His Not-So-Sweet Marchioness

by Sorcha Mowbray

  And then he slammed his lips down on hers. A groan ripped from her throat as she melted into him despite all her concerns. Her excellent questions dissipated on the tides of his passion as he demanded entrance to her mouth. Past logical thought, she opened to him. Welcomed him. If this was all she might have, she would take it and savor the feel of him pressed against her for years to come.

  Chapter 15

  Flint couldn’t believe his luck. His headache had finally abated, despite the tumble they’d taken, and Ros was in his arms—for the moment. But did this mean she was his to take to bed and pleasure? Perhaps it was ungallant of him, but he had always acknowledged that he was not quite a gentleman. And there was no question a gentleman would release her and step away.

  In his defense, it had been weeks since he’d touched her. And he recognized that his feelings for her grew stronger every day—only to be enflamed by seeing her put in danger. Add to that, he had yet to mention the threat against her, and he feared that when he did tell her, she would refuse his protection. Refuse him altogether after the abhorrent fashion he’d employed to drive her away. Wanting her with every fiber of his being, he couldn’t possibly let her go. Not in this moment. Perhaps not ever.

  Despite being in a relatively pain-free state, his cock was hard and eager to sink into her warm depths. It was unusual for him to be so aroused without the benefit of a little pain, but he welcomed the change. Welcomed having her in his arms again. Breaking the kiss as he climbed the stairs, neither spoke. Each seeming to choose to be complicit in their avoidance of any discussion about what was about to happen or ascribing any meaning to whatever it might be.

  Inside her bedroom, he saw touches of Ros everywhere—the cheery pink and white wallpaper, her floral scent hanging heavy in the air, making him dizzy with desire. He had yet to put a name to the smell, but it never failed to conjure images of Ros spread open to him. Made him harden with a need only she could satisfy. Even without the added pleasure of physical pain, he found no lack of interest in taking her to bed.

  Letting her legs down first, he pressed her closer to his chest, causing her body to slide against his. Her breathing grew labored as their gazes met, and then she licked her lips as though his kiss lingered there. With a groan born of pure need, he captured her mouth again, letting the chance to speak slip away once more. While there were things they should discuss, the need to touch her and reassure himself she was there with him and safe far outstripped the need to speak.

  Their tongues twined, a sensuous tangle as the faint taste of mint invaded his senses. The cool fresh taste made him wonder if she had hoped for just such an outcome. He certainly had. The heat of her seared him through the many layers of clothing they still wore, becoming a silent reproach for their overdressed state. Removing his hands from her person, he reached up and unfastened her gown, slowly working the back of it open. Once it was loose enough to tug it off her shoulders and down to her waist, he began working on her corset. All the while, he cursed the many layers dictated by the arbiters of women’s fashion. Would that they lived in a simpler time, such as the Romans with their ever practical togas, because then he would have her flesh exposed. His to touch and taste once more.

  Instead, he wrestled with the never-ending layers of clothing. He attacked her petticoats and hoops until the whole mass of fabric swooshed to the floor. Still kissing her deeply, reveling in her sweetness, he loosened her corset and peeled it off her, before finally tackling her chemise and pantalets. With naught but her stockings between her and his touch, he shifted his focus to his own clothing.

  She tore her lips from his as she helped jerk his coat off. “Hurry. I need you.”

  Enflamed by such raw honesty, he worked faster to free himself. He tore at his necktie as she opened his trousers. Between the two of them, without her distracting kisses, he was stripped bare in a fraction of the time he’d needed to accomplish the same for her. With his heated skin exposed to the cooler air—after all, there wasn’t much that wasn’t cooler than a raging inferno—he sank to his knees before her. Part supplication, part worship, and all need, he tugged one of her legs over his shoulder and clamped his hands down on her arse.

  The luscious roundness filled his hands as he pulled her wet pussy toward his mouth.

  “Flint, wait.” She grabbed a handful of his hair and used it to pull his head back from his goal.

  The slight sting of pain only served to inflame his desire as he looked up at her. “What do you need, Ros?”

  “You. I need you inside me.” She hesitated, pulling harder on his hair as he tried to press forward to taste what was so tantalizingly close. “Please,” she begged. “I ache.”

  He looked up at her, could see the tight pucker of her nipples, the way her chest rose and fell with each harsh breath, and the deep flush of desire riding high on her cheeks. She needed him as much as he needed her, and he would never deny her what he could give. Still relishing the sting of his scalp, he released her leg and rose to his feet, breaking her hold on his hair. “On the bed, sweet.”

  Eagerly, she turned and scrambled onto the mattress, sprawling across it in open invitation. His cock throbbed, almost vibrating with expectation. Crawling between her thighs, he returned her leg to his shoulder, notched his shaft at her entrance, and then sank deep within her in one desperate stroke.

  Heat engulfed him, wrapped around his cock, and squeezed as though it could extinguish his desire. Instead, his need grew, doubled, tripled with each slide out and then back into her tight pussy. It seemed he sank deeper with each stroke until his hips met hers, and he could grind against her clit.

  “Yes!” She shouted loudly as he worked in and out of her. Her fingers gripped his arms, sinking her nails into his flesh with a sharpness that only added to the conflagration of his lust. The small bites of pain merged with the heat and sweet slide of her body wrapped around him until he felt his balls draw tight.

  Bracing on one arm, he reached down and dragged his thumb over her swollen nub. Once. Twice. And then with a third stroke paired with his cock stretching her, filling her, she finally crashed over the edge. With a scream of satisfaction that pushed his own release closer, he pumped inside of her over and over, driving toward his own release. With his thumb still strumming her clit, his own climax slammed into him harder than the runaway carriage would have. He shouted his own pleasure as he withdrew from her heat and pumped his shaft in his hand while spilling on her stomach.

  Exhausted, he slumped down on top of her, letting his seed mark them both as he lay there, panting for breath, his sides heaving. All the while, Ros caressed his back and shoulders as she sighed softly in his ear. The gentleness of the moment overwhelmed and welcomed him, all at once. He had to fight hard not to burrow into her, to beg for the succor she offered at a moment when he’d never felt more exposed. Because he knew, in that moment, if he looked her in the eyes, all the emotions he felt for her would be visible, and he wasn’t sure he was prepared for such vulnerability. The depth of his feelings was so new, like a raw nerve had been uncovered.

  While it was a sweet pain that he welcomed, he needed a little time to become familiar with it, to understand how it would change him. Because there was no question it would. He snorted mentally, hellfire it already had. But what would it mean for them? For their future? What if something happened to him? What if he couldn’t be the man she needed? What about his need for pain? Certainly, their interlude was hot, rife with caring and emotion. Would that be enough? Could he give up his pain laced ways? Doubt assailed him until it drove him from her arms and her bed.

  “Let me get a rag to clean you up.” He gave her his back, hiding his truth as he pulled himself together.

  “Flint, don’t retreat from me.” Ros rose up behind him, reaching out to stroke his back before he stepped away.

  He glanced over his shoulder and offered what he hoped was a distracting smile. “Not retreating, merely getting a rag.”

  She smiled at him,
but the apprehension clouded her lovely green gaze as she let him go. He hoped it would be the last time he forced her to do such a thing because he wasn’t sure he could survive walking away from her again. Despite that, he had never been so terrified in all his life. Terrified to stay, to feel, to fall in love.

  He found a rag and returned to clean Ros off. With a few firm swipes, he removed the evidence of his claiming. If only he could wipe the distinct sense of vulnerability away so easily.

  Was it only a few days ago that he’d thought he’d felt exposed?

  Asking Lucifer for help had nothing on how raw he felt looking at Ros lying in bed and knowing that for the first time since his twin brother died, he had a weakness.

  Chapter 16

  It had been two days since her reconciliation with Flint, and she still hadn’t been able to remove the grin from her lips. Happiness was a state of being, not just an emotion—her obstinate hair had curled just right, the sun shone brightly, the birds sang sweetly, and Mrs. Johnson had made sweet rolls that morning. Despite the joy bubbling through her, there was one shadow hanging over her charmed existence. Flint still required pain, yet he had spoken not a word of his desires.

  Since the weather was so lovely, she’d decided a jaunt would be an ideal way to deal with her short list of errands. The brisk walk would help her mind work through the question at hand: How did she manage the issue of Flint’s need for pain?

  As she passed people on the street, she considered what she knew. Flint was a man who preferred to be in control, but he had not been incapable of letting her take the lead. He clearly fought down by the docks as a way to receive the pain he craved in an acceptable manner. And there was a sexual component to the whole mess that she still wasn’t quite sure about. Oh, and he was not aware that she had discerned his secret.

  Theo had suggested she visit Mistress Lash, who was known for her skills with floggers, whips, and the sort. Ros considered that a conversation with the woman was in order to, at least, help her understand what might make a man crave pain the way Flint did. Such a conversation might lead to other possibilities.

  “Mrs. Smith, how are you doing today?” Lord Cunningham stood before her on the street, blocking her way forward.

  “My lord, I am well.” Her body tensed as she drew up short. An instinctive desire to retreat warred with her awareness that to do so would give the man the upper hand. She pressed on with her walk and her coming errands.

  Despite her obvious wish to be on her way, Cunningham stayed her with a hand to her upper arm. A breach in etiquette if ever there was. She stopped on the sidewalk and stared down at his hand on her arm. When her gaze met his, she could not ignore the coldness that settled in his eyes. “Do not be fooled by Flintshire’s supposed heroics the other day. I dare say he likely arranged for that accident to occur so that he could swoop in and rescue you.”

  “My lord, I had wished to put that incident in the past. However, if you are insisting on bringing it to the fore, I dare say you had far more motive and opportunity to make such an arrangement. Perhaps I should be considering the same of you?” She let one brow lift in arrogant inquiry.

  He sputtered as though grappling for words and then sneered at her. “I see that you are already tainted goods. Only a woman engaged in inappropriate behavior with a man such as Flintshire—one of those, so-called Lustful Lords—would defend him. It was best I discovered the truth before I made more of a fool of myself chasing after you.”

  And with that comment, he released her arm and stormed past as though they’d never stopped to chat. Put out and annoyed by such churlish behavior, she pressed on with her walk. She refused to let that man ruin her day.

  With the sun hanging high in the sky, she had accomplished her errands and returned home. It was possibly a bit early, but she decided to send a note over to the infamous Mistress Lash and see if she might be amenable to an early visitor.

  Two hours later, she found herself exiting a cab in front of The Market. The white façade was rather elegant, and that effect continued upon entry into the establishment. With a grand staircase sweeping down from the second floor, the foyer was quite imposing. The butler remained standing with the door open as though she might suddenly understand where she had entered and need to remedy such a mistake. “My lady, how may I be of assistance to you?”

  “Good afternoon. I am Mrs. Smith, here to see Mistress Lash.” She took off her bonnet and handed it to the flabbergasted man.

  He took the headwear as if by reflex, and not through any independent thought. Gathering his composure, he closed the door and nodded. “Of course, madame. I shall be but a moment.”

  The butler departed, leaving Ros to stand about in the foyer. She appreciated the courtesy of allowing her inside to wait, versus leaving her on the front stoop as was the usual way. Wandering about the foyer, she took in the art on the walls—most of which depicted men and women in some state of undress—as well as the fine fabrics draped around the windows and covering a lovely little bench. Sitting to wait, she tried to curb her nervousness, and—dare she admit—her excitement at having an opportunity to meet such a woman.

  She couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to be in control of her life in such a manner? Would she feel empowered by her ability to choose customers and then dole out punishment to them? Or would she be weighed down by the hand life dealt her? One that forced her into such a career?

  The butler reappeared. “Follow me, Mrs. Smith. Mistress Lash will join you in the front salon shortly.”

  Doing as she was bid, Ros followed the servant into a front room she had not seen on her previous foray to The Market. Of course, that shouldn’t have been surprising considering she’d been there to seduce Flint. The room was a cheery yellow that had tall windows to take best advantage of the bright sunshine. Settling on a chair that allowed her a clear view of the salon door, she waited for her advisor to arrive.

  Perhaps ten minutes later, a black-haired, gray-eyed beauty strode confidently into the salon. With her long willowy neck and statuesque height, even swathed in a soft gray robe that covered her from neck to toes, she was a stunning woman. No wonder men lined up to receive her not so tender ministrations.

  Feeling a bit frumpy in her deep green walking dress with her hair pulled up in a sensible twist at the back of her head, Ros rose to greet her hostess. “Thank you for seeing me, Mistress Lash.”

  “Oh, please call me Amelia.” She beamed a bright smile at Ros. “The necessary moniker grows tiresome at times. Everyone running around Mistress-ing me endlessly.” She sat in the chair next to Ros. “I can’t imagine how the titled manage such formality all the time. Must be why so many peers are begging for the bite of my whip.”

  Ros blinked. “Well, I’ve never been a titled woman, so I can only imagine it must take some getting used to. Though I certainly do appreciate those of my friends who seem a bit more down to earth and not so caught up in their titles.”

  “Yes, I do believe you chum about with a good sort. Those Lustful Lords have all proven to be solid men,” Amelia agreed. “But what is it that I might do for you?”

  Ros felt her cheeks grow warm. “Oh, um.” The moment had come. She needed to bare her intimate thoughts to a perfect stranger. “Well, as you may imagine, since I am here speaking with you, I have become intimate with Lord Flintshire.”

  “Oh, he’s a randy one I hear. And likes the bite of pain, too. If I could choose, he’s the one I’d throw in with.” She winked.

  Ros couldn’t control the nervous laugh that escaped her, even as her cheeks were scorched. “Yes, well, he is certainly amorous. But it is the pain I am trying to understand.”

  Amelia nodded. “I see. You’re not sure how to meet his needs.”

  “Precisely.” Ros waited, hoping she would have something to offer.

  “There is not much to it in my mind. It’s just that some people find pleasure in the pain. They’re made a little different than regular folks.” Amelia shrug
ged.

  “But, will he always be that way? What if I can’t give him the pain he needs? Do I need to let him seek it out in other ways? Do I need to tolerate the fighting?” Ros could feel her frustration rising.

  “I should not expect the desire for pain to go away. Once someone—man or woman—finds a taste for it, I’ve never seen it wane. So yes, I’d expect that his needs will continue. As for being the one to give him the pain, not everyone is capable of fulfilling that need. I wasn’t sure I could dole it out when I began my career, but once I realized I was providing them something they needed, it was easier to get past all the social rules that teach us hurting others is bad. Because in this particular case, it is, in fact, good.”

  Ros considered her words. Mistress Lash was merely giving her customers—people like Flint—what they needed. Being a practical sort, Ros could see the reasoning. “I understand what you are saying. But, I don’t know if I’m able to tolerate the fighting. He certainly can’t carry on with that type of behavior forever.”

  “True. There will come a point when either his body won’t be able to take the abuse or his age won’t support his activities. It would probably be best if he had another way to channel his needs. I have whipped him a time or two when I have had cancellations. But he removed himself from my new client waiting list a few months ago.” One dark eyebrow lifted. “He was to be my next new client.”

  He had been on her waiting list? And, he had removed himself? “That sounds as though he too thought the fighting wouldn’t last forever.”

  “Indeed, and that something occurred in his life that made him believe seeing me for my services would no longer be a viable option.” Amelia looked thoughtful for a moment. “Would I be wrong in assuming that his plans changed shortly after he met you?”