“Then you shall have it.” He ran his hand lightly over both breasts, jiggling them playfully. “Do you like this?”
She gasped. “You know I do.”
He must’ve sat up because he grasped each breast and relentlessly abraded the erect nubbins with his thumbs, causing erotic sensations to shoot down her body to pool hotly between her legs.
“And what about this?” He suddenly caught the sensitive buds between thumb and forefinger and, squeezing, gradually increased the pressure as he tugged at them.
In spite of her bonds, Régine arched her back in a silent plea for more. She barely had time to catch her breath before Darius put his mouth to first one breast, then the other, sucking gently, then harder and harder, until Régine felt delirious with the fathomless craving. Soon her deep groans grew into sharp, frequent whimpers, and she strained against her implacable shackles, begging him over and over to release her, needing to kiss and caress him all over, from his sculpted mouth to the length of his rampant shaft.
Just when Régine thought she’d faint from the unbearable onslaught of pleasure, Darius pulled back. “I think my poor mistress has suffered enough.”
He moved down and deftly straddled her hips. He positioned himself between her spread legs, guided his penis to her body’s welcoming portal and slid effortlessly into her heat.
Régine moaned and sought to bring her legs together so she could lock them around him, but the silk bonds restrained her. At least they couldn’t stop her from moving her hips in harmony with his every long, deliberate stroke. He thrust his hips back and forth, in and out, faster and faster, deeper and deeper, filling her to bursting until Régine thought he’d split her in two.
The incessant, rhythmic friction against her tight, slick walls sent her careening out of control. Her high-pitched cries demanded release from this rising, unbearable heat that caused her heart to pound violently and the sweat to rise on her skin.
“Release me!” she cried. “I must touch you!”
But Darius was beyond listening, beyond reason. He pounded away like a man possessed by the pagan god of lust, and just when Régine began weeping with helplessness and frustration, he pressed his thumb to her clit and gave her quite another kind of release. She screamed and thrashed like a trapped animal as contraction after strong, sweet contraction mercilessly wracked her shuddering body.
Just at the moment of his own orgasm, Darius cried out and pulled away, scattering his seed onto the sheets. When his prick ceased its relentless pounding, he quickly untied Régine, who pulled off the blindfold herself so she could devour her lover with the hunger of one starving.
They lay together quietly in love’s afterglow, letting their sated bodies relax.
She cupped his damp cheek. “That was splendid, my wicked, wicked rogue.”
He grinned with a boyish shyness that she found charming in such a sophisticated man.
“Thank you for being such a good sport and indulging me, my sweet,” he murmured drowsily.
She laughed at his very English reference. “It was my pleasure.” She pulled his damp body to her and pillowed his head on her breast, smiling diabolically as she plotted her own sweet, sensual revenge.
Chapter Sixteen
Darius’s father sat across from him in a quiet corner of the nearly deserted café.
“You can’t marry her, you know,” Blackwall said.
Darius sipped his coffee, faking a calmness he was far from feeling. “I’m the Earl of Clarridge. I can do as I please. If I want to marry Régine, I will.”
“It’s precisely because you are the Earl of Clarridge and my heir that you can’t. When it comes to choosing a wife, she must possess an impeccable pedigree and, like Caesar’s wife, be above reproach, not a whore who’s spread her legs for half the men in Paris.”
Darius leaned forward in his chair, his voice deceptively soft but laced with an undercurrent of unmistakable menace. “Have you forgotten what it feels like to be grabbed by the throat and slammed against the nearest wall, old man?” He studied the poster-covered wall to his right. “This one will do nicely if you insult Régine again.”
The marquess’s aristocratic face turned pale. “No need to threaten me, dear boy. I’m merely stating fact. What else would you call a woman who sells her body?”
“Régine has more goodness in her than many of the eligible young ladies who routinely scheme to drag me to the altar,” he replied. Certainly more goodness than his own implacable, vengeful stepmother.
“Scheming or not, it’s high time you married one of them and gave me a grandson. An heir and a spare. Someone to carry on the Granger name.”
Darius leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, trying not to let his father rile him. “So that’s your game. Marry me off and move in on Régine.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Blackwall scoffed. “Despite our differences of opinion, I have only your best interests at heart. You’re my son.”
Just one look at the way his father’s gaze slid away confirmed Darius’s suspicions. “How do you know I wouldn’t keep Régine as my mistress, even after I married some sweet young innocent?”
The marquess smiled like a hunter watching his prey step into the trap. “You’d never be so heartless.”
Darius looked away in irritation. His father knew him too well. While many married men of his class did have mistresses discreetly tucked away, his sense of honor would keep him from hurting and insulting his new bride by joining their ranks, even if that mistress was Régine.
“I would only marry for love,” he said, “and since I don’t foresee myself falling in love with any of the London misses who have been setting their caps for my title and fortune…”
His father looked as though Darius had just announced he’d renounced that very title. “Dear God! You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
“And what if I am?”
His father uttered a dismissive grunt. “Bah! Love has nothing to do with making a suitable marriage, and you know it. Do you think I was in love with your mother when I married her? Of course not. She was beautiful, so it was no hardship to share her bed, but more importantly, she was the daughter of a marquess and a very wealthy heiress who had a dowry of three estates. I came to love her later, after you were born.”
“Oh, don’t play the sanctimonious husband with me, Father. It doesn’t become you. Everyone knew you kept a string of mistresses when you were married to my mother.”
“And she had her own lovers as well.” He stared at Darius out of narrowed eyes, looking for a reaction, and smiled in triumph. “Ah, I can tell from that look of surprise that you didn’t know your dear mother was far from a saint. Well, she had her own collection of men, several of them younger than she, but she was always the soul of discretion. She never embarrassed me, and she never presented me with some other man’s bastard.”
Darius stared into his coffee cup. “If Mother had to take lovers, obviously you weren’t able to make her happy.”
His father raised his chin. “I am not going to dignify that comment with a response.”
Because it’s true.
Darius shook his head. He couldn’t see himself ever being unfaithful to Régine.
The marquess stared at him. “You have a responsibility to future generations of our family.”
“I’ve heard that particular lecture before, and it’s growing as stale as week-old bread.”
“Then you’ll hear it again until it sinks in.”
Darius stifled a casual yawn that would annoy his father with its lack of heat. “I’m only twenty-seven. Still a young pup. I have plenty of time to find a wife.”
“Not if you’re wasting it whoring around Paris.”
Darius wished his coffee were a tall glass of whiskey. “You can’t wait to get me out of the way, can you? Well, what makes you think Régine would have you even if I were out of the picture?”
His father lifted one shoulder. “You mistake my motives, son. I h
ave only your best interests at heart.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Blackwall.” Darius stared idly out the window at the sidewalk beyond, where Parisians hurried by. “She threw away your pitiful white roses, you know, just as you threw her away.”
A deep red flush stained the other man’s face, the anger reaching his eyes and blazing like hot coals. “For God’s sake, I made one damned stupid mistake! Are you going to keep throwing that back in my face at every opportunity?”
“As often as I can, because you obviously haven’t learned your lesson and need a frequent reminder.” Darius smiled slightly. “You’d like nothing better than for Régine to overlook what you did and let bygones be bygones. But some transgressions are unforgivable. So even if you did succeed in separating us—which you won’t—she’ll never be yours. Never.”
He rose, thanked his father for the coffee, and left.
Darius hailed a cab to take him to Régine’s.
He had to see her, hold her and make passionate love to her as he had last night. If he didn’t, he feared she’d disappear like an autumn mist in sunlight, as if his father were some powerful magician who had the power to snatch her away.
His scheming, manipulative, infuriating father… He wished their relationship were black and white, and lacking such irritating ambivalence. But though they often fought verbally and sometimes physically, Darius loved him. If anyone threatened his sire, Darius would defend him with his life without thinking twice. But he didn’t particularly like him, especially his consummate arrogance and all-consuming selfishness.
“Poor deluded bastard,” he muttered to himself as the cab rolled along. “Régine wouldn’t have you if you were the last man on earth.”
He rubbed his jaw, still irritated with his father’s reminders for him to perform his familial duty.
Darius was a nobleman by birth and moved in the most exalted social circles. He also possessed a deeply ingrained sense of noblesse oblige. The expectations of past and future generations of Grangers rested squarely and heavily on his shoulders.
A woman like Régine would never be accepted by his peers. Never. She could enter a convent and devote her chaste life to good works, but her profligate past would cling to her like mud after a flood. He would face a life of social isolation. Darius wondered if he was strong enough to withstand such pressure.
Régine was not the sort of woman a duchess received for high tea. Not the sort one marries. Not the sort good enough to bear the requisite heir.
His hand absently rubbed his chest, for he felt an ache forming there.
His father had caught him off guard with his revelation that his own wife—Darius’s mother—had taken many lovers. She’d died when he was only thirteen, so he had been oblivious to the adults’ sexual undercurrents swirling around him. He hoped she’d found some joy in those lovers’ arms, joy her arrogant, selfish husband didn’t provide.
But he couldn’t help wondering, what was the difference between his adulterous mother and Régine?
Of course he knew.
Noblewomen could sleep with whomever they pleased and their sexual exploits were socially acceptable, whereas Régine’s use of her sexuality to make her way in a harsh, unforgiving world was not.
Darius banished all thoughts of familial duty from his mind. Since he had no intention of returning to London in the near future, no matter how much his father badgered him to do so, he could stay with Régine for as long as she would have him.
This was one time his father was not going to get what he wanted at Darius’s expense.
Finding Régine waiting for him in the foyer the minute he walked through the door was like coming inside wet and half frozen from a cold, snowy winter day and finding a roaring fire awaiting him, the leaping, crackling flames warming him all the way down to his bones.
“I thought you’d never get here.” She took his hat and set it on the hall table. “This afternoon, I thought we’d—” She paused and stared at him out of wise, narrowed eyes. Then she cupped his face in her hands. “What’s wrong, Darius? You look troubled.”
He placed his hands over hers and pressed them to his cheeks, craving the warmth of her silken healing touch. He inhaled her light, fresh scent. “I just had a rather unpleasant encounter with my father, that’s all.”
She asked no questions and demanded no answers. All she did was roll her lovely eyes. “I do sympathize, truly.” She kissed him, and when he released her hands, she dropped hers. “Let’s go upstairs.”
“Don’t you have plans for us this afternoon?”
She took his hand. “They can wait.”
Once upstairs they undressed, and Régine drew back the coverlet. “Lie on your stomach.”
He watched her cross the boudoir, the white cheeks of her trim backside bobbing provocatively with every step, making him want to cup the sweet flesh in his hands. She disappeared into her dressing room. Then he lay on his stomach as she commanded, arranging his penis so he wouldn’t crush it. He rested his chin on his upraised arms, wondering what libidinous afternoon delight she had planned. When she emerged, she was carrying a stoppered bottle filled with clear liquid.
“What’s that?” he asked, turning his head so he could watch her crawl atop the sheets.
“The most soothing, fragrant oil,” she replied. “Your mistress is going to give you a massage, so spread your legs, please.”
His mistress… The warmth of possessiveness filled him as he spread his legs, and she seated herself between them.
“Now close your eyes and relax.”
He closed them and listened. He heard the raspy whisper of the ground glass stopper as it was removed, then the slick slap of her rubbing the oil on her hands, followed by the sweet scent of almonds and a faint touch of mint.
“Smells good enough to eat,” he murmured.
“It feels even better on the skin,” she replied. “Soothing and refreshing.”
As was her voice.
She positioned herself over him and began kneading the base of his neck with surprisingly strong thumbs. The tension left his muscles as she worked her way across his shoulders, first pressing lightly, then deeper and harder.
He groaned. “God, you have such magic fingers.”
“I’m just getting started, monsieur.”
Oddly enough, as her fingers traveled their way down both sides of his spine simultaneously, every angry and resentful thought about his father that clogged his mind broke into pieces and washed away, leaving a clear, refreshed mind.
His eyes flew open and he gasped in surprise when she reached the sensitive base of his tailbone and proceeded to rub in sensuous circles, her touch light and feathery. His thighs tightened protectively, and he would’ve clamped his legs together if Régine hadn’t been sitting between them, keeping them open by her very presence.
When her questing thumb slipped between his cleft cheeks and rubbed the sensitive area above his hidden orifice, he jumped. “What are you doing?”
“Last night, you did agree to allow me to make love to you in any manner I choose, did you not?” Laughter lit her voice’s deep, silken purr that made him shiver.
He sighed. “That I did, mademoiselle. And since I’m a man of my word, do your worst.”
“Oh, I will.” She kissed one ass cheek, then nipped the other so he winced. “And I promise you will enjoy every delightful minute.” She slapped his backside lightly. “On your knees, and rest your weight on your forearms.”
He did as she wished and felt his face grow hot with embarrassment as he moved into the position she desired. “I feel ridiculous sticking my arse in the air.”
She laughed. “There is no one else to see you but me, and I rather enjoy the view. Besides, the pleasure will be worth any shame, I promise.”
What did she intend to do to him?
He could hear her spread more oil on her hands, and flinched when she smeared the cool liquid on his sensitive area.
“Has a lover never pl
easured your backside, as I am about to do?” she whispered.
Her boldness and shamelessness actually shocked him. Was she really intending to perform an intimacy his schoolmasters warned would make him crave other men and damn him in the eyes of God and country? Even though he considered himself an experienced lover, none of his bed partners had ever suggested this particular intimacy. Shock turned to anticipation. His gut clenched in eagerness to experience the forbidden, and the heat pooled between his vulnerable spread legs. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, his heart thudding faster. “You are the first.”
“Then you are a back-door virgin.”
Darius chuckled in spite of himself, for he had never heard such a lewd term, even among his Oxford friends who knew enough to fill a dictionary. “One could say that.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, so it’s very important that you relax. And if at any time you wish me to stop, say your father’s name and I will stop immediately.”
He suspected that once she started, he wouldn’t want her to stop, not if the house were burning down around them.
The minute he relaxed, he felt something hard touch the opening’s sensitive pucker, accommodating it to the imminent invasion. She must’ve retrieved the device along with the oil from her dressing room. He gasped aloud when his muscles greedily pulled in the intruder. Since he felt no stretching or pain, the wicked device must be thinner than a man’s organ, and for that he was profoundly grateful. To his amazement and rising excitement, a searing, shameful heat tightened his balls and turned his penis rock hard.
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, letting himself get used to the powerful, unfamiliar sensations creeping along each sensitive nerve ending within his body. “Dear God,” he groaned. “I never dreamed—”
His words died in a strangled gasp as Régine slowly slid the device deeper, then drew it in and out, in an out, mimicking the movement of his own penis in her vagina when he took her. With every slow, slick stroke, the pleasure grew so intense he feared his poor balls would explode. His thighs trembled from the effort of staying spread apart, and he shuddered.
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