Say Yes to the Marquess(93)

“What is it you want, love? Tell me.”

“I want you.”

His hand caressed her arm. “Then you have me. I’m right here.”

“You know what I mean.” She wriggled on his lap. “I . . . I want you inside me.”

“Like this?” Reaching between them, he slid one finger into her depths. The sensation took her breath away . . . but it wasn’t quite enough.

The devil. He knew exactly what she was craving. He was only teasing her.

“More,” she panted, working against his hand. Each time her sex brushed his palm, a ripple of bliss moved through her. “I want more.”

“Then say it.” He drew her close and kissed her ear. “Tell me you want my cock.”

She froze. A thrill rocketed through her.

“Go on,” he urged, pushing his finger deep. “I can feel how wet you are. You like hearing me say these things. So say them yourself. Tell me you want my cock deep inside you. Hard and fast.”

“I . . . I can’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s already been on the tip of your tongue. And it’s just a word.”

“A wicked word.”

“You wanted to do wicked things.”

Yes, but she’d expected him to do the talking. When it came to speaking of carnality and desire, he never had any qualms. But Clio had qualms. So many qualms. Great heaps of qualms she’d amassed over a lifetime.

He teased his thumb in devious circles, right where he knew she’d feel it most. His breath caressed her hair. “You’re here. With me. It’s safe. You can say whatever you feel.”

Her whole body ached with need. He had her so excited, she would have done anything.

“I want your cock.” Her voice was breathy. “I want it inside me.”

He drew his finger from her slickness and took himself in hand, positioning the smooth, broad crown of his erection at her entrance. “This is what you want?”

“Yes.”

He put his hands on the arms of the chair. “Then take it.”

She sank down on him, a little lower each time, taking his hard fullness into her in delicious increments until her lap rested on his.

“Now look.” He turned her head toward the dressing table. “Look what you did.”

Their reflection filled the looking glass. His big, bronzed hands gripping her pale flesh. The gentle bounce of her breasts as she rode him in a lazy rhythm. The haze of desire in his expression.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

His hands sank to her waist, and he guided her into a swifter pace, driving up with his hips to fill her. She slumped forward and buried her face in his neck, surrendering to it all. The feel of his hard length dragging in and out of her, teasing her most sensitive places again and again . . .

The pleasure rose and gathered so swiftly, her climax caught her before she knew it. She went limp in his arms, sobbing faintly with pleasure, trusting him to keep up the rhythm she needed.

And he did.

When the last tremors had subsided, he tightened his arms around her, stroking her hair.

“That didn’t go as I planned,” she said, when she’d finally recovered her breath. “I was supposed to be giving you wicked pleasure.”

“Oh, you did. You most certainly did.”

He brought her mouth to his, and it was like their first kiss in the tower—­a tender, languorous sweetness spread atop a chasm of need.

She marveled at his patience. He was still so big and hard inside her. He had to be desperate for release.

Bending her head, she kissed his neck. She stroked her fingers over his shoulders and through the dark hairs on his chest. He began to move inside her again. Thrusting slowly. Tenderly.

So deeply, she could feel it in her heart.

His arm tightened around her waist, and his thrusts grew harder, more desperate. Until each one wrenched a sob from her and a harsh, guttural sound from him.

Closing his eyes, he let his brow fall against hers. His thrusts redoubled in force. They clashed against one another—­cheek against jaw, teeth against chin. Raw, openmouthed kiss against kiss.

Then his hand tightened in her hair, and he broke the kiss, pulling her just a few inches away. He held her so tightly, forbidding her to look anywhere else. She had no choice to but to stare into his eyes.

“Look,” he said. “Look what you did.”

Those bold green eyes held hunger and yearning and stark, unabashed want.

And something more.

Something that could only be love.

“I know,” she said. “I know. It will be all right.”

He seemed to swell inside her. One . . . two . . . three final, desperate thrusts. Then with a growl, he shuddered and slumped forward in her arms.

As his breathing slowed, she drew soothing touches up and down his back and murmured soft, crooning words in his ear. It seemed the act left him so spent and vulnerable, he would allow himself to be fawned over—­and she took full advantage.