Addicted

Did Lindsay prefer small, pert breasts and narrow hips? If so, Anais knew she hadn’t a hope, for her breasts were much too big, and her hips wide. Hers was a body that was soft and curvaceous. The type she had told herself that men desired in a woman whom they were about to make love to. But perhaps she had erred in thinking that a man would desire such things.

She couldn’t help the way she had been created. She had always been well endowed, even from a young age. She had accepted herself, and her body, and had even grown to admire her bosom in a low-cut bodice, and the flare of her hips from her waist that dipped in like an hourglass. It had been aeons since she had wished to change her body. Until tonight. Until she saw what she perceived as her rival sitting across the table from her, looking at her smugly. Mary was beautiful, thin, fashionable. Anais, while pretty enough, with her long, blond hair that was given to curl, was neither slim, nor fashionable, thanks to her mother’s belief that a body like hers was best left in plain clothes.

What did Lindsay think? Was it Mary’s little bosom, rising above her bodice like two firm apples, that enticed him? Or was it hers, soft, warm, inviting in its display of perfect peach skin, which she had so carefully scented.

Which woman would Lindsay want to feel beneath him? She had always dreamed it was her he desired. But now, sitting across from the perfect Mary, she wasn’t so certain.

“You scowl,” Lindsay suddenly whispered to her, startling her.

“Merely in thought,” she replied, refusing to look at him. His face was close to hers. She could feel his breath, the way it caressed her neck. She couldn’t look into that beautiful face and show every feeling she possessed.

“Are your thoughts so unsavory, then?”

Oh, they were! They were thoughts of the beautiful Mary and Lindsay together. There was no doubt about it, Mary Grantworth wanted Lindsay, and for more than just his title.

All Anais had ever wanted was him. His title be damned. It was the man she desired. The childhood friend who had grown into a strong man, a man of good standing and intellect. A man who was not an idle gadabout waiting to come into his title and inheritance.

Lindsay was so much more than a viscount and heir presumptive to a marquisate.

“When you pout, angel, every man looks at you, wishing he could kiss away the sadness from those lovely lips.”

Yet how could she or any other woman resist him? With his dark good looks, he was everything a young woman dreamed of in a man. He was tall, broad and well muscled, yet he walked with a predator-like grace that held a woman’s gaze and captured her imagination. His clothes were immaculate, well tailored to accentuate his shoulders and toned legs. His hair was onyx colored, and he wore it long to his shoulders, where it hung in loose waves she had longed to run her fingers through. His eyes, the color of Irish moss, were fringed with long, black lashes that were utterly wasted on a man. He was beautiful, the very epitome of a brooding poet, but with his hair worn long, and the sinful curve of his mouth, which was usually shadowed with a night beard, he reminded Anais not of a poet, but a fallen angel, the sort who would tempt any woman into an indiscretion with a smile and a flash of his eyes.

That was what made Lindsay so alluring. He was a mix of romantic sensitivity, with an underlying aura of sinful masculinity. There was a part of Lindsay that called to the romantic girl, and the other part that called to the womanly needs she kept so carefully hidden from him.

Her gaze strayed to his hands, long, elegant, artistic, she shivered as she imagined those beautiful hands traversing her body; and his lips, good God, she could not look at those strong lips and not shudder as she thought of him kissing every inch of her.

It was no wonder that Mary had set her sights on him. Anais herself could hardly bear to look away from his hansome profile, or stop herself from imagining what he must look like beneath his waistcoat and jacket. She had no doubt, though, that what lurked beneath his clothes would be every bit as perfect as his face.

She had no doubt that sharing a bed with Lindsay would be beyond what she could ever possibly think of while she pleasured herself. As if he knew her thoughts, he looked at her, his gaze burning, his lips lifting in a secret smile.

Yes, wicked. Wanton. She wished he would lean into her and whisper into her ear all the naughty things he whispered to her in her dreams. Instead, she swallowed and broke the spell of his gaze holding hers.

Her gaze lifted, landed, as she suspected they would, on his face. There was no teasing in his eyes. No smile.

“You attempt to flatter me,” she said as she stole a look at Mary Grantworth. She was watching them with unabashed venom.

“No, Anais. I would never speak false words to you. You know that.”

Of course she did. They were friends, after all. Friends. How the word began to feel like a noose around her neck. She did not want to be friends with Lindsay. She wanted more. She wanted the same things she dreamed about. The same feelings coursing through her body as when she pleasured herself, while dreaming it was him touching her.

She felt her face warm and glanced away. If Lindsay knew what thoughts she had of him. How erotic. How unchaste and unmaidenly those thoughts were, he would run as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

While he might not speak falsely to her, he certainly could not mean anything by his words. They were meant to be kind, to help a friend. She mustn’t read more into them, or into the scene they had shared in the salon. She must not think it anything of import, how he had pressed closer to her, how his mouth had lingered over her hand and he had seemed to inhale her essence deep within his chest.

No! She was being fanciful. Allowing her bedtime wishes to become real. Lindsay did not desire her the way she desired him.

“My lord, shall you be attending the agricultural fair next week in Blackpool?” Mary Grantworth asked, drawing Lindsay’s attention away from Anais’s face.

“I had not considered it, Lady Mary.”

“No? You should. My uncle has entered his Belgian Warm-bloods to be judged. I know he plans to sell a few of his stallions. As you are known around town as the most accomplished horseman, as well as a connoisseur of flesh—”

“Flesh?” Lindsay asked with a raised brow.

Mary colored prettily, but it was far from innocent. “A connoisseur of horseflesh, Lord Raeburn. I thought perhaps you would be interested in the sale of those stallions, since you are interested in starting a breeding program here in Bewdley. At least, I assumed that was what you meant when you spoke of breeding during our walk last week.”

Mary shot Anais a look of triumph from across the table as she waited for Lindsay’s reply. With a stern nod that bordered on impolite, Lindsay shifted his focus to his plate and the piece of prime rib that sat on it. He gave no answer to Mary’s inquiry and Anais saw a look of pure menace cloud Mary’s beautiful expression.

Anais’s appetite abandoned her at once. She couldn’t possibly stomach anything, not when her insides had turned to lead. Anais struggled for composure, for inner calm against the tumultuous thoughts running with abandon through her mind. Just when she thought she’d go mad with her thoughts, she felt the softest of caresses against the top of her hand as it rested on her lap beneath the table. It was followed by another, then another. The tingling rose up her arm, covering her skin in gooseflesh. The caress reached higher, until it wrapped around her wrist.

Lindsay.

She looked up at him, saw the way his gaze had darkened; saw the way he looked down at her. Then he took her hand in his, entwining his fingers with hers, and placed their hands on his thigh. With his free hand he traced her knuckles and the veins beneath her skin in such a tender way she began to tremble.

It was singularly the most erotic thing ever done to her. To be holding hands and touching beneath the supper table while two dozen guests sat around them was the most scandalously wicked thing.

“I want to kiss your lips,” he murmured for her alone as his gaze slipped to her mouth. “I want to have you all to myself—alone,” he clarified. “Do you want that, Anais? To be alone with me?”

He’d taken his hand off hers and rested it on her leg where his fingers traveled lightly over her thigh. She could barely think, couldn’t breathe as his hand slid inexorably closer to the apex of her thighs.

“Be with me, Anais?” He rose from his chair, carefully removing his hand so no one would see. He dragged his palm across the taffeta of her gown, the motion slow and teasing. He made a show of bending down, a pretense of reaching for his napkin, but instead he took that moment to whisper in her ear.

“Come to me.”

He straightened, made his excuses and left the table. Anais finally let out her breath. Come to me… The words tumbled through her mind for the next half hour.

2

Blue eyes flashed at him from behind the veil of her curling golden hair. Her lips parted, taunting him with innocence. Lindsay’s gaze slipped to those red, plump lips, telling him of the sinful delights that could be found in her mouth. Sweet innocence mixed with forbidden sensuality.

She was a lady born and bred. His childhood friend, although a child no more. She was a woman, with a woman’s mind, a woman’s body. But had she the appetite of a woman? Did she hunger for him? Would she allow him to appease the ache—the same damn ache that had gnawed at his insides for years?

The way they had touched, their hands hidden beneath the table, had told him that she might just welcome an advance from him. He had felt her tremble as he made the caress more intimate. There was no mistaking his intent. No more denying what he wanted.

“You’re falling behind, Lindsay,” Anais called as she looked over her shoulder and through the long curls that waved and flapped in the cold evening air. “You should have ridden the chestnut bay. Now I’m going to beat you to the stables and you are going to lose our wager,” she said with a laugh. Urging her mare forward, she bent low over the saddle, her full, lush bottom perched in the air as she brazenly rode astride.

Desire curled in Lindsay’s belly as his gaze strayed to the roundness of her bottom. He should have stayed in London, should have kept himself buried in Tran’s opium den, numbing himself to these wanton appetites. In truth, he could no more keep his distance from Anais Darnby than a moth could keep from flying into a flame.

A familiar ache settled in his gut and he gripped the reins in his gloved hands, urging his mount forward as he closed the distance between him and Anais.

He should never have offered this evening ride. Should never have tempted himself by touching her beneath the table. Bloody hell, he should have known not to ask her to accompany him—alone. He knew better. He had been unable to take his eyes off her during dinner. Had watched her eat, studied the erotic play of her tongue on her lips, the fork. He had hungered and lusted through the entire damned meal. He’d been humiliatingly erect watching her, his blood heating with the desire to make Anais more than just a friend. Damn it, he should have known that a bruising ride through the woods would not assuage the dangerous desire he had flooding his veins.

Again, she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes widening when she saw how he was coming up hard on her heels, preparing to overtake her mare. She smiled in challenge and his blood heated more.

He couldn’t think when she looked at him like that, like a seductress with pouting, skillful lips. She was his friend—his best friend. He treasured their easy friendship—the rarity of it. What he was contemplating, what he desired, might very well ruin any feelings she held for him.

But he needed—had—to have at least one taste of the pleasure she could give him. One taste. One simple, forbidden taste…

He should have been thinking about the ring he’d left in his den. Thinking about how he should be proposing marriage before taking their relationship further. Anais was a lady, after all, not a demirep. He was a gentleman who knew how to treat a lady. Except, at this moment, all he could think about was how much he needed Anais sexually.

The stable was now in sight and Anais’s mare galloped full speed toward the open doors. His heart was pounding a furious pace. It always did when he was riding. But there was something else there. An irregularity; a skipped beat when he thought of turning his relationship with Anais from innocent friendship to an intimate session of shared delight. Pink, flushed skin. Swollen lips, parted in pleasure. Her fingers digging into his shoulders as their bodies heated and glistened with desire… Yes, that was what he wanted, the shared delight of flesh.

He wanted her as a companion. A wife. A lover. He didn’t think he could stand the agony of enduring another day, another month, another year of dreaming and longing. How damned torturous it was to have her near him and not be able to touch her. Had she any idea what he wanted to do to her as they sat by the pond and twirled the blades of grass between their fingers? Did she know how much control it took for him to resist lying atop her as she stretched out onto the grass and gazed up at the sky?

The bay snorted heavily as they tore into the stables. He heard the hard snorting breaths of Anais’s mare and he urged the bay to the stall. Before him, Anais was dismounting, the toe of her half boot caught in the stirrup. A flash of a stocking-clad ankle met his eyes and his cock hardened again. The hunger he had kept tightly reined in over supper broke free of his restraint.

Within seconds he had his hands around her waist, lifting her free of the stirrups. She gasped, a womanly, husky pant, and he didn’t think. Didn’t care that she might not want him like he wanted her. This was the moment he had been waiting for. The moment of truth. The destiny that had been ordained for him.

“I can go no longer, Anais.” His breathing was deep, his words husky as he brought her up against the stable wall. “It’s agony watching you from afar. It’s bloody torture thinking of you in the night when I am alone and wanting the feel of you against me. For so long I have needed and wanted you.”

Her eyes widened. Shock? Passion? He didn’t know, but the uncertainty ate at his belly. “I can’t look at you anymore with only friendship in my mind. I want your body beneath me. I want you flushed and hot in my arms. I want to be inside you.”

He didn’t wait for her answer. Didn’t want to hear it if she told him his feelings and desires were one-sided. He only wanted to feel her wind-chafed lips beneath his. One kiss. He would stop at a kiss if she said so. But to deny himself that, to resist the temptation, was a torment he could not withstand. If she allowed him any liberties, he would confess his love. He would sweep her away and marry her. He would make love to her in all the ways he knew how.

“Do you know what I want you to give me?” he asked, lowering his mouth to hers.

“Yes,” she whispered breathlessly.

“Will you give me what I want?” He pulled his gloves from his hands, dropping them to the stable floor. Unbuttoning her cloak, he let it fall from her shoulders, before he smoothed his palms down her arms and the delicate silk of her gown.

“If you say no, Anais, I will not press you.” Their gazes met, and he saw the war waged in her eyes. Waiting for her answer was a lesson in agony.

Another frigid blast of north wind howled angrily from the snowcapped hills. The shutters on the window flanking the wall behind Anais creaked against the bricks as the wind gusted yet again, sending icy air through the cracks of the old, weathered casement window, the sound distracting her from her thoughts.

She should have been shivering with cold after being out in the elements for so long, but she did not feel the sting of the bitter winter air, only a ravaging heat that enveloped her in a fevered warmth.

“Anais, I shall go mad if I deny myself any longer,” Lindsay’s deep voice whispered in her ear. “Please,” he pleaded, sliding both her dress and chemise down her arms, baring the white stay beneath her shift. “Say yes,” he implored as his long fingers sought the ties of her corset. “Or tell me to cease these attentions before I cannot stop.”

What was she to say? She knew what she should say, but the word would not come forth. No had never felt so impossibly hard to say as it did now. She did not want to speak the word, for she knew that Lindsay would honor her refusal. Refusing him was something she didn’t want to do. She wanted this, despite the fact it was against everything she had been taught. She wanted his lovemaking, regardless of the fact she could find herself ruined in the eyes of society.

“Anais?”

“Don’t stop,” she said on a gasp. “Oh, Lindsay, please don’t stop.”

With masterful skill, he undid the bow on her corset, pulling on the strings before releasing her straining breasts into the cool air. She shuddered, feeling the sexual awakening flooding her hot blood like a glass of fine champagne.

Lowering his mouth to the valley of her breasts, he trailed his lips along her flesh, making her burn hotter. Raking her hands through Lindsay’s thick, curling hair, Anais clenched her fingers in the silky strands as his lips trailed openmouthed along her skin. Her breath froze as his mouth descended lower. Closing her eyes, she allowed her held breath to pass in a soft exhalation of yearning—a desire she knew was forbidden. No woman of her class would do such a thing without the benefit of marriage, and in a stable no less! Only common strumpets would allow a man such liberties where anyone may happen upon them. But the forbidden was the most succulent of fruits, especially when it was Lindsay offering the illicit taste.

She didn’t think, only felt as his mouth followed the descent of her gown. It was followed by the slow slide of his fingers hooking beneath the waist of her petticoats as he drew them over her generous hips till they lay in a lace heap around her feet.

Gasping, Anais pressed further against the cold stone when Lindsay dropped to his knees and began to nuzzle the damp flesh between her thighs. His hands cupped her breasts as his mouth moved eagerly—hungrily—over her wet sex as he lapped at her.

How was she to deny him? How was she to deny herself this sinful pleasure, especially when she had desired—no, loved— this man her entire life? It was neither fanciful thinking nor melodrama in the heat of sexual frenzy, but the truth. She had loved Lindsay for…well, forever. To be here with him now, in the stables of his estate, to feel his mouth caress her in forbidden places and exotic ways was beyond what she had ever dared hope for. And she had hoped and longed for this moment for so long…

Blood pounded fiercely in her ears as Lindsay’s hot mouth covered every inch of her flesh. She heard the rapid fire of her heart mixing with the erotic sounds of his tongue laving her. The way he pleasured her made her wish for him to devour her whole and she encouraged him on with her husky breaths and the way she instinctively gripped his hair.

“I knew you would be this responsive,” he said in a guttural voice as he sunk his finger deep inside her, coaxing more wetness from her. “My God, you’re beautiful,” he rasped, suddenly standing up and studying her naked body as she stood vulnerably before him.

“You know that isn’t true,” she said through trembling lips, even though she wished it was.

“It is.” His voice was forceful as he stroked his fingertip along her swollen nipple. “Haven’t you ever noticed how I can’t keep from watching you? Haven’t you ever wondered why I need to be near you? You’re an angel, Anais. You’re my angel. You’re perfect.”

Lindsay was looking at her like a man starved, like a man possessed by the power of lust. She knew that he had to finish what he had started. She could think on things later. When she was alone in her room she could try to understand why now, after years of friendship, he had decided to turn their relationship into something more.

The feel of his hands stroking her breasts chased her thoughts away. He swirled his thumb along her nipples until the buds were hard pebbles and her womb was clenching in longing. Over and over he teased her with his thumbs, plucking at her nipples until little tremors raced down her back.

“I want to feel you tremble like this when I’m buried deep inside you.” She met his gaze and he smiled slowly—sensually. “Let me make love to you.”

“Yes,” she hissed as he ran his tongue along her nipple before slipping it between his lips. “Yes. I want this—so much.”

Picking her up as if she were light as a feather, he carried her to the corner of the stable where bales of hay were stacked. He lowered her to stand beside him. Pulling his shirt from his shoulders he placed it atop their makeshift bed. Picking her up again, he placed her on the linen, which was damp from his sweat.

They had ridden hard on their ride through the woods. Even now she could see the rivulets of perspiration trickling down his chest as the silver moonlight filtered through the window and reflected on his chest. She loved the masculine texture of his damp shirt beneath her and the scent of him—male and musky—surrounding her. She didn’t care that she was going to be tumbled on a bale of hay in a stable for her first time. She didn’t care, because this was Lindsay, this was his world—the world they had always shared together.

Sitting back and resting on his heels, he studied her, all the time running his hands along her body. “So soft, so beautiful and pale,” he said, sounding awed. “I want to remember you like this, stretched out, waiting for me to take you for the first time.”

Her thighs trembled. She shoved aside the awkwardness. Now was not the time to be gauche. Now was the time to indulge her deepest, most private fantasy—making love with Lindsay.

He ran his hand over her nipples, then down her ribs till he reached her hip. He caressed and kneaded, watching her response, listening to her sounds of pleasure before he ran his fingertips along the inside of her thighs, eliciting a flush of gooseflesh along her skin. He played there for a while, touching her, heightening the anticipation until she was clutching at his shoulders and urging him down. She had liked his mouth between her thighs, and greedy as she was, she wanted it there again.

He knew what she desired, and with a wicked smile that made her toes curl, he lowered his head and set his mouth against her sex. She arched at the intimacy, brushing her damp flesh against his cheek and lips. She heard his groan, a sound of approval and delight before he raked his tongue against her.

She cried out his name as she felt his tongue part her folds and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand, silencing her wanton pleas. He only teased her more by flicking his tongue slowly up the length of her before circling the sensitive bud of flesh. She tensed and looked down, only to see him looking up at her as he slowly raked his tongue around the hood of her sex. That sinful visual was enough to stop her heart.

“I’ve always wondered how you would taste coming in my mouth. Now I know.”

Wicked, wicked man! But the words would not come, only the uncontrollable shaking of her body beneath him as she climaxed into his mouth. When she could utter a sound, it was in hushed, stuttering breaths, pleading with him to stop. He would not listen. He pushed her on. His tongue hungrily, forcefully licked her until she clutched at his head and raised herself on her elbows. She watched as he tormented her with his tongue.

Her hips moved in time to his probing tongue. She heard him growl, watched as his gaze lowered to her breasts, which were swaying with her efforts as she climbed the hill to orgasm once again.

Lindsay continued to study her breasts as she cupped one in her hand, stroking her nipple with her thumb, just as she did at night, hidden beneath her bedsheets, pretending that it was Lindsay doing all those wicked things to her body and not her own hands.

“Little minx, you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

She smiled a slow half smile and continued to palm her breasts, teasing him, delighting in his husky growl when she rolled her nipple between her thumb and finger. “It was you that I dreamed of when I brought myself to orgasm, Lindsay. But it never felt like this. This intoxicating.”

Sitting up, he pulled off his boots and tossed them down to the flagstone floor. He tore at the flaps of his breeches, pulling them along his hips, allowing her only a glimpse of black curls and his rampant erection before he pressed his hot, damp body on hers.

Holding out her arms, she reached for him, allowing his chest to cover hers as he buried his face in her neck and the hair that spilled out over the hay. He pressed inside her, filling her so full that she could only slide up and away from the intrusion, but he reached for her hips and held them firm in his big hands.

“I’m full of you,” she breathed, feeling the thick length of him still sinking farther into her. He groaned, still clutching her hips, holding her still so that he could surge up inside her.

The pain she expected did not come. A brief, stinging sensation made her wince, but it was quickly soothed away by the exquisite sensation of Lindsay buried deep. They were one now. She could no longer tell where she left off and he began.

He reached his hands around to her bottom, gripping her tight, stroking her deep, quickening his thrusts as he watched her breasts dance and sway. She arched her back, feeling the pressure building inside her once again. He kept thrusting until she felt his shoulders stiffen beneath her fingers.

“Anais,” he groaned. “Angel.”

She held his gaze steady as he thrust into her slowly at first, then steadily deeper and faster. My beautiful, beautiful Lindsay, how I love you…

A draft crept in through the barn boards, caressing their naked bodies. Anais shivered, snuggling into Lindsay’s warmth. He reached up and pulled a woolen blanket down from an iron hook.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked, covering them up with the tartan wool. “I know it’s not silk brocade, but I confess I’m not ready to let you up. I want to feel all this against me,” he murmured, running his hand over her body.

She pressed up against him instead of slapping his probing hand away. In truth, she couldn’t get enough of his compliments, or the way his hands seemed to continuously stroke her body in the most reverent of ways.

“How many more times do you expect to do this tonight?”

He chuckled and pressed his chin against the top of her head. “I don’t know. I can’t get enough of you. I have a lifetime to make up for, you know. So many years of watching you. You don’t know the tortures you’ve put me through. Tonight in the salon, when I first saw you standing by the hearth, I nearly carried you off then, I wanted you so badly.”

His fingers reached out, capturing a curl that lay over her shoulder. She watched as he studied the blond strands in the golden light. “I’m so bloody glad I finally got up the courage to take you to bed,” he murmured, before dropping her hair and smoothing his fingers down her shoulder.

“So am I.” It was about time he saw her as a woman.

He caught her hand and slowly entwined her fingers with his. “I don’t want this moment to end, but I suppose it’s getting late and I shall have to give you up. No doubt your mother and father are waiting to go back home. We’ve been riding,” he said with a grin, “for an inordinately long time.”

She nodded, knowing he was right, but wishing he wasn’t. She didn’t want this moment to end, either. She had waited too long for a sign from Lindsay that he desired her as a woman, not just a friend.

“Are you going to the Torrington masquerade on Tuesday?”

“Yes,” she groaned, hating the very thought of having to dress up.

“I thought you loved Valentine’s Day. What better way to celebrate it than with a masquerade?”

“I do love Valentine’s Day. I just don’t care for masquerades.”

“Why not?”

She sat up and the blanket slipped down, baring her large breasts. “You would not like them, either, if you had a mother who forced you to wear a shepherdess costume.”

His green eyes turned darker. Reaching out, he circled her pink areola with the tip of his finger. “I think you should go as an odalisque. I can’t imagine anything more arousing than seeing you dressed as though you had just stepped out of a harem. Would you do that for me, Anais?” he asked her, looking up at her through his impossibly long black lashes. “Would you dress as a houri? My houri?”

Anais decided she would move heaven and hell to make a costume that would please him. She would indulge him in his penchant for anything Eastern. She would play the part of the harem girl if that was what he desired.

He smiled and wrapped his fingers around her neck, bringing her closer to him. “Will you let me have my wicked way with you, my houri? Will you find a way to come to me that night and make love with me?”

What could she say? This was simply a dream come true. “Yes.”

Lindsay lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her in a soft, lulling, almost drugging kiss. His hand moved to her breast and he caught it in his palm before running his hand along the side of her body in a slow, sweeping manner—a loving manner.