The Passionate Love of a Rake. Jane Lark

liquid.

      His fingers gripped her ribs below her breasts.

      She was intensely aware of every move he made. He kissed like a master. It bore no resemblance to the stumbling kisses they’d shared in their youth.

      This was her beloved Robert, but Robert was a changed man.

      Drugged by his kisses, she didn’t care.

      Her mouth open wide beneath his; she let him plunder.

      The warmth of his palms heated her breasts again, and she ached for him to take her in his mouth as he’d done before. He did not. Instead, his fingers drifted downward, caught the fabric of her chemise, then drew it up.

      She lifted her arms and let him strip it off.

      He threw it aside.

      A sharp rush of desire spun from her stomach and pooled between her legs as his head lowered and his hands lifted her breasts.

      When he dropped to his knees, she felt something inside her drop with him, a sharp, sudden spasm of beautiful pain. She felt like a goddess with Robert on his knees before her, savouring her, while her fingers sifted through his dark brown hair.

      An ache burned like fire beneath her skin. She had never imagined it would be like this.

      “Jane,” he whispered as he glanced up and met her gaze, his voice reverential. But then he was kissing her again, his lips pressing against her stomach as his fingertips tugged loose the ribbon of her drawers. The garment fell away. It left her naked, bar her stockings and shoes.

      She shivered as his lips drifted lower, pressing against the curve of her pelvic bone while his fingers slid up the sensitive skin of her inner thigh above her garter.

      Her leg muscles jolted, surprised by the progression.

      But then his touch was within her. “Oh.” Her exclamation was half shock, half bliss. She clutched his hair, holding on against the sensual storm he invoked.

      She felt so gauche and inept. This was Robert’s art – love play, sex – and she hadn’t a clue how to take part. He was a master. She was a novice. Yet she was learning, oh how she was learning.

      His mouth touched her there, too, and her whole body jolted at the shock of his intimacy. She felt herself redden with embarrassment. This was what he’d meant in the carriage. He’d not spoken of the taste of her mouth. He’d spoken of her taste there.

      She shut her eyes and just felt, letting him touch and taste.

      The ache inside was growing, rising in intensity. It was too excruciating to bear this slow caress.

      “This is torment,” she whispered.

      He looked up.

      Her fingers gripped his scalp, her fingernails sinking into his skin.

      “Give it up, then,” he drawled in a deep heavy burr, his dark eyes sparkling. “Let it happen, Jane.”

       Let it happen? Let what happen?

      Oh, Robert, what are you doing? she wanted to scream as she felt heat race across her skin.

      He was laughing internally. She could see it in his eyes as they twinkled up at her, laughing at her naïvety. God knows what expression was on her face.

      Then his hand took one of hers from his hair, and he pressed a kiss into her palm before letting it go. It was the sweetest gesture, but only a pause in the momentum of his onslaught, though the heat of his kiss continued to burn in her hand.

      The crescendo was rising again. She gripped his hair.

       Let it happen? What!

      “Oh! Robert!” Her voice broke on a sharp, desperate cry, and her nails dug into his scalp. She felt as though she shattered, reeling into a wave of what could only be described as ecstasy. It tore through her senses, swirling into her limbs like a high tide in between the rocks. The muscles in her legs quaked, and she felt weak when it passed. But this must have been what he’d spoken of, because he seemed to know she could no longer stand. He laid her down, the rug beneath her.

      “Robert? I … ” She could find no words.

      It didn’t matter. He hadn’t brought her here to talk.

      His fingers were working a charm over her again, and his kiss did the same to her mouth.

      It was coming again.

      Her hips pressed upward with an instinct of their own.

      She lost her breath as the fire broke out on her skin. Her hands gripped his shoulders and merely held on. He had complete control. She had no power at all.

      “Oh, Robert.” She slipped into a deep pool of pleasure once more. She wanted to feel their joining, to be complete. Her fingers searched for the buttons of his flap.

      “Wait. Let’s get into bed,” he whispered, giving her a lazy, heated smile.

      Into bed. Anticipation ripped through her as he took her hand and helped her rise. Walking backward, he pulled her towards the bed. She recalled holding his hand when they were younger, running or walking through the woods.

      He bent to lift the covers and threw them back. The sheet beneath was dotted with heads of dried lavender, and the scent lifted into the air.

      She suddenly felt intensely cold, and her arm covered her breasts as she pulled her hand free of his. How could she have been such a fool? This was not about her – the flowers, the candles, the bed. He’d planned to seduce Lady Baxter tonight. All this was for Lady Baxter.

      Reality came crashing back in. All she was to him was another female body. Of course he knew how to make her feel good. He’d done this hundreds of times before, with numerous women. She could not do it, do this, and know it meant nothing to him.

      How could she have thought she could?

      She met his gaze and stepped back. “I cannot.” Then she turned away to collect her clothes, shaking. She felt so foolish.

      “Jane? What the hell is this?” His voice was irate and impatient.

      Oh yes, she remembered his anger, his instinct to judge and blame, and the cruel accusations he could cast. He’d yelled and railed at her when she’d told him she was promised to the Duke of Sutton. That was the last time she’d seen Robert.

      Her clothes clutched against her chest, she held a hand out to ward him off as he stepped forward. “Robert, I, I’m sorry. I thought I could, but I cannot.”

      He stilled, staring at her, and she could see he was seething. God knew what he thought of her after this.

      She moved to touch his arm. “Robert, I just—”

      He knocked her hand aside. “Do not bother, Jane. I have no desire to hear more of your excuses. I heard enough years ago. You obviously take great pleasure in turning me down. What was this, a game? No, do not answer that. I don’t care.”

      With that, he spun away and strode towards the door, growling as he went.

      His anger was in every taut muscle as he moved.

      “I’ll stir Jenkins from his bed and have him call for the carriage. If you are lucky, he may have not yet retired.”

      “Robert! Wait! I can walk.”

      He stopped dead and laughed. It was a horrible, heartless, mocking sound. Then he looked back, and his glare hit her like a blow. It was callous and accusing. He turned, then, and crossed the room with long strides, advancing so fast, she instinctually backed away.

      “Jane,” he barked to stop her as he neared. Then his eyes dropped to look at her left hand a moment before his fingers gripped it.

      It was then before her face, with his finger pressing beneath hers, which still bore Hector’s obscenely large, emerald