A Most Demanding Mistress (Fashionably Impure Book 2) (7 page)

How strong, how solid and warm he felt. His
lips brushed her forehead and she melted further, leaning into his body.

“I saw Winterton in your face.” She barely
whispered the words.

He stroked her hair. “Hush now.”

“The same arrogance, the same sense of
ownership.”

“I am not Winterton.” His voice shook with
the raw edge of anguish. “I shall never abandon you.” He pushed back and cupped
her face.

She tried to dip her head, seeking to hide
herself once more against his chest.

“Look at me,” he demanded, cupping her face
more firmly.

She met his vivid blue gaze.

“I am not Winterton.” His voice was still
thick with emotion. “No matter what happens, as long as I draw breath, you will
want for nothing. I will protect you.”

A long inhalation, followed by a sigh
escaped her, as though her body were releasing all its pent-up tension of its
own volition.

“All those men, staring at you.”

He said those words as if they were torn
from him. “Madness obscured my ability to think clearly.” He frowned. “I have
never, ever experienced such anger. I have never been carried away by emotion
like that before.”

“You frightened me. When you held me down
and would not allow me to move, when you pressed your signet into my breasts
like you were branding me as though I were some possession, a plaything that
you would mark—”

His mouth came down over hers, closing off
her words. His tongue swept inside, caressing hers. Beneath the mint he’d
obviously used to cover the scent, she could taste a strong flavor of brandy
yet clung to his breath. Her heart panged.

He’d been drinking to excess again.

Over her?

Yes, of course.

She didn’t want to be the cause of that—

His hands cupped her face, fiercely now. His
tongue thrust against hers. This was no attempt to coax, but a powerful
statement of possession.

Such a kiss should have reignited her
earlier fear and anger.

Yet, each stroke sent thrills coursing
through her. A moan welled deep within her throat. She couldn’t hold it back.

He lifted his head.

She moaned again. A protest.

Opening her eyes, she met his gaze and found
it blazing with emotion.

“I
do
want to mark you as my
possession.” His tone was hard, resolute.

At the intensity of his passion, she let her
mouth fall open.

His mouth fastened on her neck, sucking
hard. “I
do
want to mark you,” he said, then he sucked all the more on
her, sending shivers and thrills through her. He lifted his head then licked
the area he had just abused so roughly. “I will mark you here and on your belly
and on the inside of your thigh, right near your sweet cunt.”

Desire for him flared hotly at his bold and
perhaps perverse words.

She had lusted for him for a long time.
Lusted for him even when she believed that he despised her. Lusted for him so
much that it had shamed her and she had lied to herself, telling herself that
she hated him in return.

But the truth had been she had lusted for
him desperately since she’d first laid eyes on him. Lusted for him as she had
no other man.

Why?

Lying here beneath him, experiencing the
power of his possessive desire for her, she could admit something she would
never have before.

His arrogance had always intrigued her.

It had also aroused her

Always.

She didn’t understand it. Didn’t have the
presence of mind to reason it out, not with such passion pulsing through her
own veins.

“I cannot help it, Miranda.”

He spoke gruffly but his eyes burned. Did she
imagine that touch of desperation, of defeat? Such an admission made her belly
tingle with fear… and desire.

It was illogical but the idea that he wanted
her so much… that this proud, powerful, arrogant man felt powerless to it sent
her arousal soaring.

“Adrian—”

He put his mouth to hers again, sucking away
her breath.

The touch of his full, sensual yet firm lips
wiped away the last of her ability to think. Her lips clung to his and her body
trembled with her wanting.

Wanting more of his mouth, wanting him to
thrust his tongue against hers.

He did.

Fiercely.

Giving her every ounce of his taste that she
craved.

For long moments, she simply accepted his
strokes, glorying in his ardor, his feel, his taste. Then she slid her tongue
against his, using every bit of sensual skill she’d been compelled to learn as
a courtesan in training. She was glad for that training now for it would allow
her to imprint herself on his senses. To kiss him so thoroughly and skillfully,
something his previous high-born playmates wouldn’t have been able to do.

But Miranda had been trained better than
most courtesans. She would kiss Adrian so expertly that he would never be able
to kiss another woman and not find them lacking in comparison.

He gripped her jaw and kissed her more fiercely,
taking total control, making it impossible for her to do anything but accept.

He inserted a hand between their bodies and
cupped her breast. His thumb brushed her nipple through the thick flannel.
Fiery sparks of delight shot through her. Her knees went weak and with a moan,
she sagged into his body.

He groaned, the sound rumbled through to her
chest, deep into her belly.

Suddenly, she found herself swept up into
his arms, held to his body with his lips devouring her neck as he walked. He
deposited her on the nearest piece of furniture. The only piece of furniture
that she hadn’t sold for coin in the past months—the settee.

Without any other preliminaries, he pulled
the flannel skirt of the nightdress up. Still driven to entice him, to imprint
herself on his mind, she lifted her hips, allowing him to bare her to waist.

She was bathed in the soft firelight. Of
course, she was. She and Cassandra had arranged the furniture in this chamber
so that she would always be displayed to perfection, should a man bring her to
the settee.

His face was in shadow.

He sucked in his breath, loudly, sharply.
She could picture his gaze, growing darker, fixed on the junction between her
legs. The color of the settee had been selected to compliment her skin and to
clash in a pleasing way with her dark red hair.

Now she was glad that Cassandra had been so
insistent on her sensual strategies wanted this complex, arrogant, sensual,
tender man. She remembered, with brief, yet vivid, aching intensity, the
painful desperation of their separation. How every night had been an agony of
longing.

She wasn’t sure she could ever live without
him again.

She didn’t think she could bear the
suffering his absence provoked in her.

Perhaps he did share the same tendency to
tire of his playthings that all noblemen did.

Even if he considered himself in love for
now…

She wouldn’t leave that to chance. The
stakes were far, far too high.

She loved him so desperately…

Well, there was just one solution. She would
just have to use every skill and wile she possessed to enchant him so
thoroughly, that he couldn’t live without her, either.

His gaze still burned her.

She took her hand and let her fingertips
glide over her belly.

His sharp intake of breath rewarded her and
she smiled at him, letting her finger drift lower and brush the red curls
between her legs.

He gave a harsh groan and took her by the
ankles and she let him pull her legs wide apart.

She laughed, softly, sensually, in the way
she’d been taught would drive men wild and continued to stroke herself, well
aware that he had a much clearer show than a moment before.

He knelt between her legs, a tricky feat
given the limited space on the settee. Then he took her by the wrist and pulled
her hand away.

Settling close between her legs, he put his
cockhead to her wet heat.

With one quick, fierce thrust, he entered
her completely.

The sudden, jarring motion sent a wave of
discomfort through her tender flesh, up into her belly. She gasped.

He grasped her legs and jerked his hips,
pressing himself even deeper within her.

Strong thrills raced through her at his
fierceness.

With a soft laugh, she wrapped her legs
around his waist and pressed tight. “Fuck me,” she said, knowing the effect the
vulgar, forbidden word would have on him. “Fuck me hard.”

He gave her a series of near ruthless
thrusts, rocking her body, driving her until she was breathless, overly warm
and sweating in the heavy nightdress.

When he paused, his body was shaking hers
with his quick, harsh breaths.

She stared up at him, panting frantically.
His thick dark hair was already sweat-dampened, clinging to his forehead. Yet,
his face was still in shadow, she couldn’t read his expression.

“Harder,” she said, breathlessly, all the
while squeezing his waist with her legs.

“God,” he gasped harshly. He gave her
several powerful thrusts, rocking her body again.

“
Harder.
” She squeezed him all the
more with her legs, her internal muscles.

He withdrew.

She gasped.

“On the floor,” he said harshly, his face
still obscured by shadow.

She glanced up at him. “The—

He took her by the shoulders and pulled her
up. “On the floor, now—” He gave her a slight push.

The ragged, commanding edge in his voice
sent quivers of apprehension tingling through her and her mouth grew dry. Her
body shook with the intensity of her rising arousal.

She sensed the balance of power shifting
between them as that shuddering, trembling anticipation and need swept over
her. On her shaking knees, she obeyed him.

He was behind her, flipping her fallen,
sweat damp nightdress up to bear her buttocks.

The cool air on her buttocks made her
shiver, a sensation that only accentuated her already shimmering excitement.

“On your hands and knees.” He gripped the
back of her neck, pressing her forward.

She let her body lunge forward with the motion,
allowing herself to be placed into a most undignified—yet thrillingly
vulnerable—position. The dancing flames cast shadows on the floorboards, as he
took her by the hips. Held her firmly.

He took hold of her hair and pulled her head
back. With a deep, animistic groan, he shoved into her.

He took her, battered her, savagely.

Wild thrills shot through her body,
white-hot sparks of pure pleasure shooting up through her belly and down, down
to her toes.

Wildness.

She had sensed it within all along.

Now she clenched his thick cock and thrashed
and moaned her surrender to the wild force of his taking.

He reached around and touched her straining,
throbbing nub. Stroking her, driving her over the edge into the most intense
pleasure she’d ever known. Her cunny convulsed, again and again, and her body
shuddered.

She went limp, her arms collapsing and she
fell forward against the floor.

He held her hips in an iron grip. Panting,
she wondered if there would be bruises there on the morrow.

He drew in a sharp breath, withdrew from her
and his body jerked against hers. Hot wetness jetted over her buttocks. His
harsh breaths were audible even over her own desperate panting.

The lay there on the bare floor. Just as she
began to feel the draft from the windows, he jerked her nightdress over her
nakedness and she could sense him readjusting his clothing.

Never had she felt so spent, so satisfied
yet so distant from him.

He stood and several floorboards groaned
under his Hessians as he went to hearth. She watched as he banked the fire. And
then he came back to her.

He stared down at her and her heart seemed
lodged in her throat.

What was he thinking?

He knelt and swept her up into his arms. His
strong body, his warmth, was reassuring. Like a downy, soothing blanket on a
cold night. She fought the inner softening to him. She must keep her wits.

He glanced between the two doors that
flanked the chamber. “Which one?”

She nodded towards her bedchamber, the other
door being to the small kitchen.

The bedchamber contained a modest sized bed
and a tall wardrobe of light wood.

He carried her to the bed and laid her on it
then he stretched out beside her.