On a whim, she purchased some gifts for her mother, while Arlo offered commentary on everything she glanced at. He liked to tease her, and she would rather cut her tongue out than admit she deeply enjoyed his ribbing. The man was infuriatingly witty, and he’d somehow devised the precise way to making her laugh and annoy her at the same time. He had something to say about gloves, mantillas and every other garment that piqued her interest, except for one. An item large enough to need a box about the size of the one on the pristine white coverlet.
She reached for it, pulling it to the edge of the bed where she was standing, and lifted the lid. The Gaillon Sisters exclusively made accessories and undergarments, so this could only be something extremely inappropriate. The man was shameless, scandalous, utterly disreputable, and still her breath quickened at the idea of him discreetly purchasing it while she wasn’t looking.
She pinched the paper between two fingers and lifted it, revealing the chemise she’d seen. The garment which when she’d picked it up, had elicited one of those sounds from Arlo that made her stomach clench and her heart race. It was a simple thing. White satin, linen, and Valencian lace. No long sleeves, like what one usually saw in London. But narrow straps, lined with the same lace on the hem and the edge of the bodice. She’d imagined herself sleeping in it. The sensation of the smooth, slippery fabric, cool against her skin, had called to her, but it had been obscenely expensive. Far beyond what she could justify spending.
This was not a simple gesture. This was a proposition.
She pulled it out of the box to put it on, a thrill unfurling in her belly as the buttery texture of the satin slid against her skin. It was as decadent and luxurious as she’d imagined. Even the small buttons were perfect, shiny pearls.
After fifteen years in Britain, many of which she’d spent in the family’s shop catering to the gentry’s ailments, she’d learned more than a few things about men like Arlo. They either looked right through her or viewed her not as a woman to know, but to possess. Some of it was class, of course. Aristocrats existed in a world of their own making, and they seemed to go through life unaware of the humanity of anyone not part of that world. It was a privilege she did not have, and she never put herself in a position where men like that could use her for their temporary entertainment.
Still, Arlo had surprised her. He’d let her lead him around the Marais searching for supplies before more walking in the Rue de la Paix. At some point, between sharing raspberries and him talking about his past, she had lowered her defenses. No, she’d done more than that. She’d kissed him and she’d flirted. Shamelessly flirted. And she’d enjoyed it. She wanted another kiss, wanted more time in his arms.
Marena had long ago accepted that her independence and having a mind of her own in English society meant spinsterhood. It meant keeping who she was and her ideas about the place of women to herself. So she’d been careful. Distant, her mother and sister said. Unfeeling.
Except now she yearned for a night of heedless passion. It was a complicated thing, being a woman who had no intention of marrying, but who also wanted to experience pleasure occasionally. She imagined Arlo peeling this chemise off her, pulling with urgency as she melted in his arms. And need slammed into her like a tidal wave. It had been a long time since she’d let herself contemplate a liaison. Since she’d allowed herself to feel desire.
A knock on the door startled her out of her heated reverie, and she shook her head as if she could dislodge whatever had been swirling in there since she’d kissed the Duke of Linley in the alleys of Paris.
“Entrer!” she called, eager for some distraction. Still with her back to the door, she walked to where her dinner gown hung. The chambermaid, Colette, had drawn her bath and promised to return to help her dress. “Ça va, Colette?”
The appreciative grunt that came in response to her greeting made her miss a step. “I came in to ask if you wanted to have a drink before dinner, but now I’m contemplating the idea of completely adjusting our plans for the evening.”
Marena took a breath, crossing her arms over her chest. She was in her chemise, a man—a duke—was about to see her in a most scandalous state. She should care. She should yell at him that she was not that kind of woman. She would do none of it. It wasn’t as if she had forgotten the reasons why doing this with Arlo was dangerously reckless. It was simply that at this moment, she could not find it in herself to care.
She turned slowly, trying to snap the thread of excitement coiling around her. Good heavens, but she wanted him. She took him in—tall, muscular, with that wicked ocean gaze focused on her. He was dressed smartly, as always. Matching trousers, jacket and waistcoat in a charcoal gray. His four-in-hand perfectly knotted, this time in a deep burgundy. The precise, strong lines of his face, and those lips. Those sinful lips she could still feel on her skin, turned up in a smirk of appreciation, like he was exceedingly pleased with himself for barging into her room unannounced.
“Do you make it a habit of storming into ladies’ rooms, Your Grace?” she asked placidly, forcing herself to drop her arms to her sides, giving him the view he’d come to see.
He made a sound that could’ve been yes, but might have actually been tits. It was hard to decipher, but as he took a step closer, his gaze landed right where the edge of lace of the chemise kissed the top of her breasts. He bit his bottom lip, eyes still focused south of her face. “I have all kinds of deplorable habits.”
She huffed, something cutting ready to leap off her tongue. Possibly some epithet about the need for decency and restraint. But Marena didn’t make a habit of lying to herself. At least, not when it was clear there was no more avoiding the truth.
“So you thought after one kiss I’d be so entranced I’d let you have your way with me?”
“Only if you are offering, sweetheart.” Every word out of his mouth made her soften and heat up at once.
She turned, giving her back to him, and reached for her dress. “I am not having this conversation half-naked.”
“But that’s the ideal state for the topics I’m interested in discussing.”
She narrowed her eyes as she extended a hand to pick up her corset. “I need help with this evil contraption, and since you seem so keen on bursting into rooms when women are trying to dress, you might as well make yourself useful.”
Turning to face him, she caught the amused twitch of his lips as she bit back her own smile. “And what compensation will I receive for my labor? I would think a kiss would be a fair price.”
She scoffed as she worked on the hooks of her corset. The way his nostrils flared at the sight of her breasts pushed together indicated this game might not end as she anticipated. Or more like exactly as she’d hoped.
“I cannot in good conscience help you conceal these two beauties from the world.” He sounded genuinely affronted, and she had to bite her tongue not to laugh. “I regret to inform you, darling, that my expertise is in helping women free themselves of corsets, not get into them.”
“You are a scoundrel,” she said, marveling at how much she enjoyed this man, especially in these outrageous circumstances.
He’d said he was not Linley here, just Arlo Kenworthy, a man of means on some business. And who was she? Marena, a woman trying to help her family, one more of the thousands of foreigners who walked the streets of Paris every day. Her family had always been comfortable, well-off, never wanting for anything. But this was opulence. The high ceilings and elaborate molding, the enormous four-poster bed covered in the finest damask, extravagance beyond anything she’d experienced everywhere she looked. This was not the life she would go back to when she arrived at Charing Cross Station. This moment, this place, was a fantasy, and she felt compelled to luxuriate in it. To indulge in it. In him.
Marena let the corset drop to the floor, and as if she’d tugged on a string, he closed the space between them. He stood there, eyes hungry, chest moving fast. Waiting.
“I’ve been considering your offer.” She circled her ar
ms around his neck.
“Have you?” he asked, voice low and seductive, the vibrations melting her core. She shivered at the strength in his hands, the way he dug them into her skin, one at her hip and the other with a tight grip on her bottom.
“You are correct. We have an evening and a day before our meeting with our respective siblings.”
Another grunt was accompanied by a brush of lips to her neck.
“So,” she whispered, letting her own lips travel from his neck, to his jaw, smelling the scent of his freshly shaved face. “I’m pondering on how to best use our time.”
“I have many suggestions,” he offered with enthusiasm as he undid the buttons of her chemise and exposed her breasts, eyes boring into her, and yes…this was what she needed. Heat pooled at her core as he brought his mouth level with her breast. His hot breath making her nipples harden, as the throbbing between her legs intensified. He touched her so lightly, lips brushing over her collarbone. His thumb grazing the valley between her breasts until she was panting. Still he would not put his mouth where she wanted him.
“Arlo, please.”
“Do you need something, love?” He ran the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip, and she swore she could feel it on her own skin. He opened his mouth, making her gasp, desperate to have it on her. “May I?” he asked, the tip of his finger flicking the aching tip of her breast.
She responded by grabbing his head in both her hands and bringing his mouth exactly where she needed him.
This was a delightfully surprising outcome for his impulsive gift of undergarments. Marena had too much of a spine to recriminate him, or feign offense, but he had not expected this, an aroused, impassioned Marena offering him what he’d been aching for from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. And he’d known it would be like this. No demure double-entendres or half-heated insinuations. It would be a fevered, demanding whirlwind that would quite possibly ruin him forever.
“If I’d anticipated this would be the reaction,” he muttered, as he cupped her breast and ran the flat of his tongue over a hardened nipple. “I’d have had your bed filled with boxes from Gaillon this morning.”
She let out a sound somewhere between a scoff and a moan. “I would’ve thought giving you something to do with your mouth would prevent me from listening to nonsense, Your Grace.” She moaned lustily as he added teeth to his efforts. “This happened because I want you, and I’ve decided that between now and the moment we fulfill the reason for this adventure, I shall have you.”
He looked up from his work on her breasts, which were even more magnificent than he could’ve imagined, unsettled by her words. And he must really be a fool, because she was giving him something every man wanted: the chance to quench his lust without attachments. He should take this without hesitation, ask how he could please her, inquire about her most dark fantasies, and set about making them true in the next twenty-four hours. If there was a tightening in his chest at the idea of only getting her for a day, then that was something he’d have to deal with on the train to London. Tonight and tomorrow were for pleasure. “What changed your mind?”
“You made some very lofty claims after that kiss, Your Grace.” Something about her playful tone felt false, like she was keeping her true self hidden, and he wanted all of her here with him.
“Arlo,” he demanded. “Say my name.”
“Kiss me, Arlo.”
Something feral and primal burned in his gut. His head spun, drunk on his desire for this woman. She turned her face up to him and he brought their mouths together, his tongue stealing into her mouth with barely contained hunger. He had always prided himself on his restraint, but the onslaught of Marena Baine-Torres, lusty and wanton in his arms, had easily undone him.
Some men of his station liked to be the ones to own a woman’s innocence for the first time. Found pleasure in demure inexperience. But there was something about a woman who knew exactly what she wanted, a woman who understood herself enough to demand her pleasure, that had always excited him.
The way she moved against him. Hips rolling seductively as she kissed him without restraint. He wanted to know what it would be to have those same hips crashing against him as he surged into her. To have her lithe limbs wrapped around his waist as he took her. The idea set his blood on fire. His hands went back to undo the last buttons on her chemise, while still kissing and tasting her mouth. She smelled like the citronelle and lavender from the morning. He wanted to inhale her, press his nose to the secret places that held her scent. Lick into her until he knew every inch of her body.
“I want to taste you everywhere,” he said as he fumbled with her chemise.
“Bloody hell, these buttons are more effective than a chastity belt.” He growled, ready to tear the thing off her. For all his experience, he felt like a fumbling arse, he was that eager for her.
She laughed, bringing her hands to meet his, and efficiently undid the rest of the buttons, exposing her enough to give him a peek of the nest on brown curls which hid the place he most wanted to taste. “You were supposed to be helping me get in my gown, not out of my undergarments,” she teased as he reached for her.
“How could I? With these two beauties calling me. All I want is to lay you on that bed and play with them for hours,” he said before he swirled his tongue around a pebbled peak, making her gasp.
“More,” she demanded, and in that moment, he would have given her anything. He took one breast in his mouth, his hand playing with the other as she writhed against him. Breathy moans of pleasure escaped her lips, tearing at the very fabric of his sanity.
“I don’t think there is anything in the world that could keep me from tasting you,” he said heatedly as he pressed openmouthed kisses on every inch of skin he could reach.
Soon he was moving down her body—dinner trousers be damned. He needed to get at the core of her. He traced a path with his lips, kissing the underside of each breast and every inch of her until he arrived at seam of her cunt. Once he was on his knees, he looked up at her, and his breath caught at the sight. That mass of wild curls almost to her waist. Her deep brown skin tinged with red from the heat of the moment. Her mouth was open and a little swollen from his kisses. Her eyes wild and her body wanton. He’d never seen anything more perfect.
“You are vision.” He whispered against her skin, unable to hide the emotion in his voice.
Some things were undeniable. Some people were inevitable, and Arlo had learned long ago that shrewd men didn’t resist change, but embraced it. He could see himself rearranging his whole existence to have more of her. From the moment in that shop when she’d turned those heated brown eyes on him he’d been adrift, every new moment with her displacing the ideas he had about himself. He’d told himself a million times that he’d never attach himself to anyone. Would not open himself to more liaisons that further tied him to his duties in the nobility. He certainly never planned to take a wife. But with Marena every touch, every kiss revealed a different truth. One night would never be enough.
“Marena.” It was a supplication, a question with no answer. He pressed his nose to the apex at her thighs, breathing in her scent as she ran her hands through his hair.
“Please. I need you,” she pleaded, her voice hoarse, and he felt addled by it. His control edged out by the need to possess her. He had no idea what had caused her change of heart, but he would not be foolish enough to question it. With his eyes locked on hers, he slid up the chemise, over her knees, then her thighs, until the fistfuls of linen, lace and silk were bunched up against her waist. He pressed his nose into the soft brown curls and inhaled deeply, drunk on her.
Arlo enjoyed sex and could draw satisfaction from giving and receiving pleasure, but this urgency, this all-consuming need, was a revelation.
“I want to do unspeakable things to you with my tongue,” he muttered, lips already pressed to the thatch of hair at the juncture of her thighs.
“I’m very keen to let you,” she gasped. “I’m curiou
s to know what skills a gentleman rake acquires to earn that title.”
He didn’t speak another word, already engaged in the task at hand. He grazed his lips to her mons. Something between a moan and a hiss escaped her lips as he explored her.
“You’re torturing me,” she groused, tugging on the hair at his nape.
He clicked his tongue as he used his thumbs to lay her bare to him.
“Beautiful.” His mouth watered with the need to taste her. “And so wet for me.”
She glistened, beads of liquid beckoning his tongue. He applied himself to the work of tasting her as if he were aiming for the highest marks. He lapped at her cunt like it was coated in honey. The tip of his tongue circled and flicked her hardened nub until her moans turned into frantic cries. Her hand was fisted in his hair, keeping him pressed to her pussy. God, but he loved how demanding she was.
“More,” she begged, and he obliged, desperate now to taste her crisis, the nectar of her passion flooding his mouth and his senses. He used one hand to hold her open to him, tongue lashing into her, and pressed two fingers inside.
“Ahh...yes, fill me up.” Arlo thought he’d known passion, that he’d done all there was to do. But that was before Marena. He thrust in his fingers as she demanded more of him. Her hips undulated, seeking her climax.
“Yes, use me, love. Take your pleasure,” he coaxed, circling the pads of his fingers against her clitoris.
“I’m so close,” she hissed, making him redouble his efforts. He used his thumb on that little button, making her keen against him. He tasted and caressed her until she was too sensitive for his touch. His mind swirled with a million thoughts. He wanted to pick her up and take her against the wall. He wanted to stay right here until she let him worship her with his mouth again. He wanted… more. More of her body, of her time.
Duke I’d Like to F… Page 37