Page 32 of A Marquess of No Importance (Inglorious Scoundrels #3)

She tugged at his trousers, and he lifted his hips, allowing her to bare him completely. As she straddled him, he held her close and shifted toward the middle of the bed, taking her with him.

They continued their passionate kisses, his fingers tangling in her hair while she meticulously undressed him.

Breaking the kiss, she tugged his shirt off and paused, her breath ragged.

She swallowed, her delicate throat working, her chest rising and falling with each breath.

Then her hand closed around his cock.

She stroked him, her thumb flicking over the weeping tip, smearing the evidence of his arousal in slow, maddening circles. He nearly lost control right then. He caught her wrist, gasping, “Wait… Stop, please, or I’ll embarrass myself.”

She stilled, her expression caught between amusement and concern. “You can’t possibly think I would find that embarrassing,” she said, bending her head to press a kiss just above his navel.

He groaned, every fiber of his body drawn tight as a bowstring.

He wanted to touch her, to explore every inch of her skin the way she had explored his, but his hands trembled as he fumbled with the sash of her dressing gown.

After a moment, she took pity on him and shrugged out of the garment herself.

She wore nothing underneath. Her pale golden skin was bare to his gaze.

He stared at her, stunned.

She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

He wanted to kiss every imperfection, every freckle, every dip and curve of her body.

He pulled her toward him, wrapping his arms around her waist, his hands greedily mapping the hollows and curves of her back. She pressed into his side, her bare thigh draped over his, and for a moment, they breathed together, skin to skin.

He kissed her mouth, then the line of her jaw, and finally lower, to the hollow of her throat.

She tensed, then relaxed, her pulse fluttering wildly beneath his lips.

A soft sound escaped her, a little whimper of need that unraveled him.

He trailed kisses over the slope of her shoulder and down the elegant line of her collarbone until he reached the perfect curve of her breast.

He paused, glancing up for permission. She threaded her fingers into his hair and arched her back in invitation.

Rivendale took her nipple into his mouth and suckled gently, then harder, letting his tongue trace the rosy tip until she gasped and ground against his hip.

Her hands roamed his back, her nails digging in slightly when he bit down.

He did it again, and she rewarded him with a ragged moan. “God, yes… Do that again.”

He obliged, moving from one breast to the other, delighting in her responsiveness. Her skin tasted faintly of salt and something uniquely her own. He kissed lower, pausing at her abdomen, his tongue tracing the ridge of her navel. She shivered beneath his mouth.

He looked up at her, needing to see her face. “I want to taste you,” he said, his voice barely more than a growl.

She went utterly still, her breath catching. For a moment, he wondered if he’d gone too far. Surely not; she’d done the same to him.

But then she nodded and spread her thighs wider, giving him full access.

He swallowed and moved lower, his thigh aching in protest, but he ignored it. Bracing himself on his elbows, he ran his hands up the soft skin of her inner thigh and pressed a tentative kiss there. Then he parted her feminine lips, and she let out a shaky exhale.

He dipped his head and licked her.

“Ah!” Melissande let out a soft sigh, her hips rocking. He gripped her thighs and licked again.

“More,” Melissande demanded, shifting beneath him.

Rivendale licked his lips, savoring her taste, then met her gaze. “I… I’ve never done this before,” he admitted. “I want you, and I want to make you feel as good as I felt with you. Will you teach me?”

She regarded him for a long moment in wonder, then nodded. One hand rested on his shoulder while she slowly threaded the fingers of her other hand through his hair, guiding him where she wanted him. He spread her swollen lips with his fingers and licked again.

She gasped, her hips thrusting, pushing her center against his lips.

She wanted him closer. He opened his mouth, pressing it against her heat and licking hard.

She jolted in his arms, a moan escaping her throat.

That’s it.

He licked again, his tongue delving deeper, changing the angle.

Melissande guided him, pulling his hair as she writhed beneath him.

“Go slow,” she said, her voice husky. “Yes, like this.”

He nuzzled higher, running his tongue in experimental circles, noting how her breath stuttered when he hit the right spot. Her fingers tightened in his hair, guiding him. “Slower. Softer. Yes, just like that.”

He obeyed, learning the rhythms of her body—the way she trembled when he lingered, the way her nails dug into his scalp when he flicked his tongue just so.

The taste of her was intoxicating, a heady mix of sweetness and salt that fueled his desire even further.

Her thighs closed around his head, and he lost himself in the task of pleasing her. It was more delicious than any wine he’d ever tasted. When he felt her buck against him, her voice rising to a desperate cry, he almost came just from the sound of it.

His cock demanded attention, swollen and aching, desperate for touch. He shifted, and a bolt of pain shot through his thigh.

“Damn it.” He recoiled, gasping, and rolled onto his back.

Melissande pulled away at once, her face flushed, her hair wild. “Are you all right?” she asked, concern overshadowing the fog of pleasure.

He forced a smile. “It’s nothing, just… I can’t keep that position for long. My knee needs a rest.”

She turned onto her side, giggling helplessly. “Thank God! I thought I had suffocated you for a moment there.”

He let out a laugh too. “I don’t think I would have minded that.”

She ran a hand down his chest, her touch gentler now. “We can stop if you—”

“No!” he cut her off immediately. He’d let his damned leg ruin most of his life already; he wasn’t going to let it ruin this too. He propped himself up on one elbow, swallowing his embarrassment. “I want you. Every part of you. I want to bring you pleasure like you’ve never felt before.”

Her eyes darkened, and she bent to kiss him, slow and deep.

“Rivendale,” she paused and frowned. “What is your Christian name?”

He smiled. He didn’t remember the last time anyone had asked him that. “Nathaniel,” he said, not fully recognizing the name on his tongue.

“Nathaniel,” she repeated, savoring each syllable, then smiled. “I like it.”

Suddenly, he liked it too.

“Nat…” she paused, studying him, gauging his reaction. He raised a brow, and she continued, “How do you propose we continue this… session if you’re in pain?”

He lowered his head and suckled on her breast. She let out a soft sigh.

His leg didn’t hurt much when he was on his left side or on his back, as long as he didn’t have to prop himself up with his knees.

“Straddle me,” he offered.

Melissande giggled. It was such a joyful sound, so unusual from her, that he couldn’t help but grin.

She climbed over him and straddled his hips.

Rivendale laughed, wrapping his arms around her waist and tugging. “No, not my hips. I want you to straddle my face.”

Melissande blinked, steadying herself against his shoulders. “Pardon me?”

So formal.

“I want to taste you,” he rasped. “I want to drink your juices. I want to bring you pleasure with my mouth.”

Melissande’s face—no, her entire body—flushed pink.

He never thought he would be able to make the notorious Melissande Monroe blush.

He quite enjoyed the feeling.

So he growled, “Sit. On. My. Face.”

* * *

Melissande stared down at Nathaniel, her heart pounding in her chest. His request was shocking yet thrilling. She had never heard such words from a man before, let alone from a marquess.

She was to seduce the most proper, stuffy lord in all of England. Well, he wasn’t so proper after all.

His eyes were dark with desire, his lips slightly parted, waiting for her response. She felt the heat of his body beneath her, the hard length of him pressing against her thigh.

She swallowed hard, her mind racing. She was always the one in control, setting the pace and pushing boundaries.

Tonight, it was different.

He challenged her, pushed her beyond her limits, and she welcomed it. Welcomed him.

Slowly, she shifted forward, her knees sliding up his chest. She could feel his heartbeat—steady and strong—against her inner thigh. He pulled her closer, her knees coming up to rest on either side of his head, her center hovering over his mouth.

He reached up, grasping her hips gently, and guided her down. She braced herself against the headboard, her breath hitching as his mouth found her center once more.

He took his time, exploring her with his tongue, learning what made her gasp and whimper.

She shuddered as his tongue found a rhythm that made her thighs quiver.

The stubble on his chin grazed the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, a delicious counterpoint to the soft heat of his mouth.

Each stroke sent lightning up her spine, making her gasp and arch against him.

His hands gripped her hips, steadying her when she would have bucked wildly against his face.

“There,” she whispered, moving her hips, grinding against him just as she needed. “Ah… yes!” Words failed her as he flicked his tongue over her clit.

The pressure built low in her belly, a coiling tension that threatened to snap. Her knuckles whitened on the headboard as she fought to maintain some semblance of control.

His tongue circled that perfect spot again, and she felt herself beginning to drift out of consciousness. Her thighs trembled against his cheeks, her breath coming in short, desperate pants.

Each flick sent a jolt through her body, and she couldn’t help the little gasps that escaped her lips or the way her hips instinctively shifted against his mouth. The sensation of his warm breath against her most intimate place made her dizzy with want.

She closed her eyes, surrendering to the pulsing waves of pleasure radiating outward from her core.

His hands gripped her hips firmly, guiding her movements, urging her on.

The control she usually maintained slipped away, and she found herself surrendering to him completely.

The pulsing waves of pleasure washed over her, and for a moment, everything went black, interrupted by blinding white light as her soul seemed to leave her languid body.

She collapsed onto the bed, her breathing labored. When she glanced at Nathaniel, he wiped his mouth, his eyes closed, his expression one of pure bliss.

Her gaze drifted down his body.

His hand was fisted over his cock, his seed spilled over his fingers.