My Unfair Lady (18 page)

   Summer did burn; she could feel it along every nerve in her body. Just watching him look at her made any other feeling she'd ever had in her life pale in comparison.

   And he hadn't left her.

   Byron lowered his head and touched her lips with his own. Gently, carefully, he explored her mouth, his entire being focused on that connection, the rest of the world fading away to insignificance. Her arms curled around his neck, and he groaned, amazed with himself, for he'd always kept in control, had always considered himself the seducer. Although his body continued to guide him from long practice, he had to fight himself from getting lost in her.

   He followed with his tongue where his gaze had traveled earlier and discovered new places that his eyes hadn't reached: the back of her ear, the underside of her breast, the inside of her thighs.

   Summer shuddered. She'd never even imagined the feeling of a man's tongue caressing her entire body, tasting her as if she were the finest of desserts. What had she done? She needed him, now, yes, but what of her word to Monte? Just because she felt so alone, was it right to use the duke just to banish that feeling? She should stop him, oh tarnation, she should stop him now before she no longer had the strength to do so.

   He'd placed his hands against her inner thighs and gently nudged her legs apart, his tongue still moving, seeking the part of her that throbbed in time to the strokes of that wet, warm weapon.

   "Marriage," she whispered. Well, she thought, it had worked once before.

   He didn't even twitch. "Mmm hmm," he responded, his hands sliding up to the center of her, gentle fingers running through her curly, dark hair, spreading apart the petals that protected that nub of desire, which responded to the rush of cool air upon it with a contraction of ecstasy. Her legs spread farther apart of their own volition, and she heard him chuckle and murmur, "I knew it, I knew it," and he shifted those hot, strong hands to the backs of her thighs and pushed upward until her knees met her ears.

   Summer hadn't known she was capable of such a position, hadn't known that men and women did this sort of thing. She'd spied on a saloon girl once, on a dare from Maria, and knew that the sexual act consisted of a man's bare buttocks pumping briefly atop a woman's body. Like a starving man gulping down a hot meal, then sitting back with a satisfied burp. That's what she'd always thought she'd be able to look forward to when she married. Not this intimate discovery of herself, nor the indescribable pleasure this man's hands and tongue were giving her.

   What in tarnation was the duke doing? Didn't he know the way things were done?

   Then his tongue took a long, slow lick from her wet opening up to the top of her nub, and she could no longer think about anything at all but the feeling that prodded her to spread her legs open even farther, like the bloom of a flower welcoming the penetrating heat of the sun.

   Byron lifted his head and stared at her with something akin to awe. "Like your name," he said, his voice tinged with delight. "You taste just like summer wine."

   He dipped his head and took another slow, sweeping lick. Looked up at her again. "I love the taste of you, woman."

   Summer couldn't stand it anymore; she bucked beneath his hands, trying to reach his mouth, that lovely tongue. Why did he keep stopping? Why did he torture her?

   The Duke of Monchester grinned at her wickedly, knowing what she wanted, even if she didn't. She seemed so innocent, acting on instinct alone, and he drank in the sight of her face, her eyes wide with wonder, her full bottom lip slightly open, and her panting with a need she couldn't define. He knew she'd be a passionate, wild thing. He'd fantasized about teaching her the many ways of love. But now they'd have years to explore all the ways they could pleasure each other, and if he could just manage to keep himself in control, from not ripping off his clothes and taking her with the violent need his soul kept demanding from him, he'd make her first experience with a real man one she'd never forget.

   "Be still," he commanded.

   Summer stopped struggling, afraid he'd stop alto gether, wanting more of him in whatever way he chose to give.

   He dipped his head again. Summer gasped with relief. Another stroke, and another, but slowly, so slowly that she wanted to scream with the tension that racked her body, that made her strain toward relief. She tossed her head in agony, and he only chuckled, the heartless man. He knew what he was doing to her, knew that soon he'd have her begging and crying out his name.

   "Byron." She couldn't help it. "Byron, please."

   The Duke of Monchester looked up at her flushed face again and frowned. She sounded genuinely distressed. "I can give you partial relief now," he gently told her. "Or give you pleasure in more ways than one. What will you have of me?"

   That last question made her adore him. "I want it all."

   He grinned with rakish satisfaction and nodded. "I thought so."

   When he stroked her with his tongue again, she fought not to cry out. When he lightly penetrated her opening with it as well, she forced herself not to grab his head, and instead clutched at the bedding and twisted it in her fists. His hands continued to hold her legs open, but they began to slide down as he lapped at her, until she could feel his thumbs stroking the cheeks of her bottom.

   Summer groaned. Her entire lower body pulsated with a need that she could never have imagined. "Please, please," she begged again.

   Byron's voice sounded gruff yet gentle. "There's more."

   
More?
Summer thought, her eyes closed in concen tration. She couldn't take any more, truly…

   And then he shifted his body, she could feel the fine weave of his dinner jacket and the flutter of his cravat over her sensitized skin. His tongue stopped doing its magic, and Summer cried out in distress but forced herself not to move as a sudden hot warmth enfolded her nipple. Shafts of new pleasure streaked through her body as he suckled first one and then the other of her breasts, adding to the mounting pressure between her legs. His hands moved between her thighs, keeping the tension alive and adding more pleasure as his fingers plunged inside of her, slowly slipping in and out. She breathed in the spicy scent of his hair and the musky smell of his own desire and knew she was about to tumble over the edge.

   "Byron," she screamed as her body exploded from the inside out.

   He realized that he loved the sound of his first name coming from her lips. That because of his station only a few people had called him anything but Monchester, and her insistence on calling him Byron made him feel that she didn't care that he was a duke. That she valued him for himself and not his title.

   "You're beautiful," he replied while he watched her face, watched her eyes open and stare into his own with unabashed wonder as spasm after spasm shook her body.

   Byron rose and untied his neck cloth, stripped off his jacket, and carefully laid them across the back of a chair. He turned and waited for Summer to come to her senses, waited for those dark eyes to focus on his every movement. He slowly unbuttoned his waistcoat, the cuffs and collar of his linen shirt, smiling when her breathing began to pick up at the sight of his bare chest.

   
He's perfect,
thought Summer as he stood proudly naked before her, letting her study his every feature with arrogant confidence. Oh yes, he stood only slightly taller than herself—what she supposed was short for a man—but perfectly proportioned none theless. His biceps and thighs bulged with muscle, and she wondered what he did to keep in such excellent shape, how he managed to have a ridged abdomen and, as he bent over to pick up his trousers and drape them over the chair with the rest of his clothes, such a full-muscled bottom. Summer's body started to tighten again.

   He came closer to the bed, and she saw his swollen member and tried not to choke. She'd never fit him inside her, and what had ever possessed her to start something with him she couldn't finish?

   She held up a shaking hand, and he hesitated. "We can't."

   The duke raised an arrogant brow. "Pardon me?"

   "I mean I can't"—she took a deep breath—"make love to you."

   He carefully sat next to her on the bed and stroked her wild hair away from her face. Of course, she didn't know that he'd decided to marry her, and he admired her for trying to retain her honor. Not that she had a choice, of course. "I've already made love to you, my American girl. What we do now is rather anticlimactic, don't you think?"

   Summer blinked. He looked so beautiful in gaslight. "Yes, no. I mean, I gave my word to another man. I have to uphold that vow until and unless he releases me."

   His hands started sliding down her arms. "Too late," he murmured.

   "No it's not. I haven't betrayed him completely."

   His hands had reached her breasts, and she couldn't help the impulse that caused her to push up against them. A fire started kindling between her legs again, and she tried to squash it down. She'd needed him, and he'd been there for her. He had just misunderstood.

   Byron had started to tell her that she needn't worry, he'd marry her and make it all right, when she said the most astonishing thing.

   "I know you need me now," she whispered. "And I promise I'll give you as much pleasure… in the same way you did for me."

   Both his eyebrows rose. What an absolutely inviting proposition. The girl had no experience. Did she really think she could bring him to the same heights of pleasure that he had her? Well, he wouldn't stop her from trying. He could explain about the marriage later.

   She moved over and crouched, rather like a tiger ready to spring, the toes of her boots digging into the bedcovers, her brown-gold hair spread wildly around her elfin face. He'd forgotten about the boots, felt himself harden even further, and winced.

   "Lie down," Summer suggested, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She reached out and touched him without thinking, surprised that as soon as she did her shyness vanished, and he no longer seemed like a stranger, just the wonderful man who had buried her fox cub with such kind consideration. The sensitive man who knew the secret pleasure places of her body better than she did herself.

   He stared up at her, his eyes glinting in the gaslight, all skin and muscle peppered with a golden down of hair, and Summer realized with a shiver of delight that he was all hers. Tarnation, she could touch him anywhere she wanted to, gaze at him with unconcealed longing, and fulfill this burning need.

   She reached out a shaking hand and stroked the hair off his forehead, let her fingers curl in the thick rich ness of that golden mane, and then stroked his cheek, immersing herself in the softness of his skin, the scratch of stubble along his jaw, the strength of his chin. He turned his head into her hand, and the warm pressure of his lips made her crave them, and she lowered her mouth to his.

   She sucked and nibbled until he groaned and curled his hand behind her own head, pulling her into a fevered kiss, his tongue slipping into her mouth, reminding her of the pleasure he'd given with that weapon, causing a rush of wetness between her legs. Summer turned her head to break away, realizing that he attempted to take control of her again, wanting it to be her turn, and trailed her tongue to his ear, licking the lobe and sighing, making him shiver.

   She followed the same path he'd taken down her earlier, breathing in the male scent of him, taking extra care to lave his own small nipples until they hardened as hers had done. She parted a path through the hair of his chest to the soft skin beneath, feeling the hardness of his abdomen, then the strength of his hip bone, going around that swollen part of him to his inner thighs, using her hands as he had, urging his legs apart. Loving the salty taste of him on her tongue.

   Byron swallowed the urge to tell her that men didn't spread their legs like a woman, for even though his sore muscles screamed at the stretch, he found himself liking it, his heart racing with an excitement that he'd never felt before. Was she going to do
exactly
what he'd done to her? His groin tightened and throbbed with anticipation.

   She spread him wide, her hot little hands on each side of his throbbing shaft, his knees bent to the sides to accommodate the position of his thighs. She looked up at him, her eyes glazed and feral, and he held his breath. Her head dipped, and she stroked her tongue from beneath and then over his rounded fullness, across the length of his shaft, to the tip of his small opening that she gently penetrated with her tongue. Then she dipped her head again, taking another long, slow stroke. And then another.

   Her hair tickled across his thighs and hips with each movement she made. He clenched his fists and beat them against the bed, but still couldn't stop himself from bucking against the gentle pressure of her tongue.

   Summer lifted her head and stared into his eyes. "Be still," she commanded with a smile. "Or do you want me to stop?"