Seven Years to Sin(25)
Jessica lifted her other leg and rested it on his shoulder. She arched one brow in silent challenge.
“Temptress.” He parted the plump folds of her sex and ground his hips into the bed, attempting to relieve the nearly unbearable throbbing of his neglected cock. “You are even perfect here.”
Pointing his tongue, he traced the delicate folds and crevices before circling the distended tip of her clitoris. She was as wet as he’d hoped, the silken skeins of her lust clinging to the petal-soft skin, her body’s primitive plea for a hard cock to fill her.
“Yes …” she breathed. “Yes.”
Alistair fluttered his tongue over the clenching opening, groaning as her response became more frantic. Tilting his head, he licked into the tender, spasming tissues. Her thready moan enflamed him, urged him to a faster pace, until he was f*cking her fiercely with his tongue. Ravenous, he ate at her, drinking in her taste and the sounds she made. She began to plea for him to finish her, then to threaten him with reprisal. He pushed farther, to the point where she began to promise him anything if only he would ease her torment.
There was a great deal he could do with such a promise.
He licked along her drenched slit, then pushed her over the edge with a lush, open-mouthed kiss to her clitoris. With parted lips and gentle suckling, he stroked over the bundle of nerves with the flat of his tongue. The first flutters of climax rippled through her, and at the height of her extremity he slid two fingers deep into the tightness of her too-long neglected body.
The headboard creaked as Jessica fought against her restraints, her delicate inner muscles tugging at his pumping fingers in time with the workings of his mouth. He tongued her mercilessly, giving no quarter, spurring her to another orgasm before the first had fully eased its grip. She screamed when she came again, her mouth pressed to her biceps to muffle the sound.
He growled as she shuddered, as hungry for her pleasure as he’d ever been for his own. Pushing a third finger in with the others, he worked the tight flesh. The thought of how snugly she’d hold his cock increased his frenzy. Raking the edge of his teeth lightly over the hard knot of nerves, he pushed her into another climax on the heels of the second. He kept at her until she came again, driving her hard and fast. Relentless in his need to own her desire completely.
“No more …” she pled hoarsely, shrinking away from his avid mouth. “Please …”
Alistair lifted his head with reluctance, his drenched fingers pulling free of her quivering flesh. Wiping his mouth on the inside of her thigh, he slid his shoulders out from under her lax legs and then his body straight off the bed.
“Where are—” she began as he stood.
“I can’t stay.” He reached to free her wrists and retrieve his cravat. As the knots loosened and she pulled her arms down to her sides, he saw her wince and understood the cause. She’d pulled tight against the bonds with every wrenching orgasm, stretching muscles unused to such abuse. He reached for her shoulders and massaged them, pressing gently but firmly into the sore muscles to alleviate their discomfort.
“Don’t leave,” she said.
“I must.”
“I want …” She swallowed. “I want you.”
“As was my intention.” Dear God, it would kill him to walk out of the room with her begging for sex. But it would be far more torturous to face regret from her on the morrow. Cupping her nape, Alistair kissed her hard and quick. “You were magnificent.”
She caught his wrist before he straightened. “Why must you go?”
“I need you unimpaired. I want no self-recrimination or faulty memory between us.” He began to wind his cravat around his neck. “Ask me again when you are temperate, and it will be my great pleasure to oblige you.”
Jessica pushed up onto one elbow. “If you stay, I will pay you whatever you desire.”
Alistair froze. A dousing with icy water could not have cooled his ardor faster. Worse, a sharp pain pierced his chest like a blade, twisting mercilessly until he staggered back from the bed to distance himself from his tormentor.
He spun away and tied his cravat with a hasty, sloppy knot. “Good evening, Jessica.”
It was only by the grace of God that no one was in the hallway as he fled the cabin.
It was after midnight when Michael vaulted down from his carriage in front of the impressive three-story, columned entrance to Remington’s Gentlemen’s Club. He ascended the wide steps to the watered-glass double doors, which were held open by footmen liveried in black and silver. As he handed his hat and gloves to the waiting attendant, he noted the curricle-sized floral arrangement gracing a massive round table in the circular, domed foyer. Lucien Remington had long been acknowledged as a man of impeccable taste, and his establishment remained the most exclusive in England in part due to his willingness to continuously update the décor. Remington did not follow prevailing inclinations in design; he set the standard for them.
Directly ahead was the gaming area, which was the center of all business. From there, one could access the stairs to the fencing studio, as well as the many lovely courtesans and their private rooms. The lower floor accommodated boxing training and lessons. To the left was the bar and kitchen. To the right was Lucien Remington’s office.
Michael crossed the black-and-white marble floor to the gaming area, then moved beyond that to the great room. The smell of leather and fragrant tobacco helped to settle nerves kept on edge since his visit with Hester the day before.