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Wild:. Noelle Mack
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“If you say so.” He turned his attention to the other earlobe and sucked it harder than the first.
His lips and tongue were warm and wet and tight on that tiny part of her body. What he was doing felt so good. So very good.
“Everyone knows that I do,” she managed to say.
He let go and laughed against her ear, a throaty sound, almost like a growl. “Yes, I have heard a few rumors to that effect. I am glad to have no rival.”
“That is not what I said—”
“I know.” He radiated self-confidence as well as heat. His hands moved to her shoulders, stroking her bare skin until languorous warmth spread through her. “But I suspected as much.”
Vivienne arched her back, wanting and not wanting a more intimate embrace. She placed her hands upon his chest to push him away, then felt the strong beat of his heart and let them rest there.
Kyril kissed her neck once more and lifted his head. She could not help but meet his unfathomable gaze. His eyes seemed to take in everything but they reflected nothing. Not the candles or the fire in the drawing room. No detail of her face.
He gazed down at her and Vivienne felt a dizzying sensation of vertigo.
What was—that? For a fraction of a second she saw something strange in the darkness of his eyes. A glimpse of a wild and forsaken land…an otherworld buried in blue-white snow…
She blinked and the illusion vanished. She told herself she’d had too much champagne. She was tired. Imagining things. She would not explain.
He seemed to understand, though, that something had upset her. He brushed away a tendril of the dark hair that clung to her cheek and then his hand slid over her shoulder to the bare skin of her upper back. He stroked her there, taking his time.
She rested her head against his chest, limp with pleasure. His shirt had a pleasant fragrance, as if it had been washed in herbal water. There was a much more masculine smell mingled with it—the warm smell of his skin underneath the shirt. Kyril clasped her nape, calming her. Her neck curved in graceful submission. She could not move, did not want to move. For a moment, the feeling of falling ebbed away and Vivienne felt deliciously safe.
No woman is safe with Kyril Taruskin…
The thought vanished in an instant.
“Come away with me,” he murmured. “The drive to my house is not long.”
She could not think of a very good reason to say no. She came up with a merely serviceable one. “My servants will see.”
“They are abed.”
“But—”
“We can continue this conversation on the way.”
“Kyril, if you—”
“We do not have to talk, of course. But a carriage with closed curtains is a wonderfully private place. As private as a confessional. Intimate secrets, softly voiced—there is nothing more exciting.”
The warm hand on her nape stayed where it was. Vivienne tilted her head back to smile at him. “Perhaps. But I have no significant sins to confess.”
“Give me time. You will.”
Vivienne laughed a little but made no reply.
“Just tell me what you want, my darling. Let me satisfy you.”
“Kyril, I cannot think when you hold me like this.” She did not really want to think. Such was the power of his touch. His strong hand upon her nape was deeply soothing and stimulating at the same time. “No—do not move your hand—not yet.”
He gazed down at her, his eyes dark with passion. “Grant me one night, Vivienne.”
“Ahh—”
“My coachman will bring you back in the hour before dawn. No one will know.”
She hesitated. “It is already past midnight.”
“Is it?”
“The church bells rang. Did you not hear them?”
He shook his head and moved his hand from her nape, tucking a fallen lock back into her upswept hair. The passion in his eyes was shadowed with tenderness.
The candles had burned low. Without his hand upon her skin, Vivienne felt a sudden chill down her spine. The fire had dwindled down to a broken mass of gray and scarlet embers, dancing with shivering little flames. She avoided his intent gaze, not wanting to see his mouth so close to hers.
He still had not kissed her—not really. She had said yes to that. But nothing more.
Vivienne steeled herself to resist whatever came next. The tenderness in his eyes had vanished. His moods were mercurial. Now Kyril was smiling down at her in a wicked way. Ready to pounce.
He was wicked. She was well aware of his reputation. And he was wild in equal measure, for all that he dressed so elegantly. Kyril Taruskin’s dark clothes were set off by a pure white linen shirt, its tall collar filled with a black silk cravat. Above that, a strong jaw and sensual mouth. An aristocratic nose. And those odd eyes. Intent upon her.
With a start, she felt Kyril’s hands trace her collarbone and then move lower, over the swell of her breasts.
She gasped but she did not say no.
He cupped the lush flesh and gently squeezed, again and again. The sensation was deeply erotic. Suddenly all she wanted was to lie down with him, let him suckle her until she cried for joy, running her fingers into his dark hair while he buried his face in her breasts…She swayed against him, feeling something small and hard prick her skin—the earrings.
Breathing hard, Kyril released her breasts and circled his palms over the erect nipples nestled in the lace of her bodice, looking into her eyes now with intense desire. Teasing her. Exciting her. He would have her dress up to her waist next to fondle her bare bottom if she let him—how far was he going to go?
As far as you let him.
No. However handsome, however gifted in the art of pleasing women, Kyril Taruskin was not going to have her tonight.
“That is enough,” she said softly. “I will not go with you and you cannot stay here.”
He nodded, a curt motion at odds with the sensual slowness of his caresses, and ceased what he was doing.
“As you wish, Vivienne. When a lady commands, a gentleman obeys.”
It was rather the other way around, she thought nervously. His tone was neutral, his words polite, but there was an unmistakable steeliness behind both. His reluctance to concede was obvious—he was no longer stimulating her nipples but his hands had moved down again to clasp her waist.
Vivienne drew in her breath and his grip tightened ever so slightly. It was easy to imagine how good those hands would feel on her if she were naked before him, her dress upon the floor in a silken heap, her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders, her corset unlaced and tossed aside…
But he might insist on you wearing the corset and nothing else. To start.
Her breasts ached, not from his sensual fondling of them but from wanting more of it. Her flesh betrayed her. Still and all, his expert caresses had not left her dress in disarray. Her breasts were nicely uplifted and pressed together by the exceptionally fine corset that he was not going to see. Her damned nipples were as hard as the emerald earrings he had playfully dropped into her décolletage. The faceted stones pricked her but she was not going to fish them out. He would only look at her, eyes hot with desire, while she retrieved them—and then she would have no chance at all. No, her dress would stay on and her hair would stay up. Vivienne pressed her lips together and held back a sigh.
There