Thea Devine - Fascinated

"Somehow I like being the first," he murmured with a sinful smile, placing the chocolate against her mouth.

She did as well, the blatant beauty of his smile only one of his numerous charms. And she took the candy into her mouth to please herself and him and bit into it while he watched with a modicum of caution she found amusing. As the chocolate coating cracked, a tiny rivulet of cherry cream oozed down her chin.

"How sweet you look with pink cream running down your face," he murmured, lifting the candy away. Leaning forward, he licked a lingering path upward, devouring the sugary trickle. "Definitely good enough to eat," he whispered as his mouth came to rest on hers. "Now don't move," he warned, easing away.

His warning was unnecessary, her understanding clarified, her body taut with longing.

Tipping the chocolate, he dribbled a thin stream of pink liquid over one nipple and then the other, lightly smearing the creamy sweet over and around each tingling crest. Then dropping the chocolate shell back into the box, he sat back to admire his handiwork. "Look, darling. How do you like being my favorite bonbon?"

She glanced down, the rose crests slick with the pale confection, glossy and emblazoned because Flynn required it. "To be your bonbon is my greatest desire." Her voice was low, infused with seductive flattery. If need be, she would paint her body with sweetness to have him.

"How delightfully submissive." A slow half smile graced his mouth. "You learn quickly, my sweet dairy maid."

"If you would look on me kindly, my lord, I await your pleasure."

"I find humility a most charming asset in a servant," he said, his grin as insolent as her statement. "You may win a place in the main house for such deference."

"Would that mean I might warm your bed, my lord?"

"You'd have to take your turn, of course."

"Perhaps," she whispered, delectable promise in her voice, "I could find a way to please you best."

He gazed at her for a breath-held moment, her lush body incarnate female, voluptuous, full-breasted with a narrow waist and curving hips and soft thighs that could only have been made for love. That were made for love. "Perhaps you could," he whispered, a sudden, unnerving truth to his words. But as quickly he deflected such perilous sentiment. "I think we're done now," he abruptly said. For half his life, sex had been his entertainment and amusement, a means of keeping feeling at bay. And he reverted to type with ease.

His mouth closed over one frosted nipple, and with delicate concentration, he swiftly sucked first one, then the other clean. No longer interested in play, he was intent on the simple act of fornication, needing the physical gratification and oblivion that only a woman's body could bring. Easing her down on the bed, he slid between her thighs and plunged inside because he didn't want to think or speculate or change his life in any way; he only wanted to feel the seething rapture of an orgasm. Forcing himself deeper, he buried himself in the anonymous female sweetness that had always offered deliverance. But this time at the farthest limit of his downthrust, his throbbing erection rammed against a soft, specific, highly personalized womb.

Perhaps a fertile, life-giving womb.

The terrifying thought almost arrested the powerful rhythm of his lower body, and if not for the mindless urgency compelling him, he might have been able to stop. But he didn't, couldn't, wouldn't, and as he drove into her again, she suddenly came like she was wont to do in a swift, wild delirium that warmed his cock, his lustful soul and oddly his heart.

Heedless of all but his selfish quest for orgasm, he continued his savage hammering into her, ignoring his misgivings, immune to consequences, rash, impetuous, fevered like a callow youth when he had never been imprudent even then. But everything seemed different this time, his nerves raw to the quick, his sensory receptors so vigilant he was conscious of the pulse beats in the hot, sleek tissue of her vagina-in the answering beat of his heart. And familiar lust was overwhelmed by another kind of pleasure, finer, more pervasive, deep-felt, as though a new vista had opened in the sumptuous realm of sensation.

He was selfish when he rarely was, intent on taking, on possessing and owning her-not in play, but in fact. The rhythm of his body was so violent, she was steadily pushed upward. And even when the pillows piled against the headboard arrested his progress, he continued his assault, softly grunting with each powerful downstroke, forcing her thighs wider with each savage thrust, needing to dominate her completely.

He was unaware of her orgasmic cries when he climaxed, conscious only of a shameless sense of mastery and triumph and the panting voice in his ear, growling, "You're mine," as he poured into her.

But he had avoided attachment for so long, he quickly came to his senses and with cooler, post-orgasmic reason, recalled his commitment to personal freedom. Quickly disengaging himself, he rolled away, the consequences of unprotected sex and entrapment suddenly in the forefront of his brain. Raising himself on one elbow, he scowled at the woman beside him. "Why aren't you concerned with protection-condoms or sponges or cervical caps." His precise litany was for clarity's sake, and that he wanted an answer was equally clear.

Felicia didn't stir from her languid pose, nor did a modicum of distress crease her brow. On the contrary, when she smiled he was reminded of sunshine. "Are you accusing me of something?"

"I'm just wondering why you're not worried about conception." Gruff and grumbling, he was already contemplating how much she would want.

"You don't seem to be worried." That same mild unconcern.

"I'm not the one who might get pregnant," he muttered.

One brow rose infinitesimally, and her voice was amused. "You mean it's my problem?"

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"This? This sexual marathon? Yes, very much," she pleasantly added. "Are you?"

"I was."

"Until your lust-filled brain cooled sufficiently to wonder whether I was trying to trap you?"

His scowl deepened. "Are you?"

"Now, why would I want to do that?"

"Some women might."

"You really mean all women, don't you?" She smiled. "But I'll give you the benefit of a doubt. As for myself"-her voice was serene-"let me assure you, my motives are as selfish as yours and as finite. I'm only interested in sex with you, not motherhood or fatherhood. I was married for four years as you know. Did I fail to mention I never became pregnant? So you're quite safe, Flynn. You may discard that black scowl and continue to think of me as nothing more than your current sexual partner. Is that better?"

He slowly exhaled and then ruefully smiled. "I beg your pardon, most profoundly."

"Apology accepted. Might I suggest, though, if you're concerned with some woman trapping you, you should consider using a condom. It would be a sensible idea."

"I usually do."

Her eyes opened the merest fraction more. "But not with me?"

He looked momentarily afflicted, and then he dazzled her with his warm, boyish smile. "I have no explanation."

"And you have no intention of thinking about it."

He grinned. "No."

Her smile this time was well-bred and urbane. "Nor do I. We are neither in a position to think unduly about"-she sweepingly gestured around the room-"this tantalizing interlude at the Hotel de Paris. If we did, we would have to stop this madness."

"And I have no intention of doing that."

She put up her hand. "A small intermission, perhaps, if you'd be so kind. I really do have to go home and let my servants know I'm safe."

"Have them come here."

"I'd be embarrassed in the extreme."

"Then, I'll go home with you." He didn't wish to relinquish her, however briefly, for myriad selfish reasons.

She gently shook her head. "Let me go first and smooth the way."

He laughed. "You sound as though you have chaperons."

"I suppose they are in a way, but they've also been of great solace to me; so I shall go ahead, and you may follow me if you wish."

"Of course I wish." His voice was gruff.

Her smile was filled with delight. "I was hoping you might."

"How long do I have to wait?" He felt like an adolescent with his first lover, burning with impatience, filled with longing.

"Give me, say, two hours. Enough time to explain what I can of this"-she grinned-"relationship… and I use the term loosely, and time also to allow them to assimilate the good news of our casino winnings." She reached out to touch his hand. "And for that I shall be eternally in your debt."

"As I am for your delightful company," he smoothly replied, facile charm second nature to him. "And if I must wait two hours, I'd be grateful if you left posthaste, so I may see you that much sooner." Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he quickly came to his feet. "I'll help you dress."

She wasn't entirely sure his haste was sincerely motivated or predicated on the notion he could rid himself of her sooner if he helped her along. A man of his licentious tastes didn't inspire any ideals of genuine devotion. And whether he would appear in two hours was highly moot. But if he didn't, she would have not only wonderful memories, but the necessary money to save her home and a new and delightful appreciation for the enchanting congress between a man and a woman.

He kissed her as she stood by the door, once more dressed and presentable, thanks in no small part to his swift proficiency as lady's maid.

"Thank you," she quietly said, "for everything." Wanting one last moment of physical contact in the event he didn't appear, she touched the lapel of his robe in a lingering caress.

Disconcerted by sentiment, by goodbyes, by the disarray of emotions she occasioned, he glanced at the clock on the mantel. "We needn't say more than adieu. I'll see you in two hours."

Her heart leaped with joy even as she cautioned herself to be sensible about a man like Flynn. "Then, I'll just say adieu."

"Two hours, darling, and you'd better complete your explanations to your servants, because I intend to monopolize you once I see you again."

"How charmingly masterful you are." Her voice was a low, sensuous purr.

"Don't start that," he warned, reaching for the door latch, "or you'll never get out of here." Pulling the door open, he gently pushed her out into the corridor. "Claude has a carriage waiting for you. And I'd escort you downstairs, but I'm sure you'd rather I didn't."

She blew him a kiss. "Thank you again."

"Hurry," he brusquely said.

She floated down the hall and then down the stairs, and when Claude caught sight of her as he waited near the outside door, he repressed the knowing smile that came to his lips. "Good morning, Miss Greenwood," he said as she approached. "It's a beautiful morning, isn't it?"

"The most beautiful, indeed, Claude." She ran her hands lightly over her coiffure-for all the good luck she had experienced. "Quite the most beautiful," she softly added, walking past him to the carriage waiting at the entrance to the Hotel de Paris.

While Felicia enjoyed her morning drive home, Flynn summoned two shop owners to his suite, and when they arrived, his orders were crisp and concise. Neither asked for clarification. They both understood the Duke of Grafton demanded the very best for his lady loves. His requests weren't unusual in any event. They were, in fact, quite ordinary for the style of man who spent a great deal of his leisure time in ladies' boudoirs.

They both left the suite much richer for their visit. While Felicia explained as much of the previous evening as she deemed necessary to her devoted servants, and during the happy interval in which they all exalted at the good fortune that had befallen them, Flynn sent new instructions to the captain of his yacht at anchor in the harbor.

In truth, Claire and Daniel were already party to much of what had transpired the previous night, related as they were to a bevy of servants at the Hotel de Paris. They joyfully fussed over their beloved charge, assuring her in the casual way the French had in relation to amour, that they were pleased and happy for her whatever came of the evening she had spent with the man who had won them a fortune.

"You've been too long alone anyway," Claire observed as she helped Felicia into a bath. "You deserve some amusement. "

A bland word for the enchantment she had experienced, Felicia thought, smiling at the memories. "He's coming here, you know."