The Princess in His Bed

by Lila DiPasqua

  She was beginning to relax, her body yielding. Returning his heated kiss, growing hungrier.

  Shifting his body, he changed his angle and picked up the tempo. “Dieu, that feels good. So good. You feel that?” She concurred with a whimper. Her hips jerked up and down until at last she found her rhythm. If he could have smiled, he would have. He knew it wouldn’t take her long. She was too naturally, deliciously hot-blooded not to be swept up. She was made for a man’s pleasure. For his pleasure.

  You’re mine . . .

  Joseph hooked his arm under her knee and brought her leg up, his thrusts harder and faster now, making constant contact with her sensitive clit. “Page eight . . .” he murmured to her.

  She was frantic now, driving her hips up to meet each solid thrust, her body reaching for him again and again.

  “That’s it. That’s perfect,” he growled. The most glorious tremors rippled along the feminine muscles, gripping his thrusting cock. A bead of sweat rolled down his back.

  He could feel Emilie’s fingers digging into his shoulders, her sweet sex creaming around his cock, bathing his shaft. She was so slick, her essence trickled onto his sac. The sensation drove him wild. Seigneur Dieu. She was the sweetest fuck he’d ever had. He loved how perfect the passion was. How deliciously she’d submitted to it. To him. Her every sensual reaction unpracticed, untamed, and beyond her control. It was inebriating. It made his mind spin.

  She squeezed down around him, a groan erupting from his throat. She was on the edge of orgasm. He’d never emptied himself inside a woman, but with his sac so heavy with come and the need to let it go immense, he braced himself for her release.

  It came immediately. Her hips shot up with her scream, throwing her head back. He rammed her for all he was worth, riding her as she contracted around his prick, milking him. Barely able to hold back his orgasm, he wouldn’t pull out. Didn’t want to. He was gluttonous for more. Intent on remaining inside her as long as he could, he held on by sheer iron will.

  But then her body gave a squeeze and another final clench and his orgasm slammed into him, his semen bubbling up his sac and shooting down his cock. He barely pulled out in time, rearing onto his knees, just as hot blasts of come erupted out of him and onto her belly and thigh. Ecstasy flooded through him. He bellowed out his bliss as thick steady streams drained out of him in waves, melting his muscles with each powerful spurt of semen that shot from his prick.

  His release went on and on. He floated in euphoria, until he’d emptied his cock, until the final shuddering drop.

  On all fours, sucking in gulps of air, he looked down at her.

  Hair mussed, her lovely flaxen curls were fanned out haphazardly around her head. With her gown open at the front, he could see that a soft pink blush had colored her skin from her cheeks to her breasts. Her beautiful nipples still erect.

  She was a vision.

  The most gorgeous one he’d ever seen.

  She gazed back at him, a small smile on her face, and in her eyes he saw something akin to joy. Funny, but he was feeling much the same way. It had to be the incredible climax he’d just had that inspired the sentiment. In fact, he felt more than joy. He felt great. Better than ever. A unique sense of deep contentment he’d never known after sex seeped into his marrow.

  Joseph leaned down and gave her lush mouth a soft kiss. “Don’t move.” He snagged her caleçons, and wiped her belly and thigh clean. “You’re not going to need these anyway. Not for the rest of the week.” He smiled.

  It was only when he grabbed the base of his sex that he noticed it wasn’t coated with just her juices and his come. There were traces of blood. Her virginity. A sobering sight and a reminder of what had just happened. He’d claimed her maidenhead. Quickly he wiped himself clean, rose off the bed on shaky legs, and tossed the garment to the floor for the servants, hoping Emilie hadn’t seen the blood, concerned the sight might upset her.

  He didn’t want her to have any remorse over her lost innocence or regret over the tumble.

  He cleaned himself at the water basin then returned to the bed with a damp clean cloth.

  Stretching out beside her, he propped himself on one elbow and pressed the cool cloth to her sex. She flinched.

  “Tender?” he asked. He’d been too rough for her first time, but he couldn’t help it. She’d driven him wild.

  She caressed his cheek and kissed him. “I’m fine. I don’t care about the tenderness or the loss of innocence. Or for that matter, the blood you were trying to hide from me. I knew to expect it.” Of course she did. His enlightened virgin. The only virgin he’d ever paid any attention to, much less bedded.

  The only woman to hold his interest for a year. An unprecedented feat.

  “I shall cherish this experience, in fact, everything we do together as lovers this week,” she said. “I loved every moment of this night. And I’ve developed an immense fondness for page eight.” Her smile drew one from him as well.

  He lightly brushed the cloth over her clit, making her gasp. “There are other pages waiting to earn your regard.”

  She laughed. “And I look forward to them with great eagerness and anticipation.” She pressed her mouth to his once more. He returned her kiss. A long, languorous, delicious kiss.

  “Thank you,” she whispered against his lips. “You made my first experience wonderful. I’m glad it was you, Vincent.”

  Joseph flinched, the reality of the situation hitting him hard. She’d never know the man she’d been with was him. He could never tell her any more than he could reveal his other deceptions.

  And he hated it.

  Hated it that he’d be her lover for the rest of the week and she’d never once scream his name in pleasure. And he’d no idea why the notion bothered him at all. He and his brother had been switching places all of their lives—the boudoir included. They looked so much alike that, since childhood, even their nurse had had trouble telling them apart.

  This was the first time he’d ever pretended to be Vincent yet wanted to reveal the truth.

  But the truth would devastate her. Worse, it would diminish the encounter for her. He couldn’t stand that thought either.

  Because of what had happened between them tonight, it was more important than ever to maintain his ruse.

  Bedding her had complicated matters. And raised the stakes. The amount of pain he’d cause her if she learned the truth was even greater. Moreover, it had done nothing—absolutely nothing—to sate his lust for her. This sampling of Emilie had only increased his hunger.

  She snuggled closer; the scent of lavender caressed his senses. Silky blond curls brushed his jaw as she trailed warm kisses down his neck, her soft breasts pressing against his bare chest. Joseph closed his eyes and pulled her tightly into his arms.

  He wanted her again. Had to have her again.

  There was no way he could resist her and walk away now.

  There was no way he’d let Vincent or any man here have her until he’d had his fill.

  And he had mere days to get it. He wouldn’t continue the affair beyond the week.

  5

  “Good morning.” Emilie walked into her aunt’s private apartments the next day smiling and sat down at the table with Pauline and Marthe in the antechamber. Her presence in the room had effectively silenced the two older women’s bickering. Arguing that could be heard from the hallway.

  The subject of their argument was Emilie. As always. But she was in too fine a mood to be aggravated.

  A servant stepped forward to pour her a goblet of water with orange slices. Reaching for the crystal vessel, Emilie brought it to her lips and stopped short when she saw the looks of shock on her mealtime companions’ faces.

  “Is there something amiss?” she asked and took a sip.

  “Why, Emilie . . .” Marthe began. “You’re not wearing a cloak.”

  “And it isn’t morning. It’s midday,” her aunt was quick to point out.

  Emilie motioned the servant to place two sl
ices of ham on her plate as well as a hearty portion of mutton. Normally she didn’t much care for mutton and gravy, but she was famished. She’d yet to break the fast.

  “I’m afraid I slept in,” she said to her aunt and to Marthe. “I don’t believe I need a cloak today, dear Marthe. It’s rather warm.” As a habit, she’d placed one on earlier, but even the lightest of the lot felt heavy and cumbersome. She’d walked out of her rooms in simply her gown, feeling light and free and entirely different. Thanks to Vincent. She even felt . . . well, pretty.

  He’d made her feel desirable. He’d made her feel desire, delicious and pure. He’d made her feel like a woman. Whole. Undamaged. Not for a moment in his arms did she feel in any way less than any other female. She hadn’t had to hide her identity. He wanted her. Just as she was. And that alone made it impossible to deny what she’d been trying to suppress for many months. She was in love with him. Rather hopelessly, actually.

  She wasn’t naïve enough to think Vincent was going to propose marriage or that his affections ran as deeply as hers.

  The prudent thing to do in this situation was to guard her vulnerable heart and leave promptly, sparing herself the anguish it was going to be to part with him at the end of the week. With certainty, the longer she stayed with him, the greater the heartache.

  But she refused to leave—heartache be damned. She wouldn’t deprive herself of the opportunity to be with him. That way, in her old age she couldn’t bemoan how she’d missed out on an incredible week, on creating cherished memories—all because she’d lacked the courage to face the heartbreak and had run.

  Vincent had kept her up until the early-morning hours making love. She wouldn’t deny herself more of the same. Heated memories flitted through her mind. She felt her nipples harden and her heart dance. There was a delicious soreness to her private muscles that reminded her of the magical night she’d had—one that hadn’t required any make-believe at all.

  Cutting into the ham, Emilie looked up.

  Pauline’s surprise was turning into a large grin, Marthe’s astonishment quickly becoming horror.

  “You had a man last night,” they said in chorus.

  Emilie glanced over at the elderly servant. The man looked ancient and perhaps hard of hearing, but still . . . She was hesitant to speak.

  Her aunt impatiently waved the servant away. Only when he’d gone did she place her hand on Emilie’s arm. “It was the man outside in the corridor, wasn’t it?”

  Emilie couldn’t suppress her smile. “It was.”

  “I want to hear everything!” Pauline beamed.

  Marthe shook her head. “I want to hear none of it.”

  “Hush, Marthe.” Her aunt patted Emilie’s arm. “Did your lover please you, chérie?”

  Emilie’s smile broadened. “He did. Immensely.” He did more than please her. Seeing herself through his eyes had bolstered the confidence she’d lost in herself. Had made her heart soar.

  Jubilation erupted out of Pauline with a joyful squeak. “Ah, this is wonderful!”

  “Wonderful? She gives herself to a nameless man, forfeiting her—”

  “Not another word,” Pauline cut off Marthe’s rant. Her aunt’s smile returned as she gazed at Emilie. “Look at her. She’s lovely—all aglow after a night of passion. She has needs and longings, just like any woman—except you, Marthe. It isn’t right or healthy for her to remain secluded. Or deprived of physical love. It’s the most wonderful thing in the world. And yet women are too often denied, trapped in unsatisfying marriages. While men have their mistresses, most of them openly, without discretion, a woman must be discreet if she takes a lover or abstain all together. Society tries to discourage women from indulging our physical yearnings while men are encouraged to satisfy theirs. It is because of this terrible injustice I have these gatherings. Women know they can come here, regardless of their circumstance, and are safe to partake. Without judgment. And with complete anonymity.”

  “Yes, quite the charitable work you’re doing,” Marthe injected blandly.

  Pauline ignored her and continued, her smile still in place. “I am delighted you tasted passion with a skilled lover, chérie.”

  “Thank you, Aunt.” Emilie looked at Marthe. “He was not nameless, Marthe. I knew exactly who he was.”

  “Yes, we both do! I recognized him immediately, despite the mask. Some men are just so sinfully potent, they stand out of the crowd,” Pauline said. “Marthe, I’ll have you know that our darling Emilie was with none other than one of the Duc de Vernant’s very handsome sons.”

  At that, Marthe’s posture straightened, her eyes widening. “You were? A member of the house of Alumbert?”

  “Yes, it’s true.” Emile confirmed. Her smile had yet to leave her face. She could hardly wait to see him again, her body famished for his touch. His mouth. His body inside hers.

  She didn’t know a man could give a woman so much joy and pleasure.

  “I must say, I was rather surprised who you selected, chérie, but”—Pauline shrugged—“if he pleased you, then I am pleased.”

  “Who was it?” Marthe asked. “Which one? Gilbert?”

  Emilie laughed. “No, not him. I was with—”

  “Joseph,” Pauline responded.

  “Vincent,” Emilie quickly corrected her aunt.

  Pauline frowned. “Vincent? Really? Are you certain?”

  “Of course I’m certain. Vincent and I have been corresponding for the last year. I know him quite well.”

  “She’d never be with Joseph d’Alumbert,” Marthe added. “Or any of his equally unappealing friends—who hang on his every word and follow him about as if he were the King himself. He may be the heir to a duchy but he and his companions are a horrid lot.”

  Pauline still looked confused. “I was so certain that was Joseph . . .”

  “Well, it wasn’t, rest assured,” Emilie said. “I couldn’t agree with Marthe’s opinion more.”

  “Yes, why do you permit such men here?” Marthe asked. “Especially after the way they treated Emilie.”

  Pauline stiffened. “I may not like the man or his friends, but you know as well as I do that one does not forbid a member of the Duc de Vernant’s family from attending any gathering.”

  It was true. Doors were flung open for the Duc’s heir and those he favored. It felt wonderfully empowering to turn down one of Joseph’s friends last eve—his mask unable to conceal his boorish manners. He was easily recognized.

  Just one of the many who had behaved so heartlessly that night years ago.

  Imagine how delightful it would be to rebuff Joseph—just as she’d done to his friend?

  While she was here, she wouldn’t deny herself that experience either. It was time someone brought him down a notch. Or two. She wasn’t going to run or hide from Joseph or anyone. Anymore. Given the sheer abundance of decadent behavior and enthusiasm as people roamed about looking for their next carnal diversion, she was sure to run into Joseph.

  It was inevitable.

  She’d look him in the eye. And give him the cut.

  “Wake up.” Gilbert gave Joseph a jarring shake.

  Joseph sat bolt upright, startled out of a deep sleep. He’d been dreaming of a sweet seductress with flaxen hair, captivating moss green eyes, and the most divine lips—as enchanting as the princesses in the fables he’d been told as a child.

  Only this princess was in his bed. She belonged to him. Gave herself to him, wanted only him, engulfed him in the most sublime passion he’d ever tasted.

  But the fair princess had been torn from his sight only to be replaced by Gilbert’s face.

  Joseph frowned. “What the hell are you doing here?” He raked a hand through his hair.

  “Well, good day to you, too, dear brother. I see you’re in a good mood. You could show some gratitude, you know. I could have let you sleep and miss out on the afternoon and evening festivities. I’ve been at the Basset table all afternoon. Strip Basset.” Gilbert grinned. “I won. Jose
ph, you should have been there. A woman with the finest tits you’ve ever seen sat—”

  Joseph grabbed a fistful of Gilbert’s justacorps and yanked him closer. “What do you mean ‘miss out on the afternoon and evening festivities’? What time is it?”

  Releasing Gilbert, Joseph glanced past his brother at the tall windows. By the low summer sun, he realized the day was old.

  “It’s almost supper time, but if you hurry, you can squeeze in some amusements beforehand—”

  “Merde.” He’d been with Emilie until almost dawn. After their delicious night of ecstasy, of sexual excess, he’d slept so deeply, so soundly. And for so damned long. None of this would have happened if she’d let him stay. He was certain that with her by his side, he would have awakened once she stirred.

  After sex, he normally left, and yet last eve he’d had no desire to leave her side. A first. She’d turned him away—albeit ever so sweetly. Another first. He usually departed the boudoir with the woman begging him to remain. But he knew why she’d refused.

  It was too uncomfortable to sleep in her gown and she wasn’t ready to remove it for him. He’d decided not to press her. He’d coax the gown and the rest of her clothing off her soon enough. Tremendous strides had already been made in the few short hours they’d been together. He’d seen her blossom sexually before his eyes, her inhibitions lower.

  Adorable yet mouthwateringly sensuous Emilie de Sarron had matched his ardor throughout the night—inciting the sweetest heat no man could resist.

  He was hard at the thought of being back in her silky sex, all warm and wet and fisted so tightly around him.

  “Since you’re up, I’ll return to the amusements below. Why leave Vincent to have all the fun.”

  Joseph’s heart lurched. “Vincent?” His brother’s name tumbled from his lips on a breath.

  Gilbert smoothed his justacorps. “Yes. Vincent. Your twin. Remember him? I haven’t seen him in hours. No doubt he’s found the lady with the cloak he’s been looking for and is enjoying some rapturous delights as we speak.” Gilbert smiled.