Lady Sophie's Midnight Seduction Page 2

  But none of the beaus she had been considering were nearly as devilishly handsome as Lord Benton-Black. The sinful dark look he was currently pressing on her threatened to singe her.

  "I am not some prize awarded upon my father's demise, my lord. I will not bend to his tyranny or yours so easily,” she said. But Lord help her, she would not mind bending if bending meant that his hand, which was presently stroking her hip, would continue its path toward the apex of her legs.

  He seemed capable of reading her body's longings better than even she could. He pushed his thigh snug against the heat welling between her legs until she was riding astride it much like a man would ride a horse.

  "What if I am the prize being handed over to you?” He moved his lips dangerously close to hers again. “Would you still object to our union?"

  "Yes,” she whispered. A lie. As she realized the thought of marriage to this rather mysterious and foreboding gentleman excited her, a prickling heat spread across her cheeks and down her neck.

  His lips covered hers not a breath later, demanding she answer his lust. She responded, cautiously easing her tongue toward his, just enough to savor his bitter-sweet taste. The leg he'd pressed between her thighs rocked against her most delicate flesh.

  She let her eyes fall closed as she drank in the sensations the simple touch of his body awakened in her. It was as if she was his instrument, and he was her master. He plucked and stroked until she felt certain she was on the verge of singing a symphony.

  With her heart thundering against her chest, she rubbed against him. The sheer fabric of her nightrail pulled tight and with each movement caressed that delicate spot between her legs. She didn't want to stop the reeling sensations her wanton rocking stirred in her. Indeed, it was making her long for more.

  The heat from his skin seeped into her, turning her quite boneless. She clung to Lord Benton-Black, digging herself deeper into his kiss while putting all her weight on the delightful pressure building between her legs.

  "You are mine, my dear Sophie,” he whispered when their lips parted for a moment. “Your father gave you to me, and only me. I have suffered quietly while watching you throw yourself at those inferior men. I will do so no longer. I have come to claim you."

  "And I have no choice but to submit?” She prayed for him to say what her ears were lusting to hear.

  "No, you don't."

  With a grasp as tight and sure as the phantom lover in her dream, he lowered her to the peach-colored cushioned bench beside the potted palms. Moonlight streamed into the conservatory windows and bathed the bench as if some higher force were watching over them and approving.

  He paused. A tender smile eased his expression as he ran his fingers through Sophie's long hair, teasing it out of the confines of the braid she'd woven before bedtime.

  "Such a worried expression,” he said, stroking away the tight crease that had furrowed the tender skin between her eyes. “You look as if you think I might eat you—” He leaned back and seemed to think about that for a few brief moments. “Well, I do plan to do just that. But I promise you will enjoy every blessed moment."

  His bold pronouncement rendered Sophie speechless. Her heart had taken off as if it were running ... in which direction? She wished she only knew. To willingly run toward this seducer, with the scent of his last lover still lingering upon his clothes, was beyond foolish.

  And yet ... yet ... Lord Benton-Black with his brash bearing and quick tongue had never been anything but honest with her. She'd understood his intentions from the day he'd appeared in her parlor nearly a month ago. Unlike any of the gentlemen she knew, this dastardly lord—with his uncouth manner and shameful displays of lust—treated her as if she had a brain in her head. It was almost as if he saw her as an equal.

  That, more than his rippling muscles or dark brooding eyes, was what made her want this man more than any of the most eligible bachelors presently on the Marriage Mart.

  He raised her legs up so that the soles of her feet were firmly planted on the plush cushions, and her knees were spread wide enough for him to kneel between them. It was a deeply vulnerable position to find herself in. And yet ... yet ... her body responded to him as if begging for him to control her when he traced a finger along the inside of her thigh, dipping to caress her soft folds in that most intimate of places.

  "You are wet for me, my Sophie,” he whispered. “That is good.” He began stroking her deeper and deeper there, pushing into her first with one finger and then with another. “No, no, don't think. Feel.” His voice thrummed through her, only adding to the breathlessness of the situation. “Feel me moving inside you."

  "I ... can't ... seem ... to ... to ... think...” she whispered as he moved down the length of her body and placed his lips to where she had turned hot and wet and needy. His tongue, so warm and moist, lapped at her. Her hips leaped from the cushion as a shock of pleasure shot through her.

  "Easy, Sophie.” His deep, velvety voice seemed to fill her womb. But it wasn't enough. Instinctually, she wanted more. A deep ache spread, urging her to accept what this man was offering.

  If she refused his offer, she would surely die from the pulling need threatening to tear her apart. It was wonderful and terrifying all at once. And much, much different from anything she had ever imagined.

  "I ... I ... can't ... seem ... to ... think...” she said again. How could she hope to think or do anything sensible when he was so completely in control of her body and was quickly winning sway over her mind?

  He kissed the inside of her thigh and sat up, grinning. “Then don't think. Feel."

  Unlike in her dream, the earl made quick work of the buttons on his breeches, despite Sophie's less than expert help with them. She tugged at his shirt and skirted her hands up his belly to stroke his firm chest.

  Though his muscles were as hard as iron bands, his skin was soft and warm. Inviting. Definitely inviting. She sat up and pressed her lips to his. Madness must have overtaken her, for she couldn't seem to get enough of him.

  He tasted musky and warm. And after an initial jolt of surprise in response to her boldness, his lips softened and yielded to her tongue. Their eager mouths played a sweet game while she tugged at his breeches. He finally captured her hands and finished the task for her. His fingers felt shaky. Indeed, his whole body shuddered as he inhaled a deep breath.

  "Finally,” he said, guiding her until she was lying flat on her back on the bench cushions and positioning himself between her thighs. “Finally, you will be mine forever."

  She felt the tip of his shaft move against her. At first the pressure was light. Gradually, as he pressed to enter her deeper and deeper, the sensation of him being inside her began to build and pull.

  This wasn't going to work. He wasn't going to fit. Sophie wiggled underneath him, turning her hips until he groaned in her mouth, “You're killing me, Sophie."

  She was killing him? He couldn't be serious. He was the one pressing into her. Slowly. Steadily. He spread her legs a little wider.

  "This isn't going to work,” she whispered. Her body ached like a promise unfulfilled. She didn't want him to stop, but she was frightened by the sensation of being stretched so completely. All of this was so out of her depth. She felt awkward and uncertain, two emotions she had rarely if ever experienced. “Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

  Amusement danced in his eyes but did nothing to soften his determined expression. He nipped her bottom lip. “Yes, my sweet, I know exactly what I'm doing.” His voice grew tight. “I wonder, though, do you understand what you're doing to me?"

  "Of ... of course,” she lied and then wiggled her hips, not at all sure what she was supposed to be doing ... or expecting.

  "Please, be still a moment,” he said in a hoarse whisper. He eased out of her just a little before propping himself up on his elbows to stare down at her. His brows furrowed with concern. “You are still a virgin?” He sounded shocked by the thought that she might still be pure.

&n
bsp; Sophie barely nodded, but it was enough.

  He growled. “Of course, you are,” he said finally. “You are a damned prim and proper lady, and I was deucedly wrong to suppose otherwise. Since you'd scorned marriage and many of the activities expected of a young lady in your position, I had assumed that you might have—” He swallowed hard. “Apparently, I was wrong."

  "I ... I'm sorry,” she whispered miserably. By being something other than what he'd expected, she'd surely upset him. She didn't have the skill or experience a gentleman of his sensual nature demanded. Tears floated in her eyes.

  "Ssshhh.” He softly kissed her suddenly damp cheeks. “I am not angry with you. Far from it. I should have moved more slowly and allowed you to grow accustomed to me being inside you before I ... I'm the one who is sorry, for there is still your maidenhead to breach."

  Finishing what he had started, he sank his member deep inside her with a swift thrust. Sophie cried out and arched her back against the pain that ripped through her core. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly against his muscular chest.

  She panted in short, shallow breaths as he continued to move slowly inside her.

  "Stay with me,” he whispered between gentle kisses. “Stay with me."

  Each slow, long stroke he made in her seemed to soothe away a little piece of that initial shock of pain until there was nothing left of it but a blurry memory.

  Sophie rocked her hips, sighing with pleasure at the fullness she felt. Her muscles seemed to melt into the cushions until he nipped her neck.

  She jumped.

  He nipped her again. That little jolt startled her as it reached all the way through her body to meet up with where he stroked deep inside her. She found herself clamping onto him, her soft passage tightening, delightfully so. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, holding onto him. Afraid he might leave her before ... before...

  She couldn't stop moving her hips, bringing him deeper and deeper. Moving faster. Harder. While he'd been so utterly patient and gentle with her body, she gave herself no such consideration. She had to feel him inside her. She had to experience the roughness, the raw passion she'd tasted like promises in his kisses.

  He answered, meeting her need with every bit of skill he possessed. Their bodies moved in a frantic dance as ancient as the dawn. Sophie rocked against him while he thrust like a man determined to cleave her in two. She gloried in it. Needed it. Breathless, she pled with him to not stop loving her. To never stop loving her.

  And he vowed over and over that he would always remain true. That he would give her the world and the moon and whatever else her heart might—

  She didn't hear the last. A burst of sensations blasted through her like a flood tearing down a levy, leaving her quite unable to think, to hear, to see. All she could do was feel. Feel him stiffening inside her, thrusting in her even harder until he finally gave a shout that matched her own.

  It was too much. What a fate for the daughter of an earl! She'd always been taught to act the proper lady. Not this sensual creature addicted to the delightful things this rogue of a gentleman was doing to her.

  Sophie wept, overwhelmed by the feelings that were stripping away the years of ice. He stilled. Panting softly in her ear and petting her hair, he held her against his chest and rocked her gently.

  "Thank you,” he said. She thought he must have said something more, but those two words spoke directly to her heart and were heard. “Thank you for letting me finally love you."

  "I have been waiting for this,” she found her lips saying after what felt like a lifetime of silently lying against him. “The way you have pursued me has driven me mad with desire for you."

  He leaned up on one elbow and looked immensely pleased with himself. “So you will abandon your stubbornness and agree to marry me?"

  "Yes."

  Although her answer came easily, he must have sensed the magnitude of her making such a lifelong promise, for he quickly said, “I vow you will never regret taking me as a husband, Sophie. But be warned, I am a man who has always been dreadfully faithful and dangerously possessive."

  His vows left no room for doubts. She traced the line of his jaw and smiled. “Good,” she said. “Because if you ever come to me smelling of another lady again, I will make you pay dearly. And you best be warned, I have a rather vicious and vindictive side that you should never want to see."

  At that he smiled, too. “'Twas my younger sister's perfume you scented on me, my dear jealous minx. I escorted her to Lady Tuftley's dreadful musicale this evening in the hope of finding you in attendance. Ever since I set eyes on you for the first time last year, I lost interest in all other women. And you—” he lightly brushed a kiss on the tip of her nose “—you, my dear, have driven me mad with your cold stares and roaming heart. I was quite twisted about this evening. Determined to have you. Desperate, in fact."

  Good.

  She chose to keep the last unsaid. Feeling completely warm and sated and, Heaven bless her, truly happy for the first time in over a year, she snuggled into the folds of his soft cotton lawn shirt and drifted off into a blissful slumber.

  "You are not only mine,” he whispered as he kissed her temple. “We are each others. Forever and always, Sophie, my love, forever and always."

  About Dorothy McFalls

  For Regency and suspense author, Dorothy McFalls, happily-ever-after is more than just a fictional ending, having enjoyed every day of marriage to her sexy sculptor husband. Formerly an environmental urban planner, she now writes full time. Visit Dorothy's website at www.dorothymcfalls.com

  Night Whispers

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  Myla Jackson

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  Delilah Devlin

  Dark Heat

  Leigh Wyndfield

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  Vivi Anna

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