Delphine Dryden - Gossamer Wing

Charlotte startled at the announcement, looking for all the world like a deer about to bound away at the crackling of a twig. Dexter stroked her sides and haunches, shifting under her, settling her and reclaiming her attention.

“We still have time, love.”

She nodded, but her fair hair was tumbling over her face. He smoothed it up out of the way to see her expression, then wished he hadn’t. She looked raw, exposed. He didn’t like to see her uncertain.

“We don’t have much time,” she corrected him, as though she felt duty bound to be the voice of restraint. “And when we get to Honfleur we won’t have any. A week at the most, for you to evaluate things at the station and me to prove the Gossamer Wing ’s suitability to Murcheson. We must be in Paris within nine days of our arrival here, if I’m to make this window of opportunity to try for the documents while there’s no moon. Otherwise we’ll be stuck in France another month at least before I can try again.”

“So let’s not waste this time.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, relieved when she smiled. And then he gasped when she squeezed herself around him quite deliberately.

“I want to do something new,” Charlotte said, shy but not quite whispering, “make the most of it.”

With the limited amount of cognition available to him, Dexter ran through the past few nights in his mind. Mentally, he ticked off things they had already done, a surprisingly impressive list of accomplishments for such a short time. He realized he had quite thoroughly corrupted the girl.

Not a complete corruption, perhaps. Charlotte was still shy in front of him, and that was one area in which he hadn’t pushed very hard. Now, seeing her so vulnerable, he was struck with a perverse desire to break her down even further. See just how far she would allow herself to be pushed . . . and perhaps create one last fond memory to tuck away in the album of his mind, depending on how things went in Honfleur. He tried not to think further ahead than that. He told himself it was just sex. Just sex with the most extraordinary women he’d ever met. Not lovemaking, and certainly not love, because that would never do. Charlotte would have none of that.

“Ride me,” he ordered, pulling her hips into his.

“We’ve done this,” she breathed, even as she complied.

“And touch yourself.”

Her hips gave a little hitch, then kept moving. Her hair slipped forward again, hiding one eye. It swayed with each breath she took. After a moment, Dexter pulled one of her hands from his chest and put it where he wanted it, daring her with his eyes. Then, because he was anxious about what would happen once they disembarked, and because he felt like a petulant child about to be forced to give up a favorite new toy, he raised the stakes.

“You’ve never done that for yourself, have you?” He didn’t expect an answer, but he knew she hadn’t. She couldn’t have, if she’d reached the age of twenty-seven still believing women couldn’t have orgasms. “You wanted something new. This would be two new things in one go. Doing it in the first place, and also doing it in front of somebody else.”

It was getting harder to control his urge to thrust, harder to resist the sweet pull of desire that swelled his cock and made him want to rush to a conclusion. But just as he had decided to let it go, decided she wasn’t ready for that particular challenge, he saw her fingers start to move.

She was hesitant at first, finding the right spot. He ran one fingertip lightly over the back of her hand, feeling each tendon and muscle as she worked out the tempo and pressure. Her pace picked up as she grew more assured, as she found her own way down that path for the first time. It was coarse and fascinating, the storm of activity taking place at the spot where their bodies were joined. Dexter couldn’t tear his eyes away, even though the sight made him ache for release.

Charlotte gasped, and Dexter looked up at her face as she began to tremble and clench around him. Her fingers flew, and their bodies collided again and again with noisy, wet enthusiasm that would have been enough by itself to send Dexter to oblivion. But the lewd sight of her pleasuring herself was nothing compared to the sight of her face, her eyes on his, the joy and embarrassment and need and relief. All shared in a single glance. She had never truly been naked before him, but she was now. She had pulled out her soul for him to see, and it was so beautiful it nearly blinded him.

He came hard, jerking up into her still-shaking body, shouting her name like a cry for help. Afterward, he had to pull away quickly so as not to compromise the sheath he wore. He had worn one every time after that first, mad night, and didn’t mind it for her sake but for this one thing. He hated leaving her body so soon, particularly this time. He wanted to stay inside her until he hardened again, make love to her once more before the ship’s docking forced them from the bunk.

He pulled out, but he wrapped his arms and legs around her and didn’t let go until the hated voice of the captain on the intercom interrupted them for the last time.

HONFLEUR AND LE HAVRE, FRANCE

CHARLOTTE WANTED TO focus on her work. She wanted that very much. She had a list of coordinates to memorize then destroy, along with maps of Paris and Le Havre and a calendar full of notes about the phases of the moon. She had a dossier full of information about her target, Roland Dubois, all of which needed further study before she embarked on her first flight.

But after a night and half a day in Honfleur their contact still hadn’t surfaced, and Charlotte felt no closer to accomplishing any of her goals than she had when she left New York. She was also frustrated and preoccupied by her body’s obvious disgruntlement at being denied its newfound source of entertainment.

Their hotel suite was lavish, and Charlotte suspected Dexter was sleeping comfortably enough on one of the two overstuffed sofas in the sitting room. For all she knew, he was trotting out to find French whores every night to satisfy his obviously quite healthy libido. She only knew for certain he wasn’t satisfying it with her anymore. He seemed content with the arrangement, but in her experience people were seldom what they seemed.

Why it bothered her so much to think Dexter was pretending to be content, Charlotte couldn’t say. She said nothing instead, and the words on the pages before her swam and danced in an endless tedious whirl. Charlotte tried to keep her eyes on the work, on the ridiculous novel in whose margins she’d jotted the coordinates to study, rather than staring across the sidewalk café table at her temporary husband’s sensual mouth.

“Lord Hardison?” A cultured voice, a British voice, startled Charlotte from her reverie. She looked up to see an older gentleman in a top hat nodding to Dexter. A wave of relief, flavored with excitement, swept over her. Dexter leaped to his feet, a broad smile on his face and his hand extended for a gentlemanly clasp.

Charlotte scanned their surroundings automatically as she stood, but saw no obvious eavesdroppers or onlookers. The rooftops across the street were clear, and there were only a few other patrons at the little café where she and Dexter sat lingering over brunch and enjoying the cool coastal breeze.

“I’m Rutherford Murcheson. Heard you were in town. Lad at the embassy said I might find you here.”

Murcheson, Charlotte knew, ran one of the largest makesmith forges in Europa. He was an ideal business acquaintance for Dexter to make on this dual-purpose honeymoon. This also made him an ideal contact for Charlotte and Dexter, and the perfect covert spymaster for the Crown’s agents in France.