Sylvia Day - Perfect Kisses

She obeyed, clutching his shoulders, but he moved out of her grasp and down as he flung back the sheet.

He pressed her thighs apart somewhat more and then…put his mouth where his finger had been. Susannah felt a soft sensation unfold deep within her, as his gentle tongue began to lick her there lovingly. Whatever this was called, she wanted it. She arched her back, presenting herself instinctively, craving more. He took the tiny nubbin inside the folds between his lips and sucked it lightly. Cascades of sensual pleasure made her tremble and she began to moan.

Carlyle took his mouth away and sat up, caressing her breasts with expert skill. He rolled her nipples between his fingers, tugging lightly and watching her writhe with a pleasure she had never known.

“I must confess, Susannah-I saw you in that corset by accident when I stepped out on my balcony. I wanted to do this then. You were playing with the little rosebuds on it.” He let go and took her hands, placing them on her breasts. “Play with your nipples while I…” He said no more.

Dreamily, on fire with desire, she began to pinch her nipples rather harder than he had done. She felt his stiff cock bump her side as he sat back and watched, and she looked up in his eyes. “Like that?” she whispered.

“Yes. You are so beautiful, Susannah. Innocent still…” He parted the folds of the swollen flesh between her legs and touched her hymen with a fingertip. She began to shake and grabbed her breasts hard. “But wanton at heart. I am proud to be the man who touches you first. But I will not take you.”

She let go of herself and reached up to him. Carlyle grasped her wrists and prevented her from holding him. Then he put his mouth between her legs and resumed his tender lovemaking. The feeling grew stronger and stronger and she held her thighs as wide as she could, desiring the pleasure that shot through her. His lovingness opened her soul-and his sexual skill made her moan his name over and over.

Susannah reached down to hold his head, then grabbed his hair when he suckled the little bud tightly between his lips and teased the tip of it with his fluttering tongue.

Oh, oh, oh…ohhhhhhhhhh. As the ultimate pleasure overcame her, she knew how much she loved him.

They were sharing a postcoital dinner and conspiratorial winks. Susannah had managed to wriggle into a corset-not the dangerous one-and fasten her dress by herself. The candlelight hid her faint air of disarray, she hoped. Out by the back door before the servants returned and in by the front door when they were about the house, Carlyle was soberly dressed and impeccably groomed, the picture of upright manliness once more.

In more ways than one, she reflected, looking at him adoringly. He had not reached climax as she had, preferring to wait and putting her from him when she protested, saying with a laugh that there would be time enough for that. But he had let her explore his nakedness as much as she wished once she agreed not to arouse him too much, and she had taken her time about it, not knowing when she would have the chance to do so again.

He was attacking a chop at the moment. Something about the vigorous use of knife and fork told her that the physical frustration bothered him rather more than he would admit to her. Still, Susannah appreciated his self-restraint. Was there ever a virgin who had felt so satisfied in the history of the world?

His suggestion-that she wait and see which man she wanted-was simply absurd. There was no other man. She only wanted him. Susannah wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

Carlyle was gnawing on the bone of his chop almost ferociously and looking at her with the same tenderness he had shown in bed. She half expected him to growl just to make her laugh-and he did.

Susannah nodded to the maid, Molly, who brought in the next course, a puddinglike lump of something that could have originally been potatoes, perhaps mashed up with beets. It was dark red, blotched with brown. “Thank you. That looks delicious.”

Molly set the dish on the table and withdrew.

“It looks terrifying,” Carlyle said, poking it with a fork. The lump emitted a blast of steam. “English food is dreadful. Perhaps we should hire an Indian cook.”

“I would be happy to move back.”

“You cannot.”

She permitted herself a pout. “If you say so. But I might move somewhere else. Italy is warm.”

He took a bite of the puddinglike lump and made a face, putting down the fork. “Hmm. You seem to like countries that begin with I. What about Ireland? I believe that they do not treat potatoes as badly as this in that country.”

“Cold and damp.”

“Go to Ifrica, then. Or Istralia. Very warm, both of them. And there is always Imerica.”

“You are being very silly.” She laughed. “And I don’t want to go alone. Do keep in mind that we are not married.” Carlyle gave her a fond look, as if that fact made him happy. Beastly of him-but he was still the beast she wanted.

He rose from his chair and tossed his napkin on the table. “I only wish to grant you the freedom you seem to want so much.”

“Bah. I want-” she blushed-“more of what you-what we-just did.”

Carlyle came around and put his hands on her shoulders, glancing through the open door to the hall to make sure they were quite alone before he slid his hands over her bosom. He caressed her breasts in a way that brought back every single sensation she had experienced in bed with him. “Do you now?”

“Yes.”

“Not tonight, my darling.” He bent to kiss the top of her head. “But soon. I don’t know when.”

She turned in her chair to look up at him. “That is not the answer I wish to hear.”

“The empress has spoken,” he said mockingly. “Well, you are in your domain. Remind me to pick up a few peacocks. You can give them orders.”

Susannah got up, wrapping her arms around his waist and standing on tiptoe to kiss him on the chin. “They would look good in Dr. Josephus’s garden.” She pulled him over to the window and he went with her without a trace of reluctance.

Holding each other in a loose embrace they looked down at the maze and the quince tree at its center, which had shed its blossoms and leafed out fully. A moving shadow beneath it made her draw in her breath. “Did you see that?” she said softly, drawing him back from the window. Carlyle only nodded. “We are being watched.”

He let go of her and moved to one side of the window, looking out without seeming to. “So we are.”

Susannah felt sick, her body tight with tension and-she had to admit it-a measure of fear.

He studied the shadowy garden and seemed to come to some conclusion. “He will not come out into the light. And there is not much of that in any case. I must deal with this now, Susannah. And the servants must not know.” He sighed. “It is a good thing your drainpipes are in excellent condition. Make sure that Mr. Patchen locks all the doors tonight.”

“He always does,” Susannah replied in a miserable whisper. “But the servants will remark upon your sudden absence.”

“Are you not an empress? Ignore them. And stay away from the windows.”

“Yes, of course.”

Carlyle waited a few moments more, and she watched his eyes follow the movements of a predator she could not see, drawing her own conclusions when Carlyle looked up through the window and in the direction of the garden’s back wall, shrouded in darkness. The man, whoever he was, had undoubtedly gone over it

Carlyle didn’t waste a minute. He lifted the window, put one long leg over the sill, grabbed the drainpipe, which clanked, and swung the rest of himself out.

It was three in the morning when he returned. Susannah had stayed in the same room, waving away Molly, who thought she had fallen asleep in the armchair. The English girl had been easy enough to get rid of, but not Lakshmi.

Lakshmi noticed the slight disarray of her mistress’s attire-and more important, the agitated state Susannah was in. But Susannah had sent her away too.

“Never mind, Lakshmi. Please go.”

The Indian woman had obeyed, but with obvious reluctance.

Susannah eventually did fall asleep in the armchair and wakened with a little scream when she realized Carlyle was standing over her.

“Hush,” was all he said.

She looked at his face and gasped. “Oh-what happened?”

His eye was black and a bloody scrape extended from his ear to the front of his chin.

“I became involved in a rather delicate negotiation. But in the end I prevailed.”

She rose and looked about for a handkerchief to soak and wash his face with. The cold cup of tea on the small table by the armchair would have to do for balm. “Who was he, Carlyle? What did he want?”

Carlyle shrugged. “A hired brute. His name is not important. He meant to frighten us.”

Susannah dipped the handkerchief in the tea and pressed it carefully to his face. Carlyle flinched. “He hurt you.”

“Indeed he did. And I hurt him back.”

She cleaned away the drying blood. The task was made more difficult by the short whiskers that roughened his jaw. “Why? You should have-”

“Should have done what, Susannah? Notify the police?”

They would not understand the complicated matter of the gems. “No.” She inspected his skin, seeing for the first time the faint purple bruise underneath the blood. “But should you see a doctor?”

He shook his head, looking at her wearily before sinking into an armchair. “We must keep the gems in a safer place than this house. Do you know, I had thought of putting the corset into a safe deposit box at the bank, but I could not get Lakshmi to let it out of her keeping.”

“She has been so frightened, Carlyle.”

He sighed. “She has reason to be, now more than ever. But there may not be much time. Where are the rubies and sapphires?”