Seven Years to Sin(63)
“Yes,” she urged, riding out his climax, holding off her own so that she could absorb every nuance of his release. She was riveted by his pleasure, awestruck that she could make him feel so strongly about an act he’d once disregarded completely. “God … you’re beautiful.”
And totally vulnerable. Undone. Emotions raced across his face—pained ecstasy, need, love … even anger.
Alistair rolled them both, taking her to the edge of the bed. He was thrusting before she could catch her bearings, grinding against her, the friction of his thick cock forcing the orgasm from her overstimulated body. She cried out as the spasms flowed through her, her fingers gripping his sides, her legs opened wide to accept everything he had to give her.
His mouth covered hers, muting the sounds they made as they climaxed violently.
I love you, she exhaled into his near-frantic kiss, no longer able or willing to contain the words or the sentiment behind them.
In answer, he caught her close and crushed the air from her lungs.
The dipping and swaying of the ship felt apropos to Alistair, whose existence was similarly rocked. His fingers tangled in and out of Jessica’s luxurious hair, his thoughts focused on the three little words he was almost certain she’d said to him.
He knew from experience that women said such things in the throes of powerful orgasms and paid them no mind later. He knew she’d been flush with her own feminine power, finally understanding how easily she could unravel him and strip him bare. He couldn’t fight it when he was with her; he had no idea how to.
And now she was so quiet curled up against him, their skin cooling and breaths slowing. For the moment, he was well and truly spent; the dearth of arousal left him with no distraction from his turmoil.
Why wasn’t she saying anything? Why didn’t she repeat the words aloud?
He began speaking only to save his sanity. “I began my sexual experiences as most randy adolescent boys do: with anyone who was pretty enough and willing.”
“Dear God.” Jessica laughed softly. “I expect girls were throwing themselves at you shamelessly.”
Though it was true, Alistair said nothing to that, having no desire to rouse any misplaced jealousy. “My eldest brother, Aaron, took me carousing with him one evening. I was nearly fifteen, and I wanted so much to be as worldly as he seemed to me. We eventually found ourselves at a small gathering in the home of a demimondaine.”
Her head lifted. She looked at him. “At fourteen years old?”
“Nearly fifteen,” he reminded. “And not very innocent, if I ever was. Remember, my mother was forced to explain early on why Masterson couldn’t bear to even look at me.”
She folded her arms across his abdomen and rested her chin upon them. “He is the only one who could ever feel that way.”
His fingertips drifted along her delicate jaw. “There was a courtesan at the party. I caught her eye, and she caught mine.”
“What did she look like?”
“She was slender. A blonde. Delicate looking, with pale blue eyes. Depending on her mood, they occasionally appeared almost gray.”
“Oh …” Jess’s eyes became stormy. “Fortunate for me that I fit into your preferences.”
He held back the smile certain to get him into trouble. “Actually, it was you who’d recently set my preferences, a fortnight before, when I met you. She just happened to fit them.”
Confusion marred her brow, then a dawning awareness moved across her expressive features.
“She was a poor substitute, I’m afraid,” he went on, his gaze lifting to the wall beyond her shoulder. “Nowhere near as refined as you. She’d long ago lost the ability to care for anyone more than she cared about herself, which suited me fine. I didn’t have to like her to want to f*ck her.”
Jess jolted softly at his crudity, but held her tongue.
“For a short time, our affair was ideal. She found relief from her boredom in instructing me how to bed a woman properly, and I was an eager pupil. She taught me how to focus on the mechanics of the act, most likely in an attempt to prevent me from becoming emotional over her.”
“Did it work?”
“After a fashion.” He shrugged. “Perhaps not enough, because one day I arrived and found she had an acquaintance with her. Another courtesan. She wanted me to service them both, which I did.”
Her arms came around him, slipping through the small gap where his reclined back curved away from the affixed headboard.
“Soon one friend became two,” he said. “Sometimes she didn’t participate at all. She merely watched. There were other men as well, when she felt like having two or more cocks in her at once.”
“My God,” Jessica whispered, her eyes big and dark in her pale face. “Why did you go? Why didn’t you leave her to her own debauchery?”
“Go where? Home? My presence caused tremendous strain between Masterson and my mother. She was made miserable when I was around. Regardless, I never acted against my will. It wasn’t odious, Jessica. At that age, I had a cockstand damn near all the time, and her bedsport provided plenty of opportunities to alleviate it.”
His voice was carefully light, but she must have recognized the underlying emotion. Her cheek rubbed back and forth across his stomach, her nose nuzzling through the thin strip of hair bisecting his abdomen.