Page 20 of 1797 Club 2nd Epilogue Collection (The 1797 Club #11)

“Or perhaps he might dance with me as you are, only he’d grind against me so I could feel how much he wanted me. Make me grind against him until I felt like I could spend right there in front of a roomful of people.”

“Jesus,” he grunted, but he cupped her backside and did exactly as she’d suggested, grinding her against him as his mouth dropped to hers.

She opened to him, welcoming the heat of his tongue, the taste of him. She’d never been able to get enough. Even now she shivered at the hardness of him pressed against her belly, his arousal proof of the desire she sparked in him .

“I want you,” she whispered. “All I’ve thought about today was meeting you here and having you.”

“It’s all I’ve thought about too. I wanted to come home early from my meetings at least five times, but I knew I needed to save all this desire for you here and now,” he said, rocking her against him.

A woman next to them moaned and they both glanced toward her. The gentleman she was dancing with was squeezing her bared breast, her head was thrown back even as they continued to move in some semblance of a dance.

Matthew…or Mr. Smith, as Isabel tried to think of him…

cupped her chin and kept her looking at the scene, making her watch even as he dipped his head to her throat and began to kiss the sweet spot at her pulse that always drove her mad.

She found her hips rolling against his, seeking the pleasure he’d soon give even in the middle of the dancefloor.

“Do you want to continue to play or come to the back with me?” he whispered, turning her face back toward his.

“I want to go to the back,” she whispered, her breath almost nonexistant.

“And do you want a room where you can be watched?” he asked.

Her hands began to shake. Years ago, when she’d met her husband here, with circumstances fraught and their identities truly unknown, he’d realized that she liked to watch. He’d teased her about wanting to be watched in turn.

And now he offered that fantasy.

“No one would know it was us?” she asked.

“We’d keep our masks on,” he murmured in response. “And not use our names. You would be entirely anonymous in your pleasure.”

She met his eyes, saw he was serious, that he would give her that fantasy, share it with her if she wanted it. And she nodded. “I like the idea,” she admitted.

He took her hand and lifted it to his lips just as he had when they were at the bar. “Well, you know I’d give you the world. Come.”

M atthew’s hands were shaking as he guided Isabel through the writhing crowd toward the more private rooms in the back. He spoke softly to the servant waiting there, telling them what he wanted.

He loved making love to his wife, his duchess. Loved how he could make her lose control with his mouth or his fingers or his cock. Loved that their passion for each other had only grown in the years they were wed, rather than dissipated into something more staid and distant.

She entered the room and turned toward him as he closed the door and locked it.

Her breasts rose and fell in that delectably cut gown, her skin was pink with anticipation and pleasure and she licked her lips.

His cock, which had been throbbing since the moment they took the dancefloor together, actually twitched.

“That dress is fetching, Miss Swan,” he said, darting his eyes toward the panel on one of the pictures. It was open, allowing Isabel the fantasy of being watched by anyone in the dark corridor beyond.

“Thank you, Mr. Smith,” she purred, back into her role now. “I chose it because of its ease of removal.”

He lifted his brows and stared as she unfastened a ribbon at her side, unhooked a few buttons and the whole silky contraption fluttered around her feet.

Beneath she was entirely naked, save for his favorite pink stockings, tied with dark red ribbon in the center of her thighs, and the slippers with her highest heel.

“Fuck,” he muttered, adjusting himself slightly.

“I hope that’s your intention,” she said, walking toward him with all the confidence she had once lacked. “Because I very much want that.”

As she reached him, she lifted up on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

There was nothing sweet or proper about it.

She claimed him and he couldn’t help but do the same in return, tasting the sweetness of the wine she’d been drinking when he entered the hall, merged with the sweetness that was just his wife.

His lover.

She glided one hand down his chest, her fingers dragging and massaging as they went. Finally she cupped his cock through his trousers and only then did she break her lips from his.

“Impressive, sir,” she whispered, back to the game that was driving him mad. “I want to see it, not just feel it.”

She dropped to her knees and watched him as she unfastened his fall front. When it dropped away, his cock bounced free and he let out a groan of relief. One that turned to a cry of pleasure when she lifted up straighter, caught him in hand and covered him with her hot, wet mouth.

Over the years, both of them had come to know every element of the other’s pleasure.

She used all that knowledge against him now, taking him deep as she could, stroking what she couldn’t manage, rolling her tongue around and around him until he was thrusting his hips against her, cursing and moaning out of control.

He could have easily spent that way, watched her take all of him and enjoyed her wicked, proud smile afterward. But that wasn’t the purpose here. Oh no, and if he didn’t want to truncate this magnificent game, he needed to retake the control she had so greedily claimed.

He caught her chin in his palm and slowly turned her face up toward his. “You are gorgeous with my cock in your mouth,” he growled, all possessive passion that he normally didn’t express. “But I want to spend somewhere other than your lovely throat, Miss Swan. Get up.”

Her pupils dilated at the dominance of those words. She smiled as she licked him one more time, almost in defiance, and then slowly got back to her feet.

She stepped back, the loss of her body heat almost too much. “ And where would you have me, Mr. Smith?” she asked with a saucy wink.

He shrugged out of his jacket, unwound his cravat, undressing with as much speed as he could muster all while she watched.

She leaned against the edge of the bed and let her hands travel over her skin, her mouth a little slack as every inch of his body was revealed.

Almost like she truly hadn’t seen him like this before.

Like his body didn’t entirely and completely belong to her, there for her pleasure and comfort every day of his life until the world stopped turning.

“Oh Ma-” She caught herself and glanced over her shoulder to where some stranger might be watching. “Mr. Smith,” she corrected herself with a wicked smile. “You do unwrap such lovely gifts.”

“I’ve another for you,” he said, covering the scant distance between them in a long step and pushing her further up on the bed.

She opened her legs wide, welcoming him but as much as he wanted to drive right into the slick heat of her sex and take her with animal drive and need, he had other ideas first. He chuckled and grabbed for a nearby chair.

He dragged it to the edge of the bed where she lay half-dangling from the mattress and settled in.

“Do you think they’re watching you?” he whispered.

She made a little moan and glanced toward the opening in the portrait. “Please,” she gasped.

“Give them a show,” he said and then dropped his head between her legs to begin to lick her.