Devil in Spring (The Ravenels #3)(54)

Pleasure was spreading everywhere, beneath her skin and in the spaces between her heartbeats. All her senses focused on the spell he was working, an enchantment of fire wrapped in darkness. He rested the flat of his tongue against her, and to her everlasting embarrassment, her hips pushed against him. After a few fluttering strokes, his tongue went flat and still again. She couldn’t stop herself from writhing, and she felt the heat of his chuckle against her. He was playing with her, making her do shameful things. As her hands fumbled to push his head away, he caught her shaking wrists and pinned them to the sofa. He found a rhythm of light, steady flicks that made her insides clench rhythmically, like a heartbeat. He knew what he was doing, relentlessly stoking the feeling higher, higher, until it turned molten and began to flood every part of her. She tried to hold it back, but that only made it worse, setting off long, bone-deep shudders that wracked her entire frame. She felt her eyes roll back in her head, her limbs drawing up with the primitive urge to close around something.

As the last tremors smoothed into peacefulness, Gabriel rose over her and pulled her into his arms. She stretched and nestled against his side, hitching a thigh over one of his. Her limbs felt pleasantly heavy, as if she were waking from a long sleep, and for once her mind was utterly focused, without the distraction of too many thoughts. She felt the shapes of words brushing her ear as he whispered something, the same few words over and over, until Pandora stirred and mumbled, “That’s my bad ear.”

His smile curved against her cheek, and he lifted his head. “I know.”

What had he been whispering? Bemused, Pandora let her hand drift over his chest, playing with the light, glinting fur, feeling the armor of ribs and hard muscle beneath. The flesh of his stomach and sides was so different from hers, tough and sinewy, the skin gleaming like polished marble.

Fascinated, she let the backs of her fingers inch timidly to the front of his trousers, where the heavy ridge of his aroused flesh strained against the black broadcloth. Turning over her hand, she dared to curve her palm against the shaft, and followed it all the way down to the base and up again. It was scary and exciting and unbelievable to be touching him like this. His breath quickened, and an involuntary quiver chased across his stomach as she gripped over the stiffness.

Beneath her fingers, the hard flesh seemed to possess its own pulses and responsive twitches. She wanted to see this mysterious part of him. She wanted to find out what it felt like. The front of his trousers had been styled in the classic formal design, a fall attached with two side rows of buttons. Timidly her hand slid to the nearest row of buttons.

His hand came to hers, arresting her wandering touch, and his lips grazed her temple. “Better not, sweet.”

Pandora frowned. “But it’s not fair for you to treat my nervous condition, and me to do nothing for yours.”

His gentle laugh filtered through her hair. “We’ll take care of mine later.” Leaning over her, he took her lips with a brief, ardent kiss. “Let me carry you to bed now,” he whispered, “and tuck you in like a good little girl.”

“Not yet,” she protested. “I want to stay here with you.” The storm rolled over the house, rain falling with the force of bronze pennies. She snuggled more tightly into the warm crook of Gabriel’s arm. “Besides . . . you still haven’t answered the question I asked you at the archery grounds.”

“What question?”

“You were going to tell me the worst thing about yourself.”

“God. Do we have to discuss that now?”

“You said you wanted to talk about it in private. I don’t know when we’ll have another chance.”

Gabriel frowned and remained silent, occupied with thoughts that seemed far from pleasant. Perhaps he wasn’t certain how to begin.

“Does it have something to do with your mistress?” she asked helpfully.

Gabriel gave her a narrowed glance, as if the question had taken him aback. “So you’ve heard about that.”

She nodded.

He let out a controlled sigh. “The devil knows I’m not proud of it. However, I thought it better than resorting to harlotry or seducing innocents, and I’m not exactly suited for celibacy.”

“I don’t think badly of you for it,” Pandora hastened to assure him. “Lady Berwick says it’s often done by gentlemen, and ladies must pretend not to know about it.”

“All very civilized,” Gabriel muttered. His expression was dark as he continued. “There’s nothing wrong with the arrangement unless one or both of the parties involved are married. I’ve always considered marriage vows to be sacred. To lie with another man’s wife is . . . unforgivable.”

His tone remained even and calm, except for the self-loathing that colored the last word.

For a moment Pandora was too surprised to speak. It seemed impossible that this man, with his golden good looks and sophistication—a man so perfect in every way—would feel ashamed about anything. Then the surprise melted into a tender feeling as she reflected that he was not some godlike being, but a man with very human flaws. It wasn’t an unwelcome discovery.

“Your mistress is married,” she said without asking.

“She’s the wife of the American ambassador.”

“Then how do you and she . . .”

“I bought a house where we meet whenever possible.”