He chuckled. “Too bad you don’t have a moving picture camera.”
Oh, there was a fine idea. “Would you—?”
“Indeed, not. This is for your eyes only. Come here.” She reached him in two steps, and he tilted his head to look at her, his stern expression full of lust. “Take off your clothes.”
It took her longer to undress on her own than if she’d had his help, but soon she was down to her drawers, stockings, and shoes. Color stained Max’s cheeks, his chest rising and falling rapidly with the force of his breaths as he stared. Deciding to tease him, she lifted her foot and placed it on his thigh, the heel of her boot digging into his flesh. He jerked, his pupils dilating until his irises were nearly black.
He grunted. “In the mood for a bit rough?”
She unbuckled her shoe and removed it. “Perhaps I wish to torture you.”
“Then press harder,” he said with a daring lift of his brow.
She brought her other foot up and leaned on him, slowly unfastening the buckle on her shoe. He sucked in a harsh breath, his body tensing. “Hurry with the rest of it and get up here.”
She shed her stockings and drawers and started to stretch out next to him, but he grabbed her arm. “Sit on my thighs. Put your knees on either side of my legs.”
Climbing up, she positioned herself, which left her sex completely exposed. It would have been mortifying if Max weren’t focused on her like a starving man. “Like this?”
“Yes. Lean back and put your left hand on my shin, then use your right hand between your legs. Show me what you’ll do when you develop the pictures you took this afternoon.”
Oh.
He was ordering her to do . . . that. In front of him.
“Max . . .”
“You are gorgeous, Violet. Show me, please.”
She bit her lip. He hadn’t stopped pleasuring himself. Where was the harm if she did the same? No one would know except for him, and he wouldn’t judge her. He never did.
“Go on,” he urged, his voice a low rasp.
Arching, she steadied herself with a hand on his leg. The position thrust her breasts up, which Max must have enjoyed because his hand moved quicker. Emboldened, she slipped her fingers into her sex, dipping into the folds until she grazed her clitoris. Pleasure sizzled in her veins and she sucked in a sharp breath.
“Goddamn, that is beautiful. Keep going. Let me watch you.”
Gathering her courage, she used the pads of her fingers to swirl and tease, the skin swollen and slippery, while the scent of arousal permeated the air. They observed one another, a shared and intimate experience with hardly any contact, and somehow that aroused her more. She tried to bedevil him, exaggerating her movements, thoroughly enjoying herself while her body climbed toward its peak. Max panted and cursed, his muscles straining as he pumped his fist, and his reaction spurred her on.
At some point, Max released his erection and placed his hands on her thighs, a light sheen of sweat coating his entire body. His penis was a dull red and fully engorged, resting on his stomach, waiting to be put to good use. And she wanted it. There was an emptiness inside her, an ache, and there would never be another man in her life like this one. Not like Max.
The time was right. She knew it in her bones.
“Max, I want another favor.”
His gaze remained focused on the place between her legs. “Anything, darling.”
“Will you be my first?”
He froze, his eyes locking with hers while his fingers dug into her thighs. “Your first time should be with your future husband. Not me. I cannot marry you.”
Lord, she was tiring of hearing him say that.
She pressed harder on the taut bud and her eyes nearly rolled back in her head. “Why should I wait . . . to bestow this honor . . . on a nameless and faceless future husband?”
He licked his lips, his expression turning decidedly predatory. Like he was imagining all he wished to do to her. Streaks of white-hot pleasure rolled along her spine.
“You want me to ruin you.” His voice was rough, with sharp edges and unyielding authority. He could command an army with that tone. God knew she’d do anything he asked when he spoke to her like that.
“Yes, I do.” Then she landed a blow of her own. “Please, Your Grace.”
As if on cue, his right eye twitched. “You’ll regret it.”
Impossible. She’d dreamed of this for so long, and he had exceeded her imaginings, the elaborate fantasies she’d concocted in her head over the years. The real man was infinitely more alluring, more caring, and there was no reason to hold back. She wanted to drown in him, to lose herself in his breath and surrender to his caresses. “No, I won’t.”
“Stand up.”
She crawled off his lap and stood on the floor. Max rose and towered over her. “You still wish to do this? You want me to fuck you?”
“Yes.”
“You are going to be the death of me. Let’s go.” Not bothering with clothes, he took a hold of her wrist and led her to the back corner of the study. Where were they going?
He pushed a section of the wainscoting, and the wall popped open.
“A secret passage?” How thrilling.
“Go.” He ushered her into the darkness, then flicked a switch that illuminated a single bulb. A set of stairs waited to the left. “Climb.”
She ascended the stairs, Max right behind her. She could sense him, large and looming, and her skin crackled with awareness, every cell vibrating with readiness. Was this truly happening?
At the top of the stairs, he reached to open a latch, then pushed on the wood. Beyond, a bedchamber was revealed. His bedchamber.
Her heart pounded, a steady thrumming of disbelief that she was finally here after so many years of dreaming about it. It was like she’d been invited into Heaven—or more like Hell. This was Ravensthorpe, after all.
She walked inside, her wide gaze taking it all in. A huge dark walnut bed dominated the space, while an armoire, side table, and single leather chair comprised the remaining furniture. Sparse artwork on the walls. As decadence went, the space left quite a lot to be desired. Standing by the bed, she dragged her fingertips over his simple bedclothes. “Hmm.”
“You sound disappointed.” He closed the panel in the wall. “What were you expecting?”
“Velvet and gilding, I think. A list of men you’re exacting revenge upon. Perhaps a special coitus chair, like the one the Prince of Wales supposedly owns in France.”
He made a choking sound, his eyes bulging. “How on earth do you know about that chair?”
“Have you seen it?” His lips flattened, and she had her answer. “Tell me. I overheard ladies discussing it in Paris at a ball.”
“I will not. And I’d rather discuss you than Bertie. Are you certain about this? You may change your mind at any time, you know.”
Even though she was feeling shy and longing for a dressing gown, Violet had never been more certain of anything in her life. “I want this. I want you.”
He pulled her close with one arm and used his free hand to roll her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Have I told you how much I adore your breasts?”
“You do?”
“Very much so. I would love to pierce these gorgeous nipples with jewelry. Did you hear of that when you were in Paris?”
That was something people did? “No.” She watched his hand, her breath stuttering as his thick fingers pulled and massaged the tip of her breast. Each movement sent spikes of pleasure straight between her legs.
“It’s in fashion these days. Rings that hang from the breast, sparkling with gems. I could tug on them gently, give you a tiny bite of pain. Would that be rough enough for you?”
“I think I might like that,” she said, feeling dazed, drunk on his presence. Yet his talk of the future penetrated the fog in her brain. “So, does this mean we’ll continue to see each other?”
Clever girl. Max should have known she’d pick up on that. “For
now, let’s focus on your request, shall we?”
She reached to stroke his shaft. “Just tell me what to do.”
Max groaned and struggled for composure. He knew this was a mistake. He had no right to take her virginity, but he was past the point of talking her out of it. She was a grown woman and if this was what she wanted, then who was he to deny her?
His erection was so painful, he had to grit his teeth. Twice he’d nearly orgasmed while watching her pleasure herself and if he didn’t spend soon, his balls might explode.
Still, he had to make this good for her.
He stilled her hand and gestured to the bed. “Lie back on the mattress.”
The bed was the perfect height for him to feast on her cunt, and he wasted no time in doing so as soon as she was in position. He kissed and licked her, leaving no bit of skin untended between her legs. He even brushed his tongue over the puckered rose of her bottom, which caused her to gasp, and he made a mental note to return to that area someday soon. Oh, the pleasures I will give you, my little mouse.
“Max, please,” she begged, her thighs trembling aside his head. “Your Grace. Oh, please.”
He couldn’t resist her when she begged in that tone, so he tongued her clitoris, suckling while sliding his index finger inside her. Her walls gripped his skin, reminding him of the narrow width of her opening. You cannot hurt her.
On his wedding night, he had tried to prepare Rebecca, but she’d wanted the whole business done quickly. Max had assumed his wife’s reticence had been nerves during her first time, but it soon became clear Rebecca didn’t enjoy their coupling. At all. No amount of preparation had pleased her.
He had to do better by Violet.
Her hips soon met the pumping of his hand, his finger slipping easily into her quim, so he added another. Violet’s fingertips curled into the bedclothes, fabric bunching in her palms as she mewled in her throat, her body undulating toward its peak. “Oh, God.”
By the time he used three fingers, she was drawn tight, shaking with need. Then the taut bud swelled and tightened in his mouth and she broke, her walls clenching around his fingers, milking them, and Max nearly came on the floor. Goddamn, he could not wait to be inside her.
Rising, he climbed onto the bed and slid between her thighs. “Lift your knees.”
She obeyed without question, spreading herself open, her sex flushed from her orgasm, the skin glistening with her slickness. Had he ever seen anything more arousing in his life? Gripping the base of his cock, he lined up at her entrance then paused. His chest heaved as desire clawed inside him like a rabid beast, desperation a fever in his blood. “Are you certain?”
She widened her thighs even further and Max’s brain turned to porridge. He pushed forward ever so slightly, working the head of his cock inside her tight sheath. The walls squeezed him like a fist, and he had to close his eyes, breathe deeply, to keep from rutting at her like an animal.
“Oh,” Violet said.
He lifted his head and studied her. Violet’s eyes were wide, as if she was surprised. “Are you in pain? Discomfort?” Rebecca had cried their first time, her tears soaking their bed. “Shall I stop?”
She shook her head. “Do not dare.”
He exhaled, relief and affection settling in his chest, lightening his mood. Vowing to go slow, he moved carefully, steadily, watching her the entire time for signs of distress. She was breathing heavily, her skin flushed, as he slid into her body. It was bloody torture, with streaks of lust crackling along the backs of his thighs, his cock demanding friction.
When he bottomed out, he held there, motionless, sucking in air as he gave her time to adjust. Being inside her was heaven, a tight, wet paradise that he never wanted to leave. Violet was all he could see, all he could feel, and he wished he could stay right here, like this, for the rest of the day and into the night.
Soon he couldn’t wait any longer. “All right?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“I expected to be torn in two. Instead I feel . . . full.” She wriggled, causing him to shift inside her, and he screwed his eyes shut, struggling not to spend before they even got started. “I like it,” she said.
Dear God.
Max gave a thrust of his hips, his shaft dragging along her sensitive tissues, and Violet purred. “Goodness, I like that even more.”
He was done for.
Any civility he possessed disappeared and Max snapped, driving into her again and again. At some point she dropped her knees and clutched at him, pulling him closer as he fucked her like a man possessed. Her body slid higher on the mattress and he chased her, unwilling to let her get away even for a moment. A part of him knew he was being too rough, too barbaric for her first time. But she only moaned and scored his skin with her nails, telling him in breathy pants, “more” and “faster.”
The woman would be his undoing.
He leaned over her, snarling in her ear as his hips worked, his cock plunging in and out of her channel. “You like this, my little mouse? You want more?”
“Oh, Max, yes. Please.”
“You’re going to let me fuck you whenever I want, aren’t you?” He couldn’t seem to stop talking, especially when her walls clenched every time he did. She likes my dirty words. “Your cunt was made for my cock. I’ve never had better.”
It was the truth. But he knew it wasn’t her body—it was her.
You’re falling for her.
Unwilling to give credence to such ridiculousness, he shut off his brain and thrust hard. Then he used his thumb on her clitoris, stimulating the button until Violet’s back began to bow, her breasts bouncing as continued to work himself in and out of her. Finally, she arched, crying out as her walls contracted around his cock. Flashes of heat streaked along Max’s spine, through his bollocks, but he somehow held out while watching her orgasm, the sight more alluring than anything he’d ever witnessed.
As soon as she started to relax, it was tempting to let his body take over, surrender to the bliss that rocketed through his system. Yet he couldn’t finish inside her. Quickly, he pulled out and crawled up her body, his knees astride her chest, and aimed the tip of his shaft at her mouth. “Open,” he growled.
She parted her lips and he drove between them, groaning as her tongue swirled on the underside of his shaft as if coaxing his spend. Then it happened. The orgasm roared through him, sensation shooting along his thighs and out the tip of his cock. It went on and on, wave after glorious wave of euphoria, his muscles trembling as he gave her everything he had.
He slumped, nearly falling over, weak as a kitten in the aftermath. Violet continued to lick his shaft, her mouth gentle, and stared up at him with such adoration and satisfaction that his lips twisted into a half grin. He hadn’t smiled this much in . . . ages. But Violet had that effect on him. In the short time they’d been lovers, he found himself thinking of her at the oddest moments, with small comments he wished to tell her, as if she’d invaded his brain with her sweet and earnest nature.
Running his hand through her disheveled hair, he almost blurted out a very stupid sentence.
You cannot ruin this girl’s life. Begging her to be your mistress is selfish, Max.
God, but he wanted her. Day and night. Ready at his disposal, with her easy smile and keen observations, not to mention her delectable body.
He dropped onto his back and tried to catch his breath. Violet rolled closer, snuggling into his side, and he wrapped his arm around her.
“You are very good at that,” she said, her head resting on his shoulder. “No wonder your mistresses fight to keep you.”
It had never been like this, but he didn’t tell her that. “I am pleased you enjoyed yourself. I haven’t much experience with virginity.” Only his late wife, and no one would deem that a success.
“Max, it was perfect.” She pressed a kiss to his skin. “Just as I knew it would be with you.”
He shifted to cradle her cheek in his palm. “I should be reassuring you. Did I hurt yo
u?”
“No.” She bit her lip and wiggled slightly. “I am a bit sore, but I cannot wait to do that again.”
A chuckle escaped Max’s throat. “What am I to do with you, my sweet girl?”
“I am certain you’ll think of something, Your Grace.”
Chapter Nine
Violet forced a smile at her dance partner. What on earth made her parents believe Lord Sundridge a good choice for a husband? While he wasn’t particularly hard on the eyes, he talked nonstop. She’d stopped listening ages ago, instead memorizing three rote comments to interject whenever he paused for a reaction: “Indeed, I daresay you are right,” “How clever of you,” and “One can never know, I suppose.”
Thus far, he hadn’t seemed to notice that her mind was elsewhere. Or, rather on someone.
Max stood on the far side of the room, towering over the other men in his perfectly tailored evening clothes. His dark hair was expertly styled, his expression bored to the casual observer. Violet knew better, however.
The Duke of Ravensthorpe was watching her every move.
Oh, he might not have stared directly at her, but he observed carefully, keeping to her vicinity, and his keen gaze brushed over her person no matter where she was in the room.
She could swoon with the possessiveness of it. The duke, possessive of her. Her core squeezed in happiness, despite the soreness from yesterday. Though she and Max would never marry, she would never regret giving him her virginity. The experience had been utterly divine, satisfying in every way.
Which left her the problem of Sundridge. Her current dance partner was carrying on a one-sided conversation that seemed more like a lecture aimed at no one in particular. Above all else, she could not marry this man.
Had her father already spoken to Sundridge’s father? Dread slithered over Violet’s skin, turning her stomach. Why was her mother anxious to marry her off, even to a nincompoop? It made no sense.
Perhaps she should try and reason with Sundridge.
“My lord,” she said, interrupting whatever he’d been saying.
Duke I’d Like to F… Page 51