An English Lord's Love Affair

Chapter 14.4. An Inevitability

   He carried her to the bed and, between long, hungry kisses, removed every article of her clothing. Her yellow gown, her petticoats, her garters, her lace-trimmed chemise.

   When he had rolled off her last stocking, he caressed and studied her nude body as if she were a work of art to admire.

   Charlotte smoldered under his dark scrutiny. Her breasts felt heavy and swollen, the tips aching for his touch. He'd never looked more intense, more dangerous, not even on the night she had found him in this room.

   "I should leave," he said quietly as he ran one hand up her thigh to the soft curve of her hip.

   "No, Benedic."

   His eyes searched her face. The tension deep within her mounted. She bit the inside of her lip. His hot gaze traveled over her body again. How exposed she felt, how vulnerable. Yet deep inside her she found her very helplessness exciting.

   "If I stay," he said, "we both know what will happen. You will never belong to anyone but me until the day I die."

   "Take me," she whispered.

   He leaned over her and claimed her mouth in a kiss that sealed the pact she had made. It was a kiss of possession, deep and intoxicating. The wicked pleasure of it left her without a single defense.

   She could not think. He dominated her mind, her senses anyway. The taut-muscled strength of his body. His virile magnetism. In the deepest part of her, she already belonged to him, ached to be his lover.

   She sat up slowly to kiss him back, whispering against his bruising mouth, "Touch me all over. Take me now. I need you as badly as you need me."

   "Do you?" His voice was rough, but his hands felt gentle as he held her face. "Do you need me, Charlotte?"

   He drew her into his lap so that she straddled him like a wanton. "You know I do," she whispered, her breasts crushed to his chest.

   He shifted position, lifting her with his powerful thighs. He wrapped one arm around her waist to anchor her. She might have fallen back onto the bed otherwise. His free hand caressed the curve of her backbone, the globes of her bottom. She arched her neck and shivered in unbearable anticipation.

   Ever so subtly he moved his hand across the sensuous angle of her hips, to the sleek front of her thigh. She tensed, throbbing deep inside. She was embarrassed he would discover how damp she was in the aching hollow of her womanhood.

   When his fingers found her, it was as if a flame caressed her. Her flesh burned; she melted into him. In that moment he could have done anything to her he desired.

   He was aroused. She could feel his thick member as he repositioned his thighs to open her wider. He groaned into her hair, stroking the damp curls above her cleft, slipping his fingers slowly inside her.

   "Sweet Charlotte," he whispered. "You are so soft in there. Put your hands on my shoulders."

   She obeyed and felt his iron-corded muscles tighten under her fingers. The pleasure of his probing touch took her breath away. She sank into his caress, boneless, silently pleading for more. Yes, more. She wanted to follow this. Completion.

   "Is this what you need?" he asked softly, lust glittering in the smoky depths of his eyes as he lowered his head.

   More than anything, yes, she needed him. There was a rightness to their mating. An inevitability that she had felt from the start. He would possess her. And then she would possess him.

   "Are you going to undress?" she whispered.

   He smiled and brought his mouth to her breast. "In a moment. I'm a little preoccupied right now."

   He drew her nipple between his teeth, and she gasped as sweet pleasure seared her. Her head fell back as he began to suck her breast into his hot, wet mouth. Within moments she sagged against the support of his arm. The auction of his lips tied her nerves into straining knots. It was too much. Not enough.

   "Charlotte."

   She stared up into his dark, hungry face. "Don't you dare leave me like this, Benedic," she whispered in a husky voice.

   "No," he said, shaking his head. "I can't."

   He leaned back and pulled his white linen shirt over his muscular shoulders, then unbuttoned his snug black pantaloons. As he bent to remove his black leather boots, she studied his shadowed form in wonder.

   It was the first time she had seen him completely naked. His body was even more breathtaking than she'd imagined—lean, sculptured sinew and graceful bone.
She remembered the chiseled musculature of his chest and shoulders from the night she'd found him, the athletic strength. The healing scar did not disfigure him as much as it marked him a survivor.

   He glanced around, his eyes narrowing. She did not avert her gaze, but looked her fill, showing him her desire, her approval. Hard angles and firm muscles defined his lower torso and legs. She worked to control the rhythm of her breathing. It was all she could manage not to moan in pleasure as he moved toward her.

   She reached out to him. She needed to feel him again. He caught her fingers as she touched the hard plane of his abdomen. She could tell that he was struggling with himself. That he desired her and did not wish to do the wrong thing.

   She leaned back against the pillows, disentangling her fingers from his, her body arranged in a pose of age-old feminine invitation.

   "Benedic," she said in a whisper, "this is what I want."