resist.”
So he was. And he was the only man she’d ever allow to sweep her up into his arms. She brought his mouth to hers as he crossed the cabin, loving his easy strength. He shouldered through the heavy curtains surrounding their bed, laying her in the center and following her down.
He pulled her shirt from her breeches, found bare skin beneath. His touch sent fire racing across her nerves, searing her senses, taking her breath. Panting, Yasmeen rolled him over, straddling his lean hips.
“Let me, Mr. Fox,” she said against his lips.
He smiled. “I’m all yours, Captain.”
He was, thank the lady. Her fingers made quick work of his waistcoat buckles, but as she spread the emerald silk to reveal the white linen beneath, memory of their conversation with Bilson intruded. She met his eyes. “What happened that summer?”
“I picked a flower, brought it home to my mother, and put it in her hair.” He untied the silk tails of Yasmeen’s kerchief, and coiled one of her narrow braids around his hand. “She blushed and smiled—her smiles came rarely then. When we were children, they came more frequently. But this was the first I’d seen in some time.”
“Your father ruined it?” Yasmeen guessed.
“Adornments are for sodomites and whores. And when he was done with me, he started in on her. Not with his fists,” he added. “He didn’t usually need them.”
With words, then. “But you finally had enough?” When henodded, Yasmeen stroked her fingers down the green silk. “So you told him with this.”
“Well, it matched my eyes—and I’d always been fond of adornments, anyway.”
His grin wrecked her. She buried her face against his neck, breathed in his warm scent. “I’d kill him again for you.”
“I hope you’d let me have a turn,” he said, running his palms along her spine.
“If you ask nicely.”
“I would.”
“Then let me be nice to you, first,” she said, sliding down.
His groan was the perfect answer. She bared his stomach to her mouth, tracing the ridges of muscle with her tongue. Anticipation pounded through her, was echoed in the thud of his heart. Oh, beautiful man—every morning, an hour spent sparring with a pugilist’s automaton in the cargo hold kept him strong, always ready to run, ready to fight. The life-sized windup machine had cost them a hefty amount, but was worth every denier. His body was a wiry sculpted marvel, taut and aroused beneath her hands, her lips.
A gentle nip low on his abdomen made him shake, hands fisting against the sheets. He shuddered when her mouth closed around him—rigid and thick, hot against her tongue. His moan seemed torn from his chest…then he quieted, as if the sensation overwhelmed even that response.
His erection softened in her mouth.
After a moment of shock, Yasmeen choked on her laugh. Had she finally scared the arousal out of him? She glanced up, ready to tease.
Archimedes wasn’t laughing. A slightly puzzled expression settled over his features as he looked at her.
That was all she saw. No love in his eyes—not even lust.
Pain stabbed her heart. She fought against the instinctive need to curl away from him, to protect herself from that empty gaze. By the lady, what had she done? What had happened?
Had she lost him already?
An uncontrollable ache bloomed through her chest. With effort, she battled the panic threatening to overwhelm her sense. He’d never
not
been responsive. He’d never
not
wanted her. Something had to be wrong.
“Archimedes,” she said softly. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Realization slipped over his expression…but not in the way that she was accustomed to seeing it. Rather than lively and mobile, his features seemed wooden, his attitude disinterested. “I’m not feeling much.”
His flaccid cock attested to that. She attempted a smile. “Do you need me to do something else?”
“No. I don’t want you now.”
So blandly stated, his words hurt more than a vehement
So he was. And he was the only man she’d ever allow to sweep her up into his arms. She brought his mouth to hers as he crossed the cabin, loving his easy strength. He shouldered through the heavy curtains surrounding their bed, laying her in the center and following her down.
He pulled her shirt from her breeches, found bare skin beneath. His touch sent fire racing across her nerves, searing her senses, taking her breath. Panting, Yasmeen rolled him over, straddling his lean hips.
“Let me, Mr. Fox,” she said against his lips.
He smiled. “I’m all yours, Captain.”
He was, thank the lady. Her fingers made quick work of his waistcoat buckles, but as she spread the emerald silk to reveal the white linen beneath, memory of their conversation with Bilson intruded. She met his eyes. “What happened that summer?”
“I picked a flower, brought it home to my mother, and put it in her hair.” He untied the silk tails of Yasmeen’s kerchief, and coiled one of her narrow braids around his hand. “She blushed and smiled—her smiles came rarely then. When we were children, they came more frequently. But this was the first I’d seen in some time.”
“Your father ruined it?” Yasmeen guessed.
“Adornments are for sodomites and whores. And when he was done with me, he started in on her. Not with his fists,” he added. “He didn’t usually need them.”
With words, then. “But you finally had enough?” When henodded, Yasmeen stroked her fingers down the green silk. “So you told him with this.”
“Well, it matched my eyes—and I’d always been fond of adornments, anyway.”
His grin wrecked her. She buried her face against his neck, breathed in his warm scent. “I’d kill him again for you.”
“I hope you’d let me have a turn,” he said, running his palms along her spine.
“If you ask nicely.”
“I would.”
“Then let me be nice to you, first,” she said, sliding down.
His groan was the perfect answer. She bared his stomach to her mouth, tracing the ridges of muscle with her tongue. Anticipation pounded through her, was echoed in the thud of his heart. Oh, beautiful man—every morning, an hour spent sparring with a pugilist’s automaton in the cargo hold kept him strong, always ready to run, ready to fight. The life-sized windup machine had cost them a hefty amount, but was worth every denier. His body was a wiry sculpted marvel, taut and aroused beneath her hands, her lips.
A gentle nip low on his abdomen made him shake, hands fisting against the sheets. He shuddered when her mouth closed around him—rigid and thick, hot against her tongue. His moan seemed torn from his chest…then he quieted, as if the sensation overwhelmed even that response.
His erection softened in her mouth.
After a moment of shock, Yasmeen choked on her laugh. Had she finally scared the arousal out of him? She glanced up, ready to tease.
Archimedes wasn’t laughing. A slightly puzzled expression settled over his features as he looked at her.
That was all she saw. No love in his eyes—not even lust.
Pain stabbed her heart. She fought against the instinctive need to curl away from him, to protect herself from that empty gaze. By the lady, what had she done? What had happened?
Had she lost him already?
An uncontrollable ache bloomed through her chest. With effort, she battled the panic threatening to overwhelm her sense. He’d never
not
been responsive. He’d never
not
wanted her. Something had to be wrong.
“Archimedes,” she said softly. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Realization slipped over his expression…but not in the way that she was accustomed to seeing it. Rather than lively and mobile, his features seemed wooden, his attitude disinterested. “I’m not feeling much.”
His flaccid cock attested to that. She attempted a smile. “Do you need me to do something else?”
“No. I don’t want you now.”
So blandly stated, his words hurt more than a vehement
Similar Books
