Untaming Lady Violet by April Moran
Chapter 25
Tristan did not speak as he led Violet through servants’ entrances and along corridors most visitors to Darby Meadows were not even aware existed. To be fair, she uttered not a word either, her hand gripping his as though he were a lifeline found in stormy seas.
They avoided detection with the exclusion of two scullery maids. The girls, having just finished their duties, bobbed matching curtsies and turned away. Any curiosity regarding the viscount and the lady accompanying him paled when compared to having their supper and falling into a warm bed.
Higher and higher they climbed until the door to Tristan’s studio was reached.
Tristan turned to Violet, holding both her hands in his. Her eyes met his with solemn determination.
“I would be damned for all eternity if I did not give you one final opportunity to change your mind, Violet.” He wondered at the hoarseness of his own voice. Something deep inside him hoped she would not decide this was a terrible idea after all.
Her head tilted. “This is what I want, Tristan. You may not love me, but I’ll wager you hold far more affection for me than my future husband. I want this with you and only you.”
Standing on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to his in graceful supplication. A gentle kiss that first trembled with shyness then blossomed with boldness. He allowed her to decide if the kiss should continue. Let her decide if her mouth would press harder to his and if her tongue would slip inside to stroke alongside his own.
When she did, Tristan could not contain the groan that shuddered through him.
Reaching behind him, he turned the doorknob, drawing Violet into his sanctuary of paints and canvases and illusions. The thought occurred he might never let her leave now that he had her in there once more.
She followed willingly, the pale green hue of her gown glowing in the dimness of the room. Falling back against the closed door, her arms wound around his neck, keeping their mouths linked.
Tristan knew a moment of such yearning for her that he felt shaky with it. It was useless ignoring its existence. He only hoped that gorging himself this one time would bring a lifetime of satisfaction and kill any future cravings.
Tearing his mouth away, he kissed the arc of Violet’s neck, savoring the flavor of her skin. The sweetness of her flesh was addictive. It was fortunate the room was dimly lit by a full moon shining just outside the huge windows. He did not want to stop devouring her long enough to even bother with lighting a lamp or candle.
But he could begin divesting them both of their clothes.
In quick fashion, Tristan stripped his gloves away. He followed that with a slow, methodical removal of Violet’s silk gloves, one digit at a time, pressing gentle kisses to each fingertip before delivering a quick nip from his teeth. And each time, she gasped with delight, her breathing growing faster.
Her eyes dilated with pleasure as the passionate assault continued, his lips landing where they willed on bare patches of her skin.
“I love your hair, kitten.” Shrugging out of his formal coat, he tossed it over a nearby chair holding three blank canvases. His fingers were suddenly clumsy on the heavy gold buttons of his waistcoat, but within moments, he was free of that, too. “It’s quite lovely. May I?”
At Violet’s nod, he slipped a few additional hairpins from the intricate hairdo, and it tumbled in an ember-sparked waterfall of deep red.
“So damned beautiful.” Tristan inhaled a shaky breath, meeting Violet’s stare with a chagrined smile. Lifting one of the auburn locks, he watched it curl around his hand and wrist. “I confess a weakness for the very sight of it. I wish to see it draped over your body. Feel its softness drifting over me.” His gaze grew darker, hungrier. “Most of all, I want it wrapped around my fist when I pull you to me for a kiss, so you cannot escape.”
“I’ve no wish to escape.” Violet shivered; her bottom lip caught between her teeth while fumbling at untying his cravat with little success. “I want all those things and more, Tristan.”
Brushing her hands aside, he quickly unknotted the length of silk around his neck.
When he paused, considering what might be done with that bit of cloth, Violet’s head tilted in curiosity.
“What is the matter?”
A wicked grin spread across Tristan’s face. “Something you are too innocent to understand and too untried to experience this first time, my darling.” He tossed the cravat to the floor. “Perhaps someday I will show you.”
There will never be a ‘someday’ for us.
He was reminded of his own vow that this could never happen again. He knew his sudden frown made her nervous. She clasped her hands together but wouldn’t look away.
“Light a lamp, Tristan,” Violet requested in a soft voice. “Whatever happens here does not need to be hidden in the shadows. I’m neither afraid nor ashamed, and I… I wish very much to see you. All of you.”
Tristan responded with a fierce claiming of her mouth before he took her by the hand, leading her to an oversized settee situated in one corner of the room. It’d been placed there years ago for the purpose of grabbing a few moments of sleep while he furiously painted. Nowadays, it was mostly used as a holding spot for various canvases.
Pushing those to the floor, Tristan set Violet on the settee’s cushion then went about doing as she asked. As a golden glow flooded the room, he watched as she kicked off her heeled shoes. With a stocking-clad toe, she traced a swirling vine pattern woven into the rug.
With deliberate intent, he removed his own boots. Next came his shirt, the buttons surprisingly difficult to navigate with her eyes trained so intensely upon him. Pulling the tails from the waistband of his breeches, the shirt fluttered open, revealing the wide planes of his chest and a crisp scattering of dark hair.
Violet never looked away, her gaze locked on his lean, muscular form as he moved toward her. She rose gracefully when he reached for her hand.
“Spin around, darling,” he murmured. In the lamplight, it was easy to see the flush warming her ivory-hued skin. Dark eyelashes fluttered downward like silk fans, concealing the violet depths of her eyes, but she did as he asked, pirouetting without hesitation. He released her hand but not before noticing how it trembled the tiniest bit.
Her head bent forward, unconsciously making his task easier. Sweeping the fragrant locks of her hair aside, he slipped the gown’s buttons through their moorings. Inch by inch, the silky skin of her back was revealed, the tender nape of her neck begging to be kissed and explored.
Tristan could not withstand the invitation. As her dress pooled around her waist, exposing the intricate cage of an ivory brocade corset and silk ribbons, he pressed a kiss to the back of Violet’s neck.
Violet jolted forward, surprised by the heat of his mouth. A moan rose in her throat when Tristan simply wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her back into place against his body.
The dress was pushed down until it formed a colorful puddle on the floor. The corset ribbons were quickly loosened to the point the contraption simply slid away by force of gravity. All that remained now was Violet’s plain, white chemise and a set of bow-topped stockings.
Tracing the line between her ear and the top of her shoulder with a fiery trail of kisses, Tristan muttered his appreciation.
“How very beautiful you are, Violet. A painting come to life with your sunset hair, jewel-colored eyes, and velvet skin. You fit my hands as if crafted for me, all silky curves and heat. I cannot wait to taste you again. To feel you come on my tongue, your hands clenched in my hair, holding me tight as I make you explode. I intend to make love to you with such thoroughness, you will never forget this night. I’m going to bury myself so deep inside you, your body will remember mine for an eternity.”
He spun her around so they stood face to face, their breaths mingling. Tristan slipped a finger beneath the strap of her chemise, lifting it slightly.
The swell of her plump breasts threatened to breach the low neckline. It tempted his willpower. Made him want to rip the flimsy garment from her body. Somehow, he restrained himself, but his hands still shook as he stared down at her.
“May I remove this, Violet?” His voice lowered to a raspy plea. “Will you allow me to have you as I wish?”
Violet swallowed hard, her eyes closing briefly before opening to regard him with a fierceness he had never witnessed in her before.
“Yes, Tristan. Dear God, yes.” The words came out in a near hiss, a mixture of arousal and curiosity and a tiny bit of trepidation. She still wanted him. Wanted him as desperately as he wanted her, and there was no going back now.
With a swiftness that robbed her of breath, he yanked the chemise over her head. When the garment was tossed aside, his beautiful Violet stood before him in nothing but her white silk stockings.
With blazing, fire-bright eyes, Tristan admired her perfect form. His hands smoothed over her flared hips, and his fingertips trailed over the curving planes of her belly. He should strip those stockings from her legs. Kiss his way down to her dainty feet, but there was always later.
For now, he wanted to look his fill of her.
Keeping their gazes locked, he cupped her full, pert breasts in the palm of each hand.
Violet blushed, automatically raising her arms to shield her nakedness, but Tristan wouldn’t allow that. With gentle persuasion, he eased her arms down, showing her wordlessly how he wished to touch her without restraint. Her hands eventually landed on his shoulders, and Tristan wondered if she was using him to remain upright.
His gaze roamed her figure, noting every lovely curve and swell. Particularly entrancing was a tiny constellation of freckles scattered on the angle of her left hipbone.
The dark, rose-colored marks formed a half-circle which trailed toward the curls between her thighs. Those innocent marks, the only blemishes he could see marking her body, called for his lips to trace and learn. They were a roadmap to pleasure, and he promised himself he would discover each one and memorize their shape with his tongue.
Using his thumbs, he wickedly strummed pale, pink nipples until they tightened into diamond-hard nubs. Her heart beat so wildly he felt its drumming, could see the leaping of her pulse in the hollow of her throat
Violet bit back a gasp as he explored her, her teeth tugging her bottom lip. When one of his hands drifted to the space between her thighs, she recoiled a half-step, but as before, Tristan stopped her.
Tugging her back to him with a soothing sound deep in his throat, he leisurely caressed the patch of soft, auburn curls.
“Be still, love.” Spreading her heated flesh and repeatedly dipping his finger inside, he gathered the moisture and bathed her with it.
“But it is impossible.” Violet gripped his forearms, fingernails digging into the fabric of his shirt as he slowly began driving her mad. “Oh, God,” she moaned. “Tristan, don’t stop. No… don’t stop…”
“Yes, my little wild Violet. Yes. Yes. Yes,” Tristan whispered, his fingers moving in tight circles on the pearl hidden by the folds of her vagina. He bit at her sweet, plump lips and sucked her tongue into his mouth, lashing it with his own while his other hand kept her off-center by pinching and flicking her nipples. Within moments he had worked her into a fever pitch, her arousal flooding his hand as he urged her to a shuddering climax.
“There, my sweet darling. There…” he shushed as she panted with satisfaction and hid her face in the crook of his neck. “That was only the beginning. We’ve so much more to discover.”
“Tell me what to do, Tristan. I want so badly to please you…”
Tristan kissed the top of her head, brushing his lips over the silky tresses. Her breathless words sent a strange, possessive thrill shooting through him, making it difficult to breathe. Why she affected him so deeply, he could not understand.
Very slowly, he drew off his shirt, loving the way her eyes widened at the sight of his naked chest. She devoured every detail, every dip and line, every ridge, every muscle. And the way her eyes gleamed told him she was hungry for more, especially when her gaze dropped to the painful bulge in his trousers. She assessed his body almost ravenously before reaching out a forefinger.
Tracing the dark trail of hair running from his navel to below the band of his trousers, dazed pleasure softened her features.
“What should I do?” she breathed in wonder, her fingertips roaming the slabs of his abdomen.
Tristan chuckled, cupping her chin and tilting it upward. “You don’t have to do a damned thing, kitten, but if you must, you may begin by unbuttoning my trousers.”