“Undress me,” he invited as he let the stocking flutter to the carpet.
How could she deny such a request? But he didn’t let her do it alone. He opened the buttons at the top of his ivory waistcoat as she worked at the bottom. On tiptoe, she could reach the knot at his cravat but she fell against his chest as she attempted to undo it. Laughing, he righted her, then loosened it.
Like a dutiful mistress, she took the folded length of fabric and smoothed it over her bare arm. It smelled of his starch and sandalwood and his skin, the delicious skin of his neck. Venetia couldn’t resist stroking it against her cheek, a silly thing to do.
His breath sucked in sharply. Quick motions freed the buttons of his cuffs. Then, one by one, the buttons of his shirt slipped open. He hadn’t worn boots over his trousers, just shoes, and these he kicked off easily.
She reached out to the buttons fastening his trousers. The back of her hand skimmed along the ridge of his erection and they groaned softly together.
Fire warmth filled the room, kept her from getting chilled, even as she stood naked and watched him slide his trousers down, revealing strong, muscular magnificent thighs dusted with dark hairs. His gaze never left her…nipples? Or her face? She wasn’t quite certain. Her nipples stood erect, flushed a deep red. She had to admit they were fascinating to watch as her breasts bobbed and swayed.
Her proportions couldn’t begin to compare to Lydia’s ample endowment, and though fashion favored small breasts and willowy shapes, she knew most men did not.
He hooked his thumb into his linens and drew them down. Kicked them away. He took hold of his prick, cocked his hips forward, and stroked the thick length. No doubt he admired it. As did she. She was a virgin who’d seen more male members than she could count—in pictures—and now, tonight, she’d seen dozens in rampant, naked glory.
But none were as beautiful as his. The erotic sight of his hand on his cock made her whimper.
Marcus licked his lips. The soft, intimate smile vanished. He looked predatory. Large, male, and dangerous.
For twenty-four years, she’d lived in strict propriety, not raising a ripple of scandal, but, as bold as a jade, she strutted in front of her lovely bed. Then she blushed, and hid her face.
Marcus levered up onto her bed, landing in the middle with a bounce. Beneath the green canopy, his eyes became a richer turquoise. Amusement glowed in them as he held out his hand. “Climb aboard, temptress.”
The mattress dipped as she crawled to his side. With one arm beneath his head as a pillow, he reached out in invitation. She tumbled on top, and he pulled her into his commanding kiss. She met his open mouth with her lips parted, dueled her tongue with his. Her hands roamed—over solid chest, hard nipples, tracing the beautiful planes of ribs and muscle.
She let her fingers play over his stiff cock, touching stickiness and finding a damp trail on the curls below his navel. Wrapping her hand around him, she gently squeezed. Her hand barely closed around him, her fingernails grazed the soft heel of her hand.
She bent, enticed by his scent, by the fascinating beauty of his cock, and explored with her tongue. So velvety, but hard. A luscious taste—his fluid sour, the light hint of his urine, and such a heady scent. She flicked her tongue over veins, along its intriguing spine. Then stopped.
He groaned as though in pain. “Don’t stop now, my sweet.” His lids half-covered his eyes, his mouth tense. Sharp lines framed his lips, deep sexy lines. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw.
Her heart lurched in her chest as she gazed at his handsome face. “But am I doing it as I should? As good as Rosalyn?”
“Rosalyn is a professional. You, my dear, are a goddess.”
Venetia kissed the tip, licking up the salty, rich fluid there. “You aren’t in pain, are you?”
“Repeated erections without relief cause a lot of pain. Nature’s way of encouraging a man to get on with it and make love to a woman.”
“I want you to make love to me—the way you said.”
He slid off the bed and she watched him walk across the room, to the box of toys on the secretary. The sheets were heavenly soft against her bare skin. He rifled through the box as her breathing sped up.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
“This.” What he held between his fingers was too small for her to see.
He lifted the candle that stood there. The flame licked toward him as he carried it.
“Are you going to put it out?”
“No, light another. I want to see you, temptress.” He lifted the white taper from the brass holder and put the wick to the candle on the bedside table. It sputtered and caught. Two flames from one fire.
Even the way he dripped the wax to the saucer on the table was elegant. Hot, white, molten droplets splattered. He set the base of the candle into the puddle. Then he sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you know I was so jaded I once visited a woman who bound me up and dripped hot wax on my chest.”
She shouldn’t be shocked—she’d seen Belzique’s pictures—but she was. Marcus seemed to be waiting for her reaction. He stroked the sheets beside her shoulder, plucking at the cream silk, not touching her. As though he would not dare touch her until she spoke.
Even with the candlelight, she couldn’t see his shadowed eyes.
Keeping her voice even, she asked, “And that was arousing?”
“Not in the least. Highly recommended by Swansborough but I didn’t see the fun myself. But I was willing to try anything.”
She glanced at the candles. “You don’t want me to drip wax on your person do you?”
He smiled ruefully. “Never, Venetia. And I’d never hurt you.” He turned his hand palm side up. A glass vial rested there. “Oil. To ready you for me. Are still willing to trust me?”
“O
f course, I trust you, Marcus. You’ve protected me, denied yourself pleasure to be with me.” From beneath a tumble of sherry-red curls, Venetia’s hazel eyes glowed with innocence.
“Denied myself pleasure?” Mystified, Marcus repeated what she’d said, trying to understand it. “I’ve denied myself nothing.” He hadn’t meant it to sound curt. Abrupt. Surprise showed in her eyes, confusion in the tremble of her lip.
Silk whispered as he drew the sheets down from her body, displaying her like an exquisite work of art. Dropping them in a puddle just below her feet, he bent and kissed her expressive mouth. Her fingers slid up into his hair.
But she broke the kiss. Her bare breasts rose and fell with frantic breaths. “What do I do?”
“Turn over and display your lovely bottom to me.”
She rolled over onto her tummy, onto folded arms. Golden light bathed her plump cheeks, her smooth, full thighs. Shadows enhanced the curve of her spine.
He held the vial of oil under the candle’s flame until the glass was warm to his touch. He drew it back, flicked open the stopper. A spicy scent filled the room.
“Mmmm.” Venetia breathed in and squirmed seductively on the bed. He watched her lush derriere sway over the shimmering sheets and his throat parched.
She knew how to tempt. She knew it instinctively.
Marcus tested the oil with his baby finger, which actually shook. His heart had never pounded so hard before sex. Tipping the vial, he watched a droplet gather, then fall. It splattered on the shadowy cleft beneath Venetia’s cheeks, rolled into the warm, dewy valley
He parted her cheeks, revealing her puckered entrance, tightly closed. He poured a stream of oil there. It flashed like molten gold and she arched her hips off the bed with a happy squeal.
“Oh, that tickles!”
He massaged the oil, circling and stroking until her muscles relaxed enough to let his fingertip within. A considerate lover would start slowly with the first finger, working with great patience to ready her…
She twisted to look at him. Lust and need and a plea for more burned in those entrancing eyes. He winked as he straddled her smooth thighs.
“Now?” she whispered. So much tension in her voice.
“Relax, temptress.” A caress of his hand down her spine and she purred once more. “There will be pain, because of your innocence, but it will vanish, and you will know the most exquisite pleasure. My experience,” he added wryly, “has to be good for something.”
That left her bewildered, he saw. Braced on his arm, he stretched out, balancing his weight. His cock bumped her slippery cheeks. Blood drained from his brain, filling his prick to bursting.
He rasped, “Touch yourself.”
Her hips lifted, her slender hand slid along silk sheets, dove down between her thighs. “I’m soaked,” she confided.
God, yes.
“Stroke your clit as I enter you. The pleasure there will ease any pain. I’ll start with fingers—”
“I want your cock.”
Her bold words set him on fire. He fought for control.
Her leg slid up the sheets, knee bent, as his finger went deep. In and out into her tight heat until it was swallowed up to the last knuckle. Over the spiciness of oil, the smoky scent of the crackling fire, Marcus breathed in the musk of her pussy, the earthy scent of her ass.
Venetia rubbed her fingers over her quim. “Oh! When I stroke myself as you do that—it’s wonderful!” She was grinding her finger over her clit—no shyness about touching herself. He dared to try two fingers.
She arched her head back and moaned. Her tumbling curls shivered over her back, glinting red and gold like flickering flame. On a whimper, she took both his fingers in.
He shouldn’t do this—he could pleasure her with his mouth. His cock throbbed but—
“Oh, it’s good now.”
All the air squeezed from his chest. He pumped his fingers in and out with slow, steady strokes, her muscles clutching him tight. His throat was raw from panting as he fucked her derriere with his fingers. She was slick and open now.
Ready for more.
Three fingers. Almost the thickness of his cock.
He’d expected her to lay still, to be cautious and demure. Instead she thrust her bottom up to him, sawed her fingers against her pussy, turned and clawed tangled hair from her face. God, he’d no idea she would be so driven by lust. So wild.
Heavy-lidded, her eyes burned with lust. “Give me your cock,” she moaned. “I want you inside. Oh, please.”
Bone-hard, his cock hurt as he pushed it down, forcing it to touch her slick, hot entrance. He had to pause, his hand on her bottom, to steady himself. But she drove back into him, almost bending his cock for one excruciating instant before the head surged by the tight rim with a pop. Pleasure roared over him like a flame. He heard her cry, his deep groan of heartfelt pleasure.
He drew back, pulling his throbbing tip back to her rim. Not enough to withdraw, enough to let her grow used to him. His biceps bulged, his forearm was rigid with the strain of supporting his weight.
“Move with me, temptress,” he urged, “Rock with me.”
There was no shake of her head. No plea that he stop. He eased in, one more delightful inch. Then another. Her moans encouraged. She began to chant, “Yes, yes, oh yes.”
Yes.
Muscles quivering, he gave slow fluid strokes.
Her curvaceous bottom was in the air, her legs splayed, her pose receptive. Welcoming. Three long thrusts and his cock was buried deep, engulfed in fire and velvet. His groin struck her cushioning cheeks with each plunge. She cried loud with every thrust.
She wrapped her hand delicately around his forearm, slid down and found his hand. Her fingers, sticky with the rich honey from her quim, twined with his.
It was his undoing.
His controlled veneer fell away like his dripping sweat. He thrust like his goddamned life depended on it. His mouth twisted with grunts, growls, and fierce moans. His sweat rolled down his brow, coated his back, ran down to his lips.
Beneath him, Venetia was a wanton, fiercely pounding her bottom along his prick, ravaging her quim with one hand, holding his fingers with the other. Even half-mad as he was, crazed with the fight not to come, even as he hovered on the brink of orgasm, he reached down, joined his hand with hers at her pussy and rubbed her clit.
She screamed his name. Shattered beneath him. Inside her scotching derriere, her muscles clutched at him.
Control, control, control
. He clung to the mantra as he watched her come. Exquisite. Beautiful.
Between her thighs, her hand stilled and he knew she was feeling the climax pulse around her fingers.
The thought had him almost over the edge.
He drew his hands away from hers, splayed them on the bed as he slowly withdrew. His cock twanged upwards once free, glistening in the candlelight, drenched in oil.
She turned her face to the side. Tears spilled on her cheeks but a smile touched her lips. His heart lurched. Damp with sweat, her red hair spilled over her shoulders, a wash of dark fire over perfect, flushed curves. Her eyes were dreamy. As though he’d given her a glimpse of heaven.
“It was so…so intimate, so perfect having you inside.”
“I want to make it even more intimate, Venetia.” He stroked the sensual curve of her naked back, unwilling to stop. He didn’t want this to end. “I want to do more. I understand if you don’t want to. If you need to rest.”
“More intimate? Of course I want to try!”
Venetia reached out for Marcus’ hand again. Could anything be more intimate? She caressed his long, elegant fingers. Traced the large knuckles, felt the pattern of raised veins, the dusting of soft hairs. How she loved his hands, and it had been scandalous magic to hold his hand to her quim.
Yes, she was tired, floating on a cloud of sweet sensual pleasure, but how could she resist being more intimate with him?
“What will we do?”
“First, angel, you must roll onto your back.”
She did as he asked, sighing as her damp back and bottom sank into the soft mattress. “Are you going to…” She shrank from the word. “Are you going to fuck my quim?”
His eyes, that mysterious blend of blue and green, burned brighter at her words. “No, sweet, but I want to look into your eyes when we make love. Trust again, if you can give it.”
Why did he fear she wouldn’t? What had he done with women—or what had they done with him—to make him so cautious?
Then he was on top, his big body pushing her lightly into the bed. This was glorious, having the chance to touch and explore, to follow the long curve of his spine. She squeezed his buttocks, giggling as he made them rock hard, then soft enough to pinch.
“Will you let me lift your legs?”
Baffled, she nodded. Then gasped as he gripped her ankles and bent her legs back until her feet were at her head. He opened her legs wide until her muscles tugged and complained. Could she do this? “Now, hold the backs of your thighs.”
She held tight, feeling her muscles stretch. She’d never imagined such an exposed position, her quim and bottom on display, her belly bulging where it curved. Did she truly look sensual like this?
She must. His cock was still a rigid pole standing before the black curls on his stomach.
Hand on his cock he approached. He stroked the thick head against her anus. She shivered, tried to let muscles go slack, tried to open her body for him.
She touched her clit, stroked with her finger and saw stars. Caught it between two fingers, gasping at the jolt of pleasure as he pushed, gently, slowly. With lashes lowered, he watched himself go inside. She could see the thick veined shaft disappear. She felt the pressure, the delicious fullness.
Then he was inside her, his cock deeply inside, his ballocks bumping against her bottom. This truly was more intimate. His expressions were exposed to her. She saw his eyes hot with lust as he drew back and sank in again. His jaw went slack, his lips parted, lines framed his mouth. His face became a portrait of sensual agony.
She stopped rasping her clit, leaving it throbbing and aching. Ran her fingertips along his shadowed jaw, her thumb over his lower lip. On his upper lip, she found sweat, and stroked it away. He stopped his thrusts to kiss her fingers. “Rub my kiss over your clit.”
She obeyed and he pumped into her, his hands bracing her legs. She was stretched to the limit. But she begged for him to thrust harder, even as she saw that the gentlemanly veneer had vanished. This was a man, a man driven by lust. With a man’s raw strength and his primitive need to be buried deep. She should be frightened.
But it drove her too. The need to fuck. Venetia wanted him wild. Rough. Uncontrolled.
Goodness, her bottom was slick, her cheeks slapping him.
His teeth grazed his lower lip making him look so vulnerable. As new to this world as she.
The need to touch consumed. To massage bunched shoulders, taut biceps, steely forearms. To explore matted curls on his chest. To caress harsh cheekbones.
His thrusts lifted her from the bed. Their wild dance banged the headboard against the wall. Above them, the canopy rocked, the tassels shook and swung wildly. Could it fall?
She didn’t care. She felt bent in two, but didn’t care. She grabbed for his hip to hold him to her. To pull him deep, impossibly deep. Each pound of his groin against her bottom sent sparks through her. With two fingers, she ravaged her poor clit, astonished she could be so rough, and it could be so good.
Another stroke. Another—
“I’m going to come,” she cried. Why the urgent need to tell him? But she had to. Over and over, she moaned, “Yes, yes, yes.”
The excitement in his eyes urged her on.
In amazement, in delight, she plunged her fingers between her nether lips, pressed her clit hard. The orgasm took her, stinging and fierce. It flooded her heart, her head, her soul, swamped her with delight. Her breath left her. Her thoughts fled.
His name. Hazily she heard his name shouted up to the canopy.
All she clung to was Marcus and pleasure, holding him tight as her body came apart, as she soared in ecstasy.
So lost in her delicious whirling climax, she barely heard his strangled cry. She snapped her lids open wide. He drove his hips tight against her, as though trying to climb within her. Shudders racked him. His mouth went slack. He didn’t scream like she did—he panted. How could he not cry out? How could he be so reserved? His come shot into her in a hot flood and he bucked with it, launching his hips ahead over and over.
His head dropped forward. “Dear sweet temptress,” he murmured.
She’d called his name in her pleasure but he’d held himself back.
“We must get you under the sheets, Vixen, before you catch cold.”
Sweat was cooling on her, a chill flowing over her skin, raising prickles. Marcus kissed her nose, her cheek, her lips, her chin. Such sweet concern after wild sex. He brushed his palm against her softening nipples, stroked back her hair.
“Do all men enjoy such things? Do all men like to pleasure a woman’s bottom?”
He gave a wicked smile. “Some men are too proper to try.”
She reached up to touch but he was off the bed. Confused, she asked, “Won’t you join me?”
“I wish I could.”
He intended to leave? Despite the warm sheets, she went cold. “Is it…me?”
“Not you,” he assured as he headed toward his trousers, but did he speak too quickly? “I need to attend to Lydia Harcourt tonight.”
Fighting a yawn, she sat up and the sheets fell away. “Of course.” Guilt quickly banished sleepiness. She’d thought of drifting off in his arms, he was thinking of protecting her and her family. The sight of her gown, on the floor, filled her with dread. It would be horribly wrinkled, even now, and she hated to be buttoned into it.
“You will stay here with the door locked.”
“Here? But I want to go.”
He brushed a kiss on her forehead. “You must go to sleep. And don’t worry.”
She wanted to ask if he would come back to her, to sleep with her, but she couldn’t bring herself to. What if he laughed? He was going out alone into an orgy. He would probably end up in another woman’s bed.