To Beguile a Beast (Legend of the Four Soldiers #3)(73)

“He wanted to touch you, I know,” he said as he rubbed his hands over her shoulders and to her arms. “He wanted to touch and taste and feel you.”

“But he didn’t.” She placed her palms, cool and soft, on either side of his face. “He didn’t touch me.”

“Thank God.” He took her mouth savagely, thrusting his tongue into her, wanting to blot the image of Lister from both their minds.

Her acceptance calmed him until he could once again pull away.

“I’m sorry.” He closed his eye in disgust at himself. “You must think me a ravening beast.”

“No,” she said quietly. He felt her soft lips brush over the scarred side of his face. “I think you a man. Only that. A man.”

And when she brought her lips back to his, he was able to kiss her gently this time. Sweetly. Worshipping her.

His eye was still closed—perhaps he no longer wanted to see the reality of their situation—so he only felt when she ran her hands over his chest, the pressure light through the layers of his clothing. Her hands descended down toward his breeches, and a primal male part of him waited, breathless, to see what she would do. Her fingers moved over the buttons of his fall, loosening, freeing him.

He reached for her then. “Helen.”

“No,” she said, quite firmly. “No, let me.”

And his hands fell away, because although he was a man of honor, he was by no means a saint. He heard the rustle of her skirts as she knelt, felt her fingers on his throbbing cock, and then the brush of her breath.

He made a heroic effort and tried one more time to dissuade her. “You don’t have to.”

Her whisper blew across the swollen head of his cock as she said, “I know.”

Then her hot wet mouth enveloped him, and he could only groan and brace his legs so he wouldn’t fall. God! He’d paid a whore for this once, long ago, but it’d been a disappointment. Then, there had been rough sucking and pulling and he’d barely been able to finish. Now… Now there was gentle pressure, the velvet touch of her tongue, and most of all, the knowledge that she was doing this to him. He couldn’t help himself. He opened his eye and looked down and nearly came on the spot. Her golden head was bent over him, his reddened prick sliding in between her pink lips, her fingers delicate and white against his rude flesh.

She looked up at him, his cock still in her stretched mouth, and her harebell-blue eyes were dark now. Mysterious, feminine, and the most erotic thing he’d ever seen in his life.

HE TASTED OF man and salt and life itself.

Helen closed her eyes, savoring the sensation of Alistair’s penis in her mouth. She’d done this a few times with Lister, but she’d found the act distasteful then. Something she’d only performed to please him. What she did now pleased her as well. There was power in holding the most elemental part of a man between her lips, feeling him tremble as she stroked him, hearing his breath come quick and hard as she sucked.

And there was something else. She liked the taste of him, liked licking his smooth head. Liked stroking the soft skin of his shaft and feeling the steely hardness beneath. This was erotic. Primal, and just a little bit naughty. Her breasts were swollen beneath her bodice and stays, her nipples sensitive and pointed. She could feel wetness at the juncture of her thighs, and she pressed them together and sucked strongly on him at the same time.

“God!” he rasped above her.

She felt like the most alluring woman in England at that moment. She reached carefully, tenderly, into his breeches and found his stones, heavy in their sac. They were like eggs in the softest of leather bags, and she rolled them gently in her hand. She sucked again.

He growled.

She looked up. His head was back, his hands clenched by his sides, and she could feel his thighs, hard and tensed by her head. She could continue this, sucking him until he lost control and spewed his seed into her mouth. The idea was wickedly seductive, and she pursed her lips to draw strongly on him.

But she’d misjudged him. He bent suddenly, scooping her up in his arms so fast she squeaked in alarm. He threw her on the bed, and she hadn’t finished bouncing when he landed beside her.

“Enough,” he snapped.

He tore at her laces, ripping her bodice from her and flinging it halfway across the room.

“Enough playing. Enough cock teasing. Enough drawing this out.”

He pulled her skirts from her and flipped her before she had time to react. He pushed and pulled her until she was on her knees, braced on her elbows, and threw up the skirt of her chemise. He entered her from behind without warning, and she gasped.

Hot and hard. Long and full.

She bit her lip, trying not to cry out at the sensation. He was so right, so perfect. He withdrew a bit, adjusting his hold on her bare hips before slamming back into her. Thrusting fast, thrusting deep. Her arms slid forward under his hard lovemaking, until she caught herself and braced again. Then she closed her eyes and simply felt. His strong slide against her wet, soft flesh. The heat building at her center.

He stopped suddenly, and she did cry out this time—in disappointment. But he reached beneath her, still sheathed to the hilt in her body, and ran his hands over the tops of her breasts. He pulled a bit, and her nipples popped over the top of her stays, hard and abraded. He pinched them roughly, and she bit her lip, pushing back at his hips.

He laughed, a breathless growling sound, and resumed pounding into her, one hand holding her firm to receive him, the other still teasing her nipples. She groaned and looked down, watching his big, tanned hand playing over her white breasts. The sight made her clench internally, and she exploded suddenly, wrenchingly, her arms giving out from beneath her at the force. Light flew from her center, blinding her and making her limbs weak from pleasure. She collapsed flat on the bed, and he followed her down, still thrusting powerfully, his cock a live thing within her, demanding submission, demanding pleasure.