Submitting to the Marquess

by Brown, Em Browint writing as Georgette

  “I wanted his cock! I was curious. And it pleased me to pleasure him in this fashion.”

  “Undoubtedly, he suggested it. Who is he?”

  “No one of consequence. But, as I have had some practice in it, I think you will find pleasure in my performance.”

  Hell and damnation. He was being propositioned by his cousin—once more.

  “I have defiled you enough,” he answered, and reached again for his cravat.

  “Or you can take me. Here. Now. I beg of you. Make use of my body. Lest I am not to your liking.”

  He suppressed an oath. “Millie, that is not the issue.”

  “But it must be. You have not disavowed it. Your arousal is quite plain, but you must not desire my body enough.”

  “Millie! Do you forget we are cousins?”

  “Not blood cousins. And no one need know. Please let me satisfy you. It would gratify me to do so.”

  He groaned as his erection stretched at her words and he hoped he could answer without wavering. “I can address my own needs to satisfaction.”

  “I know I must not please as well as Miss Hollingsworth, but you could close your eyes and imagine you are with her, and not your inferior cousin.”

  The blood was pounding in his head, clouding all thought.

  "I'll not mind. You could—"

  He succumbed. He crushed his lips to hers. To silence her. To ease the all-consuming pressure at his crotch. To prove that she was not as undesirable as she thought. To surrender.

  And once he gave himself permission to proceed, he knew there was no turning back.

  The more he tasted her, the finer she became. Over and over, his mouth ravaged hers. He kissed for his pleasure now, and it seemed would have done so even had she not invited him. Fisting his hand in her hair, he tilted her head in various directions, that he could sample all angles of her mouth. How delectably warm and moist she was. That she had no skill in the art of kissing mattered not. Her efforts amused him, and he favored them over no effort at all.

  The air between them grew as hot as that in the hearth. Her breasts pressed into him. Her hips. The little wanton had ground herself hungrily at him, and he had nearly succumbed the first time she had displayed the depths of her prurience. How could a woman who hitherto had shown such reserve, relinquish all inhibition?

  He flattered himself that he was the inspiration, though Millie had never shown any partiality toward him. It was what made him part with the sort of respect that he rarely spared his fellow men. She was not one of the many simpering maids who melted at his touch or tried to earn his affection through coquetry or flattery. Neither was she as beautiful, as witty, or as charming. But she was, for the most part, a sensible young woman, without artifice and possessed of a daring spirit. He had not anticipated this last quality, and the mystery of it intrigued him.

  His desire yearned to burst free of its confines. He fought the urgency and shoved his hips at her, giving her time and a sense of what she asked for. If she had a change of heart, despite the difficulty of fighting a tide turned, he would withdraw. But only upon her word.

  Had she truly surrendered her maidenhead to the damned stablehand? He did not think Millie would lie to him, but what if she had overstated what had happened?

  “If you wish to reconsider,” he muttered between kisses.

  “Damn it, Alastair,” she huffed. “Hang your qualms.”

  Bloody hell. He reached beneath her shift and went straight for the treasure trove. His fingers thrummed her clitoris, then pried between the folds. She gasped as they intruded into her sanctity.

  Damn. She was tight. Tight as a virgin. And wet. Steaming wet. Nothing could be more enticing. With surprising gentleness and patience, he pushed his fingers farther inside. She squirmed beneath him and purred. She had better not be a virgin.

  But even if she was, he doubted that he could retreat. His arousal raged too strongly now.

  His fingers grazed that most favored ally—that wrinkled pearl, still swollen, protruding from between her folds—before curling inside her quim.

  “Heavens,” she breathed.

  He fondled her till he had her panting and desperate. His own arousal was reaching its peak, fueled by the wet heat embracing his fingers. He had to sample this lusciousness with another part of his body.

  “Alastair…” she moaned.

  This time he favored the sound of his name upon her lips.

  He released her hair and unbuttoned his fall. His erection sprang forward, hard and at the ready. He looked to her to see if he could detect fear or hesitation but saw none. Instead, she licked her bottom lip!

  Holy…

  “Pray, make me wait no longer,” she said.

  Her words ignited him. He threw up her shift and, holding her by the backs of her thighs, he pressed the crown of his shaft to her nether lips. It took all his forbearance not to sink himself into her.

  “Yes! Yes!” she gasped.

  He felt her flex herself about his tip. No further encouragement was required. He sheathed himself into her, her wetness providing easy passage.

  She cried out and stiffened. And for a moment, he worried that perhaps she was a virgin. But his worries were muted by the glory surrounding his cock, pulsing into his loins. She was marvelous. Pure delight.

  He lowered his head to capture her lips and trail soft kisses from ear to temple. After she had relaxed, she writhed as if seeking motion. Slowly, he began to thrust.

  “Ohhh…”

  Her lashes fluttered. Her back arched. He settled himself a little deeper. Damn. Her womanhood felt as impressive as any he had sampled before. It was all he could do not to ram himself full and deep into her. With sighs and grunts, she writhed between him and the post, the movement of her body driving him wild. He shoved his hips at her to pin her in place so that he could slide more of him inside her. He curled the fingers of one hand into hers while he held onto the bedpost with the other. He ground himself into her with long strokes that left her breath haggard and her body trembling. When she began to grunt in earnest, he quickened his pace.

  "Yes! Oh, yes!" she cried.

  In her position, there was little she could do to match his thrusting, but he was more than content to do all the work. The bed rattled with the force of his motions.

  He saw her eyes rol toward the back of her head, her brow furrowed and her jaw slackened by passion. He intensified his pounding, shoving his full length up into her. His cods boiled, but he held the fire in check. She filled the room with her cries and incoherent words, and then her wail split the air as her body convulsed and bucked, submitting to that carnal euphoria. He speared himself into her wet heat, seeking the same. She trembled violently against him, but he required a few more thrusts before he, too, reached his apex.

  He pulled out of her as quickly as he could before his seed shot forth. His cods pumped the fire through him, draining his desire onto the floor below. He shivered when a second wave of seed poured forth. He clutched himself to ease the last drop, then shook his head to release the tension that had clamped the whole of his body.

  When the storm had finally passed, his breathing had returned to normalcy, he looked down to find her gazing up at him, her cheeks flushed, her lips still parted.

  Dear God. What had he done?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  IT WAS NOT what Mildred wanted to see.

  Moments before, she had savored his growl, his shivers as he found his own release. Her own had thrilled, astounded, delighted her to no end. She had never before felt such divine intensity, had wondered if her body might implode or explode. Every second had been a wonder. His strength as he had bucked her against the post; his stamina in pumping his hardness up into her, maintaining an angle that drew the most beautiful heat through her loins; his expression when he gazed down upon her. She had not felt her plain self. Even if he took her merely because he had no other option available to him—undoubtedly he had only the most utilitarian use for her body�
��the joining of their bodies excited her. She had relished it all.

  But not the guilt she saw in his eyes. The regret. It would ruin the beauty of what had transpired betwixt them. She could not let it happen.

  “Thank you, Alastair, thank you,” she said. “I hope it was as pleasurable for you as it was for me.”

  “There would not be the evidence of it upon the floor if it were not the case,” he said, his voice low and slightly hoarse. He looked her in the eyes as he untied her wrists. “Was it pleasurable for you?”

  “Exceedingly.”

  “Truly? I think I was overly harsh in my motions. Sometimes it is hard to contain the force of the carnal.”

  “I welcome it.”

  He grimaced and pulled away to replace his fall. “I ought not have—”

  “That would not be in accordance with the purpose of Château Follet. I pray you suffer no regrets,” she added as she rubbed her wrists, a little sore from being bound. “I will lose all respect for you if you do.”

  “What of you? Will you regret?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You will think differently tomorrow.”

  “Why ask me if you are so certain that you know the answer to your own question?”

  He stared at her, then a smile appeared. He looked down at her stays. “Allow me.”

  She stepped back. “Are we done already?”

  He was visibly taken aback by her question but answered, “Yes, we are done.”

  She glanced down at her breasts, recalling how he had looked upon them with desire. “But I had hoped to take your member.”

  “Millie…did you think we were engaged in something other than congress?”

  “Into my mouth.”

  His eyes steeled, and he pressed his lips into a firm line. “I will not degrade you further.”

  “But there is titillation in degradation, is there not? Is it not supremely wanton and wicked to take that man’s part and place it where nature had not intended?”

  “Millie, the hour is late.”

  “Do you not enjoy the act?”

  “Millie, I will not allow you to browbeat me into this.”

  “Browbeat? No. I merely wish to entice you. I have received some instruction in this and am no novice.”

  He shook his head. “Good God, Millie. When I discover this wretch who has turned you…”

  “Turned me ‘what?’ Into you?”

  He looked a little as if he might like to throttle her. “I will ask no more of you after this,” she promised.

  “You are asking to—to take me into your mouth…”

  She gave him a broad smile. “Yes. Please. My lord.”

  He uttered an oath beneath his breath. Before he could answer, she had sunk to her knees before him. She eyed his crotch hungrily.

  “You might even be pleasantly surprised,” she said. “I may be as good as or better than Miss Hollingsworth might have been.”

  She reached a hand to the buttons of his fall, but he caught her wrist.

  “Millie—”

  She pouted. “Come. It is not as if we are engaging in sin.”

  “Not engaging in sin?” he exclaimed, incredulous.

  “Further sin. We have done the worst of it already.”

  With her other hand, she cupped his groin. He groaned. Could she tempt him once more? The prospect that she could, that she was capable of such sway, excited her.

  “I am not one given to generous doses of conscience,” he said, “and you would lay to waste my attempts at goodness.”

  “I never invited you to be what you are not.”

  He paused. Perhaps he appreciated this in her. Doubtlessly, the women who hoped to tempt a proposal from him would not wish him to continue as he was once wed.

  “I pray you be the rake with me,” she said as she pressed her lips to him. “It is only fair.”

  With her one free hand, she undid a button. With a shaky breath, he released her other hand. She rubbed her hands over him, coaxing him to hardness once more. A thrill went through her when she felt him responding.

  She finished off all the buttons and freed his erection. It was glorious. All this hardness for and because of her. She brushed her fingers over the ridges of the veins and shivered. This had been inside her, had penetrated her deeper than anything had. Eagerly, she licked its underside, her tongue finding a spot that made him moan.

  “You’ve no need to do anything, Millie,” he said.

  “You granted and fulfilled my wishes and sacrificed your night to do right by me, but do not assume that I am merely returning your favor. I take much pleasure in the taste of cockmeat.”

  She engulfed him. He gave a quivering moan. She knew not if she tasted him, her, or the both of them upon his flesh. Heat swirled between her legs at the notion that she might be ingesting the flavor of her own desire. What wickedness!

  Greedily, she sank her mouth farther down his shaft.

  “Dear God.”

  Pleased at his reaction, she attempted to swallow more of him. With the stable hand, she had been able to take her mouth all the way to his pelvis. With Alastair, several inches still separated her lips from the base of his erection. She combed her fingers through the curls at his crotch, then cupped his sack, cradling the heavy balls there. He grunted and wound a hand through her hair.

  She knew to keep her teeth behind her lips and slowly began the motion that his sex adored. She drew her mouth up his length, then down as far as she could go. Over and over, she slid herself along his manhood. She sucked at the flared crown.

  “Ahhh…” he gasped, his grasp on her tightening.

  His hand at the back of her head, he pushed her back down. She went farther than she had done before and gagged when his tip grazed the back of her throat. After recovering, she gripped his member with both hands to keep it steady. But he dictated the pace. He pulled her up his shaft, then pressed her back down. In response, she sucked him as hard as she could, lapping at him with her tongue. She might not be the most skilled paramour he had ever had, but she would demonstrate she could be the most ravenous. She wanted him to remember her, to remember this night and not feel as if he had been jilted, but recall it fondly.

  “Bloody hell,” he murmured. He matched her vivacity and pumped her head up and down. She took as much of him as she could. It was not always elegant, but by the thrusting of his hips, she could tell that his arousal was growing by leaps and bounds—and very quickly. She gagged often but recovered each time. She came close to taking all of him and hoped he was not disappointed that she might not be as skilled as he had hoped.

  He popped his member from her mouth. It glistened with her saliva. Before she could protest, he had scooped her up, carrying her to the bed. He lay her down and clamped his mouth over hers as he removed his waistcoat and kicked off his shoes. After his kisses had left her breathless, he pulled down his braces and swept off his shirt. She eyed the toned shape of his nakedness. It was beautiful and as inspiring as any work of art. Ardor soared between her thighs.

  He made quick work of his remaining garments before attending to hers. He untied her stays completely and fondled her breasts, playfully pinching her nipples. He pulled the shift and stays down her arms, kissing the exposed skin as he went along. She wanted to return to her earlier feast, to see if she might be able to coax him to spend into her mouth, but he clearly had other plans. As long as it involved no regrets, she would not object. In resolving to stay at Château Follet, she had resolved to have none, and would tolerate none in him.

  His body hovering over hers, he planted soft kisses upon her upper thighs. She was consumed with desire all over again. She pulled at him, wanting to mate her mouth to his, wanting him to cover her body with his weight.

  “Behave yourself,” he warned with a light slap to her breast.

  She pursed her lips in displeasure but obeyed. He parted her thighs and situated himself between her legs. His gaze was there, where wetness still prevailed. W
hat did he intend, she wondered?

  He fingered her slit, then caressed the little bud of flesh that was so easily excited. Before long, she was moaning and writhing. His fondling was delightful, but she wanted more. She wanted to be filled. His fingers inside of her might do but not as well as that other part of him. It was made to fit inside of her.

  Withdrawing his finger, he replaced the digit with his mouth.

  Her body jumped, and he put a hand upon her pelvis to hold her in place.

  Merciful heavens.

  He had his tongue there. And it was…it was beyond delicious. Her mind reeled to think—to know—that he tasted her most intimate parts. She supposed it differed little from the bawdiness of taking cock into her mouth, but she wondered how he must perceive the scent and the wetness down there. He seemed not to mind, for his tongue continued its exploration, and when it found a spot that elicited a sharp gasp from her, bore down harder upon its discovery. She clutched at the thin bedclothes beneath.

  Merciful heavens.

  Enchantment rippled from her groin. She glanced only briefly at him to see the dark locks of his head bobbing between her legs. Shutting her eyes, she allowed her head to fall back upon the bed and gave herself to the apogee his ministrations coaxed. She twisted the bedsheet in her fingers when the prospect of rapture grew too much for her to contain.

  He shifted his caresses to give her a respite before taking her swollen bud into his mouth and sucking till her back arched off the bed.

  “Alastair!”

  He pinched the bud he had teased to glory. His tongue found a new spot of weakness, and attacked it vigorously. Soon she was panting and clenching her body against the onslaught.

  “I think I shall spend again…”

  “Not yet, my dear. With forbearance, you may increase the pleasure that awaits.”

  But she could not. In the face of so much pleasure engulfing her, she could not hold back the tide. It tore through her, shaking her legs and making her cry out. Every lick, every caress made her tremble.

  When at last he stopped to allow her to bathe in the aftermath of her finish, he climbed atop her, and she felt his hardness at her entry. He hesitated for a moment, so she wrapped her arms about him and pulled him down to her.