This startled her into motion. She slid away and managed to stumble toward a settee in the middle of the room.
“Your offer is a kind one,” she turned to say, while taking steps backward toward the egress, “but perhaps another time.”
He advanced toward her. “You wound me, madam.”
Her face fell. “I-I do not mean to suggest that I do not desire to be with you. It is that...”
Sweet Trudie, he thought to himself. She always did concern herself with others.
“You fear me,” he filled in for her.
“I cannot say. I hardly know you. I think it is that I doubt myself.”
“Doubt yourself? Permit me to show you there is no reason for it.”
She hesitated, and this was all the time he required to cover the distance between them. He caught her arm and pulled her to him.
“Come,” he urged. “You came to Château Follet with one intention. Let us fulfill it.”
Chapter Four
HE TIGHTENED HIS GRASP on her. One hand held her arm; the other was at the small of her back, pressing her to him. Her struggles were timid, as if she feared too much resistance would be impolite.
“Is this not what you seek, my dear?” he murmured into her neck. As his lips grazed her, he felt roguish and wicked, but he could not desist. It was not merely charity or a desire to bolster her vanity that compelled his seduction. An unexpected titillation manifested in the charade he played. To his surprise, he found he wanted to possess Trudie for his own.
She gasped, leaning away from him, away from his lips. Her hands pressed against his chest, but they did little to keep him at bay. He moved his hand to her upper back. His head lowered over her chest, he kissed the small indenture at the base of her neck. Her cry turned into a groan.
His cock throbbed. Had she always felt this lush in his hands? Always smelled this enticing? Or was it the prospect that she had intended to give herself to another man that suddenly made her more alluring?
Jealousy was a common device used by women to encourage more affection from their lovers, and he abhorred the tricks that such women employed. But Trudie had no wiles. Yet she had intended to commit adultery without his knowledge. He knew not which he preferred.
He kissed the area about her collarbone then trailed lower, to the tops of her breasts. “Come. Let us realize the intention of your journey.”
She could have done more to hamper his advances—slap him, strike him, claw him—but she either knew not how or had no wish to. He did not doubt that his wife had never before found herself in such a situation, being manhandled by a stranger. She had no practice in such affairs.
Her effort to distance her bosom as far as she could from his preying mouth pushed her hips at him. He could feel her skirts surround his legs. He pressed his pelvis toward her. She leaned too far back and lost her balance. They stumbled backwards, but he guided their fall toward the settee. Now she was trapped.
He saw fear shining in her eyes—but also the glow of arousal. Blood surged through his cock.
“Please,” she tried once more, like a mouse pleading to a cat for mercy.
He paused, his conscience willing him not to torment his wife. But how many men had an opportunity to ascertain the strength of their wives’ fidelity? A part of him still hoped she would remain true to her marital vows, but her crimes might lessen the guilt he felt. And his seduction must surely flatter her.
He had one leg between hers, and the other knelt upon the settee against the outside of her thigh. She could not escape unless he allowed her.
“Please, what?” he inquired. “All I do is what you desire me to do.”
He dropped his head and softly kissed the side of her neck. She did not fight him this time, and her dramatic breaths were not wholly the result of exertion. They held anticipation, too.
“No,” she said feebly as he continued to nestle her neck. “I think—I think I erred in coming here.”
“Allow me to show you that you did not.”
She moaned when he put his hand upon a breast and gently slid his palm where he thought the nipple to be. He wanted the orbs bared, but her attire did not aid in his seduction. He continued to caress her neck and her décolletage till her neck arched over the back of the settee. She had a lilting pant. For the most part, she had avoided his gaze, but when he moved his hand to her ankle, she started.
“Shhh, there is naught to fear,” he assured.
But her body had stiffened in alarm.
“What did your friend promise you would happen here?” he asked to distract her.
“Acts of d-depraved debauchery.”
“And this appealed to you?”
“She—she said the desires of the fair sex do not differ from men, though we are taught to believe otherwise.”
“Do you agree?”
She lowered her eyes farther. “I am not without lust. I suppose I am a weaker member of my sex.”
He grasped her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “Desire is as natural to our bodies as hunger. You need not be ashamed. At Château Follet, these desires are exalted and fulfilled without censure. Avail yourself of the most sublime pleasure. I vow it will rival Mozart’s finest concerto.”
An avid admirer of that composer, she looked a little incredulous, but he was up to the task of proving his assertion.
He lowered his head to claim her mouth. She gave a muffled protest, but then her lips parted beneath his, permitting him to taste her fully. The heat in his veins flared. Her resistance had not completely dissipated, but he was glad for it, because it enabled him to apply greater pressure. With his hand upon her chin, he manipulated her so that he could sample her mouth at a variety of angles.
She inhaled sharply when he delved his tongue into her.
Despite the newness and perhaps the strangeness of having her orifice assaulted in such a manner, she sighed, barely protesting when he smothered her mouth more fully. Consumed by his kiss, she seemed not to notice his hand slipping beneath the hems of her skirts and sliding to her knee. But when his hand touched the bareness of her thigh, she yelped against his lips. She squirmed.
“I mean only to pleasure you,” he murmured.
“But—”
He took her lips into his mouth, quelling her protests. Surprised to find her mouth so intoxicating, he was content to stay his hand while he kissed her long and hard. Only when he had felt her yield significantly did he move his hand to the inside of her thigh.
“Hmph,” she mumbled when his hand had reached the apex and then the outset of her folds.
The devil. She was not merely damp. She was near sodden. When he nudged the flesh, she became frantic, and tried to wriggle away as if she meant to clamber over the back of the settee. He stayed her with a hand upon her shoulder.
“Calm yourself. I promise it shall not hurt.”
“I am not—I am not prepared for this,” she gasped.
“Prepared? My dear, this is not a concert. You have but to lie back and enjoy what I am to do.”
He pressed his thumb at the nub of flesh between her folds. She cried out at the contact, her body bowing off the settee.
“We must not...”
Her words turned into a moan as he circled his thumb against her, slowly coaxing sensations both exquisite and torturous. Her eyes rolled toward the back of her head, and she grasped the settee as if in immense pain. He marveled at how strongly her body reacted, and when their gazes met through their masks, he glimpsed the fear he had seen in her on their wedding night. He had been too bewildered by it then to do much about it. But tonight would be different. This time he would show her the proper conclusion.
Her lips moved, but her words were lost. She squeezed her eyes shut, and it almost seemed as if she were not enjoying his fondling, but her wetness continued to flow. Her breaths grew haggard. His forefinger took a turn next, stroking that sensitive bud.
“Surrender yourself to the pleasure,” he encouraged, sensing that sh
e still fought the delicious tension. “Naught but ecstasy awaits.”
His touch was still gentle. If he had been with his mistress, he would have been agitating his entire hand against her as she ground herself into him.
“Oh my, oh my,” Trudie pleaded between clenched teeth.
With his fingers, he continued to build that beautiful tension from which one desired to topple. He hoped it would be so for Trudie. Her brow furrowed, and her groans and grunts increased. He sensed her arousal, but still she seemed to oppose the bliss that awaited her. He considered if his tongue might prove more effective, but such wantonness might startle her too much.
He intensified his fondling, making her legs quake. Her groans sounded slightly of sobs. Alarmed, he ceased his ministrations, but instead of looking relieved, she appeared vexed and even more distraught. She whimpered. He resumed his caresses. He would show her the end was well worth the present agitation.
Eventually, something inside her seemed to shatter, and her body went into violent paroxysm. Her cries pierced his ears as she bucked beneath him, her limbs jerking and flailing. He had never seen her spend, and was in some wonder of it. He had never seen any woman spend in such fashion, with such vigor. Desire pumped through him to the tip of his cock. The prospect of all that he could do with her filled him with excitement.
Chapter Five
WITH HER CHEEKS FLUSHED and her brow smoothed from satisfaction, Trudie looked beautiful. Her lashes fluttered, and when she opened her eyes, she gazed at him as if from a blur—but then he seemed to come into focus and she started. When Leopold bent to kiss her again, she put up her hands and tried to push him away.
"I must go," she blurted.
"We have only begun," he replied, still leaning toward her.
She pressed her hands against his chest. "No—I must."
She sounded more insistent this time, but her reservations had melted easily enough before. The swelling at his crotch grew tight at the thought of making her spend once more and in finer fashion.
"There is more pleasure, greater pleasure, to come."
She tried to slip from under him, but he, not being done with her, kept her body pinned to the sofa.
"Please," she gasped between her struggles.
Was she presently overcome with guilt? It was too late now. He reached between her legs. She tried to close them and push his hand away, but he persisted until he had reached that nub of flesh between her folds, still deliciously swollen and wet. She quivered. It was as he thought.
"No..." she moaned, but despite her protest, a radiance shone from her eyes.
With one hand, she attempted to yank his out from between her thighs while her other hand continued to push at his chest. Her squirming only caused his blood to heat further. Still wanting another kiss, he lowered his head. When her efforts gained her no traction, she shoved at his chin.
He grabbed the offending hand and pinned it to the sofa. "Do you not wish to spend again and more gloriously then before?" he asked.
"I must not." She spoke as if trying to convince herself.
He fondled her, but she became more vigorous in her struggles.
Why did she wish to stop now? Now that his member was hard as flint and yearning for release?
"I promise you an ecstasy your body has never before known," he murmured against her lips, recalling how sweet and yielding they had been.
"No! I-I have sinned enough.”
Her despair ought to have stayed him, but a faint hesitation hung about her words. He felt sorry for her remorse, but if she had not wished to be unfaithful, she should never have come to Château Follet. It was true she had resisted his seduction at first, but she had eventually succumbed. And spent. She had never spent for her husband before but had done so now at the hands of a stranger, a circumstance Leopold now found vexing. A surprising jealousy flared within him.
"It is of no consequence now,” he said. “You have made of your husband a cuckold already."
She slapped him across the face with her free hand, taking him by surprise. Was he the offender? After she had so willingly submitted herself?
He grabbed her second hand and crushed his mouth atop hers, muffling her scream. In her attempts to throw him off, she unwittingly pressed her body to his crotch several times, tempting the hardness there. Dispensing with his earlier tenderness, he probed her mouth roughly. The blood pounded in his head, drowning out his conscience. She was, after all, his wife. She should not be giving away what was rightfully his. As her husband, he was merely claiming his prerogative.
Her strength was no match for his. She kicked her legs, pressing her feet into the sofa to provide some leverage to free herself from beneath his weight, but his pelvis kept her pinned. He ground himself into her as his mouth continued to assault hers, his tongue probing into her moist depths. A part of him did wish to make her regret coming to the Château, but he was mostly overcome with a desire to possess her, to prove that she was his and no other’s.
She twisted her head to escape his brutal kisses. Sensing she would not relent, he knew of one way to wear down her resistance. He let go of one hand and reached again between her legs.
His touch sent her into a frenzy. She pushed at his face. But the effect of his fondling was immediate, quieting her vigor.
“Please, sir,” she pleaded, her protest akin to the soft mew of a kitten.
“I promise your body will know the divinest pleasure,” he said, teasing and tempting the seat of her desire.
She shook her head weakly. “It is enough. Please.”
But she had ceased to claw him and her body trembled beneath his. He plied her clitoris, leaving her panting anew.
“You are ready to spend again,” he noted, his head swimming with the scent of her arousal.
“No.”
He almost laughed at the feeble rebuff. He slid a finger into her slit. With a loud gasp, she grabbed his upper arm. The look upon her countenance called to his cock. He sank a second digit into her. She groaned. Her lashes fluttered. He curled his fingers and gently stroked.
“Dear God,” she whispered, her eyes wide behind her mask, which sat askew as a result of their scuffle.
Her arousal was ripe, sensual, exciting. He wondered that he had not had the patience before to discover the beauty in her pleasure.
Trudie dug her fingers into his arm as his digits fondled her with a little more vigor. The wet heat of her quim was marvelous. Withdrawing his fingers, he straightened to undo the buttons of his fall. His member sprang free, stiff and ready. She stared at it, frightened, as if it were a weapon that could hurt her.
"I will be gent—" he began.
But she had sprung off the sofa and scrambled for the doors.
He caught her and they tumbled to the ground. She clawed and hit at him, dealing a fairly decent blow to the side of his head before he could grab her wrists and pin them to the floor.
"How unkind of you, madam. You would take pleasure but provide none in return?"
She paused briefly but resumed her resistance. Once again, her struggles only fueled the lust inside him. He had thought to prevail in his seduction, and was surprised his skills had not brought about her complete surrender. She did not understand that his cock was the superior fit for her cunnie, and that she would enjoy it much more than she had his fingers. He would show her how superb it would feel.
"Please, let me go. There are other women for you.”
Recalling how easily she had dismissed herself earlier, he held her gaze in his and said, "It is you I want."
Her eyes lit up yet she continued to waver. "But..."
"Is this not what you had sought in coming here?"
She whimpered, her indecision arousing his earlier turmoil. He had a right to claim her, and his cock would be satisfied with nothing less. He wanted to show her that she was desirable. He was also cross with her for being so easily seduced by a stranger, for seeking to commit adultery. With his knee, he nudged her legs ap
art. He released one hand to pull up her skirts. She took the opportunity to strike at him and nearly knocked his mask off.
Stifling an oath, he flipped her onto her stomach and held her down by putting a knee to her lower back. He untied his cravat and used it to bind her wrists behind her.
"You brute!" she cried, flailing with the desperation of a fish out of water.
"You came seeking debauchery in the form of criminal congress," he reminded her. "I am merely fulfilling your intentions."
He threw her skirts over her waist, revealing plump and unblemished buttocks. If he had more patience, he would've stopped to admire them more, but his cock would wait no longer. More swiftly than he’d intended, he sank his length into her.
She gave a long cry but lay still, allowing him to savor the glory of her cunnie. He thought she would take to screaming, and he would have reconsidered his actions if she did. Instead, she whimpered.
He reached a hand around her hip, past the voluminous skirts bunched about her waist, and nestled it at her groin. His fingers found her clitoris. Her moan was long and low.
Fighting the urge to shove his entire shaft into her, he concentrated on strumming that swollen bud between her folds. She shook her head and whined a little, but he could sense her resistance melting away as more and more wetness coated his fingers. He pushed a little more of himself into her. She felt divine.
With his hand beneath her, theirs was no easy position, but he fondled her to the best of his ability. And when he had sheathed his entire cock inside her paradise, it seemed she gave a welcoming groan. He did not fault her for succumbing. There was little she could do, and a part of her must find it flattering that a man desired her enough to ravish her.
The wet heat surrounding him was irresistible, and he began a gradual thrusting. She squirmed, and he shoved deeper to keep her in place. He intensified his fondling of her clitoris.
“Oh my,” she murmured.
Surrendering to the Baron (A Steamy Regency Romance Book 7) Page 3
