The Midsummer Auction Part 11

Watching this new Nicola eat was a delightful experience. She savored every mouthful, her lashes swooping down, heavy-lidded with delight, as the bursts of the different flavors flowered in her mouth. She speared a forkful of spicy chicken slathered in peanut sauce and fed it to him, nodding her head at his enjoyment like a culinary conspirator who has happily snagged a willing accomplice. He took a bite of a spring roll and fed the rest of it to her, turned on by the sight of her lips rounding to take it in. Before he could withdraw his hand, she grasped it and inserted his thumb and the two fingers that had held the roll into her mouth, licking each digit sensuously before releasing it. His c.o.c.k trembled jealously. Watching her was so absorbing he might have forgotten to eat at all if she hadn't kept feeding him bits and pieces. He picked up a shrimp dumpling and fed it to her, just to see her mouth opening and her small pink tongue sweeping efficiently over her moist lips to collect any wayward crumbs. Watching her confirmed for him what he had suspected on and off over the years. Enjoyment of food and s.e.x go hand in hand. Nicola didn't pick at her food. She gave it the same treatment she gave to s.e.x-her full and undivided attention.

"Open," she commanded, holding a loaded fork to his lips. "You need to keep your strength up or you won't make it through the night." She studied him as he chewed obediently. The marks of tension that she had observed around his mouth when he first opened the door had disappeared completely, leaving only a residue of longing buried in his dark eyes. She felt her heart softening and expanding in response and knew that if she wasn't careful, her feelings about him would be mirrored in her eyes. She was on the brink of losing herself once more in dangerous territory-that state of belonging utterly and completely to one man and one man only-from which it would be impossible to chart her way out ever again. She drew a finger softly down the side of his face, turned away and picked up her gla.s.s of wine, shuttering her eyes as she drank.

They had mango sherbet for dessert to cool their heated palates, threw out the leftover food, put the dishes in the dishwasher, and took their wine back to the living room.

"Let's watch a film while our dinner digests," she suggested, sinking back down onto the carpet. He went over to the video cabinet and began running his hand over the collection of tapes.

"What are you in the mood for? Action, sci-fi, chick flick, erotic?" He looked back at her, twitching his eyebrows in suggestive humor.

"Oh, definitely erotic," she said, stretching languorously. He slipped a tape into the VCR and came back to sit next to her. Then he got back up abruptly.

"Let's sit on the sofa," he said. "My rear end wants to sit on something soft." He pulled her to her feet, and they sank down into the sofa. His arm went around her and she curled up against him with a sigh of contentment. He put his gla.s.s of wine to her lips and she took a sip, then they were silent as the film began.

The young, attractive couple on the screen were having four other couples over for dinner, and judging by the initial heavy footwork going on under the table, it was going to be a consensually unorthodox kind of evening. Soon, the couples were helping themselves to everything at the table, including each other's partners. As the couples reformed with new partners, the camera began to focus on the after-dinner activities of the individual pairs. One couple ended up in the swimming pool, and Nicola watched fascinated as the woman floated on her back across the pool piloted by the man whose face was hidden between her thighs.

About thirty minutes into the film, she slipped down into a horizontal position, her head in Anthony's lap, her face turned to the screen. She felt the beginnings of wetness between her legs and pressing her head into his stomach to make room for her hand to maneuver, began to stroke the fabric of his trousers, feeling his c.o.c.k stirring under her ministrations. He smoothed her cheek with the back of his forefinger then slid the back of his hand over her jaw, across her collarbone and down her arm, the pressure increasing in tandem with his swiftly accelerating pulse.

She unb.u.t.toned his trousers, and he groaned aloud as her hand slipped inside his under shorts and began to fondle his straining shaft, her thumb flicking smoothly over the slick delicate head. She sighed with pleasure, forgetting about the film as his hand roamed her body, palming her rib cage with smooth flat strokes as it journeyed to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and squashed them together, thumb and fingers splayed so that one nipple rubbed against the flat of his thumb while he toyed with the other with his fingers. Her nipples stiffened under his fingers, and he was torn between the primitive urge to flip her over on her back and seize them with his teeth and the reluctance to do anything that would terminate the sweet ma.s.sage she was giving his aching c.o.c.k.

His hand moved down again, took hold of the lacy briefs and pulled them down to caress her thigh. She bent her legs, giving him the cue to pull them off entirely. He slipped them all the way off and tossed them aside. His hand travelled back up her thigh and caressed her mound lovingly before he parted her wet folds with his thumb and fingers, holding them apart as his forefinger rubbed the slippery nub. She squirmed with delight and squeezed her thighs together, pressing down on his finger as it slid inside her, leaving his thumb to ma.s.sage the sensitive bud.

He was suddenly consumed by a need to hold her, all of her, length to length against him and look into her face. With his free arm around her, steadying her, he slipped down next to her, so that they both were lying on their sides, face-to-face, bodies aligned. When his hand left her v.a.g.i.n.a, she gave a small cry of protest, pressing her lower body against him, against his erection, trying to fill the sudden void. He reached an arm around her hips and pulled her tight against him, holding her close, letting his aroused c.o.c.k press into the warmth between her legs, so she would know he was there, always there for her.

She sensed what he was trying to say, without words and became quiet, remaining still, looking into his face, an inch or two away from hers. The sudden awareness made her pupils dilate, turning them into orbs of black ringed with green as her soul poured out of them in response. It was going to be all right. She didn't have to be on guard, cautious, braced for hurt. His eyes told her that she didn't have to be afraid. He closed the tiny distance between them, and her mouth opened for his kiss, letting him pull her heart, body, and soul into himself.

He sucked her down, consumed her, melted against her, and then became possessed with a need to leave no stone unturned, no square inch of her unexplored. He tumbled to the floor and took her with him, clasping her to him spoon fashion and gradually easing her onto the carpet on her belly. He stood and stripped in lightning speed, then knelt over her and pulled her camisole up. She raised herself, lifting her arms to let him pull it off completely. Then she crossed her arms, turned her face sideways toward the fire and rested her head on her arms, giving him carte blanche to her.

Kneeling with his legs on either side of her, he began to examine her minutely, his hand tracing her hairline and working down, the pads of his fingers identifying each delicately covered, k.n.o.bbly vertebrae at the back of her neck. He went on a detailed voyage of discovery, his hands following the contours of her shoulders, her shoulder blades, her spine, the indentation of her waist, the swell of her b.u.t.tocks. He drew his thumb down between her b.u.t.tocks and then traced the line between them and the tops of her thighs, both thumbs working simultaneously. He stroked between her folds lightly with his thumb, just once, taking note of the wetness and her responsive quiver. The backs of her thighs were sheer velvet, her calves and ankles perfection itself.

"Turn over," he whispered, and as she did so, he felt a surge of gladness because all of her was now familiar territory, his territory. He had staked out his claim to her, outside and within.

She toyed with the ends of her long braid, while with her other hand she played with a nipple. He took her hand away so he could enjoy the sight of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, slightly flattened as she lay on her back, the nipples like small flowers still in bud on the soft coral islands.

Desire began to nip fiercely at her, and breathing shallowly through her mouth she drew up one leg to ease the ache of emptiness between her thighs.

"I want to touch you too," she said. She reached down, took hold of his ramrod-stiff c.o.c.k, and began to work the skin, moving it up and down, each time feathering the head lightly with her thumb before moving down again. It was becoming slick under her hand, and the slippery s.e.xy feel gutted him.

Mind-blowing desire overcame him. He stretched out next to her, nibbling hungrily at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and covering her hand with his to increase the rapidity of her movement as she ma.s.saged his rigid p.e.n.i.s by moving the foreskin up and down over it. She wanted more, needed the feel of him sliding into her. She lifted one leg, draping it over the side of his body and guided his c.o.c.k between her legs, bringing it home to the center of her hot, hungry, gushing s.e.x.

He grunted as it slipped eagerly inside her, just inside, and her nub nudged him tantalizingly. But greed still ate at him, a discontented greed that wanted to consume her and be inside her at one and the same time. He felt starved for her after his long fast. With a groan, he pulled away from her and moved lower to bury his face in the heated delicious scent and taste of her s.e.x, the recollection of which had kept him awake tossing and turning for so many unbearable nights. He lapped at her, captured her bud with his tongue, sucked hard, and released it, only to tantalize it further with merciless flicks. He traversed her v.u.l.v.a with broad sweeps of his tongue like a tiger licking its young and then tickled her center with its tip.

She cried out with the sweet relief of his mouth taking her, rotating her hips to the rhythm of his tongue, grinding against it, bearing down in agonized pleasure. She cried out his name, twice, sobbing it out, and his heart swelled to bursting with the knowledge that Nicola Edgerton, the woman he had wanted from as far back as he could remember, had cried out her desire for him. She was his, body and soul. He bled to entwine himself with her, ensnare her for always.

As if her mind had synchronized with his, she grasped him and pulled him up, and he knew what she wanted. He moved up, his c.o.c.k seeking her s.e.x with a mind of its own. Her heat drew him in like a magnet, and he drove into her with a loud, drawn-out, primal grunt of satisfaction as her shuddering exhalation whistled past his ear. He gathered her to him and began to thrust, quick, hard, short strokes that kept him inside her, all the time, all the way, where she wanted him.

He felt the well-remembered tensing of her body as his climax approached with thundering speed. Then she was trembling with pa.s.sion and he exploded inside her, scattering his seed like fireworks as her cries accelerated in a harsh crescendo. It was like falling off a mountain, clinging to each other as they tumbled out of control, picking up speed until they ricocheted out into s.p.a.ce. Eternity held its breath, waiting, and gradually their guttural cries began to give way to whimpers, convulsive shudders decelerating to trembling as the parachute of blessed release opened, breaking their free-fall. Worn out, soaked from the long, hard journey, they fell asleep as they drifted gently back to earth.

When she opened her eyes, she was in his bed, curled up against him under a comforter. He must have picked her up sometime during the night and taken her there. She lay quietly, listening to his deep rhythmic breathing and feeling utterly at peace. Someday, she would make him understand why she had to do this but not until she had succeeded, had paid off her debt. There must never be any question in his mind that being with him was her choice, that she would have wanted him regardless. Something in his face told her that he would have given her the money without a second thought if she had confided in him why she needed it, but then, how would he ever know that in spite of her lies to herself about wanting to take control by rewriting the script, the real reason she had come back to him and stayed, was because she quite simply could not live without him. He had become the air she needed to breathe.

"What are you thinking about?" he whispered in her ear.

She turned on her back and looked at him in the half-light coming through the uncovered window. "That I wanted to do it all night with you," she said. She pa.s.sed her hand over his c.o.c.k and stroked it lightly, then removed her hand. "But it looks as though the equipment needs some more down time ."

"That's what you think," he said. "Test-drive it again."

She felt him again. He was tumescent, and her hand closed around him, bringing him to instant rigidity with her touch. He shifted and lay on top of her, pulsing against her belly.

"I want to be inside you again," he murmured, his mouth on hers. "Just to do you and do you, slow and sweet, for hours and hours, until you can't move."

In response, she took his hand and rubbed his fingers in her s.e.x, letting him feel how ready she was. He came to his knees and positioned himself in the delicious warmth between her folds. Then slowly, he lowered himself on her, his shaft entering her and penetrating deeper until the root of him connected with her mound. He gripped her arms, hard, suspending himself away from her.

"Don't move," he said tensely.

She resisted a naughty urge to wiggle her hips, to make him come. Instead, she cradled his head with her hand and drew it down to taste his mouth. He sucked hard on her, trying to focus the excruciating sensation away from his recalcitrant organ that was a hair-trigger away from breaking loose and having its way with her. Slowly, gradually, he gained a tenuous upper hand and began to move in and out of her, withdrawing his whole length and driving back into her, all the way, enjoying how possessively and tightly he was sheathed inside her. Just doing her felt so d.a.m.n good.

"Oh, Anthony," she sighed against his mouth. "That feels so nice." She writhed involuntarily, pressing against him with the sheer pleasure of feeling him sliding into her, entering her over and over, filling and refilling her.

"Nicola, for the love of G.o.d, Do. Not. Move." He gasped out the words, choking on his own breath.

"Okay," she whispered back. "I don't want this to end."

He let out a groan. "My point exactly," he said painfully, not daring to risk pulling out of her warm stickiness that coated him like a glove.

She felt him throbbing inside her and she ached to swivel her hips around him, bring him into contact with every square millimeter of her heated pa.s.sage. They lay utterly still, until at last he dared to move again, sliding in and out of her with his deliberate piston-like strokes.

She felt heat welling up inside her and growing hotter with every stroke, and then it was running amok in her veins, her blood vessels, in her every last nerve, tearing through her to find an outlet, raging at her to please help the situation or to get out of the way.

"Oh, Anthony," she said, almost in a wail, "I'm going to come."

Her words struck a powerful answering chord within him.

"Then come, Nicola," he said. His voice was grating as his own thundering release crashed through the flimsy barriers of his restraint. They ground against each other with a straining bone-melting urgency, drawing away and coming back together, her hips rising to meet his every thrust until she uttered a cry, a mating call of the wild that chilled his spine. He buried his head in the hollow of her neck, his groin slamming into her, spilling his seed, and mining her sweetness to their very last mutual grinding shudder.

Chapter Twenty-Six.

They awoke almost simultaneously. Keeping one arm around her, he reached out and picked up the alarm clock, then, looking slightly disgusted, put it back down. She looked at him, raising her eyebrows inquiringly.

"I have to spend a couple of hours in my London office," he told her. "I have a meeting set up for two o'clock and then some paperwork to take care of. I wish I hadn't agreed to that b.l.o.o.d.y meeting. I'm almost tempted to call my secretary and get her to reschedule. Nothing's likely to come of it anyway."

"It's kind of late to cancel, isn't it? Sort of short notice," she said. "Why don't you just go and get it over with. There's not much more you can do around here anyway," she added teasingly.

He rolled over and pinned her down. "Are you so sure about that?"

"Get off me, caveman," she said, giving him a playful push. The exertions of the previous night had loosened her braid and he grabbed a lock of hair and wound it around his fist.

"Not until you tell me I'm the greatest," he said.

"The greatest what?" she asked, looking at him all innocence.

"The greatest lover you have ever known," he said, giving her hair a little tug.

"In comparison to whom?" she asked, feigning puzzlement.

He looked down at her, his face becoming tender. He wouldn't have thought she could possibly look any more beautiful, but somehow, she did, as though s.e.x had added some indefinable dimension to her inner core that had worked its way outward to her skin, her eyes, through her entire persona.

"To everybody. Just take my word for it," he said. Unexpectedly, he felt himself on the verge of begging her to let him be the only man who would ever know her body. He swallowed the words that hovered on the tip of his tongue. One small admission might open the floodgates, and he'd end up spilling his guts, telling her everything. He kissed her lips lightly, and her mouth felt so delectable under his he deepened the kiss. She sucked back, aware of a softening in her bones and her body beginning its seductive slide into heavy inertia as his c.o.c.k stirred against her s.e.x. He tore his mouth away to look into her face. Her eyes looked back at him, the pupils clear and comprehending.

"Do it," she said in a smothered voice. "A freebie, all yours. Just f.u.c.k me. As hard as you want. Now!"

G.o.d! she had read him and his desire like an open book. His face tensing with pure l.u.s.t, he spread her legs, entered her, and took her with swift, forceful strokes, plunging so deep into her that his climax arrived in seconds, tearing through him like a tornado, leaving him flattened and gasping in its wake. She stroked his back tenderly until at last he recovered enough to move off her.

"Better get moving or you'll be late for your meeting."

He leaned over and kissed her cheek, then let his lips travel to her ear. "Thanks for that."

"You're welcome. But you know, I may come free, but I don't come cheap. Consider yourself seriously indebted to me."

He laughed, throwing his head back. The familiar gesture was so infectious she had to giggle. "I always repay my debts," he said. He stopped at the en suite door and looked back at her. "With interest," he said meaningfully.

He went into the bathroom, and she snuggled down in bed, smiling, wicked designs beginning to take shape in her mind.

"By the way," he said, while he was getting dressed, "my ma.s.seur will be here at four. I see him every Friday. If I'm not back by then let him start on you, if you'd like a ma.s.sage."

It sounded wonderful. After he left she got up, took a shower, washed her hair, and made herself a sandwich. She ate it ravenously while exploring all the rooms in the town house-two more bedrooms and the main bathroom upstairs and a living room, a dining room, a study, and a kitchen downstairs. The furniture was mostly contemporary, except for a couple of antique end tables on either side of the living room sofa. It was easy to see that his Hampshire house was the place he considered home and that this town house was his pied--terre. It was comfortable and nicely decorated, but nowhere near the luxurious elegance of the mansion.

His bedroom was typically male. A king-sized bed with a headboard upholstered in the same pattern as the bedding, white with green and gold stripes. The night tables did not match, and a small framed photo of two people sat on one, a middle-aged avuncular-looking man and a handsome somewhat younger woman shielding powerful emotions behind that cool reserved faade so characteristic of the upper-cla.s.s English woman. She imagined they were his parents, although it was a bit of a stretch to discern a resemblance.

She went back downstairs, looked through his CDs. She was in the mood for something sappy and romantic. To her delight, he had a good selection of opera CDs. Her dad had been a cla.s.sicist and had instilled in her and Emma an appreciation of opera. She chose Manon Lescaut and inserted the disk into the player.

Chapter Twenty-Seven.

It was just after four when he returned. He opened the door of the flat and froze as the music washed over him-"Donna non vidi mai," the tenor aria from Manon Lescaut. He loved opera, but this particular one had the capacity to slash his gut, forced him to think of his biological father, the man who had had absolutely no use for him, the man he had almost succeeded in banishing from his mind. He shut the front door quietly, shrugged off his overcoat, and went directly into the living room. He picked up the empty CD case that was lying on top of the cabinet and examined it. It was from his mother's collection. He wondered whether Nicola had any particular reason for choosing this. He badly wanted to press the stop b.u.t.ton but left it playing and walked into the study.

Nicola was lying on the ma.s.sage table, torso covered by the sheet, face up and with her eyes closed as the ma.s.seur worked his magic. He was on her left leg, and Anthony knew from experience that this meant he was almost done with her. It would be his turn next. He lounged against the wall, watching almost enviously and feeling ridiculously proprietary as the ma.s.seur manipulated her calf, then her ankle, and finally each toe. She opened her eyes as he rested her foot gently down and smiled when she saw Anthony standing there.

"Perfect timing," she said, sitting up. She climbed off the table and wrapped herself in a robe. She walked toward him and held her dewy face up. He kissed her mouth. She smelt like lavender, clean and sensual.

"I'm all oily," she said. It was a simple statement of fact, but her eyes held his, transmitting an unmistakably erotic message, and his spine tingled as his libido revved into high gear. She saw that he understood perfectly and a seductive smile curved her lips. "How long will you be?" she asked him, her voice sultry.

"Thirty minutes, tops," he said. Christ, he was so turned on he was ready to forget about the ma.s.sage, period. He began to unb.u.t.ton his shirt hurriedly as the ma.s.seur spread a clean sheet over the table. The sooner he started, the sooner he would get finished, get to her.

"Enjoy," she said, turning to leave the room.

"By the way," he said, and she stopped at the door. "Unless you have your heart set on Puccini, I wouldn't mind listening to something else."

"Oh, you don't like Puccini?"

"Not that particular opera. It depresses me."

She gave him an understanding look. "It is a sad opera, isn't it. I'll put on something else," she said and left the study. The music came to an abrupt stop a second or two later, to be replaced by the haunting Serenade for Strings that tore at him in a completely different way. He understood Tchaikovsky's repressed romantic feelings perfectly. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply as the ma.s.seur's hands began to work the back of his neck.

After the ma.s.seur left, he went into the bedroom where he knew she would be waiting. She had removed the comforter and was lying on the white sheet underneath it, in the middle of the bed, wearing nothing, but the sheen of lavender oil that turned her skin to burnished gold under the soft lamplight. It glittered in the downy patch of hair covering her s.e.x and turned her b.r.e.a.s.t.s into ornaments displayed like hand-painted china roses on her golden chest. He walked to the foot of the bed and stood there, looking down at her with a bemused expression and feeling like a b.l.o.o.d.y idiot because speech seemed to have deserted him completely.

"Yes, what is it?" she asked, a touch of hauteur in her voice as she regarded him through lazy lashes.

He caught the flash of green fire in her eyes and knew she was wide awake, waiting for him to make the first move. He knelt on the bed and began to crawl toward her on his hands and knees.

"Stop," she ordered sharply. "I do not recall giving you permission to approach me, slave."

He understood immediately that she was in full dominatrix mode and excitement pooled in his lower region, summoning to action his already stiff c.o.c.k that strained eagerly to obey. He stopped moving, remaining on his knees at the foot of the bed.

"I take it you have a name. What do they call you, slave," she asked, casually examining her nails.

"Anthony, mistress."

"I don't like it," she said, frowning. "Too upper cla.s.s for a slave." Her eyes dropped deliberately to the painfully obvious tent his arousal had erected under the towel and a mischievous smile curved her lips. "I shall call you d.i.c.k," she said. "It suits you admirably.

"Well, d.i.c.k," she continued, giving his new name a wicked emphasis, "tell me this. What am I wearing?"

"Nothing, mistress."

"Precisely. If your mistress is not clad, is it proper that you should present yourself to her clothed?"

"No, mistress." He hastily whipped off the towel he was wearing and threw it to the floor. His c.o.c.k pointed toward her, readier than a race horse at the post.

She smiled. "Good. I can see you're going to be a fast learner. So, tell me, d.i.c.k, do you know why you've been temporarily released from your quarters?"

"To serve you, mistress," he said.

"Speak up! I can't hear you."

"To serve you, mistress," he repeated in a louder voice.