"Have I missed anywhere?" Nick mused, hovering over her, towel still in hand.
"I think you forgot my toes," Polly responded, wriggling them invitingly. "They are all damp 'twixt and 'tween."
Nick grinned. He knew well how sensitive were Polly's feet. "How remiss," he murmured, slipping an arm beneath her knees and sweeping up her legs, circling the narrow ankles between thumb and forefinger.
"No!" Polly squealed as his tongue licked along the sole of each foot, stroking into the high-arched instep. "Oh, you know I cannot bear it!" She thrashed wildly on the bed as the delicious torment continued, and he took her toes into his mouth, suckling on each one, his thumb massaging her
heels and soles, setting up a chain of sympathetic reaction all over her body. It was as if every nerve in her feet was connected to some other part of her. Finally exhausted, she ceased her struggles and protests, abandoning herself to the wickedly skilled arousal, the slow sensitizing of each nerve and pleasure center.
"Monster!" she whispered, defeated by delight.
"You asked for it, my love," he replied in perfect truth, smiling, still holding her legs as he looked down on her flushed face and heavy eyes, the rise and fall of her breasts in response to the thudding of her heart and her swift breath. He moved his hands to the insides of her legs and slipped slowly down their length, spreading them wide as he caressed the tender satin of her inner thighs, approaching with tantalizing delicacy the throbbing cleft, while Polly lay, breathless in expectancy, poised for the touch that she knew would send her surging over the edge to which he had brought her with such demonic knowingness.
Her eyes implored him, her tongue ran over her lips, her body became as molten wax, a formless puddle on the featherbed, centered only on that nerve-stretched apex. Hot tears of near unbearable delight scalded her cheeks. The muscles in her belly tightened, sending little flutters across the surface of her skin; and then, when there seemed nothing in the world but the tension of expectancy, he touched her.
Her body leapt as if beneath a burning brand, and she thrummed like a string of a plucked lute. It was as if, after an eternity of denial, she had been given back what she had lost. The loving touch of bodily joy, the turbulent plane of ravishing bliss were hers again.
"Come to me, love," she whispered, "inside me," desperate in her urgency for the fusion that would make them both whole again.
Nick stripped, careless of buttons and hooks in his haste, then he gathered her against him and, as she lifted her hips, pressed deep within her. Her body closed around him, holding him within her silken toils; he exhaled slowly, smiling in
soft satisfaction. "Such honeyed delight, love," he whispered, bending to kiss her eyes. "Velvet and honey, you are."
"No spice?" she murmured. "Such a concoction sounds a trifle sickly."
"There's salt enough upon your tongue to add savor to marchpane," he said. "Shall I punish you for that?" Slowly, he withdrew to the edge of her body.
"Quarter, my lord," she begged. "Indeed, 'twas a thoughtless impertinence." Her legs curled around his hips, pulling him toward her again.
"To respond to compliments in such fashion is, indeed, impertinence," he said gravely, tightening his buttocks in resistance against the pressure of her heels.
"I crave pardon, and will accept any penance except this." Her hips arced as her heels increased their pressure, and Nick chuckled, yielding with a show of reluctance.
Then the laughter died from his face, and his eyes burned into hers. "As you love me, sweetheart, do not move. I would have you with me, but one wriggle and I shall be lost."
She smiled. "And I would have you lost. I shall be with you, never fear." Slowly, she tightened her inner muscles around him, saw his face dissolve with joy, tried to keep at bay her own tempest the longer to enjoy his pleasure; and then was engulfed herself.
"God's grace, but I have missed you." Nick opened his eyes, his heart slowing against the still rapid beat of the one below. "I have missed being angered by you, as I have missed being entranced." He kissed the corner of her mouth, the cleft of her chin. "Tell me what you have been doing this sennight."
"Apart from worrying?" Polly asked, feeling her heart race again, a light sweat misting her palms. Stage fright, she told herself sternly.
Nick frowned. "You look worn to a frazzle, love,"
' 'Tis nothing, now that you are back. I could not sleep, and there has been the playhouse… Oh, what is the
time?" She sat up in a panic not entirely feigned. "We are to rehearse this morning." She sprang to her feet.
"Is there a play this afternoon?" Nick rolled off the bed, since clearly the moment for softnesses and cuddling was past.
"Nay, but tomorrow we are to perform Master Dryden's new play, Secret Love. 'Tis monstrous funny in parts. Melissa becomes Master Florimell." She struck a pose, beginning to mime the combing of a full peruke. " 'Save you, Monsieur Florimell! Faith, methinks you are a very jaunty fellow.' '
Nick laughed at the absurdity of her naked femininity and the very masculine swagger she produced. "Does Edward play opposite you?"
"Aye, as Celadon, my lover. 'Tis very awkward, as he challenges me to fight at one point." She twinkled mischievously.
"And how does the fair Florimell avoid such a happenstance?" he asked, much amused, and no longer aware of the signs of strain that he had noticed a minute ago.
She struck another pose, haughty, one make-believe handkerchief passing through the air. " 'Out upon fighting: 'tis grown so common a fashion, that a modish man condemns it.' "
Nick roared with laughter. "I will see no more, lest it spoil me for the performance." He stepped into Polly's neglected bathwater. " 'Tis cold, but I daresay will serve to refresh me. Had you better not dress?"
"Aye." Polly went to the armoire. "Will you not come to the rehearsal this morning?" She turned, offering him an apologetic smile. " 'Tis just that I fear to lose sight of you again."
"I must visit Richard, sweetheart," he said seriously, splashing water on the back of his neck. "There are matters that bear investigation-"
"But not today, surely," she broke in. "And mayhap Richard will come to dine if we send him a message to say that you are released."
Nick frowned, saying slowly, "I had thought to go to court this morning. I've a need to judge my reception."
Polly bit her lip, wondering whether continued pleading would arouse his suspicions. She allowed her shoulders to sag, her head to droop; her lip quivered, but she said nothing, continuing with her dressing.
Nick's frown deepened. He had no reason to suspect that this display of unhappiness bravely borne was less than genuine and, as usual, found her impossible to resist. "Very well. We will keep close today, except for Richard. Why do you not send to his house with an invitation to dinner?"
"And you will come to the theatre?" She turned eagerly to face him, hands clasped, eyes huge and glowing.
Radiant as a violet after the storm, Nick thought with customary resignation. "Aye, if you wish it. But I think it unkind in you to spoil my first view of the play by obliging me to witness the blunders and the promptings, and Master Killigrew's irritations and castigations."