Ravishing Ruby (6 page)

He suckled, pulling and releasing, granting her not a moment to collect herself. She braced her hands on either side of his face and enjoyed his feasting.

Then balancing on one arm, she used her other hand to squeeze her lonely breast, to tease and taunt herself in balance with Derek's play.

She pushed her hips back until she ran over his length, feeling him hard and long beneath her. She eased back, pulled forward, rubbing just where she liked, forgetting all else.

So good. It felt so good. She pulled harder at her nipple and rejoiced as Derek's teeth scraped her other. She'd meant this to be for him, but there was no denying the pleasure that filled her.

Hot. Sweaty. Delicious.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Slick and hot.

She was panting now, her face buried in Derek's hair, his brow damp with the warmth of her breath.

Pulling her breast from his mouth, she sat up, raising her arms above her head in a wondrous stretch. Her hips rose from the bed as she positioned herself above him, the thick head of his cock at her entrance.

The cords of his neck were stretched and taut with strain. He needed this even more than she. With slow, deliberate motion, she pushed back against him, filling herself inch by slow inch.

He was big, bigger than she'd remembered. It was work to move with such care when she wanted to pound herself down upon him, to fill herself completely.

“You are killing me,” he groaned, his teeth gritted.

She paused, holding herself still, her thighs tense. “You are working hard not to tear your bonds, aren't you? They are a far better torture than I even considered.”

“Damn you, yes. I want nothing more than to rip them apart, to grab those round hips of yours and flip you beneath me. I'd grind myself to the hilt and then we'd see who's the captive.”

She sank the last bit, feeling his hips against her inner thighs. “I do appreciate your restraint.”

“Just don't expect it to last too much longer.” He thrust up with his hips, filling her further when she had thought there was no more. “I can only take so much.”

He was only holding himself back because she had asked. He had not said the words, not exactly, but somehow she understood his meaning. She lifted her hips and brought them down—and then again.

He lifted his hips to meet her and they began to move in perfect rhythm.

Her whole body was readying again. The tension between her thighs growing and growing as she angled herself above him. His hips thrust hard, surging into her, rubbing against her clit, but also hitting that spot deep inside, which doubled and then tripled the sensations building inside her. “Again,” she whispered.

He moved again—and then in a single motion his hands came free, they landed upon her hips—and then she was under him. She braced her feet down and it was her turn to lift, to rise, to meet him as he slammed down upon her.

There was nothing gentle now. This was power, power and need.

He hit that spot again. Light flashed behind her eyes.

She tilted her hips.

Again.

God. She'd never felt anything like this. It felt like she was being filled with light and warmth—and pressure, so much pressure.

She was going to burst, to shatter, to…

Thoughts escaped her.

There was only sensation, only feeling, only pleasure so great it burned.

She burned.

Her hips tilted further. He came down hard, hammering against that place, that place she had not even known was there.

And it happened.

Bright white. Swirling color.

And feeling, so much feeling.

Her whole body was one great sensation and many all at the same moment, the same instant.

“Derek.” His name was a single scream, a single cry.

Her whole being exploded—and then there was darkness, soft, sweet darkness even as she heard him cry her name and follow her to paradise.

Derek braced on his elbows in the aftermath of an almost endless climax. His body still shook with the strain of what he had just experienced. He pressed deep, feeling the spasms that shook her and then her shuddering descent, even as his own flesh slackened and grew less rigid. It was all he could do to stay still and pull air into his lungs. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt an orgasm as powerful before. He'd laughed internally at Ruby's game, but there had been something in that moment of seizing control, of ripping those ridiculous bonds and taking over, that had excited him like nothing else.

He looked down at her. Ruby might be the most magnificent woman he'd ever known. There was certainly no comparison between her and—he pushed the image of light-green eyes and gentle features away, far away. Anne had no place here.

He focused his attention on the woman beneath him, the woman who he wanted as he'd wanted no other. The woman who even now had him wondering how long it would be before he could go again. He'd always had stamina, but normally it took at least a few minutes before he wanted to rut again, but with Ruby he'd hardly finished and the thought filled his mind.

She lay beneath him, softer than he'd ever seen, her eyes mostly closed, the dark red curls of the wig spread wide. The kohl about her eyes was smudged, adding to the drowsy, contented look that marked her face. Her lips were swollen from his harsh kisses, her cheeks marked from the stubble on his face.

She looked like a woman who'd been fully possessed.

And he was the man who'd possessed her.

She was his.

Only Madame Rouge would never belong to any man, not for more than a moment, more than a night.

For a moment, he wished Ruby's face was clean, wished he could see the angelic face he knew hid beneath the paint, wished it were her soft blond locks that spread across the pillow instead of the stiffer hair of the wig.

For a moment, just a moment, he wished it were Emma beneath him, wished Ruby could once again transform into the inner woman she kept so well hidden.

He rolled to the side and stared up at the ceiling. The room had grown darker. One of the candles must have sputtered out. “Why the wig tonight, when you didn't wear it last time?”

Even with his eyes on the ceiling, he could tell she did not turn to look at him. “I could say it is only practical. I would not want to be seen in the halls without it. Even here, in my house, I do not show my true face. Or perhaps I wanted to see if you would cry
Ruby
instead of
Emma
.”

He focused on the first part of her statement. “You say
could
?”

“If I am honest, it is more than that. I know who I am when I am Madame Rouge. It is easier when all my defenses are in place. Sometimes when I take off the wig, when I try to be Miss Emma Scanton, I am no longer sure who I am.”

Now he did turn to face her. “I am surprised that you share that with me.”

A soft, barely heard chuckle. “I am too. I probably would not if you had not put me into such a state. I find I simply have no cares, no shields. Not that I am sure I ever did with you. I am not sure why I came to you at all that first night. I hadn't meant to. And I certainly don't know why I came to you without my paint. It is true I had already undressed for the night, but I can pull on my wig and paint my face in mere minutes. I've had plenty of practice over the years. I can be called at any hour if there is trouble somewhere in the house.”

“I would imagine that is true. Perhaps you merely did not wish to get the wig wet. I was in the bath. I cannot imagine that it holds up well when mixed with water.”

Ruby still did not look at him. “I imagine that is true. I would have to admit that I've never tried. Most of my encounters have been very well planned.”

Most of her encounters? He was not sure he wished to hear of most of her encounters. “And ours was not?”

Again that chuckle. “How can you even ask? I am not sure that I've ever been tumbled against the wall before. You certainly cannot say that I planned that.”

“And last time, that first time?”

“I didn't know I was going to you until I was halfway down the stairs to the bath. I am not sure that even then I fully understood what I was doing.”

He turned back to the ceiling. “I must admit that I seem to have no control when you are about. I certainly hoped to have you when first we met—my clumsy offer should have made that clear—but I never expected you to actually come to me. And this time—this time I hardly stopped between Manchester and London because I knew I could be with you sooner.”

“And yet you never wrote except for that one slim note.”

“And what would you have had me say? I've never been a man of words and whatever this thing between us is, it is not a thing of words.”

She did not answer, but her lids lifted until she stared up at the ceiling beside him.

“I should have written,” he said after a moment. “If only to let you know how long I would be delayed. I meant no disrespect, but my life seemed so far removed from what happens here between us.”

“I know. I understand.” Her voice had grown very quiet. “It's funny. I've long balanced living two lives, Emma's and Ruby's, and wished that I did not have to. And now I find myself adding a third, because you are right, what happens between us is different than anything else in my life. I was hoping to fit you in with Madame Rouge but it does not quite work. Madame Rouge is full of lies and illusion, and I find it difficult to play that game when I am with you.”

“And yet that was the purpose of our game, was it not? To let you be Madame Rouge?”

A deep sigh. “Perhaps. Or maybe yes and no. I certainly wished to control the situation, to bring some order to this messy thing, but I also enjoyed it. There was something about seeing you go against your nature simply because I wished it that warmed me as nothing I have ever experienced. I am not sure it succeeded in its original goal. I think the further we progressed, the more I lost control rather than gained it. And that was before you took it from me completely.” She bent slightly to the side and lifted the sword that still lay beside them on the bed.

“And what do you mean to do with that?” he asked, unsure that he wished to follow this conversation any deeper.

“It is more what I meant to do with it. Once I had you tied to the bed, I fully intended to stand above you, one foot to each side of your hips, and tease you with the blade. I had such an image in my mind of running it slowly down your torso, of circling your navel, and then tracing your dragon. I can imagine watching it rippling beneath my flesh as the blunt blade dragged across it. I would trace the length of its tail until I was circling your cock—and you'd be tied to the bed, helpless to resist.”

Not quite so helpless. It had taken him less than a second to rip those bonds once he'd decided to. Still, he had to admit that the image she'd planted in his mind had his cock stirring, more than stirring. The thought of having a sword circling his jewels, even a dull one, should have had him shriveling like a grape in the sun, but the thought of Ruby standing above him, still draped in that white shirt, of looking up those long legs, of seeing the shine of her passion, of watching her every movement…

She spun the sword in the air. It must weigh little more than a child's toy.

“I've always wanted to learn to fence,” she said. “I normally do the things I wish, but for some reason I've never tried to find an instructor. I've heard that there are some who will take women on as students. But, I've never inquired. Perhaps it's because of my father.”

He caught her hand, his large one covering hers, holding the sword still. “Because of your father?”

Was she really going to talk about this? Ruby chewed on her inner lip and considered. She never talked of her father, really of either of her parents. There were some who knew part of the truth, but not many. It was hard to hide her accent, that quality of voice that said she had once been more than she was now, but
more
was a very subjective word.

“I once told my father that I wished to learn to sword fight. Perhaps I wanted to be a pirate even then—that could be the root of my fantasy—but it is more likely I wanted to be a knight of the round table. My mother had the most wondrous copy of
Le Morte d'Arthur,
filled with glorious illustrations. I used to curl up in the drawing room when no one was about and page through it for hours. Sometimes I longed to be one of the ladies, but they mostly did nothing but look longingly and then die, so I wished to be a knight. They had the best adventures, fighting monsters and searching for the grail and…”

“I've read the book. I think you are straying from the subject. Why does your father prevent you from taking up fencing?”

She had hoped to distract Derek, and herself. No good ever came of thinking of the duke. “He laughed at me when I told him my dreams. At first I thought it was because I was a girl, but then he explained that I was rather a clumsy child and I might hurt myself if I didn't show care.”

“I would have thought that would make you try harder. You do not seem like a woman to give up.”

She brought her arm down, and his along with it, laying the sword between them on the bed. “I always wanted to make my father proud. I thought he was infallible. He was like a god to me. He would appear and the whole house would change. One minute it would be cold and dreary, and the next the sun would be shining, my mother would be laughing, and Cook would appear with every treat imaginable. I lived for those days.”

“Your father was not with you always? I know you told me some before, but…” he asked.

What had she told him of her past? She knew she'd shared far too much on that memorable night, but it was hard to remember the specifics. “No, he did not live with my mother.”

“Did he keep you in the country? I know several men who believe it is healthier for children in the country.”

A bitter laugh, brittle and sad, escaped her lips. “No, hardly the country. I grew up in London, halfway between here and Mayfair—in more ways than one.”

“Ahh.” His thumb brushed across her hand.

“I am sure I told you before that my mother was my father's mistress. He had another family that lived two streets over from us. Of course, I didn't know that back then. I didn't know that most fathers spend more than a day or two a week with their families. Although, from what I know now, I may actually have seen more of him than his legitimate children. I was never sent to the nursery or away to school. I had hours of his time when he was with us—and for those hours he was the best father imaginable. I've never felt so loved in all my life.”

“I sense there is more to that story.” Derek's voice had taken on a strange note, one she could not quite define.

“I've already said too much. You did not come here to hear of my sad past. Tell me something of you. Were you successful in Manchester?”

“Yes. I managed to procure everything I was sent for.” He sounded even stranger.

“And what might that be?”

He paused for a moment and she was unsure he would answer. “Several weaving machines. I am bringing them back to Rhode Island.”

“I've heard they can be hard to purchase. The mills like to hold on to their secrets.”

“I managed to reach agreement with them.”

He was not a man of many words, but something in his extreme brevity warned her that this was not a road to tread lightly. Perhaps his deal had not gone as well as he pretended. He was a proud man and might not admit if there had been some failure. Well, if there was one thing Madame Rouge knew it was how to distract a man from his worries. She rolled on her side toward him and, easing her fingers from his, reached forward to run a single finger down his naked belly. “And is there anything else you have under way?” Her fingers moved lower.

He caught her hand and held it, his chin tilting down until he looked deep into her eyes. “We can just sleep if you'd rather.”

Hmm, sleep, not talk. He was definitely avoiding something—and she would let him, she certainly had her own issues she wished to put away for another day. “Are you too tired, my dear captain? I know a man of your age begins to grow weary earlier.”

He pulled her hand down, pressing it against his hard and straining cock. Oh, perhaps he was not tired at all. It had been his stamina that she had noticed first about him. Well, that and the dragon.

She wrapped her fingers tight and began a rhythmic stroke, his hand still clasped around hers helping to set the pace.

“I think I might still have another round or two left in me, my pirate queen. That is if you don't mind a simple hard fast one. I am rather in the mood for simplicity.”

“I'd hate to disappoint you,” she replied, speeding the stroke.

“Somehow I don't think that's possible,” he answered, bringing his lips down on hers, covering her with his body as he rose above her.

What time was it? Ruby opened her eyes and peered out into the near-dark. Only a single candle flamed, and it sputtered and danced, the smell of burning wax heavy in the air. She pushed up on her elbow, trying hard not to shift the heavy body beside her. Her body ached and protested as she moved. He'd used her well in the hours they'd been together—and she'd used him quite well herself. She wasn't sure how many times they'd come together—although that would all depend on your definition of certain events.

In any case, the man deserved his sleep. She slipped from the bed, drawing the white shirt around her. It was surprising that it still clung to her shoulders. Most nightclothes were lost long before the end of the first encounter, much less by the fifth or sixth simple fucking. If the man thought what he did was simple, she'd like to see complex.