Ravishing Ruby (5 page)

He pressed his mouth against the side of her knee, snaking his tongue into the crevasse, tasting her. One hand slid up the calf of her other leg, enjoying the smooth silk of her skin. His body throbbed with need, but he denied it, thinking only of her, of her pleasure and need. He could feel her body shiver as his fingers stroked, as his tongue delved. He'd never thought of the knee as an erotic spot, but as he felt her want, his own grew. He nipped lightly at the curve of her thigh. She clenched. He laved the mark, enjoying her every quiver of response.

His hand ran long strokes up her other thigh from just above the knee to a spot just before her curls would brush his fingers.

Her breathing was fast now, her head still back, her chest rising and falling with speed.

He looked up at those full magnificent breasts, the tips still swollen and red from her touch. He longed to place his hands there, his mouth there, longed to suck her deep, to fill his mouth with her. Her nipples tightened even more as he nipped and nibbled on her inner knee and slowly began the upward trail. A deep flush stained her chest and worked its way upward.

With infinite patience he kissed his way up her right thigh, his hand trailing along the left. Halfway he stopped and paid tribute to the lush female flesh, his mouth sucking and savoring her. His eyes still focused upward.

He had never seen anything so beautiful: the uptilted chin, the eyes hooded with desire, the breasts rising from the white linen of the shirt that draped around her, the gentle curve of belly, the blond curls sheltering but not hiding her feminine core, and those lower lips, rosy and swollen and slick. He could not wait to taste her, to devour her.

He nibbled his way up further, watching every nuance of her response, every tremble, every inhale.

“Hold yourself open for me again,” he spoke in command. The image of her fingers holding back her lips still filled his mind, and he wanted to see it again, wanted to taste her as she offered herself to him.

Wanting to see if she would comply, he waited a moment.

Her eyes opened and stared down into his. She did not move.

Then inch by inch her fingers slid forward. “I do this because it is what I want,” she said.

He was smart enough not to argue as her slender fingers trailed through the soft, sweet curls and down into her damp folds.

As she pulled back the lips, he let himself stare, let his face display all the want that he felt, all the need that coursed through him. He inhaled deeply—and then blew out, watching the dance of curls, the quiver of flesh.

And then he raised his own hands, lightly brushing hers as he placed a finger on each side of her clitoris, pressed gently, and drew back the hood that shielded that slight treasure. He blew again and could tell it was almost too intense as her thighs grew stiff.

He blew again, seeing how much she could take.

Ruby bit down hard on her lower lip, but said not a word.

Leaning nearer, he reached out and with the tip of his tongue traced her whole length until he ended at her clit. He swirled about there, stroking with utmost care, mindful of her sensitivity. Her breath caught and held with each touch, with each brush, no matter how slight.

He bent more and fastened his mouth around her, sucking deep, drawing her into his mouth, as his hands moved to capture each thigh to hold her in place. His tongue moved freely, delving deep, pressing far into her, treasuring the salty taste, and then moving back to that tight bundle of desire. He played and teased, feeling her body draw close and then ease back down.

He brought her to the peak again and again, but never let her go over.

Her thighs were damp with sweat, her body drawn to his own, only his hold on her thighs keeping them from closing around him.

Her hips lifted from the chair, straining toward him.

A small cry left her lips—and then another. “Please. Please.”

He released one thigh, feeling her hot flesh press against him as he brought his fingers to her cunny and slipped two of them deep inside her velvet flesh, her warmth drawing him even deeper.

His tongue grew frantic then, pressing hard as it drummed against her clit.

His fingers thrust deep and withdrew, searching for that secret spot.

Her whole body lifted, straining in urgent response.

He could feel it coming.

His fingers thrust deep again, pressing the cushioned walls, feeling them stretch and press.

Warm. Hot. Wet. God, he wished it were his cock buried deep within her.

The ripples began and grew and became waves. He felt it begin.

He sucked deep, then nipped lightly at her clit, pressing it tight, holding it as his fingers thrust hard, again, and then again.

She broke.

His name filled the room.

Her body rose, tightened, and held—and then collapsed, soft and spent upon the chair.

Her glassy eyes stared at him for a moment and then drifted closed, a look of perfect satisfaction marked her face.

His cock stretched hard along his leg. God, he wanted to push her back and sink deep into her, to bury himself until all thought abandoned him and there was nothing but pleasure and need, but even more he wanted to crow his own joy. No completion he had ever known was equal to seeing that sated look upon Ruby's face. Her pleasure was his pleasure.

And, he admitted after her earlier teasing, it was good to know that yes, he knew how to make a woman happy.

It was tempting to close her eyes and drift away. There wasn't a muscle in her body that ever wanted to move again. The orgasm had flashed through her more powerfully than any she had ever known. Now all she wanted was to stay in this moment, this second, this minute.

She knew it must end sometime, but surely not now.

Derek's bristled cheek brushed her inner thigh, sending another wave of shivers through her, smaller, gentler—but still too much.

And yet…

Opening her eyes, she glanced down at the dark head resting against her leg, the soft whisper of his breath still caressing her intimate places. Not being able to see his eyes offered a certain respite. Her feelings ran in a tangle of directions, and she was not sure where one began and the next ended. It had all seemed so simple earlier, a quick, hard fuck, the satisfaction she'd been needing for months, a lover for the few nights he'd be in London, and that was all.

Now she was not as sure. What did she want from her handsome captain?

And why was she afraid to seek the answer?

She was not afraid of anything—or anyone.

Madame Rouge ruled here in this house.

Only, what if her thoughts went beyond this room, beyond these walls?

An ache that no passion could fulfill took root deep in her chest.

Nonsense. She'd wanted things she could not have before. This life, this fragile world was what she could have and it was a good life, a far better life than she'd believed possible when she left her mother's home.

If this room, this night, was all she could have, then she would be satisfied with that—and make the most of it.

Pressing her feet into the floor, she placed a hand upon the hard shoulder that pressed against her thigh. “I think it is time for me to see the dragon.”

His chuckle vibrated through her. “You did seem to like the poor fellow on our last meeting.”

“Stand.” She once again filled her voice with command.

“So the game goes on?” He lifted his head and stared up at her, question in his eyes.

A question she was no more willing to answer for him than for herself.

Leaning to the side, she grabbed the blunt sword that had been forgotten on the floor, along with her feathered hat. She lifted the sword and looped it lazily through the air, glad that it was far lighter than the real weapon would have been. “I don't believe the game ever stopped. It would be wise to remember that.” She brought it around so it tapped against his chest, just below the beat of his heart. “Now, stand.”

Frowning at her, he rose to his feet. She refused to consider that it might be disappointment she saw glinting in his eyes.

Not wanting her thoughts to wander that path, she dropped her eyes to his chest, where sweat dampened the light smattering of hair over the firm, rippling lines of his muscles. She'd always thought she preferred a more refined man, but his sheer solidness had her thighs clenching once again. The man looked like he could lift her with one arm. For a moment her current fantasy faded, and she pictured herself the captive, held at his mercy. He wouldn't even need ropes to restrain her. One of those large hands could easily hold both her wrists, pull them tight, lift her…

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

She did not look up, did not meet his gaze. “Merely considering my next action.”

“Are you sure?”

She didn't wish to lie to him. Strangely enough, she'd spoken only the truth to him in each of their encounters. Why it mattered was not clear. Madame Rouge lied to men all the time. It was part of the job: a list of compliments, reasons why a girl was busy, explanations of what their friends were doing. She might tell more lies than truths in any day. So why did she wish honesty with this man, with her captain? “Yes, I am sure.”

There. She refused to treat him differently than any other man.

“I think—”

She cut him off. “It is not the time for thought.” Not for either of them. “Now, I believe I said that I wanted to become reacquainted with your dragon. I can see him peeking there above the edge of your trousers, and I do want to see more. Strip.”

His nostrils flared. He did not like her commands. They might excite him, but he did not like them, not at all.

Still, his hands dropped to the flap of his trousers, and with practiced ease he unbuttoned them and in a single gesture let them fall, only to have them stop at the top of his boots.

How had she not thought to have him remove them first?

He should have looked ridiculous. Any normal man would have been laughable with his trousers hung up on his boots, but he—he looked magnificent. Bulky and strong, thick thighs topping powerful legs, lean hips, that flat belly—and the dragon tattoo rippling with his every move.

Without thought she leaned forward and stared at the green beast that roamed his stomach, the end of its tail lengthening as it wrapped around Derek's thick cock. It was magnificent, the tinge of red marking the creature's belly and eyes, giving it a life of its own. She wanted to stroke it, to lick it, to taste it.

“Are you going to help me with my boots?”

His voice drew her eyes from her continued perusal up to his face. His eyes stared into hers, piercing pieces of her soul she did not wish to surrender.

“I suppose I will have to. Although, I could pretend that your trousers are merely another form of bondage. There might be some fascination in leaving you hobbled.”

His lips quirked. “Somehow I cannot imagine that watching me trip and fall on my way to the bed will give you any pleasure but laughter.”

There was just enough truth to that that she rose and walked toward him, letting her hips flow into their familiar swing while her breasts bobbed, rejoicing in their freedom.

And his eyes followed.

She stopped a foot before him, feeling the heat seep from his body. The man was warmer than any she had ever known, a veritable furnace. It would be wonderful to curl up next to him on the cold of a winter's night, to snuggle close and feel him wrap himself around her, leaving her safe and…

Blast, her thoughts were veering off course again.

She pulled in a deep breath, letting her chest rise until her nipples almost brushed his chest. Then, conscious of his gaze, she sank gracefully to her knees. The old boots were soft as she placed her hands around them. “I'll hold if you pull your foot out.”

He placed a hand upon her shoulder for balance, and followed her direction. The boot slipping off far easier than any gentleman's footwear. She imagined there were many nights when he did without any help at all.

She grabbed the other and he repeated the action.

And then he was naked.

There was temptation to drop back on her heels and admire the man. And equal temptation to run her hands up his strong, curved calves and well-shaped knees, to continue over the rock-hard thighs and up to that lovely, lovely, jutting cock. Many men—and she had seen many men—had pricks that were far from beautiful. They could be veined or bulbous or lopsided or…The ors went on and on. It was rare to find a cock that was truly a thing of beauty, but the captain's certainly was.

Long.

Thick.

Smooth.

Well shaped.

Tempting.

Tasty.

She wanted to wrap her hands around it, to tease it and please it. She wanted to flick it with her tongue until he begged her to suck it in—and then she would, but slowly, oh so slowly.

She turned her head away, trying to control her thoughts, to control herself.

And then she saw them, herself and Derek, the long mirror against the wall reflecting back at her. He stood straight and strong and so very tall; dark, tanned skin covered most of his body. He clearly had no problem with going shirtless—and pantless? His lower half was paler than his top, but not by nearly as much as she would have expected. She hadn't remembered that about him.

Large feet, large hands—hands that looked as if they could crush rocks—and a large prick. In his case all the murmured rumors about large body parts were very, very true.

And then there was her, pale, so very pale except for the rouge of her lips and the deep crimson of her hair. The stark white shirt surrounded her, draping her, revealing as much as it hid, her swollen nipples half revealed by swinging fabric.

Her eyes, too, were dark. Even in the dimness they glowed as deep and shining a blue as her sapphire ear bobs, emotion filling them. And then she met his eyes in the glass, saw her own emotions mirrored there, the desire and need, the endless need—but also the pain, the wanting more, yet knowing this was it.

Their bodies might meet, their passions be shared, but come morning light their lives would separate. Only in the candlelight could they be together.

She wanted to turn from the mirror, from the sensual image they presented, the strong standing man, the woman at his feet, her lips red and puffy—although they had not kissed for hours. Did she really look like that, so soft and submissive?

Forcing her eyes away, she stared down at his large feet, at the scattering of hair that grew thicker and longer as her perusal moved up his legs. They tensed as she looked at them and she could feel his strain.

Her eyes skipped up his legs to his cock. It stood straight up, straining against his belly, a thick bead of cum dotting the tip.

She licked her lips, tempted.

It would be so easy to rise up slightly, to take him in her mouth, to play and tease until he would promise her anything, offer her anything. And she would find joy, too, joy in the power, in knowing she could do that to him, but also joy in the giving, in the gift. So often there was greater pleasure in granting satisfaction than in receiving it.

Derek's hand came down, brushing her cheek, the thumb sweeping across it.

She turned her face, nipping at the fleshy pad of his thumb, before drawing it between her lips. He tasted of salt—and of her. It was incredibly erotic.

She sucked deeper and then released. He pulled back before surging forward again. There was no mistaking the gesture and what it meant. She pulled him in again, her tongue pushing hard against his calloused skin.

She let her eyes drift closed, trying to decide what action to take. The situation was complex and her normal surety deserted her.

Control. She needed control. She could not allow herself to be the little woman waiting for the man's decision, waiting on his pleasure. If she pleased him, it was because she wanted it, desired it.

She let his thumb pull from her mouth and this time did not follow it, did not seek its return. “Get on the bed,” she said, her voice husky with suppressed emotion.

Her ear bobs swung as she turned and walked back behind the screen, not glancing at Derek, looking for something to tie him with. It hadn't been her original intention, but…

There was some rope; she'd seen that earlier. Heavy, strong. She could picture him pulling against it. He would not like it. He would fight. Fighting was not a bad thing, but it was not what she wanted between them.

She almost pushed the idea from her head when she saw them, the daintiest, flimsiest of scarves. The silk was so fine that a single breath could probably rip it apart.

And therefore it would hold him.

She smiled at her certainty.

Holding two slips of pale blue in her hand, she turned back to him. He'd moved to the edge of the bed and stood there, not moving.

“Lie on your back, hands over your head.”

He glanced over at her. “I begin to tire of this game.”

She bent over and picked up the sword, sure to give him a fine view of her ass. “I didn't ask what you thought.”

“Ruby.” Her name sounded harsh upon his lips.

She strode over to him, adding that extra roll of her hips. “It is what I want. Is that not reason enough?”

His eyes flashed, but without another word he climbed up and lay in the middle of the bed.

She fixed her gaze on his arms, and after a moment he lifted them, resting his palms against the headboard.

Placing the sword beside him, she mounted the bed and straddled his ribs, letting the curve of her backside brush the head of his erect cock.

His whole body tensed at the slight touch, but she ignored it.

“I am going to tie you now,” she said.

He jerked up. “No.”

Lifting the scarves, she let them drape across her breasts, the nipples easily visible through the whisper of silk. “Please. It is not done to beg one's captive, but it would make me very happy.” She moved her hips forward and back along his abdomen, flexing and releasing her thighs. The light silk moved as if blown by a heavenly breeze.

He eyed the thin cloth and she could see his mind follow a similar path as her own. He would hardly have to flex a muscle to rip the fabric asunder; nothing would hold him except his own will, his desire to please her.

He lifted a wrist and held it out to her. Wrapping the silk around it, she held out her hand for the other wrist and bound them together. Then, pulling them above his head, bending so that her breasts hung just above his lips, she secured them to the headboard with a pretty bow. “There, that should hold you.”

Arching her back, she allowed her left nipple to graze his lips, feeling the shudder of sensation as the swollen tip touched the heat of his mouth. He opened his lips but did not draw her in. She arched farther, lowering the tip between parted lips and teeth. The dampness of his breath surrounded her, and then he exhaled slightly, the air cool on her moist flesh.

She inhaled. It was such a tiny thing, but it shot straight between her legs. She pressed her thighs tighter against him, rubbed back and forth just enough to give herself some ease.

She pulled back, brushing her breasts across his face until the other nipple slipped between his lips.

This time he did suck, drawing her in hard and fast.

The cry that passed her lips was involuntary.