by Stacy Reid
So simple, yet so complicated. Who was he? Anonymity was her rule, but she was desperate to know who this man in the darkness was. Lily shook away the feeling. This must only be an indulgence in pleasure and the only need she should possess. The feelings that had been burgeoning in her heart as she danced with the marquess had been too frightening. She had all but asked him to paint her in the nude. Dear God. And then in the library when he’d started painting her…oh, the swirls of wants and needs long denied had rushed through her with crippling intensity. It would be foolish to allow herself to fall for a man so above her in circumstances and expectations. She wanted to drown her thoughts under the sharp lash of pleasure this stranger had invited her to ride on a few days past.
Releasing the doubts, she glided into the room, her feet sinking into plush carpets.
“Would you like a drink? There’s wine and brandy.”
“No. I only need you.”
She barely made out the outline of the man who clasped her hips and turned her to face him. His lips touched hers with a soft, sweet possession that made her heart trembled. She parted her lips, and his tongue swept inside. He teased her with shallow strokes, before biting down on her bottom lip. She gasped at the sensuous sting, and he swallowed it, kissing her hard, wet, and deep.
The hands that peeled off her nightgown did so slowly, and then his fingers ran over her body, caressing her dips and curves with sensual dominance.
“How I wish I could see these delightful curves.” He lifted her, and a few strides later, her world shifted, then cool silken sheets met her body. As he bore her back to the bed, his lips caught hers again in a passionate kiss. He released her mouth, and firm hands pushed her knees up and then out in a lascivious sprawl.
The sudden sweet, stabbing invasion of his tongue in the tender folds of her pussy had her gasping. Somehow, he rolled with her so that she was sitting astride his face. Shock and uncertainty unbalanced her momentarily, but he gripped her hips, steadying her, and then raked his tongue over her aching clitoris.
His words came back to her. I want you to ride my tongue before taking my cock. How splendidly wicked. Lily grabbed the headboard and rolled her hips, gasping at the blast of pure pleasure that tore through her. Though it was his lips and tongue, she was in control of how sweet and how blisteringly hot the pleasure she felt could get.
Her thighs trembled, he groaned, and she undulated.
Oh, there!
He latched on to her nub and sucked. Lily screamed. Unable to help the fevered need blooming through her, she opened her thighs a little wider, arched her hips, and rode her lover’s face. His wicked tongue brought her to the edge without tipping her over. She sobbed, grinding faster on his diabolical tongue, desperate to feel that intense pleasure once more. He gripped her buttocks and positioned her slightly differently, and then drove his tongue into her.
She convulsed, ecstasy bowing her back, and she bucked against his mouth as sensations raced through her. As if he were terribly impatient for her, a few seconds later, she found herself flipped to her stomach and drawn up to her knees. She collapsed to her elbows, feeling her entire body blush at the lascivious way she was open to him. He settled behind her, his cock probing her entrance. When he pushed forward, her muscles burned at the tight impalement. A wild cry tore from her throat as, with three heavy thrusts, he buried his length deep inside of her.
“Yes,” she cried out brokenly.
She trembled on him, feeling impaled but craving more. “Oh, please,” she moaned. “Make me burn…harder.”
“Slow and easy.” His fingers tightened on her hips. His touch was warm, reassuring, and felt so right. “I want you to feel every inch of my cock stretching your tight, sweet cunt.”
Oh God, it was better than she had ever thought it could be.
His body slid into hers with sensual power as he fucked into her over and over with pure male greed and lust, drawing Lily into a maelstrom of exquisite sensations. He was not gentle. He took and took, drowning her in a sea of pleasure-pain as he rode her hard. A tight heat formed in her core, growing tauter with every lunge of his powerful body. Lily screamed into the sheets, twisting them as his hips snapped deeper, splintering the pleasure that had coiled so tightly inside of her.
Her muscles clamped down too tightly on his still thrusting cock, creating a friction that had her sobbing in his arms. He stretched her limits, her endurance, and what she thought she knew of loving. She hurt, but it was such a sweet pain, and she was so wet that smacking noises reverberated in the air, and the sound of skin sliding against damp skin filled the darkened room.
Later, she would probably look back and embarrassment would strike her, but for now, she was a creature of pure sensation, riding the dark, erotic edge of pleasure and pain as the heavy width of his cock pounded into her, pleasure obliterating all sense of decorum and any modesty she’d once possessed. A strangled cry tore from her throat as pleasure seared her body. He rode her through the storm of exquisite sensations, and then with a heavy groan, he emptied his seed deep inside her shivering body.
She collapsed, and he tumbled with her, but turned so that she was splayed on top of his muscled chest. Most of the moon had vanished behind the clouds, and a cool air wafted through the room, shifting the heavy draped.
Who are you? she desperately wanted to ask. Did his face tighten with pleasure, the corded muscles of his throat held taut when he took his release? What did her lover’s eyes look like when he released his seed into her body? What color were his eyes…the shape of his lips? When she felt his smile against her hair…what did it look like? Were they firm…sensually cruel or sweet and boyish? Lifting her hands, she allowed her fingers to ghost over his lips. The filthy, erotic words he had used to rouse the wanton creature in her, and the way he had licked her pussy and pushed her to climax with such delight said these lips were sensually cruel.
Was he Lord Bolton, Mr. Darwhimple, Viscount Milton…? Perhaps Lord Ambrose?
Her heart kicked as images of the marquess filled her thoughts. He had been so dark and dashingly elegant as he twirled her around the ballroom tonight. All the young ladies had glared at her with envy and disbelief…and the marchioness had been unable to mask her disapproval. Lily would face an inquiry in the morning, and she would have to reassure Lady Ambrose her son had only been kind.
Or was her lover Mr. Braddock or Viscount Hardwick?
A knot of emotion clogged her throat. How could two people be so soul-shatteringly intimate, yet might pass in the corridor a few hours from now and not know each other? She fought the need to curl into his arms. Lily was falling in too deep with a stranger. A ridiculous notion, but what else could account for the needs awakening in her soul?
Her lover smoothed his hand over the globes of her buttocks, up to the curves of her stomach.
“I’ve released my seed inside you.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. Was he worried about foisting a bastard on her? She pushed aside the ache building in her chest. Lily could not bring herself to explain why he worried for naught.
“If there are consequences from our passions, you will need to know who I am.”
She stiffened. “Is this your way of trying to uncover my identity?”
“No,” he murmured. “It is a credible concern.”
Lily frowned, thinking swiftly. It was not common knowledge that she was unable to bear fruit. Perhaps to reveal her state would not be a clue to her identity. Still, she hesitated, a peculiar feeling of vulnerability creeping over her. She frantically thought of the things she had learned from reading salacious books like Fanny Hill. “I…I am a woman of the world. I’ve taken precautions.”
“Such as?” Incredulity rang in his tone.
“I’m sure you are a man of the world yourself and know of which I speak.”
“Educate me,” he murmured drily.
Lily swallowed, grateful they were in the dark because she was blushing. “I inserted a small sponge with vi
negar.”
His grunt revealed he had indeed heard of such practices to prevent conception. “Curious. All I tasted was the sweetness of your cunt.”
The heat in her face multiplied.
“Are you by chance blushing?”
“Of course not,” she gritted out.
A low chuckle came from him. Her lover eased her gently off his body and pushed from the bed. He padded over to the window, where the moonlight painted a section of his body in a silvery glow. She came up on her elbows, her heart a pounding mess, wondering if the light would illuminate his face. There was a splash of water, and she made out that a basin was on a small table. Her lover turned around, and she gasped audibly. His body was a work of art. His chest and arms flexed with power, his tight abdomen rippled with strength. And his manhood…dear heavens. Though flaccid, it hung heavy and thick. Now she understood the ache her core throbbed with even now.
He stepped forward, and the darkness swallowed him once more. His weight dipped the bed. “Open your legs.”
She complied. Fingers stroked up her legs to her tender core. Then something damp and cool replaced his questing fingers. He touched her with exquisite gentleness as he cleaned their combined release from her body.
“Tell me your name.”
She flinched at the unexpected request. “No,” she said, careful to keep her tone low and husky.
“Do you wonder who I am?”
Always. “Yes.”
“I hunger to know you.”
“You are in possession of my diary, which holds my most secret thoughts.”
He gripped her hips and encouraged her to turn and lay on her stomach in the center of the large bed. Then he used the washcloth and cleaned the hollow between her buttocks. Her eyes widened when he lingered a little too long at that forbidden entrance. The cloth disappeared, and a few seconds later, the heat of him blanketed her body. He was careful to keep most of his weight off her, and Lily felt perplexing reassured and intimidated in equal measure by his muscled hardness.
“Your words reveal to me your wanton heart, but there is so much more, isn’t there?”
A fierce joy clutched at her heart that he wanted to know more about her. She also wept with relief, for she had a similar need, and it felt incredible to know he didn’t just see her as a quick, nameless liaison.
“What is the dance you like best?”
“The waltz.” The only time she had ever indulged in the scandalous dance was earlier with Lord Ambrose. How delightful it had been. “I feel so free and alive when I am twirled across the ballroom floor.”
He pressed a light kiss on her shoulder. “Do you like animals?”
What a curious question. “Some,” she admitted. “Mostly dogs and birds. You, my lord?”
“Horses and dogs, I enjoy immensely. Which bird?”
“The canary is my favorite.”
His lips curved into a smile. “Children?”
“Oh, yes, there is nothing more precious.”
“Do you have any?”
Tension thrummed through her veins. “No.”
Soft, soothing kisses danced around her neck and shoulders.
“What is your favorite color?”
“Yellow. It reminds me of sunshine and happiness.”
“I like blue because it reminds me… I am flummoxed as to why, but I enjoy the color and the various shades presented as blue.”
She laughed.
“Are your eyes blue by any chance?”
“Brown.”
“Another delightful hue.”
Lily gasped. “You sneaky scoundrel!”
“You wound me, my sweet. I simply want to know you. I do not believe anything will ever equal the perfection of tasting your lips, of inhaling your moans and cries, feeling your wetness coating my fingers, of tasting the sweetness of your pussy. No one. With such a revelation, surely, I must know who you are?”
She moaned at the forbidden pictures his illicit words created in her mind.
As if unable to help himself, he bent and pressed a kiss at the curve of her hip and dragged his lips to the rounded globes of her derriere and bit…hard, then licked to soothe the sting.
“I love the soft feel of your skin under my tongue. You taste like cherries.”
Lily giggled, enjoying the sweet heat building in her veins.
“Tell me your name,” he coaxed, whispering kisses over her buttocks and hips.
“No.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because if we know each other, this will have to end before the conclusion of Lady Ambrose’s house party. We have two more days…let us enjoy them.”
“And if my intentions are honorable?”
She twisted her head and stared at his dark outline in ill-concealed shock. “What do you mean?”
“I would like to court you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me, my lady.”
Lily felt faint. “Upon my word, surely you are jesting.”
“No,” he murmured. “Are you married, or promised to another?”
“Of course not!”
“Ill-formed in some manner?”
The dratted man was turning her questions on her. “No.”
“We are suited in many ways.”
“Only between the sheets,” she snapped. “You have no notions of my connections or reputation.”
“So, inform me,” he rebutted lightly.
The low, rough dulcets had evened out into a smooth, clipped, but lushly sensual accent, quite reminiscent of the voice she imagined in her ears whenever she pleasured herself.
It was the voice of her nighttime fantasies and provocative dreams.
Panic crashed into her senses with the weight of a boulder. She tensed against her lover, and her fingers dug into his forearm. “You are no longer disguising your voice,” Lily said weakly. What had changed?
His breath caressed her ear. “Picked up on that did you?”
There it was again; it was undoubtedly him. “I… Good heavens,” she stammered. “Lord Ambrose?”
“At your service, my lady.”
Her head spun as if she was tippled. Sweet mercy. This was impossible. The marquess was her midnight lover. So many emotions jumbled through her—apprehension, guilt, triumph, pleasure, relief—and she was unable to halt the onslaught. There was a place in her heart where she hid dreams and impossible yearning. It cracked open, and the sweetest feeling of delight filled her. The most sought-after bachelor of the season, Lord Oliver Carlyle, the Marquess of Ambrose, powerful, charming, and kind, distressingly handsome, was her lover. And let’s not forget indecently rich.
They had held so many conversations this week. Dear God. “Do you have any notion of my identity?” she asked tentatively, careful to ensure her voice remained low and husky.
“I know who you are not.”
“I do not gather your meaning.”
“There are five widows in attendance. Viscountess Falconbridge, Mrs. Maryann Elliot, Mrs. Eleanor Bainbridge, Lady Henrietta, and the Dowager Countess of Melbourne. Which one are you? I am certain you are not Mrs. Elliot or Viscountess Falconbridge since you have no child.”
Lily’s heart stuttered with relief and troubling disappointment. Of course he would only consider the women his mother had invited to Belgrave Manor, not a widowed servant living under his nose. Dear heavens. That was why he had danced with Mrs. Elliot and Lady Henrietta earlier, and why he would court widows. The wretched man had been trying to find her. The notion of his mother’s paid companion being his notorious lover hadn’t occurred to him. It hurt, for it implied he had no thought of her beyond their easy banter and his charitable offer of money for little or no service.
It would have been wonderful to know a man like the marquess could desire her. A fierce stab of guilt pierced her. If he knew he lay with a servant, surely his noble senses would be offended. She would probably be relieved of her position before the month’s notice she had bee
n given. How would he bear to look at her, to see her in his house by his mother’s side, if he knew he had lowered himself so?
“Well?”
She twisted around in the cage of his arms so that his heavy body was now cradled between her thighs. Despite the leaden weight in her chest, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed a wet, open-mouthed kiss in the hollow of his throat.
“Don’t,” he groaned. “Do not distract me from my purpose, you wicked minx.”
It was a distraction, but she couldn’t face any more questions or dwell too long on the tangle of emotions in which she was currently caught. Lily was truly at a loss that the man she was falling hopelessly in love with was the same man she had admired for so long. A man that she could never hope to have a future with.
“My lord,” she whispered.
“Yes?”
When she spoke, her voice cracked with emotion. “Call me Dahlia.”
He stiffened. “Is that your name?”
“One of them.” Her father was a botanist, and the names he bestowed on his children reflected his love and passion for flowering plants. She could only pray her marquess would not connect Lily with Dahlia, but she wanted to hear one of her names whispered from his lips when he found his pleasure.
She rolled her hips below him, and at the same time nipped the underside of his jaw. “Fuck me.”
He chuckled, the soft sound holding such sensual menace she purred.
“You cannot take more of me at this moment…Dahlia.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “This is not the way to distract me, that I promise you.”
He was perhaps correct in his assessment, her core still felt very tender, but the promise of tormenting pleasure in his soft warning had arousal stirring in her veins. She reached down between them and fisted his manhood, which was already rising hard and sure. Twisting her wrist, she stroked up and down, gratified at the deep rumble that pulsed from his throat.
Everything felt more acute, knowing that the man above her was Oliver. How she wished she could grant him a similar delight, if only he wouldn’t possibly turn from her in disgust. Arching her hips, she wrapped her legs around his back, her heels digging into his firm buttocks. Then she rubbed the tip of his length over her aching nub. Lily’s entire body burned under the lash of pleasure.
