when you’ve had enough,” he murmured, feeling a kind of reckless indiscretion foreign to his persona. “I’m not in a particularly reasonable mood.”
“I know what you mean; don’t worry,” she breathed, raising her hips high into his downstroke, shutting her eyes at the fierce, flame-hot spasm shocking her senses.
He wasn’t worried for himself-his penis was calloused from hard use. Her vaginal tissue on the other hand might be more fragile. But a second later, he dismissed speculation in favor of raw sensation for she’d wrapped her legs around his hips and was drawing him in with some amazing, vaginal muscles.
In very short order she was frenzied and frantic like he remembered. She was dripping wet and flame-hot simultaneously-a combination that offered him the sleekest plunging descent and the most silken of withdrawals. She was deliciously tight-really, a-gift-from-heaven tight-their ensuing flesh to flesh contact jolting through his brain with such wild delirium he literally gasped on each downstroke.
She didn’t notice, her own feverish respiration claiming her attention, the deafening echo of her heartbeat in her ears further adding to the tumult in her brain. A manic litany-in and out, up and down, harder, deeper, more, more, more-overwhelmed her senses and insensible to all but her selfish, volatile, all-consuming passions, she exchanged reality for a phantasm of overwrought bliss.
Until she abruptly cried out-a small suppressed sound.
“No one can hear,” he breathed, recognizing her preorgasmic utterance no matter how restrained. Immediately sliding his hands under her hips for better traction, he said, “Scream all you want.” Then, lifting her into his downstroke, he crammed her full, wanting her to feel every possible taut, shimmering sensation, each deep, forceful downthrust-a not entirely unselfish intent. “Am I in far enough?” he murmured, swinging his lower body forward, driving in deeper. “Can you feel me?”
She promptly screamed-and screamed some more, her high-pitched cries echoing her orgasmic tremors, initiating the Trianon bed in its new London location, bringing a satisfied smile to the viscount’s face-in due time leaving the lady prostrate and in thrall to Lord Ormond’s sexual expertise and phallic perfection.
After a time, she opened her eyes very, very slowly and gazed up at the viscount with a balmy, sybaritic smile. “If you could do that again I would be ever so grateful,” she breathed. “Or do I have to wait?”
He smiled at her beguiling query. “You don’t have to wait.” His capacity for dalliance was honed to perfection; self-control was rarely an issue. “You tell me when you’re ready.”
“Would you think me too greedy if I said, now?”
“Not in the least.” Holding her impaled on his cock, he rolled over on his back.
“How strong you are-
“How pink and plump these are.” His fingers slid over the high rounded curves of her breasts, down the deep Vee of her cleavage. “And your nipples-” he squeezed the taut buds lightly. “I’d say they’re ready for sucking.”
She softly moaned, awash in blissful sensation-his erection buried deep inside her, his fingers delicately stroking her nipples, her vagina bathed in a fresh rush of slick arousal.
“I can’t reach you,” he whispered, tugging on her breasts to bring her closer, half rising himself in a ripple of stomach muscles until her nipples were within reach.
As his mouth closed over one taut peak, she gasped at the flame-hot rapture streaking downward to meet the seething pool of frenzied nerve endings in her vagina and clit. Obsessed, ravenous with desire, she ground her bottom against his crotch in a frantic gyration of her hips, greedy to feel every virile flesh and blood contour of his huge, rigid erection.
He watched her through his lashes with an inexplicable pride, as though he was the means and instrument of her delight, as though he had discovered this unravished beauty who wished now to be ravished by him.
How was it that her innocence stirred him so profoundly? Why did her dewy-eyed sensuality disarm him so completely? More shocking-why did Miss Russell and the thought of permanence suddenly leap into his mind? Never one to allow an injudicious thought to endure, however, he quickly turned his attention to more pleasant conceits.
She came twice more before he decided to take his turn. It was either that or come in her-a consideration so beyond the pale he instantly dismissed it. Although she said afterward, “It wouldn’t really matter if you came in me once would it?”
He stopped breathing for a second, her words the equivalent of a trap about to spring. “It probably wouldn’t be a good idea,” he replied in an excessively courteous tone. “For your sake, of course,” he added, quickly easing away from her. “Let me get a towel.”
What had come over her to even voice such a question? Claire restively thought, alarmed at how close she had come to disaster. It just went to show, how passion could overrun reason. How the gratifying pleasures of sex with a gorgeous, superbly endowed man like Ormond could affect one’s better judgment. How infatuation could turn too quickly to fondness or more when in Ormond’s embrace. It would not happen again, she silently affirmed.
When the viscount returned to the bed, he brought two items of jewelry as a means of diverting the lady from further thoughts of his coming in her. Jewelry, he’d found, generally soothed over any and all awkwardnesses.
As he placed the two items in her palm, Claire murmured, “You shouldn’t.”
“Take them, they’re small.” Sitting next to her, he added, “Try them on.”
They weren’t small, of course, the necklace and earrings of large pearls an extravagant gift. “Are you sure?”
“I couldn’t be more sure.”
Indecisive, she looked at the pearls, then at him.
“Come, darling.” He held out his hand. “Pearls are a innocuous gift. Let me help you put them on.”
She had never had so grand a gift. “I don’t know…”
“Leave them here to wear if you’d rather,” he offered, suspecting her reservations had to do with propriety. “No one need know.”
Her misgivings eased by Ormond’s discrete alternative, she gave into wistful desires. “I thank you then, most kindly. They’re very beautiful.”
Her delight pleased him more than he would have thought possible. After helping her put on the baroque pearl earrings and necklace, he watched her flushed smile as she gazed at herself in the hand mirror he’d brought over. How fortunate he was to have invited Miss Harriet to his masquerade, he reflected. If not for that calculated lure, he would not have met this little auburn-haired tigress with her lush body and greedy cunt. And he would not now be trying to decide how long he wished to keep her.
Which thought prompted him to rise from the bed, walk to the armoire and take out one of the new gowns he’d commissioned. He, better than most, understood how a new wardrobe could influence a lady’s decisions.
“No, no, I can’t possible take it!” Claire exclaimed as he carried over a sumptuous yellow tulle gown embellished with diamont sparkles that shimmered like sunbeams.
“I thought this color would go well with your coloring,” he said, ignoring her protest and dropping the frothy cloud of tulle on her lap.
“Oh, my goodness,” she whispered.
“You could wear it to Catherine’s next entertainment,” he said, knowing that Madame Leonie’s creation had accomplished its mission.
“How did you know the size?” Claire inquired a few minutes later, twirling before the cheval glass, wide-eyed in awe.
“I guessed.” He was standing nearby after having hooked up the back of the gown, admiring her mounded breasts spilling over the low decolletage.
She stopped twirling. “Because you do this often.”
“Never,” he lied. “Don’t look at me like that. I was fortunate. I guessed right, that’s all. Now come here so I can take it off. I’m going through withdrawal already.”
“What if I say no?” Whether she was half teasing or dead serious, she wasn’t quite sure. Her obsession with him was unnerving; everything about this luxurious apartment he’d forged in a day for his sexual pleasure was disquieting.
“I’d say don’t waste your time.” He crooked his finger. “Come here.”
“I don’t have to do everything you say.” Could she resist or couldn’t she? Did she even want to when he offered a degree of pleasure beyond her wildest imagination?
