Still sitting up together, he kissed her. And on this kiss, he parted her lips with his tongue and delved into her sweet mouth which tasted even more of cider than her lips. And as he explored her mouth and brushed one of her nipples with his thumb, her hands came up to his face and she began to kiss him back, whimpering into his mouth. He pressed his body against hers, wrapped his arms around her, and lowered her back down to the mattress.
He got on top of her, his knees between her legs, his cock nestled in her cleft. He tried to keep her clearly in his mind and to ask himself,What does Helen want?
He kissed along her jawline to her ear and whispered, “I love kissing you, Helen.”
That had been the right thing to say. Her breathing got heavier. He felt her hips pushing up against him.
And he was surprised to find it was true. He did love kissing her. He captured her mouth with his again and delighted at the voraciousness of her probing tongue, the growls in the back of her throat, her rough fingers raking his back as her body strained under his. God love the woman. She was the lustiest virgin in the empire.
He kissed his way down the surprisingly soft skin of her throat, stopping to lavish attention on the point where her pulse beat rapidly in her neck while she moaned. And lower down, he found himself charmed by her breasts. Such perfect, firm bits of flesh. And her pert, dark-pink nipples became even more pert under the ministrations of his tongue and his lips and his teeth.
But he had been wrong with his guess about the taste of her nipples. They did not taste of cider. Close, but not quite. They tasted of applesauce, warmed by the fire.
Her moans were so loud and heated that he wondered if he should just stay here and continue to feast on her breasts. But, no. Her hands were in his hair, and could it be? The countess was pushing him down and away from her chest?
“Oh, Jack. Do that, but lower down,” she groaned.
He lifted his head. She lifted hers as well. “Why did ye stop? What’s wrong?”
“You told me you were untouched.” He heard the snarl in his own voice. She was a liar, after all. He didn’t expect or want a woman to be a virgin for him, but he had never thought Helen would lie about it.
“Aye?”
“How do you know what men do with their mouthslower down? You didn’t learn that from watching sheep.”
“The blacksmith . . .” She bit her lip. He thought she was blushing but the candle was flickering and he wasn’t sure.
“The blacksmith licked you between your legs?” He was pushing himself off her, away, but her hands clamped his shoulders and held him. For being so slight, she was very strong. From grabbing and heaving sheep around, no doubt.
“Ye know that’s nae true, Jack. Ye are being silly. Years ago, I saw the blacksmith up the side of the mountain with his head in his wife’s lap, under her skirts. She was making little noises. I guessed what he was doing.”
He relaxed back onto her, his own body trembling with relief. He hadn’t been wrong about his savage countess. She really was all brutal truth and innocent desire.
He raised his eyebrows. “You guessed?”
“Aye. D-did I guess right?”
“I don’t know what the blacksmith was doing under his wife’s skirts, but I will promise you one thing, Helen Boyd, Countess of Kinmarloch in her own right.”
“What?
“The noises you’ll make with my head in your lap? They will not be little ones.”
He gave her his most wicked grin.
And was delighted to see her grin back at him.
“Aye,mo luran,” she said and ruffled his hair.
He still didn’t know whatmo luranmeant. And he didn’t care. It was Helen Boyd’s name for Captain Jack Pike, and it made his cock hard.
Three
Three weeks earlier. London.
Jack lay on his back, watching Marina dress. She had opened the drapes of one window to let in the morning light and to show herself off to him, he was sure.
And by God, she was right to do so. The sun glinted on her thatch of red-gold maidenhair and bathed her lush, curving body with a glow. And it wasn’t just Lady Garvey’s flesh he enjoyed, the ripple of the cheeks of her bottom when she got up on all fours on the mattress, arching her back for him, as she had done last night in his bed. It was also those satisfied sighs she made when he took her. Those screams when he buried his face in her scented quim. Those groans when he clutched one of her abundant breasts—
