“Really? You have?” Gilbert asked.
“I have. Her body is lovely, and so sensitive to my touch, Gilbert, I can melt her with the lightest caress.”
“Oh?” Intrigue and excitement tinged Gilbert’s tone. He was affecting him.
Joseph hid his amusement. “And you’ll appreciate this, Gilbert, knowing how much you love women’s breasts . . . Hers are perfect.”
“Perfect?” Gilbert asked.
“Perfect. She has the most beautiful tits you’ve ever seen. Unmarred, soft plump mounds with delicious pink nipples, made for a man’s mouth. The tastiest teats, a man can’t help but savor . . .”
Gilbert shifted. “Th-They’re that good?”
“Oh, yes. That good. And then there’s the blinding pleasure of being inside an untried, passionate woman, like Emilie. All that snug silky heat squeezing you so tightly, it makes you throb.”
Vincent cleared his throat. “Th-Throb? Really?”
“Yes, really. You never want to leave her honeyed sheath. The torture is sublime. One that you want to go on,” he said to Vincent, then turned to Gilbert, “and on . . .”
Smiling smugly, Joseph removed his arms from around his brothers and walked away, knowing he’d accomplished what he’d intended.
“Merde, Joseph.” Gilbert adjusted his stiff cock in his breeches.
Vincent shook his head, his prick just as stirred. “You did that on purpose.”
Joseph grinned. “An eye for an eye—for playing me earlier.” Talking about Emilie hadn’t been without a personal price. It had served to heighten his hunger. Hot excitement was rushing through his veins straight to his already engorged sex. “Now then, your clothes,” he said to his twin. Taking off his knee-length coat, he tossed it onto a nearby chair. “I have a beautiful woman waiting for me—whom I’m most anxious to enjoy.”
He wished it was no more than lust motivating his eagerness to see her. But there was an undercurrent of softer sentiment beneath the untamed need.
One he hadn’t yet mastered.
Or quieted.
7
Emilie waited. And wondered.
Uneasy.
She could make no sense of the kiss Vincent had given her. Crowds funneled through the corridor in both directions, and she was growing impatient for him to return.
Something was amiss. She wanted to know what. She had questions and wanted answers.
Glancing down the hall, she spotted him approaching through the throng. Or at least she thought it was him. He had on Vincent’s clothing but Joseph’s dark blue demi-mask.
It only added to her disquiet.
“Vincent, why are you wearing Joseph’s mask?” she asked the moment he neared.
He halted his advance, touched the mask, and shrugged. “I must have picked up the wrong one after speaking to him.”
It was the last thing he said before he shoved her hard against the wall and crushed his mouth to hers, snatching her breath from her lungs, his tongue possessing her mouth on her gasp. Her face trapped between his strong palms, he kissed her with dizzying intensity. Every nerve ending in her body leapt to life.
This was it . . .
The bud between her legs began to pulse, her questions dissolving as delicious raw hunger swamped her senses.
She laced her arms around his neck and held on to him during the maelstrom he caused with his powerful fiery kiss. Her nipples hardened and pressed against the inside of her chemise, eager for the carnal care he would bestow on them. She loved it when he touched them, what he did to them. What he did to her. She felt out of control, consumed by the yearning for him to fill that needy void between her legs. To feel that delicious stretching of her private muscles—bordering between pain and pleasure—as he fed her every delectable inch of his thick solid length.
“I need to fuck you,” he growled against her mouth. His blunt statement practically buckling her knees. “I need to fuck you right now.” In the hallway, with crowds of people moving about, he lifted her up against the wall, her toes barely touching the floor. She clung to his mouth, unwilling to relinquish it. She didn’t care about anything except feeding her starved senses—with the only man who knew how to. He rolled his hips, pressing his solid shaft against her throbbing clit with the perfect pressure. Her cry was muffled against his lips.
“You have one moment, possibly two, to tell me whether you want me to take you right here or in private. Choose!” he rasped, and lowered her back down onto her feet, purposely brushing her sensitized clit down the bulge in his breeches. She lost her breath, the sensation stunning, despite the clothing between.
He had her mouth again, the heat and hunger of each kiss intoxicating her, inciting her further, obliterating everything but his mouth. His body. Him. His enlarged sex was up against her belly holding her focus, making her sex ache and leak.
Vincent tugged at her bodice, undressing her. She felt it loosen. Suddenly sounds around her rushed into her ears.
Her eyes snapped open and she saw that some people had stopped and were watching from across the corridor. It unsettled her down to the marrow.
She pulled her mouth away and grasped Vincent’s hands, stilling them, her breathing quick and shallow.
“Private,” she said in earnest.
His eyes were darkened with desire, his breathing as rapid as hers. “Pardon?”
“In private.” She glanced over at those observing them from across the hall.
Vincent followed her gaze, tossing a look over his shoulder.
“Forget them.” He pulled his hands free from her grasp, dipped his head, and reclaimed her mouth. His clever fingers were at her bodice once more.
Old insecurities rushed in on her. And a ten-year-old memory loomed—one where she’d been the center of attention in the crowd. One that threatened the wonderful sexual excitement she felt. Emilie may have found the courage to reveal some of her body to Vincent, but she couldn’t do this in front of all of them.
She pulled back once more. “I can’t.” Not with those people watching.
He smiled. “Ma belle, you’re at one of the Comtesse’s gatherings. People do what they want wherever they want.”
“I can’t,” was all she could say, a lump starting to form in her throat.
Thankfully he didn’t argue or ask her to elaborate but simply took her hand and pressed a kiss to it. “Come with me.”
Vincent led her through the throng in the hallway, away from the voyeurs who instantly protested their leaving, and through the crowded Grand Salon, passing a number of couples engaged in heavy copulation. Some against walls, others in chairs and on various other items of furniture. Chatter, laughter, and sounds of pleasure filled the air.
Vincent pushed open the doors leading to the gardens.
The night air was fresh and warm. Emilie filled her lungs with it as she rushed along behind him, trying to keep up with his purposeful strides.
He’d cut a sharp right, walking along the perimeter of the château away from the groupings of people in the gardens. He didn’t stop until he’d rounded the corner of the grand abode.
The moonlight hardly reached this side of her aunt’s home. It was darker and secluded by the row of shrubs and bushes they’d slipped through.
Vincent ripped off his mask and tossed it to the grass, a smile on his seductive mouth. He pulled his justacorps off his strong shoulders and tossed that to the ground as well.
A fresh wave of arousal flooded her body.
“You’re not wearing your cloak, Emilie. That pleases me.” His long skillful fingers were undoing his vest.
She pulled off her mask and wig and threw them to the ground, her eyes fixed on the male perfection before her—slowly disrobing.
He tossed off his vest and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his breeches, his linen shirt still on.
“Are you wearing your caleçons?” The darkly seductive quality to his voice made her shiver.
“Perhaps.”
; He lifted a brow. “Perhaps? You’d better not be wearing your caleçons, Emilie. Or I’m going to have at that pert little derrière of yours before I have at your sweet sex.”
A thrill tickled down her spine. That sounded more appealing than deterring.
He took a step toward her. She took a playful step back, keenly aware of the slickness between her legs. She loved how he made her heart race and her blood warm. Everything he said, every look he gave her, made her feel wild and wicked. And beautiful. It was almost inconceivable. His effect on her was so potent, she wondered if she could ever satisfy her desire for this man with just one lifetime.
“Lift up your skirts and show me if you have your drawers on,” he said.
She felt so wonderful, it was difficult to keep a straight face. “That’s an order. And as I’ve said before, I don’t take orders.”
He bolted for her. She squeaked in surprise, grabbed her train, and ran. Vincent caught her around the waist in short order, and brought her down with him onto the soft grass.
The next thing she knew, he had both her wrists in one strong hand pinned to the ground above her head, his body half covering hers.
Staring up at his handsome face, she panted, not from the exertion of her run, but from his tantalizing proximity.
He smiled, and with his other hand grabbed a fistful of her skirts. “Now we’re going to see if you’ve been a good girl or a bad girl, Emilie.” Slowly, he dragged her skirts up her legs, the fabrics lightly brushing against her bare skin. When he’d pulled them to her hips, his smile broadened. “Ah now, there’s a pretty sight. No caleçons. Just soft blond curls . . . so very wet with your juices.” He cupped her.
Softly, she moaned, spread her legs a little farther, and arched into his warm palm.
“You want me to take you, don’t you, Emilie?” he said, caressing her sex with rhythmic strokes, but maddeningly they never reached as far as her throbbing bud.
“Oh, yes . . .”
She wiggled and arced, desperate for friction against her clit. With her wrists firmly pinned above her head in his hand, and his leg securely over hers, her movements were limited.
“I love it when you squirm,” he said. “It’s an arousing sight to behold, ma belle.”
He lightly flicked her clit, then returned to his previous long luscious caresses over her erogenous flesh. Her frustration erupted from her throat. She writhed and twisted, still trying to rub against his elusive palm.
He chuckled. “You want your clit rubbed, Emilie?”
“Yes!” Dear God, she was dying for it. He was driving her to the brink of insanity.
“Well, you have been very good . . . no cloak . . . no caleçons. I suppose I should reward you.”
“Good. Open your breeches and give me my reward.”
He laughed. “My, my. Aren’t we saucy.” He lowered his head and whispered in her ear, “That sounded like an order. I should tell you, I don’t take orders.”
He thrust three fingers into her. She cried out, the pleasure of being filled quivering up to the tips of her breasts.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this perfect snug sex.” He pumped his fingers in and out, each stroke sublime. “As eager as I am to ride you, I’m going to taste you first.”
He pulled his fingers out. She whimpered at the loss.
Holding her gaze, he brushed his slick fingers over her bottom lip, applying her essence to it. Stunning her. Before she could react, he lowered his head and licked the juices off, then crushed his mouth to hers and drove his tongue inside. He kissed her hungry and hard. She tasted herself and him in her mouth, his intensity making her head spin.
His hand was at her bodice, finishing the job he’d commenced in the corridor. Pulling and tugging with practiced haste until he’d opened her bodice. Then his hand and mouth were gone. She opened her eyes to find him kneeling between her legs, pressing his palms against the grass on either side of her head. “I’m going to remove the gown and the stays.”
Alarm shot through her.
He must have seen it. He brought his mouth down onto hers, his hand slipping inside her bodice, where he found her raised nipple and pinched it through her chemise. She cried out into his mouth, his perfect twists and tugs spiking her fever.
He broke the kiss. “You want to come, don’t you, Emilie?”
She closed her eyes and let her head loll to one side, the sensations at her breast echoing in her clit. “Yes.”
“The sooner we remove the gown and stays, the sooner that will happen.” He pinched the nipple, drawing another cry from her throat. “I’m going to make you come with my mouth. Then again with my cock.” Holding her nipple captive, he pulled her chemise down, tucked it under her other breast, and drew the excited tip into his hot mouth. The voluptuous sensations streaked from her breast down to her aching core. Her sex responded with a warm gush.
She was trembling with need, with uncertainty, her mind awhirl.
“Dieu. Every part of you tastes so good.” He released her breasts and gazed into her eyes. “I’ll leave you in your chemise, but this night the gown and the rest go. What say you, Emilie?”
“I . . . I don’t think—”
He pressed his fingers against her lips, silencing her. “You trust me, don’t you?”
She gave him a shaky nod.
“You don’t have to think . . . All you have to do is lie there just as you are, on your back, and enjoy,” he said, removing his fingers from her lips. “What say you, ma belle? The chemise remains. Will you let me remove the rest?” He cupped her breast and gently grazed his thumb across it. “Say yes . . .”
If she stayed on her back, he wouldn’t have access to the ugly marring.
She swallowed, her desperation to have him giving her the fortitude to push the word off her tongue. “Yes.”
His pleasure at her response showed on his face. Vincent wasted no time removing her gown, pulling the article off with her aid and very little trouble, and tossing it aside.
“If it gets ruined, I’ll buy you ten more,” he said, attacking her stays and discarding them with as much ease. He tucked the loosened neckline of her chemise under her breasts and pushed the hem up to her navel, then sat back on his heels.
“Ah, Emilie . . . you are so very beautiful,” he marveled.
Emotions tightened her throat. She couldn’t respond. She was grateful for whatever miracle brought this man to her.
He spread her folds and lightly scored his thumbs up and down her slick sex. “You look utterly delicious. A treat no man would pass up.” He lowered himself and nestled between her thighs.
Emilie braced for the thrill of his mouth.
Warm lips pressed against her inner thigh. She flinched on contact. He trailed light bites and hot kisses toward her sex, getting closer and closer. Her pulse racing, she tensed, knowing what he was about. This was something she’d told him she wanted in one of her letters. Had asked several questions about it after learning of it in one of her books, but never—ever—had she actually imagined it happening—with him.
He lowered his mouth onto her and gave her a luscious soft lick from her opening up to her throbbing bud, sending her arching off the grass with a cry.
“Emilie—” He reached up and toyed with her nipple until she focused her eyes on him. Her breathing was labored. “As much as I like your heated reactions, and they are delicious, ma belle, you’re going to stay very still for me and let me savor you.”
“Savor quickly.”
Amusement entered his eyes, despite the clear desire reflecting back at her. “Was that an order, Emilie, because I don’t take—”
“Please . . .” she quickly added. Damn him. He was toying with her when she was on the verge of expiring on the spot with lust.
“A plea for pleasure . . . That I can’t deny.” He lowered his dark head, eased his tongue inside her, and slowly drew it out. Sucking her. Kissing her. Licking her. The light sensations over her ultrasensitive
sex making her whimper. She fought not to squirm, not wanting to give him any reason to stop.
He licked around her clit. She fisted the grass and squeezed her eyes shut, sensing his next move. Waiting for it. Desperate for it. Her legs trembled near his shoulders.
He closed his mouth over her engorged bud. She bit back her wail of delight; her body jerked as he gave her soft steady sucks. Each pull of his mouth raced her closer to a powerful orgasm that was ever-nearing. Unstoppable. Barreling toward her. Then he lightly bit her.
Ecstasy exploded inside. She drove her hips up hard against his mouth, pleasure flooding her senses, her sex contracting in rhythm with her wild heart.
He continued to lap at her sex, her juices, cherishing her private flesh with an unfed hunger. Tirelessly enjoying her until she quieted, boneless, her legs leaden and sprawled apart.
She didn’t care if she was lying on the grass, exposed to him. She felt no shame. Just an overwhelming sense of bliss.
Vincent rose to his feet between her legs. Holding her gaze, he wiped his chin with the back of his hand, and licked his bottom lip clean of her essence.
“I love the way you taste,” he said with such raw hunger in his eyes, it sent a quiver through her womb. A surprising reaction given the magnitude of her climax.
She watched him strip off the remainder of his clothing, luxuriating in his strong chest, his rippled abdomen, her gaze moving all the way down to his large cock. It held her attention as he knelt down between her knees. Memories of his talents with that particular part of his male anatomy swirled through her system.
She sat up and reached for his shaft. Wrapping her fingers around its base, she stroked his sex up to the crest of his cock and back down—in the very way he’d described in his letter when she’d asked where and how men liked to be touched. He briefly closed his eyes.
“I want to taste you, Vincent.” She felt him tense.
Gently, he pulled her hand away from his prick and leaned into her, forcing her onto her back once more, and lowered himself on top of her. “Two things, Emilie. First, I don’t like the name ‘Vincent’ much. I don’t want to hear it during sex.”
The Princess in His Bed Page 18
