She was particular with who she took as a lover. She had to be. A Black woman running a business that served the rich had to be beyond all reproach, a guileless vessel with no opinions of them, of their lives…of their idleness. Or any life of her own. She loved her work, but it could be a lonely existence. Especially when you were ambitious. She worked at her craft, strived to master it. And in the years since she’d been running the apothecary, she’d discovered competent women tended to encounter at best disinterest and at worst scorn from men.
Not Arlo. The Duke of Linley seemed fascinated by every detail she shared about herself, and not once had he implied what she did was not important. He intrigued her so. He had no reverence for his title, yet cunningly used the power it gave him it to pursue what he felt was important. Damn the man for having morals.
Arlo was dangerous. Too handsome and imposing, too much like everything she’d never wanted. But in him, she could not seem to get enough of. A man who could satisfy her body and her mind. With all that power, he could decimate her, which was why she had to walk away. Because even after one day, she knew if he asked her for more—if he asked to see her in London—she wasn’t sure she could turn him down. As if he were waiting for the exact moment when her defenses were at their lowest, she heard a knock on her door.
“Come in,” she called as she walked to the table by the balcony doors where she’d placed the small silk pouch she’d brought with her from London. Proof that, despite everything she’d told herself about how things would be with Arlo Kenworthy, before she boarded that train in London, she’d already known the truth.
The door clicked as it closed, followed by footsteps. He was quiet too, and she wondered if he’d had his own reckoning in his room and was coming to tell her this had all been a mistake. After only a few days, she already knew he was the kind of man who would not take a woman to bed for the wrong reasons. The kind of man who would do the honorable thing.
She didn’t think he’d put her reputation at risk. Not if he wasn’t willing to face the consequences with her. She wondered if he’d go as far as offering marriage just so he could have her in his bed. Not that she would consider the offer. She had never been a fool, and letting herself get swept into a world that would despise her would be madness. But then she felt his hard chest against her back, and sensibility fluttered up and out the window into the Parisian night.
“I was hoping you’d still be dressed.”
“Mmm?” Enveloped in his touch, his voice, his heat, she let herself drift. This man could become an addiction, and she could not fall. “Are you going to take the place of the chambermaid again, Your Grace?”
“Call me by my name,” he demanded, his hands already possessing her. He palmed her sex over her dress and placed his other hand on her neck, the two places where he could feel her pulsing for him.
“Arlo. Are you going to undress me?” she asked, and brought her hands to cover his, his touch filling her head with things she ought not want. She’d spent so many years mastering the art of keeping everyone at a distance, yet with Arlo she craved closeness.
“Out of respect for your mother, I will mind the buttons,” he said, his hands sliding from under hers. He stepped back and she missed his warmth immediately, but soon he was making quick work of the buttons at her back. “The curve of your neck,” he said as he ran a finger on that very spot, “is why artists go back to the same model again and again.” He punctuated the last word with an openmouthed kiss at her nape. His hot, dark caress in such a sensible place made her tremble. “If I could paint—if I had the talent—I’d spend decades on your body. The lines and curves of it. How does a man attend to the demands of life once he’d had this?”
“I’m already letting you bed me,” she said unsteadily. He made a gruff noise at that and slipped the dress off her shoulders.
“I must invest in endeavors of the rational dress movement,” he said with appreciation as he removed the front clasps of her corset, then her narrow petticoat, until she was in her chemise. “I will become a fervent advocate of the cause if it allows for such brisk undressing. Turn around, love.” The word pierced her. She had to take a breath before facing him. And she was not prepared for what she saw.
“Arlo,” she breathed out her eyes landed him. He loomed large in front of her, all brawn and barely contained power. He was barefoot, his shirt unbuttoned, cuff links removed, revealing smooth skin like sculpted marble. She didn’t know where to touch first. “You are a beautiful man.”
His lips quirked up. “You think me beautiful, Marena?”
She nodded, hands busy removing his shirt. “I do.” She pressed her lips against the skin that was in front of her. The silky hair on his chest tickled her palm as she lapped at him.
“I’ve been dreaming about your mouth, and would like a lot more of that very soon, but I need to see you.” With that, he stepped back again so there were a few feet between them. “Bare yourself for me, Marena.”
Her skin felt fevered as she undid the buttons on the front of her chemise. This was madness, and yet she could not stop herself from looking at him as the garment slid down her body to the floor.
“Like this?” she asked, her skin tight, burning for his hands.
“Tell me where you’d like me to touch you first. I can still taste you, and I want to bury my tongue inside you again.”
“Dios mío,” Marena whispered, the Spanish coming to her when she had no words left in English to voice what she was feeling. She had not taken many lovers. She’d had two, to be exact––Jean-Pierre, a Haitian poet who she’d met here when she was studying under Madame Lemba, and Lily, who had left England looking for a place where she could be who she was more openly.
Marena knew what she liked. She’d learned from both Lily and Jean-Pierre the places where she liked to be touched and the parts of her lovers’ bodies she most enjoyed. She appreciated a woman’s softness and delighted in the rough planes and angles of a man’s body. But she’d always been able to keep her head; she’d been the one in control, the one who beckoned. With Arlo Kenworthy, she felt like prey. And more concerning was the fact that she ached to be caught.
He moved closer, taking her into his arms. His touch at once gentle and rough on her body. “Did you know that most of peerage hates me?” he asked as he slowly slid his big hands down her back to her bottom. “They think I’m too common. That I’m too stoic. But really what they hate is they can’t find a weakness to exploit. I’ve seen firsthand what happens to men who let their passions dictate their actions.”
Perhaps this was when he’d let her know that this was just a convenient tryst, that he, too, had a life where none of this could fit. Except it seemed to Marena that with every graze of his hands, every brush of his lips, it became less clear why they should ever stop.
“But,” he said before kneeling in front of her, his hands already searching for that little engorged peak of pleasure that he seemed to know so well. “You’ve turned my head and I can’t stay away. It should feel like weakness, but all I feel when you’re in my arms is powerful.” He licked at her then, his tongue circling her clitoris until her entire existence became the pleasure radiating from her core. “I could spend the rest of my days right here.” He pointed the words by using to fingers to spread her folds, opening her to his eyes, to his mouth. And yet she was the one who felt consumed by hunger. “Lost to making you scream my name.”
His hands, she thought, would be why she finally succumbed. Working with the earth, Marena had learned to appreciate a person who had good instinct for touch, and Arlo had the gift. She pressed herself to him, showing him without words where she needed him most, and instantly his thumb was right where she ached. She circled her hips, looking for that perfect friction, and he tightened his fingers on her thighs exactly where she needed to feel him.
She could get lost in him. She already was.
“Más,” she demanded, and he obliged. He ate at her, flattening his tongue so tha
t he could lap her up. She felt her climax coming at the very moment he inserted two fingers, which felt like too much and not nearly enough, because what she wanted, what she needed, was all of him.
She’d barely come back to herself when he was on his feet, picking her up. “I am afraid we’ve arrived at the moment when I thoroughly ravage you on this bed.”
For all his rough talk, he laid her on the mattress like she was made of spun sugar, his hands quickly looking for her heat again. If he started that, she’d be begging him to take her within seconds, and she needed her cervical cap. “Arlo, wait.”
The reaction was immediate. He pulled back, his hair adorably ruffled. It gave his almost masculine face a boyish demeanor. That paired with a not-quite petulant wrinkle on his nose tugged at something in her.
“Is something wrong?”
She shook her head at his question, her lips quirking up of their own volition.
“Nothing’s wrong.” She ran hands up his powerful shoulders, marveling at the way looking at his body made her feel. But she’d always loved to look at beautiful things, and this man was certainly that.
“How did this happen?” she asked, pressing her fingers into hard muscles. She softly raked her nails over his hard chest, coaxing out a hiss of pleasure. He closed his eyes as she continued to touch. “I thought the peerage spent their days lounging around White’s, eating bland food and sipping brandy.”
He threw his head back to laugh, his blue eyes glinting with humor. “That is not an inaccurate assessment.” He grabbed one of the hands she was running over his chest, and playfully bit the tip of one of her fingers. “Idleness is a virtue for many in the ton. But not for me. I fence, I ride, I swim.” She lifted an eyebrow when he mentioned swimming. “Linley House has an indoor pool. We keep it heated so I can use it year-round.”
“An indoor pool,” she said, unable to hide the wonder from her voice.
“I had it put in for my grandmother,” he said, bending to kiss her. “I hired the architect who builds them for the Cambridge Swimming Club.”
“Swimming in warm water,” Marena marveled. She hadn’t done that since she’d left the Caribbean at fifteen. Growing up, she’d gone early in the mornings with Lluvia, and they’d swim at a little private beach a mile or so from their family’s house. There were swimming clubs in London and public pools, but decent ladies would never appear in public in any attire fit for swimming.
“There are days when I feel stifled by this title, but the idea of you naked in my pool may have made it all worth it.” He ran his big, warm hands on the insides of her thighs as his eyes singed her. “I would like to see that.”
She was about to tell him that could never happen, that there would be no swimming or anything else between them once they were back in London, but the words died in her throat when he covered her with his body. His chest hovered above her, hands on either side of her head until all she could see was him.
“I’d sit you on the ledge, spread your legs and lick you. Then I’d fuck you so thoroughly.” He licked his lips as if the taste of her were the most sinful delicacy. “Mm, for days I’d do nothing else.” Before her brain could produce a response he came in for a kiss, licking in to her in that way he did. His tongue gentle but his every move focused and determined. By the time he pulled back, she had her thighs bracketing his waist and was ready to move on from conversation.
“I want to have you.” he said, his mouth hot as he spoke next to her ear, hips thrusting against her. “I want to be deep inside, feel you clenching against me.” Her head was swimming with need, her legs scissoring against the ache there. Her core pulsed with the echo of those words, I want to have you. She’d never thought possessive demands would evoke such yearning in her, but she wanted to be his.
“I need to do something first,” she said, pushing him off her and climbing out of the bed.
Once she’d reached it, she held up the cervical cap, almost certain she was about to ruin the moment. But this was something she would not compromise on. She had everything to lose if she did not keep her head. And she would finally see what kind of man Arlo Kenworthy was. If he was the type who spoke about women’s rights as long as it never hindered his ability to indulge himself. She raised her gaze as she spoke. “Contraception.”
His smile faltered for a moment, and her heart sank, but then his face split into a grin that practically reached his ears.
“You were planning to ravish me before you even left London.”
Chapter Ten
“You’re an insufferable sod, and I like to be prepared.” She groused, an impressive feat considering the grin on her face.
“Prepared for my prick, you mean. And for the record, I brought French letters, as I too like to be prepared.” This earned him a pinch on the arm, which only made him dissolve further into laughter. He was being an enormous arse—and quite possibly ruining his chances of getting to put said prick anywhere near her—but the woman was a delight to incense.
“For a man who is just a step from the monarchy, you use very crude language.” It would be easier to take Marena’s growl more seriously if she were not currently naked and holding up the contraception device she’d brought from London, which she had obviously planned to use while in Paris.
His cock gave a slight jump for joy at that new development as he made his way to her. “You look extremely tempting leaning on that dresser,” he said, taking her in. “I’d envisioned fucking on the bed, but now I’m reconsidering.” He licked his lips as she squirmed. “If I seat you on the edge, I can see your tits bouncing as I thrust into you, suck on them while your sweet little cunt tightens around my cock.”
“You are a reprobate.”
“Of the worst order,” he teased, putting his hand out for the pouch which she lifted over her head.
“You are not touching it with dirty hands.”
“But my hands have only been…in you,” he said innocently, eliciting another frustrated growl from her. And then a second one when he effortlessly lifted her until she was seated on the dresser. Instead of trying to convince her to hand him the cap again, he did what any reasonable man who had a pair of luscious breasts at face level would do. He popped one in his mouth.
“This is unseemly, Arlo. I am trying to be serious.” Her breaths were coming more quickly, so he continued his efforts. Suckled on one nipple while his thumb and index finger tweaked the other. He used his tongue and teeth, as he had noticed Marena enjoyed, and soon she was panting, legs spreading for him. Her arms came to her sides and she fumbled with something between her legs.
He came up for air to ask if she needed assistance, but a hand at the back of his head pressed him right to the nipple he’d abandoned. “The more you do that, the easier it is to put this in place, and then I can finally experience this legendary cock for myself.” She sounded winded, but right under that there was amusement, and that was what undid him. This woman who had been so distant, so cold with him, was now playful. She had no qualms in showing him that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
It overtook him again, the greedy feeling, that urge to manipulate and cajole until she agreed to see him again once they were back in London. He just might make commitments or marriage offers if it came to that, just so that he could continue to have this.
“I’m ready,” she whispered, her voice suddenly small and fragile. “Now you get ready.”
He moved fast, making quick work of finding the condom in his pockets and sheathed his cock. Within a moment he stood to his full height, pressed between her thighs, already poised to enter her.
He kissed her as he spread her folds. He stroked her, their tongues gliding together. Her small moans of pleasure enticed him until his hips rolled against her. He was at the edge of a precipice, and once he jumped would never be able to find his way back.
“Please, Arlo.”
“What do you need?” he asked through clenched teeth as he held the base of his cock, the wet tip rub
bing against the little nub that brought out those delicious sounds out of her.
“You, I need you.” She rocked her hips closer, and they both gasped as he entered her. He forced himself to stay perfectly still for a breath, for a heartbeat. then slid in until he was fully seated in her.
No. There was no coming back from this. He already knew the truth. He would want more, much more from Marena Baine-Torres.
“You are…” Perfect. Irreversible. Essential. “Tell me how I feel inside you,” he asked with an urgency he could not recall feeling with anyone ever before. He needed hear her to say this was obliterating her too.
“So good and I’m so full,” she cried, her arms tightly wound around his neck as he surged into her. “Don’t stop. Please,” she begged, her hips thrusting to meet his, as if their bodies had been made for this singular purpose. He lowered two fingers to the tight space between them and circled her clitoris, making her keen from pleasure. Soon, he felt her walls gripping him until he, too, was gasping for breath.
“You feel so good, sweetheart. I want to be inside you forever.” Even in the heat of this moment, those words struck true. He would never get enough. He kissed her hungrily, luxuriating in how freely she screamed her climax against his lips. She gripped him like a vise, hot and perfect, and soon he felt his orgasm crash over him. He braced his legs on the floor and held onto her as their breathing evened out. Once he could make his limbs move again, he scooped her up and brought her to the bed.
“You seem to favor these gratuitous displays of strength,” she mumbled against his neck.
“Not carrying you would’ve meant letting you out of my grasp, and I can’t let go quite yet.” He was being possessive, but that would linger as long as he still had the taste of her on his tongue.
Once she was on the bed, he got a damp towel from the water closet and cleaned them both up. Then he covered them with the light linen blankets that felt cool in the warmer June night. He took her in his arms, her hot, damp skin already feeling essential. And she went to him, still amorous and pliable. She rested her head on him and sighed contentedly. He already wanted to demand more time with her. In business, no one could outmaneuver him; he could wait any competitor out. But when it came to Marena, urgency felt like a fever under his skin.
Duke I’d Like to F… Page 40