Ravishing Ruby (4 page)

Her eyes wandered on. She stared at his hand upon the heel of the boot, and then trailed up her pale leg until it disappeared at the hem of the shirt. She shifted again. The fabric opened more. From her angle she could not see much, but as she moved her gaze back to his, she could only guess at how much he could see. His eyes were heavy and dark and focused at the shadow between her legs.

“God, you are beautiful,” he murmured, before pulling on the boot, lifting her leg higher, his gaze still focused at the apex of her thighs. The boot came free, but still he held her leg high, his breathing stilled. She shifted in her chair, feeling her own arousal at the heat of his gaze.

“I have another boot,” she said.

Without shifting his gaze, Derek reached down and raised the other leg, slipping the boot from it with one hand and great speed. He held both her legs high, almost tipping her back in the chair. He spread them slightly further.

“I think it is time for you to bathe me.” Her voice was far breathier than she liked.

“Bathe you? I thought you said this room did not have access to the bathing chamber.”

“I could have you call for hot water and a tub, but that might take longer than I wish.” She pursed her lips and pretended to think. “Perhaps you will have to use your tongue, will have to lick me clean.”

It was impossible to miss the swallow that gulped down his throat.

She continued. “Yes, I think that is a fine plan. I would have you start with my toes, but I confess I do not know whose feet have previously been in those boots, so I will let you start at my knees.”

It was his turn to lick his lips. She focused on his mouth, already imagining it on her flesh, goose bumps rising in anticipation.

“You will need to put my legs down. I do not wish to fall over.” The chair was beginning to tilt at an alarming angle.

“If I must.” With some reluctance he complied, although his eyes still did not move from their focus, even though she knew the shirt must now cover her.

“Kneel before me.”

Oh, he did not like that command.

Sulking like a child, he followed her direction. Men were impossible. He clearly didn't object to what was coming, only to her orders.

“You may begin. I believe you should start with the sides of my knees and then the undersides. I do want to be sure I am very clean underneath. And perhaps you could stroke the knee you are not washing. I would not want one of my legs to feel ignored.”

His eyes shot up to hers. “I know how to…”

She gave a long sigh. “I am quite sure that you do, but that is not the point. I know exactly what I want, and I intend to have you give it to me.”

For a moment she thought he would protest, but then he sank to his knees between her legs and placed a slight kiss on the inside of each knee. That was not exactly what she had requested, but she was not about to protest.

His dark hair was still tied back in its queue, and without thought she leaned forward and untied it, running her fingers through his unruly locks. When he forced her hands away, she leaned back again, regretting the loss of his silken strands between her fingers.

But then his tongue ran along the crease at the back of her knee and she was lost for thought. The stubble of his beard abraded her skin most deliciously. And his tongue, she could not even describe the sensations his tongue sent shimmering through her.

Her thighs clenched and she willed them back to softness. She must not betray her hand, betray her desire, too quickly.

The vibration of his chuckle surged through her. He was not fooled.

He nipped at the tender flesh of her inner thigh, causing her to shiver.

Grabbing his hair, she pulled his head up until their eyes met. His glowed black like obsidian, a world of color shimmering in darkness. “That was not my direction. You may switch knees now. Lick the other, while you stroke the first.”

He drew in a great breath, his chest heaving—and then letting it out slowly, he bent his head, his tongue snaking into the crevasse behind her knee.

God. Oh God. That was good. So good.

For a moment she did nothing but revel in the sensation. He was a very talented man. He worked back and forth with his tongue on one side, his fingers on the other, rubbing sensually, each second sending her body higher. It was all she could do not to strain against him.

“You may move higher—but slowly,” she whispered.

Ruby watched as Derek's mouth moved but scant inches, each fraction of distance growing more and more sensitive. His hand moved up her other leg with greater speed, but always moving back again. The calluses of his work-roughened hands abrading her tender skin and shooting sensation straight to her clit.

Oh, she was alive with sensation.

Her breaths grew shallow, each intake of air barely filling the top of her lungs.

It was almost too much to bear. Could one grow insane from pleasure?

And the image of him, dark curls against her tender skin, his whole focus on her, it was enough to fill her with want, even without the sensations of his touch.

She had to slow this down. She would come before he even reached her cunny. “Stop.”

He gave her one more long, wet lick and then pulled back.

She fought to find her voice. “Take off your shirt; let me see you.”

He smiled, understanding her far too well, but as in each previous occasion, obediently he did as she directed, standing and pulling off the white linen.

Magnificent. It was a word she always thought of in context with him, and as he bared his hard, muscled chest, she was once again almost overcome by his harsh beauty. The man was made of power, his every line hard and lean and well muscled. He looked like he might pound rocks for a living—or pull a plow without use of horse or oxen. There was nothing weak about him, no hint of fat or softness.

She curled her fingers by her sides to keep from stroking him; perhaps this had not been the best idea. She'd wanted to pretend to control the strong man, if only for a few moments, but looking at all that bare flesh, she was ready to spread herself across the bed and just scream, “Take me.” She smothered a giggle at the thought. Madame Rouge would never act like that.

And she was Madame Rouge.

“Back on your knees.” Her mouth watered as she watched the rippling muscles play across his back in the candlelight.

He raised his head and stared straight at her, and then with a curt nod he sank back between her legs, his lips taking their spot halfway up her right thigh, his knuckles skimming up her left. Almost against her will, she reached forward and placed a hand lightly on each firm shoulder. A small stroke would not change the game. His skin was like heavy satin beneath her touch.

His lips moved, distracting her, his tongue lapping at her sensitive flesh. She bit down on her lower lip, the sting of pain keeping her distracted. Control. She must keep control.

His strong fingers kneaded her flesh, one hand on each thigh now as he moved closer to his goal. The calluses on his palms grated against her skin, delicious tickles speeding through her, ending at that ever-tightening spot between her legs, that increasingly eager spot.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders and she forced them to relax.

“I can smell you.” His whisper flicked across her skin, his warm breath moving higher.

“I am getting rather wet,” she replied, refusing to play the tender maiden. “I've always been rather fond of a man's mouth upon me.”

He growled, low in his throat. His hands pushed her thighs wider. He looked up at her and leaned forward…

Pressing on his shoulders, she stopped him. “No. You haven't played with the tender skin at the apex of my legs. I love the sensation when I am stroked there, right where torso and leg meet. It does something to me—something I cannot resist. I want you to nip me there, to lave me there, to suckle me there until I beg you to move on—and then I want you to continue until my legs shake around you. Do you think you can do that?” She looked down at him; although she could not see his eyes as they focused on the space between her legs, she thought the tails of the shirt still hid her from view.

“I have never been a man to back away from a challenge.” He tilted his head back then and stared up at her, iridescent color swirling in his black eyes. He flicked his tongue out and ran it across his lips as if tasting the saltiness of her skin. His eyes telling her he knew exactly what the gesture did to her.

She swallowed, hard. His eyes followed the movement and then returned to hers.

“Should I reward you for your obedience?” She dropped her gaze from his and looked down. Removing her hands from his shoulders, she brought them to the front of the white shirt and button by button opened it. The sight of her own flesh was erotic. She could feel his gaze upon her, feel what the sight of her did to him. With care she pulled the fabric back on one side, letting it slide across the tight nipple as she bared herself to him.

When the soft pink tip was free, she lifted one hand to her mouth and wet the fingers. Then with deliberate slowness she reached down and squeezed the tight bud, pulling and pinching. God, it felt good. So much better than when she touched herself alone in her room. Derek's gaze added a whole new level. She pressed harder, feeling the tingle spread down from her breast like a bolt of lightning straight to her cunny. She closed her eyes for a moment and concentrated on nothing but the feeling, the delicious pleasure that was almost pain.

Her eyes still shut, she let her other hand drift down, unfastening the remaining buttons with one hand. Pulling one side of the shirt open, she draped it over her thigh.

Derek swallowed loudly.

Switching hands, she shifted to the other side. Both hands came back to her breasts for a moment and she flattened her palms over the nipples, pushing down hard and then releasing. Working her fingers up until they again grasped the nipples, she kneaded and massaged, moving just as she liked, slow and hard.

Once her nipples were so tight and full they felt they would burst, she carefully worked her way back down the curve of her breast, long, slow strokes across her curved stomach, the lightest brush of the top of her curls.

Lazily, she opened her eyes, leaving them heavy and hooded, and stared down at the vision she presented, the white linen draped outside lush thighs, full breasts still marked by her fingers, the tips rosy and begging, and the soft blond curls waiting a finger's touch.

And the man—his pupils huge and focused on the place between her legs, his breath deep and shallow all at once, his cheeks flush with desire, a light sheen of sweat glistening across his brow, the muscles of his shoulders and neck knotted with need.

“You haven't tasted the tops of my legs yet as I requested,” she said softly.

Eyes still focused on her core, he bent forward and ran his tongue over the tender skin.

She sighed, her hips sliding forward on the chair.

“So beautiful,” he mumbled into the crease. His tongue moving harder and faster, his teeth grazing her skin.

He nipped her.

She moaned.

He laved away the pain.

“God,” she whispered.

His lips pressed tight, sucking at her, pulling the delicate skin into his mouth. A melting ache grew between her thighs.

Would she come before he even really touched her? It felt like it.

She closed her eyes, fought for control.

Found it.

She opened her eyes, looked down at his dark curls so close to her silky blond ones.

Her hands drifted down again, until they reached her outer lips. She opened herself, felt his whole body still.

He had never seen such a sight, never even imagined such a thing, imagined a woman like this opening herself for him, her fingers inviting him closer.

His mouth grew dry.

“Do you know how to do this?” she asked, her voice low and sultry.

“I am not some inexperienced boy,” he replied, feeling indignant.

She smiled. “But do you truly know what a woman likes? What makes her body slick with passion?” One of her slim fingers slipped forward, sliding through the glistening moisture.

“I've never had any complaints.” And he hadn't. Hadn't he pleased her well the last time? He certainly had.

“That is not the same thing. Do you know how to tell if a woman finds her pleasure? Have you observed the flush on her face and cheeks? The quickening of her breath? Have you watched her clit swell, the hood draw back? Or have you just listened to her scream and trusted her honesty?”

How could her words be so arousing and so angering at the same time? “I can assure you that I know when a woman is happy and satisfied.” Even if he wasn't sure, he'd ever noted all the signs she marked.

A low laugh. “I've never known a man who wasn't sure—at least not one who cared in the slightest. I would admit that sometimes customers don't care at all how my girls feel, they only want a quick fuck and to leave. And you did say you were a man who liked a simple fuck.”

“Simple doesn't mean I don't do my job.”

“I must admit that you did your job rather well the last time, or times, perhaps I should say. I did dream of you late at night when I touched myself. I imagined how it felt when you surged into me, when you rose above. I can feel your skin against mine, remember the smell of you.”

Her fingers dipped low again, shiny with her juices. She pulled back, catching the lips and spreading them wide. Was that an invitation? Was she ready for some progression? She certainly gave all the signs of being ready, but with Ruby it was hard to tell.

He leaned forward and blew softly, rustling the light curls.

She did not complain.

He blew again.

A single finger reached out and stroked over her nub, then began to move in soft, slow circles. “I don't think many men truly understand how sensitive this spot is. So often they attack it, pressing hard or stroking so fast that you'd think they were trying to start a fire. The clitoris is really a thing of art, secret and hidden, but ready to give so much pleasure.”

How long was she going to talk? He had to admit her words had his cock swelling even further, but he was ready for action.

“You want to start playing, don't you?”

Could the woman read his mind? “I've been ready for a while now.”

“Hmm. I must remember that you are a man—and therefore impatient.”

“I believe I have been very patient, my lady.”

“Very patient would have you still stroking the backs of my knees.”

“I am patient, not a saint.”

“No, you are definitely not a saint.”

He leaned forward and stroked his tongue up her length, giving an extra little swirl when he reached her nub, her clitoris. He thought the word as he inhaled her musk. He'd certainly known the word, but he wasn't sure he'd ever heard it from a woman's lips.

But Ruby was not just any woman.

Her thighs clenched about him. She moved her hands to her sides and let them lie there. “Are you forgetting our game, my sweet captive?”

The silly game was more arousing than he'd have imagined, but then he rather thought it was the woman who was arousing.

Granted, without the pretense of being her captive he'd never have found himself here on his knees. And he must admit that there was something about serving her pleasure that had his dick surging against the flap of his pants. “I seek only your desires, my pirate queen.”

That brought a laugh to her lips, that deep, low chuckle that wrapped about him, causing forbidden thoughts to rise in his mind, thoughts of just how much he'd like to hear that sound every day.

Resisting the urge to simply bend forward, to taste her, to suck her, to eat her until she cried his name, shattering about him, he placed a whisper of a kiss at the juncture of her thighs. Her thighs quivered. She had been honest in the sensitivity of that spot, her body danced whenever he stroked it. It would be something to remember. Anytime he wished, he could come up to her fully dressed and give her a single secret caress, a caress that would leave her body ready and waiting. It would be so easy to do while passing on the stairs, behind a tree in the garden, while…Only these whiles did not exist, would not exist, not for him, not for her. There was only now.

He looked up, focusing on her face, that exquisitely beautiful face. He wished he could see it again, unenhanced, no kohl, no rouge, just soft skin and big blue eyes. Her lips pursed slightly, and he wondered if she'd shared his thought on how brief their time together was, how precious.

Had he really just thought that? He hardly knew her. This was only their second night. She could not be precious to him.

Time with family was precious.

Time spent on the open seas with the sun bright and the wind strong was precious.

Racing his stallion across the high cliffs of his home was precious.

Seeing new sights was precious.

Adventure was precious.

Time spent with some unknown woman was not.

Only she was not unknown, for all that he might wish she were.

She was Ruby. She was Emma. And she was precious.

“You seem distracted from your task. Have you lost your passion for me already? I rather thought I was more attractive than that.”

“Never, my queen. I was merely deciding what to sample next.”

She looked at him, a shadow of doubt flashing across her eyes. Her lips parted to speak and then closed. She leaned back in the chair, let the shimmering waves of hair fall back. And when she spoke, her voice was again flirtatious—and commanding. “I fear you forget that it is not your decision to make. I think I would like you to kiss my knees again. Our speech has robbed me of some desire. You will have to start again.”

He'd be damned if he would. She was playing with him like a toy. She was—He didn't even know what she was.

He should lift her from that chair, bend her over the back of the bed, and…

No. He would do as she asked. This was her game—and he truly did want to bring her pleasure. If they should only have this one last night, he would make her remember it. Make her remember him. She said she thought of him when she played with herself in the dark of her chamber; well, he would give her something to think about, something she would not forget soon.