From Governess to Countess (Matches Made in Scandal #1)(44)
And above, the ceiling depicted a celestial-blue sky. ‘Psyche’s wedding,’ Aleksei informed her. ‘The whole chamber is a copy of the Imperial bedchamber of the Gatchina Palace, which was built by Catherine the Great for her favourite lover, Count Orlov—and yes, he is a distant relation of our missing governess, I believe.’
Aleksei released a hidden catch to open a gate in the railing. He sat on the bed, holding his hand out to indicate she join him on the embroidered silk coverlet. Light from the candles reflected from two huge mirrors which flanked the bed.
‘If you think it’s too bright I can snuff out some of the candles,’ Aleksei said, kissing the nape of her neck, his fingers tugging her hair free of pins, ‘But frankly I would prefer to see you in all your glory.’ More kisses, down the column of her throat.
Until Aleksei, Allison’s previous experience of lovemaking had been under the covers and in the dark. Now she relished the contrast, relished the edge of daring, which racked up her already high level of anticipation. ‘Let the candles burn,’ she said, ‘I want to look at you too.’
She did so brazenly, running her hands over the endearing kink in his hair, down his back, while her eyes travelled down past the open neck of his shirt, the falls of his breeches.
She smoothed her hand over his shaved chin and he exhaled sharply. His hair was so closely cut to his head at the back, it was prickly, and yet silky smooth where it was longer. ‘Your eyes match the colour of this room,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘As does your gown. It is almost exactly the same colour as this bed. I think we should remove it, lest you disappear entirely.’
Her cornflower-blue day dress laced at the back. Aleksei turned her around and began to deal efficiently with the fastenings, distracting her with kisses while he worked, focusing his efforts on rousing sensations in every part of her body. His lips were warm on her bare skin, kissing her nape and her shoulders as he loosened her gown, slipping his hands inside to cup her breasts through her chemise, his thumbs circling her nipples, sending little frissons of pleasure rippling through her. Gently, he eased her arms free, pressing kisses on to the pulse points in the crook of her elbow, on her wrist.
Easing her to her feet, he removed the gown before wrapping his arms around her, cupping her bottom through her petticoats. She twined her arms around his neck, pressing herself closer, feeling the hard length of him against her belly. Their kisses became deeper, their tongues touching and tasting, but there was still a restraint, their eyes open, watching, desire reflecting desire. His mouth drifted down to the neckline of her chemise. He kissed the swell of her breasts, the valley between them, cupping, stroking, making her pulse with pleasure. This was not to be like the last time. This was no urgent sating, but a slow savouring.
She tugged his shirt free from his breeches. She slid her hands up, under the soft cambric, flattening her palms over the taut skin of his back, feeling the knots of his spine then moving her hands to the front, to caress the ripple of his abdomen, the breadth of his chest, the hard nubs of his nipples. His breathing was fast, like hers. Colour slashed his cheeks. His eyes were ablaze with passion. It stoked the flame of hers, the way he looked at her, the way he breathed her name. It made her feel powerful. Confident. When he pulled his shirt over his head, she pressed herself against him, kissing the hard wall of his chest, daring to lick his nipple, and when he moaned softly, further daring to suck on it.
He muttered something under his breath in Russian. Then he picked her up, laying her on her back on the bed. Her slippers were removed. Her garters undone. There were kisses where she had never experienced kisses before, arousing kisses on her toes, her ankle, on her calf, behind her knee. First one leg, as he slowly removed her stockings, and then the other. As she held her breath, expecting for him to move higher, instead he lay down beside her, and there were more kisses. On her breasts, as he undid the ribbons at the neckline of her chemise. And then his mouth sucking on her nipples in a way that almost overset her, that made her curl her toes to regain control, and when that did not work, she pushed him away, taking him by surprise and rolling him on to his back, straddling him, her hair a curtain over them, sensing the barely leashed passion in his kiss and relishing it, wanting him to lose control, but wanting him not to.
‘Wait,’ she said, still kissing him, feeling the rigid shape of his erection through his breeches, between her legs, and wondering if she could follow her own advice.
‘I will,’ he said, ‘but you—no, I think not.’
Catching her by the waist, he rolled her over, managing to remove her chemise at the same time. She lay naked, spread out on the blue-silk coverlet of the state bed, but the way he feasted his eyes on her prevented her from feeling any sort of embarrassment. She did not need him to tell her he thought her beautiful, but he did anyway, and she believed him. She did not need to tell him to remove the rest of his clothes. Her eyes spoke volumes, and he did her bidding, and she feasted her eyes on him, as he had done on her, relishing, unashamed. Tanned torso, narrow waist, long, muscular legs, and the thick erection jutting between them. She sat up, tentatively touching. Another new and unfamiliar act. Her fingers fluttered over the length of him, so hard and yet so silky smooth. When she curled her hand around his girth, he moaned and he pulsed and his jaw worked in the effort to control himself, and she felt herself unravel, just watching it. A careful stroke, up and down, and he moaned again, and another, and he breathed out her name, and another, and she was on her back.