Page 24 of A Marquess of No Importance (Inglorious Scoundrels #3)

“ T hank you,” Rivendale rasped after a moment of tense silence. “That helped. A lot.”

Melissande realized she had stopped working on his leg moments ago, captivated by the unbelievable love story between him and the barmaid.

The most astonishing part wasn’t the love itself—one cannot help whom they love—or even that she had refused him; it was that he, the proper, stuffy marquess, had offered to marry her.

Of course, it would never have worked out.

Even if they had married, they would have been ostracized from society, more than he already was. Their children would have suffered, especially if they were girls…

Yet the fact that he had offered made something warm unfurl in her chest.

Titled men didn’t propose to commoners. It was a lesson she had learned early, the only one her birth father ever bothered to teach her.

“You’re welcome,” she said softly, her hand still resting on his thigh. His leg was thin, with muscles hard and unnaturally corded. She hoped she had been able to provide him even a bit of relief.

But his leg muscles weren’t the only things that were hard.

He tried to hide it, bunching his shirt over his crotch, but it was clearly evident.

He wanted her.

And if she was honest, she wanted him too.

Sitting here in the dark, narrow room with a single candle casting intimate light, a single touch against his skin evoked desire from within her.

It didn’t help that she knew exactly how his upper body looked beneath that nightshirt. It helped even less that she could see the outline of his erect cock.

He cleared his throat. Melissande jumped, caught in the act of staring at his loins. She raised her eyes to his, heat traveling up her neck to her cheeks.

Laughter danced in his eyes. “You shouldn’t do that,” he rasped, his voice an octave lower than before.

“Do what?” Melissande breathed.

He covered her hand and squeezed, but didn’t move it from his leg. “Look at me like that.”

Melissande licked her lips. “How am I looking at you?”

“As if you want me,” he said. “As much as I want you.”

Her heart jolted in her chest, her pulse hammering in her ears. “And how much is that?”

A charged silence followed, his eyes dark and penetrating. Finally, he said, “I think it is easy to tell by my…” He paused, his lips twitching into a smile. “Hot poker.”

Melissande let out a laugh. She loved his easy wit, but what she loved even more was the way his face lit up when he smiled.

It was a crooked smile. One side of his face remained almost frozen, but his eyes danced with mirth.

His lips, usually hard and pursed into a thin line, now seemed almost soft. She wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him.

But before she could do that, he released her hand, squeezed the armrests of his chair, and shot up, almost knocking her down in the process.

“Apologies,” he murmured, pressing a hand to her shoulder to steady her. “Thank you… again. Good night.”

Melissande remained on her knees, stunned, as he hobbled toward his door. Her mouth might as well have dropped to the floor in surprise.

What in the devil just happened?

He wanted her.

That was obvious. He’d even pointed it out to her. He’d looked into her eyes and smiled intimately, his fingers squeezing hers…

And then he ran off like a spooked deer.

He reached his room quickly for a man who had just groaned in pain while she worked on his leg muscles, closing the door behind him.

But he didn’t lock it.

And that was a mistake.

Because if he thought he could hide from her after sharing a perfect, unguarded moment, the least he could have done was lock her out completely.

Melissande wasn’t known for giving up easily. She was not afraid of scandal. She was not afraid of confrontation.

And she was not going to stew in her own thoughts, contemplating and misinterpreting his abrupt exit.

She pushed off the floor, dusted her skirt, and stalked into his room just as he reached his bed.

“Listen here, Lord Rivendale,” she said, marching right up to him. He turned, bracing himself against the bed, confusion flickering in his eyes. “If you think you can use me as you please—tease me with your words, then dismiss me until you decide you need me again—you are gravely mistaken.”

“Use you?” His tone was incredulous. “You offered your aid. I never asked for anything.” His brows drew tight, surprise flashing at her bold advance.

“You didn’t ask me, but you obviously needed me.

Just like you need…” She waved in the general direction of his arousal.

“Another kind of release right now. And yes, I need it too. We shared something intimate just now. I’m not just talking about kneading your muscles, but also the conversation that has obviously touched us both.

You are clearly aroused, and so am I. Your eyes were—”

Rivendale surged to his feet so suddenly that she startled back.

But before she could retreat, his arm clamped around her waist, yanking her flush against him. “Is this what you want?” he ground out between his teeth. Their bodies collided—her nipples rubbed against his chest with every breath, his rigid arousal pressing hard against her belly.

“I want you to acknowledge that you want me! That—”

He crushed his mouth to hers.

Every thought fled her mind as his lips insistently moved against hers. She was so caught off guard that she just stood there, letting him kiss her, not responding, not moving, barely even breathing for what seemed like an eternity.

His arm slid down to her bottom, squeezing her gently. “Answer me,” he grunted against her lips.

I just did! Or was he asking her to respond to his kiss?

“I—” She opened her mouth, and he instantly slid his tongue inside.

Melissande let out a sigh and melted into him.

She was no longer in control of her body.

She opened to him, allowing him to kiss her however he wanted, touch her anywhere he wished, and do whatever he desired.

And he took complete advantage, his hands roaming her body, exploring her thighs, her waist, then moving up to her breasts. His thumbs brushed her nipples, and her entire body jolted. His kiss devoured her, his tongue coaxing hers into a decadent rhythm that made her knees weaken beneath her.

When he finally pulled away, Melissande was shaking, her breathing labored, and so was he.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his fingers and fell backward, propping his hips against the bed again. Melissande trembled, afraid she might collapse into a boneless heap on the floor. Instead, he tugged on her dressing gown, pulling her toward him until she stood between his knees.

“Of course, I want you, Melissande,” he breathed. “But you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“What am I asking for?” she whispered, staring deep into his pained eyes.

“I am not good at this.” He flinched, his teeth gritted as he added, “I am not experienced in bringing women pleasure.”

“I am.” She attempted a smile, but his expression remained too serious.

“It’s not just that… Every movement of my body can trigger a cramp. This won’t be as pleasant an experience for you as you think. Trust me, you don’t want me.”

She cupped his cheek, and he immediately, almost subconsciously, leaned into her touch. “Why don’t you let me decide what I want?”

He shook his head. “We’ll be here for weeks. I’d prefer not to spend them under your disappointed gaze.”

“So you’d rather we spend weeks filled with suppressed desire?”

He swallowed. “At least then there’ll be the fantasy. The dream. The ideal version of what it could have been, unspoiled by reality.”

Something within her cracked. There was pain in his voice and in his gaze as he spoke. He didn’t want to ruin the dream because, often, reality had a way of shattering it for him. The dream of walking, of being normal, of marrying the woman he loved…

It hurt her heart that he thought this time would be the same.

She reached up on tiptoes and kissed his lips.

He hesitated at first, his hands gripping her wrists to hold her at bay, until he relaxed and wound her arms around his neck. He kissed her back fiercely, his teeth scraping her lips, his tongue tangling with hers.

When they broke away, both of them were breathless.

“I am going to show you,” she whispered, “that reality can be better than fantasy.”

* * *

She kissed him.

Her slick tongue moved skillfully against his, teasing him and driving him mad with lust.

He let his tongue explore her warmth, drinking her in and tasting her lips. She let out a soft moan, which he swallowed greedily, his movements becoming desperate.

His fingers plunged into her hair, holding her close and angling her mouth for better access.

It was just a kiss…

Long, sensual, never-ending.

Until her hand slipped under his nightshirt. She grazed his thigh, sending shivers down his spine, and then her fingers circled the base of his cock.

It took all his self-control not to come right then.

He growled, tightening his grip in her hair, tugging until her head fell back.

He lowered his head and kissed her neck, biting her silky skin and then soothing it with his tongue.

She moaned, her eyes fluttering closed while her hand explored his length.

With one hand in her hair and the other at her waist, he gripped her supple body close to him, as if letting her go would cause him to fall apart. His mouth moved lower, across her collarbone and down to the soft mounds of her breasts.

He wanted nothing more than to rip that nightdress away and taste her breasts. But he froze, his forehead pressed against her skin as she squeezed his cock.

She explored his length slowly at first, then quickened her movements, bringing him to the brink of pleasure before slowing down again. His cock swelled so much he feared it would burst.

The muscles in his leg twitched lightly, and he begged his body to endure just this once—to allow him this one moment of unadulterated pleasure.

His body didn’t heed his pleas.

He kissed her again, the soothing touch of her tongue and the sensual pulls of her fist, combined with the pain in his muscles, turning into a form of sensual torture.

He pulled her closer, his hands roaming her body as he shoved her silk dressing gown aside. He pulled it down her shoulders, watching it pool at her feet.

She looked him in the eyes, as if staring deep into his soul, then pulled her nightgown over her shoulders and discarded it to the side.

Rivendale froze.

She was completely bare before him, and… she was glorious.

He didn’t know where to focus his gaze. Her breasts, round and firm, awaited his touch. Her nipples hardened under his gaze, and all he wanted was to feel them in his mouth.

But he didn’t have the opportunity to do so. Slowly, with a featherlight touch, Melissande ran her hands up his thighs before dropping to her knees.

She pushed the fabric of his nightshirt up, revealing his erection to the cool air of the room and her hot gaze.

He swallowed hard, the sound audible in the quiet room. Leaning forward, she pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his cock, causing it to jump, his entire body tensing.

She smiled wickedly at his reaction, then her tongue darted out, wetting her lips.

Without taking her eyes off him until the last possible moment, she lowered her head and licked his cock from base to tip.

Rivendale clutched the bedspread, his hips jolting, his cock jumping eagerly.

Damn her.

He was going to strain another muscle, and it would be completely worth it.

She grabbed him by the base, spread her lips, and enveloped his tip with her mouth.

Rivendale’s head fell back as a low groan escaped him. His hands splayed behind him, digging into the mattress for support, grounding himself against the surge of pleasure coursing through him. Every nerve felt alive, every muscle coiled with the delicious tension that twisted through his body.

His breath hitched as her warm, wet mouth enveloped him, her tongue sliding along the underside of his shaft.

He could feel the tension building in his body, the familiar coiling in his muscles that threatened to seize.

But there was something else too, a heat that spread from his groin, a tightening in his sack that was purely pleasurable.

She moved, taking him deeper, the warm, wet heat of her mouth swallowing him whole. Every sensation was heightened: the silk of her tongue, the gentle scrape of her teeth, the vibration of her moans against his flesh.

His hands found their way to her hair, the soft strands tangling between his fingers. He didn’t guide her; he didn’t need to.

She was perfect.

Then her tongue touched his crown, and he was lost. He didn’t even understand what happened after that.

His mind deserted him, his fingers tightening around her hair, pulling her head down as his hips thrust up. Then a blinding burst of pleasure exploded within him.

When he finally opened his eyes, Melissande was still on her knees, wiping the remnants of his pleasure from her lips.

She smiled, that wicked smile he knew all too well, and sucked on her finger.

That did it.

His cock, still half-erect, sprang back to life with a swiftness that was almost unnatural.

Melissande had an unbelievable effect on him.

The ache in his leg returned, his muscles straining once more, but he pushed those thoughts away. He would stand right here all night if he had to—if that’s what she wanted.

She was the one on her knees.

He was the one utterly at her mercy.