by Stacy Reid
A piercing awareness blossomed through her. “You wouldn’t have seduced me,” she whispered. “For I’m a dependent within your household.”
“Never. I would have fought the temptation with everything in me.”
“And you are not angry with me?”
There was a significant pause as he considered her question. “The very opposite. I am enthralled.”
Sweet pleasure burst into her heart. “Sentiments I return wholeheartedly.” Yet she wondered if, after tonight, he would ever touch her again.
Ignoring the dart of anxiety, she crawled closer and pressed her lips to his and kissed this delightful man who she wished was hers. Lips fused to his, their hearts jerking in tandem, she explored the hard planes of his chest. Within seconds, her body quickened, and passion overwhelmed her.
He eased her over, his hands strong and gentle as he turned her. Wet kisses trailed along her spine as he twisted her so she lay on her stomach. A tremble of uncertainty coursed through her when he nudged her legs wider, arching her hips to his questing fingers. Her shivering grew more pronounced, and she gripped the cushions above her head as he parted the globes of her buttocks.
When his fingertip reached the curve of her buttock, her breath audibly hitched.
“I did promise to fuck you here, didn’t I?”
A breath puffed from her lips, and she nodded. A ghost of a smile curved his lips, and the sensual intent in it shot a bolt of heat straight to her core. The arousal she felt scared her. It felt too dark, too needy, too desperate. She fought to control her breathing as hunger thundered through her veins. As his finger passed the tight entrance of her ass, two fingers of his other hand dipped into the soaking depths of her core. Her body rippled, and his soft laugh was one of delight as he felt her wetness.
His chest slid against her damp back as he leaned over her, nipping her neck. “Do you want this?”
She did not want half measures. She wanted to do everything to him that she had ever dreamed of doing to a lover, to be free from shame and polite expectations, to only revel in her sexuality. Her marquess awoke a wicked craving inside her core, and he did not make her feel embarrassed at her wanton needs.
“Yes…” Her answer was dredged from deep inside of her, and she trembled at the heat that filled her. It burned away her uncertainty, her fear, and she welcomed the dark desire that flowered inside of her.
He pushed her shoulders flat to the ground and raised her buttocks for his exploration. She had never been touched there, not even by her own hands when she brought herself to pleasure. Something warm and oily glided from his fingers around her forbidden entrance, and tension sifted along her frame. Despite her wild arousal, nerves coiled inside.
A long finger slipped into her tightly clenched muscles. She cried out at the sensuous sting. The bite of pain did not repel her. Instead, laden heat surged through her limbs, and her clitoris pulsated in anticipation. Her fingers clenched in the blankets beneath her.
“Burn me alive, Lily,” he lover murmured. He inserted a second…then a third finger, working her in a gentle screwing motion. She shivered beneath the caress, her hips arching toward that heated, dominant touch that was like fire against her flesh.
His hand smoothed over her hip and down the curve of her ass to her thigh. “I’ve hungered for a lover who would take me with such trust…with such fire as you, my sweet.”
She trembled as emotions ripped through her. And I’ve longed for you, too…
Her breasts ached for relief, sensitive to the slightest of caresses of the blankets beneath her. She felt heated and sensual as he stroked her for long minutes, his fingers stretching her, preparing her, making her crazy. Lily relaxed, accepting the dark hunger and allowing the waves of pleasure to wash through her.
He shifted behind her, drawing her up onto her knees but pushing her shoulders down closer to the ground. “Arch your hips and relax.”
She complied with his aroused demands.
His length flexed against her buttocks as he drew in a hard breath. She moaned, hot coils of pleasure-pain owning her as the head of his cock began to work inside her heavily oiled rear. Fire exploded along her nerves as her opening yielded increasingly under his relentless entry. She instinctively tensed. The fingers that covered her core ran over her clitoris in a lightning fast caress before thrusting deep into her pussy.
Thrill seared through her body. “Oliver,” she whimpered, the lust clawing at her frighteningly.
“Relax, my sweet. You are so fucking tight, but you can take me. Push back on me and relax.”
Lily forced herself to relax, to trust him, to accept the edge of pain along with the pleasure.
“That’s it,” he said as she wetted his fingers. “Hold on to the cushions.”
She gripped the pillows, her hips arching even more. A low moan of response broke from deep in her throat as he relentlessly pushed forward, parting her muscles with his length until he sank to the hilt. Lily wailed at the fiery pleasure-pain. She could feel him, thick and heavy, buried deep within the tightness of her body.
He pinched her clitoris and rubbed in a slow, sinuous motion as he started a gentle lunge and retreat. Her mind hazed at the shocking sensation that sizzled up her spine and had her arching in mindless want.
“You are so gorgeous…so beautiful,” he whispered as he blanketed her body further with his. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and the fingers that had been inside her quim withdrew and stroked from her hips to the underside of her breast and up to her neck, where he encircled her throat lightly, his darker complexion an erotic contrast against her paler skin.
She whimpered, reveling in the dominance of his touch. His hand tightened around her throat ever so slightly, his thumb pressing against the fluttering pulse at the base of her neck.
“I am going to ruin you for anyone else, as you’ve ruined me, my sweet Lily. After tonight you will never think of fucking another man,” he said with a hard thrust inside of her ass.
Evocative delight speared through her, dark and needy, filling her with painful splendor. Lily became a creature of pure sensation, riding the waves of sensual freedom and wildness. Her heart began to pound against her eardrums. “So, ruin me, and stop talking,” she breathed out in challenge.
He vented a low, appreciative chuckle at her ear, one filled with darkness and delight, before he nipped it with a sharp sting. His hand tightened more at her throat, and Lily barely had time to draw in a deep breath before he slammed hard and deep into her ass, with more strength than she had been prepared for. “Oliver!”
Sweat slicked her skin, she trembled, impaled on him, and a harsh sob ripped from her. The sheer domination of the act was overwhelming, and she realized Oliver was not hiding his sensuality from her. She was discovering the depths of his depraved and decadent desires.
“Your ass is choking the life from my cock…but nothing is better than your sweet cunt. Its taste, its feel, its wetness, and I can’t wait to be back in your clasp.”
His raw, explicit words inflamed her, and the pain of his possession gave way to dark, erotic ecstasy. Her fingers clenched on the throw cushions as he arched her ass more for his penetration. His hand remained encircling her throat, and the other gripped her hips as he worked his cock in and out of her with surging thrusts. She couldn’t move, could do nothing but tremble under his weight, crying out in bliss at each penetration. A seething cauldron boiled in her. Her body tightened as bliss poured through her in torrents, a sensation pulsed from her toes to her core, eliciting an uncontrollable quivering within her thighs that soon spread to her entire body, and she orgasmed more powerfully than she thought possible.
Pleasure, like a living flame, arched over her body and burned Lily with delight. She screamed into a small cushion; she sobbed because it was too much and at the same time never enough. The rush of sensations was almost agonizing. With a guttural groan, he hugged her in a punishing grip as he emptied inside of her. Seconds passed in silence,
their ragged breathing joined in a perfect symphony before he gently pulled from her.
Lily collapsed beneath him, her body still shivering with the hard aftershocks of such an exquisite climax. How would she ever be able to walk away from such pleasures?
Her lover was a comforting weight against her. He cradled her to his chest and simply held her. The warmth and contentment unfurling inside were something Lily had thought she would never know. How is it that she had been married twice and had been bereft of being held after intimacy? Her first husband had been such a sweet man, but bumbling and far too shy, and he had barely made love with her before he’d bought his commission. It had never occurred to her to cuddle up with him in their small bed. They had turned on their sides and watched each other with tentative smiles, but their young love had been too new and uncertain for them to take any further steps. Then the vicar…in the three years they had been married, they had been intimate only a handful of times, for it was sinful to lust, even in the confines of marriage.
She had never believed God despised the idea of fleshly pleasures, as the vicar had preached. After all, God had been the one to grant them such desires and lush sensuality.
Oliver moved, and she was too spent to peer back at him. She blushed as he took a warm cloth and cleaned between her tender folds and around to her bottom. With such care, she felt no discomfort, only a sense of awe.
Is he this way with all his lovers?
“How do you feel?”
Cherished. She turned her head, resting her cheek against the cushion. “Famished.”
There was an uncertainty in his eyes as he peered at her, and she hardly knew how to respond to it. The marquess had always seemed so arrogant and uncompromising. Her breath hitched as she realized he waited for some reaction that would possibly wound. Was it that perhaps they were more alike than she had thought?
“I loved every minute of what just happened,” she confessed softly.
Relief and approval glowed in his eyes. Lily’s heart lightened. Someone had indeed been repulsed at his brand of shocking sensuality and carnal leanings. Happiness flowered inside her that she had pleased him. How alike we are, but so far apart.
“I cannot marry you,” he said gruffly, tugging her to him. “But I need you in my life, Lily. This…whatever this is cannot end.”
“I do not recall asking,” she teased, pushing aside the soft ache in her heart. “I’ve no aspirations to be your wife. I am not ignorant of the fact that I have nothing to recommend me to the role of a marchioness.” He deserved a wife that would complement his position and background, and one that would most assuredly grant him children.
“Be my mistress.”
“Yes,” Lily said, shocking herself.
She couldn’t take back the word, for she wanted to be with him until this…whatever this was, burned out and drifted away like ashes in the wind.
Chapter Thirteen
Be my mistress.
Yes.
Lily Layton had agreed to be his mistress, yet pain had flashed in her eyes before she had shuttered her expressive gaze. Was it that she wanted more, too? A sense of disquiet pierced Oliver, for he had been longing for a more permanent connection with a lady who complimented him in all ways. His entire life he’d known the sort of woman he was duty bound to marry. Genteel, privileged, blue-blooded, with enough wealth and beauty to make any man happy. The opposite of Lily Layton. Except that everything about her was vastly appealing. A longing to have her at his side in all ways threaded through his entire body and into the depths of his soul.
If he courted her, he would be going against every expectation of his position. What were her family connections, what was their history? Oliver doubted anyone from the Ambrose line had taken a wife not of their society. He couldn’t take her to be his marchioness, but it went against every grain and governing principle to take another woman to be his wife while Lily had such a hold over him.
How in God’s name could he continue looking for a wife when the woman he had been searching for was now curled against his side, sleeping? Long red hair lay against the creamy flesh of her breast. Her lips were parted, her breath a soft flutter over his chest, and with a sigh, his name whispered from her lips. Oliver’s heart tripped, and in that moment, he doubted he would ever be able to let her go. “Lily?”
“Hmm?”
“Come with me to London.”
Her eyes cleared of the last fog of sleep, and she stared at him alertly. “You’re going to town?”
“Yes. I’d meant to depart tomorrow. I’ve a few invitations from friends that I am compelled to honor.”
“Why do you want me to come?”
“I want you to select a townhouse and a shop.”
She sat up slowly, a frown marring her lovely face. “I don’t understand.”
He didn’t, either. Oliver had sworn he wouldn’t take a mistress and a wife at the same time. Ah, bloody hell. He would have to delay his plans to find a wife for the near future. Everything in him only clamored to be with her.
“You’ve agreed to be my mistress, yes?”
Her lips quivered, and then the lower one caught between her teeth. “Yes.”
“Then I will set you up in a house in town, with servants and a carriage and an allowance. We’ll visit Tattersall, and you can select a mare if you are of a mind to ride in Hyde Park. I know your shop is very important to you, so select one in High Holborn, and I will pay the lease for a year.”
She bestowed on him a small, quizzical smile. “You don’t need to do all of that. Your wealth and station aren’t the reason I want to be your lover.”
“I know.” He gripped her hips and dragged her up the length of his body so that her lips hovered close to his. “Let me take care of you, Lily.”
“I believe I can manage that on my own, and might I remind you that you still owe me a thousand pounds?”
Oliver smiled at her disgruntled tone. “I was simply hoping you would allow me the privilege of being a part of it.”
“Do you think perhaps society will know I’m your mistress? I would not want any rumors to reach my parents, even though they are so buried in the country.”
“We’ll be discreet,” he murmured.
Her eyes searched his intently, and he wondered if he was mistaken at the shadow of hurt lurking in her eyes.
“Lily, I—”
She stole the words from his lips in a soft but passionate kiss. He cradled her cheeks and ravished her mouth, groaning at her sweet taste.
They pulled apart, and she smiled. “Yes.”
Fierce triumph clutched at his heart. “I will make the arrangements through my solicitor. Until then, you will stay with me in Grosvenor Square.”
“Even so far removed in the country, my lord, I know that to be scandalous and quite improper.”
“You are a widow and my mother’s companion. I do not mean to be callous, my sweet, but we do not socialize with the same society for anyone to question your presence within my home. And it will only be until the lease on your townhouse is secured.”
Her golden stare pierced him with unfathomable emotions. “I understand,” she said softly.
“I’ll also set you up with an allowance of—”
Her lips against his once again derailed his train of thoughts.
“You are already being overly generous, my lord. An allowance is not necessary. You are helping me to secure a dream in a few weeks that might possibly take me years to accomplish. I thank you.”
“It is my pleasure to take care of you.”
“And it is my wish to not be fully dependent on your kindness. The profits from my shop will provide a more than sufficient living for my family and me.”
“Then allow me to front you the money you will need for materials. Another thousand pounds added to what I owe you.”
Her eyes widened at the sum. “My lord, in truth you do not owe me, for I did nothing to warrant the first promised thousand! I’ve not even sat f
or you as yet! This is remarkably silly.”
As of their own accord, her fingers traced his lips. “I confess, you make me feel that silly. It’s the only explanation, my sweet.”
Excitement burned in her eyes and joy filled him at the myriad of expression chasing her features. She worried her bottom lips with her teeth for several seconds. “I can only accept on the condition that it is an investment, and you will be an investor in my business, with a twenty percent share.”
There was something wonderful about her, something entirely unexpected. “Done.”
“Oh, Oliver,” she breathed and flung herself into his arms. An oomph escaped him as he tumbled back with her soft weight resting delightfully on him. Lily scattered kisses on his chin and lips, giggling her happiness. “I am dizzy with excitement at the possibilities!”
She rolled from his clasp and tugged on his banyan, which dwarfed her voluptuous figure. A sudden, inexplicable longing filled him to lay the world at her feet so that he could always bask in the radiance with which she currently glowed.
“I must retrieve my sketches and magazines. Oh, magazines! Now I’ll be able to subscribe to all the latest fashion magazines, even the one from Paris. I’ll be right back, Oliver.”
She faltered as she gripped the doorknob.
He frowned at the tension that sifted through her.
His lover pivoted on her heel to face him. “You are the Marquess of Ambrose. I am fully aware of what your duty to your title means. I’ll not remain your mistress once you’re married,” she said with a proud tilt of her chin.
“I would not dishonor my wife so.” Sentiments he had echoed for years now felt hollow to him. Lily Layton was a woman he wanted to know. He wanted to discover every hidden depth behind those lively intelligent eyes. His instincts warned him uncovering all of her would likely take him a lifetime. Eventually, he would select a bride.
Denial roiled within him. The very notion of giving up Lily left a bitter taste in his mouth. He would simply have to persevere when the time came. Except, Oliver wasn’t sure he’d prove up to the task.
