Page 23 of When the Marquess Needed Me (The Rake Chronicles #4)
Chapter Twenty-One
H oly hell.
Leith had never known pleasuring a woman could be so gratifying.
He hadn’t let himself think of it all these years, he supposed.
And Beatrice was extraordinary. The way she told him exactly what she wanted—how she made pleasing her so possible.
“That,” she said, looking down at him, “was amazing.”
“I am—I am glad.”
He didn’t want to seem too pleased with himself.
But he was.
And his cock knew it.
Because when he stood, he realized that he was hard again. His erection made his nightshirt tent in a ridiculous manner.
He strode away from her and back to where he had been sitting in bed when she entered the room.
He heard her laugh behind him. She was always laughing at him and, irritatingly, he was coming to enjoy it. His entire life he had been afraid of people laughing at him and somehow, when she did it, he found he didn’t mind.
“Don’t you want me to please you?”
She was standing above him.
Christ, she was still naked. Of course, he knew that, given that his tongue had just been in her cunt. But the vision of her naked…he hadn’t gotten used to it. Not at all. Not by half.
Her long hair cascading down her body was a temptation that he didn’t know how to resist. He found himself transfixed by where the ends of her hair skimmed her breasts. What would it be like to suck on her nipples? He hadn’t done that yet. He would like to.
“Thomas?”
She had asked him something. He realized that now. But he had been distracted.
She just laughed at him again.
He swallowed. “What did you say?”
“You were just very generous with me. I would like to be generous with you.”
“Ah. I see. Thank you.”
He wanted that. He did. And—yet—he didn’t know what to ask for. He was scrambled beyond belief. He could make his usual request. But that seemed absurd. He didn’t want her to put her clothes back on. The idea was laughable.
“I should be thanking you . Isn’t there something you’d like to do?”
“What do you mean—what are the—what are the…possibilities?”
“Well, it’s a rather long list. And I suspect you already know it quite well. But I could rattle them off, if you like.”
He closed his eyes. This was becoming embarrassing.
Because he did know what he wanted. He had thought of it before. But he had told himself that she probably wouldn’t enjoy it. However, she was saying she wanted to do something for him. Perhaps she would forgive him if she didn’t.
“From behind. Me. Behind you.”
She gave him a wicked smile. “As you wish.”
She sat down on the bed and began kissing him. Her kiss felt so luxurious to him—and it wasn’t just because he was paying her one thousand pounds for two weeks of her time. It was more than that. It was how lavishly she gave herself to him.
Beatrice moved so she straddled him. He reached down and cupped her bare breast. She sighed at his touch.
It was so strange—he had slept with hundreds of women, but it had been years since he had done such as simple, intimate act.
He squeezed the exquisite weight and felt himself stiffen further. Even though he had already come twice this evening, he was ready for her again.
“Can I do something?”
“Yes,” she said. “Whatever you want.”
He pushed her back onto the bed, glorying in her beauty and how she laid it open for him. He placed his mouth over her nipple and sucked, teasing her peak with his mouth.
“Ah, that’s nice.”
He repeated the action with her other nipple and then continued licking and sucking until she was writhing beneath him.
“Please,” she said, “I want you.”
He couldn’t believe it. That this beautiful woman would really want him, not just because he had paid her. He supposed he couldn’t truly know. But Beatrice had told him that she wouldn’t lie. And, after all, he told himself, she wasn’t a professional courtesan—not yet at least. She had less experience pretending. That made him feel better.
“Turn around,” he said, his voice gruff, shifting to allow her the movement.
She did so, wriggling against him. His cock strained against her naked body as she moved against him, leaving a streak of seed on her smooth skin.
“I’m sorry—” he said, mortified.
“Don’t you dare apologize,” she said, from over her shoulder. “It’s flattering. It shows how much you want me.”
Her arse was against his cock now. He could feel his blood pounding in his brain. Madly, he took his cock and stroked it against the smooth skin of her backside. He fairly whimpered as he did so. Another line of seed was there now, glimmering in the light, completely obscene. He wished to enter her without a letter, then to withdraw and spend where his cock was now, but that was complete madness.
“I will get a letter. Don’t move.”
He moved to his bedside table and procured one. He hastily wrapped his cock and then returned to her on the bed.
She had moved onto all fours. Her cunt was glistening and wet and open for him. He felt slightly faint. He wanted her so badly that he was struggling to form words.
“Are—are—you ready?”
“Please.”
He eased into her core. She was so tight around him. The position gave a new sensation in comparison to their perch on the bench at Vauxhall—not to mention a sensational view of her arse.
He steadied himself on her hips. Stars seared across his vision.
“Is that all right? Does it feel all right?”
He worried that his fears were true. That it was a disappointing experience for her. He remembered that bored expression of his pretty mistress—name forgotten to him now—all those years ago. He wondered if Beatrice’s face now looked the same.
“It feels wonderful.”
He smiled at that. Then worried that she was exaggerating just to please him.
“Truly?”
“Yes,” she hissed.
“Can I continue?”
“If you don’t, I will horsewhip you.”
A strange sensation went through him at her words. He imagined a crop in Beatrice’s hand. He imagined himself completely at her mercy. He imagined her forcing him to do all of the things that he wanted and which he had long denied himself. He went, somehow, even harder.
He shook his head. He had enough happening right now without imagining that .
He rocked her hips back towards him, so that he entered her to the hilt. She let out a guttural sound that pleased him beyond belief.
He pushed her forward and rocked out of her at the same time and was rewarded with another such sound from her.
“God, Leith.”
“Thomas,” he corrected, frowning, and rocking her back onto him.
“Fuck, yes, Thomas.”
He repeated the motion and, each time, as he did it, she moaned aloud.
But he needed more.
“Does it feel good?” he asked.
He never asked such questions in bed. But with Beatrice it was somehow possible.
“It feels so good. Your cock is so good.”
He stilled at that.
No woman had ever said anything of the sort to him before.
He thought of Lady Killston’s gesture and her words from many years ago.
He thought of that courtesan in the brothel. Oh, a small one.
Was Beatrice mocking him?
Now she rocked against him of her own volition. For a moment, he was buried inside of her. It sent cascades of pleasure through him.
“Don’t stop,” Beatrice said. “Please.”
His pleasure and confusion were at terrible odds.
“Don’t say that.”
He was still motionless.
“Say what?”
“About my cock.”
“I don’t understand. Don’t say that your cock feels good?”
“I’ve asked you not to say things you don’t mean.”
“Thomas,” she said, rocking back and forward once more, and making them both cry out. “I mean exactly what I say.”
She rocked back again so that he was impaled within her. Then she rocked forward so that only the tip of his cock was inside of her. She sunk down again and he felt himself come a bit into the French letter.
“Fuck.”
“I have no idea,” she said, withdrawing herself again, “why you assume I am lying.”
She sank down on him again.
His bollocks were tight now. He knew he was nearing his release.
“I have no idea why you say that I shouldn’t praise your cock—when your cock is inside of me and I’m moaning out for more of you. That’s when a woman tells a man that his cock feels good. Because it does.”
Did he believe her? He didn’t know.
He wanted to believe her. And her response to him certainly seemed to suggest that she was telling the truth.
“So I will repeat myself,” she said, rocking away and back again. “Your cock feels good. No, better than good. Your cock feels amazing.”
And then she came, letting out a sound of pure pleasure. He could feel her spasming over him. If he hadn’t come two times already tonight, he would have been done for.
Nevertheless the combination of the sensation and her words had him nearly in pieces. He believed her. He did. She wasn’t lying.
“Fuck, Beatrice. You’re so fucking beautiful. So fucking tight. So fucking perfect.”
He knew he was raving, but he couldn’t help it. Not when she came like that. Not when she was so open with him.
“Are you going to come for me?” she said, moving back and forth again. His hands were still holding onto her arse, but she was in control. He let her create the rhythm.
“Yes.”
“Then come for me, my love.”
My love. Maybe it was the emotion of doing things that he had not thought possible for him. Or the two spends that he had already experienced that evening. Or maybe it was just her. But the tender words brought tears to his eyes.
More than anything, he had never had that in the bedchamber. That sweetness. If sweetness or tenderness had made any appearances, he had been sure to stifle them.
But with Beatrice, those words just felt natural.
She rocked out and then sank back in and then did it again and again and again. Now, he was inside of her to the hilt.
“Stop,” he panted, stilling her with his hands.
For some reason, he had a strange sense of what he wanted to do. The thrusting was wonderful, but he wanted her as close as possible. And it felt so good to be buried inside of her.
He didn’t remove himself this time. He ground against her, moving himself in circles instead of thrusting. He held her so that she moved with him, feeling her with his cock in a totally different way, grinding into her.
“Oh my God,” she said. “That feels—that’s amazing.”
“You’re amazing,” he said. “Your pussy is so fucking perfect, Beatrice. You’re going to ruin me.”
Her quim had drawn tight again. He kept grinding himself into her until they were both panting.
“Oh my God,” she repeated. “You’re going to make me come again.”
She began but so did he. He came, explosively, with not just raw need—but raw emotion. He felt his orgasm go on and on as her core spasmed over him. He sounded, even to himself, scarcely human.
When he had drained every bit of pleasure from his spend, he put his face on her bare back and kissed it.
“Beatrice,” he said. “Thank you.”