Passion for the Game(21)
Author: Sylvia Day

His tone was so low, his gaze so earnest that she was arrested by him and the feelings he was engendering. Her dagger fel from nerveless fingers to thud on the floor.

“And what rights will you grant me?” she asked, her chest lifting and fall ing rapidly.

“What rights would you prefer?” Christopher stepped close again, lowering his head to swipe his tongue across her parted lips. “You could have gone to Quinn or Eddington tonight. Instead you came to me despite your anger. I have something you want, Maria. Tel me what it is, so that I may give it to you.”

The last was said with a distant ache in his tone, which he quickly covered by taking her mouth in a deep, possessive kiss. His hands came up to cup her shoulders, pul ing her fractional y closer.

Yet even as Maria realized that she had the power to hurt him, she also understood that he had the power to wound her in return. And he was doing it so Well, weakening her with his kindness and seeming lack of guile.

“Perhaps all I want from you is sex,” she said coldly, her lips moving against his. “You have a body built for sin and a mind well -schooled on how to use it.”

His grip tightened, betraying a direct hit. It was deeply unpleasant to know that she had deliberately hurt him in order to protect herself, but she could think of no other way to act. This side of Christopher was far too dangerous. She could manage herself around the coarse pirate. She was not confident in her ability to survive the charms of the impassioned, gentle lover who was appearing more often. The rough seduction of their first sexual encounter had softened to these liaisons of sweet kisses, intimate recol ections, and admissions of yearning for the other’s company. If she trusted him, it would be a romance. Since his motives were suspect, it felt like a siege, and she could not afford to be conquered when the safety of Amelia was the prize.

“You want my cock,” he whispered, “so I shal service you with it. You have only to ask for what you need. I am prepared and more than will ing to provide it. In bed, or out.”

Her eyes closed, shielding her thoughts. She wished she had the strength to set aside her longing and focus solely on the task at hand, but the quivering in her limbs told her it was best to flee while she was stil able. The information Welton and Eddington wanted would have to be gleaned by other means. She would find a way, she always had.

“Undress me,” she whispered, firm in her intent.

“As you wish.” His tongue traced the shell of her ear, making her shiver. “Turn your back to me.”

Maria took a deep breath, and did as he asked.

Chapter 14

Christopher’s fists clenched tightly as Maria presented the row of tiny buttons that coursed down her spine. He fought with his hands, ordering them to cease their trembling. He ached for her tenderness, some sign that she cared for him beyond his sexual prowess.

Why had she come? Why send him that note, so sweetly worded? Perhaps he was indeed a pleasure to her. He hated the part of him that said,

That is enough. Take what she will give you. Because it was not enough. It could no longer be merely sex between them. He could not share her bed knowing that he was excluded from sharing the rest of her life.

“Have you changed your mind?” she murmured, glancing over her shoulder when he hesitated too long.

He stared at the heart-shaped patch near her mouth and longed to kiss it. The scent of her fil ed his nostrils, more heady than liquor. “No.”

Christopher began the difficult task of unveiling her lush body, peeling back the yards of material that separated them. He was accomplished in the art of undressing a woman, but never had his hands shaken during the task.

Slowly, he managed, and the back of the crimson gown gaped open, the rich color a stunning contrast to her olive skin. His head lowered, his tongue traveling along the top of her shoulder. He felt her shiver and knew he would perform the same service to the rest of her. He would tug on her n**ples with the hot suction of his mouth, then spread her legs wide and lick inside her. She would beg for surcease, arching and writhing beneath him. By the time he was done with her, no other man would satisfy and she would know what he had felt these last days—starved before a banquet and yet unable to eat.

He pushed aside the left flap of the red garment, his gaze arrested by the puckered pink scar left by the knife wound. His eyes closed against the emotions that moved through him. Then he felt the raised line of flesh beneath his fingertips, his hand having lifted without conscious direction.

Maria gasped at the touch.

“Does it stil pain you?” he asked, opening his eyes to watch his movements.

For a long moment she said nothing, then she nodded.

“I will be gentle,” he promised.

“No,” she argued breathlessly, “you will be on your back.”

The memories her words envoked were so powerful, he shuddered. How many times had he relived their one night together, her above him, her nipple in his mouth, her cunt sucking his c*ck until he came in a pulsating rush that left him gasping and drained. That he was moments away from experiencing the same ecstasy made his bal s draw up tight and ache to be emptied. He was desperate to be one with her. In body, in passion. To f**k her harder, faster, and deeper than she had ever been f**ked before and to have her pay him in kind. Have her respond with a similar wildness of need and hunger. For him.

Only him.

“Hurry,” she urged, her body rigid.

Christopher paused, understanding that she felt vulnerable, knowing that the change in the rules of the game had her wary and slightly frightened.

He was uncertain as Well, taking tentative steps as he trod new ground, never having bared himself in such a manner before.

So he deviated slightly, gripping the back of her gown and rending it open with a quick, hard tear. She stepped out of the remnants and faced him, her waist hugged by a corset, her legs lost in her skirts.

“Discard your breeches,” she ordered, “and lie on the bed.”

He studied her as his hands moved leisurely to do as she bade. She wanted control. He would give it to her, showing her by example that he was willing to put himself in her hands, if she would do the same for him. “I want you nak*d, as Well.”

“Later.”

Nodding, Christopher freed his c*ck and shoved his breeches down. Maria’s gaze dropped to his erection, goading him to take it in hand and pump it, bringing his seed to slip out over the head.

“See what you do to me?” he asked, holding his c*ck out to her like an offering.

What looked like sadness drifted across her delicate features. A low moan escaped him as he continued to masturbate for her view. Pleasure coiled around his spine and made his c*ck swel further.

“I have been too long without you, Maria. Did you miss me the same?”

“I wrote to you.”

“Will you punish me for desiring some sign of your affection? For wanting you to visit me in my bed, rather than the reverse?”

“Stop,” she said hoarsely, her gaze riveted to his industrious hands. “I want you hard and thick inside me, not spent.”

Christopher dropped his hands to his sides, leaving his c*ck reddened, weeping seed, and curving upward. This was entirely new to him, this forfeit of power. He doubted he could do this for anyone else. A lesser woman would not have the deep-rooted command required to take the control from him. Even Emaline, with all of her vast experience, hadn’t been able to master him in the bedroom. It was why she sometimes serviced him herself instead of granting him the use of one—or more—of her girls. She occasional y needed the luxury of simply being f**ked rather than being the one to do all the work.

So he waited, his breathing harsh, his skin misted with sweat. The anticipation rose, charging the air, inciting him further. Sex could be boring if the action lul ed. That was not the case now. The space between him and Maria fil ed with a palpable energy, just as it always had.

“Have you changed your mind?” he prodded, tossing her words back at her.

Her brow arched. “Perhaps I am not ready.”

His brow rose to match hers; he knew she was lying by the high flush on her chest and cheeks, and the rapid lift and fall of her br**sts. He knew she was wet, knew that watching him pleasure himself had also pleasured her. “I can make you ready,” he offered solicitously.

For a moment she did not move, his dark-haired temptress with her creamy skin and deep red lips. Her chemise, corset, and underskirts were white, hinting at an angelic image that was ruined by those knowing eyes with their impossibly thick lashes. He could see her delicious n**ples through the sheer cotton, and his mouth watered with the urge to suck on them. The tiny heart-shaped patch teased him to kiss that lush mouth, to slide his c*ck into it and thrust until he burst. More cum beaded on the tip of his c*ck and slid down the burning, pulsing skin of his shaft.

“Would you all ow me to take you with my mouth?” he asked. “It would please me to make love to you that way.”

Her gaze darkened at his choice of wording and her lips parted on panting breaths. She nodded and stepped past him, her skirts swaying with her agitated stride. There was no hesitation in her. When she was decided, she never looked back.

He fol owed, his brain in a fog of lust and deep yearning. She took a seat on the settee, her back ramrod straight. The pose was prim, until she hooked one knee over the curved wooden armrest and pulled back the masses of white material, baring first her beautiful y curved calves, then her lithe thighs, and final y, the silken heaven between her legs.

Christopher growled low in his throat, sinking to his knees without preamble, his large hands cupping her inner thighs and spreading her so wide that nothing was hidden from him. She was slick and hot, as he had known she would be. Luscious Maria, the Wintry Widow. Except when she was with him. Then she melted.

“I love to see you this way,” he confessed. “Open to me, will ing and craving.”

Dipping his head, he licked up the seam of her sex, relishing the hiss of pleasure that escaped from between her teeth. After this night, she would never forget him. She would lie in her bed, remembering the feel of his mouth upon her, and long for the pleasure only he could provide.

He surrounded her with his lips, his tongue flickering over the tight knot of her clitoris with light, teasing strokes. Her fingers drifted into his hair, caressing the sweat-dampened roots, her back arching into the intimate caress with a startled cry. He held her h*ps down, the circle of his mouth creating a soft suction that intensified her thrashing and brought her to harsh, panting breaths.

“Christopher! Dear God…”

She bowed upward, her grip in his hair painful but welcome. He dipped lower, thrust his tongue inside her, felt how tight and drenched she was, how deeply he affected her. Grateful that he could, because he was undone, his body trembling with need and tortured desire.

He moved upward again, sucking the hard bed of nerves in an unfaltering rhythm, forcing her to take what he gave her, forcing her to see what they had—a deep affinity that grew more precious to him by the day.

Her orgasm nearly prompted his, her cunt clenching around his tongue as he drove it into her repeatedly. He didn’t stop, refusing her attempts to push him away, his mouth working her, taking her, making her cry out in cli**x again. And again, until neither one of them could take any more.

He rose, gripping the gilded lip of the settee back with one hand and aiming his c*ck at her slit with the other.

His penetrating lunge into her body rocked the settee to its rear legs, the brutal jolt wringing a curse from him and a breathless cry from her.

Christopher paused a moment, his eyes squeezed shut as her cunt rippled around him in the final throes of orgasm. Only when she lay quivering in the aftermath did he risk looking at her.

“This is heaven,” he gasped. “I want to live inside you, feel you suck me deeper and deeper until we are one.”

Maria stared up at the golden god who caged her so thoroughly and wondered how the events of the evening had spun so far out of her control. She was tender and swol en, oversensitive and stuffed ful of rock-hard cock. His hands gripped the sofa on either side of her head, his lean h*ps cradled in the apex of her thighs, his rippled abdomen clenched tight and dripping sweat onto the pile of skirts gathered at her waist.

He stared down at her with open lust and affection, shaking the very foundations of her life. How could she give this up? She whimpered as

Christopher’s c*ck throbbed inside her. In this position she had no leverage, and his impressive endowments felt almost too huge to be comfortable. He withdrew and she spasmed around him, her body unwil ing to give up the pleasure of his. Then, using his muscular legs to push forward and his arms to pul the settee downward, he lunged into her again, hitting the end of her, his heavy bal s slapping erotical y against her bottom.

Maria moaned helplessly. Her only recourse was to clutch his waist and brace herself for his thrusts, which grew in strength and speed until the private sitting room echoed with the unmistakable sounds of hard f**king. Her cries rose in volume, competing with the rhythmic banging of the sofa legs against the floor and the curses that rasped from Christopher’s throat every time he sank into her.

His c*ck was thick, long, and hot, and he conquered her with it, seduced her with it, giving her exactly what she wanted. And exactly what she could not have.

It was raw, passionate sex. Lust tempered by far deeper emotions. Her gaze was riveted by the display of his clenching abdomen and the glistening length of his c*ck as it worked in and out of her with bril iant precision. The question of whether the memories of their first night together were embel ished or not was answered. Christopher St. John was an expert lover, even when rutting at a fevered pitch. He plunged high and hard, hitting that spot inside her that had her toes curling.

“Yes!” he growled when she whimpered in near delirium, his raspy voice fil ed with pure masculine satisfaction, his gaze hot as he watched her fall apart beneath him.

Dear God, he was devastating her, making her care when she couldn’t.