondered—Christian?” Her voice sharpened in alarm as she felt and then traced the hard ridge of a scar running from his left shoulder across his back and down to his right side. “What happened to your back...?” she gasped as she attempted to sit up so that she might see his back for herself, only to find that Christian’s weight pressing down on her made that impossible. “Christian?”

      “It is an old scar,” he dismissed lightly as his lips skimmed across her collarbone.

      “But—” She stilled suddenly, eyes wide. “How old...?”

      “Do we have to discuss this now, Sylvie?” he murmured indulgently as his lips continued that caressing assault on the creaminess of her throat. “I do not recall your having this need for conversation after our lovemaking in the past,” he added teasingly.

      “Christian, please...!” she pressed, needing to know—exactly—when he had received the wound that had left such a terrible and lasting scar upon his back.

      A scar that she knew had not been there four years ago...