by Alyson Chase
The blood boiling beneath his skin shot south when Liz bent over and lifted the hem of her skirts. It took him a second to notice the small wad of papers laced to her pale thigh. She loosened the knot of her stocking and pulled out his letter. “I couldn’t give it to him. I’m sorry I took it, but I couldn’t give it to him.”
He made sure all the pages were there, and tucked it into his breast pocket. “Who? Westmore?”
She stared at a point at his feet. “You know.” Her voice was emotionless. Hopeless.
“I know,” he said grimly. “What I don’t know is why. Were you that greedy for money, Liz?” He barked out a harsh laugh. “I don’t even know if that’s your real name.”
She grabbed his sleeve. “It is. Miss Elizabeth Wilcox. Wilcox, not Smith. I didn’t lie about my given name, just—”
“Just everything else.”
She jutted her chin up. “Yes, and given what I knew, I’d do so again. I thought I was stealing shipping information from you. And even though I know that was wrong, I’d steal the crown jewels if I had to. But when I read what was actually in that letter . . .”
“You read the contents?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Dangerous information to know.”
“Yes,” she repeated. She firmed her jaw, her lips hard.
He traced those lips with his eyes. Even knowing what he did, he still desired her. She looked like the same Liz. Like his Liz. Still smelled of soap and sweet woman. His body was drawn to hers, an ocean to her moon.
Shoulders bunching beneath his coat, he placed the lamp on the wood coat shelf next to the door. “Why?” His voice sounded vulnerable to his own ears, and he cursed himself for the weakness. But he had to know. “Why did you do it?”
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. When she opened them again, the tears shimmering on her lower lids flayed him. “For my sister. She’s in Newgate. Westmore said he could get her released.” She sighed. “If I worked for him.” She pressed away from the door, but Marcus slapped both hands on the wood behind her, keeping her pinned. He needed to know all of it.
She sank back. “Mandy, my sister, she killed our father. He deserved it. He was . . . hurting her at the time. You have to believe that.” She tangled her fingers around a button on his coat. The heat from her hand sank through his clothes and soothed the furious beat of his heart.
He covered her hand with his own. “I believe you.” He couldn’t think about what her father must have done right now. That would be a conversation for later.
“The court wouldn’t accept my sister’s testimony, wouldn’t hear any evidence against my father. The jury convicted her and the judge sent her to Newgate, but she hasn’t been sentenced yet. The judge is in Westmore’s pocket. If I did this last job for him, stole your letter, he’d tell the judge to sentence her to time already served. If I don’t . . . She’s been sitting in prison for the past year.” Her eyes shone in the lamplight. “I have to get her out. I’d do almost anything. But I couldn’t give Westmore that letter. He’s a traitor.” Astonishment colored her voice, as though the breed were as rare as a purple elephant, and Marcus almost smiled.
Damn, she was adorable. He bent down and kissed the tip of her nose. She blinked at him in surprise. She also wasn’t a traitor. Relief pulsed through him, making him feel so light he was surprised he didn’t float to the ceiling. She had flirted very close to the edge of treason, but with the letter back safely in his control, her actions need never be brought to light.
After he dealt with Westmore, he could return to his plans, make Liz his mistress. His eyes narrowed. It wasn’t optimal. His stomach clenched uncomfortably at the thought of hiding Liz away. But it would have to do.
Her sweet scent of soap and woman teased his senses, drawing his attention back down to her. Tension strained her face.
He cupped her jaw, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. “I’ll speak to the Lord Chancellor, see what I can do to get your sister released.”
She turned her face into his touch. “Thank you. But that’s not good enough. She doesn’t have time to wait for the wheels of justice to slowly turn. Now that I’ve betrayed Westmore, Amanda may only have days. I have a plan to secure her release tomorrow. So long as you don’t have me arrested, I’ll have her out by dinnertime.”
He leaned into her, pressed her back against the door. Her nipples hardened beneath her thin cotton dress and frayed spencer, the points rubbing against his chest. Lust coiled low in his gut. His balls grew heavy at her sharp intake of breath. His body recognized Liz as his mate, and his cock strained towards her, wanting contact with his woman.
His desire almost distracted him from her words.
“Of course I’m not having you arrested,” he growled. “But we have to discuss this plan of yours. Whatever it is, it’s no longer necessary. I’ll take care of it.”
She lifted onto her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. “We could discuss it, if you’d like. Or”—she flicked her tongue out and ran the tip up his throat—“we could do other things.”
“I’ve created a harlot.” Her teeth nipped at his earlobe, and he groaned. “If you’re trying to distract me, woman, it’s working.”
Her lips curved against his neck, and his heart lurched. He wanted to spend his life making this woman smile. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and frowned at the smear of dirt he found, at the possibilities of how it got there. “What—”
She wrapped one leg around his hip and ground into him.
His mind emptied. Cupping his hands under her pert arse, he lifted her so she cradled his erection fully. With her back steady against the door, Marcus rocked his hips into her, reveling in her heat, her soft moan. He ached for this woman.
And he couldn’t wait one more second to have her.
Chapter Twenty
His fingers fumbled in her skirts, and Marcus shoved the fabric aside. With two sharp tugs, he tore the front of her drawers for unfettered access. Cock throbbing painfully against his smallclothes, he was seconds from exploding. He needed to take a step back, get control over himself. Figuratively at least. There was no way he was separating his body from hers.
He rested his cheek against her temple and tried to rein in his heaving chest. He wouldn’t take her like a beast, over and done with no thought to her pleasure. The way he was feeling now he wouldn’t last two minutes.
Focusing on her, her responses, he stroked his hand from her hip up to cup her soft breast, the slight weight a pleasant balm. He flicked his thumb at the tight bud, leaned in to brush his lips across hers. He lightly pinched the tip and, when she opened her mouth in a gasp, plunged his tongue between her lips.
So sweet. Hot. He licked around her teeth and suckled the tip of her tongue, wanting to devour her in one bite. He increased the pressure of his fingers on her nipple until she began to wiggle. Drawing back, Marcus saw the dazed look in her eyes. His lungs expanded to their bursting point. He did that to her. She responded that way for him.
Reaching around to the back of her neck, Liz started tugging at the buttons that ran down her back. “Marcus, please . . . I need you.”
There was no way he was waiting to undress her. Unless he tore the clothes off her body there wasn’t enough time. He clasped her hands in one of his, and pressed them to the wood above her head. He took her lips while his other hand skimmed under her skirts, along her inner thigh. Swallowing her moan, he parted her folds with one thick finger and pushed into her core.
The smooth glide almost undid him. She was wet. So damn wet. Pushing deeper, he searched for the spongy ball of flesh that lay inside, and added a second finger.
Liz jerked her mouth from his, her chest heaving. “Oh God. Marcus. Please.”
“Shh.” He nuzzled her one clean ear, licked around the rim. Whispering, he said, “You were very bad, Liz, running away from me like that. Not telling me of the trouble you’re in.” He circled his thumb around the tight bundle of nerves at th
e apex of her thighs, never ceasing the plunging of his fingers. Her slick flesh clutched at him.
“Very bad.” Dragging his hand from her body, he smiled at her whine of protest. He brought his fingers to her lips, painted them with the evidence of her own desire. Her scent invaded his senses, clouded his mind, and his cock ached.
He traced the outline of her lips with his tongue, licking her essence into his mouth. “Because you’ve been bad, I’m going to take you against this wall. Hard.” He jerked his groin into hers to emphasize his point, grinding his erection into her heat, losing his mind. “This is for me. Your body, it’s all for me.”
Not wanting any separation but needing to read her eyes, he pulled back enough to see her face. “Do you understand, Liz? Do you want this, too? I’m going to take you, how I want, for my pleasure, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Tell me yes.”
His voice made it sound like a demand, but they both knew it was a question. One whose answer had the power to destroy him. His breath came in short bursts. His eyes searched every inch of her expression, desperate to read the answer he wanted. He needed her to give herself to him, put her body in his hands.
His hand at her wrists trembled, and he prayed she didn’t know that he was a hairbreadth’s distance away from losing control. It had never been like this for him. His desires weren’t commonplace, which was why he’d frequented an establishment such as the Black Rose. He reveled in commanding a woman’s body, her pleasure, inflicting that slight hint of pain that drove her need higher. But it had been a game, a diversion. Meaningless of anything except meeting a base need.
Until Liz. Making this woman his in every way was now his sole focus. This wasn’t playacting like with Madame Sable’s girls. This was real. This was for life.
“Say yes, damn it.” He barely recognized his voice.
Her skin glowed golden in the lamplight. Luminous, she appeared lit from within. Her eyes glittered like diamond-studded coal, and her chest heaved against his, her pebbled nipples making him throb each time they brushed against him.
She wanted him. Her body made that clear. The way she looked at him said that she just might love him. And didn’t that make Marcus want to shout with joy, before dragging her to the floor and rutting her like a beast. He knew if he took her as he wanted she wouldn’t object. But he wanted more than a passive acquiescence.
His lips hovered over hers. “Say yes,” he said softly.
Her pupils flicked back and forth between his eyes. When she nodded, her nose brushed against his. Sparks of elation shot through his body. She was his.
“Yes.” She brushed her lips across his once before sinking back against the wall, into his hold. Her eyes crinkled at the edges, a soft smile curling her lips. The look she gave him was knowing, seductive. She took his breath away with that one word. And then she waited. For him.
His body was one raging nerve. His skin so tight, he was surprised it didn’t burst through his clothing. Mastering his expression, he pierced her with his stare, like she was a butterfly pinned to his board. “Keep your hands up. Do not move them.”
She dipped her head, and he removed his hand from her wrists, pausing to make sure they remained where he’d instructed. Satisfied, Marcus brought both hands to lightly encircle her neck, his thumbs stroking the dark bruises marring the creamy flesh.
He packaged the rage that flared in him and stored it away in another compartment. He would deal with that bastard later. He dragged his hands down her spencer, unbuttoning it and pushing the sides wide. His touch roamed over her bodice, the cotton pulling beneath his fingers. He paused at her breasts, unable to pass those by without a firm squeeze, another twist to her nipple.
She bit her plump bottom lip, and stifled a groan. Marcus swept his hands down to her hips, jerking her flush against him. “Stop biting your lip,” he ordered. “No more teeth or nails digging into your sweet skin.” A small line creased between her eyebrows, but she released her lip.
He pulled her bottom even farther from the door, giving her back a delicious arch as she kept her wrists planted to the wood. He swatted at her arse, knowing the spank would be only a light tap through her skirts, but determined to make his point. “From now on, only I get to punish you. Understand?”
Her pupils were so large, he thought that he could drown in the inky pools. She nodded, but she didn’t understand, not really. Her guilt consumed her, blinding her to the truth. His little bird didn’t need punishing. She was far too close to perfect to ever do real wrong. That was one thing he hoped to show her, how good she truly was. What she did need was the release, the relief of letting go and giving the reins to someone else.
To him, he amended. Only to him. That was something he would be only too happy to take from her.
Desperate now, he fumbled with the buttons to his trousers and opened one side of his falls, shoving his clothes far enough down his hips to allow his cock to spring free. He pulled her skirts back up, too damn many skirts, and his shaft automatically notched at her entrance. It knew where it belonged.
Her hands slid down the door an inch. “Keep them up,” he growled. Her arms must be getting tired, and he would help her. He would. Just as soon as—
Gripping her bottom, he lifted her up, and thrust home, pushing deep past the tight muscles, past the limits of his sanity. They groaned together. He pressed her tight to the door, using the leverage to plow so deeply into her, he lost track of where he ended and she began.
“Marcus . . .”
Her arms were still up, but bent at the elbows, her hands crossed on top of her head. Her eyes were closed, her face slack, and if it weren’t for the sporadic twitches of her hot sheath around his cock he might have thought her indifferent. Knowing she wasn’t going anywhere, speared by his cock, he moved his grip from her hips, grabbed each of her hands. Tangling their fingers together, he pinned them back into place over her head.
“Wrap your legs around me.” He eased out of her heat an inch and thrust back in, the door behind her knocking against its frame. She raised her eyelids to half-mast. When her thighs encircled his hips, he drove even deeper, the aching head of his cock grazing the entrance to her womb.
“Oh God.” She levered up an inch away from him, and dug her small white teeth into her bottom lip. Neither of those would he allow.
Grasping both her hands in his left, he brought his right hand back to her hip, his fingers digging into the soft cotton of her dress. He held her steady for his next stroke, made it impossible for her to escape that bite of pain, the slow build of pleasure. His mouth found hers, ravaging her lips, forcing his tongue deep into every corner. She whimpered, but the flood of liquid heat coating his throbbing cock told him everything he needed to know.
She was his. She couldn’t deny him as much as he couldn’t imagine living without her. He would make her safe. He pounded into her again, the silky glide of her pussy driving him wild.
He would find a way to help her sister. He’d find a way to keep her by his side. Tugging on her lip, he bit down until Liz moaned. He wrapped his arm around her waist and held her tight. And he would destroy Westmore for daring to put his hands on her. Her sheath tightened around him like a vise, and Marcus stopped thinking.
The rattle of her back on the door matched the raging beat of his heart. His world telescoped to the pleasure flooding his groin, and the woman surrounding him. He ignored the angry pounding on the wall, a neighbor yelling for them to keep it down. All he heard were her broken moans, the whimpers of her pleasure. The soft sucking when he withdrew, and the louder slaps of flesh meeting flesh as his body plunged back into hers. And above all that, the roar of his blood coursing through his veins.
He was so close. So was she. He needed to hold off. A little. Bit. Longer. His balls drew up tight. Marcus fought the prickling sensation that wanted to explode through him. “Come for me, Liz.” His thrusts became uneven, frantic. “Damn it, get there.”
She writhed in his arms. He
couldn’t hold back any longer, the need too great. He groaned and dropped his head to the crook of her shoulder. The burn gathered low in his balls. Her slick sheath clamped down on his cock, hard. He raggedly jerked his hips into her as his orgasm shot up through his shaft, undiluted pleasure flooding his entire body.
Liz screamed her release, her voice hoarse. Warmth radiated throughout Marcus’s body until even the tips of his fingers tingled. He was destroyed by his body’s response. It had never been this good. Christ, it was Liz who slayed him. At that moment, he’d give her anything, even his heart on a platter if she asked for it.
He pressed deeply into her, her throbbing walls milking streams of hot cum from him. It felt like it would never end. He bit the tender spot where her neck joined her shoulder and gave one last hard thrust.
She moaned. “Marcus . . .” Slumping forward, her body sagged into his, her legs slipping from his hips. Grabbing her around the waist, Marcus slid to the floor, keeping her pinned to his lap, the last considered action he could make before his own body shut down.
They gasped for breath, chests heaving together as one. Liz knelt astride him, her head resting on his shoulder, her fingers entwined in his shirt’s cuffs. He rubbed one hand up and down her back, barely feeling her beneath his numb fingers. Everything was numb, from his toes to his eyeballs.
He smiled against the crown of her head. He was completely spent, but it wouldn’t take long to want her again. They were more than good together. “Magnificent” didn’t even cover it. He supposed when you loved someone bed sport was more than a mere joining of bodies.
He must be far gone. His heart didn’t even skip a beat at the word “love.” It was something he’d never expected to experience. It didn’t fit into his duties as duke. It was impractical. Improbable.
