Impulse (27 page)

With her thumb, she traced his upper lip, then his lower, and slid along the joinder of the two. As she did so, he kissed her thumb, surprising her. She jerked her hand back, and he opened his eyes.

“No, don't stop. I'm sorry. Would you rather I not?” He smiled faintly. “Just slap me if I get out of line.”

“Cam! How can you say that? I wouldn't. Anyway, I—I didn't mind.” It had startled her, but the sensation had been anything but unpleasant. And now she could let those pleasurable sensations run free, she realized. She would not have to worry about what would follow. “I like it,” she admitted, a little shyly, and placed her forefinger where her thumb had been, gliding along the line between his lips.

Emboldened by her statement, he opened his lips a little and pressed them around her finger. He slid his tongue along her finger, and she let out a breathy little gasp, but did not remove her finger. He kissed and caressed it, played over it with his tongue. His mouth was the only way he could touch her now, the only means
of persuasion at his disposal, and he used it to the utmost.

Angela's face grew slack. She moved her hips sensually against him, setting off a cannonade of desire in him. She pulled her hand away, placing both her hands on the sides of his face, again, and pressed her mouth against his. A long shudder ran through him. Cam wanted nothing so much as to take her mouth hungrily, but he held back, forcing himself to let her take the lead, to kiss him rather than receive his kiss.

Her lips moved on his. Then her tongue crept inside his mouth. Cam swallowed a groan. It was the most pleasurable torture to kiss her this way, to feel her tentative tongue explore his mouth, sending flames of desire through him, and yet to be unable to wrap his arms around her as he ached to and pull her tightly against him. Her tongue glided along his, sending a long shudder of passion rippling down his body. He answered with his own tongue, taking care not to be too bold, but to stroke and caress with the same soft, tentative movements she used.

He was rewarded by the rasp of Angela's breath in her throat and the way heat flamed across her skin. Her tongue moved more boldly, and her lips pressed into his. She settled into kissing him as if she could do it all night, experimenting with angles and pressures and movements, driving his desire higher and higher, until he thought he would explode. He could not suppress the moans that rose in his throat, or keep his arms from straining at their bonds, scarcely even noticing the pain as the cords bit into his wrists.

Finally Angela drew back from kissing him and sat for a moment, looking at him. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were lambent. Her mouth was dewy and faintly
swollen from the pressures of their kisses. It was the face of a woman awakened to pleasure, and the sight of it stirred Cam even more. There was nothing he wanted so much in the world at that moment as the freedom of his hands, so that he could touch her. Yet he knew that only by not touching her could he have this pleasure.

“I never noticed how you looked…I mean, at times like this,” she told him. Her hand curved over his cheek, and she traced his own passion-bruised lips with her thumb. “Tell me what else to do. I don't know how to— Oh, wait!” She remembered one thing Cam had done with her that ignited her whole body, back when they were young. She had even felt a thrill of pleasure from it when he did it since their marriage, before the coldness would clamp down on her and drive the desire out of her.

She leaned forward and placed a feathery, soft kiss on his earlobe. Then, gently, she took the fleshy lobe between her lips. He jerked in response and let out a small groan, and Angela smiled, knowledgeable enough to know that it was not pain that caused him to do so. Copying what he had done exactly, she laved the flesh with the tip of her tongue and toyed with it with her teeth. She could feel his whole body flame against her, and she knew that her efforts were successful. She moved to his other ear and tried the same experiment on it. Then she began to kiss his neck, amazed at the softness of the skin. Her mouth moved down his throat to the hollow, fascinated by the texture and heat. The hollow of his throat intrigued her, and she dipped her tongue into it. She heard the breath catch in his throat, and the sound of it stirred her further.

Angela sat back, contemplating him again, and it occurred to her that she wanted to see his chest and
arms. She reached out and unbuttoned his shirt. She shoved the material back and down his arms, but the shirt would go only so far, because of his bound hands and outstretched arms. She frowned.

Cam said huskily, “Cut it off.”

“What? Your shirt? But that's such a waste.”

He shrugged. “If it's what you want, do it.”

The idea intrigued her, and she slipped off the bed. In a few moments she was back from her room, a small set of embroidery scissors in her hand. She cut through the front of his shirt and into the sleeve, amazed at her boldness. But the tiny scissors took too long, so once she had gotten the cut started, she took the two sides of the cloth in her hands and tugged, ripping the sleeve apart, all the way down to the cuff. She did the same on the other sleeve, enjoying the way the tearing noise seemed to send an answering ripple right down through her torso to her abdomen. She left the remains dangling from his wrists as she sat back to gaze at his naked chest and shoulders. Tonight, she realized, she was free to look at him, without any worries about what was going to happen. She could study him as long and as carefully as she liked, without wondering what he would think or what he would do.

Cam was lean, but solid, his muscles pulled into relief by the bound position of his arms. His skin was dark, and his chest was lightly covered in black hair that curved downward into a V and disappeared into his trousers. Her eyes moved over his shoulders and down his chest, taking in the intriguing flat masculine nipples.

On impulse, she laid the palms of her hands flat on his chest, just below the collarbone, and slid her hands slowly downward, curving over his male breasts and
down the flat plane of his stomach. She felt the fleshy curve of muscle, the prickle of hair, the hard ridges of his ribs beneath the flesh.

He moved restively, involuntarily, at her touch, his eyes closing. His breath came in swift pants that made his chest rise and fall. As she watched his face intently for the signs of arousal that moved across it, Angela's fingers returned to the fleshy buttons of his nipples. She teased the little buds, caressing and squeezing and pressing, watching his face grow slacker and heavier with desire. It ignited a small fire deep in her own abdomen to see the pleasure on his face, to know that she had the power to make him twist and groan and ache for her.

Smiling almost wickedly, Angela reached out and began to unbutton his trousers.

L
IGHT FLARED IN
Cam's eyes, and he sucked in a quick breath. Angela glanced up at him, but with one look at his face—seeing the heightened color in his cheeks, the glint in his eyes—she knew better than to ask if he wished her to stop. Quickly she hooked her hands in the waistband of his trousers and pulled them down. He lifted his hips from the bed to aid her, and she peeled the clothes down and off his legs, tossing them off the end of the bed.

She turned and looked at him, letting her eyes roam down him, from his head to the tips of his toes, taking in every inch of naked flesh. The longer she looked at him, the more his maleness swelled and surged. When she had made a full and complete survey of him, she realized that it was not enough to look at him. She laid her hands on his collarbone and began an exploration with her fingertips. Her hands glided down over each arm and back up, then over his chest, paying special attention to the little buds that tightened and pointed at her touch. She combed through the hair there, smoothing it down into a V, and skimmed with her nails over his abdomen.

Her hands parted and moved lightly down his legs. When she reached his feet, her hands came back up the inside of his legs, firmly moving his thighs apart, until finally she came to a stop at the heavy sac between
them. His breath sounded like a freight train now, and his skin glistened with sweat. His manhood was stiff and engorged, the skin satiny and tight over it. Hesitantly Angela reached out and touched it with her fingertips.

Cam jerked and groaned, and she snatched her hand back.

“No,” he panted. “It's all right. Do whatever you want. Don't worry about me.”

Still shy, she reached out and stroked her fingertips down the shaft. He moved uncontrollably, making a noise deep in his throat, but this time Angela did not pull away. Instead, she curved her hand softly around the full, throbbing staff. Cam moved his hips, thrusting upward against her hand, and she understood that he wanted to be caressed. The idea intrigued her, and she did so, stroking her closed hand all the way down his shaft. She had held Dunstan's member before, of course, and moved her hand upon it as he ordered her, but it had not been the same. There had been no pleasure there, only fear. It was different with Cam. There was something so exciting about touching him and seeing his response. She wanted to do it again. Her fingertips slid down his shaft underneath, exploring the differing textures, and found the sac behind. She cupped and caressed it softly. He groaned, straining against his bonds, his face twisted as if in torture.

Angela released him and reached up to brush the sweat from his brow and lip. “I am sorry to hurt you,” she whispered, bending to kiss first his upper and then his lower lip.

“Don't be,” he assured her. “You are killing me, but it's heavenly.”

Angela smiled. On impulse, she bent and kissed one masculine nipple. Then, curious, she traced the tiny
button with her tongue. She began to lick and suck, to take the bud between her lips and manipulate it. Within moments Cam was writhing beneath her ministrations. She straddled him once again, thinking how intriguing it was to feel his bare staff pulsating against her most intimate place, and she wished that she had no clothes on, so that she could feel it on her bare skin. But she had no time for that now; she told herself that she would remember it tomorrow. Right now, she was interested only in settling down on his lap and devoting her time and attention to his other nipple. Her hands moved up and down his ribs, caressing and squeezing, as her mouth teased the two small buttons.

Cam jerked against the ropes, cursing, and he moved his hips beneath her, seeking ease for the passion pouring through him. He had never felt such pleasure as he did at her naive, eager exploration of his body, but neither had he ever felt such frustration. He ached to be inside her, to feel her tight all around him, to thrust over and over, until he found release.

Heat blossomed between Angela's legs. She could feel the pulsing beat of passion inside her, and she wanted more, wanted…something. She was not sure what it was, but the very wanting was exciting. She thought of going on to the natural conclusion, of letting him come inside her.

But the very thought made her tighten inside, the pleasure and anticipation fleeing her. Better to stop here, she thought. After all, she did not
have
to go on. She glanced up at Cam's face. He was in the throes of passion, and she knew he would not enjoy her stopping. She felt a little frisson of fear that at last she would see his anger, and quick on its heels came guilt that she was frustrating and denying him. She reminded herself that
Cam had said she could stop whenever she wanted. He had said she
should
stop when she reached the limits of her desire.

“I—I'm going to stop now,” she told him hesitantly.

She saw him sag against the ropes, and a groan escaped his lips. “I'm sorry.”

“No.” He shook his head, looking at her earnestly. “I meant it. Only what you want to do. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine.”

Angela got off the bed and went to the bedpost where the cord on his right hand was tied. She undid it almost completely, to the point that a single tug would pull it the rest of the way apart. Then she stepped back quickly and turned to hurry to her own door.

In the doorway, she paused and looked back at Cam. He was using his hand to untie the other cord, and he paused and glanced at her, sensing her gaze. He smiled at her, then went back to work. Angela went into her room, feeling light and giddy, and closed the door.

 

When Angela awoke the next morning, she could hardly believe that the events of the night before had actually happened. It all seemed a bizarre, fantastical dream. She went over it again in her mind to convince herself that it had really happened, and she felt the strange warmth between her legs all over again. Her nipples grew heavier and harder, and it amazed her that her own body could act this way.

Kate came cheerfully into the room at that moment and walked about opening the drapes and getting out a set of clothes for Angela, chattering away as she did so. Angela paid little attention to what Kate said as she mechanically got out of bed and let Kate help her dress.

Angela wondered how she would be able to face Cam again and what she would say when she did see him. She had acted so strangely, so unlike herself. She wondered what he thought of her now. She was certain that he must regret what he had offered last night. It must have been an unsatisfactory, frustrating time for him, and in her experience, men did not deal well with frustration. Today, surely, he would tell her that their little game was discontinued. The pang of regret she felt at the thought amazed her.

When she was fully dressed and her hair swept up in a soft knot on top, little tendrils escaping on the sides, Kate stepped back and surveyed her in a satisfied way. “Well, now, my lady, you look perfect, if I say so myself. It's nice to see that bloom back in your cheeks again. It's been a long time.” Kate grinned widely. “I imagine that has something to do with Cam, now, doesn't it?”

Angela blushed right up to her hairline at Kate's words, which made Kate chuckle. “Oh, my, I hit a nerve, didn't I? Maybe it's time that door between your rooms should be opened. What do you say?”

“Kate, hush!” Angela jumped up and rushed out of the room.

She hurried downstairs and into the dining room, praying with all her heart that Cam would not be there. Her prayers were not answered. As soon as she stepped in the door, her eyes went to him, sitting placidly eating his breakfast. To make matters worse than she had imagined, however, she saw that on this morning of all mornings, her grandmother and mother had both decided to come down to breakfast. Even the early-rising Mr. Pettigrew had apparently dallied about his meal, for he was at the table, as well. Angela could only be grateful that Jeremy, at least, had gone back to London.

“Good morning, my dear,” Cam said, standing up when he saw her and smiling at her.

Again Angela could not keep from blushing, though thankfully this time the stain touched only her cheeks.

“How lovely you look this morning,” he went on, pulling back the chair beside him for her to sit on. “Obviously you must have had a refreshing night.” Angela's eyes widened a little at his remark, and she glanced hastily at her grandmother.

But the elder Lady Bridbury just nodded, saying in her booming voice, “He's right, Angela. You look absolutely blooming this morning. Doesn't she, Laura?”

“Oh, yes, my dear,” her mother assured her, giving Angela a vague glance. “Positively lovely, but then, you always are.”

Her grandmother gave an inelegant snort. “Hah! Laura, you ninny, Angela's looked peaked for years.”

“What? Oh, no, I don't think so. Angela is never sick, you know.”

The elder Lady Bridbury rolled her eyes. Angela sat down hastily in her chair, and a footman came forward with coffee for her.

Cam went on, an irrepressible twinkle in his eye. “I, too, had a good night. Very interesting dreams. Did you have interesting dreams, my dear?”

“Yes, thank you,” Angela said, shooting him a look designed to stop his flights of fancy.

“You know, that makes me think,” Lady Bridbury joined in. “I had a dream last night, as well. Isn't that remarkable? All of us dreaming like that? Must be the moon.”

“Yes, probably,” Angela answered, trying to ignore Cam's grin.

The remainder of the meal limped along in the same
fashion, with Cam making remarks laden with double entendres, smiling and teasing her with his eyes, and her grandmother and mother inserting their own answers— in her mother's case, usually non sequiturs—until it was all Angela could do not to laugh.

Finally Cam took his leave of the ladies, joining Mr. Pettigrew in the study. Angela realized that she ought to be relieved, but instead, the morning seemed to have become suddenly flat. She wondered how she was going to get through the day.

She took the dogs for a walk, but that did not seem to help. She started three sketches and ruined every one. She tried to read, then tried to do needlepoint, and finally spent an hour knitting, until she realized that she would have to unravel everything she had done and start all over again because of the obvious mistakes she had made.

Her mind could not stick on anything…except the things that she had done to Cam last night. She could not seem to
stop
thinking about that. There must be, she thought, some wickedness deep inside her that she should keep dwelling on the events of the previous night, some licentiousness that she had never previously even suspected existed.
What in the world had Cam brought out in her?

Her nerves grew worse throughout the day, until finally, when she had undressed for the evening and gotten ready for bed, she was so jittery that she was unable to sit still. She paced her room, going from the window to the wardrobe to the door and back again, playing with the sash of her dressing gown. She kept thinking that Cam would not want to repeat what had happened the night before. Yet she could not suppress the hope that he would. When, at last, there was a knock on her door,
she jumped and whirled around, her heart pounding as if it were about to leap out of her chest. She crossed the room swiftly and opened the door.

Cam was standing on the other side. He was dressed as he had been the night before, in only trousers and a white shirt. The shirt hung open down the front, exposing a swath of bare skin. In one hand, he casually held the tassled cords. Angela's eyes went to the cords. Wordlessly, Cam held them out, offering them to her, his brows raised quizzically. Angela's heart was slamming so wildly in her chest that she was glad she did not have to speak. Just as silently, she reached out and took the cords.

Cam turned and strolled back to his bed. He pulled his shirt off, saying, “If you don't mind, I think I'll take this off first—to save wear and tear on my wardrobe.”

Angela would have made some clever retort, if she could have thought of one, but she was too busy looking at the smooth skin of his firmly muscled back. Cam started to get into the bed, but she reached out, touching his back, and he stopped immediately.

“Wait. I— Could we do it differently?” she asked in a low voice. She was hot with embarrassment, but she plunged ahead.

“Of course.” He had not moved an inch, was still standing, waiting passively, but she could see the tension in every line of his back. Cam was not at all indifferent. “However you want.”

“I—I have not seen your back,” Angela explained jerkily, glad that he could not see the flush that stained her cheeks.

She heard the quick inrush of his breath. He was silent for a heartbeat, and when he spoke, his voice was
hoarse. “Uh…why don't I stand?” He turned, holding out his hands to her, wrists together. “You can tie them to the bedpost.”

Angela quickly tied his wrists together with a single cord, keeping her head down, so that she would not have to look in his eyes. Then she tied the other end of the cord to the tall, sturdy post of the bed. As she stepped back, she glanced into his face. His black eyes burned with an unholy fire. An answering flame sprang up in her abdomen.

A little shakily, she moved behind him. His back was beautiful to her; she had never before dreamed that it could stir her just to study the sculpted lines of his muscles. She laid her hands on his shoulders and drew them slowly down over his back, gliding over the taut muscles. With her forefinger, she traced the knobby ridge of his backbone. She could hear Cam's breath rasping in his throat, and his back was tight, every muscle clenched. She looked over at his hands and saw that he had wrapped them around the bedpost and was gripping it tightly.

Angela stepped closer and reached her arms around him, her fingers going to the waistband of his trousers to unbutton them. He swallowed a groan. After she had unfastened the trousers, she slid her hand inside them from the back, pushing them down over his buttocks. They slid to the floor, and he kicked them aside. Angela stepped back, admiring the curves of his buttocks and legs. He was even better to look at this way, every line flowing naturally into the next. She could not resist touching him.