Page 25 of A Marquess of No Importance (Inglorious Scoundrels #3)

M elissande licked her lips, the taste of his pleasure fresh on her tongue.

A smile touched her lips. She had never felt as daring as she did at this moment.

The way she made him tremble with pleasure, his eyes hooded, lips parted, fingers gripping her hair… she felt powerful.

She made him come easily. Then, with one flick of her tongue against her lips, without even touching him, he wanted her again.

Good.

Because she was not done with him yet either.

She was damp between her legs, her body pulsing with need. She would not leave him without getting her own satisfaction.

His hands found hers, and with a firm tug, he lifted her upright. He wrapped his arms around her and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

“You are incredible,” he rasped.

She smiled, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze and his sweet words. Heat crawled up to her face. He caressed her cheek with the knuckles of his fingers, looking mesmerized, as if under her spell.

“I want you,” he whispered. “All of you.”

Melissande swallowed and nodded. “Me too.”

He blinked, as if surprised by her answer.

After what had just happened, how could he be surprised that she wanted him?

Then he smiled softly, his eyes glinting with joy, though a restless twitch pulled at his right cheek. Melissande cupped his face, smoothing her thumb across the stubborn muscle as if her touch alone could quiet it. His eyes closed, his body yielding to her, the tremor fading beneath her hand.

She reached up and kissed his lips again. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close, deepening the kiss, swallowing her every moan, before pulling her with him as he tumbled back onto the bed.

She landed atop him with a yelp, their bodies flush, his heart thrumming madly beneath her palm.

His eyelids hooded, he kissed her again, his tongue insistent, teeth nipping at her lower lip until she gasped and clung to his shoulders.

His hot hands roamed over the curve of her back, the swell of her hips, the sensitive skin of her thigh.

She shivered.

It felt so good to be touched by him. His hands left a trail of heat and pleasure in their wake.

She pressed deeper into him, grinding against his thigh, craving to have him inside her.

Her hands slipped beneath his nightshirt, up the hard lines of his abdomen to the planes of his chest. With a sound halfway between a whimper and a growl, he tugged the nightshirt over his head and flung it aside, exposing himself entirely to her gaze.

Melissande paused, studying his broad chest, the dark hairs covering it, the muscles moving with every breath. Her gaze traveled down his abdomen to the triangle of hair leading her gaze further down, toward his cock.

She licked her lips again. She couldn’t help it.

He was tall and hard, little veins covering his angry-red length. She wanted to touch him again. Her fingers twitched, and her body pulsed, her center clenching around nothingness, wishing he would fill her completely.

She wanted to climb atop him and impale herself on his cock until he was fully inside her.

She braced one hand against his chest and rolled off him onto the opposite side of the bed.

He propped himself on his elbow, following her with his gaze. “Where are you going?”

“Wait here.” She grinned as she hurried away toward the dressing chamber.

She closed the door behind her, and for a moment, she simply stood there in complete darkness. Her heart pounded against her ribs. Every inch of her skin tingled remembering the hungry press of his hands, the searing play of his mouth, the taste of his release…

She paced toward the basin, splashed some water into it, and freshened her face, neck, and arms. She opened the door to her bedchamber, letting in a bit of light, then found a clean towel and patted herself dry.

Her breathing was labored, her mind still catching up with what had happened between them.

She wanted this. She wanted him .

It wasn’t wrong to go after what she wanted, was it?

As long as she was doing it the right way.

She poured water into a crystal glass and gulped it down. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she paused, set the glass aside, and took a deep breath.

But she wasn’t doing it the right way.

Their entire affair had started because of a foolish wager.

It might have started that way, but what had just happened between them, and what was going to happen next, had nothing to do with it. They were both free to pursue liaisons, and he chose to have one with her.

They chose each other tonight, and that might not have happened if not for the wager, but it didn’t happen for the sake of the wager.

As a matter of fact, the wager was off.

She’d cross it off the moment she was back on English soil. That would cause some trouble for her reputation, for certain, but nothing she couldn’t spin in her own favor.

Or, she didn’t have to spin it at all. Just ignore it altogether.

After all, the moment they returned to London would probably be the same moment their liaison would end as well.

But for now…

Her hand trembled as she reached into the drawer for her sponge.

For now, she would enjoy it.

She poured a few drops of oil onto the sponge, rolling it between her palms to warm it. With a steadying breath, she slipped it inside herself.

And she would be careful about it.

She forced herself to linger, to count out the seconds, to give the oil time to work, then opened the door and stepped back into his bedchamber.

He was waiting for her, sprawled across the bed, long legs splayed, his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking himself. The sight stopped her in her tracks and stilled her nerves.

She had never seen anything as beautiful as this man—large and powerful, yet gentle.

She only wished his hands were on her now.

He looked at her then and smiled, slow and wolfish, the firelight casting shadows over the hard angles of his face.

He’d said nobody had ever called him handsome. And perhaps, he wasn’t what people would find conventionally attractive. He had full lips, a wide nose, and slightly asymmetric features that were more obvious when he smiled.

And she loved that smile.

He was different.

Unique.

He was handsome to her.

She let her gaze travel downward, her lips parting as she traced the hard lines of his neck and shoulders, the blunt strength of his arms. His torso was broad and powerfully built, no doubt to overcompensate for the lack of strength in his leg. He probably had to rely on his upper body much more.

Her eyes slid even lower to his cock—already hard, flushed, and swollen in the nest of dark hair. She trembled with need, the urgent thrum pulsing between her thighs.

She wanted to be filled, stretched, and undone by him. She wanted to consume him, to take him in and make him lose himself utterly within her.

He opened his arms, and she climbed onto the bed.

She gasped as he pulled her against him, the heat of his skin making her moan.

Their mouths crashed together, unsteady at first, then greedy, gasping, desperate.

She felt his hands roam up her back, then down, smoothing over her bottom, squeezing as if he could mold her to fit his hands.

He rolled over, pinning her beneath him, his chest rubbing against her nipples with every ragged breath, his cock hot and slick pressing against her thigh. “I’ve dreamed of this,” he rasped, his voice shaking with restraint. “You have no idea how many nights I spent imagining you in my arms.”

Oh.

She leaned into him and kissed his lips, then snaked her arms around his neck and pulled him toward her. Their kiss deepened, their tongues tangling until they were both gasping.

She rolled her hips, grinding against the length of him, feeling the slick, swollen head glide over her wet, aching flesh. She was so ready it almost hurt.

He pressed the tip against her entrance but stopped, holding her just on the precipice, his eyes searching hers with a question. She answered by wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him in.

She let out a moan as he pressed into her, stretching her, filling her as she rolled her hips, taking him in inch by inch. Her head fell back, her eyes closing, all her being concentrated on their joining.

He groaned, his entire body shuddering. She could feel the tremor in his arms, the way his hips fought to resist slamming into her all at once.

He was trying to be gentle, but she didn’t want gentleness.

She dug her fingers into his shoulders and rocked her hips, impaling herself deeper, moaning as she adjusted to his size. He filled her so completely, so wonderfully, all she could do was feel.

Then he began to move.

Slowly at first, his eyes locked on hers as if he couldn’t bear to look away, even for a second. He moved within her, tearing moans, gasps, and whimpers from her.

The bed creaked, the headboard tapped softly against the wall with every thrust.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his face to hers, kissing him, biting his lip when the pleasure grew too intense to bear silently. He hissed in pain—or was it pleasure?—and then thrust harder, deeper, meeting her every movement with his own.

She felt the pressure building inside her, the need coiling tighter and tighter. She wanted him to go faster, harder, and she told him so, her voice ragged. “Please… Don’t stop. Don’t hold back.”

He buried his face in her neck, teeth scraping lightly against her skin, and she felt him lose control, bucking into her with wild, uneven thrusts. Her body matched him, hips rolling up to meet every thrust, the friction of his cock against her center driving her mad.

For a fleeting moment, she was aware of everything—the firelight flickering in the hearth, the sweat slicking their bodies, the sharp, sweet smell of their joining in the air, the pulse of his heart thundering through her.

She wanted this moment to last forever, to be lost in the heat of him, surrounded by their desperate moans, feeling him from the inside.