“I’m sure they would,” he agreed. “But you’ve chosen me to be your victim, haven’t you, and I’m doing my best.”
Marietta remembered then, a little guiltily, that Max probably had a great deal on his mind.
“Poor Max,” she said, and leaned over to place a gentle kiss on his brow.
He groaned.
“Have I hurt you?” she gasped. “I’m so sorry. Here—”
But as she reached out again he caught her hand and stopped her. There was something in his eyes, something fiery and dangerous that she hadn’t seen there before. And that was when she realized how much Max wanted her. She was testing his control without even trying. Marietta would have laughed aloud, if the knowledge had not taken her breath away.
“You’re never going to give up, are you?” he growled. “I’m wasting my time trying to talk you out of it.”
“I can’t give up. I am not fit for marriage and I have no wish to be a spinster aunt to my sisters’ children.”
“There are other choices.”
“Are there? I don’t see them. I will not be beaten, Max. I will not fade away just because it would be more comfortable for certain people if I didn’t exist. Yes, I made a mistake, a very silly mistake, but I was young and trusting and a man took advantage of that. I broke the rules, but they were not my rules, and I refuse to live my life in penance.”
“Marietta—”
Looking into his troubled eyes, Marietta’s anger faded and like a clap of thunder she realized what was wrong with this whole scenario. Aphrodite had tried to tell her, and Elena, too, but she hadn’t understood. She did now. Max could only see her as Marietta Greentree, and she was looking at him as Max Valland. They had brought along with them all their troubles and all their complications, and that made it impossible to just let go and feel.
If they were strangers, without any prior knowledge…
She jumped up and stood before him, her pretty face intent, her eyes blazing into his. He watched her warily.
“Max,” she said quietly, “I think we’ve gone about this assignation all wrong. We were supposed to be strangers meeting for an evening of pleasure, and instead we’ve been bickering like an old married couple. I think we should begin afresh. Right now.”
“Marietta, do you know what you’re saying?”
But she wouldn’t let him argue. “No. You don’t know my name. I’m not Marietta. I am a girl you’ve just met, a girl from Aphrodite’s, and you’ve paid for an evening with me, and you are a man I must please.”
He said nothing.
“What can I do to please you?” she asked him quietly. “Sir?”
He looked up, his eyes flaring. He swallowed. “Mar—”
“No!”
“There’ll be no going back.” He sounded serious, final.
“I know. I don’t want to go back. My only way out of the mess I am in is to go forward. Now, sir, what can I do to please you?”
His gaze dropped down. “Take off that infernal robe.”
She didn’t let herself think too much. She let herself feel. Marietta slipped off the robe and allowed it to drop to the floor. And then she stood before him in the trousers and blouse, and tried not to think at all.
His eyes went to her breasts, slowly following the shape of her, returning again and again to the darker circles at their tips. His hand twitched but he closed his fingers, tight.
“Do you desire me?” she whispered.
He gave a breathless laugh.
“Then touch me. I want to know what it is you desire, Ma…sir. I want to understand what you’re feeling.”
But she thought she was understanding perfectly well already. She had understood the other day in the coach, when they drove around the park, twice. The look of hunger on his face, the glitter in his eyes, had made something similar happen inside her. Now her stomach clenched and a warmth washed over her, as if she were caught in a tidal surge and could not, did not want to, escape it.
He reached out and brushed her with his fingertips.
Light as the touch was, it made her shiver. She stared at him, lips parted in astonishment. He smiled wryly, and touched her again, using his thumb to rub against her nipple. She had never realized her own flesh could be so sensitive.
He cupped her breast in his palm, holding it like a gift, and then his arm came about her waist and he drew her forward, between his thighs, and he licked her with his tongue. Marietta’s hands clung to his head, pulling him closer. The sensation of his warm mouth against her was exquisite. She made a sound in her throat, like a purr, and he looked at her.
His face was taut with desire, his eyes blazing, and his mouth was smiling. Whatever struggle he had been involved in was over—Max had decided to give himself up completely to what she was offering. For a moment she was confused by his capitulation, but then, still watching her, he ran his hand over her stomach, clearly enjoying the sensation of her bare skin, and she let herself feel again. His fingers brushed up, under the silk blouse, and they were warm and knowledgeable. Her eyes flickered and she swayed.
“Max.”
“I’m a stranger, remember,” he said, with a certain irony. “I’m teaching you about desire. That’s what you want, isn’t it, Marietta?”
He was tense, awaiting her answer, and once again, although she did not understand him, she acquiesced. “Yes.”
“If you want to stop then you’d better say so. Now.”
“I don’t want to stop.”
His fingers reached the underside of her breast, and then his palm was molding to her full shape, caressing her, gently squeezing her. He met her eyes, as if to gauge her compliance, and then he leaned forward and covered the nipple with his mouth, hot and wet, and sucked at her through the silk.
Her knees crumpled.
He caught her, drawing her down onto his lap, and covered her face in little biting kisses, his hand still stroking her breasts. It was bliss, she thought. Complete and utter bliss…
Where was his other hand?
With a shock she realized it was on her knee, heavy and warm and full of intent. She opened her mouth to remind him of the rules, but he swooped down and covered it with his own, and for a time she was lost in the wonder of his kisses.
When she came to herself again, his hand was stroking her belly just above where the top of her trousers met bare skin, his finger dipping beneath the band. She was burning, aching, and it didn’t seem to matter whether or not he was touching her in places he wasn’t supposed to—her body wanted that finger to move further down. She arched against him with a groan.
“That’s the trouble with desire,” he murmured in a deep, sensuous voice. “The more you feel it the more you want. Be warned, darling Marietta, once I have you I’ll keep having you. Over and over again.”
“Just touch me,” she whispered. “I want you to touch me.”
Obediently he bent to suck at her breast, and her head fell back against his shoulder as if she had had too much wine. Drunk on desire, tipsy on passion. She giggled at the thought, and then gasped as his fingers slid down under the band of her trousers, and trailed through the feminine hair she had been so worried about being visible earlier. Such fears and worries had long since departed—the urgent need for him to touch her overshadowed all.
His fingers had opened her, found the swollen little nub, and Marietta arched against him with a low cry as pleasure spiraled through her. “Max,” she cried, in wonder and need.
“Soon,” he whispered, and he stroked against her slick skin, pressing further, into the warm heart of her.
She tried to push herself against him, sensing that that was where real pleasure lay, but he murmured reassurance, taking his time, slowly driving her insane. Marietta half lay against him, incoherent with the sensations he was drawing from her body, and for a time he seemed to be content to torment her.
And then he took his fingers away.
She sobbed out his name.
“Soon, d
arling Marietta,” he said, and bent to kiss her, caressing her breasts lightly, making her squirm again as the wave of need rose within her. There had to be an end to this, she thought desperately. There must be a climax to all this pleasure. Why did she not understand it? Why hadn’t she realized this before, with Gerard Jones? But she hadn’t, he had meant nothing, and it was as if this was her first time.
He turned her in his lap, helping her into a sitting position, so that her bottom rested upon his thighs, and her knees were bent, straddling him, while her bare feet pressed against the sofa on either side of his hips. Despite the silken trousers she felt exposed, vulnerable, open to him. She also felt as if her heart was about to explode with excitement.
Her hair was tumbling all about her—at some stage he had pulled out the combs—and now he caught it up in his hands and drew it back over her shoulders. For a moment he just looked at her, his glittering dark eyes running down over her body. The blouse was damp, where he’d put his mouth against the silk, and her nipples poked out through the cloth. His eyes rested on the curve of her stomach, and then the area below the trousers that hid nothing of the eager shadows between her legs. He ran his hands up her legs, over her knees and thighs, squeezing her hips with a murmur of approval, and she would have smiled if she had been able to.
Because Marietta realized that she did not feel like herself any more. This was what Elena and Aphrodite had meant. She was free, wild and powerful. Or perhaps she did feel like herself, but it was the self who lived hidden deep inside her—the courtesan.
What would a courtesan do now? she asked herself. Would she draw away and send her man home, still wanting her? Would she promise much but give little? Probably. Marietta frowned. She didn’t want to do that. She wanted to go on, not draw back, she wanted to feel what it was like to be Max’s woman.
His hips were between her legs, and she could plainly see the heavy bulge inside his trousers. He wanted her as much as she wanted him—he was just better at controlling it—but perhaps she could turn that around.
Marietta reached down and stroked the hot hard length of him through the cloth. Max went very still. The expression in his eyes changed to confusion, and lust, and then he closed them with a sigh. She stroked him again, her fingers searching for the buttons beneath the placket.
“I told you about the man who ruined me,” she said, in a husky little voice. “The night he took me to the inn.”
The first button popped open.
“I don’t even remember it, not properly. I was already having doubts, but I felt trapped. I suppose I hoped it would all work out. While he was doing it, I tried to think of something else. I hardly remember now what he did, and I certainly didn’t enjoy it. Not like this, Max.”
The second button popped open.
“I don’t think it’s fair, do you? To be ruined and to not even enjoy the experience?”
The third button popped open. She slid her fingers inside and found him. He filled her hand, heavy and big, swollen with desire for her. For a moment the doubts crowded back in, her fear of love and trust, threatening to destroy all her pleasure, but she forced them away, refusing to listen. This was her time, she deserved it, and she meant to savor it.
Max, his face taut and unsmiling, was gripping her hips, his fingers clenching with each stroke of her fingers on his hard length, but he let her do it. Let her use her hands to examine him, pet him, admire him.
“Are you sure all men have one like this?” she asked, watching him from beneath her lashes.
He laughed, and then arched against the pressure of her hand with a groan. “Rub yourself against me,” he said, when he could speak again. “Pleasure yourself.”
Puzzled, Marietta thought about that, but he urged her with his hands, and she slid down upon his lap, the silk of her trousers hushing against his thighs, until the length of him prodded hard against her. They both groaned, but then he adjusted her hips, tilting them, and he rubbed over her cleft, making her swollen flesh ache. Pleasure hummed through her, leaving her trembling. She did it again, pushing herself back up with her feet and then sliding, slowly, down onto him. This time it was even better.
Max’s hands were still gripping her hips, but now they curved around to cup her bottom, pulling her harder against him as she slid down, using his body to pleasure hers and hers to pleasure his.
Ecstasy was only a heartbeat away. She knew it. Her heart was pounding, her chest was rising and falling as if she couldn’t get enough air to breathe. Max groaned, swore, and suddenly he caught the front band of her trousers in one hand and took a firm hold. He looked up, into her eyes, and she knew then what he meant to do and that if he did there’d be no going back. But he waited. For a breath, he waited, to hear her say “No.”
Marietta whispered, “Yes.”
He ripped. The fine cloth tore, baring her from the navel down, and at once his hands were lifting her, readying her, and he entered her. It was easy, she thought feverishly. So easy. She was wet and ready, and he slid into her, deep, joining to her.
Max moaned, his mouth blind against hers, as he withdrew and thrust again.
“Please,” she breathed, pushing down against him and trying to make him hurry. There was an urgency in her she couldn’t restrain. But he wouldn’t hurry. He drove into her with deep, measured strokes, bringing her a little bit closer to the brink with each one. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging the curls impatiently.
He thrust, a slow, deep slide against her most sensitive spot, and she went over the edge and the world exploded about her.
She gasped, wildly crying out his name, feeling him thrusting harder now, driving himself to follow her. Then the warmth of his seed inside her, and he fell back against the sofa, Mariett a clasped firmly in his arms.
Chapter 13
There was a long silence. For a time all Marietta could hear was her heartbeat, and Max’s close by. Her chest ached with the need to breathe deeply, and her body throbbed with the aftermath of pleasure. But gradually everything returned to normal, the crackling of the fire and the low rattle of a hackney cab outside on the street, and then Max cleared his throat and said, “I apologize.”
“For what?” she managed sleepily, wriggling closer against him. Why had no one ever told her desire could be so exhausting?
“You said the waist up. I think you’ll find we were working below the waist there.”
Marietta giggled into his neck, and then she sighed. “Is it always like this?”
He hesitated. “No,” he said at last. “It is rarely like this.”
Marietta lifted her head and looked at him shrewdly, her hair tangled about her. “Are you saying that because you don’t want me to be a courtesan and do this with other men, or because it’s true?”
Max smiled. “Both.”
She touched his cheek, her fingers brushing his lips, and something in her heart fluttered. He kissed her fingertips, sucking on the ends of them as he had done once before.
“Are we still strangers or can I call you Marietta?”
“I don’t know. If we’re strangers then I can stay here in your arms, but if I’m Marietta then I have to start thinking about my future and my past, and—”
“You understand that I won’t be able to let you go now.”
She smiled. “I don’t see how you can possibly keep me. I’m very expensive, you know, and you have no money.”
“Sometimes we want the most unsuitable people.” His gaze was shuttered from her, far away.
“Max,” she whispered, “I’m starting to worry about you.”
He laughed and kissed her, slowly, using his lips and tongue to make her forget herself once more. After a little while she felt him against her thigh, hard again, and reached down to stroke the velvet strength of him. His hardness moved in her hand, and Max groaned into her mouth. He had removed her blouse and now he cupped her breast with his palm, enjoying the warm weight of her, and then his other hand was between her thighs, stroking
the cleft that still felt swollen and replete from the last time.
“Oh Max…”
He was looking at her and there was an expression in his dark eyes she didn’t understand. Determination mixed with desire, but something more than that. As if he had come to some hard-fought decision—an epiphany. She reached to caress his wild curls tenderly, her mouth soft and dazed as she kissed his face. She had never felt so happy, and she didn’t want it to end, and she certainly didn’t want to know what Max was plotting.
“Lie down,” he said and, supporting her, he lay her upon the sofa among the cushions. She blinked up at the ceiling where the angels and cupids frolicked, and her fair hair was spread smooth and gleaming about her. Max removed his coat, looking down at her. Then he removed his waistcoat and pulled off his tie, before dragging his shirt over his head.
She caught her breath, reaching out to smooth her palms over his skin, rubbing them back and forth against the dusting of dark hair, exploring his hard stomach.
He stood up and tugged off his footwear and his trousers. And suddenly he was naked, big and gorgeous, looming over her. As he pulled off the remnants of her trousers and tossed them aside, she briefly wondered if her legs were really that short, and then it didn’t matter, because he was on top of her and inside her and all around her.
She licked the skin on his shoulder, and then sucked at it. He ducked his head and his mouth was hot and open against her neck. He nuzzled her hair, breathing in the scent. His body moved against her, steady, and she ran her hands over his buttocks, urging him.
“Don’t you stop,” she said.
“I won’t stop. I’ll never stop.”
The pleasure was building in her again, and she pushed up at him, her bosom flattened to his chest. His fingers reached down between their bodies and plucked at her, and she gasped out his name in dizzy shock. He did it again and lights seemed to burst behind her eyes. Her bones turned to liquid, and the angels above her smiled. But he wasn’t finished with her yet. He thrust on, slow, steady, watching her face.
Rules of Passion Page 21
