The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(37)
“John,” she sighed as he broke away momentarily and she reached out for him. “Don’t leave me.”
“Patience, my sweet.” He reached for the ties of her robe, his gaze never wavering from hers. When he finished opening the fabric, he guided her upward and slowly removed her arms from the sleeves, divesting her of the garment. “I want to see you.”
His voice, husky and low, swirled about her like a kiss of sunlight. An exhilarating warmth kindled inside her, making her want to wrap her arms about him, cling to him as she’d never clung to anything before. But he broke away again, this time to unlace her night rail.
“No.” She licked her lips, feeling daring and unlike herself as she grabbed the laces at her neckline. “Allow me.”
He nodded as she undid the bodice, inch by agonizing inch. All the while, her gaze locked with his, hunger transforming his eyes, darkening them with desire. His dexterous fingers reached out, teasing her bare skin as he eased her night rail up and over her thighs, her belly, her breasts, and higher still, until the fabric cleared her head and he disposed of it.
Shivering, half-eager and half-afraid, Oriana had the presence of mind to attempt to cover herself. But John grabbed her hands and lowered them. “Let me see you, Oriana. As you really are.”
Lying naked before him, Oriana looked at him shyly. “I am the same woman ye carried up to this room.” She’d never felt so exposed, and yet . . . treasured. When John looked at her body, he made her feel as if she was worth more than Charles’s gold. “No one has ever looked at me the way ye do.” Her voice was barely audible to her own ears.
John closed the distance between them and kissed her full on the mouth. She squirmed and clutched his broad shoulders to her chest. The contact of his body against her bare nipples sent a thrill of desire pulsing through her, eliciting all manner of sensation as it pooled between her legs. Aroused like she never had been before, Oriana raised her leg over his thigh, providing more of her body for him to explore, welcoming his touch on her hips, her stomach, and her breasts. Her nipples hardened, and she moaned in sweet agony when his fingers found them, tweaking their turgid peaks.
He claimed her mouth as his hands discovered every inch of her body, and the world she knew completely fell away. Here, in a room that once housed a sad, lonely girl, nothing mattered but John—his touch, his kiss, the weight of his body against hers, his rough fingers drawing a gasp from her body. She allowed him to bring her to womanhood like a lamb to slaughter. She leaned her head back on the pillow, and John caught one of her nipples between his teeth.
Oh! Nothing good could come of this. Nothing good at all! And yet, as she arched into him, searching for something she couldn’t quite grasp, she gave in.
“Oh, John,” she moaned.
His hand moved lower still, exploring her thighs, reaching around to cup her buttock and pull her against his arousal. He groaned and suckled more fervently at the contact.
Drowning in new sensations, Oriana clung to John like a buoy as his fingers crept ever closer to the apex of her thighs. She clawed his back to get closer, closer still as he licked her mouth, then plunged his tongue inside her, driving her wild, absorbing her moans as he slipped his fingers inside her, stroking her sensitive center.
She broke away to catch her breath as he fondled her again and again and again. “John, I . . . never . . . knew.”
Oriana’s haste to experience passion for the first time enthralled Walsingham. It had been too long since anyone had seen him, the man forced to hide behind a mask and various disguises. But now, here, alone with Oriana—his enemy’s sister, a little voice reminded him—in the semidarkness, a sense of euphoria filled him, as if he was finally coming home.
He threw back his head, breathing deep to put a tight rein on his senses. Denying himself satisfaction demanded all his concentration. Christ, he wanted to take her, claim her as his own right that this instant. But it would still be wrong—so very wrong—complicating his life and her life more than he was willing to chance because he couldn’t stay.
God’s hounds, he had to put a stop to this mania before it was too late. Before greed consumed him, making him no better than Carnage, Frank, or Fergus. Before he cast off his inhibitions and threw all caution to the wind, rushing headlong over the abyss and endangering Oriana’s and Chloe’s lives. Before he abandoned everything, including his duty.
But the truth was, he yearned to be transported to another place, for the savage intensity that claimed him in Oriana’s arms. He longed to discover what pleasured her, to learn everything there was to know about her.
Walsingham teased Oriana’s taut nipples and stroked her sensitive nub. He coaxed her to the threshold of release, imagining sinking inside her to the hilt and experiencing her tight, clenching channel pulsing around him with orgasmic delight.
The degree of her response stunned him as he abandoned his conquest of her breasts, recaptured her mouth, and roused her passions, stoking the flames burning inside her, tasting her delectable sweetness, and muffling her cries of ecstasy. And all the while, he grew harder than ever before as pressure mounted in his cock. Heart racing, fighting to ignore his own needs, he focused on satisfying Oriana, intent on pleasuring her until she surrendered herself and experienced a sense of completeness.
She deserved someone worthier than he was. She merited truth and the bonds of matrimony, not anguish and humiliation, which any union between them would undoubtedly bring. She needed to be loved.