Passion Page 8

  Then Mark was behind her. His hands gripped her waist, and his voice sounded low near her ear. “I’m not the sort of man you would like to know, Passion. I live my life for myself. I do what I want, and I couldn’t care less what people think about it. If something pleases me”—his hands stroked her sides—“then I’ll pursue it for as long as my interest lasts.”

  Passion tensed as a tingling started between her legs.

  “But when I’m done”—his hands fell slowly away—“I’m done.”

  Passion felt bereft of his touch. Despite his words, she wanted him. She wanted him because tomorrow would be their last day together—tomorrow she would be “done.” That was fortunate, for she knew she couldn’t bear being cast away yet again.

  He moved back to her side.

  She met his serious blue gaze. “I’ll miss your touch when we part. I miss it now.”

  A sudden smile softened his mouth as, within the folds of her skirt, he clasped her hand and threaded his fingers between hers. “Aren’t you going to try to convince me that I must be wrong? Aren’t you going to try to imbue me with all sorts of noble qualities that I don’t have?”

  Passion smiled. “Why would I do that?” Even the feel of his gloved hand around hers was heaven.

  Mark shrugged. “I don’t know. Most women do.”

  “Do they?” Passion flipped a page of the Bible idly as she suppressed a brief twinge of jealousy. “It must be nice to be obliged to no one. I don’t know what that’s like.”

  His thumb stroked her palm. “No, I don’t imagine you do.” He nodded toward her left hand, resting upon the page. “Tell me about him.”

  Passion looked down. Her gold wedding band could be seen through her black crocheted gloves. She didn’t want to talk about him. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything you want to tell me.”

  Passion searched for something to say. “I was married to my husband for three years before he died. He was killed in a riding accident. It was very unexpected.”

  Mark’s blue gaze pinned her, seeming to look into her thoughts. Passion drew a deep breath. Was the room less full? Or did everything, even sound, fade in his presence?

  “Did you love him?”

  Passion’s chest constricted. No one had ever asked that question. Her sisters hadn’t needed to. Nor had her father. They had known the answer. “No.” The word came in a whisper.

  His gaze imprisoned her. “Did he love you?”

  Tears suddenly welled in Passion’s eyes. Turning away, she blinked them back as she stared down at the band of gold around her finger. Was the lack of love so painful? Or was it acknowledging it aloud that hurt so?

  Mark moved even closer. “Answer me, Passion,” he urged softly. He pressed her toward the screen. “Did he love you?”

  She swallowed her tears.

  His hand tightened around hers. “Did he?”

  “No,” she gasped. “No!”

  And then they were behind the shadow of the screen. Gloves flew to the floor. Mark’s arms came around her. His mouth swooped down upon hers. His scent enveloped her.

  Passion moaned into his mouth and clasped him close. Beneath the force of his deep kiss, her tension melted away. Everything melted away: the pain, the lost years, the desperate longing. The only thing that mattered now was this kiss, this moment.

  She gave herself to it completely. Arching against him, her hand crept around his nape whilst her other cupped the firm angle of his clean-shaven jaw. Her mouth opened for the sweeping stroke of his tongue. She breathed in short gasps around the thrust and withdrawal, luxuriating in the firm press of his lips and the heady taste of him.

  His hands moved around her waist and up her back. He captured her mouth again and again. His fingers brushed her hardened nipple and pinched it. Passion shuddered. Her head spun. She could feel the hard length of his cock between them. It throbbed heavily and, between her legs, her cunt responded with a strong pulse. She gasped as a warm rush wet her thighs.

  When Mark finally released her mouth, a regretful moan escaped her as she opened her eyes. Her heart pounded.

  “Your kisses make me faint,” she breathed, reaching to remove his hat.

  The heavy lock of brown hair fell forward over his brow.

  “You were made for sex,” he said low. “Do you know that, Passion? You don’t just want it.” He flexed his hips, eliciting a sharp indrawn breath from her. “You need it.” His fingers rubbed her nipples through her gown. “And your body is made for it.”

  Passion bit her lip. Was it true? She remembered the playful yet sensual conversations she and her sisters had engaged in as girls, their avid enjoyment of the Song of Solomon, memorized after so many times read aloud. But she had sublimated her own wants and needs for so long that those memories had faded. She had faded.

  She traced his curving mouth with the tip of her finger. It didn’t matter. Tomorrow was their last day together. Then everything would be as before. And memories would be her consolation—memories she would not allow to dim.

  He nipped her finger between his teeth and touched it with his tongue. A hot tremor tightened her nipples and quickened the pulse between her legs. Then, as his tongue stroked her finger, he began to move rhythmically against her.

  Passion gasped, and her cunt cried. Voices sounded from beyond the screen. Yet the feel of his tongue moving on her finger, combined with the thrust of his cock, made her suddenly wild with need. Reaching down, she curled both hands around the stiff length of him and stroked.

  He sucked in his breath and, yanking the ribbons be­neath her chin, sent her bonnet flying to the floor. “That’s good,” he encouraged, as he leaned against the wall. “In the future, don’t wait so long to touch me.”

  Future? No, they had only today and the brief future of tomorrow.

  Passion moved her hands all over him, even cupping his heavy sac through the fine wool of his trousers. The feel of him, the sight of him with his trousers tented over the throbbing force of his huge erection, made her hot and flushed with desire.

  “Do you want me to take it out?” he asked.

  Her cunt clenched. “Yes!”

  “Very well.” Mark slowly released the fastenings of his trousers, revealing the long, marblelike column of flesh for which she yearned so much. The head, swollen and large, bobbed toward her eagerly.

  Passion’s mouth watered. It was too beautiful, too powerful. She reached for it, but Mark’s hand stayed her.

  He smiled. “What say you we strike a bargain?”

  Passion hesitated. “A bargain? What do you mean?”

  “Well,” he murmured, “you’ve gotten a good look at my prick. But I haven’t seen you at all.”

  The little heart at the mouth of her cunt pulsed anx­iously. “You saw my breasts.”

  “True.” Mark licked his lips. “And two more perfect breasts I’ve not seen. But I was referring to that juicy lit­tle place between your legs.”

  Passion’s brows shot up with surprise. “You want to see me? Down there?”

  “God, yes,” he breathed, tracing her parted lips with his finger. “I want to see you, smell you, and touch you.”

  The noise from the exhibit room escalated.

  An old memory filled Passion’s mind—she and her sisters at their pond after a swim. Clad only in wet che­mises, with much laughter and giggles, they had ended up comparing each other’s quims. That had been before her marriage, when she had still believed in the joy of love and life.

  Now Mark wanted to see her. Passion felt her cheeks flush and her legs quiver with excitement. The tip of his finger was hot against her swollen lips. As he had done, she touched it with her tongue. His smile faded as he slid his finger farther into her mouth.

  A searing wave of sensuality sluiced through Passion’s body, igniting her nerves and heating her blood. Her eyes tipped shut as she closed her lips around his finger and sucked it. Moisture dripped down her thigh as he slid his long finger
in and out of her mouth.

  “Ah, that’s very pretty,” Mark whispered tightly.

  Passion moaned. She knew why this simple act titil­lated her so—remembered the many times she and her sisters had spied upon Wilson, their butler, during his daily two o’clock ejaculation into the mouth of Mary, the upstairs maid. Country life and, perhaps, too much free­dom had given her sisters and her a well-rounded educa­tion.

  Her heart raced at the distant memory, suddenly vivid. She wanted to taste Mark, to feel his beautiful cock against her tongue. Unable to resist any longer, she reached for it. Her fingers brushed the veiny length, but he pulled back, slipping his finger from her mouth.

  With a frustrated groan, Passion met Mark’s hard stare. All levity had left him, and his sensual mouth was drawn in a firm line.

  “What a delicious little wanton you are,” he murmured. “But what of our bargain?”

  Passion shook with need. Her lips trembled. She glanced longingly at his pulsing penis. The big head glis­tened.

  Mark lifted her chin with his finger. “I won’t give it to you until you give me what I want.”

  Could he really deny himself? The head of his prick was already darkening with desire. “So, if I refuse,” she said softly, “you’ll bid me good day and we’ll both leave here unsatisfied?”

  His mouth lifted in the predatory half-smile of their first meeting. “Are you calling my bluff, Passion?”

  She wanted to know the extent of his craving for her. Did it equal hers for him? “Yes, Mark.”

  His smile faded. “Truth is, I have no intention of letting you out of here without gaining satisfaction—both yours and mine.” His hands went to her skirts, lifting them. “So, if you refuse, I’ll take you any way I can have you. But”—his hand stole between her legs, cupping her, as he dropped a soft kiss upon her lips—“I see no reason for you to refuse such an innocent request.”

  Passion shuddered as he turned her to lean against the wall. He rained kisses across her face as he slid the hard length of his penis between her pantalet-covered thighs. “Come, Passion,” he breathed. “Let me see that sweet lit­tle quim.”

  Her muscles quivered in delicious anticipation as she luxuriated in the feel of his heavy member sliding in and out between her tightly clenched legs.

  His hand rested on her breast. “You’re so wet and warm.” He nuzzled her neck as he unbuttoned her bodice. “Say you won’t say no. Say you won’t refuse me.”

  Passion gasped as he pulled open her gown.

  His fingers worked fast at her corset cover. “Say you’ll give me everything I want. Say you won’t ever hide your body from me.”

  She arched her back when he opened her corset cover and ran his hands over her distended nipples. Still con­tained by her chemise, they poked out over the top of her corset.

  Mark dropped a wet kiss upon the high mound of her breast. “Now, pull down your chemise for me.”

  Passion lifted shaking hands. The noise from the ex­hibit room grew even louder. But she could not refuse him. She didn’t want to. And when she pushed down the fabric covering her breasts, he actually moaned at the sight of her.

  He latched, voraciously, onto one thick nipple and rolled the other between his fingers. Passion bit back a cry at the hard pull of his mouth. Yet she arched against him, offering herself as she threaded her fingers through his hair and held him close. He fed upon her longer and more insatiably than he had the day before. And every swath of his tongue, every hungry suck, sent a spiraling bolt of pleasure straight to her womb.

  Her breast heaved and her heart raced as he released her aching nipple and moved to the other. She gazed down at it, amazed to see it so inflamed and erect. Mark’s fin­gers plied it continuously, pinching and pulling it, while he coaxed the other into a like state of swollen excitement.

  Passion held him close and squeezed her thighs around his thumping cock. She could stay here forever while he kissed, sucked, bit, and… If only he would fuck her!

  She wasn’t sure when her hips began to rock. She only noticed when he released her nipple and pulled back to watch her. She reached for him and winced at her own need. “Mark, please…”

  ‘“Please, what?”

  Passion squirmed. “Please… Help me…”

  He frowned and slid in and out from between her tightly pressed thighs. “Please help me come,” he said, finding the words she could not. “Say it, Passion. Please help me come.”

  Her voice shook. “Please, Mark, help me come … I beg you…”

  “That’s it.” His mouth softened. “How I love to hear your beautiful voice speak the words. Now, hold up your skirts for me.”

  She did as he asked and sucked in her breath as he dropped to his knees before her. This she had never seen.

  “Spread your legs.”

  Barely breathing, she planted her feet wide. She squeezed her eyes shut as he reached to open the slit of her pantalets. But in the next instant, her eyes flew open as he ripped the fragile fabric open to her waist. She bent to see past her gathered skirts and stared wide-eyed at her ex­posed mount. Thank the Lord for the high volume of chat­ter in the room.

  Mark gazed at the site before him intently. His eyes never shifted as he raked his fingers through her auburn curls. And then he was parting her flesh, opening her.

  Passion was transfixed. Her late husband had never looked at her, let alone explored her. Everything had oc­curred between quickly lifted nightclothes, which had been just as quickly replaced.

  Mark’s fingers slid between her wet folds. Then he slid one long finger inside her. She gasped and her eyes flut­tered. He slid in another, and she felt a trickle of moisture seep out of her. His thumb pressed against the spot that pulsed and ached.

  Passion sighed with relief, for the pressure eased the terrible throbbing somewhat. But his fingers continued to slide in and out of her, feeding her desire for fulfillment.

  “God, you’re wet, ” he said, more to himself than her.

  He slid a third finger into her, and she canted her hips forward. Lewd though it seemed, she couldn’t help it. She was trembling with need, and he wasn’t giving her enough.

  “Very nice. But I want to see more,” he murmured. “Bring your hands down and hold yourself open for me.”

  When she faltered, he looked up at her. “Do it, Passion. You won’t be sorry.”

  Her heart racing, she reached down and pulled herself open.

  “More,” Mark crooned. “Open it wide.”

  A choked gasp escaped Passion. She felt completely exposed. She should cover herself. But instead, she opened herself wider.

  “Ah… that’s so beautiful.” He tapped his thumb a couple times. “Clitoris all swollen and red.”

  He tucked in his thumb and pumped his fingers into her. Passion’s hips bucked forward, and she froze, sus­pended, as he thrust in his fourth finger and continued to pump her tender flesh. Passion bit her lip. The friction built and built, until each thrust brought a squish of mois­ture.

  That’s when he pulled his fingers out. Her body clenched, and she thought she might scream if he didn’t grant her satisfaction.

  “There,” he growled, “that’s how I like it.”

  And then his mouth was on her. Lips and tongue all over her gaping flesh. Passion bit back a sharp cry at the same time her hips jerked forward. His open mouth slid all over her. She felt his tongue lapping moisture from her sheath, felt his teeth nibbling her swollen nether lips, and felt the sandy scrape of his clean-shaven jaw.

  Such a feeling! Passion’s thighs flexed and her knees quivered as she jutted her hips out even farther. He drank from her body, sucking the moisture right out of her. His tongue laved her slick skin and throbbing clitoris, driving her wild with an almost torturous pleasure.

  Her hips jutted forward and back uncontrollably. Her head spun. She closed her eyes to block out everything but the intense sensation driving her. It mounted and mounted. Everything else faded. Nothing
mattered but her satisfaction. Nothing mattered but that his mouth bring her release. She wanted it. She needed it. She must have it. Now!

  With a great gasping breath, Passion thrust her fingers through Mark’s hair and rubbed her burning clitoris fran­tically against his wet tongue. Faster and faster she stroked. A low hum droned in her ears. Floods of molten sensation kept pouring into the straining bud. Filling it and filling it… Until it burst.

  Choking on her own cry, Passion’s whole body stiff­ened. But she could not contain the explosion. Hot shards of stabbing pleasure shot through every part of her, wracking her with uncontrollable shuddering as they rico­cheted from nerve ending to nerve ending.

  Passion struggled to remain silent under the fierce on­slaught. And just when she thought she couldn’t bear it another moment, just when she thought she couldn’t quiet her body’s ecstatic shaking, everything coalesced back between her legs in a final dying burst.

  With a soft moan, she fell to her knees and landed in Mark’s enveloping embrace.

  She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, leaning against his solid frame and breathing in the fresh scent of his neck. The noise from without seemed to grow loud again.

  If only she could stay here with him. If only…

  A sigh escaped her.

  She felt his chin brush her cheek. Then a kiss warmed her brow. “Passion?” His hand cupped the high swell of her breast pushed up by her corset.

  She drew a deep breath and tipped her face up to look at him. His hair was tousled, and his blue eyes blazed with an inner fire. She followed the straight line of his nose to his full, sensual mouth. A mouth that, moments before, had been latched between her legs with a fervent hunger. Her chest tightened as she lifted her mouth to his.

  The kiss began softly but quickly deepened as Mark surged against her. Passion tasted herself upon his lips. She had never known that a man could bring a woman pleasure with his mouth. Wilson had never done so with Mary. Or if he had, he had done so at some time other than two o’clock.

  Passion closed her hands around Mark’s jutting penis. He moaned into her mouth, and his hips flexed forward. She stroked him as she kissed him, knowing what she wanted to do yet embarrassed to say it.