Jillian Stone - [Phaeton Black 03] Read online

  He plunged though a tangle of moist curls, palming her Venus mound and parting her labia majora. His fingertip found the pearl-sized spot that would soon become the focus of her entire being. “This is your clitoris.” He stroked slowly. “Pay close attention to what I do here, Mia—as this is something you can do on your own.”

  Mia’s brows crashed together. “Why would I wish to do this on my own if I have you?”

  He wasn’t going to argue with her, not in this moment. “As you well know, you must learn to self-modulate this experience—ultimately.” Slowly, he ran his fingertip down between her labia minora and was greeted by flood of wetness. He would not break her hymen—not tonight. The doctor in Exeter steered lascivious thoughts to something more clinical, like a vaginal exam. “Lift your knees, Mia.”

  Chapter Six

  MIA PULLED HER KNEES UP. “Wider, love,” Exeter nudged them apart, dominating her gently, as was his way. “Let me see how beautiful you are.” His voice gravelly and low—nearly a whisper. He ran his fingers down the inside of her thighs. “Try to relax.”

  He was doing things, saying things she had dreamed about for months. She could only hope that the words and deeds came from his heart. Her eyelashes fluttered as she closed her eyes. “Take a deep breath and exhale.” He entered her most private place, and stroked. His fingers were slippery from the moisture her body had made for him—wetness he was using to arouse her. “You will feel the pleasure build quickly, now.” She was aware of a delicate scent in the air—musky and primal. For an instant, she was a wild creature in the woods, thrusting up to greet her lover.

  He stroked, adding pressure as he circled a place that made her cry, “Yes.” And, “More.” Her belly trembled and she thrust upward as he probed into her secret female places. Her hips grinding to the rhythm of his strokes. There was something clinical, yet tremendously exciting about Exeter’s detachment. A deliciously naughty connection moving back and forth between them. His stoicism had always intrigued her, for it was so perfectly Exeter. She could not help but wonder what this man might do, if and when he ever lost all control.

  He taught her something of the anatomy of pleasure with his touch. Using his thumb, he stroked lightly and very fast, which made her moan.

  He moved his finger lower and entered her woman’s passage, probing gently. “This ring of delicate membrane is your hymen. Lovely and pink. Virginal.”

  She strained at the ties, which had grown taut and somewhat painful. Exeter stopped and slipped his hands under her bottom. He lifted her up and nudged her closer to the headboard. “More comfortable?”

  “Much—thank you.”

  He paused to look at her, brows slightly furrowed, signature frown. “I would never wish for this to be any young lady’s initiation to sexual relations.”

  “Then make it better for me.” Mia looked at him. “I need you closer, Exeter.”

  He returned a nonplussed, dumbfounded blink and promptly ignored her request. He applied himself to her swollen place—the magical spot that made her gasp and moan and cry out for more. Momentarily, all her thoughts returned to pleasure. Her cheeks burned from humiliation. She was asking for something he did not wish to give—himself. There was intimacy in closeness—lovers’ arms and limbs entwined, lips touching, tongues swirling. No doubt Exeter worried that he would lose control, and that such abandon could spell disaster. Or worse, he might begin to feel something.

  As if he sensed her heartache, he lowered himself over her torso and locked into her gaze. Dark, gleaming hair, nearly shoulder length, fell forward. His eyes dropped to her mouth as he leaned closer. “You want me to kiss you.” His breath warmed her lips.

  She nodded. “Very much.”

  He brushed soft, pliant, kisses over her mouth and pressed her lips open. “Give me something deeper, love.” He used his tongue to swirl and mate with hers. A tight, urgent heat spread from her lips through her body to that place—the small spot that created so much desire. A pleasurable tension was rising inside—taking her to a place of exquisite, nearly unbearable sensation. His fingers plucked at her clitoris, and she moaned as if she were a taut string on a cello. “Exeter . . .” She murmured.

  “Your eyes are dilated, Mia—flashes of green warn me to stay vigilant.” Words spoken between harsh, shallow breaths. Could Exeter be aroused? She wanted him to be.

  “The notes say we must tempt the tiger—get her close.” She exhaled her answer against his cheek. “Kiss me again, Exeter. Wrap your arms around me, please—”

  This time he took complete possession of her mouth. His tongue reached deep and filled her up, his sensuous lips roamed over hers. “Good God, Mia—you have bewitched me.”

  “Harder. Bite me.” He caught her bottom lip with his teeth and drew blood. She bit him in return, and she felt the cat inside stir. They were tempting her, plenty.

  “Let go for me, darling.” Then he added forcefully, “But don’t leave me—ever.” His fingers returned to her clitoris and stroked faster as ecstasy swelled inside her. Pleasure that demanded to arrive.

  She lifted her head and roared. “Don’t stop!”

  He positioned himself directly overhead, as tears came to her eyes. “You are going to climax soon. Look at me, Mia.” With his free hand he tilted her chin. “Stay with me, love.” Even as his fingers danced and circled, pleasure broke inside her—pleasure she might die of—–another wave of pleasure—and then suddenly, without warning the cat inside was loose.

  Or at least partially so—for the panther was also constrained. Mia tugged at her bindings even as her snout elongated and her fangs materialized. For some inexplicable reason she lashed out at Exeter. Liquid crimson dripped down his neck.

  She heard him call to her, faintly. “Come back to me.” Slowly, the wild thing inside relented and Mia was back—body and soul. Every cell in her body vibrated with pleasure—wave after wave of euphoria, until she fell into a state of insensibility. “That’s it—very good, Mia, stay with me.” His reassuring voice was near, coaxing her return to him.

  Mia blinked and she was in her bedroom again, and there was Exeter, poised over her. Her heavy eyelids closed and she drifted off to sleep. She was not sure how long she remained in a partial stupor, drained, euphoric, incapacitated from her climax, but at some point—whether it was seconds or minutes—she reopened her eyes.

  Exeter sat back on his haunches, with his hand to his throat. Blood ran down the side of his neck. Alarmed, Mia sat up, only to be yanked back. Bother! Her hands remained bound to the bedposts. “Did I hurt you, Exeter?”

  “I’m fine—it’s just a scratch.” She was quite sure he forced a grin to reassure her. “Some sharp fangs you’ve got there, young lady.”

  “Sorry.” She made eye contact with the man who had just . . . “So much happening at once, I could hardly . . .” Mia shook her head in wonder. “Exeter, it was so . . . there aren’t words to describe it.” She lay back and smiled rather provocatively. It must have been alluring, because Exeter returned her flirtatious gaze—not with his usual overprotective mentoring look, but with eyes that smoldered—something that caused a shiver of delight to run through her. And he appeared charmed—could that small smile signify . . . a touch of surrender?

  Another shiver ran through her—this time from the chill in the air. She was beginning to feel herself again. “Before we discuss the wonders and side benefits of this new therapy, might you untie me, sir?”

  Exeter reached for a bedpost, and then hesitated. “On second thought, I like you tethered—where I can keep an eye on you.” He climbed out of bed and poked up the fire, adding more coals.

  Was Exeter teasing? Perhaps even flirting with her? Mia narrowed her eyes. “And to think I was about to compliment your mentoring. Now you’ve saved me the trouble.”

  He circled the bed and unwrapped her bindings, taking time with each arm to massage her wrists and circulate blood back into her fingers. His hands were large, with elegant tapered fingers. Tho
se lovely digits had sent her to paradise this evening. She looked up into laughing eyes—as though he could read her mind. “You were about to tell me what a pleasurable experience you had under my tutelage . . .”

  She turned her hand within his and pulled him near. He sat down beside her so she could trace the dark red scratch along his neck. “Rather vicious of me—or her—to lure you in so close.”

  The ends of Exeter’s mouth twitched upward again. “And my reward for braving the black panther for a kiss?”

  Her finger moved from his neck to his upper lip, to the cut she had made from her bite. Mia gently kissed his lower lip. “Pay us no mind next time.”

  Exeter, in turn, passed his thumb over her swollen bottom lip—the one that displayed his mark. “You need a tincture for this scratch and some ice from the cold closet.” He reached for his medical bag.

  Mia sprang out of bed and opened her wardrobe. “Since we both need tending—shall we visit the kitchen together? If there’s an ember left in the stove, I’d like to heat some milk—for hot chocolate.” She was not unaware of Exeter’s gaze as she pulled on her dressing gown with a chinois motif. “Come.” She tugged on his medical bag. “And you shall have a dash of crème de menthe in yours.”

  In the kitchen, Exeter lifted her up by the waist and sat her down on top of the long kitchen worktable. He unwrapped a clean piece of gauze and dropped a number of ice chips into the cloth. “Place this on your lip—put a bit of pressure on it.”

  Mia held the cold, soothing compress and watched Exeter pour milk into a saucepan and leave it to heat on the stove. “I think I have some iodine . . .” he mumbled, rummaging about in his kit. “Ah—here we are.” He dipped a stick with a cotton tuft on one end into the small, amber-colored bottle.

  Mia lowered the compress. “Looks better already.” He swabbed her bottom lip. “Ahh!” She cried.

  “Don’t lick your lips—let it dry.”

  Mia nodded and took up the swab and bottle. Exeter leaned close to let her dab a bit of tincture on his mouth and along his jawline. “Are you in much pain?”

  “Pain? Not really.” Exeter’s mouth twitched. “Frustration, yes—pain, no.”

  Mia lowered the swab. “I’m well aware of the sorts of things you did in my room—those . . . pleasures are intended to be mutual.” She raised her gaze to meet his.

  “My satisfaction, or lack thereof, is of little concern right now. What is of utmost importance is that you learn the basics as quickly as possible.”

  Mia nodded. “Valentine’s notes were quite clear. The trick is to let go and at the same time remain in control.”

  Exeter skirted the table and moved the pan to a warming plate. Mia joined him at the stove. “I’ll stir.” Exeter grated shaved chocolate into the steaming milk, turning the cream a rich shade of dark brown. Mia poured the hot chocolate in two cups. “I’ve seen Mr. Tandi do this hundreds of times—you receive half the sugar, and a jigger of Menthe-Pastille.” Mia stirred in the doctor’s mint-flavored liquor. “There, something sweet to distract us from the sting of the tincture.” She set both cups of hot chocolate on the worktable.

  Mia quietly drank the warm, bittersweet confection, and contemplated the man sitting on the stool beside her. There were moments, like now, when she couldn’t imagine her life without him.

  Exeter sipped his chocolate and gazed at her over a tipped cup. His piercing green eyes were warmer than usual. “Did you know peppermint is sometimes regarded as the world’s oldest medicine?” When he looked at her as a woman, as he was doing now, something fluttered in her secret intimate place—the place they could share together, someday.

  “Earlier, in my bedchamber, you said I could order you to do things—ask you to pleasure me in certain ways.”

  “Whatever arouses you—I am happy to do your bidding.”

  “Next time, I would like to pleasure you, as well.”

  Without taking his eyes off her, he set his cup down and reached for her, pulling her close. “Mia, think carefully. You do realize what this means?”

  Mia nodded. “Things have changed for us.”

  Chapter Seven

  EXETER PACED THE LENGTH OF THE TRAIN PLATFORM waiting for the most unpunctual of all the Nightshades, Tim Noggy. Even at this ungodly early hour, St. Pancras station was bustling. Exeter scanned the gallery for any sign of the rotund young man. Pale shafts of light passed through a canopy of steel beams and skylights, spotting the platform with light. He tucked several morning newspapers under his arm. All of them predicted rain.

  Absently, he went over the day’s itinerary in his head. They would travel in close proximity to one another, but not together. He had seen his fellow travelers into two first-class compartments. The idea was to get to Paris quickly, drawing the least amount of attention to themselves as possible. Also, if one group ran into trouble, the other could either lend assistance or have a chance to escape.

  Mia waved to him from inside their compartment. Exeter paused close by the window of the passenger carriage and dug for his pocket watch. Last night had been somewhat disquieting, highly erotic, and perhaps . . . the most enchanting night of his life.

  A faint prickle of arousal ran through his manly parts just remembering. Mia had been wonderfully responsive sexually and had climaxed, something he was not altogether sure she would do. This had been her first intimate experience with a man, and a decidedly odd one at that, considering he had bound her hands and kept the first session as clinical as he possibly could.

  In the harsh light of morning he had awoke to a humbling thought. His insistence on being so clinical had more to do with protecting himself than it had been about Mia.

  He flipped open his watch. Seven fifty-five. “We leave on the stroke of eight, Mr. Noggy,” Exeter muttered to himself. He turned toward their compartment. Mia and America were sampling a tin of biscuits from the Fortnum’s hamper, delivered to the house just as they set off that morning. Mia had seen the delivery van and stopped the carriage. Bloody bold of her, and yet thoughtful to have a large basket made up for the journey.

  His mouth twitched and he felt a twinge of pain from the mending cut on his lip. In the kitchen last night he had tugged her into his arms and she had kissed him, running a pink tongue along the underside of his upper lip. “Mmm, you taste just like a yuletide truffle, Doctor Exeter.”

  “G’day, Mate!” The call traveled down the platform, jarring Exeter from his reverie. The large-framed Noggy huffed up beside him. Disheveled, as usual, behind schedule, always, and carrying no luggage.

  “Oddly enough, there is a kind of predictability to your lateness, Mr. Noggy.” Exeter greeted him with a frown. Tim’s cheeks were flushed pink from exertion along with a few beads of ever-present perspiration. “Have you ever considered dropping a few stone? Your circulatory system would thank you for it.”

  The look he received from Noggy could be described only as nonplussed. “You don’t approve of my triple-x, big and tall size, Doc?”

  “Outremer gibberish, Mr. Noggy. I am concerned for your health.” Exeter asked about the obvious lack of luggage. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your valise.”

  Tim swept back a tangle of wild hair and answered in his odd parlance of Outremer English. “I’m not coming with you—but, give me a day and a few more tweaks to the iDIP, and I’ll meet you there.”

  He stared at the young inventor. “You’ve got the portal maker working . . .”

  Tim’s grin was as wide as a crescent moon and as sly as a Cheshire cat. “Both ins and outs. Accurate to within inches of our map coordinates. Oakley helped install a new computer—the brains of the engine.” Tim was obviously enthused and nearly tripping over his words. “Just give me a day or two and we may be able to extract Phaeton from wherever he is. Just—whoosh! And he’s home again.”

  Exeter clapped his mouth shut and stared. “How likely might this be?”

  Tim’s eyes rolled upward as he considered his answer.

&nbs
p; “Last call, all aboard for Dover Priory.” The conductor’s shout accompanied a low whistle and blast of steam as the train began to leave the station. Exeter checked up and down the deserted platform. “Quickly, Tim.”

  The large young man fished in his pocket and produced a tubular device encrusted with toggle switches. “Here—take this.” He pushed the contraption into Exeter’s hand, as he jumped onto the first step of the passenger car. “It’s a new and improved portable transporter, programmed to send you all back home.” Tim trotting alongside the moving car. “Not Outremer London—1889 London.”

  Mia lowered a window. “Are you both mad? We’re about to leave without you.”

  Exeter opened the compartment door and climbed in. “Mr. Noggy will be joining us in a day or two.”

  “Chocolate-covered cinder toffee?” Mia leaned out the window and dropped a few chunks of honeycombed toffee into the man’s palm. As Exeter settled down beside her, she waved. “Au revoir, Tim.”

  Mia opened the tin. “Cinder toffee?” To please her, he bit into a piece as he unfolded his newspapers. “Why isn’t Tim joining us?” she asked.

  Exeter snapped open his news sheet. “Because . . . it appears he may be joining us in Paris via the portal maker.” Exeter lowered his paper to speak to both young ladies. “Mr. Noggy believes we may be able to locate and extract Phaeton using the iDIP.”

  America perked up. “Much safer in some ways. But do you believe he can do it?”

  Exeter smiled. “That is why we continue on to Paris, undeterred.” America was skeptical. Frankly, he couldn’t blame her. Her distrust was natural, and rather shrewd. She and Phaeton had survived a myriad of trials recently—put to the test, so to speak, by a powerful entity known only as Prospero. Was this creature man or beast? Magician or scientist?

  The trip to Dover started out pleasant enough. Somewhere past Chatham Station, the skies opened up, but the rainstorm proved mild and the young ladies excellent company. As they traversed the lush greenery of Kent, Exeter tried to relax. He was edgy, more so than usual, and he was quite sure his discomfiture was caused by the lovely young miss beside him. With each lurch or sway of the car, her shoulder brushed against him. And with each rub, the faint scent of carnation soap wafted in the air. Mia had simply become a torture to him. In fact, if he continued to have such lascivious thoughts about her he was going to be irritable the entire trip, and that would not do.