Surrender To Ruin Page 8

  “Stay with me,” he said in a voice thick with passion. “Please.”

  “I don’t know what to do or say, or how to behave.” She swallowed hard. “This is madness, Bracebridge. Madness. You don’t want this. Not with me.”

  He’d been unkind to her, he was aware of that. He had said harsh words to ensure he did not ruin both their lives when he had not been prepared for the consequences of seducing her. Scandalous words came to mind. Words one did not say to a lady. He did not love her, but he did want her, badly. He cupped her chin in one hand. “There will be no disaster.”

  “You don’t want me. You don’t. You told me so.”

  “I’ve always wanted you.” Reprehensible, unthinkable words stayed just there behind his lips. He was a brutal man, and she’d implied she liked that. He had brutal words to say and, God help him, he wanted to know whether she’d like that, too. “Why do you think we came so close to scandal so often?”

  “Because of me.”

  “Do you think you got into my arms all by yourself? There was always the two of us.”

  He saw the moment she gave in to what they both felt, and it was remarkably arousing. The blue of her eyes was all the more piercing because of the inky black of her lashes, a trait she shared with Anne. How had he never noticed that before? “Come here,” he said.

  She did.

  “All my life, I’ve been warned about this.” Her voice was amused and frustrated and desirous. “‘You’ll come to no good, Emily Sinclair, if ever you permit a man to touch you.’” Her eyes fluttered closed, and she winced. Those words had come unbidden, thoughtless, hurtful. There was nothing equal about their positions. Their past left her vulnerable in a way he was not.

  “We’re ruined, the both of us.” He kissed her once, briefly, and he was pulled into that peculiar, seething whirlpool that was so dangerous to his control. This was why he’d avoided her for over a year. What he wanted to do with her and to her was a poor reflection on any man’s notions of honor. Even his. “You’re to be Lady Bracebridge.”

  “What a horrible fate,” she murmured.

  He stepped closer and kissed her the way no man should ever kiss a young lady to whom he was not married. His thoughts fogged around the edges. Somewhere in there was considerable danger for them both, but he’d asked her to marry him, and she’d said yes, and they were here for the night in this room. Alone.

  She placed her hand over his midsection. She’d never been shy with him when he was behaving inappropriately with her; she wasn’t shy now. Emily—reckless, passionate, joyful Emily—was the woman his body desired beyond all others, and as a consequence, he was hard. More, now that her hand was sliding lower. He kept one arm around her waist and pressed his palm to the side of her face. “May I stay?”

  “Yes,” she breathed, pliant in his arms, surrendering to her own passion. The Divine Sinclair, unattainable, perfect, was his. “Yes, do.”

  He walked her backward toward the bed with her still in his arms. This woman had consumed his erotic life for months, and he was struggling not to give in to very selfish desires. He could not allow this to be only about him, but Lord, he’d dreamed about fucking her for months and months—years, if he were to be honest. He’d crossed lines with her, had been perilously close to ruining her. Now there was no reason to avoid her, no reason to hold back.

  He sat on the mattress and slid backward until he leaned against the headboard. There was history between them. Kisses and caresses that should never have happened, indisputable knowledge of incendiary physical compatibility. “Here.” He bent his knees. “Between my legs.”

  She lifted her skirts high enough that she could come near without the material getting in their way. Bracebridge focused on his arousal and the immediate future that included her hands and the fascinating possibilities of what they would do to him.

  “Closer,” he said. She complied, on her knees still, and his arousal became his entire existence. He put one hand on her upper chest, a caress that turned reverent. A year of avoiding her. A year—and more—of denying himself this. “Such soft, delicate skin.”

  He waited for some prideful acknowledgment of her beauty, but she whispered, “May I touch you?”

  “Please.”

  She drew a finger across his cheek and then beneath his lower lip. His stomach dropped a thousand miles when she dipped her head to his and kissed him. Nothing in the world existed but her and the desire eddying around them.

  He opened his mouth under hers and joined the kiss. She was so delicate, she seemed the sort of woman a man like him would break apart, but she wasn’t. She’d said she liked that he was rough. The question was whether she would also like a lover who sometimes abandoned finesse.

  Her mouth was soft, so soft, and then eager, then carnal, and she took control of the kiss. He was more than happy to follow the pace she set. She kissed divinely, erotically, and when his hand wandered from her shoulder to the front of her gown, she adjusted herself to give him better access. Her gown wasn’t loosened enough, despite his stint as her lady’s maid. He worked at more fastenings.

  She leaned into their kiss, took things a little farther between them; tongues became involved, and the longer they kissed, the more he wanted flame to come from whatever spark it was that made her his physical match. He flattened his palm against the upper curve of her chest. His arousal increased, and he wouldn’t have thought that possible.

  He drew back enough to put a few inches of separation between them. He held her face and stared at her mouth and gave in; after all this time, he accepted his desire for her without wishing it wasn’t so. “What I want from you isn’t decent.”

  The side of her mouth quirked up, and he left himself open to that flirtatious, inviting smile. “Not even a little?”

  “No.” He was fair out of his mind. “I’ve no wish to shock you.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, my lord.”

  Lord. Lord, she would kill him. “Don’t say such things if you don’t mean them.”

  She ran her other hand down his torso to the waist of his trousers. “Shock me, my lord.”

  “I’ve never undressed a proper young lady before.”

  “Never?” A smile danced in her eyes, and his imagination leaped ahead to the possibility that she would embrace relations with him without reservations of any kind. She seemed to possess absolutely no shyness. There was nothing coy about her at all. “Shocking, indeed,” she said.

  He drew his hands as far down her bare upper back as he could reach, and she arched toward him. “Such a pretty thing you are,” he whispered. For a slender woman, her figure was lush. “Mine to spoil.”

  She understood what he meant by that, for she laughed. His hands wandered more, and when the side of his finger brushed the outside curve of her breast, he leaned in and whispered, “Let me ruin you tonight.”

  Her eyes were dazed with passion, but there was awareness there too. “You said yourself, we are already ruined.”

  He pushed at the tangle of her clothes and managed to expose a good deal of the right side of her torso, exposing her stays and chemise. She took a breath, then let go of her grip on the fabric. He tossed aside her gown. She did not move, and there was defiance in her stillness. He was in no condition at the moment to puzzle that out and so did not. He slid a hand over the curve of her, and her breath hitched.

  “Do you like that?” The need for barriers between them was gone, gone, and gone. Gently, he plucked her nipple through her chemise and absorbed her reaction to that. His, too. Touching a woman as responsive as her was heaven. He did the same again and elicited another hitch of her breath, a tightening of her skin, her nipple coming erect under his finger.

  They had all night. He had all night to fuck her. He trailed the tip of his finger over her. “Answer me.”

  “Yes,” she said on a quick intake of breath. “I do like that.”

  “I want to see your body,” he said. “Laid out nude for inspection at my l
eisure. At the same time, I want to be inside you when you are without all these clothes you have on. I want to touch you. I want my mouth on your skin in places I’ve not yet touched.” He put his lips by her ear and kissed her there. He was half-gone already.

  “I think you should do whatever you like,” she said.

  He slid his palms along her thighs, downward toward her knees. “You slay me,” he said. “You’ve no idea.”

  Her nipples were taut, and there was nothing he wanted more than to bare her so he could lick and taste and touch. He put his hands over her breasts, as much as he could with her only half-undressed. Her soft flesh filled his palms. “What a delicate woman you are.”

  “No. No. Please, no.” Emily made a noise of frustration and yanked at her corset.

  “No, what?” With a bit of fumbling, he managed to unlace her and pull the garment away from her.

  “Don’t treat me as if I’ll break,” she said, all fire and passion. “I want you to be crude. You say you’re a beast.” She pressed one hand on the headboard above his shoulder and with the other ran a finger along the top of his cheek. “You’re not behaving like one, and I want you to.”

  He pulled her forward, closer, closer, one arm hard around her waist. If she wanted crudity, he was the man to satisfy her. “If you like fucking half as much as this, I might not survive.”

  Her wild, satisfied smile sent his arousal into dangerous territory. He’d said an unforgivable word out loud, and she wasn’t offended. She put her hands on his upper arms. “More of that,” she said. “More. You said you’d ruin me. Keep your promise, my lord.”

  “I am a man of honor.” He put one hand over her breast and his mouth on the other, and she was so soft, and her reaction to him was so completely arousing, he was beyond hard.

  “Oh, my,” she whispered, her breath coming in short gasps. She arched toward him.

  He licked her from her nipple upward to her collarbone, then whispered, “I can’t wait until you scream my name.” He worshiped her breasts, her shoulders, and damn, but he wanted her. All of her, crudely, slowly, tenderly, brutally, however it happened. He held her gaze, and she stared back just as directly. He watched her dark, dark lashes come down, then slowly lift.

  “Will you let me touch you?” she said.

  “Do.”

  God help him, he had not anticipated that she would put her hand on the front of his trousers, but that was exactly what she did.

  “You’re hard,” she said.

  “From want of you.”

  “Do you like being in such a state?” She locked gazes with him, and he knew all this was deliberate on her part, and he responded to that. Indeed, he could be crude.

  “Very much.”

  She unfastened his trousers’ top button, then fixed him with a gaze that scorched. “May I?”

  “I’ll perish if you don’t.”

  “I’ve wondered what a man is like in such a state.”

  “A natural curiosity.”

  “I am exceedingly curious.”

  “I offer myself up for your satisfaction.”

  She released a second button. “I’ve only the vaguest of ideas about all this.”

  “Your instincts are excellent so far. Pray continue.”

  When she had enough buttons opened, she got her hand around him and, between the two of them, he ended up with his prick exposed. She wanted him crude? He would be that for her.

  “I want you to use your mouth on me,” he said. In his imagination, he’d said those words to her more than once. Now he was saying them out loud, demanding, desirous, already anticipating orgasm.

  The play of emotions across her face as she looked at his member fascinated him. That odd stillness was back, and once again he wasn’t certain what to make of it. “Like so.” He demonstrated the motion and the grip he liked, and she was not the least bit shy about holding him. Or stroking him. “Em. Lord, Em.” He forced his eyes open and saw her staring at him, that is, at his cock in her hand, with an expression of absolute focus and reverence. “Don’t stop.”

  She took him in hand again, and he groaned.

  “I enjoy giving pleasure where I can.”

  He wrapped his hand around hers and stilled her stroking. “I’ll warn you again. I am a brute. In fact and at heart.”

  “Yes,” she said slowly, and with a smile that left him wondering whether he’d spend in her hand. “You are.” She tightened her fingers around him. “But I’ve warned you, I like your brutish ways.” She drew back after some minutes, though her fingers remained around his cock. “Tell me what would please you best.”

  “Your mouth.”

  Her focus returned to his sex, and that slow smile wasn’t from a woman offended. Not in the least. “You’d like that?” she asked. “My mouth on you?”

  Bracebridge was fully aware this was the moment he could resist his baser nature. He could stop this now.

  He curled a hand around the nape of her neck. “Yes.”

  “You’ll tell me how?”

  “God, yes.” He shifted on the bed, and then she did what he lusted after. He had no words. None. In frantic silence, he showed her exactly how he wanted to be fellated. His cock in her mouth, his foreskin drawn back. “Your tongue,” he managed to groan out.

  Before long, he had his hands up and clutching the headboard while he gave himself over to the moment. Wicked. Unbelievably arousing. She used her tongue and her hand and her lips, and he was powerless to do anything but surrender completely. His climax shattered him and reduced him to an incoherent shout.

  He came slowly out of his fog of completion and saw a private, satisfied smile on her mouth. Slowly she lifted her gaze and said, “I liked that.”

  He hadn’t the wits to speak yet.

  “I liked having you in my mouth.” She was utterly genuine. “The taste of you. The way you cried out.”

  At the moment, he was in a state of sexual repletion that convinced him the world was a most excellent place to be. If the moon crashed down on them now, at least he would die a happy man. “Well now.”

  “Have I shocked you?”

  He let out a laugh. He ought to be shocked. He ought to be appalled he’d allowed her to do such a thing. “What a question.”

  “Am I wicked for wanting to do that again?”

  He bent one knee and leaned the inside of his thigh against her side. “As wicked as I am for allowing it.” He tightened his hands on her. This was what came of his lust for her, for a woman whom he did not respect enough to treat like the lady she was.

  He did not care. He didn’t. “I promise you, the favor shall be returned.” He drew her close for an open-mouthed kiss that made him think he’d soon be hard again.

  Emily Sinclair. His. The woman every other man wanted was in bed with him. He ought to have known she’d not be shy or reticent.

  Before long this kiss, too, devolved into desperation. Desperation for her beauty and her openness to him, his body, and her pleasure. She hadn’t merely complied with something he wanted. She’d bloody enjoyed it, reveled in it. He slid off the bed, naked. They’d been here before. Him naked, her not.

  Emily stretched out, her back against the pillow where his head had been, and this time she stared at him with an appreciation that changed his mind about the need to sleep at all this night.

  Chapter Nine

  Bracebridge didn’t look away from Emily. No man in his right mind would, for she lay on the bed like an erotic dream come to life. Her clothes were in disarray, tapes unfastened, her corset on the floor, pettiskirts rucked up nearly to her knees. One of her garters was missing. Her hair, which he’d loosened, had come entirely undone. She continued to look him up and down.

  “Bold, aren’t you?” he said.

  “Should I not look at you?”

  He lifted his arms away from his body. He trained almost as hard now as in his fighting days. His body was a weapon, his muscles defined and hard. He’d never been a wiry fighter like
Bill Richmond. He was more on the scale of Jim Belcher or Devil Wilcott, shy of Belcher’s science and without Wilcott’s blinding speed and perfect technique. He was strong, though, faster than most and with excellent bottom and wind, as the pugilistic crowd liked to say of a fighter with endurance and control of his breathing.

  Emily took a handful of her skirt and lifted one knee. “When I look at you, I feel like I’m stepping onto thin air with nothing to stop me from falling.”

  He sat on the side of the mattress and put a hand on her bent leg, just below her knee. He moved his hand upward, sliding his fingers around to the inside of her thigh. “When I look at you, I feel you have too many clothes on.”

  Her mouth curved in a smile. “Compared to you, I do.”

  He reached the apex of her thighs and slid two fingers along her sex. “You’re wet.”

  She blinked twice and went quite still.

  “It means I’ve aroused you. The same way my hard prick means you have aroused me.”

  With her assistance, he stripped her of the rest of her undergarments. Everything gone: garters, stockings, chemise. Naked, she lay still, with a quietness that made a barrier between them. He was both frustrated by it and grateful for it.

  He drew his fingers from the base of her throat down the center of her torso, then back to cup one breast. “Magnificent.”

  She caught his gaze and held it. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “What?” He had his hand between her legs again. She was hot and wet, and she had adjusted to give him access.

  She sat up and dislodged his hand, and if she hadn’t moved closer to him, one hand on his chest, sliding down, then up, he’d have been annoyed she’d stopped him from feeling her sex. “You think I’m too delicate for a brute like you.”

  He curved his hand around her waist. Her skin was astonishingly soft. “You’re a young lady of society. Coddled and cosseted from the day of your birth, spoiled by everyone who meets you because you’re this.” He pressed his hand to the center of her upper chest, then slid his palm down. “Perfection.”