The Princess in His Bed

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The Princess in His Bed Page 25

by Lila DiPasqua


  Gabrielle reached out, her hands trembling slightly, and ran them over the dips and ripples, his skin warm beneath her touch, under her hand his heart beating quickly, racing her own.

  Taking her hand, he brought it to his shaft. Immediately, she curled her fingers around his rigid length, reveling in his groan. She luxuriated over the feel of him in her hand, like velvet over steel, riveted by the pleasure etched across his handsome features as he moved her fist up to the engorged head and down to the base with long unhurried strokes. The proportions of his sex were as impressive as the rest of him. It was inebriating to watch him, to stroke him. To pleasure him.

  “I’ve been fantasizing about you since we met. Dreaming of all the ways I’m going to fuck you.” Dipping his head, he brushed his mouth against her lips. “How do you like being taken, Silvie?” he whispered. “Fast, or slow?”

  She couldn’t stop stroking him.

  “Yes.” She parted her lips for him, eager to have him in her mouth.

  “Yes to which?” His mouth teasingly hovered over hers.

  “Yes to all of it. Both. However you want. Just do it now.”

  Softly, he chuckled. Removing her hand from his sex, he stripped off the remainder of his clothing.

  This time he spread her legs a little wider when he stepped in between.

  “The bed is over there,” she said, stating the obvious, her senses in a frenzy, desperately trying to move things along.

  He pulled her up against him, her sex kissing his shaft, the slightest smile playing on his beautiful mouth.

  “I’ve been hard for you for days,” he said, stroking his erection against her sleek folds. “You’re going to take my cock right here, Silvie.” He kissed her mouth, her jaw, the sensitive spot below her ear. “We’ll use the bed next time.” With that, he lowered his head and sucked her sensitive nipple into his hot mouth. She cried out and thrust her hips hard against him, a completely reflexive response. Unfazed by her eruptive reaction, he leaned her back, the back of her head pressing against the wall while his mouth sucked and savored her nipple. Alternating between breasts, he gave each sensitive tip its due carnal care until he had her writhing and panting. A fresh rush of warm wetness flowed from her core onto his hard shaft pressed firmly against her folds.

  He groaned. “I love that . . .” He lightly bit her nipple; she held his head to her and whimpered. “I love how you’re creaming on my cock.” Raising his head, he wrapped her legs around his waist and possessed her mouth with a kiss. It was demanding, hot and delectably fierce.

  He gripped her hips. Then his cock was wedged firmly at her opening. Her heart hammered. Her body celebrated. At last! Joy and pleasure swamping her senses. She wiggled and squirmed, gluttonous for more.

  “Easy, chère,” he rasped against her mouth. “I know you’re eager. Allow me.”

  She gripped his shoulders, just as he drove forward. A sudden sharp pain made her recoil and cry out.

  “Jésus-Christ!” exploded from his lips, his shock evident on his face. He’d only penetrated her partway, her body shaking with a mixture of pain and pleasure.

  Her need was still a strong undercurrent through it all.

  He started to pull out.

  “No!” She tightened her legs around his waist, the sudden movement causing him to sink an inch deeper. His growl eclipsed her moan. No pain this time. Just a delicious stretching. She drew her arms around him. “Don’t stop.” She rained kisses on his mouth, his face, his neck, famished for his taste. For him. “Please . . . give me more . . .” Already the discomfort had receded, overshadowed by the agony of her unfulfilled desire. Her core was pulsing hungrily, his partial possession maddening. She wanted all of him. Tentatively, she moved her hips, trying to take him in.

  “Merde . . .” He tightened his grip on her hips, stilling her. The muscles in his shoulders tight and tense beneath her hands, he rested his forehead against hers, his breathing as labored as her own.

  “I want you, Mathias . . . Please, don’t stop. Not now. It doesn’t hurt anymore . . . Take me . . . I want more . . .” She couldn’t believe what was tumbling from her mouth. She never spoke of her needs and wants. Not ever.

  Impatient, she tightened her arms and legs and tried to move her hips again, an awkward, unpracticed movement that garnered her only a small measure of success. Frustration erupted out of her.

  He swore softly. “All right, Silvie . . . Loosen your legs. Let me give you more.” He slipped his hands under her bottom the moment she complied and lifted her into his plunge, burying his cock into her with a single luscious glide.

  Her head fell back, a soft sound of pleasure leaving her lungs. Oh God . . . He was so deep. She felt so full. There was no pain, just pure pleasure. It felt better than anything she could have imagined. It felt incredible.

  “How’s that? You like that, Silvie?” he asked, his voice gruff with desire. “You want more, don’t you?”

  She couldn’t speak, her body shaking, her sex throbbing. All she could do was nod.

  He reared and, hauling her to the edge of the side table, lifted her into his solid thrust, penetrating a fraction deeper. Her sob of bliss mingled with his grunt. He began to move, fast and hard. His powerful plunges should have hurt, but instead his thick hard shaft sent her into delirium, his strokes so deep they were making her wild.

  “I love how tightly you’re clasping my cock.”

  She had no response. She was beyond words and burning with fever for this man. His palm was pressed to the wall, his free hand to the small of her back holding her in place as he drove his cock into her with bedeviling skill. Gabrielle simply held on, his mouth tantalizing that sensitive spot below her ear, her neck, her shoulder. She was overwhelmed with sensations.

  “You’re on the edge, Silvie,” he rasped in her ear. “You’re about to come for me, aren’t you? I can feel your sweet little clenches.”

  Dear God. She couldn’t control that either. Tiny contractions were rippling through her core, around his ramming cock. The physical reactions he could elicit from her body astounded her. Physical reactions she’d no idea how to curb or quell. Her release was imminent. She could feel it coming on. Fast. Sensed it was going to be shattering, and that immediately frightened her. He frightened her. His power over her was so intense. So strong. She was terrified to be that vulnerable to him. She’d struggled against men who wielded power over her all her life.

  Wavering on the edge of orgasm, Gabrielle fought it back, suddenly afraid of what would become of her if she completely surrendered.

  Afraid to let go.

  He had her mouth, possessing it with his tongue, his taste intoxicating. His thrusts, sublime. “Let go, Silvie. Don’t fight it, chère. Give yourself over to the pleasure.” But still she fought back her orgasm, violently shaking with effort, her body rioting for release. Trying to outlast him.

  “Why don’t we give that pretty clit of yours some attention?” she heard him say.

  Oh, no . . . Before she could react, he’d pulled his hand from the wall, slipped it between their bodies, and without missing a stroke, he captured her clit between his fingers and pinched it—applying the most perfect pressure.

  Her senses exploded with blinding ecstasy. She surged up hard against him, screaming into his mouth. He didn’t relent, not with his force of thrusts or his hold on the pulsating bud, ramming her with his cock through the stunning untamable spasms contracting her slick walls. Her body was awash with waves of spine-melting sensations. Then she felt it—the ripples of another hot wave of rapture. Right on the heels of the first. This time she didn’t fight it. This time she let it crash over her, abandoning herself to it, her body shuddering from the force.

  Gabrielle willingly let herself drown in the soul-satisfying pleasure flooding her system. Vaguely, she was aware of his hand slipping out from between their bodies, his fingers gripping her hips and his body stiffening. He reared, jerking his cock from her sheath and crushed her to him. Burying h
is face in her hair, he roared out his pleasure against the curve of her neck, his strong body racked with its own rapture as his warm semen shot onto her thigh and hip.

  She tightened her arms around him, and held him, their labored breaths the only sound in the room.

  She felt euphoric. She couldn’t believe it. She actually felt . . . happy. It was the first time in a long time.

  Mathias’s muscles were heavy as lead. His legs weak. He couldn’t recall the last time he came that hard. But the wonderful languidness quickly dissipated as questions began to crowd his mind and clear the sexual fog.

  Questions he was going to bloody well have answers to.

  He forced himself to pull away from her warm soft form and break from her embrace.

  The moment their gazes locked, his heart squeezed tightly. Her cheeks pink, her hair mussed, she looked adorable, sweet, and so beautiful—very much like the innocent she was.

  For the first time since he’d met her, her eyes were unguarded. Open and honest.

  They told him she was a little shaken, a little wary, out of sorts, and unsure what he was about to do, how he was about to react, now that he knew she’d been a virgin. Dieu. Quelling the raw emotions swirling through him, Mathias scooped up the first article of clothing he touched from the pile on the floor, and grabbed the base of his prick, noticing the telltale signs of her lost innocence in the red streaks on it. She looked away, her eyes downcast, her blush coloring her cheeks.

  He wiped himself clean, then quickly wiped off her soft thigh and silky hip. Crumpling the caleçons in his hand, he tossed them away and slipped his hand under her chin, capturing her undivided attention.

  “We’re going to talk.”

  He saw disappointment flash in her dark eyes. Jésus-Christ. Did she think he was simply going to let this go? He’d just taken her virginity. He’d thought she was sexually experienced. She was supposed to be Gaillard’s mistress.

  He never would have said the things he’d said to her, done the things he’d done, had he known she’d been a virgin.

  He felt his ire mounting just thinking about the entire damned mess, a million questions spinning in his head.

  “Would it be all right if I used the salle de bain to . . . wash up a little first?” Her voice was soft. Gone was that hard edge she usually had. And the wall that was always up—the one she hid behind—was conspicuously missing.

  Merde. You just took her innocence. At least let her refresh herself before you make demands of her. Curbing his anger, his frustration, his impatience, he helped her down off the side table.

  “Of course,” he said.

  She thanked him. Sliding out from between him and the table, she bent and picked up her chemise. He watched her raise her arms and slip it on, admiring her lush curves, her pretty breasts—not too big or small—and then there were those gorgeous legs. God, how he loved women’s legs, and hers went on forever. He could still feel their silky strength wrapped around his hips.

  As she left the room, he was sure of one thing. She was never Gaillard’s mistress. The man would have fucked her before setting her up in his town house, providing her with a full staff.

  Mathias braced his hands on the edge of the side table and blew out a breath. Damn it. What was going on here?

  You didn’t want things to get more involved. Well, things just got a hell of a lot more complicated.

  A virgin.

  He took a virgin.

  Of all the different kinds of women he’d bedded, this was a bloody first.

  He shoved himself away from the table and began to pace. He wasn’t just angry at her. He was livid with himself. He’d noticed signs of her inexperience. In her kiss, in the way she touched him. In the look of surprise when he’d played with her clit. As if it were novel. A decadent new discovery. The look of wonder and delight in her eyes.

  And he’d ignored them all. Purposely closing a blind eye just so that he could sink his cock in her.

  From the beginning she hadn’t wanted to tell him a thing about herself. She hadn’t wanted to confide in him a single truth.

  And it bothered him more than he could ever say.

  He’d just had sex with a woman he didn’t know a thing about, and it was torturing him. He was no stranger to anonymous sexual encounters. He’d no idea why he should give her secrecy a second thought. She didn’t seem bothered that he’d just claimed her maidenhead.

  Why should he be?

  Lord knows he had enough to deal with. Navers and his mission for the Lieutenant General of Police were where his focus should be.

  Not on this one woman who was at every turn up to no good.

  Mathias stopped pacing, raked a hand through his hair, and let out a sharp breath. He walked over to the wash basin in the room, poured water into the bowl, and sluiced it onto his face. He washed, wishing that he could purge her from his thoughts by simply washing her wonderful scent from his skin.

  He couldn’t let this rest. He simply had to know who she was. What she was all about. And he was finding out as soon as his little secretive seductress reentered the room.

  6

  The moment she reentered the room, her dark eyes swept the bedchamber, surprise flashing in their dark depths when she spotted him lying casually on his side, naked in her bed.

  Propped up on his elbow, Mathias patted the spot beside him. “Come here.”

  He saw her take a deep breath and let it out slowly before she complied and slipped in bed beside him.

  Rolling onto her side, she mimicked his pose, and Mathias could tell that while she’d been in the other room, she’d managed to erect her usual wall.

  The barrier was firmly in place between them, solid and true.

  And he was going to knock the fucking thing down.

  “Take off your chemise,” he said.

  That took her off balance. By her expression, it was obvious that wasn’t what she expected him to say. “Pardon?”

  “You heard me. Take it off. You don’t need it.” His tone was firm. As was his gaze.

  She hesitated for a moment, then sat up, pulled the article off, and tossed it onto the floor. She returned to her pose on her side, looking a little more self-conscious than before.

  Her bravado was a little askew. He hoped that would work in his favor.

  “What is your name?” he asked, trying to ignore her many female attributes, especially those pretty nipples, trying not to think about how good they tasted.

  “Silvie.”

  “Your full name.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  He tilted her chin up a notch. “The difference is I just fucked you. Now answer me.”

  “And do you know the name of every woman you tumble?”

  “No, but I think it’s a good idea I learn the identity of all those who pretend to be a nobleman’s mistress, but turn out to be a virgin.”

  “I didn’t say I was Gaillard’s mistress. It’s something you assumed.”

  “And you did nothing to acquit me of the notion. Now let’s start again. What is your name?” His voice was a bit louder, sharper.

  “I’m not going to answer that,” she stated.

  He clenched his jaw, holding back the expletives bellowing in his head. This woman was beyond maddening. “Why the hell not? Is it because you can’t or you won’t.”

  “Both.”

  “Who is Gaillard to you?”

  She bit her lip, clearly considering whether or not to answer. Finally she said, “He’s a member of my family.”

  Wonderful. The man’s family was huge. It was going to take considerable effort, not to mention time, to eliminate them one by one until he figured out the identity of this particular woman.

  A weary sigh escaped her. “Mathias.” She placed a hand on his chest. His unruly cock immediately jerked in response. “If you are worried you are going to be dragged to the altar because of what happened tonight, rest easy. That isn’t going to happen. No one is going to
force you to marry me. I am not seeking a husband . . . although . . .”

  He removed her hand from his chest, her touch a serious distraction. “Although?” he prompted.

  She lowered her eyes. “One is being selected for me by my father.”

  He’d no idea why her words felt like a blow to the belly. He felt . . . winded. “Do you know who your husband will be?” Why in the world did he ask that? Why on earth would he care to know?

  “No.”

  Just talking about her getting married was tightening his vitals. He changed the subject. “Why are you here? Why aren’t you at home? Why are you playing Basset? Is this some sort of thrill or are you doing it because you have to?”

  “Because I have to.”

  “To cover a debt? You’re trying to win back money?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your debt?”

  She shook her head. “No, someone else’s.”

  “Merde. If your father is looking for a husband for you, there must be some sort of dowry. Your father has means.” Someone prominent if he was part of Gaillard’s family. Thus the need for her to hide her identity with a disguise. “Get him to pay the debt and stop going to Navers’s gaming den.”

  “I can’t ask my father to help. He’d never do it. I’ve got to do this myself. On my own. And I can’t lose the diamonds either.” She suddenly looked tired. Lowering her head onto the pillow, she tucked her hands under her cheek. “Not a single diamond.”

  He brushed an errant curl off her cheek. “Why?’

  “Because I took them from him, and he doesn’t know.”

  Jésus-Christ. “Who is it you’re helping?”

  “Another family member.”

  “Why not get Gaillard to help you?”

  “Because he doesn’t know about it and he wouldn’t help if he did. No one in the family will help—not to clear a gambling debt. Just me. I had to trick Gaillard just to let me stay here.”

  “Where does your father think you are?”

 

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