“No more,” he said, his voice sounding as if he’d swallowed gravel. “Can’t take anymore.” With a hard jerk and twist of his wrists he broke free of his satin restraints. Grasping her shoulders he gently pushed her back until she released him. He was a single touch away from coming, and he wanted to be inside her, feel her body clamped around him when he climaxed.
He urged her to her feet, lifted her night rail over her head and tossed the garment aside. Again cursing the darkness that hid her from him, he skimmed his hands over her warm, soft flesh and discovered she wore nothing else save skin. His hands, normally so steady, felt decidedly shaky, certainly too much so to contend with tiny buttons and layers of clothing. Bending his knees, he scooped her up and strode to the bed.
“I wasn’t quite finished pleasuring you,” she murmured, lightly biting his neck.
“If I were any more pleasured, I’d be finished. So now it’s your turn. Turnabout is only fair.” He set her on the edge of the bed then knelt on the floor, his shoulders splaying her thighs wide. Her scent, an intoxicating combination of roses and female musk hit him like a shot of straight brandy to an empty stomach. He ran one hand up her body, easing her onto her back then reached out to trail a single fingertip along the seam of her sex, eliciting a groan from both of them. Bloody hell, she was drenched. “Seems I’m not the only one who’s wet,” he said, teasing her with a light, circular motion.
“Since the moment I first saw you,” she whispered. “And as a Modern Woman I insist you do something about it. Immediately.”
He slipped two fingers inside her tight heat. “You, my dear, are extremely demanding.”
She writhed against his hand and groaned. “Yes, I am. Do you truly wish to complain about that?”
“Absolutely not. As far as I’m concerned, naked, wet and demanding is the perfect combination of traits. Long live Today’s Modern Woman. And retribution.”
He eased his fingers from her and a dark smile curved his lips at her mewl of protest, a sound that turned into a gasp when he slid his hands beneath her bottom, set her thighs over his shoulders and lifted her to his mouth.
His lips, tongue and fingers teased her folds, swirling, tasting, nibbling, licking, delving while he absorbed her moans, relentlessly coaxing her toward release, determined to give her as much pleasure as she’d given him. When she climaxed, she arched her back and cried out his name in a hoarse voice that echoed through him.
The instant her spasms tapered off, he rose and lifted her, settling her head on his pillow. Unable to wait another instant, he covered her body with his and entered her with one smooth thrust. Her slick walls held him like a velvet fist and for several seconds he remained still, his eyes shut, absorbing the incredible feel of her.
“Tight,” he murmured against her mouth. He withdrew nearly all the way out of her body then slowly sank deep again. “Wet. Soft. Hot.” Withdrawal and another slow, deep plunge. “You feel so damn good.”
She released a long, guttural moan and wrapped her legs around his waist. “More,” she whispered, clutching his shoulders. “More.”
That impatient, husky demand incinerated whatever remnants of control Simon had managed to hold on to. He increased the tempo and force of his thrusts. Mindless, gritting his teeth against the white-hot pleasure, he sank into her again and again, lost in a dark, fiery abyss where nothing existed except her. The instant she arched beneath him he let himself go, thrusting deep, her silky sheath convulsing around him as shudders wracked him. When the spasms subsided, he buried his face in the fragrant curve where her neck and shoulder met and fought to catch his breath.
Bloody hell, how was it possible to feel so completely wrung out, yet so…reborn? Better than reborn. He felt…new. Like tarnished silver that had been polished after decades of neglect. He’d enjoyed his fair share of lovers in the past, experienced women who knew how to please a man and receive pleasure in return. But something about this woman left him satisfied in a way he’d never felt before.
When his breathing had calmed to something close to normal, he lifted his head. He immediately sensed how still she’d gone and he once again cursed the darkness that kept him from seeing her clearly. While he’d been taking his time catching his breath, he’d no doubt been squashing her. He made to roll off her, but she tightened her arms and legs around him.
“Don’t go,” she whispered. “The way you feel on top of me, inside of me…I’m not ready for it to end.”
Heaven help him, neither was he. He brushed his fingers over her cheek, freezing when he felt the wetness on her soft skin. “Are you crying?” When she didn’t answer, his fingertips explored further and his heart squeezed. “You are crying. Damn it, did I hurt you?”
She shook her head. “No.” She trailed her fingers over his features, as if trying to memorize them in the dark. “I’m just…overwhelmed. I…never expected to feel that way again. Never expected to experience passion again.” She turned her head and kissed his palm, a tender gesture that seemed to yank his heart from its moorings. “Thank you, Simon.”
His throat tightened at the emotion in her voice. “Genevieve.” Bloody hell, just saying her name pleased him. He leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers. “I am the one who should be thanking you.”
For several seconds she said nothing. He listened to her pull in a several deep breaths, her warm exhalations caressing his lips. Then he felt her lips curve against his palm. “I must say, your idea of retribution gives an entirely new meaning to the phrase revenge is sweet.”
“Indeed it is. And I’m delighted you think so, since I’m not nearly finished with my retribution.”
“Oh, my. But surely you realize that will only lead to me enacting retribution of my own.”
“Yes, that did occur to me.” He heaved a dramatic sigh and nuzzled her fragrant neck. “I’ll endeavor to endure whatever repayment you deem appropriate.”
“As I recall, your method involves a kiss for a kiss.”
“Yes. And a touch for a touch-”
“And a lick for a lick?”
“Precisely. And then there is the small matter of the satin ribbons to bind the wrists.”
She heaved a dramatic sigh. “And if I refuse to give in to such treacherous demands?”
“I’ll simply have to find a way to bring you around to my point of view.”
“Hmm…I suspect that won’t be overly difficult. I have a terrible weakness for kisses.”
He ran his tongue over her plump bottom lip. “And licking?”
“A very terrible weakness.”
“As I said, I’ll try not to complain and take it like a man.” Yet as he settled his mouth over hers, Simon was hit by the unsettling realization that he had a very terrible weakness of his own. And she was named Genevieve Ralston.
12
SIMON AWAKENED and moaned in protest at the evaporation of his very enjoyable, very erotic dream featuring him, Genevieve and a jar of honey. But then he realized it didn’t actually have to end. She was right here in his bed. And there were several jars of honey in the pantry.
Smiling, he rolled over, then froze at the sight of the empty space next to him.
Muttering an obscenity, he flung off the covers and grabbed his breeches. Damn it, he was supposed to be protecting her. How the hell had she managed to leave the room without awakening him? He was normally a very light sleeper, but clearly not this morning. Was she safe?
He jabbed his legs into his breeches, snatched his knife from the bedside table then quickly crossed the room on silent bare feet. As soon as he stepped into the corridor, he heard the murmur of voices. Keeping close to the wall, he moved cautiously forward. As he approached the kitchen he heard Baxter say, “That ain’t a smart thing to do.”