Julia Justiss - Regency High Society Vol 4

Or maybe it wasn’t the swimming alone. She turned and glided back toward Michel, taking care to keep from getting too near.

Too near for what, Jerusa? What could possibly happen in a pond?

He sank deeper into the water until the surface was just level with his eyes, eyes that seemed very blue against all the shining black stone and green leaves. Silently he began to swim toward her, his strokes barely ruffling the water’s surface as his long blond hair streamed out behind him. Even though she knew it was no more than another of his endless games, she felt her heart quicken. There was something about the way he was watching her that was decidedly predatory, and she was his prey.

She narrowed her eyes and slammed her palm down on the water with a great splash, a ploy she’d learned from her brothers, but still Michel came closer. She twisted about in the water and plunged beneath the surface to get away from him, and instantly regretted it. Or at least her conscience did; the rest of her didn’t mind at all. There, before her in the water, was everything his breeches ordinarily hid, the last important detail her imagination hadn’t been able to supply, and Lord, he was a beautiful man.

He grabbed her ankle and jerked her up to the surface, sputtering. “Let me go, Michel!” she cried, blushing furiously as she tried to thrash free.

“Why should I, Rusa?” he teased. “All you’ve done is try to swim away from me.”

“Please, Michel!” It was nearly impossible to keep her body decently underwater while he insisted on dragging her foot into the air. He was going to upend her completely if he wasn’t careful.

“I’ll release your ankle if you give me your hand,” he bargained, and with little choice she reluctantly agreed, offering her hand as he let her foot glide back down through the water. “Now trust me, ma mie. Relax, and let yourself float.”

“Michel, I—”

“Shh, Rusa. You must trust me,” he ordered softly. “Remember that I love you, and trust me.”

Her gaze locked with his, gradually she did what he asked, letting her legs and body float upward behind her. Instinctively she extended her other arm to keep her head above the water, and Michel took that hand, too. Inch by inch she relaxed, the roar of the falling water filling her ears until she felt as if she were floating, weightless, not just in water but above it. Slowly he glided her closer to him, drawing her arms against him until their faces were only inches apart.

“Ma belle Jerusa,” he murmured, “ma bien-aimée.”

It seemed right for her to cross that last distance until their lips met. He kissed her gently at first, teasing her, their lips grazing together and then separating as he let her drift away, breathless with desire for more.

“Who’s running away now?” she whispered, her voice husky with frustration.

His smile was knowing, his eyes hooded. “Not I, ma mie.”

At last he pulled her close, releasing her hands so she could circle them around his neck as his mouth slanted over hers. Hungrily she parted her lips for him, needing to taste him, and she felt the first shimmer of pleasure ripple through her. She brought her body through the water to nestle close to his, her arms tightening around his shoulders to steady herself. His hands eased along her body, from the narrowing curve of her waist upward until, with a shudder, she felt him cup her breasts in his palms, his thumbs stroking the tips into hard, tight peaks of response that made her cry out.

She slid her hands along the length of his back, exploring the feel of him, learning how the hard muscles of his back narrowed and lengthened at his waist. She brushed across the small pebble of his nipple, nearly hidden in the hair, and learned from the sharp break in his breathing that he, too, found pleasure there.

She felt his hands slide lower, over her hips, cradling her as he guided her closer to him, and instinctively her legs parted and curled around his waist. Too late she realized the intimacy of what she’d unwittingly done, and with a startled splash she pulled back.

“Trust me, Rusa,” he said, his voice dark with promise as he held her. “This isn’t Martinique and it’s not Newport. This is here, and it’s only for us.”

She drew back to see his face, her throat tight from longing as she gave him a shaky smile. She loved him so much, and she wanted this to be right for them both. With infinite care and curiosity she let her body slide back down against his, aware of his eyes on her as he waited for her response. She lifted her legs around his hips again and drew herself closer until their bodies touched. She could feel his heat where they touched, the hard length of him pressed between her open legs, and she thought of how much he’d changed since she’d first glimpsed him beneath the water.

Tentatively she moved against him, startled by the sensations that swept through her. It had been like this in the cabin when he’d touched her, but this was better, far, far better. She pulled herself upward along his body, delighting in how the rough hair of his chest dragged across her sensitized breasts, then she eased down again along his length.

Her breath caught at the languorous pleasure of it, and she tightened her legs around him, instinctively offering more of herself as she raised herself upward again. This time her motions weren’t quite as measured, her body eager for more as the cool water splashed and sluiced over them.

His fingers dug deep into her hips, lifting her against him, increasing the pressure of her sliding caress, and this time she cried out, feeling his touch in every nerve. He groaned in response, his breath hot in her ear.

“Enough of this, chère,” he said raggedly as he moved to swing one arm beneath her knees. “I don’t want to drown.”

He lifted her dripping from the water to the bank beyond the rocks, and she welcomed him, her wet, glistening body feverish in her need. With her black hair curling damply around her full, pale breasts, her nipples and her mouth red and swollen from his kisses, she looked like a mermaid from a sailor’s dream, wanton and eager for him alone.

He tried to tell himself to go slowly, that she was still a maid, and he’d no wish to frighten her again as he had before. But the idea that he would be the first man to have her was wildly intoxicating, adding more fire to a desire that was already hotter than anything he could remember. He kissed her again as he eased her legs apart, and when he touched her sweet, hot flesh, she moaned and moved shamelessly against him, and he knew they’d both waited long enough.

Her eyes widened as he entered her, and she gasped at the new sensation of joining with him this way and giving so much of herself. Yet when he began to move within her, she gasped again and cried out his name, as with each thrust, each stroke, he drove the pleasure higher, hotter than she ever could have imagined. Now when she curled her legs around his waist she understood, drawing him deeper within her and rocking her hips to meet him.

Now she understood about love and passion, and the white-hot need that Michel had raised in her soul and her body, and when at last she thought she could bear no more, he gave her the last and best secret of all. With a wild cry that rose above the waterfall she found her release.

Her cry reached to every corner of his heart, and in response he plunged more deeply into her, frantic in his need to lose himself within her, and when it came, the end left him shuddering and complete. Yet even then he did not want to let her go. With her he had discovered more than love; he had found the rare contentment and joy that only she could give, his Jerusa, his love.