The Illicit Love of a Courtesan. Jane Lark

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СКАЧАТЬ smiled, swallowed, and for the first time she saw a vulnerable look in his eyes. “Yes.”

      It was the truth, nothing more, she knew that, and she refused to risk reading anything more into it. But mentally she clung to the hope which the single word insinuated—this was more than sex. Yet she was too afraid to ask if she was right; she couldn’t bear hearing him deny it. It had hardly been a statement of undying love.

      Picking up their plates, he set them back on the chest at the end of the bed. Then he moved to lie back down, opening his arms to her. “Ellen?”

      She went to him, kissing him as he embraced her. She wanted to give him back the attention he’d given her at the club. Her fingers searched for his coat buttons as his slid her dress from a shoulder and he took control of the kiss she’d begun, pressing her back onto the bed.

      Breathless, she refused to concede, fighting to undress him first. It was different today. There was more urgency.

      Suddenly untangling their limbs, he pulled away, smiling, dark intensity glowing in his eyes as he stood and held out his hand.

      “Perhaps it would be easier if we stand.”

      Her stomach full of butterflies, she accepted his hand. She felt foolish and nervous. She wanted this to be perfect.

      “Let me lead today,” she urged, reaching for his coat buttons again.

      Laughter, interest and expectation all glinted in his eyes. “If you wish.”

      “I wish, Edward,” she answered, slipping his buttons loose. Her fingers shaking, she did not look at his eyes.

      When his buttons were loose he took off his coat and she stripped off her dress, feeling more uncertain.

      She knew how to be a whore. She was unsure of how to be herself. But she wanted to please him. She wanted this to be right, as she’d imagined it could be.

      “Ellen?” His hand on her arm and at her nape, he kissed her and her body quivered but again she grasped for control. Leading would be novel. She wished this to be different.

      She broke their kiss and urged, “Let me, Edward,” pushing him back onto the bed.

      A short sound of humour left his throat.

      Ignoring his mockery she turned and bent over to pull off his boot.

      “That’s a beautiful view, Ellen,” he jested laying his palms on her bottom.

      Smacking his hands away, she said, “Instead of mocking me you could remove your cravat.”

      “I wasn’t mocking,” he responded, but complied.

      It felt so strange being with him, extraordinary and unexpected.

      His boot fell to the floor along with his stocking as his cravat sailed over her shoulder. She pulled at his other boot while she felt his fingers tugging the laces of her light corset.

      The other boot fell and her corset dropped to the floor.

      She turned.

      He was lifting his shirt off over his head revealing his glorious chest.

      She smiled as their eyes met and he stood. She knew he’d seen her admiration and she felt cold and uncomfortable suddenly as he tossed his shirt onto the pile of clothing on the floor.

      Her fingers spread over the ridges and hollows of his stomach.

      He gripped her chemise and lifted it.

      Naked to the waist, Ellen blushed, and smiled when he did, her gaze clinging to his as her shaking fingers freed his buttons and his tugged loose the ribbon of her drawers.

      His eyes were full of longing—the same longing she’d seen there that night in the club. The air left her lungs. His desire frightened her today because it meant so much more to her now. He had promised things to her. She wished to give in return. She wanted this to be right. Forcing her courage, she stepped forward and slid her arms about his neck, pressing her breasts against his chest and her lips to his. I love you. Foolish, foolish words.

      Need clutched his groin as her slim, soft body pressed flush against him. His fingers slid up the slender column of her neck and into the roots of her hair as he plundered her mouth, cradling her scalp. God, he loved her.

      Her hair fell, cascading about her shoulders and pins dropped to the floor. A mewling sound suggesting satisfaction leaked from her mouth.

      He gripped her hips ready to lift her to the bed but she pushed his hands away and broke the kiss.

      “Let me,” she said again, her pale gaze clashing with his.

      Compliant, he stood still, breathing deeply while her eyes followed her gentle touch as it explored the contours of his chest. He was entranced by her, watching her as she watched her fingertips skim over his skin.

      Her dark eyelashes contrasted starkly with her pale blue eyes and her black hair lay across the alabaster of her shoulders. There was not a single blemish on her skin.

      Her gentle fingers brushed over his biceps and arms before they gripped his hands and then her thumbs pressing into his palms she dropped to kneel on the rough floorboards. The air froze in his lungs.

       Oh God.

      He should not let her do this. He did not wish her to work her craft. But the pleasure was excruciating. She knew how to drive a man mad.

      A shiver raked his skin as he watched her. He was lost.

      When she let go of his hands, his fingers instinctively threaded into her hair, cupping her scalp and following her rhythm.

      After a while, burning with an unbearable hunger, his thumb pressed into her mouth and urged her to stand, his heart pulsing.

      “Ellen,” his hand held her scalp as he kissed her. She did things to his insides he could not explain, made him feel weak. He leaned her back until she tumbled onto the bed. But then her palms pressed against the pectoral muscles of his chest and stopped him again.

      “Ah.” He conceded with a frustrated humorous grunt, rolling to his back and giving her the lead once more.

      She was blushing when she straddled his waist, her eyes watching him and her cold palms on his chest.

      He recalled the sensation of entering her. It had been in his dreams ever since that first night. But when she descended it was not at all the same, it felt forced, unbearably abrasive and painful.

      Clarity hit him like a bucket of iced water. Hell. She was watching him clearly looking for response, busy giving him what she thought he wanted—Cyprian style. This was solicitation. She was not in the least aroused.

      His body mentally and physically revolted, angry and shaking, he gripped her waist and set her aside. Then leaving her there he climbed from the bed, escaping his disgust.

       Lord.

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