The Lovely Duckling (Fiery Tales Book 8)

by Lila DiPasqua

  “No, wait.” Her hand shot out.

  Joseph released the hem immediately. She sat up, took a deep breath, then to his delight, grasped handfuls of fabric and began sliding the gown up her legs, pulling the voluminous layers up to her belly. Bunching the fabrics against her, she reached down for the ties on her caleçons.

  Riveted, his gaze followed the actions of her nimble fingers as she loosened the ties, slipped the linen drawers off her bottom, and slid them down her legs. He grabbed hold of them when they reached her knees and pulled them off the rest of the way. She still had her stockings on, but he didn’t care. He was transfixed by the lovely—unmarred—skin above her knees and the small patch of dark blond curls he could see between her legs, just below the fabrics of her skirts.

  Wrapping his fingers around her ankles, he bent her knees, setting her feet down on the bed well apart. “Don’t close your knees,” he said when he saw them drifting together. “Lie back.”

  Clearly growing bolder, she only hesitated for a moment or two before acquiescing, though she watched his every move.

  Her sex was open to him for his viewing pleasure. She was wet for him, her opening dripping with her essence, making her pretty pink flesh glisten and the light-colored curls between her legs damp with her juices.

  Lightly, he grazed his fingers between the warm slick folds. With a cry, she all but lifted off the bed. She was so ripe for the taking. So primed, a few strokes over her clit would send her into orgasm.

  And he refused to do it. She was going to come with him inside her first.

  Leaning over her, he pressed his palm on the mattress near her head. His other hand gently massaged her soaked sex, not enough to make her come, just enough to keep her focus there and feed the fever. “You want to come for me, don’t you, Emilie?” This little virgin knew exactly what he was talking about. In her letters, she’d boldly asked him a dozen questions about sexual climax.

  Fisting the coverlet, she closed her eyes with a moan and arched into his hand. Her nipples were an appealing distraction. They were jutting out, needing to be kissed and sucked again.

  “Answer me, Emilie.”

  “Yes! Yes, I want to … come.”

  He slid a finger inside her. She gasped and squirmed. He groaned.

  A single digit was all he had in her and it was firmly clasped in her hot satiny sheath, the tight sensation mind-numbing. His cock twitched with anticipation. He couldn’t wait to have her. If she hadn’t been a virgin, he would have been buried to the hilt by now. Joseph eased his finger out and slid two back in. She squirmed a little harder as he gently stretched her. Sweat broke out on his brow.

  “Please … I need …” Her words melted into a whimper when he withdrew his fingers.

  He knew exactly what she needed. He needed a fucking release, too. He’d never needed any woman this badly, but her damned virginity couldn’t be forgotten. Intent on stretching her tight little sheath beforehand, he wanted to minimize her discomfort, hurt her as little as possible when he entered her. “I’ll let you come very soon. I swear it.”

  He lowered himself beside her and swooped in for a kiss, devouring her lush mouth. Penetrating her with his tongue. He feasted on her taste, forcing her mouth to open wider to accommodate his possession. His hand was back to caressing her sex, wet silky folds he couldn’t stop touching, letting his palm lightly scrape over her clit on occasion, purposely giving her a constant spike of sensations. Throwing her arms around his neck, she mewed with each rhythmic stroke, her legs now sprawled open on the bed, no longer bent or tense.

  Just the way he liked it.

  He slid three fingers into her. With a lurch, she recoiled and tried to squirm away, but with his body half covering hers, and the material to her skirts caught under him, she didn’t get far. Pushing and pulling his fingers in and out, he turned to her nipple and drew it into his mouth, taking her focus away from the intrusion of his hand, to the sensations of his tongue. He continued to work her with his fingers, with his mouth, until he had her arching to him once more and moaning loudly. Three fingers didn’t come close to how thick he was at the moment, but it was going to have to be enough, because he’d reached the end of his rope.

  Pulling his hand out, he slid his slick fingers down his cock, coating it with her cream for easy penetration. He was so far gone, he wasn’t certain how gentle he’d be.

  He was on her in an instant, pinning her down, spreading her thighs with his knees.

  “Say you want me to take you,” he demanded, wedging his cock against her opening, his chest heaving with the exertion it took not to give in to the lure of her wet sex and drive into her.

  “I want you, Vinc—” He crushed his mouth to hers, silencing her with a hot hard kiss. Jésus-Christ. His brother’s name was the last thing he wanted to hear from her lips at the moment.

  “Tell me you want the man you exchange letters with. The one who knows you better than any other man. Tell me you want that man. He’s the one you want to surrender to.” What the hell was he doing? Why did any of this matter a whit? Especially now. She’s begging to be taken. He should be fucking her. Forget the rest!

  “Yes … you’re the one I want,” she said.

  He had her mouth, his kiss a mix of savage hunger and alarming desperation.

  There was no easy way to do this except quickly. Joseph plunged into her.

  Hot pleasure roared through him; a cry erupted from her. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. The pressure around his cock was spine-melting, his thickened prick pulsing sharply inside the tight confines of her cunt. The sweetest torture.

  Emilie’s face was buried in his neck, her arms squeezing him fiercely.

  “Are you all right?” he said in her ear, his voice more a rasp than a whisper. He felt her nod. Sweet little liar. Her body was rigid and tense. She wasn’t all right.

  “Try to relax. Almost there.” He was halfway.

  At that, her head jerked up. “Almost?”

  He withdrew a little, and then drove back in, this time sinking his cock completely. She bit her lip and gave a strangled cry.

  Pure pleasure exploded through his senses.

  Nothing in heaven could be finer than this. He’d never been inside any woman who felt this good. Never experienced the intense sensations radiating up his cock. He reared then slowly tunneled back into the snug honeyed heat. The friction along the sensitive underside of his cock was magnificent. He thrust in again, and again, the most stunning sensations flooding through him. It took him several moments before he noted her body drawn up tight; he could tell she was holding her breath. “Look at me, Emilie,” he said.

  She looked up at him, her eyes watery.

  Joseph brushed an errant curl off her soft cheek, slowing down his pace. “It’s done, ma belle. Breathe through it. The discomfort will pass. There’s only pleasure from now on.” He kissed her luscious mouth and gave her perfect sheath more strokes of his cock, fighting back his release, basking in the vast pleasure of each plunge and drag.

  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 over and over 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 surrendered 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. The sudden clench tore a groan from his throat. She was on the edge of orgasm. He’d never emptied himself inside a woman, but with his sac so full of come and the need to let go so 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.

  Then her body gave him a squeeze, followed by another final clench and his orgasm slammed into him. Semen bubbled up from his sac and shot down his cock. He barely pulled out in time, rearing onto his knees, fisting the counterpane with both hands near her head, just as hot blasts of come erupted out of him and onto her belly and thigh. Ecstasy washed through him. He bellowed out his bliss, purging his cock in thick steady streams, his muscles melting with each powerful spurt that pour from his prick.

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

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

  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 were 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 stark 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 encounter.

  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, despite his best intentions, but he couldn’t help it. She’d driven him into practical delirium.

  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 will 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. He would give her everything she wanted and more this week. He’d make her see in herself what he saw in her—that she was gorgeous and extraordinary. Then he’d back away at week’s end.

  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.

  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 in attendance at this gathering have her.

  He had mere days to get his fill of Emilie so he wouldn’t long for her afterward. He wouldn’t continue the affair beyond the week.

  Chapter Five

  “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 slices 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 of 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.”