His lips slid along her throat, sucking soft enough to be felt but not enough to mark her. The sweet greediness of his mouth on her skin burned across her nerve endings in delicious torment. Her fingers spasmed in his hair, her toes pointing as he kissed across her collarbone. He made her feel more intoxicated than the wine had, while also heightening her senses. It was the best and worst sort of madness.
“Please what?” he asked, his breath gusting over the pebbled tip of her breast. He watched her as his tongue flicked lightly over her nipple. Dark satisfaction burned in his gaze when she cried out and clung to his shoulders. The velvet of his coat was soft beneath her touch, reminding her that he was completely clothed while she was completely bare.
She found the dichotomy delicious. It made her feel wanton and unabashed, two descriptors that had never been applicable to her before. “Please touch me.”
“Where?”
“You know where better than I!” she cried, trying to tug his head to her breast, but unable to overcome his greater strength.
“I will,” he promised in a low tone. “I will know your body better than anyone ever has, better than you. But for now I am still learning. Tell me what you like and how you like it.”
Arching her shoulders back, she lifted her nipple to his mouth in flagrant offering. “There. More.”
Alistair bared his teeth in a look of such feral pleasure only a fool would call it a smile. He wrapped one hand around her breast and squeezed with just enough pressure to make her want more. “With my hand?”
“With your mouth.” It was the claret that gave her the courage to be so bold, and even with the added bravery, she closed her eyes against the overpowering feeling of vulnerability.
She felt the humid warmth of his exhale the second before his lips wrapped around her. The sound that left her was so raw and needy she could not believe she’d made it. Then his tongue curled around her nipple and his cheeks hollowed on a drawing pull she felt all the way to her womb, and she no longer cared what desperate sounds she made.
Lifting her leg, she wrapped it around his boot-clad calf and moved sinuously beneath him. He’d slid beneath her skin seven years ago, and he was finally relieving the itch he had left behind.
His talented mouth lifted from her, leaving her bereft.
“Lie still,” he ordered gruffly. His face was flushed and his eyes bright, almost feverishly so.
Alistair was as lost to the lust as she was. Emboldened by his tenuous control, she offered a woman’s knowing smile. “Make me.”
Chapter 7
Alistair was riveted by the woman beneath him. She burned too hot to be the same icily reserved girl he used to follow with his gaze. Whether it was the claret or her passion for him, he didn’t care. He was damned grateful. Still, if she continued to writhe against him, he wouldn’t have the wherewithal to stop himself from fucking her raw, a step he would prefer to take when she was fully sober and in complete possession of her mental faculties.
“Make you,” he repeated finally, as her self-satisfied smile widened and she tested him again with another seductive wriggle. “And how would you suggest I go about doing that?”
The slight marring of a wrinkle between her brows ruined the image of worldly seductress. She had no idea, he suspected. He, however, had a delicious one in mind.
“You could exhaust me,” she said finally, biting her lower lip. The gesture did not hide the avid manner in which she awaited his response.
Too much for her, she’d said. He had a niggling suspicion that once she’d lost all her reserve in bed, he might have a devil of a time keeping up. And God knew his appetite was ravenous when it came to her. The thought brought beads of perspiration to his forehead. How in hell was he going to walk out of this room with his cock as swollen as it was?
“Untie my cravat,” he ordered.
“Umm …” she purred, clearly pleased with the notion of removing clothing from his person. Her hands went to the knot at his throat and began working as efficiently as her inebriated state allowed.
For his part, he was delighted that the thought of undressing him was such a pleasing one for her. He could not have chosen a better location to conduct their affair than Jamaica, where the humidity and heat lent themselves well to wearing as few clothes as possible.
When she pulled the length of linen from around his neck, he caught her wrist and grinned. Bending his head, he took her mouth, distracting her with a lush kiss. Her fervent response damn near distracted him as well, but he managed to turn her body to lie parallel on the mattress instead of perpendicular, and to secure the cravat to one of the headboard posts. Even when he caught her wrist and raised it above her head, she didn’t struggle. Instead she groaned into his mouth and sucked on the tip of his tongue, jolting him so violently he felt a scorching drop of pre-ejaculate bead on the tip of his cock. She tasted of wine and lust and sin, and he wanted to drink her down. Every drop. Suspecting that even if he did, his thirst for her would go unquenched.
Only when the knot tightened around her slender wrist did reality return to her. She gasped and yanked her mouth away, her neck arching to see what he’d done. Kneeling, he caught the other wrist and secured it before she could protest.
“What have you done?” she cried, her gray eyes wide with excitement but tinged with wariness.
“Made you lie still, as you challenged. You should know how I am in regard to challenges.”
She spoke in a small voice. “I am not certain I like this.”
“You will.” By necessity, he’d perfected the fine art of bestowing carnal pleasure. It had not been in his best interests to satisfy a woman to the extent that her interest in him was appeased; satiety alone would not have kept him afloat. No, what he’d needed was to create an addiction to his touch and the bullish stamina of his cock. He had focused single-mindedly on pursuit of that knowledge, all the while telling himself that he was honing his skills for Jessica. That he was not ruined for her, but more valuable. It was an argument he did not fully believe, but he couldn’t allow himself to think of the alternative—that she might reject him for his past.
Alistair renewed his attention to her breasts. He could swear he’d never seen a more beautiful pair. They were the perfect size for her slender frame, emphasizing the petite curvature of her waist and balancing lusciously curved hips. What a travesty the latest styles were, with their high waists and straight, shapeless skirts. While he’d imagined her having a magnificent bosom, the reality was a treasure found. It would take a great deal of time to become indifferent to such charms. He would have to do his best to extend her stay on the island. When she left him, he wanted to be certain he’d had his fill of her. He could not return to having the damnable cravings that had plagued him the past several years.
He straddled her. Taking a moment to enjoy the view of her upthrust breasts and taut belly, he debated where to begin.
“Alistair,” she breathed, tugging at her bindings.
Brute that he was, he found that slight show of struggle profoundly arousing. Combined with the breathless way she said his name, he was sorely pressed to hold himself back for sobriety’s sake. He reached down and adjusted the fit of his breeches over his cockstand.
Jessica stilled, eyes riveted to the movement of his hands. She licked her lower lip, and he wondered if she’d ever taken a man in her mouth before. Today was not the day to progress to such bedsport, but one day …
Made as comfortable as he could expect to be under the circumstances, Alistair decided to continue working his way down her torso. He set one hand on either side of her head and lowered his chest to hers. He slid his knees back so he was levered over her. His thighs pinned hers down, while the spread between them allowed his aching cock to be cradled between her closed shins.
He settled in to feast, his mouth seeking and embracing the nipple he hadn’t yet had the pleasure of attending to. She hissed as he suckled, the tip of her breast puckering against his tongue. She was so sensitive, and very responsive. The sounds she made as he licked the tautened peak were a bawdy delight. For all the civility she displayed in public, in bed she was unrestrained in vocalizing her pleasure. The sounds she made, the low moans and sharp pants, became aphrodisiacs.
This was the woman he’d seen in the Pennington woods. This was the lover he had dreamed of and hungered for until his gut ached.
Cupping her other breast in his hand, he kneaded the swollen flesh, relishing a surge of pure masculine satisfaction. Her body readily responded to his ministrations. He knew she had to be slick and hot between her legs, and he moved lower to see the evidence of her desire with his own eyes. He needed to taste it on his tongue and feel her tremble against his lips.
He licked into her navel, eliciting a shiver that racked her slender frame. She was ticklish, which he loved. He could make her laugh at will, and he was delighted. The sound was warm and throaty. Seductive. A bit rusty from lack of use, but he intended to rectify that. Her laughter came from the sensual woman inside her and not the chilly Lady Tarley who was the epitome of aristocratic hauteur.
Her belly quivered as he neared the patch of dark blond curls that shielded her sex.
Looking up, he met her gaze. “You like watching.”
“And you like being watched. We have already established you are an exhibitionist.”
Her prim and proper voice, tempered by panting, made him smile. “Only when you are the observer.”
“I want to touch you.”
“Why?”
“How will my memory linger with you, if I leave no imprint?”