Duchess by Day, Mistress by Night (Rebellious Desires)

by Reid, Stacy

  She canted her head left and considered him for a few seconds. “Done.”

  He jolted, her easy capitulation quite unexpected.

  A smile edged her sensual lips. “I can see that you are surprised. As I said earlier, your aid in finding my son unharmed is unmatched. There is nothing in my life that is more important than my little boy. Though your request is ambitious, and I cannot guarantee the outcome, I will gladly sponsor your sister and be a guiding force in securing her a gentleman this season.”

  “Thank you.”

  Her lids lowered, shielding her gaze from him for precious seconds. Her tongue darted and wetted her bottom lip, an achingly nervous gesture. Her lips were lusher than any he had ever seen. He wanted to bite, nibble, and kiss them, wanted to see the swollen fullness and know he had caused it. She did it again, and he frowned. Why the hell was she nervous? Before he could ask, she turned from him and went to the door. He bit back the instinctive need to ask her to stay.

  A breath hissed from between his clenched teeth when instead of leaving his chambers, she closed and locked the door with a decisive snick.

  Her banyan slid with agonizing slowness down the long line of her back and over the perfect twin moons of her buttocks. Her actions were slow and deliberate as she loosened the pins from her hair and allowed her wonderful mass of black hair to tumble to her mid back in all its silken glory. She was exquisite, beautiful, her skin like satin. She was dramatically and lushly curved with a body made for carnal pleasures.

  She faced him. A delicate pink blush spread across her cheeks then flushed her entire body. “I want you.”

  He narrowed his gaze.

  “This is not payment,” she said huskily, accurately reading his thoughts. “This is me…desiring you, needing to be held, wanting to feel pleasure that will wipe away all the lingering terror that still beats in my heart.”

  She strolled closer, an unbearable temptation, one he had no hope of resisting. Her hips swayed, and she looked sleek and stunning and sensual as sin itself. Then she was before him, stretching up on her toes slightly to cup his jaw. Her touch was like a soft brush of satin.

  A faint blush spread across her cheeks. “Do you want me?” she asked tremulously.

  He should wait, give her time to move past the anxiousness searing from her. Except he wanted her. Now. Tonight. “More than my next breath.”

  Her eyes widened, then her wide, generous mouth curved in sensual invitation.

  He wanted her. Dear God, he wanted her. The desires flourishing inside felt like a revelation. How had he lived for so long without experiencing hunger like this? Before the logical part of his mind could take over, he took her in his arms, banding his arms around her, and pulled her up to meet his lips. Her taste spilled into his mouth like the sweetest, richest of wine. Good God, how was a man supposed to think?

  “This is dangerous,” he said in between the kisses he spread to her lips. He had never been with a woman like Georgiana. One so refined, sexually uncertain, and inexperienced, but so beguiling.

  “No…this is perfect,” she purred. “I am desperate to be wicked with you, Rhys.”

  Desire, raw, powerful, and uncompromising swept through him. “How wicked, duchess?”

  Her eyes darkened. “As wicked as you can get.”

  A rough sound of appreciation escaped him and his cock throbbed. “I wonder how the first deep thrust inside you will be. Wet?” He snaked a hand between them and cupped her quite possessively. “Tight? Better than anything I’ve ever felt in my life?”

  He touched her face, a light caress, then bent to kiss her soft mouth. A pulse was beating visibly at her throat. Rhys’s hands drifted down to cup the pert mounds of her breasts and kneaded the swollen tips of her nipples between his fingers. It had never been so sweetly pleasurable to touch another’s flesh before. She was going to be his. He flicked his tongue against the bare skin of her throat. Her entire body flushed, and she moaned. Christ, he hadn’t felt this eager since his first time with a woman. All his warnings to himself telling him to slow down burned away like ashes in the wind.

  Chapter Ten

  Rhys removed his banyan and stood gloriously naked before her. His chest and shoulders were corded with sleek muscle, full of power and elegance. Tight buttocks flowed into lean, strong legs. The man’s body was a work of art she wanted to worship with her lips. The shivering sensation low in her stomach felt as if she were falling. Wordlessly he padded over and drew her to him. He first kissed her gently, then with ravenous need, and then again tenderly.

  His head dipped, and fire licked at her as his hot tongue stabbed at her nipples, pooling wetness between her legs. He lowered her onto the bed, split her legs open wide, and stared at her…there. Her entire body blushed. Georgiana’s breath hitched when he sank to his knees in front of her. His intense appraisal was frank and unapologetic. Without speaking, he grabbed the back of her knees and slid her closer to the edge of the bed, ensuring her exposed core was more accessible.

  “Have you ever been licked here?” he murmured, lightly skimming a finger over her core.

  “No.”

  “Spread your legs wider.”

  When she failed to obey, he gripped her knees and pushed out, opening her in a lascivious sprawl. Her breath exploded on a hoarse gasp. Rhys dipped his head. His lips covered her clitoris, his tongue stroked it, and she screamed. “Rhys!” Shock gave way to acute pleasure. Oh sweet God in heaven.

  “I’ve dreamed of this,” he whispered against her sensitive flesh. “From the moment I met you.”

  The scoundrel. She fisted her hands in his hair and held on for dear life. Every lick and stroke were marvelously wild, and she unraveled with a hoarse cry of pleasure. It was the most incredibly erotic thing she had ever known in her life. He pressed heated wet kisses against her lower stomach, his warm tongue stroked one nipple, and up to her lips.

  “You’re so sweet and passionate,” he groaned appreciatively.

  He fisted his length and placed it against her entrance. Rhys’s eyes blazed with a sensual hunger that thrilled her. “I want to be slow and pepper you with praises and sweet words, but I need you.”

  “I don’t want slow,” she breathed.

  “Hold me, duchess.”

  She wrapped her hands around his neck tightly. He widened her legs with his powerful thighs and entered her body slowly. Her breath caught at the tight, stretching sensation, and she bit her lower lip to keep from screaming.

  “You’re tight but so wet you can take me.” The hard, rough murmur spiked her arousal even more.

  Bracing on one of his elbows, he slipped his other hand between their bodies and found her nub of pleasure. Her breath escaped in little pants as his thumb pressed, rotated, filling her with bliss, easing his way more so he slid inexorably to the hilt. The sensation of his thick length entering her was indescribable. She was stretched so tight around his shaft she whimpered. It had been so long, and even then, she had never been filled in such an exquisite manner.

  He drew out and then plunged deep. Again. And again. And again. He hoisted her legs about his hips and rode her with a passion that was almost brutal in intensity. He slid his hands beneath her buttocks, lifting her to every thrust. It was too much, too intense. She trembled as agonized need coiled in her belly. His arms wrapped tighter around her, surrounding her with hardened muscles, heat, his evocative scent, and somewhat intimidating strength as he stroked into her over and over.

  A sobbing moan was wrenched from her throat as the pressure became too much…and then unexpectedly, she broke apart. Her entire body convulsed, clamping tightly onto his still-thrusting manhood. Several hard thrusts later, the unrelenting pleasure started to peak once more within her. She trembled at the sharp waves of undiluted bliss. “Too much,” she sobbed, her nails raking at his sweat-coated shoulders.

  “Never enough,” he murmured huskily. “Burn with me, duchess.”

  Georgiana let go, giving in to the deep pulse of
pleasure tearing through her body. He groaned, and with a final plunge, he released within her. They clung to each other, and Georgiana felt shattered. She’d had no notion coupling could be this passionate, so fulfilling.

  “I was too rough. Did I hurt you?”

  “No…it was wonderful.”

  A darkly sensual smile curved his lips at her admission. He gently eased from her, and she whimpered, her sore muscles protesting.

  “Shh, relax,” he murmured pressing a kiss to her forehead. Bending down, he kissed her mouth with great tenderness, then her eyelids. After the violent passion of their lovemaking, such gentleness was the last thing Georgiana expected. It brought a lump to her throat.

  He placed a soothing but very possessive hand against her buttocks and then stroked his fingers up and down her stomach in a reassuring motion. “I wasn’t careful,” he murmured, kissing her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have spilled inside of you.”

  Her cheeks warmed as his meaning became clear. “I…I cannot fall pregnant.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hardcastle visited my bed often, and it took years of marriage before I became with child.” And the indignities she had to suffer to achieve an heir had not been pleasant. The one she had hated the most was pushing pillows beneath her hips and remaining in that position for hours to ensure his seed took root, as per her doctors’ order.

  “How often?”

  “I…the third week of every month for three years.”

  Incredulity filled Rhys’s eyes. “Your husband made love to you once a month…in effect, thirty six times for the entire time you had been married.”

  “Yes,” she said primly. “And perhaps a few more times after Nicolas’s birth.”

  “The bloody fool.”

  “I suppose you would be different?” she demanded archly.

  “I would have had you rocking onto my cock at least twice every goddamned night.”

  She gasped. “You libertine!”

  Something elusive pooled into the gray depth of his eyes. “Perhaps you are not as safe as you believe.”

  Was there a possessive undercurrent in his voice? “I am. Nicolas’s birth was difficult. The doctor warned I wouldn’t be able to become with child again, but Hardcastle desired a second child. After months of trying…he stopped coming to my bed.”

  Her husband hadn’t been to her bed for over a year before he died.

  “As I said, a bloody fool.”

  She formed a fist and gently punched Rhys in his hardened stomach. He chuckled before taking her lips in a kiss that went on endlessly. There was a primal delight in being held so firmly in his arms. Georgiana was acutely aware of the strength in him, and she allowed her fingers to coast over the sleek, powerful muscles of his chest.

  There was something in his eyes that wasn’t purely lust. A tenderness that brought a lump to her throat. “I like you so much,” she murmured.

  “I like you, too, duchess,” he said, his eyes gleaming with amusement and something else she was unable to identify.

  The sudden, staggering desire to never be released by Rhys left her frightened. Confused and suddenly nervous, she withdrew, tugging the sheets to her and wrapping them around her body. “I must go.”

  “No.”

  “Mr. Tremayne—”

  He arched a cool brow. “Are we still being formal…Georgiana?”

  She stared at him mutely.

  “You referring to me as Mr. Tremayne will not change the fact you have just been taking your pleasure on my cock.”

  She gasped. “You’re crude.”

  He crawled over her, his body powerful and intimidating, yet so frightfully appealing. She slid backward on the bed, but he followed, climbing over her, careful to keep his weight on his elbows.

  “What I should have said was that your sweet, tight sheath rocked onto my cock deep, hard, and rough, and you loved every second of it, duchess, even when it seemed too much.” His growl was low and rich, and arousal stabbed to the heart of her.

  “Do not confuse me with one of your gentleman suitors,” he warned softly. “There will be no shame between us while we are lovers. At times, I will place you on your knees and elbows and fuck you hard, duchess, and there are times I’ll love you so slowly, so tenderly, I’ll burn us both alive from the wanting. There is nothing crude about what we do.” His fingers stroked her thighs soothingly, a stark contrast to the cruel sensuality that curved his lips.

  An ache grew in her chest and tightened until it restricted her breathing. Lovers… “This…this was one night,” she whispered.

  He froze, and her heart hitched as icy gleams of his silver-blue eyes pierced her. He pushed from her without speaking and strolled to the windows overlooking the lake. He was so splendidly formed and uncaring of his nakedness, her mouth dried.

  She sat in the center of the bed, uncertain of why she waited.

  “And if I want more than one night?” he asked softly without facing her.

  Her breath hitched. Didn’t he realize how impossible it was for them to be together? To even have him now at Meadowbrook Park was courting scandal. “It is not about what you want, Rhys. I will still be directed by my own desires.”

  Then he faced her, and her cheeks heated to see his manhood had once again hardened.

  “One night, you say.”

  She swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Come here.”

  She contemplated him for several moments then pushed from the bed, the sheet wrapped tightly around her and sauntered to him. His large hands cupped her cheek, an unidentifiable emotion in his eyes.

  “Are you sore?”

  She flushed as the flesh between her legs throbbed. “A bit.”

  His thumb dragged softly across her tender bottom lip. “If this is to be our only time together, I’m not done with you yet. There are certain things I’ll require of you for the night.”

  She arched a brow, resenting the pulse of anticipation stirring in her blood. “Such as?”

  “These lips.” His thumb slipped into the recess of her mouth. “I’ll be wanting them wrapped around my cock, sucking and pleasuring me.” Rhys’s gaze was direct, sensually calculating, and confident. “I’ll want you above me, riding my tongue. I’m going to make love to you, then fuck you, then make love to you again.”

  Georgiana trembled, and a blush rose in her cheeks.

  “If you cannot handle that, I’ll leave now, and I’ll treasure our time tonight together until breath leaves my body.”

  She wetted her lips. “And if I can manage?”

  “Are you saying you can?”

  “Yes.” This could be the only night she would let down her guard with this man.

  His eyes darkened, and his handsome face became etched with stark need. “On your knees.”

  The command burned through her, and an unbidden whimper spilled from her. Lord help her, she obeyed, sinking to her knees and releasing the sheet so it fell from her body but was anchored by her hips.

  “Touch me, my duchess.”

  My duchess… He didn’t need to ask twice. She wrapped her fingers around his jutting length. “You’re so hard…and so thick,” she murmured, amazed she’d been a wife but had never had the occasion to admire the male form so boldly and unashamedly.

  “Suck me in, sweetheart,” his voice was dark and rough, and it spiked her hunger.

  Leaning forward, she swirled her tongue around the flared mushroom head of his cock, feeling the bunch and clench of his thighs beneath her fingers. His hand tightened in her hair, pulling at the strands and sending a tingling heat through her scalp. Georgiana moaned around his taste, which was dark, heady, and sultry, like the rain. She slid her tongue delicately over the throbbing head, and his guttural groan filled her with pleasure. A deep yearning coiled inside of her to bind him with the same pleasure he had enslaved her with.

  He dragged her up his body and kissed her mouth. He was too gentle…her eyes burned with unshed tears. His lips th
en brushed the tip of her ears. “Do you feel cravings pulsing through your body for my touch?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “One night will never be enough. Be my mistress.”

  The breath strangled in her throat. His mistress?

  “I know we are to never be anything else, duchess, but for now…be my lover…my friend. Have an affair with me.”

  His voice was full of unfathomable promise and a sweet, sharp pain throbbed in her chest. She had never been her duke’s friend or his lover. They had benefited each other’s position in society, and they’d had amiable conversation occasionally. Their intimacy had been founded on respect, but he had never been her confidant, or her his, nor had they made each other burn with passion.

  Yes, the cold, empty, frustrated heart of her cried silently. Instead of answering, she pushed him, understanding that when he moved back, it wasn’t from her strength. He allowed her to direct him until he sank onto the sofa. Then she once again lowered herself to her knees in front of him. “I want…let me please you.”

  A powerful heat flared in his eyes, and she took him, allowing their world to once again catch fire, unable to answer the burning demand in his eyes.

  …

  Rhys had envisioned Georgiana’s delightfully full lips wrapped around him, taking him with the innocent hunger he could see blazing in her blue orbs. She licked and sucked his cock beautifully, a bewildering mix of wantonness and innocence. He thrust slowly and deeply into her mouth, loving the sounds she made—soft purrs of pleasure. As her mouth loved him, Rhys felt as if he was going mad from the hunger clawing through his body. His head fell back, and a guttural groan slipped from him as she licked from his balls to the tip of his cock. He could wait no longer to be inside her. Gripping her long tresses, he pulled her up with sensual intent.

  He tugged her onto his lap so that she straddled him and split her legs wide across his thighs. Fisting his cock in one hand, he positioned himself at her entrance. Rhys palmed her delightfully rounded ass in his hand and drew her onto his length with excruciating slowness.