Passion Page 9

  But she didn’t have time for embarrassment. Her time was short, and if she wanted to have him as he had her, she needed to say so. He was, after all, always urging her to say what she wanted.

  She broke their kiss and then pressed a few more to his full lips. “Mark,” she whispered against his cheek, “I want to—I want to taste you.” Her fingers tightened briefly around him so he would get her meaning.

  His tongue touched the corner of her mouth before he pulled back, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Do you, now?”

  Passion’s lashes fluttered briefly. “Yes.”

  “And have you ever ‘tasted’ a man before?”

  “No.”

  “Ah,” he traced the tip of his finger across her lower lip, “a virgin mouth.”

  He slipped his finger between her parted lips, and Pas­sion sighed as she brushed her tongue along it and sucked it more deeply into her mouth.

  “That’s good,” he breathed, “just like that, Passion.” He coaxed a second finger between her lips. “All tongue and mouth. No teeth, all right?”

  Passion acknowledged him with a slow blink.

  He stood slowly before her, letting his fingers slip free from her mouth.

  Passion’s heart pounded excitedly. Mark’s penis curved huge and heavy before her. The thick veins throbbed, and the swollen head was shiny with moisture. She licked her lips in anticipation.

  Cupping her chin, Mark tilted her face up as he bent to her. His eyes were like blue glass. “Just how much of me do you want to taste?”

  “All of you.”

  His thumb brushed her jaw. “You may not like me coming in your mouth.”

  Mary had always seemed quite hungry for Wilson. And now, Passion felt that same hunger. “Why? I came in your mouth.”

  “It’s not the same. You’ve never done this before, and I’m going to come hard.”

  She wasn’t going to let this experience go half-met. “Say you won’t refuse me,” she whispered, quoting his very words. “Say you’ll give me everything I want.”

  Mark’s eyes darkened, and an odd frown furrowed his brow. “By God. Your voice is a siren’s call.” He slowly unfolded to his full height. “Very well.” His hand released her chin in a caress. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Sitting on her heels, Passion faced the object of her de­sire. It protruded, thick and strong, from a patch of dark brown hair. The contrast between the dark bed of hair, the marblelike pillar of flesh, and the moist, enflamed head fascinated her. Her clitoris throbbed in acknowledgment, as if to say, yes, isn’t it magnificent!

  Passion combed her fingers through the coarse hair and then, with both hands, trailed a feather-light touch over the hard length of him.

  He flinched and she glanced up. “No?”

  His jaw clenched. “Yes.”

  She drew her fingers back down and watched a clear drop of fluid pool in the opening at the tip of his prick. Her own body moistened at the sight. As she closed her hands around him and squeezed, it spilled down the swollen head like a tear.

  Passion’s nipples hardened, and her quim tightened. Without further pause, she wrapped her hungry lips around the weeping head. She barely heard Mark’s choked grunt over her own moan, for the sensation of him in her mouth was an exhilarating aphrodisiac. She swept her tongue all over the smooth, tender head, eagerly suck­ing up the moisture that leaked in earnest now. It tasted salty, just like tears.

  Pushing her lips just past the throbbing head, she ran her tongue around the rim as she stroked the shaft with her hands. He was the most perfect combination of hard and soft. His skin, fine and smooth, felt like heaven against her tongue. Yet beneath that silky sheath pulsed a hard, thrusting core—a core that forced heavy veins to ripple the smooth surface, a core that ripened the tender knob until it dripped moisture from its dilated orifice.

  Passion swirled her tongue over the head, sucking it firmly while she scooped one hand beneath his heavy sac.

  Mark groaned as she fondled and stroked his balls, all the while keeping her mouth tight around the desperately swollen head of his cock.

  Then his fingers were twisting in her hair, holding her as his hips jerked forward once, twice, a third time, each thrust a little deeper than the one before.

  He froze. And as a guttural exhalation sounded above her, Passion felt him grow even more in her mouth. In small, pulsing increments, his swelling member forced her mouth wider. She opened for him, wishing she could take all of him.

  Then he was thrusting again. Her mouth was full of him, and each thrust sent his eager knob deeper into her. She stroked and sucked him in rhythm with his move­ments, luxuriating in the urgent push and withdrawal that drew his hot, thick flesh in and out of her hungry mouth.

  His hands tightened in her hair. He drew in a ragged breath. And suddenly he was pumping into her faster and faster. He held her as she had held him, immobile, while he found the pace that would bring his release. Grasping himself with one hand, he sent deep, rapid strokes into her mouth.

  Passion felt a hot wash of sensual power flood through her as he stiffened, thrust hard, and froze. She felt the boiling surge of his come as it rushed up his straining shaft. It jetted into her mouth, hot, thick, and creamy, and each eager swallow, followed by the urgent downstroke of his hand, brought more—and more and more. Held in a rapture of erotic gluttony, she drank with open, full-throated pleasure, taking everything that poured out of him and, finally, sucking up the last salty drops he squeezed into her mouth.

  Feeling almost a drunken light-headedness, she rolled her tongue around his softening member before he eased from her and dropped to his knees. His breathing came fast, and he cradled her face in his hands. His gaze was in­tense. Did he see her passionate pride at bringing his re­lease?

  “You’ve done this before,” he said, his voice taut.

  “No,” Passion denied softly. “I never have.” She stared into his eyes. It was important that he believe her. They only had tomorrow left. She wanted him to know the depth of the gift he gave her. “I’ve never … I mean, my husband never…” Tears suddenly stung her eyes. Why could she cry so easily in front of him when she hadn’t cried for years? She blinked and willed her tears not to fall.

  Mark pressed his mouth to hers. “You’ve never what?” he whispered between kisses.

  “I’ve never experienced anything like what you’ve given me these past three days.” Passion sighed against his warm lips. “I believed pleasure existed—knew it ex­isted—but I didn’t think it existed for me. I didn’t know the depth of my need—didn’t know what I held inside myself.”

  “You were married for three years.” He trailed kisses across her brow. “Pleasure can exist without love.” His hands swept over her breasts.

  Passion shut her eyes. During her whole marriage, she had never felt a bodily pleasure that was not brought by her own hand. And even that small indulgence she had forgone long ago. It was too lonely, too empty. Better to bury her need entirely than keep it alive, half starved and craving.

  “My husband afforded me no pleasure,” she managed. “Nor was he interested in doing so.”

  Mark’s gaze moved over her features, dropped to her bared breasts, and then returned to her face. “Then he was a bastard.”

  Passion couldn’t stop the smile that turned her lips.

  Mark nodded, and his eyes held her. “A stupid, blind bastard who wouldn’t know Passion if she laid herself, naked, at his feet.”

  Passion’s smile deepened. “Especially since he never saw me naked.”

  Mark shook his head and touched his finger to her cheek. “Beautiful dimple.” He slid the same finger be­neath her chin and tipped her mouth to meet his in a long, leisurely kiss.

  Passion’s chest tightened. How she would miss him!

  “I’m glad he never saw you naked,” he said, brushing his lips against hers. “Because I do intend to see you naked. And when I do, I’ll have something of you he never had.”


  He kept alluding to the future. She would love to be naked with him. Oh, to feel him, flesh against flesh. But that couldn’t happen. Tomorrow would arrive all too soon. Passion sighed. “You already have more of me than he ever did. And you’ve already given me more than he ever did.” She brushed her fingers across his jaw. “Thank you.”

  His brow furrowed for a moment. “No, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said with a small smile.

  He sat on his heels, his knees resting on either side of her curled legs. His cock, half-hard, lay on her skirts. As satisfying as their encounter had been, she suddenly wished they could fuck. She wanted him deep inside her. She wanted him again and in the future that couldn’t be.

  He stared at her, his arms at his sides. “What is it?”

  Passion felt her cheeks warm. She shook her head.

  He glanced down at himself and then back at her. “Dress me.” His voice sounded rough, but his gaze was soft.

  She clasped his softened member in her hands. Before putting it back into his trousers, she took a moment to feel it. That moment proved a mistake.

  His gaze never left her face as she struggled to contain his quickly hardening flesh. Her cheeks flamed hotter. The head of his cock defied her attempts to cover it. His stare felt like the heat from a fire. She bit her lower lip and pressed one hand against him as she tried to pull the open­ing of his trousers closed with the other. She couldn’t manage the buttons one-handed.

  Distressed, Passion finally lifted her eyes to his. She was surprised by the tenderness with which he regarded her. Her heart fluttered beneath her breast.

  “I can’t do it,” she said softly.

  “No, you can’t,” he murmured. “Because this is what you do to me. I just had you, yet I want you again.” His gaze held hers, and his voice remained gentle and even. “Your husband was a damned fool. Do you hear me? He didn’t deserve you. Whatever his problem was—and I as­sure you, he had one—it wasn’t you.” He drew her hand to his erection. “This is what you inspire. This is what you deserve.”

  Something in Passion snapped. She wasn’t sure if whatever it was snapped open or snapped closed, but her blood surged and her eyes stung.

  Her sisters had insisted she wasn’t responsible for her passionless marriage. But they were prejudiced by their love for her and, as women, couldn’t truly speak to her de­sirability. Mark had no such prejudice, and he clearly de­sired her. But even more meaningful than his words was the fact that he had uttered them, and with such vehe­mence. That had been a great kindness.

  She lifted shaking hands to his lean cheeks. “Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you for knowing me so little, yet still taking my side.” She brushed her thumb across his lower lip and her finger over his dark eyebrow. “I think I will miss you more desperately than I know.”

  Beautiful blue eyes held her. “Let’s not speak of that now. There is so much more we have yet to share.” His mouth curved up ever so slightly as he adjusted himself and closed his trousers. “I’m not done with you yet.”

  Passion let her hands fall to her lap. She couldn’t put the truth off any longer. “Mark, I—I’m afraid tomorrow will be our last day.”

  In a blink, his warm gaze turned to ice. “What?”

  *

  Chapter Six

  Proposals

  Mark’s body went rigid. “Why is tomorrow our last day?”

  “I’m just visiting London,” Passion replied. “And to­morrow is my last day coming to the Crystal Palace.”

  His gut twisted. “You’re leaving London?”

  “No, not yet.” Her long lashes fluttered. “But I’m stay­ing with my aunt, and I can’t keep coming here day after day.”

  “How long? How long before you leave?”

  “A little less than two months.”

  Would he fall out of lust with her in two months? Pos­sible, but with the way he’d been feeling, not probable. “And then?”

  “Home.”

  “Where is home?”

  Passion paused.

  Mark gripped her hands. “Passion, where is home?”

  She looked up at him, her hazel eyes urgent. “Mark, you have to understand. I have never done anything like this before. Besides my husband, you are the only man I’ve ever had intimate relations with. My father is a vicar.

  At home, I’m a respectable widow. I cannot continue with you like this forever—and certainly not after I return home.”

  Glancing at her beautiful breasts, pushed high by her corset, Mark thought she looked completely respectable just as she was. “I’m not interested in forever. I’m inter­ested in as long as it takes for one of us to lose interest. And while I don’t have a lot of respect for what passes for respectability, I have no intention of damaging your repu­tation.” A sudden thought came to him. “I will take pre­cautions to insure that I do not get you with child.”

  “I cannot bear children.” A hint of sadness tinged her voice.

  Mark paused. Why was her admission so surprising? Why should he care? All the better for him. “Then we need only concern ourselves with discretion. As a widow, you have a degree of freedom. I’ve already considered the ways and means of getting you in my bed, Passion. It can be done.” His prick throbbed at the thought. “It will be done.”

  Passion paled with shock. It seemed she hadn’t even considered such thoughts. “Your bed?” She shook her head. “When I was speaking with that man earlier, you put your arm around me and called me darling. Had he been someone I knew, you would have ruined me right there. And you want me to come to your bed?”

  “He wasn’t someone you knew.”

  “But he could have been.”

  “I knew you didn’t know him.”

  “How could you know that?”

  “Because I know him, damn it!”

  Passion’s eyes widened, and a long silence drew out between them.

  Mark grit his teeth. The hum of the crowd suddenly seemed loud.

  Finally, she spoke. “You know him?”

  “He’s my brother.”

  Her cheeks turned pink. “Obviously, he knows all about me.” Her flush tinted even the high mounds of her breasts.

  Mark felt a twinge of discomfort but then quashed it. “He’s my brother, for Christ’s sake. He’s the only person in the world I tell anything personal. And meeting you was a rather extraordinary event.”

  Passion regarded him for a long moment and then moved to pull her chemise up over her breasts. “Well, he being your brother explains much.” She shrugged her corset cover and gown back onto her shoulders.

  “My brother is a gentleman, Passion. Your reputation is safe with him.”

  Her slim fingers briefly stopped working the tiny but­tons of her corset cover and then began again. “I believe you. In fact, I rather like him.”

  A hot flash of inexplicable jealousy flared just beneath Mark’s skin. “You like him? You barely spoke.” His voice sounded angry, even to himself.

  Passion glanced up. “You and I have spoken little, yet I like you very much.”

  He glared at her. “That is an ill-spoken comparison.”

  She smoothed her soft palm across his temple. “You’re right. There is no comparison. None at all.” Her finger traced the edge of his ear, sending a warm tremor through his body. “I think your brother cares deeply for you.” Her large eyes delved into his. “And that’s why I like him.”

  Something warm and comfortable coursed through him.

  “Besides,” she began buttoning her bodice, “I’m going to tell my sisters about you. So I can’t very well resent your telling your brother about me, can I?”

  Mark watched the pale skin of her decolletage disap­pear beneath the dark brown silk of her gown. “And where do these sisters reside?”

  She tipped back on her heels and got to her feet in a soft swish of silk. “My aunt will be waiting. I must go.”

  Mark stood and grabbed her arm as she bent t
o pick up her bonnet. “Damn it, Passion!” His voice was a barely contained whisper. “I don’t want this to end yet. It’s—it’s too soon.”

  She glanced at his hand on her arm. “Would you force me? Expose me, if I refuse you?”

  “Of course not.” He released her, and she put on her bonnet as she moved toward the edge of the screen. … If I refuse you. She had said “if.” He followed. “You don’t want this to end yet either. I know you don’t.”

  She lifted her beautiful eyes to his. “No, I don’t. Not even remotely.”

  Relief rushed through him. About time she came to her senses.

  She smoothed back the hair from his brow. “‘However, I am accustomed to not having what I want.”

  In the moment it took for her words to register, she slipped away.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” he growled. And scooping up his hat, he followed.

  Beneath the shade of a pear tree in Aunt Matty’s gar­den, Passion stared down at her sketchbook. Mark’s face stared back at her. She had captured the cynical curve of his mouth so well that she almost expected the rendering to smile at her. She smoothed her finger over the charcoal line of his brow, softening it.

  Her heart fluttered with both gladness and trepidation. It was the best drawing she’d done in a long time. It was as good as some of the long-ago sketches she had done of her sisters and father. How long had it been since she’d accomplished a drawing so fine? Years? But one success­ful portrayal didn’t mean she could count upon another.

  Besides—she studied her drawing—Mark was the perfect model. His classical features would beg the hand of any artist. How she would love to paint him. Images flashed before her mind’s eye: his head pressed to her breast; his hands working her buttons; his face, that morn­ing, as he had looked up at her from his knees.

  Her body warmed at the memory. The vulnerability she had felt and then the sensual power she had exerted, thrilled her. Yet as gratifying as their encounter had been, she yearned for more. Her release had been incredibly in­tense, yet not sustaining. She closed her eyes and tried to conjure the feeling of him inside her. There was nothing like being filled by him. Her body craved the aching full­ness that joining with him gave her. It satisfied her in ways that today’s experience hadn’t.