Seduce Me, If You Dare by Alyssa Clarke

Chapter Nine

Oscar wanted to slam his fist into a wall. He had fucked his wife into a dead faint. He was a damn rutting ass who needed a good wallop. What had he been thinking to kiss and touch her with such carnality, and it was her first time? He should have been more mindful of her sensibilities and delicate nature, but he had been beset with lust for his countess. He had allowed her to ride his face, and he had pleasured her cunny until she screamed, and then…

Damn it all to hell. She should have been peppered with slow sweet kisses, the lamp muted to preserve her dignity, and then he should have possibly used more oil to ease his way into her body. She had been so damn tight it was a miracle he had fitted. He knew he was a large man, but she had been so slick and wet, Oscar had been confident in the way he had prepared her body.

I was too damn crude and eager.

Regret churned in his gut. He hated that he had brought her such pain. Tears had leaked from her eyes. Fuck. The harsh, crude curse did not relieve the tension in his body. Oscar gently traced his fingers over her brows after cleaning the blood stains away and dressing her in the voluminous nightgown, he gathered her into his arms and took his countess into her chamber. She did not stir, and he thought it would be best she woke in a room that was comforting and familiar.

Tucking the sheets to her chin, he went to the hearth and stoked the fire. Once he was done, he padded toward the connecting door, only to pause. This was too reminiscence of their wedding night. She had fainted; he had deposited her to her room and then left for town the very next day.

Turning around, he walked over to her bed and around to the other side. He climbed on, folding his arm behind his head, and staring at the ceiling. A few minutes later, a soft mutter came from her. Turning his head, Oscar stared at her. Prue still slept, but now she turned to him as if seeking the heat of his body. He smiled when she rolled until she was curled into his side. A sigh of delight slipped from her, and then her deep breathing filled the chamber.

Oscar closed his eyes, and despite the tempting closeness of his cock and his aching balls that were still desperate for relief, he fell into a deep slumber.

“Oh, dear!”

It was that familiar refrain that had Oscar opening his eyes to see the bedchamber had the soft gray shade of early dawn. A hard rain plunked down on the roof and the windows of her chamber. The house was still, and he suspected the household servants were still abed. That meant it was not yet five in the morning. His wife had scooted to the very edge of the bed, the sheets tugged up to cover her mouth. Her green eyes were wide and pinned on him, her hair sticking out from several ends. He couldn’t help smiling at the madcap picture she presented. “Good morning, wife,” Oscar murmured.

“I fainted,” she whispered. “Again.”

“That you did.”

“I am mortified.”

“I never thought my cock could have shriveled so quickly.”

Her eyes widened to the size of saucers. “I see.” She cleared her throat delicately. “You dressed me.”

“Only in your nightgown.”

She made a soft sound in her throat but said nothing more. They stared at each other, and unexpectedly the corner of her eyes crinkled, and she giggled. The sweet sound bloomed into a peal of laughter that filled his chest with sunshine. He didn’t understand the infectious nature, but he chuckled, then he too started laughing, releasing the last bit of tension in the air. They laughed like two fools, and it felt natural to reach out and draw her into his arms. She did not resist but rolled into him, settling her head against his chest.

“I do not believe I have ever heard you laugh before, husband,” she said breathlessly. “I like it.”

Bloody hell, she smelled good. Felt even more perfect pillowed onto his chest.

“Then I will endeavor to do it more.” Just for you. “Now tell me, why did you faint?”

She lightly stroked a finger over the hard planes of his stomach. “It is silly.”

“I would still like to hear it,” he murmured. “I would hate for you to faint every time I take you to my bed.”

“And how often will that be?” she asked pertly.

“Every morning and night.”

She shifted a bit to tilt her face up to his. “Is that possible?”

Oscar smiled. With the way she made him feel, he would bet his prime stud horses it was possible. At least until they sated each other, and a part of him wonder if he would ever get enough of her sweet taste or the heady arousal her responses brought forth. “We shall discover together, countess.”

Her cheeks reddened prettily, but she did not look away from him. He lowered his head and touched her lips, kissing her softly, gently…lovingly. Oscar wanted to reassure her that she was safe, and she would face no judgment in his arms.

“Since I was little…I faint when I feel pain and at the sight of blood,” she confessed, lowering her face and curving into his side once more. “I hurt myself once. It was bad. All I remembered was the awful pain and the blood.”

Devil take it. He rubbed her shoulder soothingly. “How old were you?”

“Eight. I fell from my pony. I recall screaming at the blood wetting my riding habit. I was horrified at the sight and the scent. I wasn’t sure what was scarier. The blood or the faint. My sister told me I fainted. Of course, when I woke, it was all like a distant dream. I never knew I would have such a reaction again until I was about twelve. I badly pricked my finger with an embroidery needle. As the blood beaded on the tip of my finger and the ache spread…it was as if my body separated from my mind. I hazed, and I fainted.”

His wife’s voice was rich with mortification.

“Since then, the idea of pain and blood frightens me. It is silly, for I am a grown woman!”

“It is not silly, Prue. It is a response to an event that was very traumatic.”

“But I cannot stop myself from having the reaction. That is what I hate the most.”

Her voice sounded small and muffled. A quick glance showed she had drawn the sheets up to hide her face. He tugged the sheets down and used a finger to lift her chin. “That little flaw does not change the fact you are a brave lady.”

Her brows winged down in a frown. “Brave?”

“You got back onto a horse, and you are an excellent rider today.”

Her eyes widened, and then she looked absurdly pleased with herself. “I am excellent, aren’t I? It was petrifying to restart my lessons, but I did not want the fear to cripple me. Only four months later, I found the courage to start riding again.”

He lowered his head and kissed her brow. “And one day, you will overcome this too. Believe in that, countess. And if you do not, it does not make you less.”

Oscar was not sure if he should speak with her about the painful ordeal that was childbirth. Hell. One step at a time. His countess was young. There was no rush for him to get his heir. He would try his best to ensure she did not fall with child for a few years. That way, they would have another three or more years to get to know each other before introducing children. His mother, who was already haranguing him about an heir and a spare, would simply have to keep her nose out of their marriage.

“Now show me your badge of bravery.”

She scuttled from his arms to push aside the sheets. Oscar loved that she displayed no maidenly shyness or blushes in showing him a part of her body. Baring her legs, his wife revealed a scar on her shin. It was long and wide but not garish. Still, he grabbed her foot and lifted it. With a gasp, she fell back onto the bed, laughing breathlessly. Raising her foot to his mouth, he gently kissed the scar, then up to the back of her knee.

She gasped and giggled.

“My wife is ticklish,” he murmured, tormenting her flesh with soft bites.

His wife bit into her lower lip, and her throat swallowed. “Oscar?” she said, her voice husky with arousal.

“Yes?”

“I would like to see one of your paintings.”

“Now?”

Their gazes met, and in the depths of the emerald beauty of her eyes, he spied fright. It will not hurt the next time. He wanted to assure her of this, but it was better to show her. Lowering her foot, he tossed aside the sheets and pushed himself off the bed.

“You’re naked!”

He bent and grabbed his trousers, shaking them out before slipping them on. “I always sleep naked, countess.”

He didn’t bother to dress in full but held out his hand. Pushing down her nightgown, she scrambled from the bed and took his hand. They left her chamber, hurrying along the darkened corridor. His wife muffled her laugh.

“It feels as if we are sneaking around. It is exciting,” she whispered.

He took her to the room he claimed as his workspace. Opening the door, they spilled inside. Padding over to the window, he pulled back the heavy drapes allowing a measure of light to fill the room. The room was rather large and had several windows to allow in natural light. The room also overlooked a pretty garden and a birdhouse. Several paintings, all his, hung on the wall. At least three easels with wooden chairs were positioned near the windows, and a dark green chaise longue with golden edges was by the fire. His wife gasped, and he turned around. Awe suffused her features as she stared at his work.

“Oscar,” she breathed, walking over to a painting of her on her horse. “This is beautiful. When you said you painted, I never imagined work so flawless and powerful, done with such rare precision and realism. Why do you keep this to yourself?”

A rush of pleasure filled him at her admiration. “Habit,” Oscar answered. His art was his and only his. Expect now I am sharing it with you.

She whirled to face him. “When did you start painting?”

“According to my mother, I waddled into the art room, picked up her brush and made my first brush stroke at two years of age. I’ve never stopped painting. It is a great love,” he admitted.

“I…you are incredibly talented.”

He strolled over to the painting, perusing it critically. He supposed it was a lovely one. Whenever he painted, it was as if he went to a different world, one in which he felt great emotions and was pushed to capture it on canvas. Prue walked from painting to painting, gasping at times and reaching out hesitantly to touch a portrait of herself sitting embroidering. There were several of her, one of her in a favorite dress of white and silver she had worn to a recent ball, another of her looking demure besides a bouquet of roses and other flowers. Another showed her riding her chestnut mare. There were several of a large and snooty cat which were rendered with considerable affection.

His wife gave a quick gasp of utter astonishment. “These should be in a gallery. They are so lifelike and vibrant.”

“Earls do not paint or show their work to the public,” he said with a measure of amusement.

Her eyes softened as she stared up at him. “Is that what your family believes?”

Oscar raked his fingers through his hair, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation. “It was what my father believed,” he said gruffly.

“Do you resent him for it?”

“No.”

At her stare, he expounded, “I wanted to enter the Royal Academy. I wanted to study art. With the responsibilities I was to inherit, it was not possible. I studied land management, mathematics, philosophy, French, Greek, Latin, history, geography, great literature and politics.”

She hurried over to him, lifted a hand to his jaw and cupped it. The warmth in that caress thawed the cold knot he hadn’t realized was forming. “I am sorry, Oscar.”

He held her hand to his jaw. “Do not be. I am my parents' only son. I have no regrets in fulfilling my duties.”

Her expressive eyes glittered with unshed tears. “But your art….”

He stroked a finger over her cheek. “My art is for me. I endure no loss at not having it displayed to be admired by the ton.”

The tender look in her eyes unraveled him, and oddly he felt undeserving of it.

“I am glad you shared it with me.” His wife lifted onto her toes to press a kiss at the corner of his mouth. Her caress lingered, and he closed his eyes against the sensations evoked. Such trembling desire mystified him. When she stepped away from him slightly, Oscar traced his finger over the soft curve of her cheek down to her pointed chin. “Of recent years, you have been my favorite subject.”

“I noticed at least six paintings of me.”

“Only six?” It truly felt like he had done dozens more, given the hours he had spent on them.

“Yes. You seem to have the same amount of your cat.”

“Ah, Cleopatra. She’s the jealous sort. I had to do her a similar justice.”

“I do not fancy cats.”

“The devil you say. Are you allergic?”

“No. One scratched me as a child.”

“You’ll love Cleo. She is a right queen and would never behave so badly.”

His wife laughed softly.

“I’ve longed to paint you naked.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her lips slightly parted, then a half-smile appeared. Prue once again rose on the tip of her toes, encircled her arms around his neck and fitted her lush mouth to his. Oscar groaned, holding her tightly to his body.

He had needed this. He slanted his mouth over hers, taking the kiss deeper and deeper in slow degrees. They kissed until Oscar trembled with the force of his desire. Lifting her into his arms, he walked with her over to the door, pressing her back against it.

She murmured something wordlessly against his lips.

“I am going to take you,” he said, giving her fair warning of his intention. “I promise I’ll do my damnedest to ensure it does not hurt again…or if it does, it will be the sweet kind.”

His wife laughed against his kiss. “A sweet kind of hurt. Does such a thing exist?”

“Yes.”

“Truly?”

“Oh, yes.”

She nibbled at his bottom lip. His countess was a damn fast learner. “I am intrigued,” she murmured.

He swiped his thumb over her gratifyingly pink and swollen lips. “Let me show you.”

She opened for him, spreading her legs wide apart. Oscar took her mouth again, and while pinning her to the door with his weight and the support of one hand, he tugged down the front of her gown and took her nipple into his mouth. He licked and sucked at that pebble until she moaned and shivered in his arms. Reaching down, he undid the flaps to his trousers, so eager for her his bloody hand shook.

Releasing her nipple from his mouth, he was gratified to see the tip swollen and wet. His cock arched and strained upward, seeking her softness and heat. Gripping her lush buttocks in his palms and leaning her against the door more, he positioned her over his throbbing manhood. Oscar rubbed himself against her slit, groaning at the wetness he found. She damned well soaked him. Bloody hell. She wanted him with the same intensity. Something awakened inside of him, a pulsating knot of hunger and tenderness for this woman in his arms.

Dropping his forehead against hers, he peered into her eyes that were dark and heavy-lidded with desire. “Do not look away from me, Prue.”

She cupped his jaw with one hand while the other gripped onto his shoulders. “I like how you say my name. As if you are so desperate for me.”

“I am,” he groaned, kissing her while he inexorably pushed his cock deep inside her tight, clenching sex.