The kiss on her lips promised heat and excitement to come. Meagan pulled away with great reluctance. “Remember to put on your clothes first, darling,” she said. “Lest Mrs. Caldwell catch sight of you and faint dead away.”
This lovemaking was the best he’d had since taking Meagan the first time. Alexander knelt behind her on the bed, his thighs spread around her while she leaned against him. She’d twisted her red hair into a simple knot, the better for him to reach her very kissable neck.
Her apricot silk dress lay in a crumple on the floor, his sash of office a slash of gold and blue across it. Candles flickering around the bed bathed them in a golden glow, Alexander having shut the curtains against the coming morning.
He drew his hands up to cup her breasts, his body alive to the scent and feel of her. His erection nestled between her thighs, not in her, just brushing her opening as he kissed and touched her. His long dark hair grazed her cheek, and her eyes half closed in pleasure.
He wanted this, slowly pleasuring her until they both were more than ready for fulfillment. He’d promised her he’d teach her everything about sensual lovemaking if only she’d marry him and ease the need inside him.
If Black Annie hadn’t made the ridiculous love spell, Alexander would never have met Meagan. He might have had her pointed out to him or even introduced as Princess Penelope’s dearest friend, but he’d never have touched her or kissed her. Unwed English maidens weren’t for Nvengarian sexual techniques. He should have busied himself with courtesans used to such things and left Meagan Tavistock strictly alone.
Unthinkable.
Slow touching. That’s what he’d learned in the cult of Eros in the mountains of Nvengaria, slow touching without eroticism, deliberately avoiding intimate places until the body was on fire with longing.
He’d been twenty years old when he’d gone to the temple to study, which had been part of his training to take up the mantle of Grand Duke. The first month had been nothing but meditation, calming the mind and learning awareness of every part of the body.
The second month had been spent with two women who’d taught him the art of massage and soothing by touch. Not until he’d been at the temple eight weeks had the actual sexual training commenced.
Alexander skimmed his hands up Meagan’s arms, fingertips just brushing her skin. She half turned in his grasp, seeking his lips, but he moved his head so she could not kiss him. She made a frustrated noise.
“Not yet, love,” he said. “I will tell you when.”
“I am feeling quite desperate,” she answered.
“As am I. But we wait.”
She whimpered, and he smiled in satisfaction. For half an hour since they’d come to her bedroom and nearly torn off their clothing, he’d been stroking her skin, touching nothing more intimate than her breasts and then only fleetingly.
His erection stretched hard with longing, but he’d learned how to placate it and keep it ready but not overeager. He’d always been able to control his urges until the damn love spell overpowered him. But what Myn had taught him tonight reminded him of the control he’d learned in the temple, which worked to help calm the love spell without masking it.
Make it wait. Make it want.
He trailed his fingers down Meagan’s thighs, pressing a little, feeling her strong muscles beneath soft skin. Across her abdomen now, stroking a slow hand over her navel. He massaged, fingers kneading, barely touching the swirl of hair above her mons. At the same time, he nibbled the shell of her ear, sharp little nips to arouse her.
“You are beautiful,” he whispered.
She shivered. His command of English stayed with him, no longer scattered as it had been when the love spell had first taken him.
“My heart,” he murmured as he continued to nibble her ear.
“Alexander, I want to make love.”
Her breathing was coming fast, her skin flushed with need. He chuckled. “I know you do. But not yet.”
“Why not?”
“We need to wait. You will like it better for the waiting.”
“We did not wait before.”
Alexander flicked her earlobe with his tongue. “Because the frenzy caught us before I had a chance to teach you. There are so many facets of pleasure to explore that we could spend years learning them.”
“Years?”
“Do not sound so alarmed. You will love every moment of it.”
She bit her lip. He leaned down and licked it, catching her sharp teeth as well.
He’d never been with a woman he’d felt so comfortable with. No, comfortable was the wrong word. Comfort implied the end of excitement, and Meagan excited him in countless ways. He wanted to spend days in bed with her, exploring and learning and teaching.
He’d pleasured women during his affairs, but the pleasure had been calculated and precise—he’d brought the women to ecstasy while he remained in complete control. Losing control, even briefly in orgasm, was dangerous for a Grand Duke, and Alexander had never said one word, or spoken one endearment, or even cried out a name in his bed that might be held against him when he returned to sanity.
With his first wife, he hadn’t had to be quite as tediously careful, but he and Sephronia had always known they were in bed for one reason—to get a child to carry on the line. Once that had been done, Sephronia and Alexander had gone their separate ways. In public they appeared together—they had made an efficient team—but in private they rarely saw each other.
Now he had a woman with whom he did not have to guard his every word, an innocent girl he was free to love as much as he wanted. He didn’t need to get a child on her, although he would not mind another son or daughter to carry on his shoulders.
He could do with Meagan things he’d longed to try but could not because there’d been no woman he could trust.
He lightly massaged her shoulders, bending to nibble his way across them, leaving light teeth marks in her skin.
Meagan giggled. “That tickles. Am I supposed to laugh?”
“Laugh as much as you want. I love to hear you laugh.”
“What is that for?” She pointed at a tiny brush he’d retrieved from his desk before he came in and a small ceramic pot that rested on the night table.
“I will show you.”
“Show me what?”
“Do not worry. It will wash off.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. Alexander reached for the pot and brush, the interlaced tattoo on his bicep flexing in the candlelight. As she watched, curious and uneasy, he opened the pot and dipped the pointed brush in the ink.
He steadied his hand on Meagan’s back as he began to trace on her shoulder a thin design similar to his interlaced tattoo.
She shivered at the strange sensation of cold ink on her skin, but held very still. “Did the first Grand Duchess like to be painted on?”
“I have no idea. You are the first lady I have thus adorned.”
“Why are you adorning me, exactly?”
He swirled the ink on her shoulder, drawing it down her shoulder blade to her spine. It pleased him to make precise designs, the black standing out starkly on her smooth skin.
“I want to. It is an ancient custom in the Orient for lovers to decorate each other’s bodies.”
“Truly? I wager Englishmen and women do not do this decorating.”
“I do not know. I have never asked them.” Alexander blew on the ink to dry it. “You are lovely.”
“I want to see.”
Alexander returned ink and brush to the night table and left the bed to bring a small mirror from her dressing table. Meagan craned her head to train the mirror on her shoulder and the intricate, interlaced design he’d produced.
“It’s pretty. Do women in Nvengaria wear tattoos?”
“Not very many, I should think, unless they have been in the East. As I said, it will wash off.”
She lowered the mirror and peeked at him over her shoulder. “Now I wish to paint on you.”
Alexander smi
led. He brought her the brush and ink and held very still while she began to copy the tattoo on his right bicep to his left. The brush slid across his skin, the trickle of ink cool on his flesh. The fine point of the brush tickled as she drew it along the inside of his arm, flicking short strokes through the longer lines. Her brow furrowed as she studied her work, her breath warm on his skin.
His blood stirred as tendrils of her long hair lightly touched his thighs. He studied her bowed head, the curls on top mussed, and he carefully leaned and pressed a kiss to it. She made a slight noise of impatience, then the brush’s tip traced around his arm again in one long, cool stroke. The light sensations coupled with her so near slid warmth through his body.
“There,” she said, finishing. “I like it very much. But I think my maid will be quite puzzled when she washes my back tomorrow.”
He gently removed the brush and ink and replaced them on the table, enjoying that he had to lean over her to do so. “Then I will wash it for you and spare her the astonishment.”
She slanted him a warm smile. “I believe I would like that.”
“I believe I will too.”
“Can we make love now? I feel quite ready.”
He grinned. “Not yet, Lady Impatience. Lie down on your back.”
Meagan touched her shoulder. “Is the ink dry yet? It might smear.”
“It does not matter. I will have Mrs. Caldwell purchase new bedding if it does.”
Obediently, Meagan lay down on the covers, strands of red hair splaying across the linens.
A pulse of energy shot through him, pressing aside the calm he’d held up to this point.
No.
He drew a breath and began a meditation, resting one hand on Meagan’s abdomen to steady himself.
“Are you all right?” Her soft voice held concern.
“Yes.” He closed his eyes, lightning flickering on the edges of his vision. “I will be.”
He brought to mind the techniques of calming and centering Myn had taught him, the ball of light he’d learned to visualize in his hands. His energy, his strength, his calm.
The lightning went away. He drew a long breath. He could control, he could steady himself, he could stay with her.
He smoothed his hand over her abdomen, drawing his fingers to the soft curls between her thighs. His teachers had described a woman’s opening as a flower, petals spreading and swelling at a man’s touch.
Liquid pooled inside her flower, hot on his fingers, her nectar waiting for him. Beautiful.
The scent of her could drive him wild. His senses had heightened since he’d given in to the change, and her scent now covered him completely. He could lose himself in her.
He leaned down and licked her opening, drawing his tongue carefully over each sweet fold. She arched beneath him, a groan escaping her mouth.
She was more than ready for him. When he flicked his tongue over her nub, she thrust herself up to his mouth, fingers gripping his shoulders. He needed only a few more licks before he brought her to sweet climax.
He caught the climax in his mouth, his strong hand holding her down. She writhed and arched against him, her cries of pleasure ringing through the chamber.
Alexander held her all the way until she was spent, her body shining in perspiration. Gently, he disengaged her frantic clutches and looked up at her, his smile triumphant.
“You are a cruel, cruel man, Alexander,” she gasped.
“I know.”
He braced himself over her, sliding his hand down to bend her knee and press it to her chest. In that position, she was wide open to him, and so wet and slick from her climax that he slid easily and quickly inside her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Meagan’s body was already on fire from his touch and his mouth, and now his hardness stretched and pressed her with incredible sensation.
His blue eyes glittered in elation that bordered on madness. His skin was roasting hot, his tattoo sharp on his dark skin, the tattoo she’d drawn gleaming with stilldamp ink. She traced the patterns of both, loving how his biceps flexed beneath her touch.
He moved slowly inside her, drawing almost all the way out before pressing back in again. The weight of his large body pushed her into the mattress, his skin heating her sensitized breasts.
She arched against him, meeting him slow thrust for slow thrust. He turned his head and closed his eyes, the ends of his hair brushing her face. His eyelashes curled thick and black against his cheek.
His thrusts were like fire, so deep inside her she screamed with it. In and out, hips rocking, the bed creaking a rhythm beneath her. He slid callused hands up her arms and pinned her wrists to the pillows.
He gritted his teeth, jaw tightening, and growled.
“Alexander?” Her throat was raw.
He opened his eyes, blue fury blazing from him. “Damnation.”
He said the word in Nvengarian, but she’d heard it enough from the servants to understand it.
“Damnation,” he repeated in English, sweat beading on his forehead. “Not now. Not now.”
“Please,” she moaned.
She moved her hips against his, needing the wild friction inside her. His hands on her wrists were like iron manacles pinning her while he rode her.
His face held anything but pleasure. It was granitehard, as though he struggled to force himself back into the persona of the Grand Duke.
“No,” Meagan begged. “Stay here with me. Be Alexander.”
He kept riding her, mouth set in a grim line, pinning Meagan so hard she could not move. Candlelight gleamed on the sweat on his body, muscles flowed as they flexed with his strength.
He was losing control, she could see that, and fighting hard to retain it. But he pressed her open so wide, his stiffness so deep inside her that she groaned with it.
Her leg hurt where it bent against her, pinned by his body, and her wrists burned like fire. But it wasn’t pain, it was—exciting, and she wanted to let him do anything to her he wanted.
She started to come. She twisted her hips, wanting him deeper and deeper inside her. The delicious feeling nearly pulled her apart.
“Yes, love,” she screamed. “Please.”
He met her scream with a deep snarl, his mouth covering hers, teeth closing hard on her lip.
Then all at once he withdrew from her and landed to sit on the side of the bed. He was shaking, his breathing hoarse, and he held on to his body, every muscle tight.
Meagan rose weakly on her elbows, her body feeling both spent and heavenly. She put her hand on his arm and found his skin fever-hot.
“It is you,” he said. “I cannot control it with you.”
Hurt pricked her heart. “Then do not.”
When he finally looked at her the bleakness in his eyes was vast.
“Do not control myself?” He lifted her hand and showed her the bruises on her wrist. “Did you enjoy this? Do you want more?”
“It did not hurt me.”
“No? What if I did worse? Would you still look at me with love in your eyes?” He pushed her hand away.
“You are a gentle man.” She lightly touched his arm again.
“I am not gentle. I do not know what I am. I am this beast, this logosh. I thought—I was so proud, thinking I’d learned to control it, thinking that being logosh will make me more powerful than ever.” His eyes darkened as he studied her. “That is all I want, Meagan. Power over everyone so no one can hurt me.”
“You are the second most powerful man in Nvengaria,” Meagan pointed out. “Believe me, I am constantly reminded by everyone I see.”
“It is a sham. It is false.” He touched his chest, shadowed muscles sliding. “That is me making others believe I am powerful, to keep them at a distance. I was ice-cold when I told the old Imperial Prince to give me control of the kingdom. All I wanted to do was plunge a knife through his rotten heart. I wanted to peel his skin from his body for taking a real life away from me.”
“But you have your li
fe now. He’s dead and gone.” Meagan stroked his arm, distressed she did not know how to comfort him. “You have me and Alex, and Damien and you are friends again, and Nvengaria is at peace. You can live now. Starting right this minute.”
She knew she babbled platitudes, but the look in his eyes unnerved her.
He stared at her, then laughed, though his expression changed little. “You are an amazing woman, Meagan Tavistock. You should be terrified of me, and instead you pat my hand and say ‘It is all right, everything will be better.’”
“I cannot bring myself to be afraid of you. I’ve seen your kindness.”
“Sorcery has touched your brain.” He gently stroked her temple. “Without the love spell, you’d be shaking in your shoes to be near me.”
“Good heavens, Alexander, I’ve seen the way other women look at you, and believe me, it is not in fear. The Duchess of Gower in particular can’t keep her eyes off you. And look at the lengths to which Deirdre was willing to go to get into your bed. They certainly hate me for having the gall to marry you.”
“But it is fear, Meagan. It is part of why they want to be with me. To feel the danger, and the fear.”
“That seems rather silly.” She had to admit that the power of him, his strength tamed for her, was incredibly exciting, but she did not want him to think she was anything like Deirdre Braithwaite. “Much better to be laughing with you than shaking in my shoes. Besides, my shoes are all the way over there.”
He put one hand over his face. “Damn you, Meagan, for being so adorable.”
Boldly she slid her hand across his abdomen, feeling the smooth muscles. Even more boldly, she let her fingers trace the ridges below his navel to find the hard, hot erection still swollen and stiff for her.
His fingers clamped her wrist nearly as hard as they’d pinned her to the bed. “Meagan.”
“Let me,” she begged. “Let me touch you.”
He stared at her, his blue eyes hard and filled with stone stubbornness, which she realized masked fear. Very slowly, he peeled his hand from her wrist.
Without asking again for permission, she stroked all the way up his very long staff to the firm flange at the end.
“God help me,” he said, his jaw hardening.