Ripe for Pleasure

CHAPTER 11   



I was thinking about Hippolyta, or perhaps Penthesilea.”

Leo chewed thoughtfully, nodding. Amazon queens seemed a likely enough namesake for the beast currently sleeping on the rug at her mistress’s feet, a joint bone gnawed to a naked stub beside her.

“Something of a mouthful.” And names that only someone as well versed as his father in the writings of Homer and Smyrnaeus was likely to have dredged up. Who were her people? Most women had quite memorable scandals attached to their debut among the ranks of the fallen, but he could remember nothing of Viola’s story. “Not to mention a name only a scholar could love or pronounce. Was your father a vicar with a penchant for history? A Latin tutor? Can you read Latin and ancient Greek, or do you just know the stories?”

Her face went blank for a moment, panic and something like pain shooting through her eyes. “Yes, my father was a man of the cloth, and yes, I can actually read both Latin and ancient Greek, a good bit of Hebrew as well—but I put myself beyond Christian forgiveness and they cast me off, and there’s an end to it.”

Leo frowned. That wasn’t an ending. That was a beginning, or at least a very muddled middle. Viola dropped her eyes to her plate and pushed the remnants of her meal about with her fork. After a moment, she said with forced brightness, “She could be Polly or Pen for everyday use. Of course this is assuming you don’t have another sister already so christened?”

“No, just the one sister.”

“And one brother, if memory and Debritt’s serve.”

Leo studied her for a moment. The shadows were back beneath her eyes. She looked almost crushed, almost weak. She shook her head slightly and reached for her glass, resolution in the set of her jaw.

“Yes, one brother as well: Alexander William,” Leo said. “Damn lucky to have been born first and got the more unobjectionable names. And he isn’t forced to use them, having been the Marquis of Glennalmond since the moment of his birth, so it seems doubly unfair that he shouldn’t have been burdened with Charlemagne or Battus.”

“Or both.” Viola smiled, the edge of anger and despair seemingly gone, glossed over quite adroitly. The dog scrabbled in its sleep, chasing imaginary rabbits, nails loud upon the floor. “Is it too rude to ask whatever possessed your father?”

Leo sighed and refilled both their wineglasses. He swirled his about, watching the heavy, dark liquid color the glass. Should he give her the full history? “My father was born a younger son. Did you know that?”

She raised her brows inquiringly and sipped her wine by way of answer. The deep burgundy stained the seam of her lips until she licked it away.

Leo blew out his breath in a soft huff, desire flooding out from his groin. “He spent his youth in a classical fog. My mother—God love her—has an equal passion for the histories of England and Scotland. Hence our names: one for father, one for mother, and nearly all of them ridiculous.”

“Except for Lord Glennalmond’s.” The corners of her mouth mocked him with a hidden smile. “What outrage did your mother perpetrate upon you?”

Leo gave her a smile with an edge of teeth. It was inevitable that she would ask. “Roibert, after the Bruce.” He drained his glass and reached for the bowl of nuts and sweetmeats. He plucked a walnut from the pile and cracked its shell between his palms.

He extended the broken nut across the table. Viola took a large piece of the meat, lifting it from his hand with long, pale fingers that ended in polished nails.

“Crushed with your bare hands? Impressive.” She placed his small offering in her mouth, pink tongue darting out to tease him again.

“Just a boy’s trick. I could teach you as easily as my father taught me.”

“Don’t.” She selected another and held it out to him, her grin returning as he broke it neatly in two. “So much more interesting to allow me to go on thinking you as strong as your legendary namesake.”

“If you like.” Leo shrugged. She was flirting. Teasing. Offering… but something didn’t feel quite right. There was a brittle edge to her smile.

She rose, skirts rustling almost imperceptively over the snoring of the dog. She’d changed out of her dusty traveling gown, reappearing for supper in a simple gown of printed cotton. A fichu obscured her décolletage, its two ends primly tucked into her bodice. She tugged them free as she stepped toward him, letting the delicate wisp of embroidered gauze float away as she moved.

“I believe you’d reached my knee when we were interrupted.” Viola swallowed convulsively as she faced Leo down. It was time to act. Time to regain control. She had to return to a scenario she knew how to manage. Allowing Lord Leonidas to continue his game of seduction was too unnerving. Letting him talk, letting him ask questions, was even worse.

And she could manage it… and him. She just had to make the effort, and everything would fall into place. He was just a man, after all.

Leo tipped his head and leaned back into his chair. A smile cocked up one side of his mouth, causing the cut that marred his cheek to tighten and pull. His wicked green eye glinted, as if it could laugh all on its own, even past the bruise that shadowed it.

One large hand shot out to grip her skirts, pulling her toward him. His fingers grazed her hip as he tightened his hold. “Search your memory. I think you’ll find I’d reached your thigh and was well on my way heavenward.”

“Really?” Viola raised one brow, gazing down at him, trying to look arch and mocking. It had always been so easy, controlling men. And when you controlled them, controlling yourself, your world, was easily accomplished. But she was clearly not in control with Lord Leonidas Vaughn, and tonight she could barely keep her hands steady. She had to concentrate just to place one foot in front of the other, her nerves jangling with anticipation.

“Really.” Leo stood suddenly, chest scraping the length of her, the buttons of his waistcoat stuttering across the hook and eyes that held her gown closed, popping the uppermost free. She fell back a step, his firm grip on her skirts preventing her from retreating farther. Her breath caught in her throat as her lungs seized.

He yanked her closer, head dipping to her ear. “But perhaps I’ll start over from the top.” He caught her lobe between his teeth and kissed the pulse point behind her ear, mouth hot, breath moist.

“And work your way down to hell instead?”

He laughed, hands sliding around to grip her bottom. Her feet left the floor, one shoe falling to the carpet with a muffled thud. He sank back into the chair, dragging her with him, her thighs splayed wide, embracing his ribs. A flurry of panic beat its way up her spine.

Leo hadn’t pulled her into his lap because he’d lost control. He’d put her there because, in such a position, she had almost none. Physically she was trapped, restrained… lost.

His mouth was at her throat. His teeth slid roughly along her clavicle. His hands slid up her thighs, gripped her hips, and tugged her forward in his lap. Her skirts rose in a froth between them. Leo shoved them back, leaving her naked nearly to the waist.

Warm as the night was, the air felt cold as it washed over her exposed skin. Excitement mounted, desire threaded through her.

“If this is hell, I’ll be happy to forgo Christ’s promise of forgiveness.”

Viola gasped, as much from his easy blasphemy as from the shock of his knuckles running lightly over the straining peak at the base of her mons. She arched, body seeking more, spine fighting against the embrace of her stays. One nipple slid free of her bodice, and Leo captured it with his mouth.

His cock was hard against her thigh. The promise of earthly delight blatant and tantalizingly close. He bit lightly down on the bud of her nipple, opened his mouth, and sucked hard, teeth sharp on the tender flesh of her breast.

Her hands locked in his hair. Her hips rolled as his hand possessed her, long fingers filling her, thumb circling, teasing, torturing.

Her thighs shook as she leveraged herself up so she could open his breeches. She yanked his shirt loose, fought her way past his drawers. His hand left her, slid around to manacle her wrist.

She caught a sob at the sense of bereavement that followed. She was hollow, aching, her whole being wound down tightly to the throbbing between her thighs that had replaced her heartbeat as the measure of life. As the only thing of import in the world.

“Have we reached the begging stage already?”

The chuckle that followed caused her spine to stiffen. Lust and need died away as though she’d been slapped. Her breath left her in a huff, and she found herself staring into eyes filled with cool assessment. He was as rampant as a statue of Priapus, but he hadn’t lost one jot of his self-control.


“Not quite, my lord.” Viola forced every bit of frustration into her voice, and prayed that it sounded more like annoyance.

Leo grinned back at her, clearly not at all fooled. He let go of her wrist. His fingers trailed lightly up the inside of her thigh. His teeth slid along her neck.

“Shall I resume where I left off?”

His thumb pressed against the tendon where her thigh joined her body. Fingers circled the secret folds, blazing a path that left her with an aching need for more.

“Or shall I retrace my steps?”

One finger slid tantalizingly across the very peak of her *oris, then slid down to circle the entrance to her body. Her thighs quivered, and her womb pulsed. His fingers circled again, flittering over her, leaving a teasing promise of delight in their wake.

“Let me make this easy. Do you want me to touch you here?” He pushed against her *oris.

“Yes.” The word shuddered out of her.

“Here?”

His hand slid downward, and one long finger pushed inside her. Viola’s throat tightened. Her hands gripped his coat hard enough that they shook. “There.”

A second finger joined the first inside her. His thumb returned to its rightful place at the center of her being. Leo nipped at her neck and bit her shoulder. His fingers moved within her, curling, pressing.

Tension coiled in her belly, her core turning to liquid, pleasure sliding into pain and back again as she came. “Not enough.” Her own plea shocked her. Humiliation and need spun together, coalescing sharply between her thighs. His fingers pushed deeper, and her body throbbed in response.

Viola yanked the fall of his breeches open. “I need—I want—”

Leo pushed her hands away a second time. “If that was you begging, Love, you’ll have to do better. Much, much better.”

An annoyed huff was all she was able to manage. She wanted him inside her so much that her body ached. Her hands were cold. Her fingers and toes tingling.

Viola clutched his shirt and buried her head in the crook of his neck. She took a deep breath. Linen and leather, warm skin and Bay Rum. God, but he smelled good. She swallowed hard and took a shuddering breath.

This was supposed to be a contest of wills. Why had hers utterly deserted her? She’d desired other men. Enjoyed their touch, but this was different. Her friend Lady Ligonier would smirk and put it down to her prolonged bout of abstinence. But she’d be wrong.

It was desire—raw, hot, and irresistible—spiraling between them. Hers fed on his; his fanned hers to greater heights. One-sided, it was merely lust. Her coin of trade. Shared, it was another thing entirely. A passion that almost frightened her.

Leo nudged Viola’s head up from his shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered, finally settling half-open over irises that had darkened to azure in the candlelight. Curls tumbled about her face, transforming her once more into the Italian goddess of their first encounter.

He dipped his head, capturing her mouth with his. Her tongue met his, dipped and stroked. Their kiss intensified, becoming a battle all its own. Her hand twisted in his hair, ripping his queue free of its ribbon.

Leo surged out of the chair, sweeping Viola off his lap and into his arms. He strode toward the door. Carrying his acknowledged mistress through the house would hardly shock his all-male staff, and Viola’s maid must be inured to such experiences.

Once in his room, Leo kicked the door shut behind him. Viola slid out of his arms, regaining her feet. He yanked the hook and eyes that fastened her bodice with enough force to bend the last few. The tapes that held her skirts were quickly dispensed with, as were her stays and shift. He left her standing in nothing but her stockings and garters.

Blood pounded in his ears in deafening waves. Viola raised her chin, gaze holding his, skin flushed and damp and radiant. He wanted to push her beneath him and thrust into her, to lose himself in her, to ride her to sweet incoherence. But he wasn’t going to do so, at least not tonight.

Leo pulled her toward the bed, tipped her onto it, and sank to his knees. He wrapped his arms about her, slid her forward to the edge, and leaned in to take one taut nipple between his teeth.

Viola hissed. Her knees gripped his ribs, squeezing, tugging him closer, trapping him against her. The damp heat of her cleft burned through the fabric of his shirt. His cock pushed against the layers of linen and leather between it and its goal.

Leo opened his mouth wider, took more of the flesh of her breast between his teeth, and sucked hard enough that Viola whimpered. His cock was going to have to wait. Tonight was about her. Tonight, he was dedicated to her complete seduction, her pleasure, and her surrender. Simply f*cking her wouldn’t achieve any of his goals, though the tight ache in his balls and his painfully hard erection argued against his plan.

Viola clutched at his shoulders, hands pulling at his shirt. “Please, Leo. Please.”

“Please, Leo, what? Please, Leo, touch you?” He flicked his tongue over her ruched nipple. “Please, Leo, taste you?” He blew across the wet peak. “Please, Leo, take you?”

Leo cupped her breast, caught the tight bud of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and squeezed. Her eyelids fluttered, her spine arched, and her lips parted. Sweet Jesus, he wanted to f*ck her.

He rolled her nipple between his fingers, and Viola’s nostrils flared as she breathed in sharply. Her legs gripped him, pulling him in. She leaned forward and brushed her cheek against his like a cat greeting its mate.

“Please, Leo.” Her words slid across his skin, scalding hot. “Taste me.”

Her lips found his, her tongue invading his mouth. Leo slid away from the kiss, mouth trailing down her neck, over her breasts and stomach. He pushed her back onto the bed and held her there, arm across her hips while he shouldered apart her thighs.

Her secret folds were slick and swollen from the last time he’d brought her to climax. Leo dipped his tongue into her and she bucked, thighs locking about his shoulders.

Sweet and salty at the same time. Peaches and balsamic vinegar. Dessert in Rome on a hot summer day. Leo licked and sucked, fixing his mouth over her pulsing *oris.

Viola’s hands slid into his hair, pulling him closer, trying to pull him away. He couldn’t tell which, and didn’t care. She was panting, twisting, legs trembling as they gripped him. Her hands suddenly clenched, nearly ripping his hair from his head, and she gave a high, keening cry that ended in his name.

Leo ran his tongue up her cleft, flicked it over her *oris, and let his teeth slide lightly over the tender peak. Viola shook and pushed at his shoulder with her foot.

Hands resting on her thighs, Leo sat back and simply allowed himself to enjoy the trembling aftershocks of her climax and the knowledge that the next time she came, his cock would be buried inside her.