Captain Jack's Woman (Bastion Club 0.50)

amiliar tightening in his groin suggested full arousal was not far off. With a wry grin, he moved slowly into the room. It was comforting to know that these days, satisfaction was readily available. And guaranteed. It was, he felt, one of the less well publicized benefits of marriage.

As he circled the room snuffing candles and opening the curtains, he wondered again what devilry his wild woman was hatching. For once, her mind was definitely not on him.

“I went into Lynn today.”

“Oh?” Jack paused in the act of snuffing the last candle in the candelabrum.

“Mmm.” Kit looked around and located him, standing with the silver snuffer in one hand, the strong planes of his face lit by the single flame, his gilded hair winking wickedly in the golden light. “I saw Lord Belville.”

“Who’s Lord Belville?”

An impish grin twisted Kit’s lips. “You could say he was an old flame.”

Jack frowned and doused the candle, leaving the room lit by the wavering light of Kit’s bedside candle and the moonlight streaming in. Laying the snuffer down, he walked to the bed. “What do you mean—an old flame?”

Inwardly, Kit was delighted with his raspy growl, but she needed no demonstration of Jack’s possessiveness. She immediately dismissed the idea of making him jealous. But she was truly puzzled by Belville’s presence and felt Jack should hear of her tenuous connection with that questionable peer from her, rather than from Belville. “When I was eighteen, I nearly accepted a proposal of marriage from him.”

Jack tugged the sash of his midnight blue robe open and shrugged the silk from his shoulders. Kit’s mouth went dry as her eyes disobeyed all injunctions and roamed his large and very aroused body, caressing each and every muscle, homing in on the promise of pleasure soon to be enjoyed. She fervently hoped her mention of Belville was not going to mar that pleasure.

But Jack’s “Tell me,” uttered as he stretched out on the bed beside her, was encouraging.

Kit moistened her lips and tried to drag her eyes up to his face and her wits back from whence they’d wandered. She fastened her gaze on Jack’s silver eyes, gleaming under heavy lids. “Did I tell you my uncles and aunts kidnapped me and took me to London to be married for their convenience?”

Jack’s lips twitched. He shook his head. “Lie back, close your eyes, and start at the beginning.”

Kit drew an unsteady breath and did as she was told. His voice had dropped to a husky growl. She commenced her story with her grandmother’s death and her removal from Cranmer Hall. She felt Jack shift and come up on one elbow beside her. As she reached London, she felt a tug loosen the first of the silk bows that held her nightgown closed.

Her narrative faltered. Her lids flickered.

“Keep your eyes shut. Go on.”

Another unsteady breath was necessary before she could. Slowly, her story unfolded, kept moving by Jack’s rumbling prompts. Equally slowly, her nightgown was opened all the way down to her feet. She’d got to refusing her first suitor when she felt the bow on each shoulder give way. A second later, the two halves of her nightgown were lifted from her.

Kit’s voice suspended. She was lying naked beside her husband.

“What happened then?”

“Ah…” It was an effort to collect her wits but, falteringly, she took up her tale. Jack’s fingertips touched her, tracing patterns over her skin. His lips followed the trails they’d laid, but his body, his limbs, never touched her. It was like being made love to by a ghost. Soon, her nipples were hard crests atop her swollen breasts. Her stomach was as tight as a drum. Her skin was a mass of sensitized nerves, flickering in anticipation of his next touch.

Kit had no idea how coherent she was, but Jack seemed to follow her tale. His voice, deep and vibrating with passion, urged her on whenever she failed. But when his lips touched her navel and his fingers grazed her thighs, she gave up.

Resisting the temptation to open her eyes, she replied to his “And?’ with a simple, “Jack, I can’t think, lying here like this.”

“Turn over then.”

She was halfway over before her mind focused. She hesitated, and would have turned back to ask why, but two large hands fastened about her hips and helped her onto her stomach. Resigned, Kit settled her cheek into her pillow, feeling the sensuous slide of silk and satin beneath her, the coolness soothing her aching breasts and that other ache buried in the soft fullness of her belly. Air played over the heated contours of her back. Jack still lay beside her, not touching her at all.

Assuming that after her protest he’d remain that way, Kit took up her story. She made it to Belville’s offer before Jack’s palm made contact with her bottom. Moving in slow, sensuous circles, barely touching, his hand stroked her body to instant life.

“Jack!” Kit’s eyes flew open. She tried to turn, but Jack leaned over her, his chest angled across her back.

“What happened next?” His lips were at her nape.

In a garbled rush, Kit babbled the tale of her eavesdropping, barely aware of what she said. Jack’s hand continued its gentle stroking, extending his area of attentions to the sensitive backs of her thighs. As she recounted her ultimate refusal of Belville’s offer, she felt Jack’s other hand slip beneath her to close possessively about one breast. Kit moaned softly. The hand on her bottom paused, poised on the fullest point in the curve. The fingers about her breast squeezed gently. Kit felt her body tense; her thighs parted slightly. Jack’s hand slipped between, nudging them farther apart. Kit’s tension wound tighter. A long finger slid effortlessly into her.

“Oooh!” A delicious shudder wracked her as the soft, long-drawn moan left her lips. The finger probed deeply. Kit bit her lip to stifle the moans of surrender that welled in her throat. A second finger joined the first and she gasped.

“Tell me again—what does Belville do?”