Her Protector's Pleasure (28 page)

"Precisely." Her voice sounded throaty to her own ears. "And for following orders, you shall receive a reward."

Leaning down, she kissed his jaw. The first bristles of a night beard had already sprouted. She liked the faint rasp of his skin and his scent of soap and leather, honest and masculine just like him. Her mouth pooled with the need to taste every inch of him.

Moving on, she sampled the hard underside of his chin. His throat bobbed as she licked and nuzzled, making her way down the hard slope of his shoulders to the strong, hair-whorled planes of his chest. She circled one flat nipple with her tongue. At his sharp intake of breath, she closed her lips, sucking gently until he groaned.

"You like that." She didn't bother to hide the smugness in her voice.

"Aye, love," he said, his voice gravelly, "almost as much as I like suckling your pretty breasts. May I?"

It wasn't an unreasonable request. Her pulse kicked up a notch at the fact that it
was
a request—one she had the power to grant or deny. She slid up along his body, sighing as her taut nipples dragged against the masculine mat of hair, feeding her excitement and his too, if the flames in his eyes were any indication. With her knees bracing his chest, she leaned forward and presented a breast to his lips.

"Suck," she whispered.

A guttural sound escaped him as he did as she bade. He took her nipple in a fierce kiss, one that blazed heat straight between her legs. When his teeth grazed the sensitive tip, she whimpered. Honey flooded her pussy as he flicked in steady rhythm. She felt herself melting … yet she was supposed to be in control. She drew back, panting.

Raw desire glowed in his eyes. "Give me your other tit. I want to lick and suck you all over."

"No. That is enough for now," she managed. "I'm supposed to be doing the exploring, remember?"

His arms corded, the muscles flexing. He was so strong—he had only to let go of the headboard to take her. She was so aroused that a part of her wanted him to assume control. Wanted him to flip her onto her back, mount her, vanquish her emptiness with his rampant shaft …

As if somehow sensing her ambivalence, his eyes crinkled at the corners. He kept his hands clenched on the wood. "Go on, then," he said.

She scooted back, trying to hide her ruffled state by resuming her perusal of his splendid form. He offered a wealth of distractions, and all of them ratcheted up her lust. Her breath puffed quick and hot between her lips as her fingers bumped over the taut ridges of his abdomen. Following the sensual trail of hair that bisected his belly, she made her way to his waistband. She slid her palm over the tented placket of his trousers, and molten heat gushed from her core.

He was so big, so hard—so much a man.

"You have this effect on me. A smile from you, a touch"—he grimaced with pleasure as she squeezed—"God, Marianne, I lose my head where you're concerned."

She found the hidden buttons, unfastened them. With a swift yank, she freed him from the layers of wool and linen, the muscles of her sex quivering as she beheld his bold erection from the springy dark hair at the thick base, up the long, veined shaft, all the way to the proud dome. In the past, she'd never particularly appreciated this part of the male anatomy. With Thomas, she'd been too shy to look or touch. With Draven … a remnant of the old humiliation surfaced, ugly ripples that distorted her desire.

"Sweetheart, do you want to stop?"

She met her lover's gaze and saw desire there, clean and pure. Nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to fear. "No," she said softly, "not unless you want me to."

"Hardly. But …"—the air hissed between his teeth as she curled her fingers around his girth—"I don't want you to do anything you don't want to."

Concerned for her, even at this juncture. 'Twas so very
Ambrose
that it made her smile. Smile—and get aroused all over again. The heady surge of power swirled more potently than any aphrodisiac because it was tempered by trust. By the choice she was making to take pleasure at her will.

And what her will demanded was to give Ambrose Kent more bliss than he'd ever had. To have him remember this night forever, no matter what the future held in store. No matter if she didn't quite believe herself worthy of this magnificent male beast. Perhaps one day she could overcome the demons of her past. Tonight, it mattered naught.

Because tonight Ambrose was hers to pleasure.

She knelt between his thighs, continued to stroke him lightly. "Tell me what you like."

"I like what you're doing now." His heavy-lidded eyes told her it was the truth.

"Surely there is more. What have your other lovers done for you?"
Whatever they did, I'll do better.
"Tell me your desires," she said throatily.

"I like kissing you, tasting you," he murmured. "Especially between your legs."

Her sex grew damper at the memory of his skilled tongue, the voracious enjoyment he took in licking her there. Apparently, he was thinking the same thing for fluid leaked from the slit in his cockhead, slickening her grasp and making him groan.

"I like that too," she said, "but we're talking about you. Your pleasure."

A brief hesitation. "It's not a question I've been asked before."

"Never?" she said in surprise.

"I suppose my partner's satisfaction has come first in the past." When she continued to look at him, stupefied, he muttered, "It's not as if there have been dozens of women."

"Not dozens?" she said as casually as she could.

"More like four. And that includes you." He ground out the last word, probably because she'd taken her exploration to the root of his shaft. His stones fit snugly in her palms, supple yet with an intriguing heft. "Good God, woman, our play will soon end if you continue that."

But she couldn't help herself. Delight bubbled inside her. She
adored
the fact that he hadn't shared his bed indiscriminately. Knowing that sex wasn't a thing he took lightly made the intimacy between them even more profound. It made her want to do everything with him … even the things she feared. Because with Ambrose, her impulses were not dirty or demeaning. Desire buzzed through her with a wild, empowering vitality.

She eyed his jutting manhood. "Have you been kissed there before?"

His hard-paved chest rose and fell. He shook his head. "I know what Draven made you do. And I don't want—"

He broke off with an oath because she'd leaned forward and touched the tip of her tongue to his cockhead. His essence teased her senses. Salty and clean. Virile, male ... delicious. Nothing to do with her experiences with Draven. The shadows receded as desire flowed over her, bright and cleansing. Here and now, basking in Ambrose's solid heat, his steady, reassuring gaze, only intimacy existed. She tasted him again, lingering this time, his harsh breaths driving her to fit her lips over the fat tip.

"Bloody fuck," he bit out.

Despite being occupied, her lips curved. Her earnest Ambrose—cursing? Hmm. What else could she make him do? She applied gentle suction, loving the way he growled her name. Loving that she was the first and only to give him this pleasure. Wrapping her fingers around his thick pole, she eased down the velvety skin, exposing the bulbous head. She rubbed her tongue against the underside, and he swore again, his hips jerking instinctively.

Gripping his shaft more firmly, she relaxed her muscles, taking him in deeper. Given his size, it wasn't the easiest task, but she was no shirker. The challenge excited her as did the thick, wicked slide of his cock filling her throat.

"God, sweetheart. It's so bloody good." His features taut with arousal, he watched her every movement. "You have
no idea
 ..."

He broke off, groaning as she bobbed upon him. With each pass, her passion took her further, her excitement fueled by how she could undo this strong man, her steadfast lover. His wiry length vibrated, his hips lifting to get more of her kiss. All the while, his eyes never left her face, not even when he discovered her limit, nudging a barrier so deep that she swallowed instinctively. A feral sound tore from his chest.

"Enough," he gasped. "I'm not coming alone."

"I'm not stopping," she said, trying to catch her breath.

"I don't want you to stop. Just come here."

Before she knew what he was about, he sat up, his hands clamping onto her hips.

"Wait a minute, I never said you could let go. That's cheating—" She broke off, moaning, melting as he hauled her into a new position: her knees now straddled his head as she lay atop him. Her mouth hovered above his cock, her sex above his mouth. A cry left her as his tongue delved deeply. "
Ambrose,
dear God—"

"Yes, love," he said thickly, "give me your pussy, your sweet dew. Let me have all of you."

His guttural commands unleashed her wildness. With her hands planted on his thighs, she wriggled against his hot kiss. She let him take her with his tongue, riding wave after wave of sensation. When heat raged over her too quickly, she tried to withdraw, but he kept her in place. She gave a helpless whimper as his thick fingers stretched her opening.

"Push back against me, love. Take me deeper."

She could not help but obey his growling demand, her spine arching as she impaled herself on his touch.
So much pleasure.
Panting, she took him as deep as she could as he continued to eat her pussy. When his tongue circled her peak, searching out her nub, her vision blurred. The wet flicks made her fall forward with a moan … and her cheek brushed his cock, causing a shudder to run through him.

"Let's not forget about you," she said with a dazed laugh.

She took him as wholly as she could with her mouth, her hands pumping what could not fit. His groan rumbled against her flesh, and she shuddered, stimulated beyond bearing. She rocked against him with reckless abandon as she gorged on his manhood. She rode toward the summit, needing to take him there as well.

"I'm close, love," he said in guttural warning.

She resisted his efforts to dislodge her.

"Come with me," she gasped, coming up for air. "I want to taste you, too."

His entire frame shook at her words. His touch roughened, the pace driving and relentless, and she returned his caresses measure for measure. She sucked and fisted him as his fingers rammed into her, his tongue stoking her wildness. When his teeth grazed her pearl, she screamed, the fever breaking, splintering her apart.

He shouted out at the same time, and she tasted his bliss, drank it in as the perfect accompaniment to her own. His pleasure warmed her inside out, melting her bones. For endless moments, she lay limp against his thighs, cocooned by the music of their labored breaths and the musky fragrance of their loving.

Somehow he found the energy to move. He gathered her to his chest, pressed a kiss against her forehead. His voice rumbled beneath her ear.

"A night with you, Marianne … it's more than I expected of a lifetime."

Her heart too full to speak, she snuggled closer.

THIRTY

Later that week, Emma cast her eyes around Madame Rousseau's changing room and whispered, "Are you certain about this, Marianne? I don't need a French dressmaker; I can sew my own dresses. If you take me to the nearest draper's—"

"When it comes to shopping, I am
always
certain." Marianne cut off further protest with the wave of her hand. "Do not worry about the cost, dear. Your job is to concentrate on cultivating your style."

"My style?" The girl's smooth forehead lined as she looked down at her patched and shapeless undergarments. "I am not sure I have one."

"Precisely. 'Tis the problem we are here to remedy."

On cue, the modiste bustled back through the curtained doorway, bolts of fabric clasped in her thin arms. "
Je les ai trouvés!
The muslins that I was telling you about." Setting the lot down on her work table, she unrolled a length of white fabric patterned with china blue stripes. "What do you think of this one?"

Emma's eyes widened. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Unfortunately, many agree with you. I've seen that print on everyone from milkmaids to dowagers," Marianne said. "We'll need something more unique."

Amelie gave a brisk nod. "
Alors
, here is another choice. A sprigged lilac: understated yet with a touch of sophistication."

"It's the most beautiful thing—" Emma began.

Marianne wrinkled her nose. "Rather dull, I should say."

"I have it somewhere—" Rummaging through the pile, Amelie pulled out a bolt. "
Voilà.
The perfect choice."

Marianne examined the selection. The eggshell muslin was simple, yet it had a subtle, glowing sheen to it. The effect was both pragmatic and spirited. In the week that she'd spent with Emma, she'd come to admire the girl for just those qualities.

"Not bad," she conceded. "What do you think, dear?"

"It's the most beautiful thing ... er, isn't it?" Emma said.

Marianne exchanged rueful looks with the modiste.

"
Charmant
." The modiste's lips twitched. "The girl suits the frock,
n'est-ce pas?
"

"We'll start with this one, then. What do you have in mind for the passimeterie, Amelie?"

"The what?" Emma interjected.

"The trimmings, dear," Marianne said. "Madame Rousseau is renowned for her cleverness in ornamentation."

Amelie preened. "We keep it simple,
non?
Rosettes, composed from the same muslin ... perhaps with a few amethyst beads sewn in the center. And vines embroidered along the hem."

"Fresh and delightful. Just like Emma," Marianne said, smiling.

Emma flushed. "'Tis terribly generous of you, my lady. But the expense—"

"Is not your concern," Marianne said firmly. "Now do hold still for Madame to take your measurements."

After the fitting, Marianne and Emma left the boutique. They decided to walk the few elm-lined blocks to Gunter's Tea Shop, where they were to meet up with the others. Helena and Percy had volunteered to act as guides for the other Kents whilst Marianne took Emma on the much-needed shopping expedition.