Once a Duchess(49)

 

Her eyes roved his muscled shoulders and chest with its light covering of dark hair, down to his tapered waist. A trail of hair leading from his flat stomach disappeared inside his trousers. The thought of following that trail was deliciously erotic.

 

She laid a hand against his hard chest, then rested her cheek beside it and drank in his scent: clean earth and his own, natural maleness. The heady smell went straight to her brain like the strongest brandy. Her lips brushed his skin while her fingers roamed, finding his nipple and lightly raking it. He drew a sharp breath.

 

Knowing she aroused him fed Isabelle’s own lust. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples tender. Aching need built between her thighs.

 

Marshall pulled her closer and unfastened the buttons running down the back of her dress. With a little encouragement, it fell to the tarp in a soft heap. While she stepped free of it, he worked on the ribbon at the neck of her chemise.

 

“I have to see you,” he said urgently, feathering kisses over her neck and shoulders between words. “All of you.”

 

Isabelle could scarcely believe the effect she had on him. For years, being a woman had made the sin of her divorce all the more shameful — Marshall had not suffered for the very same divorce the way she had. Now, being a woman seemed the finest thing in the world. She felt a heady rush of her own feminine power as the solid, heavy evidence of Marshall’s arousal strained against his trousers.

 

Soon, she’d been divested of her chemise. Her slippers and stockings followed. Marshall pulled the pins from her hair. It fell over her bare shoulders in a golden cascade and brushed the tops of her breasts.

 

She felt very exposed standing naked in front of him out in the open under the light of day. Isabelle’s eyelids fluttered.

 

“God, look at you,” Marshall breathed, bare wonder in his eyes. “More beautiful than ever.” He put a hand at her nape and drew her into a long, erotic kiss.

 

The feeling of his skin melting against hers was pure bliss. She ran her hands freely across his back and brushed her breasts against his chest. The soft curls there teased her sensitized nipples, driving her mad with wanting.

 

Marshall scooped her up into his arms like she weighed nothing, then gently lowered her to the tarp. He removed his boots and peeled off his trousers. Isabelle drew a breath. His body was a vision of raw male power, all muscles and hard planes. She looked to the place where his manhood stood out from a thatch of dark hair, long and hard, and bit her lip as a fresh wave of desire washed over her. Allowing her gaze to drift lower, she saw that his thighs were thicker than they’d been a few years ago, more heavily muscled and defined.

 

He stretched alongside and kissed her, his large hand sliding over her skin. She responded freely, reveling in the mutual exploration. He hooked his left hand behind her neck, while the right lingered first over one breast, and then the other. Then he broke away from their kiss and replaced his fingers with his mouth. She gasped at the warm play of his tongue as he suckled; her back bowed upward, flagrantly offering more. His hand caressed her belly and grazed her thighs.

 

He lifted his head. The cool breeze over her wet nipple sent shivers up her spine. “So soft,” he murmured.

 

His hand eased between her thighs and stroked gently at her slick entrance. Isabelle instinctively clenched her muscles. “Relax, sweetheart.” He lightly worked over her, parting and teasing. His fingers, dewy with her wetness, found her sensitive nub and circled it. The touch ripped a moan from her throat.

 

One deft finger slipped inside. A second finger joined the first, stretching her inner walls. His thumb caressed her nub, sending sparks flying through her body, straight to her breasts and up the back of her neck. Pressure built in her belly. Marshall’s tongue traced whorled patterns around one nipple and then the other. Firm lips seared kisses down her belly and to the top of her damp curls.

 

He nuzzled his nose into her hair there. “You smell so good, Isa.”

 

She what? Startled, her eyes flew wide. Embarrassment sliced through her at the sight of his face right there. “Come back up here and kiss me,” she panted, gesturing with her hand.

 

He gave her an impish smile. “Kiss you, I shall, my love.”

 

Large hands pressed her thighs apart. Before she could protest again, his tongue lapped up her cleft, swirled at her apex, and then dipped inside. “Marshall!” she cried. The slightly rough texture of his tongue provided a whole new pleasant sensation.

 

“Do you like this?”

 

The rumble of his voice against her nether lips sent her soaring. “Yes,” she panted. “Oh, yes!”