Chosen: Gowns & Crowns, Book 7

by Jennifer Chance

“What?” Win’s gaze jerked up until he met Marguerite’s eyes, which were creased with concern and more than a little confusion.

  “Win, we barely know each other,” she said quietly. “We’re from two different countries. I understand that—I completely understand that. It’s okay.”

  “You…” He should be overjoyed, he knew, but for some reason, Marguerite’s words only made him feel more conflicted. “It’s okay that I…”

  “What, that you don’t want to propose marriage to me thirty seconds after meeting me? Um, yes, Win,” Marguerite said, and now her voice edged toward amusement. “At this point, if you could possibly see your way to kissing me again, that would be more than enough.”

  By way of answer, Win shifted closer to Marguerite, very close now, and even the air between them seemed to shimmer with expectation. He breathed in the scent of her, honeysuckle and amaretto. Then his mouth dropped again to hers. She met him more than halfway, their kiss deep, almost languorous, like a long, sensual shiver, ending on a sigh.

  At length he pulled back, the slightest bit, still nuzzling the corner of her mouth as he murmured, “like that?”

  Marguerite hiccupped a laugh. “That’s a good start, yes.”

  “How about this?” He moved his lips over her soft skin, to where her pulse was thrumming beneath her ear. He lingered there, his tongue tracing a small circle over that staccato point, his hand tightening on the armrest of the settee as desire snaked through him. Marguerite sucked in another stuttering breath, and he shifted up, toward her ear.

  “Oh…” She sighed as he traced the gentle curve of her ear, her neck instinctively arching beneath him to move yet closer, and as he lifted his head he took in her lidded eyes, parted lips.

  “Also good?” he asked quietly, not waiting for her nod. In one slow movement, he levered himself more fully along her body, one of his knees sinking into the soft seat cushion between her legs, his head now even with her neck. With a flick of his fingers, he made quick work of her soft cotton shirt’s buttons. “Then I’m hoping this is very, very good.”

  Marguerite couldn’t seem to find the words to speak, or knew she didn’t need them. Instead she exhaled softly, the sound nearly a whimper, as Win pulled the edges of her blouse apart. A thin silk bra rested against her skin, the cups full and fabric straining as her nipples peaked beneath it. Desire jacked through Win in a way it hadn’t for longer than he could remember, the fullness of his shaft reminding him that Marguerite wasn’t the only one who needed to lose the clothes.

  But first…

  Win eased forward, sliding a hand up Marguerite’s soft skin as his fingers stretched and explored the contours of her waist, her gentle curves. When he grazed the bottom edge of her bra she hissed out a short breath, and he looked up to meet her gaze. The coolness of the summer night was pushed back by the heat of their bodies, and her eyes were dark and unfathomable now, her mouth open, the tip of her tongue barely visible as slowly…so slowly, he reached up to palm the weight of her breast.

  Another jolt of need slashed through him as Marguerite arched beneath his hand, and he jerked the fabric away, baring her breast. The nipple was little more than a rosy bud, trembling and tight, and he drew his lips, his tongue over it as she moaned. She was saying something, but it wasn’t English. Pure male satisfaction rode the wave of lust. Win had never heard Garronois spoken before, but if this was what brought out Marguerite’s native language, he was clearly doing his job.

  Marguerite laid a hand on his shoulder and pushed him, and Win willingly eased back to allow her enough room to half sit up, her body bathed in moonlight as she pulled the shirt from her body and removed her bra. Her hair tumbled down over her shoulders in soft, flowing curves, and she swayed toward him, sighing with pleasure as he gathered her into his arms. He’d already half-pulled her off the settee, and was at once at war with his next step.

  She solved the matter for him.

  “Here,” Marguerite said, her fingers on his shirt, pulling it out of his waist band. Win’s own breath hitched as her cool hands found the tight, knotted surface of his abs. She dipped her hand lower, tracing the outline of his straining cock through his pants, and it was her voice now that held notes of satisfaction. “Here,” she said again.

  He didn’t need any more direction than that. Moving as fast as he could, Win peeled away her pants and yanked his own clothes free of his body, excruciatingly aware of the hunger in Marguerite’s eyes as she watched. The balcony was deep and quiet, and moonlight poured over them, setting everything into an intoxicating blend of light and shadow. When he leaned back into the settee she willingly stretched out beneath him, and then the entire length of his body pressed against hers. She curled into him like she was born to fit him this way, and she drew her hand down his chest, his stomach—not stopping as she drifted light, sensual fingers over his quivering shaft.

  Then Win realized his critical tactical error, and a bolt of misery shot across the haze of his desire. “I…didn’t plan for this,” he said. “I—”

  “I did.”

  Twisting away, Marguerite reached for her tote bag, a moment later pulling free a foil packet. Win didn’t move to take it from her, his body shuddering as she lifted her backside against his straining shaft, the movement clearly designed to kill him. He couldn’t move if he tried, and Marguerite laughed, a slow, feminine murmur that conveyed that she had absolute control in this moment.

  “Here,” she whispered huskily, turning halfway toward him and waving the foil packet. “Let me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Yes, yes. A thousand times, yes.

  Marguerite rolled back toward Win, who now braced his hands on the back of the settee and one of its wide armrests, his body locked in place and his face tight with desperation. His mouth worked, but no sound came out, and his eyes watched her with feverish intensity as she resettled herself beneath him. Win’s knees were braced as wide as his arms, and she easily slid down until her hands were at his shaft…then she slid yet further.

  That seemed to galvanize him to speech. “Marguerite,” he gritted out, and she smiled, though he could no longer see her face. Instead her mouth was perfectly positioned at arguably the most sensitive point on his body, and it really seemed a shame not to take advantage of that.

  Win hissed out a long, shattered breath as she drew her tongue along his quivering shaft. He might have cursed, but she was lost to his words. Setting the condom to the side for the moment, she lifted her hands to him, one hand wrapping itself around the base of his shaft, the other cupping the heavy weight of his sac as she teased the tip of him with her lips, her tongue, even setting the edge of her teeth against him in a gentle scrape. In her grasp he swelled further, and it wasn’t only his shaft that was twitching now, but his entire lower body, the instinctive, rhythmic tremors having nothing to do with his ability to keep himself upright, perched over her, but everything to do with his spiraling lack of control. She heard her name bit out once—and then a second time as she tightened her hold on him, but she wasn’t quite done playing yet. It’d been a long time since she’d been naked with any man—and she’d never enjoyed a body as perfect as this one.

  She slid her mouth down over the length of his shaft, and sucked. Hard.

  The expletive that burst out of Win’s mouth was decidedly not something he’d learned at boarding school. One of his powerful hands dropped to her head, his fingers twining in her hair, but he didn’t pull her away. He shuddered as she continued her sensual torture of him, pushing down, then pulling back, down and back, relishing the obvious and gratifying effect she was having on the man. When he gasped her name again, broken with desperation, she pulled back for the last time.

  Win’s entire body was shaking.

  She picked up the package then and at the sound of the ripping foil he stilled, another incredulous expletive rolling forth. Then she pulled the condom free of its packet and lifted the barrier to his shaft, rolling it on with—if not true skill
, then definite attention to detail.

  By the time she pushed herself back up along his body, Win was so still she wondered if he was even breathing anymore.

  She needn’t have worried.

  Marguerite’s head had barely reached the pillow when Win shifted his position, lifting off the settee in one powerful thrust and pulling her up until her legs were half spilled over the cushions and her head and torso propped by pillows. Before she could exclaim her surprise, he knelt between her knees. It took her a half-second to realize his intentions—but by then it was too late.

  “Win!” she breathed, the word cutting through the night with urgency, but Win was already leaning into her, his hot mouth scoring the skin over her belly with a trail of fiery kisses. He found the sensitive ridge of her hipbone, then triangulated down, parting her legs with his hands as Marguerite fairly radiated with her own heat and need. The bare prickle of his cheek and its five o’clock shadow, rough against her thighs, sent a thousand whorls of sensation skittering through her, but that was nothing compared to the jolt of hot lightning that scorched through her when his tongue dipped further down.

  Win might have said something, murmured words against her, but Marguerite was far too gone to understand anything he might say. She arched beneath him as he traced circles of kisses over and along her clit, his fingers coming up to tease and torture in similar but what seemed like impossibly more intense ways than what she’d just done to him. He found the clenched nub of nerves at her center with almost unerring precision and seemed to focus there, winding her tighter and tighter until she thought she would explode. She threaded her fingers though his hair, half to brace herself against something—half to hold him steady. She was sure—positive—he would carry her up this twisting surge of sensation to its end but—then he moved, sliding away from where she most desperately needed him, to trail long, sensual kisses along her leg.

  He was heading in completely the opposite direction of where he should be.

  “Win,” she gasped, and then, when she heard his low, rolling chuckle as he kissed his way back up her body, she knew he was doing exactly the same as she’d done, only this time it was far, far worse. There was no way he’d needed release as much as—

  “Now, where was I,” Win murmured, and his face even with hers once more. He dropped his mouth to hers, kissing her gently, and the pool of heat in her core only seemed to expand. She leaned up to meet his kiss as she settled her hands on his waist, angling him closer to her, positioning him so that their hips were pressed together.

  “Here,” she said against his mouth as he chuckled. “I think you were here.”

  “Ahh.” Win shifted his shaft along her already overheated center, sliding slickly against her with a sensual friction that almost made her eyes cross. “I think you’re right.”

  Then his hands were in her hair once more, his mouth at her ear, along the side of her neck, trailing a line of wet heat across her collarbone. And all the time he rocked against her—against her, not in her, the new combination of sensations almost enough to send her over the edge. Almost, but not quite.

  Some dim part of her brain managed to break through her haze. He was doing this on purpose, taking control—but she already knew that such control could go both ways. The next time he shifted his hips back she did as well, lifting her body so his shaft slid perfectly into her with his next thrust.

  Win froze, and a bolt of feminine awareness surged through Marguerite, filling her with pleasure. She moved up again, then down, and she could tell the exact moment when Win gave up his game, gave himself over to the sensation of their bodies connecting. His sigh was broken but far from being defeated. Instead he lifted his head and gazed at her, his sharp grey eyes locked on hers as he slid deep within her, filling her completely.

  “Is that better?” he rasped. But Marguerite couldn’t think of anything except for the incredible pressure within her, the sensation point that joined her with this man in a way she’d never experienced before, as if he’d been born to be with her—and only her. A wave of possession swept through Marguerite, and the need, the rush to completion started up again, faster this time and more intense, impossibly more intense.

  Win seemed to realize it too. The tenor of his movements changed, and his mouth dropped to hers, murmuring against her lips. This time she heard him, his words little more than a sigh. “This,” he said. “Just this.”

  Then her mind was caught up in the storm churning within her. She felt her fingers clutching—almost clawing against Win’s shoulders, knew that the words to beg him onward were surging in her throat only to die there, unnecessary as he caught her sense of urgency and stoked it to ever greater heights until she felt like she was running, running, running—unable able to stop, unable to speak—

  And finally she soared over the cliff, shattering into an oblivion of stars.

  Marguerite was cursing again.

  Her body convulsed beneath him, and all the male satisfaction he’d thought he’d felt before paled in comparison to what he was feeling now. Her beautiful face was strained, her lips tight, her throat working, her eyes screwed closed as she rode out a tide of pleasure that he’d helped bring her, he’d helped stir to life.

  He could easily imagine himself doing that for the rest of his life.

  The thought was so unexpected he stiffened, his shaft thickening still more inside Marguerite, surrounded by her tight, wet heat. Her eyes fluttered open, sensing the change, and her face transformed again. Now her gaze was soft and full. Her lips, bruised from his kisses, parted again, and the moonlight spilled across her languorous smile.

  “Wow,” she managed—in English this time. He decided he preferred the Garronois.

  “I’ll take that as a vote of approval.”

  “You can take it however makes you happy.” Marguerite lifted her hands to his chest, as if truly looking at him for the first time. Her gaze traced wherever her fingers moved—over his pecs, up to his shoulders, until finally they came up to either side of his face, framing it with her hands. “I don’t think I realized exactly how gorgeous you were until this moment.”

  “Then I’m glad we’ve had this chat.”

  “I figured.” Marguerite settled herself more firmly beneath him, her nimble hands moving again to settle to either side of his waist. She didn’t say anything more, but her moan of pleasure was information enough to Win as he began moving inside her. The rhythm of their lovemaking took on a slower, more sensual pace as he allowed himself to dissolve into the moment, no longer driven by a panicked need even though his own desire still hummed inside him. Instead he watched Marguerite, memorizing every shift of her face, every time her breath escaped on a sigh. The moon suffered a cloud to cross its brilliance, and her body was bathed in both shadow and light, rendering her even more beautiful.

  Then Marguerite shifted again, and Win somehow sank deeper, feeling like he had dropped all the way to the center of her being. That sensation gripped him with renewed urgency, and beneath him, Marguerite’s eyes flared wide. He increased his pace, his strokes longer now, more intent, as their eyes locked. He couldn’t track the passage of time—it could have been a minute or an hour, there was nothing but the rocking movement of his body and Marguerite’s, as intimate and natural as if they’d been entwined with each other over the course of years and not just this one, first time.

  First, Win thought with his own control fragmenting. First but not last—never, ever last.

  The force of that thought was all it took. Marguerite’s face, eyes, smile, and that insane, irrational thought that she was his and this was it and never could anything compare to this moment, this person, this body, this heart—

  He heard a muffled cry, realized with some distant part of his mind that it was his, and then Marguerite’s arms were around him again, gripping him hard, bringing him down to her face, her breasts, everything about her strong and soft and true. He tried not to collapse but he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t st
op the incredible urge to be as close to her as possible, surrounding her with his body.

  “Marguerite,” he finally managed, and he still didn’t fully recognize his voice, only the deep and powerful need that crested through it, embarrassing in its intensity. Or it would have been embarrassing if Marguerite didn’t respond in kind, her head now against his shoulder, her cry almost a whimper.

  Then the moment was past and they both stilled, coming back to themselves with equal speed. Win lifted himself higher. “Didn’t mean to smother you,” he said with a grimace.

  “Smother me anytime.” She smiled and another thread of normalcy wove into place around them. Once again had the thought that he’d been making love to this woman for years, not for moments.

  He dropped a kiss on her shoulder, then rolled free. “Cold?”

  “A little,” she chuckled and sat up as well, efficiently gathering up her clothes.

  She followed him into the sitting room, and by the time he returned, his clothes were folded neatly on the bar top, and fully-dressed Marguerite lounged in a chair she’d clearly turned to face the door. She sipped her drink and eyed him with unabashed appreciation as he entered, still nude.

  “I assume you don’t have an active camera system in the house?”

  “Cameras, yes. Active, only when no one is in residence.” He moved to the bar and separated his clothes, trying to quell the absurd swell of happiness that coursed through him. He’d just had sex. Of course he was happy. There was nothing more to it than that.

  “Kit’s right, in a way,” Marguerite drawled. “It’s a pity that more people aren’t able to see this house. The view from here is outstanding.”

  Win snorted, pulling up his pants before turning back to her. “So am I to assume all this time that your ploy to assist Mr. Holt, appear to be interested in a job with Masters Real Estate Holdings and finagle your way into my house, was all merely an elaborate scheme to have sex with me?”

  “It worked.”