2Rakehell (6 page)

Long low moans spilled from her lips as she wilted over his
head and shoulders. Her knees slipped from their perch and as she sagged into
his lap, she took his face in her hands, tilted his face up and sought his
mouth.

His arms froze and then suddenly tightened around her. His
lips parted to admit her tongue. She tasted herself, salty and sweet, as she
probed his mouth with a passion she never knew she possessed.

Never relinquishing their kiss, he fumbled to undo his
breeches. He dragged her hips forward and all at once her body was filled to
capacity. A groan escaped her but he refused to let go. One hand encircled her
hips, the other burrowed into the hair at her nape, holding her head captive.

His kiss deepened with dark need that fueled her already out-of-control
arousal. He moved beneath her, pumping into her, his groin creating erotic
friction against her too-sensitive clitoris. Inside his steely flesh stroked
needy tissue, awakening secret places within that filled her with the knowledge
she’d never again be the same.

This one morning had irrevocably changed her.

She’d thought she could copulate with him to produce an heir
and walk merrily away.

She’d never before been so woefully wrong.

As she rode him and kissed him she knew she’d do everything
in her power to keep him at Scarborough Hall.

Everything.

Adam’s fingers dug into her nape. He’d given up control the
moment she’d kissed him but by God he wasn’t about to stop now. She felt too
good inside. Too hot. And she’d been too damn responsive to being dominated.

Already scenarios for future sessions played out in his
head. Primrose bound and blindfolded. Primrose on her hands and knees with that
lovely bum turned up and ready to accept his cock.

Primrose on display for all to see at the club…

A reprimanding voice crept up from the back of his brain,
reminding him that he treaded dangerous waters with his wife. At the club she
would be required to submit to the dungeon Master of the evening for her
initiation. Adam willed the conflicting emotions away. Finally he tore his
mouth from hers, seized her hips in his hands and bounced her rhythmically on
his cock. Warm, wet flesh sucked at his erection. Her breasts bobbed, begging
for attention he had yet to give them. Tight, short breaths fragrant with
peppermint blew against his face. Her soft moans caressed his ears.

With her eyes squeezed shut she looked stunningly beautiful.
Her forehead crinkled and the adorable way she had her bottom lip drawn between
her teeth struck him as innocuously innocent.

A sudden shudder tore through her. Her lips parted and her
chin dropped and then she cried out as her sheath spasmed around him. Unable to
tear his gaze from her face he watched in abject awe.

The realization he’d given her this pleasure filled him with
a sense of power and wonder he hadn’t felt in years.

One-night trysts with any comely willing woman had jaded
him. Giggling and laughing, they’d bawdily gone along with his need to
dominate, to please them beyond anything they’d previously known. And with
them—those faceless bodies—he’d always withdrawn and spent his issue on their
bellies or arses. Not with Primrose. In spite of his promise to sire a child in
her he couldn’t have pulled out if he’d wanted to.

Her eyes opened and her passion-clouded gaze locked with his
and held.

His own orgasm gripped him without warning. Everything
inside him tightened until he felt he’d snap and then pleasure detonated,
exploding through his limbs, his torso—his cock—as blessed rapture razed him
deep in the sweet confines of his wife’s body.

When the last tendril of ecstasy subsided he thumbed her
hair back. Logic told him to get up and go back to his room. His emotions were
too raw to risk letting her get any closer than she already had.

But when she laid her head on his shoulder and sighed
contentedly against his neck while his waning arousal still throbbed inside
her, he couldn’t force her away. He stroked the silken strands of her
honey-colored hair before he gathered her in his arms, stood and then carried
her to the bed.

“I should be getting dressed. I have a million things to
do,” she began.

Ignoring her protest, he began unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m
not through with you yet.”

* * * * *

Primrose regarded her sleeping husband. She should have
risen long ago but after he’d taken her twice more, she’d been so physically
sated and drained she’d been reluctant to do anything but doze in his arms.
He’d fallen asleep immediately and while their encounter had left her
exhausted, she couldn’t allow herself to surrender to fatigue.

Myriad emotions nibbled at her, the foremost of which was
fear. She harbored no illusions about her husband. Common sense prevailed. When
he tired of her he’d leave again. It was a punishment she’d have to endure in
order to gain the child she so desperately wanted.

Adam would eventually go back to the dens, to those women.
Primrose harbored no illusions about that. But a child… His child… Fulfilling
the earl’s last request was easy for her because at least she would have a part
of Adam. At least they would share a child.

Even if he stayed she realized that he, like all men, would
tire of home life and seek pleasure elsewhere. While that hadn’t concerned her
before, the idea of Adam in the arms of another woman made her feel sick inside
now.

The shadows lengthened in the room, making her wonder how
long she’d lain here. It seemed sinful, being abed for the better part of a
day. But Primrose could not bring herself to rise, to don clothes.

She’d never been naked for so long a time in her life and
some until-now-unacknowledged part of her…liked it. She enjoyed the feel of the
sheets on her bare legs, her belly. She’d luxuriated in the air caressing her
nude flesh when she’d stripped for Adam. And his hands. Oh his hands.

He touched her with a certainty that evidenced vast
experience. And while a spark of jealousy flared in her at the idea of him
being intimate with other women, another element of her offered herself up like
a sacrificial lamb to his inordinately skilled hands.

She’d never imagined how coupling could involve both the
mind and body. Prior to today, she’d assumed only the flesh was concerned. But
trepidation—sheer not knowing what he’d do next—lust and carnal sensation had
rendered her his willing slave.

In spite of it all guilt gnawed at her. She needed to get
out of bed, to dress, to attend to household matters.

Biting her bottom lip, she inched toward the edge of the
bed, hoping not to wake Adam.

She failed.

His eyes opened and focused on her before turning feral. Her
stomach tightened when he scooped an arm around her and dragged her to him.

“Where are you going?” he asked roughly.

“I’ve no idea what time it is. There is so much I must—”

He grunted. “Do you want to rise?”

Stricken, she debated. “I have to…”

His eyes searched hers, opening her to him, laying bare her
soul. It was too penetrating. Too exposing.

His amber irises turned a rich shade of mahogany. “I did not
give you permission to leave this bed.”

Primrose’s pulse rioted. Every instinct she possessed
screamed at her to resist his dominance. Deeper than that, her body begged for
it.

He must have seen her indecision. “As your Master I forbid
it. Therefore you must obey.”

Involuntarily she arched as his palm skimmed down her belly,
as his fingers sought her folds.

“Are you sore?” he asked.

Even as her legs opened to admit his hand, she gave him an
almost imperceptible nod. He let out a rough chuckle and continued to stroke
her, moving his fingers over her clitoris until it hardened to his touch.

A growl tore from his throat and he ripped back the covers,
baring her body for his viewing. “Put your hands against the headboard and
don’t move them,” he commanded.

Without so much as considering resistance she obeyed.
Pleasure began a slow build inside her, swirling upward from where his fingers
worked their magic.

His mouth captured one of her breasts and he eyed her as he
lightly raked his teeth along the nipple. Primrose’s breathing hitched as he
gave her a little bite. His lips moved to the other breast where he sucked her
nipple to a hard, aching peak. An invisible line fused and tightened between
her breasts and her sex.

Her eyes closed and she rocked against his hand, his mouth.
“Please…” she heard herself muttering. “I’m so close.”

He kneeled. “I want you on your knees.”

Her eyes snapped open and their gazes clashed. “I can’t do
that,” she protested.

“Oh I assure you, you can.”

She wanted to. Heaven only knew how badly she wanted to get
on her knees and present herself for the taking. Propriety prevented her.

“On your knees.” This time he brooked no refusal. He lifted
and twisted her onto her belly then dragged her hips up.

Before she had time to refuse him—to pretend some more that
she didn’t want this—she was head-down, bottom-up on the bed.

His hands spread her open. She knew he had an unimpeded view
of her entrance, of her rosette, but she couldn’t have shied away if she’d
wanted to. All her life she’d been told nudity was shameful. Now, that shame
heightened her pleasure and intensified all physical sensation to the point she
felt drunk on it.

Fingers—two by the feel of them—pushed inside her
sex-slickened channel, probing, sliding pleasurably over sensitive tissue.

Her fingers fisted in the sheets and she sighed into her
pillow. The pad of his thumb teased the responsive strip of flesh connecting
her two openings and then settled, pressing insistently against her anus.

She let out a little yelp, fearing invasion that threatened
but did not come. Despite her fears even that part of her desired to yield to
him.

His fingers splayed across the small of her back as he
positioned himself behind her. The head of his cock brushed against her inner
thigh and then raked through her furrow, parting her, pushing and then—

“Oh!” Primrose cried as he filled her passage, as her body
adjusted to the girth of his erection.

His first two thrusts came in long slow glides that left her
trembling. Every inch of him reawakened her desire. His fingers pressed into
her back, positioning her so that her bottom lifted and her sex tilted back.
His heavy sac rocked against her with every drive, compelling her to counter
him in need of more contact.

“I can’t be gentle with you,” he ground out.

“Then don’t try,” Primrose declared boldly.

He inhaled roughly and then seized either side of her hips,
anchoring her as he rutted her hard and fast. Groin slapped groin. The sound of
wet suction and punctuated breaths filled the room.

Doubtless she’d be bruised come tomorrow. She didn’t care.
Sensation mounted and swirled, teasing and then withdrawing. Ecstasy lurked
just out of reach and she battled with the desire to prolong this moment
against the searing need for culmination.

Coherent thought fled until only this maddening heat existed
between them. This friction. This fusion. His dominance and her submission.

She drifted beyond her original intention of copulating with
him merely to beget an heir.

This…

Oh this was animal.

Instinctual.

She ground her teeth and mewled, spreading her thighs
unbearably wider, surrendering to the burning strain to achieve more pressure
against her clitoris.

Shadows consumed her, plunging her into a dark space where
he became her only source of light. Where a fine line between safety and danger
served as her sole boundary.

The top of her head found the headboard and she braced
herself with her hands, pushing back even as he strove, it seemed, to drive her
through the very wood.

He muttered language she should have been shocked to hear.
Instead the words he used drove her higher toward the precipice. “Your pussy’s
so wet. So tight. I can’t get enough of your body.” His words were but
breathless moans that wafted over her skin and permeated her being.

On her knees, raw from fucking and being pummeled from
behind as if she were a milkmaid, Primrose had never felt more beautiful. More
desired.

His fingers clutched harder. The spasms of his own orgasm
vibrated through his limbs and into hers. He cried out so loud she feared one
of the servants would surely come to investigate. Primrose wanted to come with
him. She plunged her fingers between her legs and rubbed her clit, feeling his
sac grind against the back of her hand as she ratcheted her pleasure higher.

There it was. Holding her breath she welcomed the little
death. Her channel shuddered at first and then violent tremors seized hold of
her. Bliss rippled through her belly, up her spine and into the base of her
skull. Stars exploded behind her squeezed-shut eyelids, leaving her wildly
awash like a battered skiff against a rocky shore.

As the sensation transformed into a soft hum she became
vaguely aware of his arms circling her, twisting her, drawing her into a warm
embrace.

Her fist curled gently against his chest as her head found
the hollow of his shoulder. Breathing in the scent of him, of sex and warm
linen, she drifted.

His fingers combed through her hair and his lips brushed her
forehead once, then twice. “Did I hurt you?”

She snuggled closer, threading a leg between his. “No.”

He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “I can’t
help myself with you.”

“Why not?” She shouldn’t have asked but she wanted to know.
She had to know if she was somehow different from those women such as the two
harpies she’d seen in that opium den. Mortified, she realized it shouldn’t
matter as long as she achieved her goal of producing an heir. But it did.

It suddenly mattered a great deal to her.

He lay silent until she thought she would scream but she
refused to speak until he answered her question. Finally his body stilled
beneath her and he answered her. “Because I want to punish you.”

She’d hoped for words of endearment. She’d expected him to
fling a barb at her. But she hadn’t expected that.

He’d probably intended some other meaning but she saw
herself bent over his knee again as he spanked her bare bottom and threatened
to prod her in the most unthinkable places. Her body shivered with delicious
anticipation and before she could stop herself she uttered words she
immediately regretted. “I deserve to be punished.”

She lifted herself off him far enough to look into his eyes.
“I want to be punished.”

Her heart thudded like a drum in her chest. Her eyes
watered. She couldn’t swallow.

His unreadable gaze roved over her face and then he tenderly
brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. “My things don’t appear to have been touched
in my absence.”

“They were not,” she said softly, wondering why he so
abruptly changed the subject. For an instant rejection flooded her.

“Hamish could have claimed that chamber. You could have
thrown out my belongings. At the very least packed them away.”