Page 73 of The Ragpicker King
She didn’t reply. A moment later, he was at the door, hand onthe latch. At last, from behind him, she said, “You are my first choice, Kellian, but not my only one. There are others I can ask.”
The roaring in his ears was deafening now. He had never understood what people meant when they said they saw red, but a scarlet mist seemed to pass in front of his eyes. He could hear Antonetta’s harsh breathing behind him as he removed his hand from the door and turned to face her.
Her lips were parted, her eyes very bright. One of the slim straps of her dress had fallen from her shoulder, baring the creamy skin there, the arching curve of her collarbone. He imagined kissing her there, at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and wondered what she would taste like. Sweet and amandine, like marzipan, or sharp and salty, like sweat and perfume?
He stalked across the room to her. He half expected her to flinch away, but she stood her ground, only tilting her head back to look up at him. Her pupils were the shape of hearts.
He said, “Tell me, then. What you want me to do.”
“I...” He didn’t think she could blush more, but it seemed she could. She said, “I told you. I want you to be my first.”
“Your first what?” He swayed a little toward her, held himself back. “Say the words, Antonetta. Tell me exactly what you want me to do. Or I won’t do it.”
“My first—” She caught her breath, widened her eyes. Looked at him hard. She said, “Touch me. Put your hands on my body.” She had bitten her lip; she licked the dent she’d made and said, “Make me like it.”
He laid his hands on her shoulders. Her skin, hot and bare, felt like satin; he traced his hands down her body, flat-palmed. Gliding over the silk she wore, over the curves of her breasts. The silk was like water, no barrier to the feel of her body. As her nipples hardened against his palms, he circled them with his fingers, teasing and touching until she cried out and pressed harder against him.
“Kiss me,” she whispered. “Kiss me properly.”
He knew he should hold himself back. Kiss her delicately, carefully. But no sooner had he pressed his mouth to hers than every shred of careful planning was torn away. She kissed him back eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he was lost—lost in the dark sharp pleasure of kissing her, the softness of her lips, the heated glide of her tongue into his mouth. He caught her in his arms, lifting her up off the floor, and carried her to the bed.
They were still kissing when they crashed onto the mattress, her hands gripping the lapels of his jacket now, tearing it off him. She yanked the hem of his shirt free from his trousers and slid her hands up his bare chest, sighing against his mouth as she explored him with her fingers.
He tore his mouth away from hers. Braced on one hand above her, he said raggedly, “Antonetta. What do you want now? Tell me.”
Her lips parted in surprise; they were red with kisses. His kisses. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to ask for. Only—” She lifted a hand to caress his cheek, her eyes dark with desire. “Don’t stop.”
He groaned and kissed her again, feverishly. Her hands stroked his back, and he wondered if she felt the scars there through the material of his shirt. But he was too dazed to wonder long; he sucked her lower lip, making her whimper, before kissing his way down her throat. It was the work of a moment to push down the straps of her dress, baring her beautiful breasts, high and round and tipped with stiff pink nipples.
She had gone still. “Kel...?” she whispered.
He wanted to tell her she was gorgeous, beautiful, perfect. But words seemed beyond him. As all the blood in his body seemed to rush downward, he closed his mouth around her nipple. She gave a small scream and arched up and toward him, wordlessly. Her fingers dug into his sides, her hips rising, grinding against his, sending sparks of blinding pleasure through his body.
When she begged him not to stop, he felt something expand inside his chest. A sense of pleasure in her pleasure, he thought, ora pride that hecouldplease her; again, something he had never felt before. And as his hand glided downward, he prayed to any available God that what he had learned about pleasure in his life would not fail him now, when it mattered.
His hand glided over the curve of her belly, his fingers gathering the silk of her dress as they went, bunching it up around her waist. He felt her turn and twist under him, gasping as he circled her navel with his forefinger. The muscles in her stomach jumped under his hands, fluttering against his palm.
“Kel,” she whispered, almost tearfully. “Kel—Kel—”
His name in her mouth, the sound of her pleading with him, nearly undid him. He wanted to be inside her so badly it hurt. He shoved that thought back: It was impossible. Instead he let his hand travel, down and down, finding the softness of her inner thighs. He moved his lips to her throat; she was taut against him as his fingers found the heart of her. The heat of her there made him groan low in his throat; he began to circle his fingers, gently and then with a firmer pressure.
She was pressed tautly against him as he arched over her. He watched her face with a fascination as intense as any pleasure he’d ever felt as she flushed and whitened, her lips parting, her lashes beginning to flutter. She pressed up against his fingers, her body writhing under his, her hands gripping at the sheets of the bed so hard, he thought she might tear them.
Her eyes flew wide open; their gazes locked. He caught his breath as she trembled and cried out, her legs clamping tight around his hand. He could feel every spasm that rocked her and thought for a moment he might lose control of himself, so keenly did he feel every shock of her pleasure.
As the last shudder rippled through her, she went boneless against him. For a moment he just held her to him, marveling at the stillness that surrounded them, the quiet. Even though his body ached with unfulfilled desire, he thought he could lie like that all night.
Then she sat up. Her hair was a wild tangle of gold strands, sweat shimmering on her collarbone. He felt an overwhelming urge to lick her throat.
“I know there’s more than that,” she said. “What aboutyou?”
And she leaned down to kiss him. Caught by surprise, he hummed softly into the kiss, drawing her down against him. Half silk, half naked skin, she melted against him, her hand sliding along his belly, dipping down between his legs—
He sat up, almost hurling her off him. Rolling off the bed, he rose to his feet, though his whole body ached with want. He could barely look at her, with her dress rucked up to her thighs, her hair tumbled all around her shoulders, her lips swollen from kissing. She put a hand to her mouth.
“But, Kel,” she said, “I know—”
“That I didn’t make love to you—what was it you said?—properly? You’re right. I can’t. I can’t be your First Night, Antonetta. Gremont has the right to have you checked by a doctor, to make sure you’re a virgin. And he probably will.”
