Tempting A Marquess (A Steamy Regency Romance Book 4)

by Brown, Georgette

  “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. What 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.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, then angled her hips at him.

  He gave a low grunt and pushed himself in, filling her. In their present position, his shaft slid into her easily, as nature had intended. Her quim had been fashioned for his member, and she marveled at the thickness throbbing inside of her.

  Her first time, the insertion of that part had caused intense pain, and there had been some discomfort when Alastair had entered her earlier, but she had quickly adjusted, and that discomfort had melted into the greatest pleasure her body could know. Indeed, she sought the discomfort now and moved her hips to welcome more of him.

  Understanding the wordless invitation, he buried himself to the hilt. She purred her satisfaction.

  His thrusts were gradual and slow, but her arousal was quick and sure. The prior flame of desire had not yet been extinguished, and she would have gladly spent again. She met his movements, engaged with him as if it were a dance, a dance of undulations, of two becoming one.

  Wanting to join more of herself to him, she pulled him down farther and raised her head so that she could kiss him. He seemed surprised at first but readily availed himself of her mouth. Her hunger intensified, she would have taken every part of his body into hers if she could. As if sensing this, he rolled his hips into her at a quicker pace. She ground herself at him in response.

  Parting from her mouth, he propped himself up so that he could delve his shaft deeper into her. She grasped his arms and attempted to greet the faster thrusts with her own, but she could not keep up. That irresistible tension roiled once more. She writhed, attempting to stem it from boiling over, for she would have him spend before her. But she had not even time to ask his permission before rapture overtook her. It shattered her body, drowning her in heated bliss.

  Chapter Sixteen

  HE WAS UNDONE by her sob, the clenching of her quim, and the spasms of her limbs. With his own body falling into that tantalizing paroxysm, Alastair withdrew before the pressure raging inside of him shot forth, though his seed sprayed onto her belly before he could direct it elsewhere. He tried to contain the shudders from collapsing him atop her as pleasure ripped up and down his legs. When the last of his seed had been milked from him, he remained hovering above her to catch his breath.

  Looking down at her, he realized he had been undone minutes earlier when their gazes had locked. The bloom of her earlier orgasm and the flush of desire renewed, mixed with a look of wonder, had pushed him past the point of no return. Seeing the furrow of her brow, knowing that euphoria approached for them both, was the most scintillating moment.

  Lowering himself, he kissed her brow before rolling off of her. She caught his arm before he left the bed to fetch linen.

  “Thank you, Andre—Alastair.”

  He would have allowed her the use of his name. Taking her hand from him, he kissed it and smiled at her. He glanced down at the emission sliding from her belly.

  “Your pardon,” he said.

  She followed his gaze, and an impish smile hovered about her lips. He stayed the temptation to kiss her again and went to the sideboard, where he found linen in one of the drawers. He wet the linen in a basin of water. Returning, he cleansed her belly and her thighs. She might not have the most perfect form, but, with her unblemished skin, she was worthy of painting.

  “Thank you,” she said again.

  There was a captivating sparkle to her eyes, and he gave in to the temptation. He tilted her chin and took her lips, admiring their soft fullness. She gave a contented sigh after they parted. He went to pour her a glass of water, but when he turned to face the bed, he found her stretched upon the bed, her head upon the pillow and her eyes closed.

  He covered her with the bedclothes. Climbing into bed beside her, he let out his breath. A part of him wondered that he had taken matters as far as he had, but once he had entered the vortex, he had found his cousin more alluring than he had ever expected. He was glad that she had enjoyed the evening, but would she wake with regrets in the morning? Should he renew his scolding—and add Katherine to his admonitions?

  He fell asleep before putting his questions to bed.

  * * * * *

  When his cousin awoke the following morrow, it was nearly noon. She opened her eyes to find him fully dressed. He had been sitting in a chair, viewing her as she slept, still in amazement of what had happened last night. He had a whole new appreciation for Millie.

  Poor Millie. Her misery over her engagement to Haversham was greater than Alastair had cared to understand. It took courage to venture to a place such as the château to honor the carnal cravings inside her. He would never have guessed that she had already compromised herself, but it did not diminish his admiration for her spirit. But now that the port had worn off, would the light of day bring with it the remorse he had sought to save her from?

  “Good morning, Millie,” he greeted, and rose from his chair to ring for a servant.

  She flushed. “Good morning, er, my lord.”

  “How do you fare?”

  She shifted beneath the blanket. “Well, my lord.”

  He resisted taking a seat on the bed and returned to his chair. “I will have breakfast brought to you—or lunch, if you prefer.”

  She sat up, drawing the blanket over her bosom. “Lunch! Good gracious, what time is it?”

  “The noon hour.”

  “Heavens! I never sleep this late!”

  He smiled. “You did have a strenuous night.”

  “Yes, I did,” she said slowly.

  He expected the repentance to emerge at this time, but, instead, she smiled and looked at him. “Thanks to you.”

  He cleared his throat and crossed one leg over the other to contain the surge of tension at his crotch.

  “You have no regrets?” he asked.

  “I am fully content with what has transpired.”

  “You will think differently with time.”

  “You are presumptuous, sir.”

  “There are few who would dare speak to me in such a manner, and fewer who could do so without raising my ire.”

  He was tempted to teach her more courtesy. A spanking might do.

  She lowered her gaze for a few seconds. “Your pardon, but, really, Alastair, you do not know me well enough to make such a claim. In truth, I am quite surprised that you seem to harbor more shame than I.”

  The thought seemed to amuse her, and he bristled. “I was only worried for your sake. My sex can dispense with guilt much more easily than yours, especially over matters of the flesh.”

  She was silent in thought. “Am I more the wanton jade if I harbor no repentance or shame? Am I a…slut?”

  He groaned, and he felt another unsettling tug at his crotch. He had thought such sensations would not have persisted past the night.

  “Millie, that is not at all what I intended with my words! I applaud that you honored the natural cravings inside you and sought to fulfill them without fear.”

  “You tried to stop me.”

  “That was before I knew you had already forsaken your virtue!”

  “Then you have no need to worry of me, though I appreciate your concern. It is quite hopeful that you may not be as unredeemable as society deems you to be.”

  He growled at her teasing smile. Women. If he had had a choice, he would have selected one of his own sex to fulfill Katherine’s birthday wish.

  “My dear cousin,” Millie said. “I will forever be grateful to you for last night. My one fear is that you will henceforth be awkward in my presence.”

  “You think our relations
hip can remain the same after what happened?”

  “Why not?”

  “Your naivety is charming at best.”

  She pursed her lips. “Well, we are not often in each other’s company. I expect it will be even less once I am Mrs. Haversham. The night will hold little significance for you after you have had a tumble with Miss Hollingsworth or whomever you choose next. I daresay you will have forgotten the night altogether after your next visit here.”

  He rather hoped this would be the case. Theirs had been an easy interaction till yesterday, and he now believed he enjoyed her company as much as he could enjoy the company of anyone.

  “And what of you?” he asked. “You blushed at a mere greeting of ‘good morning’ from me.”

  “I did? Well, that will not always be the case.”

  He did not refute her wishful thinking and rose to attend the knock at the door. Bhadra held a tray of tea, toast, and eggs. She bobbed a curtsy before entering.

  “Lady Katherine is just arrived,” Bhadra said to Millie. “Shall I bring items of dress down here?”

  “You may bring Miss Abbey a robe and dress her in the comfort of her chambers,” he instructed. “I will attend my aunt.”

  “I pray you will not be cross with her,” Millie said quickly.

  He gave her an admonishing look for speaking in front of a servant. Chastened, she fixed upon the toast before her. He held the door for Bhadra before following her.

  “Where is Lady Katherine?” he asked the maid.

  “In the red drawing room with Madame Follet.”

  He made for the drawing room, bowed upon his entry to the two women, who seemed engaged in quite the feminine intrigue, and addressed Marguerite. “May I have a word with my aunt?”

  He could see Marguerite hesitate, but his tone would not be denied.

  “Bien sur, mon cheri,” she said. Before whisking herself away, she bid Katherine make Follet her second home, as she had once done.

  “You look well, Andre,” Katherine remarked with feigned nonchalance when they were alone.

  He put his hands on his hips. “You set it up on purpose.”