The Countess Conspiracy (Brothers Sinister #3)(89)

He was hard with want, and the thought of his taking her…

Just a hint of fear, quickly banished. Sebastian had never been one to take—just to give and give and give. Well, there was one thing she wouldn’t let him give her.

She’d take his sweet, tender kisses, his lips enfolding hers over and over. She’d take the brush of his hands against her body, skin on fabric, warming her to the core. But she would never let him give her safety, not at the expense of her own heart.

“Violet, love,” he whispered to her. “My most wonderful Violet.”

“Sebastian.”

No, he wouldn’t be the only one to give. She pulled away—but only to take his hand and lead him to his home. They crept through it like criminals, sneaking through his study door and then up the servants’ staircase, avoiding the lights of the library where their friends were no doubt still awake and arguing. They slipped into his bedchamber, hand in hand; when he’d swung the door shut, he kissed her again.

“Stop me,” he said. “Stop me any time you wish—”

“I don’t.”

He undid her gown with a few twists of her buttons, sliding the cloth past her shoulders, down her body to land on the floor. Then he kissed her again. But this time, it wasn’t just his mouth on hers, his hands sliding down the fabric of her gown. This time, his hands made their way up her chest, leaving trails of electricity. Her corset laced in front; his fingers were deft against her skin, loosening, undoing, until that garment also fell away.

Then only her shift lay between his hands and her br**sts. His fingers rose, cupping her bosom, and twisting cleverly, doing something that sent a spark of pure lust through her. He did it again and again, and then, when she was just coming to expect that rough friction, he leaned down and took her nipple in his mouth through the fabric.

Her knees buckled. “Sebastian,” she whispered, grabbing hold of him. “Oh, God. Sebastian. You haven’t taken off your clothing.”

“Well,” he whispered back, “that’s your task, isn’t it?”

She tried. Oh, she tried. But his trousers stymied her in the darkness. Her fingers scarcely had a chance to grip before he was removing her petticoat. Cool air touched her legs—momentarily—and then, before she could manage to undo even the first button, he pulled away.

“I think you’re cheating.”

He set his hands on her ankles and looked up at her. His grin was cocky and untamed. “I know I am,” he told her, and he slid his hands up. Up, under her shift, up until he encountered the linen of her drawers.

Up further still, past her knees, her thighs, sliding until he found the waistband of her drawers.

Somehow, he managed to undo the tie with one hand. In the dark. Under her shift. Thank God for rakes.

“Shall I cheat some more?” he asked.

He didn’t wait for an answer. He leaned forward and kissed her on her shift over her navel. And then—because he’d hiked the fabric to her waist and was sliding her drawers down, his mouth brushed her skin below, sliding down, down.

“Oh, please,” Violet gasped. “Cheat desperately.”

He slid his tongue between her thighs, and this time, her knees really did give way. He caught her gently, laid her on the bed, and then bent over her. God, that felt good—so good—to be able to relax into the magic of his touch and let the world slide away.

To fear nothing. He swept away all her cares, drowning them in sweet pleasures. In the pressure of his mouth on the center of her pleasure, the strength of his fingers, sliding up her body. She was close—so close to that moment—

He lifted his head.

“Oh, God, Sebastian. Don’t stop.”

“But I won,” he announced.

“You…won?” Her whole body echoed with want, so close to completion that she almost vibrated with need.

“Indeed.” He held up her shift, which he’d untangled from her arms. “I undressed you first.”

She might have argued—if she’d had another night with him, she probably would have. But she had only tonight.

She raised herself up on one elbow. “What do you win? Something wicked?”

“Something wonderful,” he said solemnly.

Yes. She could give him that. Something perfect. Something for tonight, something to remember her by. He took off his coat, his waistcoat. He undid his belt, winking at her as he did. He slid his trousers and smallclothes down, revealing the crumpled tails of his shirt and strong thighs dusted in dark hair, thick-muscled calves. Her mouth went dry.

He lifted his shirt over his head, revealing the planes of his chest at the same time as his thick, hard erection pointing toward her.

He turned away for a moment and then came back.

“Here,” he said, sliding something into her hand. “This is a sheath.”

It was made of a flexible material. Not of animal intestine, as she’d been expecting.

“Vulcanized rubber,” he told her, as if he’d followed the chain of her thoughts, “and if you ask me about the process at this moment, you’ll owe me two ices.”

She couldn’t help but smile in the darkness.

“Here’s my prize. I want you to help me put it on.”

She slid her hand over his penis. It was long and smooth, the shaft firm to her touch.