Thief of Shadows (Maiden Lane #4)(47)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

The room was decorated in masculine deep reds and browns—obviously Lord d’Arque’s private rooms. A huge bed with hangings took up most of the center of the room with matching curtains hiding the windows behind. Various heavily carved pieces of furniture lay against the walls. Isabel crept inside and, feeling silly, looked under the bed. Nothing. She was just beginning to feel disappointed when she realized that someone was humming in the next room over. Good Lord, it must be Lord d’Arque’s valet—and by the sound he was headed into the bedroom. Isabel stood, about to flee—

When a strong arm shot through the window curtains and dragged her into the alcove behind.

She gasped—a tiny sound—but he clamped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes weren’t yet accustomed to the dark, but she knew who it was instantly. He bent, the nose of his long mask sliding against her hair as he whispered, “Hush.”

She froze, her heart beating like a trapped rabbit’s. He held her tight against his body as they both listened to the still-humming valet move about the room. His hand was hot even through the leather of his glove, and she could feel his hard chest against her back. Now her heart was beating quickly for an entirely different reason.

An entirely inappropriate reason.

There was the slide of what sounded like a drawer being opened from outside the curtains. His breath was even and deep. They might’ve stood in a tearoom so unaffected was he.

Outrage hit her hard and low. How dare he be so calm, so collected? How dare he make her nipples tighten, her belly warm? How dare he do everything he’d done to her—and never acknowledge a thing?

Her hands had been clutched around his arm, but now she let them drop. The valet started a new tune, something familiar, though she couldn’t quite recognize it. She felt behind her, her fingers touching a smooth material laid tightly over his thighs. He shifted as if to retreat from her, but there was simply no space in the alcove. The floor-length window was behind them, the curtain in front.

He could not escape her. She stroked her hands behind her as far as she could reach in this awkward position. She could feel his thighs and the beginning curve of his hip, but no more. She balled her hands in frustration and then made the decision.

Swiftly she turned in his arms. He could’ve prevented her, naturally, but any kind of struggle would’ve alerted the humming valet.

She looked up and saw his eyes glinting behind the strange mask. Was he angry? Curious? Aroused?

It hardly mattered. She was tired of waiting for him to acknowledge who he was. Tired of donning a false mask of gaiety when she was so much more—felt so much more—beneath. No one had ever noticed her mask. No one but him. If he couldn’t or wouldn’t make the first move, then damn it, she would.

She dropped to her knees.

He inhaled sharply. She felt the movement even if she didn’t hear the intake of breath. Reaching up, she found the buttons of his fall and began working at them.

His hands clamped around her wrists, holding her hands still against his groin.

She looked up as the distinctive sound of a door opening and closing came to them.

Silence.

His head was tilted as he stared down at her, the muscles of his thighs hard and tight against her forearms.

She waited, but he made no move.

Slowly she leaned forward and whispered a kiss against the thin leather of his gloves. Opened her mouth. And bit his knuckle.

He jerked in reaction. Small, a movement barely noticeable, but she felt it nevertheless and grinned.

“Don’t,” he whispered, so low it might’ve been a sigh.

Beneath her captured hands, he was fully erect.

Her words were soft but distinct. “Let me.”

Slowly, as if fighting himself, he opened his hands.

She didn’t wait to see if he’d change his mind. Bending forward, she tugged at his fall, dragging it open, feeling within, finding what she sought.

He was as she remembered: thick and heavy and oh so beautiful. She drew his cock out from his smalls and breeches and ran her fingers over the hot, taut skin.

He’d stilled as if ready to either flee or do battle, so her next movement was quick and sure: she opened her mouth and engulfed the head of his cock.

Above her, he whispered a word, short and harsh.

She closed her eyes, reveling in the scent of him, musky and sensual. He tasted of salt and man, and she suckled him eagerly, feeling the life beneath her tongue. She moved her right hand, stroking him softly but firmly, for she wanted to make this last. Wanted this to be something he never forgot as long as he lived.

His big hands moved hesitantly, touching her hair, her cheeks, whispering over her forehead in the gentlest of caresses.

Tears pricked her eyes and she gasped, letting him fall from her mouth but still holding him in her hands. She looked up, the tears streaming down her cheeks, and felt him stroke one away with the fingertip of his glove. He made her feel… feel too much. Made her want things she could never ever have.

His perfect lips parted. “Isabel.”

“No,” she murmured, and returned to her task.

The silly tears wouldn’t stop, and she tasted them as she licked along his length. He was so hard, so hot! She lapped against the head, flattening her tongue on the very tip, hearing him groan softly.

And then she took him once more into her mouth and sucked.

He rocked back on his feet as if pushed hard, and the reaction made her lips curve about him in satisfaction. She closed her eyes once again and let her surroundings, the sorrow inside her, and even the man himself drift away from her. She focused only on the penis within her mouth. So hard, so needy, so entirely at her mercy. She stroked dreamily along his shaft, finding each throbbing vein, delving in his breeches to palm his tight balls. And all the while sucking and sucking and sucking.

Until his fingers grasped her hair almost painfully and she knew he was at his point. She looked up then, desirous of seeing him in his throes, watching as his head rolled restlessly on his bunched shoulders, as his mouth opened, his bared teeth glinting in the moonlight.

The first spurt was strong and almost tasteless on her tongue, but the second brought salt and man and a groan from his lips as if he suffered untold agonies, and she flexed within in sympathy.

She sucked and sucked, gripping his hips to keep him within her mouth, for she’d worked for this prize and thus she’d earned every drop. When at last he began to soften, she relented and instead licked him softly. She was wet between her thighs, her body primed and ready to receive him, but he wouldn’t be able to—