Kresley Cole - [MacCarrick Brothers 03] Page 6

  “You said you’ve been long without a woman. A very long while?” she asked.

  “Aye, a verra long while,” he answered, shocked that he’d told her the truth.

  “Well. I’m sure we can muddle through this together,” she said, sounding calm, but she’d begun trembling. He wasn’t the only one who was nervous.

  Yet once his fingers skimmed up her smooth thighs to dip into the slit of her pantalettes, she relaxed. At his first touch between her legs, he shuddered with pleasure. “You’re wet for me,” he rasped, so damned excited by her. With one hand, he petted her breasts, and with the other, he ran his forefinger up and down her sex, taking her wetness to circle her little clitoris.

  She cried out, arching her back. Soon she was undulating her hips with need, growing more wanton with each of his strokes. He wanted to taste her there, to delve his fingers inside her, but he knew he’d come immediately.

  He absently recognized that two hours ago, he’d feared he was quit of this feeling, and now, with her…

  Ethan was about to spill like an untried lad.

  He had to take her before it became too late for him. When he removed his hands to hastily tug her pantalettes from her, she wriggled her chest to put her breast back under his palm.

  My God, she’s a hot little piece. He couldn’t imagine what riding her would be like.

  With her undergarments removed and her skirts bunched at her waist, she shivered and whimpered with abandon. One coaxing press against her inner thigh and her knees slid open, without teasing. He began to wonder if her ungoverned responses—so unpracticed and therefore unfamiliar to him—were innocent responses. He’d never been with a virgin and didn’t intend to start tonight.

  No, she kissed like a courtesan, accepting it when he took her mouth deeply, wetly. But just to be certain, he unfastened his trousers, releasing his sensitive shaft with a choked groan. “I want you tae stroke me.” A virgin’s touch would be hesitant, tentative.

  She nodded and took him in her soft palm—his first contact in so long; he couldn’t prevent himself from bucking into her grip.

  With her brows drawn, she eased her other hand down to expertly heft and tug his sack. When she thumbed the wet slit of his penis in slow circles, his eyes rolled back in his head. All doubt dispelled, he grated, “That’s enough. You’re going to see a man spill his seed if you doona stop.”

  He nearly groaned when she nibbled her lip, clearly contemplating it. “Would that embarrass you?”

  “No’ at all. In fact, sometime tonight I’ll have your eyes on me when I do.”

  “I think you must be awfully wicked.”

  “Aye, in bed, there’s little I will no’ do tae a woman or press her tae do to me.”

  She ran the back of a smooth nail down his shaft, which jerked up as if seeking her touch. “You’re, um, very large.”

  “But you’ll like it, I promise you.” When he lowered his body into the cradle of her thighs, he buried his face against her neck. The scent of her hair and the feel of her breasts and nipples against his chest were making him crazed. Their kissing had nearly put him over the edge, and she’d worked him into a lather with her skillful fondling.

  He was at that stage where he could scarcely feel anything but the ache in his ballocks, thinking of nothing but driving into flesh until he could relieve the pressure. “Just let me get this out of the way.” He hadn’t felt this frenzied in memory. “And I’ll take you nice and slow later.”

  Her eyes were heavy-lidded but locked on his as he levered himself up above her, forcing her knees wider open with his own. He positioned his cock at her wet folds, running the tip up and down, his muscles straining as he fought not to shove into her.

  Once she was writhing beneath him, he pressed his hips forward until just the swollen head was wedged inside her. The perfect, tight heat that greeted him nearly robbed him of his seed in that instant. “It’s so good, lass,” he choked out.

  He flexed his hips and thrust inside her fully, the wet glove of her body shocking him, scalding him—as if he’d never had a woman before her. The feel of her arching beneath him, her nipple budding even harder under his kneading palm…he’d never known such pleasure—never.

  “Oh, God!” she cried. “This…this…it’s too—”

  He groaned, “I know.” Another exquisite thrust made him shudder violently over her. When he withdrew, her slick flesh squeezed his cock like a fist. He was already on the verge of coming. It had been so damned long…. Once more, he drove inside, needing to bury himself to the hilt. He ground against her, wanting in deeper—

  She shoved her palms at his hips. “N-no!”

  He shook his head hard and frowned down at her. “What is it? What did I do?”

  “You have to stop!”

  “Stop?” he bit out incredulously. “Give this up?” There was no way he could pull out of the most luscious little body he’d ever had—especially not after being celibate for three years. “You’re too hot…too tight.”

  She was frantically trying to dislodge him. “P-please…you can’t imagine…how badly this hurts.” A sob broke from her.

  He stilled instantly. “Are you…are you crying?”

  When she didn’t answer, just turned her face away, he gritted his teeth and muttered a vile oath. His mind in turmoil, he somehow began to withdraw. Inch by agonizing inch, he strained against the staggering pleasure as her sex seemed determined not to relinquish him.

  He had to make his body understand that he wasn’t to thrust back in and take the release he wanted so badly. That he was giving up this absolute pleasure—not to get it back.

  Too late. As soon as he’d withdrawn he yelled out, uncontrollably beginning to spill against her. His hand shot down to stroke himself to complete release. His forehead rested on her chest, his mouth too close to her hard nipple to resist suckling her as he came. Over and over, he ejaculated across her thigh and against her sex, shuddering and groaning above her.

  When he’d finally finished, he lay heavy atop her, catching his breath as he tried to sort out what had just happened. When he’d first entered her, all he’d perceived had been a nearly uncomfortable tightness and burning heat surrounding him, but now he recalled a hesitation, a pressure giving way.

  She was—or she had been—a virgin.

  Why would she do this? Why give this to him?

  Even with the unplanned ending, taking her had still been amazing. He felt light-headed, nigh euphoric, like he’d figured being completely satisfied would feel. By God, he was satisfied—as if he’d done something he’d always been supposed to and had been rewarded beyond imagining. And the next time would only be better.

  He raised himself on his elbows. “Ah, lass, why did you no’ tell me.” He ran his thumb over her cheek and felt wetness. “Ach, doona cry,” he grated, brushing her hair from her forehead. “I dinna know.”

  Maddy blinked up through tears, watching as his eyes went from expressing heavy-lidded content to something like narrow-eyed suspicion.

  At last, he sat up, and she scrambled away from him. The movement made her hiss in a breath at the fresh pain, and her tears began anew. As he fastened himself back into his trousers, she swatted her skirts down. She couldn’t stop her shaking, knowing he’d kept going, ignoring her cries. She’d asked him to stop at least three times, and he’d just closed his eyes, acting as though he hadn’t heard her, as though he’d gone mindless. If she hadn’t shoved at his hips…she shuddered.

  “Again, why did you no’ tell me?”

  She could feel his anger growing. Yes, she should have told him, had been about to, but she’d been distracted by his chest, overwhelmed by her first feel of a man’s body. With trembling hands, she pulled her cape to cover her unlaced bodice, then collected her pantalettes and gloves. “I was going to—”

  “Did you think to trap me?”

  “Trap you? Wh-what are you talking a—”

  “‘My reasons are my own,’ you told
me,” he interrupted. “Your reasons had something to do with seeing my home.”

  “No!”

  “You picked the wrong man, aingeal,” he sneered. “I could no’ care less if you’re ruined now.”

  Couldn’t care less? Ruined?

  “I will no’ be manipulated and deceived, then reward you for it. Nothing could move me to marry you.”

  Openly crying now, she whispered, “Wasn’t trying…”

  “Damn it, then why did you capitulate so readily? I was having to work for you to allow a kiss, and then suddenly you’re surrendering your virtue in the back of a cab? After telling me you’re hunting for a rich husband?”

  She wiped at her tears, embarrassed by them. “I decided to go through with this specifically because I recognized I am going to be forced to wed someone else.”

  “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “I told you I had a proposal. After meeting yet another eligible male who refused to wed, I concluded I would have to accept the offer of marriage I did receive. And before I went and married someone I don’t desire, I wanted to discover what making love was like with someone I did want.”

  “Then it seems that I just enjoyed something that belonged to another man.” He gave a bitter laugh. “So you planned to trick your unwitting fiancé into thinking you were still untouched? Cuckolding him even before the ceremony?”

  “For the first time in memory, I made a decision to have what I desired.”

  “You admit to your scheming? I canna believe I thought you were different from every other deceitful female I’ve met.”

  “How dare you! I wasn’t trying to deceive you. Is it so unbelievable that I simply wanted you?” Hurting, bewildered by what had just occurred, she whispered the truth, “Though how I ever desired you is a mystery now.”

  “But you did, and what’s done is done now. You can never get it back, no matter how ill-considered the giving—or, God help you, the recipient—was.” He untied his mask and tossed it to the floor, then sat motionless, only giving her one side of his face. In the shadow, she could see his profile was strong and bold. The beast who’d just taken her was, on the surface, a beautiful man. He didn’t say a word to her and wouldn’t face her, seeming to wrestle with a decision.

  “Avail yourself of the carriage,” he finally said in a dismissive tone, tossing cash on the bench between them.

  At his words, she froze. This couldn’t be happening. She’d guarded her virtue for years, defended it jealously, and then in a wild, reckless moment, she’d thrown it away on this animal, this oaf.

  And received nothing but searing pain and humiliation in return.

  Her vaunted instincts had served her ill.

  He pounded his fist against the roof. When the carriage stopped, he turned to her slightly. “I’ll be gone for a week or two. But afterward, I will return for you to decide what’s to be done with you.”

  Her jaw slackened. “What’s to be done with me?” How did he think to find her? She still wore her mask and hadn’t revealed her name. And she would make sure she was long gone from London by the time he returned. The idea that she never had to see him again helped her temporarily stem her tears.

  The count would’ve been a better lover than the Scot. He couldn’t have been worse. She would run back to Le Daex eagerly—gratefully.

  As if he read her mind, the Scot said, “And, aingeal, doona think of marrying anyone before then.”

  At that, he stepped out. Before he slammed the door, she could have sworn she heard him say, “Or I’ll make you a widow.”

  Seven

  As Ethan rode for home, his mind was a knot of conflicting ideas. All of them involving the girl.

  He’d realized that by the time he finished with Grey, she could be married to the fiancé she had “waiting in the wings.”

  When asking himself why in the hell he cared—he’d always preferred married women—he could posit no credible answer. At least, none better than the fact that he wanted her at his complete disposal. If she were wed, she would be Ethan’s only after her husband had taken his due.

  That was intolerable.

  He reasoned that he felt possessive of her like this only because he had taken her virginity, claiming her as he had no other woman before. Tonight he had made her a woman, and on some primal level, he was proud that he had. Ethan didn’t want another man enjoying her in between the times he did.

  Yet there were only two ways he could have her exclusively—as his wife or his mistress. The former was impossible, and even that latter struck him as far too much of a commitment.

  Let her fade into the past…. Now was not the time to have his mind on a woman.

  If Ethan wasn’t cold and focused in the days to follow, he’d get himself killed.

  Before Grey’s affliction had twisted him, the man had possessed untouchable instincts. Even addicted to opium, Grey had been able to escape the suicide mission Edward Weyland had dispatched him on six months earlier—and from what they knew, Grey was still strong enough to exact revenge for it.

  Ethan had assured Quin that Hugh could handle the threat at hand. Yet tonight, Hugh had seen Jane for the first time in years, and Ethan had noted with frustration that none of his brother’s feelings for her had faded whatsoever—even after so much time had passed.

  This couldn’t go on. Once more, he would be forced to act….

  Ethan knew his faults and reveled in them—he was selfish, callous, and coarse, and he killed easily; his only redeeming quality was that he would die for his brothers and wanted them to have some measure of happiness.

  But for some reason both Hugh and Court had always wanted—needed—more. They were never satisfied to continue with less than other men could rightfully expect. It maddened Ethan to know how miserable they both were.

  Just as he’d done years ago, Ethan was going to have to remind Hugh of why he couldn’t have Jane, though he didn’t relish the task—it would only drive a wedge deeper between him and his brother. Just as he’d done before, Ethan would use the book that shadowed his family.

  When he arrived back at his home, Ethan strode directly to the study to reach the Leabhar nan Sùil-radharc, the Book of Fates. Long ago, a clan seer had predicted the fortunes of ten generations of MacCarricks and inscribed them in the Leabhar. The lines within foretold events that had all come to pass.

  The tome was centuries old but well preserved, its cover producing an unearthly gleam. The only marking it had ever accepted was blood, on the last page—the one written to his father….

  To the tenth Carrick:

  Your lady fair shall bear you three dark sons.

  Joy they bring you until they read this tome.

  Words before their eyes cut your life’s line young.

  You die dread knowing cursed men they become,

  shadowed to walk with death or walk alone.

  Not to marry, know love, or bind, their fate;

  Your line to die for never seed shall take.

  Death and torment to those caught in their wake…

  The last two lines were concealed, covered with indelible blood.

  Both of Ethan’s brothers believed the foretelling, abiding by the warning in it. They lived their lives by the book, and Ethan encouraged that. But Ethan’s relationship with it was more…complicated.

  He knew there was power within the tome—it was palpable and the book was indestructible. And there was much evidence to support the predictions: Neither he nor his brothers had fathered a babe, they all walked with death in their professions, and of the two times any of them had thought to marry, one fiancée had perished and another nearly had.

  Just as foretold, their beloved father, Leith, had died the very morning after his sons had read the lines.

  Coincidence could explain some. An undivulged or unknown childhood illness could explain why none of the three brothers had ever been petitioned for support of a child or marriage—though they’d actually hoped for
it years ago. In fact, Court had once speculated that this was why Ethan bedded so many women. Hell, maybe Court had been right—maybe Ethan had been trying to get a bairn on any one of them.

  And to explain the death of Ethan’s fiancée the night before their wedding?

  If one believed the rumors circling him, Ethan had cornered her on the roof of Carrickliffe, his family seat, and then pushed her to her death….

  Ethan didn’t worship the book, taking it as his creed, because the three brothers were well and truly cursed on their own—so why bring the Leabhar into it? Ethan lived his life rationally, and a modicum of common sense said that, cursed or not, assassins and mercenaries and worse best not taint the innocent.

  Then why in the hell was he even considering going for the lass tomorrow?

  Did you ever think I just wanted you…?

  Ethan lay in bed for hours until dawn, scowling at the ceiling as he replayed every minute of the night. That same inexplicable sense of urgency to see her continued to claw at him.

  Part of him wanted to shove her from his mind, even as another part of him had wanted to storm Quin’s house last night and take her away. Again the need to get her, to possess her, surged within him. He didn’t understand it. He hungered for her as he never had for any woman before.

  He remembered his lack of response to the comely prostitute displaying her breasts. However, if he recalled the lass’s soft, wee ones beneath his palms he shot hard as wood. Yes, he’d just had her and the pleasure was fresh, but his reaction to her still made him uneasy.

  What if she was the only one who could provoke him to that kind of lust? Even with the abrupt ending, taking her had been…mind-boggling. Just touching her trembling body…

  What if he never experienced that fierce need again without her?

  There were other questions surrounding the mysterious chit that he wanted answered. If she was untouched, then why hadn’t she been shocked at the sights in the masquerade? And how in the hell had she known how to fondle him with such skill?