Sylvia Day - Bad Boys Ahoy!

"Yes." Her lips curved. "But therein lies the problem."

He shook his head.

"You see," she continued, her voice lowering. "Being around you makes me ache. The way you look at me makes me ache, much more so than when I read Hugh's books. I'm a grown woman. Allow me to worry about the consequences."

Lucien groaned low in his chest, a sound filled with defeat and the death of good intentions. He was only a man, an extremely lustful man, with the woman he wanted most offering liberties he shouldn't accept. But would. He couldn't turn away the chance to touch her, to hold her, just once.

"I'll take care of that, sweetheart," he said softly as he approached her. "I'll make the ache go away."

He placed one knee on the bed and then stretched out beside her, clenching his teeth as she rolled and pressed her breasts into his chest. She tilted back her head, offering up her lips, and he claimed them, his tongue sweeping into the sweet recesses of her mouth. Her response stunned him, her eagerness obvious, and he could hardly bear it. He shook with the effort to slow down, to be gentle, when the fire in his blood urged him to hurry.

His hand caressed her shoulder and then moved down to her breast, finding her nipple as he ravished her mouth. He tugged gently with his fingers, loving how she melted against him, completely responsive and unreserved. Pulling her body to drape over his, Lucien caressed the curve of her derriere, kneading the firm flesh until she squirmed.

"Please," she gasped, pulling her lips from his. Her legs spread in silent invitation.

Lucien buried his face in her throat to hide his smile. Julienne was so innocent and yet so wanton. So perfect.

He slid his hands between her thighs, one finger finding the slick opening that betrayed her desire. He slid through the cream, testing her, before sliding just a tiny bit inside. She moaned and instinctively pressed her hips downward, away from the pressure and onto his erection. Lucien groaned along with her.

This wouldn't do. If she did that again, he wouldn't have the presence of mind to keep from plunging his aching cock straight through her maidenhead.

Julienne whimpered when he gripped her waist, pulling her higher over his body so that her breasts hung in his face and the crisp curls of her sex rested safely against his stomach. He held her slight weight easily above him, admiring the sight of her. Her eyes closed, she arched her back, presenting her breasts, while her golden hair drifted around her shoulders.

Lucien was captivated.

Lifting his head, he pressed a reverent kiss to a puckered nipple. Julienne's soft cry encouraged him to go further. He teased her with licks of his tongue before suckling the taut peak into his mouth, intoxicated by the scent and taste of her skin. She arched into him, rubbing her sex along the muscled ridges of his stomach. She repeated the movement again. Then again. Julienne was riding herself against him, her nipple held firmly in his mouth, and he was on fire, every nerve ending vibrantly attuned to the woman he pleasured.

"Please," she begged. "I need… more…"

He knew what she craved. To be filled with him, stretched by him, and ridden to orgasm with his cock stroking deeply inside her. But he would not do that. Could not. There was nothing about him that was honorable, but he'd make the effort. For her.

"Patience, love," he murmured, releasing her breast. "I will attend to you."

He rolled her over, capturing her other nipple with his mouth while his hand caressed the length of her body and dipped between her thighs. To his delight, she opened her legs eagerly, and he caressed her lips with soft, gentle swirls, pinching them together, then moving his fingers across the hard, swollen nub in matching cadence to his suction on her breast. Her lithe body began to undulate next to his, and he threw a leg across her hips, grinding his erection into her thigh, his body seeking a relief that would be denied to him.

It was a hell of a time to find his conscience.

Impatient, Julienne arched into his hand. Lucien obliged by venturing a finger inside her again, softly stroking. He pulled out with exquisite slowness, then pressed forward again. With a patience that surprised him, he took his time, loving her gently until her body welcomed his touch with a rush of moisture. She breathed his name, and he was nearly lost.

Lucien released her breast, afraid of hurting her as his jaw clenched with the effort to retain his control. His finger, slick with her cream, slipped out, and then he entered her with two fingers. He fucked her faster now, pulling back to watch her face as she struggled against her approaching orgasm, her skin flushed, her nipples tight and hard. Despite her virginal state, she was so aroused that he had no trouble pleasing her, his fingers twisting and rubbing, constantly changing tempo and direction, to keep her on the edge. Julienne writhed, her fingernails digging into his arm, marking him on the outside as she'd marked him on the inside. Her knees fell outward, opening her cunt completely, and then her hips began to move with him, rising and falling to meet his thrusts.

"Don't fight it, sweet," he coaxed softly as her head began to thrash, her skin so hot it burned his. "Just allow it to happen."

The room was quiet except for the harsh sounds of their breathing and the slick sucking noises that accompanied the pumping of his fingers. Julienne turned blindly toward him, her lips parted with panting breaths, and he thrust his tongue between them, loving the taste of her. When she stiffened beneath him, he pulled away, pinning her down with his leg as she arched and cried out his name, shivering beneath him. She held his fingers so tightly in her orgasm, he could barely move them, but he managed it anyway, drawing out her pleasure. He was stunned watching her, never having seen anything so beautiful in his life.

And he would never be allowed to see it again.

Lucien was torn between masculine satisfaction and utter, wrenching despair.

Julienne opened her eyes and wondered if she'd fainted. She felt boneless, languid with warmth. As she realized the heat came from Lucien, her mouth curved with pleasure. She snuggled closer, and then stilled at the sound of his harshly indrawn breath and the feel of his erection against her thigh. She looked at him in dismay. He was suffering, and she'd been too sated to notice.

He rose to his elbow and looked down at her, his face drawn tight. "I have to go."

She lowered her eyes to the hard ridge of his cock. Reaching down, she brushed the outline with a shy, tentative stroke of her fingers. It jerked beneath her touch.

He pushed her hand away with a curse, then caught it back and kissed her fingertips to soften his rejection. "You mustn't touch me, Julienne."

"But I'd like to," she insisted. Her heart swelled, filled with tenderness for him. "That was so wonderful… what you did…"

His gaze was achingly tender. "I'm glad you thought so."

Julienne pressed her lips to his.

His hand slid to her nape, prolonging the kiss. Then he sighed and rolled onto his back. In a fluidly graceful motion, he left the bed. Lucien grabbed up his shirt and dropped it over her head.

"Stay with me." She shoved her arms through the sleeves and gripped his wrist quickly when he turned to leave.

"I don't think I can."

"But you wanted to watch me sleep." When he hesitated, she pulled the counterpane back in invitation. He was so obviously torn that it touched her heart.

Suddenly he blew out the candle and slid in beside her. He curled against her back, his knees behind hers, his lips at her shoulder. She clung to his arms as if she would never allow him to go, which was entirely the way she felt. With his warmth and scent surrounding her, she quickly fell asleep.

"Oh, dear, this is dreadful. Absolutely dreadful. We're ruined. You are ruined! What will we do? We shall be run from our home and-"

"Aunt Eugenia, please!" Julienne threw up her hands. "Keep your voice down! The servants will hear you."

Eugenia Whitfield snapped her mouth closed and bit her lower lip.

Julienne sank into her brother's chair in the study of Montrose Hall and crushed his letter in her fist. The soul-deep satisfaction she'd enjoyed since leaving Lucien that morning was gone, replaced by weary resignation. "I am not ruined."

"You spent the night with Lucien Remington!"

"Aunt Eugenia!"

Eugenia squirmed in misery on the chaise.

"I did not spend the night with Lucien Remington. I merely spent the evening in his establishment, which no one aside from you is aware of. I'd prefer to keep it that way, so lower your voice. Please!"

"What will we do about Hugh?"

Julienne looked at the missive in her hand and wondered the same thing. Hugh had retired to the country for an extended party with some of his friends, leaving her to deal with the aftermath of his debts. As usual, he'd failed to consider notifying her until days after he'd left. Her brother didn't mean to be hurtful. He was simply irresponsible and always leaped before looking, consistently landing in puddles of trouble. It was partly her fault, for always cleaning up after him. Hugh had never learned that every action has a consequence.

She rose from behind the desk and threw the letter into the fire. "Nothing has changed. I had to marry in any case."

"Oh, Julienne…" Eugenia sighed. "You've been through so much. I cannot collect how you manage it."

"The same way you've managed Hugh and me. We do what we must."

Julienne turned back to her aunt and smiled. At fifty, Eugenia Whitfield was still a lovely woman. Widowed at a young age, she could easily have remarried. Instead she had taken over the care of her brother's children when the Earl of Montrose and his wife were killed in a carriage accident. While she often wrung her hands and lamented the unruliness of her charges, Eugenia never said a word of regret about the things she'd given up. Because of this, Julienne loved her aunt more than anything.

"I just assumed Hugh was drinking and gambling himself silly in that club," Eugenia said. "I could never have imagined he would leave town at a time like this! It's your first Season, for heaven's sake." She pursed her lips. "That boy needs a switch to his behind."

Julienne choked back a laugh at the picture. Aunt Eugenia had never raised a hand to either of them, although the hugs had been plentiful.

Sinking into her chair, Julienne let her mind drift to Lucien Remington, a man who was free and unrestrained by the rules that smothered her. Just the thought of the scandalous rogue made her body ache with remembered passion. If she closed her eyes, she could recall his richly masculine scent and the gentleness of his touch deep inside her. The memory alone aroused her, making her nipples hard and her skin hot.

If she listened to Society, she would feel some terrible regret or dismay at what she had allowed to happen, but she didn't.

Lucien had made her feel cherished, and while he'd only mentioned his physical attraction, his every touch, every kiss, had been underlain with an aching tenderness. Her entire life she'd been an object of fragile esteem, not considered a woman of passions, but just a female extension of the men in her life-first her father, then her brother, next her husband. Only Lucien had seen beyond the exterior to the woman within.

She was grateful to have had one night of passion with him, for she would have no more for the rest of her life.

Julienne had left him without saying good-bye. And three days later, Lucien still couldn't stop thinking about it.

Usually he preferred to avoid the morning-after farewell, an often messy affair. But Julienne's silent departure had left him bereft. For the first time in his life, he'd wanted to wake up with the woman he'd touched so intimately only hours before. He'd wanted to share breakfast with her, talk with her, and discover what had her so troubled. He'd quite simply wanted to enjoy her company for a few hours more before losing it forever.

Julienne La Coeur intrigued him more now that he knew her than she had as a stranger. He'd watched her closely for weeks, admiring her graceful poise and social adeptness. But that night in the Sapphire Room, she'd been surprised by his interest, not because she underestimated her own attractiveness, but because she so esteemed his. She admired and was drawn to the very things for which he was usually condemned, and yet he didn't feel like he was just a scandalous bit of excitement to her. Instead he felt like a man appreciated simply for being himself.