Her Protector's Pleasure

by Callaway, Grace

  A shadow flickered in the clear depths of her eyes. Anger? Hurt? What did she have to be hurt about? He was the one so below her estimation that the mere idea of a relationship with him shocked her.

  "Is that how you see me? Sophisticated and jaded? A dissolute widow out for a good fuck?"

  Her sharp tone drew him back. Why was she attacking him?

  "I never said that," he said tersely.

  "You didn't have to. Your actions speak volumes." She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, and for a brief second, he was distracted by those heaving white globes, the taut rosy peaks. "Are you even listening to me?"

  He snapped his eyes up. "Of course I am. But I have no idea what you're talking about. To what actions do you refer?" he said, matching his tone to hers.

  "Oh, I don't know ... how about the fact that you lied?"

  His stomach slammed into his throat. Had she somehow discovered the contract with Bow Street ...?

  "Are you so ashamed of me, Ambrose"—her voice caught for a fraction of a second—"that you cannot tell your family the truth?"

  He frowned. "I'm afraid you've lost me."

  "You lied to your family about our relationship," she said succinctly, "and you've got Emma lying, too. I heard you both at supper telling everyone I'm providing a roof over their heads because I'm your patron. The altruistic widow who took pity on her employee's family."

  He narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe I called you altruistic. Nor that we Kents were on the receiving end of pity. That aside, what would you have me tell my family?"

  "How about the truth?" she shot back. "Unless, of course, it is too debased for your high moral standards."

  He stared at her, stupefied. "You think I am misleading my family about the nature of our relationship because of morality?"

  "Why else would you hide the fact that we are lovers?" Flags of color appeared on her high cheekbones. "I am not an idiot, Ambrose. I know what my reputation is." Despite the quaver in her voice, her chin angled upward. "I'd hoped that you saw me differently."

  Understanding dawned. Incredible as it seemed, could this magnificent creature be insecure about … herself? "You are an idiot," he said.

  "How dare you—"

  He didn't give her a chance to finish. Dodging her slap, he caged her against the mattress. Kissed her until she melted against him, her lips pliant against his once more.

  "We're both idiots," he murmured, "you for thinking I could be ashamed of you. And me ... for being ashamed of myself."

  "You?" She stared up at him from the pillows. "What have you to be ashamed about?"

  He found it surprisingly difficult to meet her gaze. "You and I both know I'm not the kind of man you typically consort with."

  "Typically consort with?" For some reason, that got her going again. She glared at him and pushed at his shoulders. "How many men do you think I've been with?"

  He sensed a trap. "Er, I haven't ... that is ..."

  "Two, Kent. And that includes you," she said acidly.

  He hadn't thought he could smile at so perilous a moment. From their previous lovemaking, he'd guessed she was inexperienced. The fact that she'd known only one other lover filled him with primitive satisfaction. Less memories to compete with. More firsts to give her—

  "Why must men be so asinine?" she sputtered, apparently catching wind of his thoughts. "Just get off me, you lummox. Get off—and get out."

  He didn't budge. Instead, he blew out a breath and said, "I'm sorry. Forgive me, sweetheart?"

  Her lashes formed lush crescents against her porcelain skin. "You're apologizing?"

  "'Tis what one does when one is at wrong. I should not have assumed that you'd want to keep our affair a secret," he said. "That is why I kept it from my family: I wanted to protect your reputation."

  "You did it for me?"

  Her surprise struck a chord of tenderness this time. So strong yet so fragile, his selkie. He cupped her cheek. "It certainly wasn't for my own sake." Sobering, he forced himself to address the reality of their situation. "I haven't a reputation to lose, Marianne. I'm not rich or titled—no one gives a damn what I do or whom I sleep with. But you ... any man would count himself blessed to be your lover." Gruffly, he admitted, "I suppose I don't know why you've chosen me."

  "You're right—you are an idiot." She tugged down on his head until his nose nearly touched hers. "Haven't you heard anything I've said to you? I've never met another man like you, Ambrose. Not a single one."

  He shook his head. "I'm a simple man. An ordinary one."

  One with too many troubles. His ex-betrothed's voice played in his head: I won't go down with a sinking ship. Compared to Jane, Marianne had far more to lose in terms of status and opportunity. How could he ask such a sacrifice of her?

  "I've told you before. You do know what your problem is, don't you?" she said.

  His father's debts? His motherless siblings? Or perhaps the fact that in order to protect the woman he loved, he was lying to her like the veriest scoundrel?

  "You've told me before: you think I'm a prig," he said dully. "A moralistic snob."

  Hell, he agreed with her. His foolish pride had been his downfall. If only he could go back, do things differently …

  "No, I think you're a man who takes too much on his shoulders." Her hand came to rest against his jaw, and her touch was tender, so very good. To his shame, he could not bring himself to part from it. "Why must you go at everything alone?"

  She'd exposed it: the cold, solitary truth.

  "Because," he said, his voice raw, "there's no one to go at it with."

  Sea-green depths glimmered up at him. "I've long stopped trusting in the future. In making promises when I've yet to fulfill the one vow that matters most—the one that I made to Primrose the day she was taken." Her voice hitching, Marianne said, "I haven't much to offer. But what I have—this moment—I give gladly to you. Tonight I am yours, if you'll have me."

  "It's more than I deserve," he said roughly.

  So much more—but I can't let you go. God help me, I can't.

  Before she could respond, he took her lips, drank in the cinnamon succor of her kiss. For however long this fantasy—this now—lasted, she was his. He'd be a fool to waste a single moment of it. Leveraging onto his side, he explored the delights before him. Her full, firm breasts, those lovely nipples which he had to taste again. He bent his head ... blinking when he suddenly found himself pushed onto his back.

  Marianne climbed over him, straddling his hips. Her hair cascaded to her waist, offering peek-a-boo views of her creamy skin. When her dewy thatch brushed against his abdomen, his cock rose in an immediate salute beneath his smalls.

  "I want to try something different tonight," she whispered. "Do you mind?"

  "Not at all," he managed. "Just tell me what you want, and I'll—" He bit out a groan as she gently raked her nails over one of his nipples.

  "I want you to lie there and let me explore as I wish. Could you do that?" His shaft turned harder than an iron pike, ready to tear through his trousers as she murmured, "Can you let me take charge, Ambrose?"

  God Almighty, he'd never been asked such a thing. In the past, he'd always focused on his partner's needs. It had been a point of pride, in fact. He knew he was neither handsome nor rich, but he had the desire and the skill to see to his bedmate's satisfaction. Marianne's request, however, turned the tables. No woman had wanted to take the reins from him before. No woman had looked at him with such hunger in her eyes—with such sweet, wicked desire.

  By Jove, what was Marianne capable of? Flames of anticipation licked his spine, made hotter by the spark of uncertainty. Could he relinquish control, put himself at the mercy of this naughty, unpredictable selkie? She wetted her lips, a small nervous motion, and he realized she was nervous too. Within that alluring skin lay vulnerability: this was about seduction, yes, but also something else. Something deeper she wanted to show him.

  His reply emerged, thick and guttural. "Do as
you wish, sweetheart."

  TWENTY-NINE

  A thrill tingled over Marianne's skin. He trusts me. He's letting me take control.

  She hadn't realized until that moment how very badly she wanted him to have faith in her. Perhaps it was her own sense of honor that demanded quid pro quo: after all, she had yielded more to him than she had to any man. Was it any surprise that she expected his trust in return? Yet this was about more than equality. Or even trust. What she truly wanted was to ... ease his pain. To take away this proud, self-reliant man's solitude, if only for the night.

  Recalling instructions he'd once given her, she said, "Put your hands on the headboard, then. And don't move them until I say so."

  His amber eyes watchful, he reached behind his head, his long fingers curling around two wooden spindles. Eyeing the lean, delicious stretch of him, she felt a warm flutter in her belly.

  "Like that?" he said gravely.

  "Precisely." Her voice sounded throaty to her own ears. "And for following orders, you shall receive a reward."

  Leaning down, she kissed his jaw. The first bristles of a night beard had already sprouted. She liked the faint rasp of his skin and his scent of soap and leather, honest and masculine just like him. Her mouth pooled with the need to taste every inch of him.

  Moving on, she sampled the hard underside of his chin. His throat bobbed as she licked and nuzzled, making her way down the hard slope of his shoulders to the strong, hair-whorled planes of his chest. She circled one flat nipple with her tongue. At his sharp intake of breath, she closed her lips, sucking gently until he groaned.

  "You like that." She didn't bother to hide the smugness in her voice.

  "Aye, love," he said, his voice gravelly, "almost as much as I like suckling your pretty breasts. May I?"

  It wasn't an unreasonable request. Her pulse kicked up a notch at the fact that it was a request—one she had the power to grant or deny. She slid up along his body, sighing as her taut nipples dragged against the masculine mat of hair, feeding her excitement and his too, if the flames in his eyes were any indication. With her knees bracing his chest, she leaned forward and presented a breast to his lips.

  "Suck," she whispered.

  A guttural sound escaped him as he did as she bade. He took her nipple in a fierce kiss, one that blazed heat straight between her legs. When his teeth grazed the sensitive tip, she whimpered. Honey flooded her pussy as he flicked in steady rhythm. She felt herself melting … yet she was supposed to be in control. She drew back, panting.

  Raw desire glowed in his eyes. "Give me your other tit. I want to lick and suck you all over."

  "No. That is enough for now," she managed. "I'm supposed to be doing the exploring, remember?"

  His arms corded, the muscles flexing. He was so strong—he had only to let go of the headboard to take her. She was so aroused that a part of her wanted him to assume control. Wanted him to flip her onto her back, mount her, vanquish her emptiness with his rampant shaft …

  As if somehow sensing her ambivalence, his eyes crinkled at the corners. He kept his hands clenched on the wood. "Go on, then," he said.

  She scooted back, trying to hide her ruffled state by resuming her perusal of his splendid form. He offered a wealth of distractions, and all of them ratcheted up her lust. Her breath puffed quick and hot between her lips as her fingers bumped over the taut ridges of his abdomen. Following the sensual trail of hair that bisected his belly, she made her way to his waistband. She slid her palm over the tented placket of his trousers, and molten heat gushed from her core.

  He was so big, so hard—so much a man.

  "You have this effect on me. A smile from you, a touch"—he grimaced with pleasure as she squeezed—"God, Marianne, I lose my head where you're concerned."

  She found the hidden buttons, unfastened them. With a swift yank, she freed him from the layers of wool and linen, the muscles of her sex quivering as she beheld his bold erection from the springy dark hair at the thick base, up the long, veined shaft, all the way to the proud dome. In the past, she'd never particularly appreciated this part of the male anatomy. With Thomas, she'd been too shy to look or touch. With Draven … a remnant of the old humiliation surfaced, ugly ripples that distorted her desire.

  "Sweetheart, do you want to stop?"

  She met her lover's gaze and saw desire there, clean and pure. Nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to fear. "No," she said softly, "not unless you want me to."

  "Hardly. But …"—the air hissed between his teeth as she curled her fingers around his girth—"I don't want you to do anything you don't want to."

  Concerned for her, even at this juncture. 'Twas so very Ambrose that it made her smile. Smile—and get aroused all over again. The heady surge of power swirled more potently than any aphrodisiac because it was tempered by trust. By the choice she was making to take pleasure at her will.

  And what her will demanded was to give Ambrose Kent more bliss than he'd ever had. To have him remember this night forever, no matter what the future held in store. No matter if she didn't quite believe herself worthy of this magnificent male beast. Perhaps one day she could overcome the demons of her past. Tonight, it mattered naught.

  Because tonight Ambrose was hers to pleasure.

  She knelt between his thighs, continued to stroke him lightly. "Tell me what you like."

  "I like what you're doing now." His heavy-lidded eyes told her it was the truth.

  "Surely there is more. What have your other lovers done for you?" Whatever they did, I'll do better. "Tell me your desires," she said throatily.

  "I like kissing you, tasting you," he murmured. "Especially between your legs."

  Her sex grew damper at the memory of his skilled tongue, the voracious enjoyment he took in licking her there. Apparently, he was thinking the same thing for fluid leaked from the slit in his cockhead, slickening her grasp and making him groan.

  "I like that too," she said, "but we're talking about you. Your pleasure."

  A brief hesitation. "It's not a question I've been asked before."

  "Never?" she said in surprise.

  "I suppose my partner's satisfaction has come first in the past." When she continued to look at him, stupefied, he muttered, "It's not as if there have been dozens of women."

  "Not dozens?" she said as casually as she could.

  "More like four. And that includes you." He ground out the last word, probably because she'd taken her exploration to the root of his shaft. His stones fit snugly in her palms, supple yet with an intriguing heft. "Good God, woman, our play will soon end if you continue that."

  But she couldn't help herself. Delight bubbled inside her. She adored the fact that he hadn't shared his bed indiscriminately. Knowing that sex wasn't a thing he took lightly made the intimacy between them even more profound. It made her want to do everything with him … even the things she feared. Because with Ambrose, her impulses were not dirty or demeaning. Desire buzzed through her with a wild, empowering vitality.

  She eyed his jutting manhood. "Have you been kissed there before?"

  His hard-paved chest rose and fell. He shook his head. "I know what Draven made you do. And I don't want—"

  He broke off with an oath because she'd leaned forward and touched the tip of her tongue to his cockhead. His essence teased her senses. Salty and clean. Virile, male ... delicious. Nothing to do with her experiences with Draven. The shadows receded as desire flowed over her, bright and cleansing. Here and now, basking in Ambrose's solid heat, his steady, reassuring gaze, only intimacy existed. She tasted him again, lingering this time, his harsh breaths driving her to fit her lips over the fat tip.

  "Bloody fuck," he bit out.

  Despite being occupied, her lips curved. Her earnest Ambrose—cursing? Hmm. What else could she make him do? She applied gentle suction, loving the way he growled her name. Loving that she was the first and only to give him this pleasure. Wrapping her fingers around his thick pole, she eased down the velvety skin,
exposing the bulbous head. She rubbed her tongue against the underside, and he swore again, his hips jerking instinctively.

  Gripping his shaft more firmly, she relaxed her muscles, taking him in deeper. Given his size, it wasn't the easiest task, but she was no shirker. The challenge excited her as did the thick, wicked slide of his cock filling her throat.

  "God, sweetheart. It's so bloody good." His features taut with arousal, he watched her every movement. "You have no idea ..."

  He broke off, groaning as she bobbed upon him. With each pass, her passion took her further, her excitement fueled by how she could undo this strong man, her steadfast lover. His wiry length vibrated, his hips lifting to get more of her kiss. All the while, his eyes never left her face, not even when he discovered her limit, nudging a barrier so deep that she swallowed instinctively. A feral sound tore from his chest.

  "Enough," he gasped. "I'm not coming alone."

  "I'm not stopping," she said, trying to catch her breath.

  "I don't want you to stop. Just come here."

  Before she knew what he was about, he sat up, his hands clamping onto her hips.

  "Wait a minute, I never said you could let go. That's cheating—" She broke off, moaning, melting as he hauled her into a new position: her knees now straddled his head as she lay atop him. Her mouth hovered above his cock, her sex above his mouth. A cry left her as his tongue delved deeply. "Ambrose, dear God—"

  "Yes, love," he said thickly, "give me your pussy, your sweet dew. Let me have all of you."

  His guttural commands unleashed her wildness. With her hands planted on his thighs, she wriggled against his hot kiss. She let him take her with his tongue, riding wave after wave of sensation. When heat raged over her too quickly, she tried to withdraw, but he kept her in place. She gave a helpless whimper as his thick fingers stretched her opening.

  "Push back against me, love. Take me deeper."

  She could not help but obey his growling demand, her spine arching as she impaled herself on his touch. So much pleasure. Panting, she took him as deep as she could as he continued to eat her pussy. When his tongue circled her peak, searching out her nub, her vision blurred. The wet flicks made her fall forward with a moan … and her cheek brushed his cock, causing a shudder to run through him.