The brandy he’d imbibed with Throckmorton hit Jude hard. That must be the reason his head was swimming. It couldn’t be because all his blood left his head for other regions.
He searched for his principles. No matter that she was here, and naked, he couldn’t take her innocence. He’d be no better than Freshie if he did so.
But she’d come to him of her own free will, and she was naked.
His hands moved to the buttons of his trousers.
He wanted to be more like Michael, yes, but he understood what Michael didn’t—that love carried responsibility, and sometimes love could hurt. He didn’t want to hurt Caroline.
But she was naked.
He stripped off his drawers.
Something must have happened at the ball to send her fleeing to him. His stepmother would kill him for dishonoring Caroline. It would be unfair to take advantage of Caroline’s turmoil.
But she was naked.
And now, so was he.
She was everything he needed. Arousing, female, so alive and vital, and Caroline, purely Caroline. Lifting the covers, he slid into bed and slid his arm under her shoulders. Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled at him as if he were the man she’d been waiting for all her life.
“What took you so long?” she whispered. Putting her hands on either side of his face, she pulled him into her kiss.
The warmth of touch.
The taste of passion.
The scent of anticipation.
When he lifted his head, she was startled to see stark need and bitter desperation in his eyes. “Huntington,” she whispered. “Jude.” With a brush of her fingers, she pushed his hair off his forehead.
His expression cleared, became heat and pleasure in one. “Caroline,” he echoed, and slid the robe off her shoulder. In a deep, silky voice, he asked, “What brought you here tonight?”
Then, for a moment, she lost her easy pleasure in his company. “I realized that I can do what I want to do because I’m”—angry—“in control of my life.” Wrapping her hands around his shoulders, she pushed him over. “In control of every single facet of my life.” Lifting herself above him, she grinned savagely down into his face.
This was good. This was right. With this man, she could love and fight and win, and there would be no repercussions, no gossip afterward, for she implicitly trusted him to never, ever betray the secret of her visit.
His fingers rode down the slope of her neck, over her collarbone, and under the robe toward her breast. “Let me…”
“No.” Taking his hands, she wrapped them around the bars on the headboard.
“You really don’t think I’ll be able to resist touching you, do you?” he chuckled. “You underestimate your allure and my restraint.”
She sat up, pulled the robe up over her shoulders, and scrutinized all the long length of him. The blankets covered him from the waist down, but from the waist up, he looked completely different than a dilettante should look. Muscles corded his arms, and a fine, black hair, darker than the hair on his head, covered his armpits. His broad shoulders owed nothing to padding. His bones were better suited to a stevedore than an earl. Coarse black hair covered his chest, then on his belly it thinned and descended like an arrow under the covers. Every inch of his chest and arms showed the results of hard work, or hard loving, or hard fighting…her gaze shifted to the two red, round holes not far above his right nipple.
Hard fighting, indeed. God knew how, but he’d lived through two horrible wounds. Gunshot wounds. And all along his right arm was a long, thin, red line that ended in a divot in the muscle and a nasty looking scar.
“How did you get these?” She traced the scars on his chest.
“A silly duel. It was nothing.”
No one knew about his wounds. She’d heard not a hint of gossip, but somehow she knew he hadn’t won them in a silly duel. These were the marks of a warrior.
No. This was no man to toy with. Anything he wanted to do to her, he could do. Anything.
Not that he would ever do anything to hurt her, but in the heat of passion, he might—would—inflict his will on her.
She’d had enough of men’s wills for one night. At least until the dawn, she would do what she wanted, take the pleasure she desired, dispense bliss as she decided.
“I’m your governess.” Taking the velvet belt of his robe from around her waist, she used it to truss his hands together. “You’ll do as I say.”
His eyes grew wide, and he grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You think I’m jesting.” She tied the whole contraption to the bed. She knew nothing of knots, nothing except what she’d learned in embroidery, but she knew these would last. “I’m not. Try to free yourself.”
He twisted his hands against the velvet, but his hands, like his feet, were oversized, with broad palms and large fingers. His grin became a grimace. He jerked against the headboard, rattling the frame, but the solid wood didn’t budge. “This is absurd,” he said. “I have to be unbound to touch you.”
“No, I have to be free to touch you. This way, I know you’ll do as I say. This way, I’m in command. Now, my lion.” She petted his hair, his mane. “Let me make you happy.”
He growled, a low rumble of sound in his chest.
But she didn’t experience any doubt, any fear. This was the right thing to do. The thing that would heal her anger and give her…she didn’t know exactly what it would give her, but it was time she found out. She’d been so afraid, all this time, of ending up in a man’s bed, a victim of his lust, that it never occurred to her she could hold the upper hand. She could take him, shape him, torment him.
“I wish you didn’t have that smirk on your face,” he murmured.
“Why?” She clenched her hands in his thick hair. God, he was handsome. He had a jaw that declared his strength. His neck, usually covered by a cravat, was huge, strong. Not like an earl’s. Like a bull’s. Like a man who worked on the docks or in the fields, or rode into battle swinging a battle-ax. Her fingertips skated over his ears, nicely curled and set close against his head. Over his jaw, rough with the growth of his beard. Down that neck.
And all the while, she stared into his blue eyes, which watched and weighed…and threatened, and promised.
“You’re going to make me suffer, aren’t you?” His gazed caressed the bare skin revealed by the opening of her robe. “You’re going to make me pay for all the men who have hurt you, all the men who have judged you.”
She kissed his lips, a long, slow, open kiss. She took his breath and gave him hers. Against his mouth, she asked, “Are you afraid?”
“No. No….” His scowl betrayed his doubt.
“Good. Because I like being your governess.” She scraped her fingernails across his collarbones and down his chest. “I like doing things to you. I like having you helpless and subject to my whims. Although I do wish I knew exactly what to do.” Before her eyes, gooseflesh rose on his skin and in their nest of hair, his males nipples tightened. She was fascinated—and surprised, for exactly the same thing happened to her at exactly the same moment. “Oh.” The word was a mere breath of air.
“You can do nothing wrong,” he assured her in a deep, strangled voice. “Anything you want to try will be torture.”
“Exactly what I want.” She pulled the robe close at her waist, but as soon as she moved it slipped off her shoulder again.
His gaze followed her motions and eagerly sought out each glimpse of her bare skin. “I don’t know how long I can bear it.”
“You’ll bear it until I let you go.” She stroked the hair on his chest, taking pleasure in the rough texture and the way it curled around her fingers.
This was mesmerizing. Enchanting. She had never touched a man’s skin, never imagined a man’s reactions…had never cared. Now curiosity drove her on and on…her fingers danced over his ribs. She liked the smoothness of the skin on his belly, and gave in to the impulse to touch it with her lips.
He made a noise, not plea
sure, not anguish.
She nuzzled him with a smile, laid her cheek against him, savored the warmth and the decadence of his prime body.
Something about her enthralled expression must have alarmed him, for he said, “You will let me go when I tell you to.”
“If I allowed such insubordination, what kind of governess would I be?” she mocked.
She knew what tented the blankets below his waist. She’d lived in dreadful conditions where whores worked their trades. She knew what men were made of and how they rutted. But knowing in her mind and being there with him were different. With Jude, she didn’t feel horror or dread. She wanted to see every inch of him, kiss him until he writhed with need, take him…lifting the blankets, she tossed them down at his feet.
His body was a sculpture, shaped by forces she couldn’t imagine. His muscled belly, his long, muscled legs, his erection…knowing what a man had in his trousers was nothing like seeing it for the first time. His penis thrust out of the nest of dark hair at his groin, long, pale, and massive, with blue veins and a broad head. Revealing him made her want to…she didn’t know what she wanted. To laugh with pleasure. To cry with awe. Instead, she whispered, “Oh, my.”
He laughed, a short burst of strained amusement. “I think I’m flattered.”
“You’re magnificent. That’s no flattery.”
“I’d like to see you, too.”
“No.” Absently she pushed the robe up on her shoulder again. “Not yet.”
She climbed between his legs and stroked his thighs, liking the way each heavy muscle was contoured. She traced the bones of his knees. She cupped his calves in her hands and allowed her hands to descend to his feet…“Huge feet,” she whispered.
He smiled at her, but his eyes were dark with strain, and the skin on his face looked tight, as if it were stretched over his bones. His cheeks flamed with color, and his lips were bloodless. “For pity’s sake, Caroline, untie me.”
“No.”
“Then put me out of my misery.”
“You speak so forcefully. You should have more respect for your governess.” Sitting up on her knees, she leaned forward and hovered over the top of him. “I shall have to teach you.”
“Retribution will arrive when you least expect it.” He no longer smiled, and his eyes watched her…
They watched her, and for the first time, he did remind her of a lion. A lion sighting its prey. Yet tonight she feared nothing. No man, no beast, could prevail over her. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“And that’s where you’ve made your mistake,” he said ominously.
She caressed him with long strokes of her palms, down his chest, down his belly, over his hips. Each time, she got a little closer to his erection.
Each time, he writhed in silence.
It was a competition, like their kisses, to see who would break first.
At last, her hands drifted in the air inches above his erection.
Jude sat with his head propped on the pillows, watching her through slitted blue eyes. He looked furious and frustrated…and he broke. His lips barely moved as he begged, “Please.”
“Please…what? Please…this?” She stroked, not directly on his skin, but just above it.
“Tease.” His penis twitched.
She laughed. “Or please…this?” With one palm, she cupped his balls. With the other, she lightly caressed the length of him.
“God.” His eyes closed. His body arched. An expression of ferocious bliss gripped his face, transforming him into a warrior of unquestionable savagery.
If he weren’t tied, she had no doubt she’d be on her back by then, and he would be thrusting into her, taking her…her own eyes closed as the picture formed in her mind. She grew damp and swollen between her legs, and desire, never far away when she was with Jude, grew into fierce need.
But she wasn’t done yet. She wanted to do everything tonight, everything she had ever heard of, everything she could imagine, everything that would brand her into Jude’s mind so that he never forgot her. “What about this?” she asked. “Would you like this?” Leaning over, she kissed the thrusting head of his erection.
Jude groaned, a deep, anguished noise that she recognized…that any woman would recognize. It rose from the depths of his frustration, primitive and basic, and it called to her to finish this, to take him, to satisfy him and herself, to solve the mystery of their mating.
But that was too easy. Too fast. She had only this night, and she would make it last. She had only this man to conquer, and she would reduce him to desperation. Cautiously, she licked him, one slow, tentative taste of his skin.
“You’ve tied me to the rack. Caroline, you’re torturing me.” The bed shook as he dragged at his arms, rattling the headboard. “Free me.”
She looked up and smiled. As he watched, she opened her mouth and took him inside.
He tasted salty. His skin smelled warm. He was in every way at her mercy. Beneath her palm, his scrotum tightened. She slid her mouth along the length of him, imitating the motion of loving without knowing the particulars.
She must have gotten it right, for he roared like a wounded lion.
She thought he would break the headboard. She sucked at him, then twirled her tongue around the head.
He rocked the bed in the throes of need. “Someday, somewhere, I’ll make you suffer as you’ve made me suffer.”
Sitting up, she viewed him sternly, as sternly as any governess with her student. “You’re not a very docile pupil. If you don’t improve your attitude, I’ll be forced to take action.”
He stopped fighting the knots, and he observed her. “Caroline, I am very good at seeking revenge.”
For a second, she wondered if he would somehow free himself, and at the look in his eyes, the tenseness in his muscles, the length and width of his manhood, she experienced a frisson of alarm—and such a thrill she wanted to fling caution to the wind and release him.
Then she took a breath. She reassured herself. He was tied, and tied well. He couldn’t touch her. She was in control. With a shrug of her shoulders, she allowed the robe to slither onto the mattress.
He took a gratifying breath. “Beautiful,” he whispered. “You’re every bit as beautiful as I imagined.”
“So are you.” She glided over the top of him, laid her chin on his chest and as he looked down at her, she smiled into his face. Stretching forward, she kissed him as she’d wanted to kiss him all evening long. And the magic seized her as it always seized her. His lips moved on hers, and she wanted to bite him, to enjoy this tiny bit of titillation all night, to let him wrap her in the intimacy of his tongue, his taste, until all the hours had slid away and the candles had burned down to nubs.
But there was no going back. Beneath the gentle desire of kissing, a greater need clawed at her. Below her, his body made demands, and her body responded. She came up for air. She wrapped her legs around him. She skimmed her palms up his ribs, over his armpits, up his arms, and clasped her fingers around his wrists. Stretched across him, she looked into his tortured eyes. “I want you so much. There’s no other man with whom I wish to do this.”
A slow smile stretched his lips. “Just as it should be.”
It was less than the declaration for which she might have wished but, she reminded herself, she and Jude were about passion unfettered. She made no promises, nor would she ask for any.
She walked her hands down his chest, sat up, and positioned herself to rest directly on his hardness. She pressed herself down on him, experienced a surge of exhilaration, and slowly rolled her hips, wringing pleasure from every motion.
He watched her feverishly. “It’s time to end the torment.”
“You’re right.” She slid her hand between her legs and grasped him, positioned him. “It’s time.”
She looked into his eyes. She pressed herself down on the long, firm, smooth length of his member.
Beneath her, he trembled, holding himself still and letting her do as she would. r />
He stretched her. She had known he would, known there would be discomfort, but to her surprise her passage grew damper, easing the way. She wanted him. She pressed again, eased up, pressed again. The pain grew, but so did her exhilaration. She loved this. She loved having this strong man trapped between her legs. She loved the earthy scents of their bodies as they mixed and mingled. Her fingers curled in the coarse hair on his chest. She heard someone panting, realized it was her. Heard a deep groan, realized it was him. Her eyes widened as the pain reached its peak.
Then, suddenly, it was easier. She took him all the way inside her, ending her virginity in a glorious flourish.
And his restraint ended. He couldn’t pull her into his arms, but he could move. He surged beneath her, pushing her to find the primal rhythm of sex…and she did. The bed shook as she rose and fell, taking him inside herself, feeling the pull and stretch as he possessed her and she possessed him.
This was what the women whispered about. This was why men acted like fools. For this primitive grandness, the sensation of racing toward a togetherness that lasted forever. She was with Jude in a way she had never dreamed possible, joined body…and soul.
Over and over again, he lifted his body against hers. He strained at the knots, and his sleek muscles bulged and battled beneath his skin, visible testimony to the forces that strove within him. He watched, his blue eyes feverish, as passion pinched at her nerves, wringing moans of rapture from her throat. In the center of her body, delight ebbed and flowed, growing greater every time he pushed inside her. Their skin slapped together as their ride grew wilder, quicker, freer. Her hands clenched into fists. Her nipples puckered into tiny, painful beads. Everything in her tensed, waiting, wanting…
When climax took her, it took her with the strength of a great storm. Lightning streaked along her skin, turning it to fire. Her blood thundered in her ears. Her eyes were blinded by tears, and her lungs ached as she tried to get breath. But nothing mattered, not seeing, not breathing. Nothing mattered except chasing sensation with every thrust. She cried aloud and dug her nails into his shoulders. Beneath her, he drove into her as if he would fill her, fuse them, make for himself a permanent place between her legs, in her womb…in her heart. Inside her, her tissues clenched at him, trying to keep him there where it felt so good. Trying to wring promises of forever from him.