by Darcy Burke
She trembled with anticipation. “What do you plan to do?”
“Any number of things.” He spoke between kisses.
“The settee doesn’t look large enough to accommodate us.”
“Not lying down.”
She tried to imagine how that would work and recalled what they’d tried a few nights ago. She’d mounted him… That could work quite well if he sat on the settee. “You are turning me into an utter wanton.”
“Oh, good.” He came up and claimed her mouth once more, spearing his tongue into her with a savage abandon that curled her toes.
His hand reached the apex of her thighs, and she widened her stance to give him greater access. He lightly touched her there, teasing her.
She broke the kiss and nipped at his jaw. “More.”
His fingers answered her demand, filling her. Pleasure ripped through her, sending her careening into mindlessness. She clung to him as she cast her head back against the wood.
“So there’s the desk,” he said, breaking through the decadent haze that had stolen her wits.
“The desk?” She stopped kissing him as she tried to make sense of that statement.
He nibbled at her ear, his teeth drawing on the lobe. “We could use the desk.”
“That sounds uncomfortable.” But honestly, right now she wasn’t sure she cared. He was driving her to the brink of madness.
“We wouldn’t lie on it,” he explained, his fingers thrusting into her at various speeds—slow, then faster, then slow again—and she wished he’d just stop taunting her. “Remember when I told you about coming into you from behind?”
They’d talked about it just last night and had planned to try it…next time. This, she realized, was next time.
His fingers slowed to a maddeningly lackadaisical rhythm. “I plan…” He thumbed her clitoris, and she saw stars.
“Ned.”
“I plan,” he repeated, his thumb punctuating his words, “to bend you over that desk,” he pressed on her again, and her legs threatened to give out, “lift your skirts,” he stroked her relentlessly, “and make you forget your name.”
She wasn’t sure she remembered it now. Her body was heavy with desire, every part of her quivering with desperate need.
“Can you please do it soon?”
“Your every wish is my deepest desire.”
She vaguely recollected their conversation about desires and was thrilled to hear that she was now his. Because, really, he was hers. A shaft of apprehension sliced through her—it was a bit frightening to want someone this much—taking the edge off her hunger. But only for a moment. He kissed her and withdrew his hand, letting her skirts fall.
She whimpered into his mouth, and he steered her away from the door. It was only a few steps to the desk, where he spun her around. He pressed himself against her back. He was warm and solid, and his hands came up to cup her breasts. He fondled her through her clothing, but it wasn’t enough to appease the ache she felt absolutely everywhere.
She pushed back against him, seeking as much contact as possible. He reached down and pushed the items on his desk to the side. Then he eased her forward. “Hold on to the other side.” He put his hand over hers and guided her to clutch the edge of his desk.
Then he kissed the back of her neck and returned to stroking her breast with one hand while the other lifted her skirts from the back.
It took a bit of effort given the volume of fabric from all the pleats, but at last she felt cool air on her backside. And then she felt warmth as his hand caressed her bare flesh. She sucked in a breath, more aroused than she thought she’d ever been. He’d teased her to the edge and left her hanging there.
“Ned, please.”
“Open your legs, love,” he whispered near her ear. He dragged his tongue along the outer shell, and she buckled, falling forward over the desk. He caught her, bracing his hand on her rib cage before sliding to the side and then leaving her entirely.
She eased her thighs apart and anxiously awaited his touch.
The sound of his clothing coming undone coupled with the feel of his hands doing their work only added to her arousal. Finally, he stroked between her legs, and she moaned.
“What is taking you so long?” she asked.
He chuckled deep in his throat. “There’s my mouthy wife. You’ve been too quiet.”
“Oh, I’m mouthy, am I?” She reached behind herself and found his erection, hot and hard and grazing her backside. “I seem to recall you liking my mouth.” She was referring to when she’d put her mouth on his cock last night.
“Careful, Aquilla, or I’m going to spill myself before I’ve even begun.” He bent over her and nipped at her neck as he speared his finger into her. The sensation was new and different, but devastatingly wonderful.
She arched back, urging him to fill her more. “I want more than that,” she rasped.
“I know you do. And I’ll give it to you.” He pumped into her a few more times, sending her careening toward ecstasy. Then his finger was gone, replaced with his shaft.
She was suddenly, blissfully, satisfyingly full. And she tumbled over the edge.
While her orgasm tossed through her, he reached for her breast and gripped her waist as he drove into her. Where he’d teased her and taunted her before, now he plunged into her with exacting and ruthless precision, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.
It was base and wild, and good heavens, she loved it. Yes, she’d become worse than a wanton. Was there anything worse than a wanton?
Her brain railed at her for trying to think at a time like this, when sensation battered her from every quarter and one orgasm was quickly pursued by another. She closed her eyes and met his thrusts, reveling in rapture. The desk creaked beneath her, trying to move with the force of him driving into her.
He cried out, his hand gripping her hip as he plunged into her one final time. Their breathless pants filled the room as they slowed. The frenzy of their coupling gave way to gratified fulfillment. She laid her head down on the desk and smiled to herself.
Ned eventually straightened, and she immediately missed his warmth. She turned and sat on the edge of the desk, her body still a bit shaky.
His eyes had turned to bright silver, and a smile played at his lips. “Forgive me, I neglected to ask, how was your meeting?”
She smoothed her skirts. “Quite successful. I have many things to take to the hospital, including that dress for Mary. When shall we go?”
He readjusted his waistcoat as it had become a bit twisted with their activity. “Tuesday?”
She reached out and tidied his cravat, which was also askew. “We have the musical party that evening, but that should be fine.”
“Let’s go Monday, then. I’ll make sure I return from Sutton Park early.”
Finished, she withdrew her hands. This was her opportunity to ask him why he wouldn’t take her with him. “Oh? When do you plan to go?”
“Sunday.”
She watched him intently, trying to gauge his reaction. “Perhaps this time you’ll take me with you.”
The spark in his eye diminished, and his smile completely faded. “That won’t be possible, I’m afraid.” He moved back around his desk, putting it between them.
She stood and turned to face him. “Why not?”
“Because it will only be a quick visit, and I will need to spend the entire time dealing with estate matters. As I said before, you’d be bored.”
She had the sense he wasn’t being completely forthright, and it bothered her. “How could I be bored at your home? I imagine there is plenty for me to explore.” She purposely used the word he had earlier.
He came back to her and brushed a wayward curl from her cheek. “I’m making a few changes and improvements before I take you there. We wed so quickly, and Sutton Park wasn’t properly prepared. I vow that I will take you there soon.” He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. “Very soon.”
His eyes were so clear, so full
of promise, she couldn’t help but believe him. Why would he lie? What he said made sense. And, just as she’d told Nora earlier, he wasn’t really the Duke of Deception. That was just a name that she’d given him.
She let her happiness and optimism outweigh her doubt and apprehension. “I shall look very forward to it.”
Chapter Thirteen
On Tuesday evening, Ned helped Aquilla into the coach. He didn’t particularly feel like going out, but Lady Satterfield and Aquilla’s friend, Miss Breckenridge, would be at the musical party. Plus, it was an excellent excuse to watch his wife in a stunning Pompeiian red gown that accentuated her figure to great advantage. He’d given her a pearl-and-coral necklace to wear with it, and right now, eyeing her across the dim interior of the coach, he wanted to see her in that piece of jewelry and absolutely nothing else.
“You’re looking at me with that gaze again.” The lilt of her voice never failed to arouse him—not just physically, but mentally and even emotionally. What he felt for her went beyond attraction or appreciation. He cared a great deal for her. That she’d exceeded every one of his expectations and was patient with his frequent absences humbled him. It also made him suspect that the love he’d never looked for might very well be staring him right in the eye.
He wished he’d sat beside her instead of on the opposite bench. “What gaze is that?”
“The one that says you want to tear my clothes off and make love to me.”
Make love… Had he called it that? He couldn’t recall, which probably meant he hadn’t. Certainly he would’ve remembered. Either way, it was precisely what he wanted to do. “You make me sound so beastly. I don’t actually tear your clothing, do I?”
She cocked her head to the side and regarded him playfully. With her hair piled high and lush curls brushing the back of her neck, she looked incredibly regal, but also undeniably seductive. “Well, there was that chemise last week.”
How could he have forgotten that? He grew hard at the memory. “Hmmm, yes, you’re right. In my defense, it was a rather flimsy garment. Though I do recall you popping a button from my waistcoat.” They’d been eager, and there were just so damn many clothes. All of which he had to painstakingly strip from her body. That only made him harder.
“You’re quite the temptress,” he said, easing off the bench and kneeling on the floor of the coach.
She sat up straighter, losing all semblance of flirtation. “Ned, what are you doing?”
He lifted a shoulder as he pulled off his gloves and tossed them on the seat behind him. He reached beneath the hem of her gown and found her ankle. He half smiled as she flinched. Running his hand up her calf, the silk of her stockings caressing his hand, he watched her face.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re being very naughty.”
“Yes.” He passed her knee and the garter, then met the bare flesh of her inner thigh.
“We are on our way to a concert.” For some reason, she whispered. Rather loudly, but the effort to be quiet was still notable.
“I don’t think the coachman will hear us.” He recalled some of the noises she was capable of making and revised his opinion. “On second thought, perhaps keeping your voice down is not a terrible notion.”
“Ned!”
He grinned at her as his fingers found her wet sheath. And oh yes, she was quite wet. “You’re always so ready,” he said softly, stroking her clitoris and enjoying the play of anticipation and pleasure on her face.
“Ned, can’t this wait until later?”
He quoted William Blake: “‘Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.’”
“Are you daring me, my lord?” She arched a brow at him. “My desire is not weak.”
He slid his finger into her and thrust once, twice as he stared into her eyes. “Prove it.”
She returned his stare as she slowly lifted her skirts and bared herself to him. She opened her legs wider and exposed exactly what he wanted. “Put your mouth on me,” she said—not loudly, but it wasn’t a whisper either.
His cock was so hard, he ached. “Please, don’t ever stop talking.”
He did as she commanded and moved between her legs so he could lick her folds. He’d done this to her once before, to her extreme satisfaction. He looked forward to watching her smile and float through the concert, knowing he’d pleasured her moments before they’d gone inside.
She tugged at his head as he used his lips and tongue on her. She moaned and gasped, moving her hips as she came. He felt her muscles clench and then he pumped his fingers into her while he suckled her clitoris. She bucked up, crying out his name, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm.
When she stilled, he backed away and brought her skirts down.
“Where are you going?” she asked, her voice dark and achingly wicked.
He retook his seat on the opposite bench. “We’re almost there.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Almost, yes. I can’t let you go to the party with that.” She inclined her head toward his stiff cock, clearly discernible through his pantaloons.
“It will…calm down before we get there.”
She moved off the bench and knelt before him, her skirt pooling around her. She drew her gloves off, which was no mean feat. “Indeed it will.”
“Aquilla, we’ve already wrinkled your gown enough.”
Her hand was already on his fall, and before he knew it, she’d freed his flesh and was now stroking along the length with her expert hands. “The netting overlay will mask the wrinkles.”
“Then think of the mess. Pleasuring me is not as, er, tidy as pleasuring you.”
She looked up at him, her hand never ceasing in its movements. “Do you trust me?”
Trust. Why did she have to say that? It reminded him of the lie he was perpetrating with her, of how guilty he felt every time he went to Sutton Park. It wasn’t fair, because he did trust her. He just couldn’t share what he wanted to share. Not yet.
“I do.” His voice came out stark and desperate.
And then her mouth was covering him, her lips and tongue mastering what she’d only just learned a few days ago. Her hand worked the base as she sucked him deep. It took barely any time at all for him to completely lose himself in the sensations she wrought.
He longed to bury his hands in her hair, but he couldn’t. He didn’t touch her at all for fear of ruining something.
She took him particularly deep so that he grazed the back of her throat. Then she swallowed, her throat muscles stroking him so that he was teetering on the edge. His balls tightened with ecstasy.
“Aquilla, I’m going to come.” He tried to pull free, but she held him fast, her mouth and hand working. Then he knew what she meant to do.
He couldn’t hold back another moment. He surged off the bench, pulsing along her tongue and surrendering to his body. She held him tight and saw him through to the finish.
He collapsed back against the bench, utterly boneless with exhaustion. And he’d barely done anything.
The coach came to a stop, and she jerked back to her bench. “Just in time,” she murmured. “Toss me my gloves, please?”
He had to blink and shake his head to fully comprehend. He groped about in the lantern light and found her gloves. No, those were his.
“Mine are on the other side,” she offered helpfully.
He felt around the bench and located them. Leaning over, he laid them on her lap. “Thank you. I—” He didn’t know what else to say.
She gave him a look that was both prim and thoroughly seductive. How did she do that?
The door to the coach opened as she finished pulling on her second glove. Belatedly, Ned realized he needed to don his as well as button his fall. After quickly doing so, he leapt down and offered her his hand.
He escorted her to the town house, thinking this was the best damned concert he’d ever seen—and he couldn’t even remember who was playing.
They went inside and
found seats. It was indeed an excellent program, but then he suspected he would have enjoyed cookware being used as instruments.
After the music was finished, the guests were invited to sample refreshments and socialize. Aquilla found Lady Satterfield, and soon her friend Miss Breckenridge joined them and they were discussing their successful trip to Bethlehem yesterday. Mary had been delighted to receive Aquilla’s dress—but not nearly as happy as Aquilla had been to give it to her.
Ned took the opportunity to go onto the terrace. He’d been a bit overheated ever since the carriage. He smiled to himself, thinking that was a memory he’d cherish for a long time—forever.
“You look rather smug, but then I suppose you’ve earned that.” Lindsell weaved onto the terrace, his eyes glassy.
Ned took stock of the younger man. “And you look rather drunk.”
Lindsell’s lip curled. “You dare insult me.”
“I believe you started it, but you’re right, I’m better than that. If you’ll excuse me.” He made to move past the baron, but Lindsell jabbed his elbow into Ned’s side.
Lindsell pivoted, his brow pinched with anger. “You insulted me first. By stealing my bride.”
“I didn’t steal anyone. She chose me.” He wanted to add that there’d never really been a contest but decided not to kick the man while he was down. Perhaps he’d actually cared for Aquilla. But no, Ned knew he hadn’t. Not with the way he’d spoken of her. “I believe she preferred a husband who would value her.”
“You’re a rapscallion!” Lindsell lunged for him, but Ned merely stepped aside and watched the man sprawl face-first onto the terrace.
Ned glanced toward the door but didn’t see anyone watching. Exhaling, Ned squatted down next to the man. “You really are soused, Lindsell. You can’t mean to start a fight. Let me help you up.” He touched the baron’s arm.
Lindsell allowed him to pull him partway up before he snatched his arm from Ned’s grip and scowled at him. “I ought to call you out. I’d already had the banns read at my parish church. What you did was despicable.”