“And even if I am ruined,” she continued, “I still have a dowry of four thousand pounds for an incentive.”
“The sort of man willing to take a compromised woman for four thousand pounds is not the sort of man you wish to marry.”
“In truth, I have no wish to marry at all, but you and my parents have thrust the matter upon me.”
“I will not accompany you to Château Follet.”
“I did not expect you would. I certainly would not ask you to.”
This seemed to startle him. “Then how—did Katherine offer to take you there?”
“No, she need not, but if I wrote to Madame Follet, I do not think she would deny me an invitation.”
“And who would serve as your partner?”
“If you recall, a partner is not required. I can find someone there. And had you not intervened the last time, I might have found myself with the Viscount Devon.”
She saw the vein at his temple throb and wondered if she ought not have mentioned Devon.
“You are bloody lucky you escaped his clutches,” Alastair growled, his grip on her arm tightening. “I’ll be damned if you let my prior efforts go to waste with that bleeder.”
“Then satisfy my curiosity! Really, Alastair. I wonder at your sense sometimes.”
A muscle along his jaw rippled, but he let her go. “One question, Millie. The hour is late.”
She rolled her eyes, which she saw raised his ire. She watched him grab the earrings.
“These,” he said, opening his hand, “are adornments. Not for the ears but for the nipples.”
Her mouth fell open. That explained the angle of the clasps. She wondered how it would feel to have such things affixed to her body. A familiar ache grew between her legs.
“If I am in a decent mood tomorrow, you may ask a second question,” Alastair said before turning to put the earrings—nipple rings, rather—back.
“But that was not my question,” she protested. “If I am allotted but one question tonight, it would be this...will you take me?”
Chapter 11
“HAVE YOU NO RESTRAINT, woman?” Alastair returned, trying to ignore the tension in his groin. His erection had already stretched when he saw those lovely lips encasing the large dildo.
She lifted her chin and spoke as if she had proposed nothing more than a game of whist. “I thought it was convenient, as I was here, you are here, and there is this room.... It is much more expedient than traveling to Château Follet.”
He thought of the Viscount Devon. Once again his cousin had him against a wall, inspiring within him both resentment and awe.
“Millie,” he warned.
“What do you care if you encourage my prurience?”
She had challenged him on this before, and he could provide no truly satisfactory response.
“As you are not being reasonable,” he replied, “I am obliged to take that role.”
“Reasonable? Is offering four thousand pounds for a dowry to a poor relation reasonable?”
“That has nothing to do with here and now.”
“You are an odd one, Alastair. I think I liked you better when you were trying not to be reasonable. Your attempts to be good are rather trying.”
He could not resist smiling.
“In truth,” she contemplated, “it matters not what you do. Whether you encourage me or not, these wicked desires persist inside me. If I am to be shackled by matrimony in the near future, I will indulge my prurience while I can. I asked for your assistance, but if you will not provide it, I will find other ways to address my needs.”
He did not doubt that she would.
“Very well, I shall grant this request of yours, and it shall be the last request I ever grant you. On one condition: you promise never to return to Château Follet.”
In silence, she weighed his proposition before saying, “I want an experience as fulfilling as that which would occur at Château Follet. You will answer every curiosity of mine, indulge every whim, attend to every desire?”
He groaned as heat churned in his loins. “If you behave yourself.”
“I will. I promise.”
Blood surged through his cock. There was no turning back now, no matter how strongly his mind might be bent against it. “You will do my every bidding. I shall dictate the particulars. Your role is to submit to my handling. If you contravene me or defy me at any instant, my end of the arrangement may be forfeited.”
She nodded before reaching for the nipple adornments.
He closed his hand before she could take them. “I want your word on Château Follet.”
“I promise not to return to Château Follet. May I try the earrings—jewelry?”
A series of curses ran through his head, but he opened his hand. She took the sapphires.
He pushed aside the lapels of her robe and loosened the strings of her shift. With a crooked finger, he tugged the décolletage down. Her bosom rose as she inhaled. His knuckle brushed against the softness of her breast as he drew the shift down toward her nipple. The rosebud was already taut with anticipation. He nudged it before trapping it between his thumb and forefinger. He pulled gently. Her back arched subtly, sending her bosom closer to him. He rolled and flicked the nipple, slowly, teasingly, till her breath grew shorter. He pinched the nub, harder and harder, till she yelped. He released it and repeated the treatment on her other nipple. He pinched and twisted this one. She squirmed, not from pain, but from her arousal.
“May I try these now?”
“Not yet.” He needed to ensure that her level of arousal was high enough for her to tolerate the discomfort of the clasps. He loosened the sash of her robe and cupped her mons. She gasped in surprise.
“Are you wet?”
“A little, I think.”
His hand nestled farther between her thighs. Her dampness began to seep through the fabric to his fingers. She was more than a little wet. He rubbed her shift into her, making her moan. He watched as her lashes fluttered, her breath became uneven, and her mouth remained open, inviting him to kiss her, to force his tongue down into that lovely orifice.
She closed her eyes as he intensified his fondling. His fingers pressed the damp undergarment into her folds, grazing her clitoris. Her every reaction called to the primal in him, from the breaths that filled his ears to the scent of her arousal wafting through his nose.
She gave a small yelp, then giggled.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
“It is but a slight pinching sensation.”
He took her left hand and placed it between her legs. “Stroke yourself.”
While she complied, he released her other hand from him and pulled the right side of her robe down her shoulder. The right side of the shift followed, baring the breast now adorned with the sapphire droplet. He stepped back to admire the jewelry dangling from her nipple and had to adjust his crotch. Should he allow her to spend, the more magnanimous part of him wondered?
No. She had not made it easy for him, and he would return the favor. She needed to appreciate the challenges present at Château Follet. The Viscount Devon would have shown her no mercy, and Alastair intended to cast away any chance that she might reconsider her promise to him.
For several minutes he watched her pleasure herself. “Do you wish to spend?”
She nodded. “Please, my lord.”
“We should apply the mate.”
He slid the left side of her robe off her shoulder, then pulled down the strap of the shift. He eyed her left breast in appreciation of its shape and paleness of skin. He cradled the orb, relishing the weight, the suppleness in his palm, and brushed his thumb over the already erect nipple. She shuddered. He kneaded the flesh, gently at first before manhandling it. She purred her preference. He tugged the nipple to ensure it was at its peak before applying the jewelry.
Her garments, which had fallen about her hips, slid to the floor. She shivered. Though it was a warmer autumn than in past years, the night air was still c
ool. A fire had not been lit in the room for many years. Her body would warm soon enough and be distracted by other more urgent sensations.
To cultivate her own heat, he cupped her head in both hands and lowered his mouth to hers. He kissed tenderly, teasing her, for she seemed to prefer a harder application of roughness. His tongue grazed her lips, and though she parted them, he did not dwell inside her mouth, taking light mouthfuls of the surface instead. A small whine grumbled low in her throat.
Relenting, to his own ardor as much as hers, he opened her mouth with his and pushed his tongue between her welcoming lips. He heard her sigh before he muffled her breaths. He probed the hot and wet orifice, crushing her lips so she grunted. Rather than yield, she met the assault upon her, her tongue licking at his as she shoved her mouth to him.
Her fervor took him by surprise. Perhaps time, and the suppression of her lust through it, had intensified her desires. Or perhaps it was the jewelry at her nipples that induced the need to release pressure or attention elsewhere. But he liked her passion, liked the dueling of their tongues and the forceful meeting of their mouths. He had a mind to lift her, spear himself into her then and there, but he had developed more patience during his time at Château Follet. He knew the benefits of delaying gratification.
He released her and stepped back to view her naked body. Her hair was tied in a plait behind her. Every part of her was exposed. He took her hand and replaced it at her mound. “Touch yourself again.”
In silence, he watched her stroke herself for several minutes.
“Do you pleasure yourself at home?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“It varies, my lord, but, on average, four or five times a week.”
Surprised at the frequency, he said, “You are quite the little wanton, Millie.”
She blushed. “How often do others of my sex pleasure themselves?”
“In truth, there are some, even those who have been guests at Château Follet, who do not engage in self-pleasure.”
“That is sad, my lord, for though it does not afford me the satisfaction of congress, it is better than naught.”
“You prefer to have cock?”
Her blush deepened. “I do, my lord.”
His erection throbbed at her candor.
“May I ask a question, my lord?”
“You may.”
“Will you take me now?”
All tension collapsed into the area of his groin. He thought his cock might burst through his pants. He took several deep breaths and would have remained silent had she not opened her eyes and looked at him. Of course he would have liked nothing better than to take possession of her, but she had asked for an experience comparable to one at the Château Follet. There were many experiences to be had there, and they were not all as accommodating as that which he had first provided her.
But she had made the promise he wanted to hear. And perhaps, if he satisfied her curiosity, the appeal of Château Follet may be diminished. It meant he would stay at Edenmoor longer than intended, but he found the prospect not quite as dreadful as expected.
Chapter 12
“WE NEVER DID ATTEMPT the position of Angelique et Medor,” Mildred added. When he made no response, she deduced he had forgotten the art room at Château Follet. She did not fault him. No doubt it was not as memorable for him as it had been for her. “One of the engravings from The Sixteen Pleasures.”
“I recall it,” he said, his voice husky.
Seeing the tenting at his crotch, she dared to saunter toward him. Excitement tingled throughout her. Part of her remained in disbelief that, somehow, she had convinced Alastair to indulge her wanton desires. She was not vain enough to think that her powers of seduction were so great. His motive was clear: he did not wish her back at Château Follet. If it was out of regards to her safety, or what he perceived to be in her best interest, then he was truly capable of more consideration then she could have ever expected, but she also suspected that he would rather have the Château to himself, without having to share it with his cousin of all people.
And perhaps he was bored tonight. Perhaps he had not lain with a woman in a while. Perhaps the bawdy art roused the carnal in him, and her availability was more convenience than desirable.
It mattered not what his reasons were. Whatever they were, she would not pass up the chance to take advantage of this opportunity. Recalling all the delightful sensations he had once coaxed from her body, she could have asked for no one better to engage in amorous waltz.
She reached for the sash of his banyan and slowly, as if not to scare a small animal, she loosened it. He said nothing as he allowed her to slip the banyan over his shoulders. She drew the silk robe down his arms and let it fall to the floor. His breath seemed to grow uneven.
He watched her as she attempted to unravel his cravat. Fortunately for her, his valet had styled the neckcloth more simply this evening. She removed his collar next, then kissed the small opening at the top of his shirt. At that, he gripped both her arms, making her gaze meet his.
“Millie, you may call an end to this arrangement whenever you wish.”
She began to unbutton his waistcoat. “If I did, you would not have my promise not to return to Château Follet.”
His countenance darkened “You expect that Katherine will take you there again?”
“Madame Follett has extended me an open invitation, as I am a good friend of Lady Katherine.”
His frown deepened. “I have cautioned my aunt that the guests at Château Follet are less savory than in years past when Katherine and Richard visited.”
With his waistcoat unbuttoned, she began to pull his shirt from his pants. When she slid a hand beneath the linen, he took in a sharp breath.
“Without my aunt, you would be hard-pressed to travel to Château Follet.”
“If you think so, why make me promise not to return there?” she retorted.
“It is a precaution. You are both far more willful than you are wise.”
Unsurprised, she merely replied, “You may be unkind to me as much as you wish, but you ought not speak of your aunt in such a manner. It would break her heart to hear you speak thus.”
“It most certainly would not. I have said as much to her already.”
She shook her head. Typical Alastair, and yet she had to marvel at his unabashed candor. He did not hide behind shallow pleasantries or fake compliments. She tried to pull his shirt out completely but was hampered by the braces he wore.
“You have never undressed a man, have you?” he asked.
“Pray, show me,” she replied. Her pulse had quickened steadily throughout at the prospect of seeing him naked. The heat from between her thighs had spread to the rest of her body, which no longer minded the absence of clothing.
She watched with ravenous eyes as he shed his waistcoat and pulled the braces down his arms. He pulled his shirt over his head. Heat lanced through her as she beheld his chiseled chest, and she was once more reminded of how his features managed to entice her sex despite his poor manners. The Marquess was a handsome figure clothed. Unclothed, he was...exquisite.
“May I?” she asked, wanting to touch him.
Taking his silence, she put her hand to one pectoral. Without warning, he crushed her to him, his mouth descending upon hers. A thrill shot to the tips of her toes as she received his demanding kiss. She had only ever been with the stablehand, and the callow servant had none of the prowess of Alastair. His lips seared hers, hungry, forceful, commanding her mouth to allow him entry. The taste of him, the dance between their tongues as his lips caressed hers over and over all conspired to make her head swim. The throbbing between her legs grew. She ground herself against his hardness. He grunted as he continued exploring the depths of her mouth
His hands also roamed her body, pressing the small of her back before cupping a buttock. The other hand went to the nape of her neck as his mouth ravaged her throat next. She shivered, relishing the way he fill
ed her space, her senses. She wrapped her arms about his neck and moved her hips against him. How often had the lustful yearnings surged within her and found no release? She could hardly believe her fortune.
Thank you, Alastair.
She dared not speak it aloud for fear of distracting him. Wanting to encourage him, she rubbed herself against his crotch and dropped a hand to the buttons of his fall. She was not skilled enough to unbutton him while locked in his embrace, but he was. He undid the buttons and pulled out his shaft. She felt the smooth skin brush over her belly. If she could have jumped and impaled herself upon him, she would have done it. Her arousal demanded no less.
He wrapped an arm about her and lowered her with him to a nearby chair. Her legs straddled him as he sat down. She found she enjoyed the position as sitting astride his lap made her seem taller. He pulled her head down to his. Their lips met. The kiss began softly, but as the urgency grew between them, she crushed her mouth to his more forcefully. He matched her ardor with his own until their bodies could no longer resist the ultimate joining. He lifted her up by her rump. She dangled above his tip. He teased his hardness against her wet flesh before settling her down upon his shaft. Her lashes fluttered as she sank down and her quim clenched his member.
It felt as if her body had been made for this moment, for him. He made no movement, but his erection pulsed and flexed of its own accord, touching her most intimate places. She imagined being joined to him forever and doubted she would complain once.
He fondled a breast, kneading and rolling the supple flesh, before pinching and toying with the nipple, causing the tension between her thighs to throb. She tried to ease the pressure by kissing him harder.
Slowly, he pulled her hips toward him, grinding her groin to his. She moaned at the delicious sensations fanning through her loins. The yearning of the past several months compressed itself into the heat between her legs, the points of her breasts, the curl of her toes. With a rolling motion, he eased her up and down the length of his desire. When he transferred his hands to her breasts, she took over the motion of pumping herself atop him. His hands cupped her orbs and fondled them, building the pleasure within her. Unaccustomed to the exercise, her legs began to grow sore.
Tempting A Marquess for Christmas: A Steamy Regency Romance Book 5 Page 7
