The Lovely Duckling (Fiery Tales Book 8)

by Lila DiPasqua

  “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. Then 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 sharp pleasure in her sheath 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 drew his slick fingers across 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 mewed into his mouth, his perfect twists and tugs spiking her fever.

  He broke the kiss. “You want more pleasure, 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 a soft 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 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’s 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.

  His gaze moved over her body, slowly taking in every inch of her.

  “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 knew 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 soft luscious 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 melted her mind. She was racing closer and closer to a powerful orgasm. 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 though 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.”

  Before she could comment on his rather absurd statement, he stroked his cock along her wet folds, and grazed her clit, making her gasp.

  “Second,” he continued. “As much as I’d love to have my cock in that beautiful mouth—and I most definitely will next time—I have to get back inside that slick tight sheath of yours. Now.” He lodged himself at her entrance and pushed.

  She lost her breath the moment the crest of his shaft slipped inside her. A groan rumbled out of his chest, and reverberated through he
r. He bore down on her, deliciously forcing her sex to stretch as he fed her his length a glorious inch at a time. His slow and steady possession incited a fresh, fierce hunger.

  “Christ, I love how you’re even tighter after an orgasm.” His voice was hoarse.

  He withdrew, and just as he was sliding back in, she became impatient and jerked her hips upward, forcing the head of his cock to collide with her womb, making them both gasp.

  He growled her name and buried his face in her hair, his labored breaths matching her own, warming her neck. Softly he said, “You feel so good … I’m throbbing so hard.”

  So was she. Her feminine walls pulsed around his large thick cock.

  Lightly, he bit her earlobe then the sensitive spot under her ear. “Lovely Princess Emilie, you are an enchantress … and more heaven than any mortal man has the right to.” He began to slide in and out of her.

  She laced her arms around him.

  She didn’t know how he did it, but his words were like a balm. Taking away years of pain. Transforming her. Had any other man uttered those words, she would have dismissed them, convinced he was mocking her. But from Vincent’s mouth, he made her believe the unbelievable.

  Because she trusted him.

  Because she loved him.

  She sought out his mouth and kissed him with a mix of love and lust. Pulling her arms from around his neck, he pinned her wrists to the ground, picking up the pace, giving her deep solid thrusts. Pinned under him, all she could do was take each one, sensations radiating out from her core to her entire body in dazzling waves with each downstroke. She reveled in every plunge and drag as he rammed her with unbridled abandon. Violently aroused, she was swept up in the stunning sensations flooding her system.

  Light pulsing inside her sex signaled the beginnings of her climax. She strained against him, trembling on the edge. “I’m going to …”

  Her orgasm slammed into her, ripping a scream from her throat, sending violent spasms through her core and around this thrusting cock.

  He growled and grunted, driving into her unrelenting, until the spasms began to ebb. Then he jerked his cock out, crushed her to him, and groaned long and hard against her neck. His body shuddered, his muscles tense and taut as he spent himself on the grass between her legs.

  Languid, Emilie caressed his back, holding him until his body relaxed and his breathing slowed.

  Lifting his head, he gazed down at her. His blue eyes were soft, his smile moving her to one as well.

  “I loved that,” he said.

  I love you … She caressed his cheek. “Me, too.”

  She couldn’t reveal her feelings any more than she could reveal her scars. There were some walls she just couldn’t scale. Despite the recent changes in her, she couldn’t lay herself that bare. She hadn’t survived this long by exposing herself completely. No doubt if she did, he’d run.

  Holding her tightly, Joseph rolled, pulling her on top. She tensed. Smiling, he slipped his hand behind her head and pulled her mouth to his, kissing her sweet lips. He felt so good, his blood humming in his veins. All because of his one and only Emilie. Skimming his free hand under her chemise, he followed the lush curve of her bottom upward until he touched upon a rough, thick, bumpy skin.

  She shrieked against his mouth and jumped away so quickly it stunned him.

  He snapped open his eyes to find her sitting several feet away, looking positively stricken and ready to bolt.

  “You said you wouldn’t!” Her beautiful eyes were full of hurt and panic.

  Merde. If his brain hadn’t been so foggy in the afterglow of a powerful orgasm, he wouldn’t have made the blunder.

  Joseph raised himself up onto one elbow. “I’m sorry, Emilie. I wasn’t trying to remove the chemise. I like touching you. I got carried away. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I’ve got to go.” She dropped to her knees and was about to stand.

  “Wait!” He sat up. “Don’t go. Come here, ma belle.” He patted the spot beside him. “On your back, beside me.” He reclined back onto his side. “The night is young still. Stay with me.” Joseph held out his hand.

  Silently he beseeched her.

  She looked unsure and he hated seeing the mistrust in her eyes. It gored him in the heart.

  “It won’t happen again. I promise.” Seeing the look on her face made him realize just what a daunting task it was going to be to have her discard the chemise. One that he was even more determined to take on. But it required a gentle hand. And a good deal of patience and understanding.

  She rose. He held his breath.

  Emilie walked over and lay down beside him. Joseph wanted to shout with joy.

  She snuggled closer. “Never again,” she warned.

  He leaned over and lightly kissed her. “Emilie, I’m certain it’s not as bad as you believe.”

  She stiffened. “It’s very bad.”

  “Why not let me be the judge?”

  “No! It would ruin everything between us.” She lifted her head and tried to sit up, but he quickly claimed her mouth and eased her back down. Capturing her sweet face, he gave her a long unhurried kiss, cherishing her mouth, her taste, his tongue giving hers slow, swirling caresses.

  When at last he ended the kiss, her body was no longer rigid, but soft and wonderfully yielding. She gazed up at him with such touching tenderness in her eyes, the sight of which filled his heart with a deep sense of contentment.

  “I didn’t mean to get so upset with you, Vincent. I’m sorry.”

  “No need to apologize. I understand. It was entirely my fault.”

  A smile formed on her lovely mouth. “I’m so glad you’re nothing like your brother.”

  Joseph’s chest tightened. He hated the low opinion she had of him. Her disregard for him, though not unfounded, bothered him to the core of his being. “You know,” he said, brushing an errant blond curl off her cheek, “Joseph is sorry for what he did or rather what he didn’t do that night. He told me so himself.”

  Still smiling, she rose up onto her elbow, matching his pose. “No he didn’t, Vincent. But I do adore you for wanting to offer an apology on his behalf. The mighty Joseph d’Alumbert would never admit to any wrongdoing against anyone.”

  She was right. He never would. Never had. Until tonight when his brothers had managed to do something rare—corner him.

  “Men like Joseph don’t change.”

  That was just the thing. He had changed. He hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t expected it, but it had happened. And it was all because of one flaxen-haired beauty—a woman who stirred soft sentiment during sex and all the time in between.

  Chapter Eight

  Joseph put on his gray justacorps and secured his black demi-mask. It was midafternoon and he was anxious to see Emilie.

  He still hadn’t coaxed her out of the final article of clothing—her chemise. Still hadn’t managed to convince her to let him stay the night, that she shouldn’t worry if in her sleep he caught a glimpse of her scars.

  Yet despite his failings, over the last four days they’d shared in the most soul-satisfying sex. It was the greatest bliss he’d ever known. Not to mention he’d taken her in every position she favored in her naughty book. At least twice.

  She was the first person he sought out upon awakening and the last person he saw before retiring for bed—usually in the early hours of dawn. He’d taken up eating supper in the grand dining hall by her side—away from his brothers and friends, his brothers making a point to walk by every night to bid “Vincent”—stressing the name between chuckles—a bon appetite.

  Joseph smoothed his vest and smiled. Emilie had told him she’d be wearing a very special costume this night. He couldn’t wait to see it. Couldn’t wait to take her out of it.

  She’d looked comely in anything. Even barefoot wearing sackcloth.

  He snatched open the door and was surprised to find a solemn-looking servant, a much older man, standing at his door ready to knock.

  “My lor
d.”

  “Yes. What is it?” Instantly irked, he wanted no delays in seeing Emilie.

  “Madame de Naylon, Comtesse de Saint-Arnaud, wishes to speak to you.”

  His hostess?

  “Can this wait? I’m rather busy.”

  “She insists you join her immediately in the library. Please follow me.”

  The elderly man gave a short bow and, turning on a heel, made his way down the hall.

  Merde. What on earth could Emilie’s aunt want?

  *****

  The Comtesse de Saint-Arnaud rose from behind her desk the moment Joseph entered the library.

  The servant closed the doors behind him.

  Joseph pulled off his mask. “Madame, you wished to see me?”

  She walked around the desk in silence and stopped before him. “I presume I’m speaking with the Marquis de Valle, Joseph d’Alumbert?”

  “You are.”

  “Good, then let me be plain and to the point.”

  “I’d appreciate that, madame. What is this about?”

  “My niece. I believe you are toying with her.”

  Joseph’s heart gave a small lurch. He schooled his features, affecting a look of indifference. “Possibly. The ladies are wearing masks. I couldn’t say exactly who I’m ‘toying with.’ Isn’t that the point to your gatherings? Anonymity?”

  “Don’t try to be clever. My niece is very dear to me. Her experience with men has been sadly limited. She believes she’s having an affair with Vincent d’Alumbert.”

  “Then you should speak with him.” Joseph turned to leave.

  “He has a scar on his shoulder, doesn’t he?” the Comtesse called out.

  That stopped Joseph dead in his tracks. He faced the older woman once more. “Pardon?”

  “You heard me well enough. Apparently there aren’t many ways to tell the two of you apart. But according to your very good friend, Augustin de Coix, who was well into his cups earlier, as boys he and Vincent climbed a tree. Vincent fell out and suffered a rather nasty gash to his shoulder. It left quite the mark apparently. What do you suppose my niece will answer if I ask her whether her lover has any markings on his shoulder?”