A Midnight Dance Page 4

  He caught her wrist before she touched him, his action surprising her.

  Moving his goblet closer to her mouth, he released her wrist and said, “Ladies first.”

  Oh, God. Remain calm. Don’t overreact.

  “You are most kind,” she responded, recovering quickly, though her heart rhythm did not. She took hold of the goblet, her fingers inadvertently brushing his. Did he notice they trembled?

  Her nerves and the extreme situation were clearly distorting her reactions to him. Nothing more. If she kept her head, maintained some semblance of control over herself, she’d prevail.

  Looking down at the wine, she searched for direction. She wasn’t about to drink any of it. This was difficult enough without some of the drugged wine in her system. What could she do? Stay in character . That was the answer. The key to success. She was playing the part of a whore, a seducer, an enticer.

  She would entice him to drink even if that meant she had to delve deeper into her role. An idea came to her.

  “Would you be so kind as to assist me—may I have your hand, please?” She held her hand out, waiting and praying he’d comply. There was curiosity in his eyes. And after what seemed an eternity, he placed his hand in hers. Carnal awareness crackled in the air between them. She could tell he felt it, too. The expression on his face had changed from desire to a feral hunger. It inflamed her further. A mortifying moisture pooled between her legs.

  Her insides in havoc, Sabine glanced down at his hand in hers. It was strong, his fingers long, warm. She liked the feel of his skin. A little too much for her own good.

  She couldn’t allow herself to forget how his family had preyed on hers, overtaxing, overburdening. Living off their misery. She didn’t feel sorry for what had become of him. Had he inherited his father’s title and lands, there was no reason to believe he’d have cared a whit about the suffering of those who lived on his lands any more than his father had. He deserved his fall from “grace.”

  And he deserved what he had coming to him once she was through.

  Knowing his palm would hold too much of the burgundy, she rotated his hand, tipped the goblet, and let a few drops land on the inside of his wrist.

  Hesitating a moment to let most of the droplets run off, Sabine bent her head and pressed her lips to his skin.

  The instant her mouth touched him, her senses were swamped by a heady rush. Her eyes fluttered shut. She forced them open, trying to recover her wits, yet she couldn’t resist brushing her mouth lightly across his wrist. He made a sound from deep inside his throat. It reverberated in her feminine core.

  Overcome by the warmth and texture of his skin, she lingered a moment longer, then kissed his wrist. The urge to kiss him again gripped her fiercely. It took a moment to shake loose of its hold.

  She pulled away slowly and met his gaze, her breathing sharper than before. And there was a pulsing between her legs that throbbed in time with the heavy thuds of her heart.

  If she hadn’t been so shaken, she would have been elated. She’d successfully avoided the tainted wine. But it had come at a price. The most private part of her body was now rioting and aching for relief.

  She scrambled to find her voice. “The burgundy has never tasted finer,” she somehow managed to say. “You should try it.” She held the goblet out to him.

  “Perhaps I should,” he responded. Relived, she almost wept when he took it from her hand.

  Holding her gaze, he moved the goblet toward her then dripped a drop onto her bare shoulder. The wine was startlingly cool against her heated skin.

  He leaned in.

  Knowing he was going to press his mouth against her body, she braced herself for the thrill of it. The droplet had rolled down her arm before his lips finally grazed over her shoulder. She closed her eyes. The light flick of his tongue against her skin drew a moan from her throat.

  He pulled back, his mouth mere inches from hers, his breaths mingling with her own. “I’m not certain I like your wine. Perhaps I should try it again?”

  She blinked. Unable to command her voice, she gave him a delayed nod.

  The barest smile played across his mouth. He opened the top fastening on her bodice. Her eyes widened. And then he opened the next. Dear God.

  Then another fastening.

  And another.

  Think of something! What could she say to stop him? She couldn’t reveal her duplicity. She couldn’t—Oh! Her opened bodice slipped off, revealing her chemise.

  Amid her heightened distress, she felt a ludicrous pang of embarrassment. Her chemise, although clean, was old and worn. Not fancy or pretty like the undergarments she’d once owned. Like the ones worn by his former mistresses.

  She looked away, unable to look into his eyes, trying desperately to think of a way to regain control of the unraveling situation.

  He lowered her chemise to her waist. She swallowed down her protest, her upper body exposed, her breasts veiled by her hair.

  He brushed her tresses aside, revealing her to the summer night and his gaze.

  “Elise . . .” he said.

  Unable to read much into his utterance, she cast him a sidelong glance, expecting to find him assessing her. Yet by his expression he seemed to be marveling at her instead.

  His hand caressed the outside curve of her breast. She gasped at the jolt of erotic sensation. It drew his gaze back up to her face. Then it happened. He gave her one of his full knee-weakening smiles. Gorgeous dimples and all.

  “You’re exquisite. With the nipples of Venus,” he said. “I wonder if they taste as good as they look.” Dipping the tip of his finger into the wine, he placed a drop near her racing heart and watched with fascination as it ran down toward her nipple. She was frozen. Expectant of what he might do. Unable to stop it from happening.

  The moment the droplet dripped off the tip of her breast, he slipped his arm around her waist, lowered his head, and sucked her nipple into his hot mouth. She cried out, and flung her arms around him, the pleasure so keen she all but swooned. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed her cheek against his dark hair. Each luscious pull of his mouth contracted her sex, deep delicious pulses that vibrated to her clit.

  She couldn’t catch her breath. Not when he continued to ply her with skillful sucks, licks, bites. The sensations radiating from her breast were melting her mind.

  She’d kept herself numb for so long. Yet the pleasure flooding through her was so intense, there was no containing it. Or controlling it.

  His mouth burned a path to her other breast and repeated the exquisite torture. Her head fell back, her lips parted in a silent cry, and she held on, lost to the hunger.

  He had her arching and moaning, her breaths dragging up and down her throat.

  He stopped suddenly. Sabine whimpered at the cessation. Dazed and panting, she snapped her eyes open, her body frantically clamoring for more.

  She was shaky and ravenous, her sex slick with her own juices.

  He was smiling again.

  “You have very sensitive breasts. I like that.” He tossed the goblet with its contents behind him onto the ground, dropped to his knees in front of her, and pulled her up tightly against him. She felt the solid bulge in his breeches.

  He bent his head, his hair brushing her cheek. “We don’t need wine,” he murmured in her ear. “The carnal heat between us is intoxicating enough.”

  Before she could react, she found herself flat on her back staring up at him. He’d straddled her, his knees on either side of hers, and was bent over her, his palms near her head. She was caged in. All his potent male attention was focused on her.

  She squirmed. She couldn’t pull back. Nor could she cool down her overheated body. Yet she couldn’t surrender herself.

  Not to him.

  A devilish smile formed on his handsome face. “Beautiful forest fairy, you’re all mine.”

  4

  With her moon-kissed hair spread out on his blankets, her soft skin a pale glow, and those luscious breasts r
ising and falling with each accelerated breath she took, she looked less like a whore. More like an angel.

  And even better than Jules had imagined.

  Though he knew there was a strong carnal connection between them, he never expected that the mere brush of her lips against his wrist would leave him burning. Jésus-Christ. He wanted to fuck her so badly, his sac ached. He could barely hold on to the load of come, the engorged head of his cock already moist with pre-come.

  And he reveled in it.

  In this fierce desire she inspired. In the intense reactions she elicited from his body. It was unbelievable.

  And oh so delectably real.

  Her lips were slightly parted, and he was stunned by how starved he was for their taste.

  He couldn’t recall the last time he’d indulged in a long hot kiss. It used to be an integral part of the pleasure in any sexual encounter. Yet somewhere along the way he’d lost interest in the simple intimate act. It had no place in the kind of detached colorless sex he now had.

  But sex wasn’t going to be detached or colorless with her. With this woman, the last thing he wanted to engage in was a cold fast fuck.

  Resisting the lure of her mouth for the moment, he brushed a pretty blond tress off her cheek, then let his fingers trail lightly down the side of her lovely face and along the slender column of her neck. She closed her eyes, and arched to him. She couldn’t hold back a moan.

  He smiled.

  He grazed his fingertips across her breast and over her pebbled nipple, enjoying the sound of her excited gasp. He liked how highly responsive she was to him. How genuine her desire was. How undone she’d become when he’d tasted her nipples.

  He couldn’t wait to taste those ultrasensitive tips again.

  In fact, he couldn’t wait to discover all the hot spots on her pretty little form that would drive her wild. He wanted her completely lost to the lust they incited in each other.

  He wanted pure unbridled abandon.

  He wanted to fuck her the way no man ever had before.

  Jules lowered his head and brushed his mouth over the sensitive spot below her delicate ear. She made the most sensuous sound. His eager prick thickened further, reaching painful proportions. He was so bloody hard, his cock felt heavy as lead.

  The anticipation of sinking his length into her soft silky sex, sensing it would be just as highly sensitive as the rest of her, was delicious.

  She’d said he’d be well pleased. And he was.

  This was far better than any purchased sexual encounter he’d ever had.

  He sat back on his heels. “Look at me, Elise.”

  Opening her eyes, she met his gaze. She had a delightful desiredazed look in her eyes.

  “I want you to forget we have an arrangement. Tonight is about mutual pleasure. You’re going to hold nothing back.” He placed his hands on her thighs and began sliding her skirts up her legs. “And I am going to make you come harder than you’ve ever come before. But first, you’re going to take these off and show me all of your beautiful body.”

  She looked shocked. It was understandable. His offer to pleasure a common whore was far from commonplace. Yet one he was serious about. Before they were through, he was going to rock her sweet form with a powerful release. Or three.

  Clearly, Sabine’s ears weren’t working any better than the rest of her body parts. Had she heard him say mutual pleasure? He wanted her naked? Totally? It took everything she had not to cover up her breasts. Now he was suggesting that all of her attire be removed?

  Didn’t prostitutes simply raise their skirts? Why was it necessary to have her completely unclothed?

  She was so frenzied inside, she simply stared up at him. If she didn’t think of something soon, Jules de Moutier was going to relieve her of her virginity. It didn’t help that the tormenting ache between her legs worsened the higher up he pushed her skirts. She wanted to take his bounty, make him suffer, yet he was torturing her in the most sublime way. The words “NO!” and “YES!” were screaming at her from different parts of her body with equal ferocity.

  His hands moved over her caleçons and stopped to rest on her hips. Heat from his palms radiated through the cloth of her drawers. Her fever spiked. Making quick work of the ties, he slid the caleçons down her legs, the cloth lightly grazing along her sensitized skin.

  Her breaths short and shallow, Sabine tried not to make any telling moves that would give her away, like squeezing her thighs closed, knowing a whore wouldn’t do that. Her amorous experience totaled three kisses on three different occasions from Leon de Vittry, Baron de Lor, an admirer of her father’s plays. Leon had never so much as stirred her. She hated it that Jules was having such a disastrous impact on her senses.

  He paused to take in the sight of her sex. A slow perusal.

  “Very pretty . . .” he murmured, then with a few fluid movements, he’d spread her legs and was suddenly kneeling between them. Her heart lurched. “You’ve got a lovely little clit, begging for attention.”

  Oh, God . . . At the mention of that part of her anatomy, a hot pulse quivered through her core. Before she could shore up her defenses, he leaned over her, his weight on one palm near her shoulder, and stroked his other hand over the curls at the apex of her legs. She caught her gasp before it escaped her throat. His hand slipped within the folds of her slick sex and gently massaged her needy flesh. Not enough to alleviate the torment. Just enough to fuel the fire. She bit down on her lip to keep from moaning out loud. It took everything she had not to arch into his enticing palm and grind against it.

  A slight smile lifted the corner of his sinfully perfect mouth. “You’re so wet, you’re soaking my hand.” The situation was far worse than that. The throbbing between her legs was unbearable, his hand so very close to that spot that was causing her such distress.

  But he was avoiding the pulsing bud.

  Glancing away, she gazed blindly out into the dark forest, looking for anything that would distract her from those skillful strokes on her sex.

  “Elise . . .”

  She dragged her gaze back to him.

  “You want to come for me, don’t you?”

  Oh, she wasn’t about to admit to that, under any circumstances.

  He’d lowered his body down beside her as his hand continued to work her sex without missing a single perfect stroke. His chest rested partially on top of her, his skin feeling warm and wonderful against her own.

  His words, his scent, the feel of his body against hers, and the fierce pulsing between her legs were eroding her sanity.

  Did he have to make this feel so good? How did whores do this? Didn’t they remain unaffected and simply put on a performance?

  “You’re holding back your reactions to me,” he gently admonished, amusement in his eyes. “There will be no professional distance tonight. I want your eyes on me, and I want to hear every sultry sound you make, without censor.” He stroked her clit. This time a sound erupted from her.

  His smile broadened. “That’s it. Just like that . . . There is no reason to hold back or moderate yourself in any way. I want you to do whatever comes naturally.”

  Whatever comes naturally? This was in no way natural for her!

  “Forget everything . . . There is no one else in this forest. Just us.” He brushed his lips along her jaw and down her neck. “Beautiful Elise,” he whispered against her skin. “I’m going to enjoy fucking you.” His fingers grazed over her aching nub once more.

  Hot excitement shot up her spine. She cried out and threw her arms around him. Burying her face in his neck, she fought to steady herself under his sensuous attack. He pinched her clit lightly. Another cry shot up her throat; pleasure shuddered through her. He was creating sensations like none she’d ever known.

  What was the point in fighting this any longer? She couldn’t curb her hunger for him. She wasn’t about to reveal her duplicity. Or back out. When she’d embarked on this plan, she’d known the risks.

  Besides, she was
n’t Sabine. She was Elise. Elise could indulge in a carnal encounter with him—without qualms. She had no grievances against Jules de Moutier. She could allow herself to explore this delicious act, steal some pleasure, then steal the silver. Elise could do as she wanted—things Sabine would never do—and at the moment she wanted to taste his skin again.

  Without another thought, she skimmed her lips along his neck to his ear, stopping just below it to gently draw on him. His groan was thrilling.

  He pinned her to the forest floor under him. She couldn’t miss the hard bulge pressing against her belly. Resting his weight on his elbows, he looked down at her. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re going to come for me, first.” He dipped his head and lightly bit her earlobe. She lost her breath. Lifting his head, he met her gaze, one of his stomach-fluttering smiles forming on his face. “What’s your pleasure? Name it. I’m game to oblige. And I am difficult to shock, I assure you. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

  Urgency pounded in her veins. Her gaze fell to his mouth. His most alluring mouth. Just the sensation of his lips on her neck had felt too much like heaven. Oh, there was something she most definitely wanted him to do. Long ago, she’d filled pages in her journal imagining what it would feel like.

  “Kiss me,” she had Elise say.

  She saw surprise flash in his eyes. She’d managed to shock him after all. The request for a kiss wasn’t something a man usually heard from a strumpet, she supposed. But at the moment, she didn’t care.

  To her delight, he lowered his mouth. Parting her lips, she tipped her chin up. He stopped short, barely touching her lips.

  “Where?” he whispered into her mouth.

  Where? He was truly beginning to frustrate her. She had a strong urge to simply grab his ears and haul his mouth down onto hers.

  “My lips.” Was it not obvious?

  “Mmmm, I see.” He brushed his lips ever so lightly over hers. Instantly she lifted her head off the blankets, seeking more contact with his mouth. He pulled back ever so slightly, keeping his lips close, but still didn’t give her the kiss she craved. He was going to be sporting a serious bruise soon!