Passion for the Game(22)
Author: Sylvia Day

“No!” she cried, frightened by the feelings he evoked, her hands pushing ineffectual y at his straining shoulders. “Stop!” She beat at him with her fists until she penetrated his single-minded focus.

He thrust deep and stil ed, his chest heaving, his thighs quivering between hers.

“What?” he managed between labored breaths. “What is it?”

“Get off me.”

“Are you insane?” Then something flickered over his features, his gaze lowered. Before she knew his intent, his head dropped, his lips pressing a lingering kiss to her puckered scar. “Am I hurting you?”

Maria swal owed hard, her heart beating so desperately it felt like it could burst. “Yes.” He was kil ing her, breaking her.

“Christ.” His sweat-covered forehead pressed to hers, his harsh exhales gusting across her face.

Inside her, he throbbed. Her body, uncaring about anything other than cli**x, sucked at his cock, luring it deeper.

He inhaled deeply, then knelt on the edge of the seat and thrust his arms beneath her back, embracing her. He struggled to his feet with her clasped tightly to him, impaled on his rigid cock. How he made into the next room and the bed, Maria would never understand.

Christopher sat on the edge and then fel back, keeping her atop him. “You ride,” he said hoarsely. “Take your pleasure from me in a way that will not pain you.”

Maria nearly cried.

Her fingers clenched convulsively into the velvet counterpane. Who knew the infamous pirate could be so sweet, so caring? The fierce look on his handsome face reminded her of who he was—a notorious criminal who survived in a brutal underworld by his wits and lack of conscience. But here he was, subjugating his raging needs for hers…offering himself to her, to do with as she will ed…

“Maria,” he breathed, his hands on her thighs, his eyes staring up into hers. “Take me.”

Dazed by his generosity, Maria moved as if in a dream. She lifted, relishing the feel of the heavy length of his c*ck slipping wetly from her and the hiss of his breath between clenched teeth as she lowered again. Christopher remained stil , as he had promised, giving her the lead. The only movement he made was the ticcing of a muscle in his jaw.

She watched him as she rode him, enamoured with the sight of him. How beautiful he was! Even bruised and battered, he was a woman’s deepest, most wicked fantasy. His face—so angelic in its golden coloring and unrivaled perfection—looked enticingly devilish when unkempt. His body— long and heavily muscled—looked no less appealing when leaner. His eyes—those deep blue pools—were irresistible when fil ed with sexual promises and heated affection.

Her fingertips drifted across his brows, then brushed lightly along the lines of cynicism that fanned out from the corners of his eyes and mouth.

“Yes,” he crooned, holding her waist lightly to balance her. “Love me as you will .”

Maria bent and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips, soaking up the low groan he gave. This was the last time she would have him like this. The last time she would touch him in this manner and admire him nak*d. Even as her heart ached at the loss of what she wished they could have, she felt warmth blossom in her chest at the opportunity to say good-bye to him properly. When she left here tonight, she would have closure. It was why she had come, and she was grateful to leave with it.

So she took her time, her lips fol owing her fingertips as they brushed over every flaw. Every cut, scratch, and bruise. His big body twisted beneath her, the muscles in his arms bulging as his hands fisted in the counterpane, helpless to their passion. Just as she was.

“Maria!” he gasped as her tongue played with his nipple. “I must come, love. Come with me.”

She nipped him with her teeth and he cursed.

“Please!”

Her mouth covered his, her lips wet and soft against the firm line of his. Christopher groaned and thrashed more, twisting.

“I want this to last,” she breathed, never wanted to stop, never wanting to lose the feeling of him stroking inside her, plunging deep and hard.

“Take it,” he urged, the crests of his cheekbones flagged with high color. “Take me.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded.

Her eyes slid closed as she pumped faster and stronger, plunging her cunt up and down his thick cock.

Christopher’s powerful body arched, his neck corded with strain, his hands steadied her as she f**ked him frantical y, his golden head tossing from side to side as she rode him to the finish.

“Maria,” he moaned. “Maria.”

Bending at the waist, she took his mouth again, kissing him ravenously, her eyes stinging with the fervor with which he kissed her back. Her skin was so hot, feverish, covered in a fine film of perspiration. She ached to cli**x, to hear his cries, to feel him explode inside her.

Settling her hands on his chest for leverage, Maria lifted and fel in measured rhythm, feeling his great size stretching her, forcing her slick tissues to part and accept him. Her passion rose, her cli**x primed from his mouth and his blatant expertise. She was so wet with pleasure and desire that soft sucking noises fil ed the air.

Christopher moved with her in perfect timing, his h*ps rising to meet her every descent, fall ing on every ascent.

“Yes…Maria…dear God…yes!”

He thrust upward hard, his pelvic bone hitting her swol en clitoris, and she cried out in orgasm, unable to stop it, her body quaking around his wildly pumping cock.

He growled his triumph, and the sound flowed through her, making her come harder, her cunt spasming desperately as he joined her, spurting his seed deep inside her in hot, hard bursts.

She fel over him in a tangle of sated limbs, whimpering as he held her h*ps slightly aloft and continued to stroke his c*ck inside her until he was emptied.

Final y, gasping, he released her waist to clutch her tightly to his sweat-slick chest.

Maria pressed her fist to her mouth and stifled the sob that fought to leave her. She feared her feelings had already progressed too far. She wanted to remain like this forever, warm and safe in Christopher’s embrace. But how much of this was real? How much of this was simply an effort to achieve his goal? Was Christopher truly the haven he presented himself as? Or was he the means of her destruction?

There were too many questions and no definitive answers. With Amelia’s life in the balance, Maria could not take the risk.

And so she waited until his breathing was deep and even beneath her cheek, betraying his slumber. Then she extricated herself from his embrace and left the bed.

“FareWell,” she whispered, her gaze raking the nak*d, magnificent length of his frame before she turned her back to him and made her egress. The bedchamber door shut behind her with a soft click of the latch.

Stepping into her ruined gown in the sitting room with shaking legs, she col ected her blade and donned Christopher’s coat, refusing to breathe through her nose for fear of smel ing him. She would cry if she did, and there was stil some distance to be crossed.

She remembered nothing of her journey down the stairs and out the front door. Was she watched? Had she garnered an audience? Did Christopher’s lackeys witness her dishabil e? She did not know, and she did not care. She knew only that she maintained her pride.

Until she was safely ensconced in her carriage. Then she all owed her tears to fall.

The silence of the night was broken by the approaching clatter of horses’ hooves and the rhythmic sound of carriage wheels across cobblestones.

Mist hung low to the ground, chil ing the feet and legs of the man who hunched his shoulders and held his threadbare jacket close to his neck for warmth.

As the equipage rolled to a stop, the man stepped forward and peered inside. The interior of the unmarked coach was darker than the outside, effectively hiding the occupants.

“Two daughters,” he whispered. “St. John’s coves found the one. Young gel in Lincolnshire.”

“I require the direction.”

“When I works wiv a flash, I get paid.”

The barrel of a pistol appeared.

“Right, then.” He dug in his pocket and withdrew a grimy, folded sheet, which he held out. “If you read it, I’l tel yer if ’e got the way of it.”

A moment later, he nodded. “That’s it. Bobby is a peevy cul .”

A bag of coin was thrust out and grabbed with similar swiftness. “God love yer!” he mumbled with a tip of his hat, then he melded into the shadows and was gone.

The coachman urged the carriage on.

In the darkness of the interior, Eddington settled pensively into the squabs. “Bring me that girl before St. John takes her.”

“Yes, my lord. I will see to it.”

Chapter 15

A melia peeked around the corner of the house, her lower lip worried between her teeth. She searched for Colin in the stable yard, then heaved a sigh of relief when she found the area empty. Male voices drifted on the wind, laughter and singing spil ing out from the stables. From this she knew Colin was hard at work with his uncle, which meant that she could safely leave the manse and head into the woods.

She was becoming quite good at subterfuge, she thought as she moved deftly through the trees, hiding from the occasional guard in her journey toward the fence. A fortnight had passed since that fateful afternoon when she had caught Colin behind the shop with that girl. Amelia had avoided him since, refusing to speak with him when he asked the cook to fetch her.

Perhaps it was foolish to hope that she would never see him again, given how closely their lives were entwined. If so, she was a fool. There was not an hour of the day that passed without her thinking of him, but she managed the pain of her grief as long as he stayed away from her. She saw no reason for them to meet, to talk, to acknowledge one another. She only traveled by carriage when moving to a new home, and even then, she could associate exclusively with Pietro, the coachman.

Espying the waited-for opening, Amelia hopped deftly over the fence and ran to the stream, where she found Ware coatless and wigless with his shirtsleeves pushed up. The young earl had caught some color to his skin these last weeks, setting aside his life of bookwork in favor of hard outdoor play. With his dark brown locks tied in a queue and his cornflower-colored eyes smiling, he was quite handsome, his aquiline features boasting centuries of pure blue blood.

He did not set her heart to racing or make her ache in unfamiliar places as Colin did, but Ware was charming and polite and attractive. She supposed that was a sufficient combination of qualities to make him the recipient of her first kiss. Miss Pool told her to wait until the right young man came along, but Colin already had, and had turned to another instead.

“Good afternoon, Miss Benbridge,” the earl greeted with a perfect bow.

“My lord,” she replied, lifting the sides of her rose-hued gown before curtsying.

“I have a treat for you today.”

“Oh?” Her eyes widened in anticipation. She loved gifts and surprises because she rarely received them. Her father simply could not be bothered to consider such things as birthdays or other gift-giving occasions.

Ware’s smile was indulgent. “Yes, princess.” He offered his arm to her. “Come with me.”

Amelia set her fingers lightly atop his forearm, enjoying the opportunity to practice her social graces with someone. The earl was kind and patient, pointing out any errors and correcting her. It gave her a higher polish and a deeper confidence. She no longer felt like a girl pretending to be a lady.

Instead she felt like a lady who chose to enjoy her youth.

Together they left their meeting place by the stream and wended their way along the shore until they reached a larger clearing. There Amelia was delighted to find a blanket stretched out on the ground, the corner of which was held down by a basket fil ed with delicious-smel ing tarts and various cuts of meat and cheeses.

“How did you manage this?” she breathed, fil ed with pleasure by his thoughtfulness.

“Dear Amelia,” he drawled, his eyes twinkling. “You know who I am now, and who I will be. I can manage anything.”

She knew the rudiments of the peerage and saw the power wielded by her father, a viscount. How many more times the magnitude was the power wielded by Ware, whose future held a marquessate?

Her eyes widened at the thought.

“Come now,” he urged, “have a seat, enjoy a peach tart, and tel me about your day.”

“My life is dreadful y boring,” she said, dropping to the ground with a sigh.

“Then tel me a tale. Surely you daydream about something.”

She dreamt about kisses given passionately by a dark-eyed Gypsy lover, but she would never say such a thing aloud. She rose to her knees and dug into the basket to hide her blush. “I lack imagination,” she muttered.

“Very Well, then.” Ware situated himself on his back with his hands clasped at his neck and stared up at the sky. He looked as at ease as she had ever seen him. Despite the rather formal attire he wore—including pristine white stockings and polished heels—he was stil a far more relaxed person than the one she met weeks ago. Amelia found that she rather liked the new earl and felt a touch of pleasure that she had wrought what she considered to be a positive change in him.

“It appears I must regale you with a story,” he said.

“Lovely.” She settled back to a seated position and took a bite of her treat.

“Once upon a time—”

Amelia watched Ware’s lips move as he spoke and imagined kissing them. A now-familiar sense of sadness shivered through her, an effect of leaving her beloved romantic notions behind and embracing unfamiliar new ones, but the sensation lessened as she thought of Colin and what he had done. He certainly did not feel any sadness about leaving her behind.

“Would you kiss me?” she blurted, her fingertips brushing tart crumbs from the corners of her lips.

The earl paused midsentence and turned his head to look at her. His eyes were wide with surprise, but he appeared more intrigued than dismayed.