Page 21 of How to Seduce a Viscount
Luce levered himself up on one arm, letting his gaze linger on her mouth as he took the lure. ‘Were you thinking of drinking the brandy…or perhaps something else?’
She flicked a tongue across her bottom lip. Mischief lit her quicksilver eyes, her voice seductively low and throaty. ‘I was thinking about lapping it up off your cock, or should I say yourmembrum virilesince we do love our Latin. What do you think of that?’
‘Not phallus?’ Luce flipped onto his back, watching her pad across the room to retrieve the decanter. He would have liked her naked but the thin linen didn’t hide much, and the firelight was on his side, outlining the trim figure and the rounded derriere beneath the fabric.
‘Are you trying to trick me?’ She gave a look of mock scolding as she returned, decanter in hand. ‘Phallus originated in the Greek, with an os instead of us. Latin co-opted it and changed the spelling. It’s not truly Latin.’
She knelt beside him with a coy smile, appreciating that he’d tossed aside the blanket, while he thought he might burst from being so frankly appreciated.
‘At any rate,membrum virileis far more apt a term when a man has a cock like yours.Membrum virileindeed.’ Her hand closed around him. His body was ready to enjoy this singular treat but his mind had fixed on something she’d said.
He covered her hand with his and kept his tone light as if this were nothing more than pillow banter. ‘Have you seen many cocks, then?’ A concern had taken root and he would not put his own pleasure ahead of it.
She laughed and swung her hair to one side. ‘Enough to know that yours is magnificent, as is your skill in wielding it. Youneedn’t worry.’ It was what every man wanted to hear—that he’d been a lover nonpareil. And that was the concern.
‘That’s not why I asked.’ He disengaged her hand from him. A herculean effort to be sure, but the right effort. ‘You’re not required to do this.’ Did she think it was expected? He did not want to be a routine to her, did not want to be ‘every man’.
She met his eyes evenly, unabashed by the question or its potential implications. Her voice was soft and sincere, her hand cradled his jaw, holding his gaze to her. ‘Believe me, Luce Parkhurst, when I tell you this: You are a man beyond compare in bed and out. I have taken men to bed in the course of my information gathering and sometimes in the course of loneliness. No doubt you have done so with women for reasons of the same. But before tonight, I had never taken alover, a manIchose to be with for entirely personal reasons, simply because of myfeelingsfor him. A mannotfor the game, but a man for me alone, where there is no ulterior purpose. I have never done so before and I think it unlikely I will ever do so again.’ She leaned close to him, whispering, her hair brushing his chest and her scent in his nostrils, ‘I’ve waited my whole life for you, Luce. Not for a manlikeyou—one who is noble and true—but foryou.’
Her words overwhelmed him.Waiting for him.Just him. In her words, he was not one of many, but a unique entity, an individual. The very thing he craved. He’d thought to seek that individuality in a place, at Tillingbourne. He’d not expected to find it with a person.
He opened his mouth to speak but she pressed a slender finger to it. ‘I don’t need you to say anything. I expect nothing. No promises, no flattering words. You’re a Horseman. I am well aware of your reputation and that you’re called the Four Horsemen for reasons beyond delivering apocalyptic revenge for England.’
She gave an impish smile.
‘You and your brothers are rakes who deliver extraordinary rides of a more intimate nature. I’ve heard the talk in drawing rooms across Europe. We needn’t pretend with each other, Luce.’
Luce levered into a half-upright sitting position. ‘Not as many lovers as you think. In that regard, my reputation may be exaggerated.’ But not overestimated. He might not be Caine, who’d been a thorough embodiment of the word ‘rake’ before his marriage to Mary, but he’d done his fair share. He’d had a steady parade of women who served their purpose and moved on at his request. He’d never met a woman whom he had wanted to stay. Not until now.
‘You’re too modest.’ She pressed him back down. ‘You needn’t act the monk with me. I like a man with some experience under his belt and a little discernment. Now, shall we get back to the brandy?’
‘Yes.’ He sighed the word as she took the stopper out of the decanter and drizzled careful droplets on his membrum. She bent her head to him and drew her tongue along his ridge until his breath came in shuddered exhalations as wave after wave of pleasure shook him. Had he ever been so worshipped?
She laved him as if she took great pleasure in pleasing him, as if this was pleasure for her as well. She mouthed the tip of him and he wound his hands into the depths of her hair, searching for something to anchor himself in the sea of sensation washing over him.
‘Wren—’ he called her name in warning. He would not be able to withstand it much longer.
She lifted her head from between his legs and his breath caught at the sight of her wet lips, the smokiness of want in her silver-grey eyes, an absolute passion-fantasy come to life. He wanted to remember this moment always. She gave him a smile, knowledge in her eyes as she crawled up his body and straddledhim. She bent to his mouth and kissed him, letting him taste the brandy and sex on her tongue. ‘Me on top this time, you promised,’ she whispered against his mouth, her hand guiding his membrum to her entrance, her hips rising up and then lowering as she slid onto him.
She began to move and his body ran riot, his eyes feasting on the sight of her. Her hands in her hair, drawing it up, letting it spill through her fingers, and drawing it up again. Her breasts thrust forward against the fabric of her chemise, nipples hard and pink beneath. He filled his hands with them as she sighed her joy and his body gathered for completion. Too late, he realised his mistake. He was not in control. She was. Would she think to come off him in time? His hands slipped to her hips in warning. He struggled for coherency. He was nearly too far gone to care about anything except the sight of her—her eyes shut, her head thrown back, her long lovely neck exposed. She was lost entirely to the pleasure riding them both.
She opened her eyes at the last and leaned over him, her hair a curtain about them both as if this moment existed out of time and sealed his climax with a kiss. He spent in glorious release, his mouth swallowing her cries as she joined him there on pleasure’s shores. It had been beautiful, stunning and irrevocable. He hoped she wouldn’t pay for it, but the thought echoed in his mind even as the echoes of pleasure lapped his body—for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.Somehow, in some way, they would pay.
Wren never would have guessed such a reaction to love-making existed. That having done it once, she’d want to do it again. Once was usually enough to erase any mystique a man might hold. Men without their clothes were an antidote to many desires. Butnot this one. Luce Parkhurst was not an antidote. He was an addiction she wanted to feed.
Sex with Luce Parkhurst had not cured her of infatuation or curiosity. It had instead inflamed both. She’d been reckless with him just now, confident that the calendar was on her side, that she could afford this indulgence just the once.
His hand was at her breast as they lay together, listening to the room—the tick of the mantel clock, the occasional pop of the fire from the warm flicker of flames.
‘This is the kind of peace I’ve only ever dreamed about,’ she said softly. ‘Warmth, security, comfort.’ She did not dare define ‘comfort’ too much for fear of crossing an unspoken line. They owed each other nothing but the moment. She expected nothing. They had lives that needed to carry on beyond this affair.
‘You shall have those things when you retire.’ Luce drew a circle through the thin fabric about her areola, his voice offering quiet reassurance in the dark. She wanted to argue with that. Wanted to point out that she had those things now because of him. It was his arms that created the warmth, not the fire. His arms that offered her security and provided the comfort. She could not duplicate those things on her own.
‘You have those things without retiring.’ She looked up at him, proffering the small challenge. ‘You’ve had them all your life. I envied your family, you know. Through the earl, I could watch you all from afar. I thrived on your letters and reports like some children thrive on fairy tales.’
‘Grandfather read them to you?’ Luce gave a laugh. ‘They’re hardly reading for a child.’
‘They were for me. Your grandfather caught me in his office one day, sitting in a corner reading a letter from one of you. He said if I liked them so much, he’d read them to me at night before I went to bed. They were like my version of Arabian Nights, all those adventures. I knew that was what I wanted todo, what I was made to do.’ She nestled her head into the corner of his shoulder. ‘Your grandfather is a good man. You have a good family, Luce. You’re very lucky. I would give anything for a family of my own.’
