He rose to his feet, caught her as her knees buckled, supported her when she slumped against him, and with his hand still buried between her thighs, spun the pleasure out and out, until it faded.
She sighed and settled against him-waited for him to release his erection and take what he wished of her, take his pleasure in her, slake his desire for her.
Instead he held her trapped between his hard, aroused body and the edge of the never used library desk; bending his head, he whispered against her hair, “Why did you hate Randall?”
She let her lips curve but kept them shut. That was one question she wasn’t going to answer. Would not answer, no matter what he did.
No matter what state he reduced her to.
When she said nothing, he cajoled, “Leti-tia,” drawing her name out as he used to do.
Rather than learn what he might try next-and as she still needed a moment more to regain control of her limbs-she informed him-teased him with, “Justin was right. I would happily have killed Randall if I’d been the sort of person who killed people. And while I wouldn’t do anything so scandalous as to dance on his grave-although the temptation did occur to me this evening-I certainly won’t be shedding so much as one tear on his tombstone.” She paused. “Which reminds me-I better order one.”
Raising her hands to Christian’s upper chest, she pushed, leaning back as she did so she could see his eyes. “Shall we get on with this?”
The look he gave her was that of a man pushed too far, but she knew how to fix that. How to circumvent any inclination to argue or question her further.
Bracing one hand on the planes of his chest, she lowered the other, flicked the buttons at his waist free, slid her hand into his trousers and curled her fingers about his hard length.
His jaw clenched. She could see him debating how long he would let her play before he again took charge. She smiled, leaned into him, moving him back a fraction, then sank down.
To her knees, just as he had.
Locking both hands around his heavy member, she admired her prize-then opened her lips and applied them to the blunt head of the thick shaft, lightly licked, then slowly slid her lips down, taking him in as she’d heard the act described, hoping she was doing it correctly.
From the sound that strangled halfway up his throat, given the way his hand clutched in her hair and held her rather than pushed her away, she wasn’t far wrong.
She’d heard about this years ago, had had more than a decade to fantasize about having him at her mercy. Now at last she had him where she wanted him, she wasn’t about to let him go without learning a great deal more.
Without confirming firsthand what drove him to desperation.
She set herself to that task with her customary enthusiasm.
Christian couldn’t breathe. Both his hands had lowered to tangle in her hair. The desk beside him gave him some support; without it he might have collapsed in shock, in complete and totally unexpected sensual overload.
Her mouth on him there…he’d never even imagined it. Not all ladies were aware of the act, nor keen to devote themselves to a man’s pleasure in that way.
Letitia clearly saw advantages-he should have known she would, but he hadn’t thought…couldn’t think…
Her tongue curled around him and he heard himself groan.
Her small hands found his sac, weighed, toyed, then caressed-and he knew, despite the carnal delight, that he couldn’t-wouldn’t-last much longer.
He fought to give her as long as he could, to take the delicious torture, but then she became more intent, and he had to slip a finger between her luscious lips and prise them from him.
Pull her up against him, grasp her hips and hoist her up.
She needed no directions; she wound her long legs about his hips, angled her hips and sank down as he thrust up. He buried his aching erection in her heated sheath, felt her stretch and take him in, then cling. Clutch. Caress.
They’d come together in this fashion on long ago nights, in illicit interludes in darkened parlors and gardens. In gazebos and conservatories.
Memories rolled through him, but they couldn’t dim, couldn’t touch, the glory of the moment. She arched, head high; hands on his shoulders she rose up on him, then her eyes locked on his and she slid down, down, taking him all as she lowered her head and brought her lips slowly down on his, wound her arms around his neck-and surrendered.
Let him have her as he would.
Let him lift her, then slowly impale her again, let him battle desire and need to drag the moments out, to savor her body in all its feminine glory freely yielded.
In that instant she made him hers again, totally captured his soul again, for as her green-gold eyes, heavy-lidded with passion, met his, there were no barriers, no shields, no screen to veil the reality that shone in their depths.
He held her steady and rocked into her; her lids fell and he thrust again, deeper, filling her completely.
Thrust again and felt the mouth of her womb.
Felt it and her sheath contract, felt the ripples of her release caress his entire length, held his breath, tried to rein in his galloping heart to cling to the moment for just an instant more, but she pulled him over, took him with her.
They shattered together, tumbling headlong into the abyss of satiation.
Warmth surrounded him as it never had with any other woman. Her warmth, her fire, her passion.
All he’d craved for the last twelve years, and she was in his arms once more.
He slumped back against the desk, holding her in his arms, unable to move, too sated to care.
Letitia eventually stirred. She could, she knew, grow seriously addicted to the feeling of golden pleasure, the inevitable sensation of aftermath she always experienced with him, flowing like sweet honey through her veins.
Such an addiction would not be wise.
But she didn’t see any harm in gorging on what he freely offered.
Of course, he’d thought he would get answers to his questions by reducing her to mindless, quivering need. So she’d given him answers, much good would they do him.
She should be furious, but the revelation that she could, if she wished, sweep him away-sweep aside his control and reduce him to mindless, quivering need-went a long way toward dousing her temper.
Indeed, as she wriggled and he obliged and, moving very carefully, disengaged and set her on her feet, she couldn’t help feeling a trifle smug.
Unfortunately, her limbs were still too exhausted-wrung out and boneless-to support her; she wobbled, but he grabbed her, gathered her in and settled her against him. Feeling strangely like purring, she nestled against him and let contentment claim her.
Let her mind assess where they now were, and what she should say, how she should go on.
Eventually, summoning every ounce of censure she could lay her tongue to, she coolly informed him, “Your inquisitorial methods did not impress. Don’t try to question me like that again. And just to make sure we’re quite clear on the matter, there will be no more payments of any sort until you find Justin.”
She paused, thought, then frowned. “Incidentally, in light of the down payments and incentives you’ve already received, have you learned anything yet?”
Christian inwardly sighed. With one hand he absentmindedly readjusted his clothing while he told her about Tristan and their inquiries. “Tristan called around this afternoon.” He glanced at her face as he said, “Did you know your brother is no longer-indeed, may never have been-the profligate rake he’s purported to be?”
She frowned in quite genuine puzzlement. “No.” She met his eyes. “What have you-or your friend-heard?”
“It appears that, sometime since coming on the town, or thereabouts, Justin has…turned over an unexpected leaf. He’s in reality highly circumspect in his associations, and conservative to a fault, especially with money.”
Because he was watching, Christian saw the comprehension flare in her eyes-at the mention of money. But the Vaux were wealthy, always had been. They were major landowners, in similar circumstances to himself. “It appears,” he continued, “that with Justin there’s no gambling, that he’s not the least interested in frittering away his patrimony as the bulk of his peers are. Admittedly none of his friends couch it in miserly terms, but rather that he simply isn’t interested in losing large wads of cash, and they can’t recall that he ever was. He also seems to have developed a monkish attitude to women, not complete abstinence but…”