A Marquess for Christmas (20 page)

“Please,”
he whispered.

She
leaned up on her knees, which he could feel against his hips, and tilted his
head further back to claim his mouth. Her hot tongue made his cock ache. He
wanted to fuck her, to spread her cunt open and slip into her warmth. He wanted
to pierce her body the way she’d pierced his heart and drive them both hard
over the cliff.

“You
are mine,” she said, releasing his cock and pinching his nipple tightly. “Any
lewd and lascivious thing I demand, you will do.”

He
wished the tables were turned and he could tie her to the bed with her legs and
arms tied up behind her and spread her legs open enough for him to mercilessly
coerce her in and out of orgasm.

But
tonight, he was her prey and she the lioness. He would take her pain and her
pleasure. He was bound to her will.

Her
hands resumed fingering his cock. She slid a finger on either side of his
length and stroked, from base to tip. Pulling at his bonds did nothing to
lessen the onslaught of her leisurely perusal.

When
the tip of her nails skimmed over his shaft, Kit hissed. “Buggery.”

His
ears tingled when she whispered, “Is that something you would like to try?” The
low, seductive hum of her voice would’ve made a lesser man agree to anything.

He
intentionally misinterpreted her words. “Are you offering up your derrière for
my delectation? I can think of quite a few things I should like to do to it.”

She
scraped her teeth along the edge of his ear. “I meant the other way around.”
Her hand slid down to his bottom and massaged it.

“Caress
it or kiss it all you want. But if you poke my nether hole, I will punish you
so hard you will not be able to walk for a week.”

Gentle
kisses teased his neck. Then she spoke into his other ear. “Perhaps another
time. Do not worry, there are plenty of other ways to make my warrior submit.”

What
did she have in mind? She’d tortured him for a week, letting his mind race with
depraved visions of her raping him and stealing his seed like some ancient
pagan goddess.

Her
breasts brushed his shoulder as she moved. The next thing he knew, she
straddled him. Having her sex slide over his was more than heaven. He gripped
his bindings. Smooth, pliant thighs squeezed his hips and settled over him. The
linen of her dress draped his knees and caressed his belly.

He
wished he could see her, watch her lips fall open when she lost herself in
arousal. He wanted to watch when she swallowed his cock, to see the parting
folds of her pussy as she impaled him.

“
Hmmmm
.” She gripped his shoulders and gyrated her hips.
“This will not do.”

“Bloody
hell, it will do just fine.”

“Language.”
She nipped a tender spot along his neck.

“I
like your body where it is.”

Her
lips were so close that he could feel her breath on his nose and mouth. “Do not
worry, I will still take good care of you,” she whispered. Giving a kiss to his
nose, she lifted up and climbed over his legs.

The
soft strands of her hair tickled his belly and thighs and he thought she would
take him into her mouth. His hips rolled toward her.

“Someone
is impatient.”

“Aroused,”
he corrected.

Her
hair stroked his shaft and he moaned. “
Mmmm
,” she
murmured. “I enjoy the sound of your enthusiasm.” The tips of her hair teased
the head and he rotated his hips again.

“That
was something soft. Shall we try something hard?”

What
could she—? The answer was her teeth sinking into the head of his
erection.
Damnation.
His whole body
jerked from the pain. She gentled the bite, teething and licking him.

The
muscles in his arms were sore from pulling so tightly on his bonds. However,
her knot held secure and he could only revel in the torture of her teeth on his
cock.

“You
are killing me.”

A
beam of cool air hit the head. Did she blow on it? His thighs clenched.

She
swirled her finger on the tip and whispered, “You seem very much alive to me.”
Then she sucked, rolling her tongue over him.

“Fuck.”

She
pinched his thigh. “I told you to mind your language.” He bit back a retort
when her fingers circled his girth and squeezed up from the base. “We will get
there.”

“Soon.”

“When
I decide to.”

Devil
woman. He couldn’t see, couldn’t touch her, could not even kiss her. This was
not how he wanted this to go.

“I
fully intend to recompense you for this torture.”

Little
wet kisses made their way up his abdomen. “It is I who have yet to repay you
for all that you have done to me.”

“You
wanted it.”

“Just
as you do right now.” She kissed his chin, his mouth, and he responded with
fervor, licking and sucking her lips like he’d suck an orange for the juice.
But she eased back enough that he couldn’t claim her mouth the way that he
wanted.

“Be
still,” she whispered.

A
moment later, she was gone. The heat of her body dissipated and he shivered. He
heard rustling sounds and then something circled his ankle and slid up his
thigh. He squirmed, but she merely dug her nails into his other leg. The sharp
sensation contrasted with the soft tingle of the object gliding over his skin.

She
brushed it across his thigh, then up his belly to his chest. When she swirled
it over his nipple, his cock jerked and he could feel a drop of semen pearl
over the head.

The
light object circled his other nipple, rounding it over and over until his mind
numbed with pleasure. But then he felt the sting of her teeth biting his nipple
and squeezing it hard. She tortured both nipples at the same time. Biting and
pinching one and tickling the other with…a feather?

The
vane of the feather swept across the tip, sending tiny tickles through his
nipple. He moaned and she rewarded him by pumping his shaft again.

The
point of the quill zigzagged down his chest and to his belly. His stomach
clenched and she took the quill and ran it around his cock, in a long spiral.
Holding the ties around his wrists, he tried to breathe and keep control. But
Violet was merciless. She alternated between using the quill, the soft, thick
vane of the feather and her mouth. When he got used to one sensation, she
switched to something else.

A
violent throbbing went from ear to ear, but he suppressed it. The pleasure was
too great to beg her to stop because of a silly headache.

With
the flat side of the feather, she flicked his thigh, his knee and when he
thought she would pat his cock, he felt a smack against his bottom. First one,
then two, then three. But the fourth blow wasn’t to his ass, it was the feather
slapping against his cock.

He
roared, nearly ready to come.

“I
think you are ready now,” she said. He heard the scraping of something being
dragged across the wood. Before he could ask her to explain herself, she sat
atop him. Her warm derrière rubbed over his sex.

“If
you keep doing that, I’m going to come.” The raw, hoarse sound of his voice
surprised him.

“I
know,” she whispered. “I want you to.”

God
that made him hot. He wished he could grab her and fuck her as hard and fast as
he wanted. But she took her time, rubbing over him and gasping. She must be
fingering herself as she teased him.

“Ride
me,” he whispered. “Take my cock and use it so hard that I shall not be able to
rise from the bed tomorrow.”

“I
like the sound of that.”

He
could hear the smile in her voice.

The
sensuous feel of her hand around the base of his prick was too much. He needed
to come, needed her to use him down to the quick until he was nothing but a
melted puddle of desire.

* * * *

She
could see herself in the mirror, wantonly sitting astride him, her legs open
and looped around his, her dress bunched up at the waist. She could see the
root of his hard cock inside of her and it made Violet wetter.

Positioning
the chair she’d dragged over so that she could use it for leverage, Violet
tilted forward and thrust herself down on his shaft. Short grunts filled the
room as they built a rhythm.

She
reached behind her to pull off the blindfold. Their eyes met in the looking
glass and she loved how he watched her body, how he watched her watch him. Even
though he was bound, his fierce gaze could command her to his will.

Her
beast was temporarily caged, but he was far from tame. She longed to loosen his
bonds, to feel his hands on her breasts, on her belly, to watch him tease the
folds of her sex through the mirror.

As
she pumped her body over his, she felt intoxicated by the power, by the way he
yielded to her. His strength and vitality pulsed through her and melded with
her own.

“Angel,”
he whispered, his breath a heavy whisper in her ear.

She
reached below to fondle his sac. His hips jerked and she bore down hard on him.
With each downward slide, she felt a bit of herself unraveling.

She
gave into it, gave into the rough sounds of her body slapping his and the chair
creaking under the pressure of her pounding on top of him. They were the sounds
of his submission, the sounds of her strength over him.

He
was her knight, her lover, her very own debauched rake who would see to her
pleasure over and over again. For today, he belonged to her and she could have
him in any and every way that she wanted.

He
felt so good inside. He fit so right inside and out. As she took them to
ecstasy, the rocking sounds increased, building to a crescendo.

Trembling
from her release, Violet slumped forward, almost sliding off of him.

“Angel.”

“Hmmm?”
Her head spun and it felt like cotton stuffed her ears.

It
wasn’t until he spoke again that she realized that the knocking sound in the
room wasn’t coming from the bed rocking. “Angel, there is someone at the door.”

Violet
blinked and her heart stopped. Who would be coming to the door? The staff knew
enough to know not to knock when she and Kit were in a room with the door
closed. Their activities were far from secret at this point, though she still
liked to maintain some semblance of decorum.

“What
is it?” Kit called when she did not say a word.

Violet
lifted up and felt his warmth slip out of her. Though she was still fully
clothed, she shivered.

“Pardon,
sir.” Violet turned red when she realized it was Avery. “But there is a call
from the Duke and Duchess of
Havenhurst
. Her Grace
insists on seeing the Marquess of
Kittrick
. I told
her there was no such man, but her ladyship described you in great—” She
could hear Avery cough. “—Detail.”

Who
was the Duchess of
Havenhurst
? And exactly what kind
of details did she know about Kit?

“Very
well. Tell her Grace that we will be down shortly.”

She
stared at him. The Marquess of
Kittrick
. That’s where
the Kit had come from. It wasn’t short for Christopher.

The
dark look on his face frightened her. Violet turned to climb out of bed,
holding her arms around herself.

“I
cannot go unless you untie me.” His tone was soft, but resigned. And then she
knew. He’d lied to her about who he was, what he was.

She
reached over to loosen his bonds, careful not to touch him any more than
absolutely necessary.

“Why
did you not tell me?”

“If
I told you, what would you have done?”

She
looked down at his face. “I would have been happy for you, Kit. I would have
helped you contact your family and sent you away with my gratitude for what
you’d done.”

“I
wanted to stay a while.”

He
did not say he wanted to stay with
her
.
Perhaps it was a game to him. Everything was a game to him.

She
untied his other arm.

“I
did plan to tell you eventually. But we were getting so close and I did not
want to ruin everything.”

Well,
he’d ensured that things were ruined anyway.

“You
mean you did not want to fess up before you’d gotten under my skirts.”

“It
was not like that.” He slipped on his tunic and grabbed his shirt.

She
crossed her arms. “What was it like then?”

“I
spent every day with you. I got to know you. When I finally remembered, I did
not want to say goodbye yet. Christmastide was not yet here. I knew there was
still time before I had to leave.”

He
might as well have sliced her chest open. “You let me make all of those plans.
We were designing your clothes for Epiphany this morning.” She hastily tied her
hair into a bun. “How could you encourage me to initiate arrangements for
Twelfth Night knowing you wouldn’t even be here?”

“I
could still come back,” he said, buttoning his trousers. “I have to spend
Christmas with my sister, but I could come back here for Epiphany.”

There
was a knocking at the door.

“One
moment.”

“I
am sorry, my lord. I wanted to warn you and my lady that the duchess is trying
to come up the stairs!” Sally called through the door.

“Damnation,”
he said. “Bella has the patience of wild boar, at least when it comes to me.”

That
was another question. “Who is this duchess to you?”

He
sloppily tied his cravat and slipped on his jacket. “Isabella
Montagne
, Duchess of
Havenhurst
,
is my sister.”

That,
at least, was a relief. She wasn’t sure what to expect given Kit’s initial
reactions. Though she doubted his lover would bring her husband along to chase
him, she’d seen some strange things during her time in the war.

“We
do not have time to finish this discussion now, but I expect a better
explanation later.”