Page 44 of The Rogue’s Embrace

She was so angry—with herself, with him, with everything!

Holding her nose, she dipped backward, holding herself beneath the surface of the bathwater, letting it close over her head entirely. When she came up for air, water sloshed over the edge of the tub and across the bathroom floor.

He was an arse; a pompous, self-righteous arse who had no business interfering. He was going to marry his Miss Maitland and, she, Estela, was going to carry on doing whatever the hell suited her.

She could have made more of a scene, but she'd let him haul her up and frogmarch her out of the cathedral and across the square, back to where Oona and Margaret were waiting. She'd had no choice but to pretend all was well, though they could hardly fail to notice the frosty silence between her and Rockley.

As soon as they'd boarded, she'd pleaded a headache and retired to her cabin. The way she was feeling right now, she'd no desire to re-emerge; certainly, she didn't want to see that beast of a man ever again.

She knew his kind only too well, thinking they were better than everyone else.

She scrubbed at her arms with the soap, then embedded her nails in the slab, indulging a fleeting fantasy of holding His Grace under the water, while pushing the soap into his mouth.

What she wanted was a drink—but she'd been in such a hurry to get Antoinette out of the room and herself in the hot water, she'd forgotten to bring the brandy through. She needed something to take the edge off this prickly mood.

Stepping out, she slipped on her silk dressing gown and tied it loosely. There was no point in drying herself. She'd simply grab the bottle and return to wallow.

However, she was only halfway across the room when there was a tap at the door. She stood very still. As much as she loved her godmothers, if one of them had come plying a preparation for her supposed sore head, she'd no intention of letting them in. Better for them to think her asleep. Only a few seconds passed before a louder knock came. She waited, and the rap on the door interrupted a third time, even more persistently.

Blast!

She was fed up standing like a ninny, with her hair dripping. This was her cabin and she deserved some peace. Margaret had been most worried about her when they'd returned to the ship, and it was no doubt she who'd come to see how Estela was feeling.

She'd quickly reassure her, while letting her know she'd be taking supper in her room. Going to the door, she clicked open the lock.

No sooner had she done so than it pushed open, revealing neither Margaret nor Oona. Instead, the glowering form of Rockley towered above her.

She went to slam the door, but he was too fast, jamming his foot there. Before she knew it, he'd stepped inside.

His expression—usually so impassive—betrayed barely contained rage. He leaned back against the door, saying nothing, while his eyes glinted dangerously.

Her hair had dampened the front of her robe, making the thin silk cling, so that nothing was concealed of her shape. She itched to fold her arms, to hide herself from him, but she'd be damned if she'd let him see he was unnerving her.

Somehow, she managed to hold her voice steady. "Get out."

"I don't think so."

The lock clicked shut behind him. "You've been desperate to see what's in my trousers since the first moment we met; or should I say, you're simply desperate?"

"Bastard!"

Estela hissed low between her teeth. "What I do is none of your business. Because you deny yourself, you think I should too? I happen to enjoy sex, and I intend on having as much of it as I like."

"So I saw. You're used to taking what you want, aren't you, without thinking of the consequences."

He shrugged off his jacket. "Well, two can play. You want sexual satisfaction, and I'm here to give it to you."

His waistcoat followed the jacket to the floor.

"You wouldn't dare!"

Estela's mouth was dry. Much as she liked rough play, she wasn't prepared to be taken against her will. Besides which, if Rockley were as large as he indicated, there would be more pain than pleasure in a forced coupling.

"You'll find out soon enough."

He loosened his tie, dispensing with it before unbuttoning the top of his shirt.

With the shedding of each garment, he'd taken a step closer, which she'd countered by inching back herself. Nevertheless, he was close enough that Estela could smell the perspiration on his body.

If she'd made for the bathroom as soon as he'd entered, she'd have had a chance to lock herself there, but that time was past. He could push her to the floor in a moment.

No. She wasn't going to run.

He thought he could intimidate her, but she was going to prove him wrong. "You think you know what I want? Let's see you try."

Something shifted in his eyes. In a heartbeat, his hands were upon her waist, and he was throwing her back towards the bed.

She gave a small shriek as she hit the mattress. There was barely time to catch her breath before he was upon her, hauling her up towards the pillows. With one leg, he pinned her hips. Then he was drawing out the sash from her dressing gown. Too late, she realized what he was about. Dragging her hands above her head, he tied them together.

"I didn't agree to this,"

she gasped as he looped the sash to the headboard, pulling the restraint tighter.

"You told me to give you what you want."

His expression was smug now, looking down at her helplessness. "Perhaps I know what that is better than you think."

Her dressing gown had fallen partially open, and he didn't hesitate in twitching the silk aside, baring her completely. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Rockley let his gaze roam. "One might almost think you were expecting me."

Unashamedly, his gaze raked her nakedness, still damp from the bath and flushed pink.

It was thrilling and infuriating.

At last, he laid hands upon her, spanning her torso, his palms warm over her ribs. She tried to subdue her breathing, but her heart was beating too fast, her pulse racing at the thought of what he would do next.

With the smallest smile, infuriatingly knowing, he moved up to cup her breasts. Softly, slowly, he massaged their fullness, circling inward. As he approached her areolae, she breathed harder, desperate for a firmer touch: a pinch, or the lowering of his mouth—to nip and suckle.

He did neither, holding her in limbo, despite the hungry look in his eyes.

She cursed him again.

"You want me to stop?"

He brought his thumbs and forefingers close to each rose-colored bud.

She took a deep breath, so that her breasts rose against his palms. "You'll have to work harder if you want me to remember this tomorrow."

He wanted to torment her, but that was a game they could both play.

"And how shall I do that?"

He gave each nipple a long, hard squeeze, making her whimper.

When he removed his hands entirely, rising from the bed, she near moaned in frustration. But he was not gone for long.

From her dressing table, he collected the box she'd shown him the day before. "Shall we start with the smallest and work our way up, or shall we skip the preliminaries?"

He selected the very largest of the columns and touched it against her belly, making her jump from the coolness of the marble.

Yet she was already growing wet at the thought of him using it upon her. She watched as he trailed it downward, to the dark curls at the crux of her thighs. Nestling the bulbous tip within her outer labia, he ensured the stone made contact with her most sensitive part. She panted, biting at her lip as, with the smallest of movements, he pushed then retreated, making her wait for the next moment of delicious pressure.

But she wanted more. If he didn't put the damn toy inside her she was going to scream.

"You want me to fuck you with this inanimate thing?"

There was a hardness to his voice. "We can do better, don't you think?"

Tossing it aside, he replaced it immediately with his fingers. He located her nub with expert swiftness and pressed upon it, caressing until she was cursing him again.

Then, without warning, he slid downwards, entering her with two fingers. The suddenness of it made her cry out, but her body arched in response.

God, yes!

There was no more teasing this time.

She was thoroughly wet, offering no resistance to his penetration, and he'd surely done this before, knowing how to crook his fingers to glide over the smooth and rougher places within her sheath.

His thumb he employed lightly upon her pearl, delivering the tortuous provocation she craved. She closed her eyes, giving herself over to his clever ministrations. When he replaced his thumb with an insistent tongue, drawing her peak hard into his mouth, she bucked, crying out as the ultimate wave of pleasure rode through her body.

If she'd had the use of her hands, she would have held him there. As it was, she twisted and lifted, wanting to wring every last ounce of delight from his intimate attention.

Even when she lay spent, he nuzzled there, as if he'd yet to take his fill of her taste and scent. When he arose, it was to kiss gently up her inner thigh, and when he withdrew his fingers from her aching wetness, it was to place them deep in his mouth, sucking them clean.

The way he looked at her made her tremble, for she could tell he was only beginning.

Her gaze dropped to his trousers. While administering to her, he'd partially unbuttoned, allowing his arousal to grow unhindered. The bulge was obscene in its largeness.

His eyes had a new darkness to them as he released the fastenings on the other side. Pushing them away, his small garments went with them, and his erection sprung forward.

She was transfixed.

Never had she imagined…

Though the hair at his groin was abundant, it did nothing to mask the length of his engorgement.

From the root, where it met two firm, plump, generously-sized testicles, she guessed a full twelve inches; more than any woman could take. As for the girth, her hand would not encompass it.

He'd dispensed with his cufflinks and, reaching above, was pulling his shirt forward. Throwing it aside, he bared chest and shoulders and strong arms. The thatch about his member joined that travelling down from his navel, and the hairs of his chest were similarly generous, all but covering taut brown nipples.

Nudging her legs apart, he knelt between them, and took his cock in his right palm.

"This is what you want most of all, isn't it?"

He moved the skin back and forth at the tip, all the while looking at her: first, at her mouth, then her breasts, the gentle curve of her belly, down to her sex.

She was weeping there, cream dripping. She clenched inside, wanting him to do more than look.

If he tried to penetrate her now, would she be able to take him? The head, perhaps. She tried to imagine how it would stretch her, and how that would feel. If he took his time, would it be possible for him to enter further, to fill her more thoroughly than she'd ever experienced before? How far could he go before she was entirely crammed with that masculine organ, stuffed to the entrance of her womb? She could only conceive of him holding still at that point. For her to endure his thrusting, sliding his mammoth cock repeatedly into her sheath, would require more bravery than she possessed.

The thought made her feel quite faint,

But she had to trust that he wouldn't hurt her.

He was now gripping the middle portion of his shaft, taking longer strokes there. Clear liquid beaded from the eye of his penis.

Instinctively, she licked her lips.

When he moved to the very base of his meat, he squeezed upward, tugging hard, then caressed the full length to take hold of the head again.

"You want me inside you."

His fisting grew faster, so that a drop of liquid fell upon Estela's thigh. "What if I make you watch what you cannot have?"

With his free hand he reached between her legs, extending a single finger to slip inside.

She was so wet, she hardly registered the penetration, until he began stroking in rhythm to the movement of his other hand.

One finger became two, and she felt herself rising again, towards that place of pulsing delight he'd given her before. When he added a third, she dropped her legs wider, though she bit her lip against the awkwardness of the intrusion.

His breathing came gruffly now while he invaded her, all the while bringing himself to greater arousal. His cock stood proudly upright, deep-veined and dark.

Suddenly, she was climaxing again, pulsing about his fingers, mewling, and straining against the ties about her wrists. Tremors shook her, bringing every part of her body vibrantly alive, while simultaneously dashing her into a place of obliteration.

As she returned to herself, she saw the fierce expression on his face, watching her with glittering intensity. The tugs upon his erection came faster. He was going to ejaculate, on her belly, or her breasts, or over her mound. His testicles were in proportion to his cock. Did that mean his seed would flood more abundantly? There was something deliciously forbidden about the idea.

But he surprised her again. In one swift motion, he turned her over, so that her wrists crossed. With her cheek pressed firmly into the quilt, she took a rasping breath. He was lifting the back of her dressing gown to expose her buttocks.

A stab of alarm took her.

He wouldn't attempt to enter her there!

Not that she was entirely inexperienced in the art of anal play, but she was unprepared, and he was too large for her to ever consider that desirable.

"Don't fear. I wish… only… to…"

He could barely speak.

The next she knew, he'd lowered himself and she felt a nudge between her cheeks. He was no longer pleasuring himself with his hand but between the orbs of her behind, angled so that he slid where she would naturally grip him. She was aware of his thickness, the tickle of hair, and his testicles, bumping rhythmically against her lower lips.

She parted her legs further and was rewarded by his growling appreciation.

He managed only one more stroke before spurting, hot and wet, over the dimples at the base of her spine.

He was blinded by the strength of his orgasm, exploding from his balls to suffuse every limb. He clung to her, torn apart and spent, knowing only the gloriousness of her body and the glow that radiated from deep within himself.

She was magnificent. The taste of her, and the feel—possessing her with his hands and mouth!

The look upon her face when she'd reached her climax had been almost more than he could bear; knowing that he was responsible, that her pleasure was in his power.

He hadn't known exactly how things might play out when he'd come to her room, but he knew a woman like Estela Bongorge wanted more than chivalrous words and tender kisses.

He'd harnessed his anger to serve his purpose and, from the response he'd witnessed, he guessed he'd hit the mark. Seeing how aroused she was becoming had only spurred him on.

Nothing would be the same now. They'd known each other barely a handful of days, but it seemed far longer. Long enough for him to know that he couldn't just let her walk off the ship at Southampton and out of his life.

He couldn't know, truly, how she felt in return. He didn't have the impression she was in pursuit of a husband. Her interest might be no more than physical—in which case, all she was after was a fling. It didn't mean that they couldn't become something more to one another, but he couldn't take that for granted.

As for Miss Maitland, they needed to speak honestly—for him to find out her wishes and, if they were to part, to plan ways he could make amends.

Meanwhile, there was only one woman who filled his thoughts, and that was the wicked, irresistible creature lying beneath him.

As if to remind him of that fact, she gave a wriggle. "As wonderful and surprising as that was, I'd appreciate you untying me!"

Of course! He was a clot!

Moving off her, he loosened the sash and set about rubbing her wrists.

"You're alright? I didn't crush you?"

She moved onto her side, looking up at him like the cat that got the cream. "Perhaps I like being a little crushed."

He gathered her to him again, and she immediately crooked her leg over his. All of her—lush and yielding—pressed to the hardness of his body.

"Stella."

He held the sound of it within his mouth.

She tilted back her head, inviting his kiss again, and for some moments they lay just as they were, lost to the sensation of closeness and warmth and the sharing of something he did not yet know how to name.

At last, she broke off, breathless.

"There is nothing I can teach you. You have all the skills to rouse your bride. She is fortunate indeed."

Though she laughed, there was an awkwardness to it.

"Let's not talk of that now."

Rolling off the bed, he fetched the handkerchief from his jacket, and filled two glasses from the side—one with water and the other from a bottle of something stronger.

When he returned, she'd slipped off the silk wrap, and was lying altogether naked on her stomach, coquettishly displaying the lusciousness of her bottom. He held out both glasses and she took the brandy, warming it between her palms while he cleaned himself from her skin.

Lying beside her once more, he dropped a kiss upon her shoulder. "I feel as if we've known each other always, though I really know nothing about you at all."

"And what would you like to know?"

She swirled the liquid in its glass. "Whether I play the pianoforte, or sing? If I enjoy watercolors? Which novelists I most admire? Those are the sort of questions one asks of a woman one is courting."

He wasn't sure where to begin. He'd a feeling that ‘knowing' Estela Bongorge would require long acquaintance; even then, she'd only reveal what she wanted you to see.

"Have you children?"

It was a clumsy question, but an important one.

"I do not."

She sipped the brandy. "Just as a man has other spheres that occupy him beyond his family, so might a woman. I find plenty with which to busy myself."

"Siblings?"

He stroked the smooth line of her back, following the trail of his fingers with the light brush of his lips.

"A brother and sister. Charles may need to build another wing on the house if he sires more offspring. Esther recently married a country parson. They're both content."

He dipped to kiss the small of her back and the upper curve of her behind. "And your parents?"

She stiffened slightly. "No longer alive. It's been more than ten years. A malady while residing on the Continent."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

He placed his cheek where he'd kissed.

"I hardly saw them after I was married—and not a great deal before."

She answered in a matter-of-fact tone, but he sensed there was more to this particular piece of her history.

"What is it you're thinking?"

She twisted round, tipping him from his resting place. "That because they didn't give me the attention I craved as a child, that's why I've had so many husbands—not to mention lovers? That I've been hopelessly searching for my own little haven of contentedness?"

He winced. Clearly, he'd hit a nerve. "Aren't we all searching for that?"

"Perhaps we are, but what makes you think it has eluded me? My marriages have been very successful, in their way."

She fixed him with a penetrating look. "And what about you, Rockley? I take it there's a reason you've reached the age you have without making it down the aisle. Shall we blame that on your parents? It's a very convenient catch-all."

Gently, he guided her to lay comfortably again. "No reason but my own inclination. I simply didn't find anyone I wanted to ask; nor was there any necessity, since my brothers had things in hand. Michael, though a little younger than myself, already has three infants in his nursery. Besides which, there was my underlying fear of how I'd manage…"

He didn't need to elaborate on that. Full coitus remained an obstacle to be overcome, in time.

Resting her head upon her hands, she closed her eyes while he stroked from the crease of her behind, down her thigh.

"And were you just as annoying as a child as you are now? Always thinking you had the right of things, and telling others how they should carry on?"

She peeked at him over her shoulder, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"Minx!"

He delivered a playful slap on her rump. She laughed throatily at that, then sighed, as he brought his hand lower, to rest upon the still damp place between her legs.

Sighs became moans, as he showed her once more that there were some things he most certainly didn't need her advice upon to do very well indeed.

The hour was well past midnight, and he lay asleep in her bed.

His cock was beautiful, and it tasted sublime. She'd done her best to satisfy him, with kitten licks and nibbles down his shaft, taking his pliable testicles into the warmth of her mouth and humming there, stroking the tender place beneath.

He'd spent far more time on her pleasure, sending her tumbling over and again into a blissful state.

They had not performed the full sexual act though, more than once, she'd tried to coax him. He feared hurting her, of course—but what could one know, if one didn't try? If sheer desire were enough to make it possible, she had that in abundance.

Rising, she went through to the bathroom, where the water remained in the tub. Carefully she lowered herself in, though it was cool now, causing her to goosebump all over.

She exhaled, trying to clear her mind of the hundred thoughts jostling for precedence.

He was a darling. Quite different from how she'd first imagined. She was coming to like him very much. Was he rethinking his betrothal? She sensed he was.

Dipping her hands into the water, she splashed it upon her face.

At heart, he was an honorable man.

There was the crux.

If they continued this affair, what then?

This was no ordinary passion, at least on her side, but even the brightest flames died at last. What if, in a few months from now, he discovered she was not all he thought her to be?

Would he come to resent her?

Could she bear that?

However much she wanted to pursue this, was she only heaping fuel on a fire that would burn her at last?