The Infamous Rogue Part 17

The air was thick. Sophia gasped for breath. Her corset seemed so tight. All her summer wardrobe seemed heavy, in truth. Even the delicate parasol was bearing down on her.

An old willow tree appeared, its gnarled body leaning to one side. It rested beside the sh.o.r.e, the escarpment crumbling. Knotty roots reached into the water like a squid's tentacles. Sagging vines lilted softly in the breeze, grazing her cheeks as she pa.s.sed beneath the enormous canopy. There was a gathering of boulders, too. And James effortlessly slipped the boat into the dark grotto.

The craft b.u.mped against the rocks. It was a tap. But she was so tight inside, the light movement made her jump.

He rested the oars inside the boat. With a slow, even lazy regard, he moved his eyes across her figure in a thorough a.s.sessment.

Sophia sighed inwardly. He touched her with his eyes. Every patch of skin stirred and trembled under his searing stare.

The linen fabric hugged her moist flesh. She was imprisoned, the material sticky. She breathed deep and hard, stretching her lungs, the garment.

She dropped the parasol behind her.

He lifted his eyes.

Such haunting eyes.

She looked at his fingers.

The appendages twitched.

He seized her ankles and forced her feet apart. She grabbed the bench seat for support, her limbs thrumming, her pulse throbbing.

He thrust her legs upward and positioned her feet on each side of the boat, her skirts pooled at her waist.

She was open to him.

Wide open to him.

He knelt between her splayed thighs, rocking the boat with this heavy movement. She could hear his ragged breathing; it matched the tempo of her own wild heartbeat.

He pressed his great body against her torso, and she shuddered to feel his weight between her legs. She had missed him. She had missed his delicious touch, his captivating presence. He ensnared her senses like no other lover. And she relished the intense feeling once more.

His tongue darted between his teeth and licked the center of her throat. It was a slow and sensuous caress. He was taking in her scent and leaving his own mark behind.

She closed her eyes. She dropped her head back and parted her lips in a silent groan.

She was so vulnerable, trapped. She had no sway over her legs, her arms. She had to hold the bench seat to keep from falling. And he stil gripped her ankles, keeping her legs spread apart.

But she cherished it.

She cherished submitting to him.

He moved his hands along her calves. Thick and st.u.r.dy fingers sc.r.a.ped her silk stockings as he scaled her knees and groped her thighs.

He rasped, "Is this what you were searching for last night in the bath?"

She cried out at the pressure between her legs. He splayed her quim with his fingers and rubbed the tight, throbbing nub of nerves in quick and fluid stokes.

She trembled and gasped. "You watched me?"

"Through the window, sweetheart." He smiled against her throat. "It was a delightful show."

She lifted her head and pressed her sweaty brow against his. "You son of a b.i.t.c.h."

He slipped a long finger deep inside her. He crooked the appendage and rubbed a spot, so sensitive she had to bite her bottom lip to keep from moaning. She whimpered instead, the stress between her legs swelling. She undulated against his thrusting hand, seeking release.

"And this is just what I have to give you in my one finger," he whispered.

The conceited blackguard!

"I'm glad you enjoyed the show." She flicked her tongue over his hot lips. "Did I make you jealous, Black Hawk?"

There was a dark fire in his eyes.

"Did I make you angry?" She nipped his lower lip. He tasted so b.l.o.o.d.y good, the salty sweat on his mouth intoxicating. "I don't need you anymore. I don't need you to give me pleasure...I can give myself pleasure."

He stabbed her quim with his finger; his lips thinned.

She groaned at the man's hard and steady a.s.sault. The muscles in her quim pulsed with need.

The pirate lord removed his hands.

Sophia's senses reeled. "What are you doing?"

She was panting, so taut and poised for pleasure. She ached to feel the o.r.g.a.s.m pour through her blood, her womb.

"You don't need me anymore, remember?" he said hoa.r.s.ely.

He returned to the opposite bench seat, trembling.

She glared at his stiff c.o.c.k, the erection pressing against his trousers. "But you need me!"

He offered her a wicked, even cruel smirk. "I can give myself pleasure."

A cold, dark impulse gripped her heart. She was so very tempted to slice his gullet.

He took up the oars again.

The boat's jerking movement upset her balance. She quickly closed her legs, still quivering with unresolved l.u.s.t.

She wanted to disembowel him.

She wanted to drown him.

She wanted to beg him to give her satisfaction.

As only you can.

Urgh! She was such a ninny. She was letting the brutal cutthroat torment her, make her miserable...but she could make him miserable, too.

The rest of the boat ride was quiet.

Sophia gripped the parasol again and stared at the landscape, searching for a distraction. But with the black devil so close, the pressure between her legs remained.

She crossed her ankles and squeezed her thighs together. The d.a.m.nable pirate captain worked off his frustration through vigorous exercise, but she had to suffer in silence.

She would make him suffer, too.

"Ahoy!" cal ed the earl.

James steered the craft toward the embankment. The earl bounded to the boat and a.s.sisted Sophia from the bench seat.

"How was the scenery?" said the earl.

She gathered her composure. "Lovely, my lord."

James picked up his coat. "It was a pleasant trip."

He was breathing hard. It might seem to the rest of the party he was suffering from fatigue after an exerting boat ride, but Sophia knew the truth. He was suffering from unquenched l.u.s.t-like her.

"Would anyone else like to go for a ride?" said James. "Miss Rayne?"

"Oh thank you, I'd-"

"No!" snapped Sophia.

The party looked at her, bewildered.

"Miss Rayne is still eating lunch," Sophia said with more aplomb. She wasn't about to let Imogen inside the boat with the ruthless brigand. The craft might "turn over." "A boat ride wil make her queasy...take Miss Bedford instead. She's finished her meal."

Anastasia blanched.

So did Black Hawk.

Chapter 11.

J ames gazed at Sophia from across the dining table. The room was dim. The candlelight warmed her features, darkened her complexion. He admired the shadows. She looked tanned...as on the island.

The table rustled with guests. He ignored the tiresome company and fixed his eyes firmly on the cold-blooded viper. In truth, she looked more and more like the old Sophia he remembered from the island. She was attired in a white dress, so similar to the cotton shift she used to wear in Jamaica. And there was no garish bauble choking her throat.

Instead, she revealed her full and tempting bustline.

Slowly she lifted her eyes; firelight flickered in the dark brown pools.

A sharp sensation welled inside James; it crippled him. He thought about their heated encounter in the boat, so intimate. He had pressed his pulsing body against her. He had tasted the briny sweat at her throbbing throat. Still he burned for her. Stil he trembled with need. But he would not come to her. He would not give her what she wanted-what they both wanted-until she begged him for it.

Servants bustled inside the room with platters of freshly cooked fare.

The earl sniffed. "Hmm...what's on the menu tonight, Mondie?"

The chit beamed. "Pork loins glazed with applesauce and honey."

Honey.

James closed his eyes.

"Are you hungry, Black Hawk?"

He looked at her, blood and bones throbbing. She had made a mess, smeared the honey across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her belly. The glaze glistened in the firelight. It glowed like liquid gold over her sun-kissed skin.

James opened his eyes. He stiffened at the haunting memory. He still tasted the warm honey in his mouth, his belly. He had sucked and lapped it off her nipples...her b.r.e.a.s.t.s...

her midriff. The witch had even smeared the sweet syrup on her quim...and he had feasted there with great pleasure, too.

He shuddered.

Sophia was watching him closely. She was flushed. She was thinking about the same erotic memory, he could tel ...and it stirred the blood in his veins to know she was dreaming about him-about being ravished by him.

She stroked her throat. It was feather-light, the touch. She moved her fingers just under her ear before she skimmed the breastbone.

She wanted him to look at her bustline. She wanted him to stare and...what? Imagine the honey slathered across her voluptuous b.r.e.a.s.t.s? Long for her? Ache for her? Suffer?

James lifted his gaze to meet hers. He had already suffered. The witch had already sc.r.a.ped and sliced and drained the blood from his heart. But she wanted more, it seemed.

Was that why she had dressed like her old self? To tease his senses with thoughts about the past?

She wanted to punish him. She had purred in the boat, voice thick-and sweet-like honey. She had gasped wanton cries of pleasure. But she had not begged him for more.

She had dismissed him instead. And so he had dismissed her. And she had yet to forgive him for it. The loathing, the scorn burned bright in her eyes even in the dim room.

She wanted to give him pain.

Go ahead, sweetheart.

James dismissed her and cut into the meal. The party was merry. Even the harridan wasn't glaring at him anymore. For a few minutes, he enjoyed the food in peace.

He stilled.

A dark expression slowly crossed his features as a toe moved up his leg, caressed his shin.