Legendary Lover (4 page)

"How interesting," she sardonically replied. "When this is my thousandth time."

"You
are
a little bitch."

"Not little," she sweetly said.

His gaze traveled slowly down her tall form and then back again, coming to rest on her splendidly large breasts. "No," he softly drawled, "definitely not little."

There was a conspicuous silence, while both struggled with their principles and lust, neither sure they were actually talking about rutting as though they were negotiating for
a leasehold
. But the marquis was less familiar with delaying satisfaction—the lady's year-long celibacy a case in point—so he cast aside principle first and said, "So, then ... do we agree?"

"On a condom?"

"On that."

She nodded. He tipped his head and swiftly rose from the sofa.

"Wait here," he said, reaching for his trousers.

"You'll need these." She picked up his silk drawers from the floor.

"I won't be gone that long."

She took a deep breath. "Maybe I won't want to go through with this by the time you come back."

He glanced at her sideways, swiftly buttoning his trousers. "I'll change your mind."

"I don't know . . ."

He was beside her before her words died away, and lifting her arms before she could protest, he slid her chemise off, swept her up into his arms and, walking to the couch in front of the fire, placed her on the cushions.

"Now think of me fucking you here," he murmured, slipping his fingers inside her heated dampness, "a dozen times. And then after that," he whispered, bending his head to lick her nipple, "I'll fuck you a dozen times more . . ." He stroked her sleek tissue delicately, deftly, with infinite skill and patience, and before long, Venus had forgotten her uncertainties, all her doubts dissolving in the heat of her arousal. He left her just short of orgasm, easing away from her heated embrace with whispered promises of satisfaction once he returned. "Lock the door behind me," he whispered. "I'll knock twice." And he dressed with such speed, she didn't know if she should be charmed or offended by his expertise in leaving.

But ultimately she wanted what he could give her, and disregarding his reputation and past, she sensibly decided there was time enough to take offense after her climax. Her smile elicited a brief query from the marquis
,,
but she only said, "Hurry back and I'll tell you." Locking the door behind him, she poured herself a glass of sherry from a tray of liquors, returned to the warmth of the fire and, lying on the sofa, sipped on her drink while she waited for her sexual salvation.

She wasn't a novice to amorous pleasure. She'd had lovers, but none who brought her to this frenzied heat.

And if she was in a speculative mood—which she wasn't at the moment, physical pleasure of more import—she might have questioned the reasons for the marquis's significant appeal.
Other than the obvious.
She smiled faintly. While women always politely said size didn't matter when talking of their lover's prowess, size did matter, of course. And in that regard, Jack Fitz-James couldn't be faulted.

Chapter
3
        
esse
           

AT A HALL MIRROR, THE MARQUIS CHECKED

the
degree of disarray in his appearance before entering the ballroom, decided he was presentable if not too closely inspected, and entered through one of the lesser-used doorways. Moving around the perimeter of the dance floor, he avoided conversation with cool politeness, his focus the card room in the adjoining chamber. Once he'd passed through the gauntlet of female attention, he allowed himself a small sigh and, standing on the threshold of the card room, surveyed the paneled interior looking for the likeliest prospects.

Most of the men of his class were relatively unconcerned with other than their personal pleasure in making love. Their position and wealth allowed them that prerogative and most took full advantage of it. But he knew one or two peers who were concerned with protection for reasons of health, and he searched them out in the busy room.

There was no manner in which this could
handled
discreetly. He knew his peers too well; gossip was the lifeblood of the ton. His only hope, he decided, was that Miss
Duras
was unconventional enough to ignore whatever rumors surfaced. When his scanning gaze stopped on Lord
Alvers
, he swore under his breath at the sight of
so many of his friends at the table. But highly motivated, he moved forward, determined to secure what he'd come for.

Standing behind Lord
Alvers
a moment later, he leaned close to his ear and quietly explained his needs.

The young earl swung around in his chair, a smile already forming on his mouth. "In a hurry, are you?"

Jack wasn't smiling. "Do you or don't you?"

"I might,"
Alvers
replied, smirking.

"If you'll excuse George for a minute," Jack politely said,
ungently
lifting the young man out of his chair and leading him away with a viselike grip on his arm. Finding a quiet corner, the marquis said, "I
am
in a hurry, so kindly hand them over and remain silent about this if you value your sister's reputation."

Alvers
bristled.
"Just a minute,
damnit
.
What
about
my sister?"

"I'm not discussing it, and if you don't, no one need know. Hand them over."

"You'd better not have fucked my sister," the young man muttered, but he was already pulling two condoms out of his coat pocket.

Jack hadn't, but then George didn't know that, and he didn't have the nerve to ask his sister. The fear of scandal should keep him silent. "Thank you very much. My lips are sealed," Jack said with a smile. "Give my regards to Sally." And with his prize in hand, he flew from the card room, brushed off a dozen overtures to converse as he strode through the ballroom, and with his heart pumping at double speed, passed down the hallway to the library.

His two brisk raps weren't immediately answered and
he shifted restlessly, concerned she might have changed her mind and gone.

"Who is it?" Venus called out a lengthy while later.

His frown disappeared. "The delivery boy," he cheerfully said.

She was smiling when she opened the door. "You're very speedy."

"I had good reason," he softly replied, taking in the lush beauty of her nude form as he eased through the half-opened door. Turning to lock it, he held out the two small packets on the palm of his hand. "That's all there is, I'm afraid. 1 didn't want to make a scene."

"Are we missed?"

"No one seemed to notice."

"How very nice."

"With three hundred or more here tonight, it's easy enough to become lost in the crowd."

She thought of saying, "I don't normally do things like this," but decided it would sound disingenuous, considering she was standing nude in Peggy
Hexton's
library in the midst of her ball.

And he thought of saying they would surely be missed soon, but decided it would be counterproductive, considering his plans.

"Your cravat is awry." Moving a step nearer, she reached up and set it to rights. "There. 1 should have noticed before you left."

He laughed and swung her up in his arms. "When I need a dutiful wife, I'll let you know."

"If I ever need a husband, I'll be sure not to call you." Her voice was playful, her green eyes filled with laughter. "I can see any help from a woman is misconstrued."

"Years of running
makes
one wary." His grin was very close, then luscious and heated as he kissed her.

And when his mouth lifted several moments later, she breathed, "Do let's try one of those packets . . ."

He carried her to the sofa near the fire and set her down on the warm leather. Placing the two paper packets on the sofa arm, he said, "I'm glad you didn't leave."

"Temptation overcame scruple." She lifted her brows. "Although I expect you hear that often."

He'd already stripped to his shirt and pants. "No more than you, I warrant." She was temptation incarnate lying waiting for him, gilded by the firelight, voluptuously female, a sense of anticipation in her gaze.

"No one will bother us, will they?"

The provocative question, the expectation in her tone flared through his senses. "No one will dare." He stripped the pearl studs on his shirt free with a jerk of his wrist.

"Because of you?"
She'd seen how everyone stepped out of his way in their passage from the ballroom.

"Because my being with you is no one's business but ours."
Pulling out his shirttails, he slid the fine linen down his shoulders and arms.

She smiled at his polite cavil.
"And what a pleasant business."

"Soon it will be. I'm sorry for all the delay." His answering smile was intimate, as though it were specially bestowed on her. His trousers joined his clothes on the carpet.

The sight of him nude momentarily took her breath away. "I appreciate your understanding," she replied in what she hoped was a normal tone of voice.

His smile broadened. "It's not as though I had a choice."

"Or I, as it
turns
out." He was utterly splendid, like some Dionysian god: tall, bronzed, his musculature perfectly
modeled,
his erection monumental. "Would you think me terribly forward if I said I need that"—she lifted her hand pointedly—"right now?"

"If you wouldn't think me boorish if I agreed."

She shook her head. "I'd say benevolent."

He was already reaching for a condom; as he tore the packet open, his penis surged higher.

She squirmed, her body opening in readiness, a frisson of anticipation rippling through her vagina. "I find this unnerving," she breathed, her gaze on the prodigious size of his erection. "I'm not usually—"

"I know," he said on a suffocated breath, sliding the rubber sheath over the swollen crest of his penis, an incredible lust beating at his brain. "I haven't done this for anyone."

Her eyes flared.

"You can't feel much with these," he muttered, moving closer. "You see how much I want you."

"A mutual obsession, Lord
Redvers
."

A flicker of understanding registered in his eyes at the use of his title; she was distinguishing the act from the irregular circumstances. "Perhaps it's the pineapple ice making us reckless."

"I wish it were so simple."

"But then I don't want it simple." With the extraordinary state of his arousal, he wasn't in the mood for brevity tonight, nor for any form of simplicity.

"Now are you sure you don't want to slow this down?" He moved between her legs with a casualness
she found intriguing, as though he'd done this often enough to feel no awkwardness in a conceivably awkward situation.

She lightly touched his rampant penis. "Do you?"

"It was my last politesse."

"Before?"

"Before I give in to this insanity."

"No need to be polite on my account."

He grinned. "Where have you been all my lifer'

"Perhaps waiting for this."

"I'll be coming in then," he whispered, his voice husky with desire, and gently spreading her thighs wider with a brush of his hand, he slowly entered her. Conscious of his size, he invaded her with caution, gauging her receptivity. But even with the vulcanized rubber condom exerting more friction, his progress was one of ease.

As his enormous length filled her, as he plunged deeper into her throbbing tissue, every pulsing nerve quivered in expectation. Could one die of lust?
she
wondered. All sensation centered in the shimmering heated core of her body, and she lifted up to draw him in more deeply.

As if he needed encouragement
witl
\ the rapacious urgency burning through his blood, spiking through his brain. His hands on her hips tightened and once he was completely submerged and she was flushed and trembling, saturated, he withdrew marginally against her whimpering protest, only to sink back in, deeper still.

She cried out, the sound echoing in the shadowed room.

His muted groan gave indication of an equally feverish response and, sliding his hands under her bottom, he drew her closer, impatient to possess her completely.

Sweeping her hands down his back, she traced the taut curve of his flexed buttocks, exerted pressure with her palms, lifted her pelvis against his weight . . . and exhaled in a low exultant sigh.

The enticing sound added inches to his erection. Her eagerness was enchanting,
his own
vaulting need so fierce the rhythm of their desire soon turned to an unbridled flux and flow that brought them quickly to a tempestuous, shuddering climax.

Too quickly, Jack
disgruntledly
thought.

"I want more," Venus breathed, as if in answer to his discontent.

He crushed his mouth against hers and she returned his fevered kisses, both famished, insatiable, overcome by prodigal desire.

She swiftly felt him hard again inside her, and turning her mouth away, whispered, "Get the other condom.
Hurry!"

For a man who'd never taken orders, he hesitated only briefly. Quickly withdrawing, he sprang up from the couch, discarded the used condom, and wiped himself quickly with his shirt. A new condom was in place in seconds, his arousal impressive for a man who'd only recently climaxed.

That must be why he was so much in demand, Venus thought—with only a fleeting resentment, because she needed his renowned prowess and stamina, her impatience matched only by her astonishing lust.

She'd never understood untrammeled passion before, dismissing it as poetic license or the result of an overheated imagination. But she was utterly ravenous for his
touch,
wanting to have sex again when he was so notorious for his profligacy she should be ashamed of herself.

Perhaps she'd consider principle later—after another climax, after she no longer burned with such longing. Understanding how rare her feelings were and how finite time, she selfishly wished to indulge herself. "Do I have to come and get you?" she murmured, restless, impatient.

He chuckled. "Give me a minute to catch my breath."

Instantly contrite, she apologized, although her words dissolved at the last in a trembling sigh as he returned to her embrace and kissed her. Gently lowering himself between her legs, he whispered, "Round two," and slid inside her welcoming warmth.

"Just in time," she breathed, her eyes already half closed, her legs wrapping around his back, the sleek heat enclosing him a degree of nirvana not previously attained.

She was a ravenous temptress, her desire in avaricious sync with his, a woman after his own heart, he thought, matching his rhythm to hers. She was hot, hot, flame hot, demanding, without the coy affectations he was used to. And unlike all the other women he'd known, he found her exhilarating—and disturbing as well. She suddenly bit him, her teeth sinking into his throat, and his unease was instantly swamped by a lust so acute he forgot everything but sensation.

Her panting indicated a level of arousal that required concentration and he leaned into his
downstroke
, ignoring her nails sunk into his back, deftly meeting her thrust for thrust. And they settled into a glorious driving
rhythm, as if they were mating on some instinctive primal level beyond the bounds of reason.

She moved to please him and he her—their sensibilities so violently inflamed the world disappeared, awareness disappeared,
only
raw feeling prevailed. Until, gasping for air, they convulsed in a soul-shattering, divine, unearthly orgasm.

"Incredible." Breathless, his chest heaving, Jack lay braced above her, eyes shut. "Don't . . . go . . . away," he
said,
a smile on his mouth.

"I couldn't ... if I wanted to." The remnants of her climax deliciously strumming through her body, she brushed her fingertips against his broad chest.

His eyes came open and he smiled down at her. "I won't let you, anyway."

Her lashes faintly flickered. "You might have to. The condoms are gone."

"So?"

"Don't be difficult." Her voice changed, cooled.

"Don't worry so much," he soothed.

"But
I'm
the one who
has
to worry."

"Not with me, you don't."

He was too calm or unconcerned—indifferent probably, given his past. "Somehow I'm not assured," she murmured, her palms braced against his chest, problematical issues in the fore. "Get off."

His brows rose sharply. "Do your lovers actually respond to that tone?"

"Get off."

Although he considered her concerns grossly exaggerated, he chose not to argue. With a shrug, he complied, easing away, dropping to the floor, and leaning against the couch. "You're too nervous," he casually
noted, discarding the condom and reaching for a decanter of liquor on a nearby table. "I have no intention of coming in you for selfish reasons of my own. Would you like some?" Swiveling around, he held up the decanter. "
It's
sherry, I'm afraid."

"You're too cavalier about this,
Redvers
. And I don't know if I want a drink."

"Jack, and if you want to come again, let me know."

"I don't think so."

But he noticed she didn't move from her languorous pose, and when he handed her a glass of sherry, she took it.

He lifted his glass to her in salute a moment later. "Tempted?"

"I can't afford to be tempted." She spoke like a teacher might to a recalcitrant pupil.

A mischievous gleam appeared in Jack's eyes.
"Such little faith."

"In a man with your reputation?
I think I have good reason to be skeptical."

"I don't have children."

"That you know of."

"I'd know. They'd ask for money."

She made a moue.
"So cynical."

He shrugged, not about to disagree about his cynicism.

"Well, you don't have to worry about me asking for your money."

"I'm not. It's your anxieties I'm trying to assuage." Reaching over, he lightly trailed his fingertip up her calf.

"That's high enough."

He politely stopped. "Is your pussy still throbbing?"

"No."

But she'd answered too quickly, her gaze evasive. "Let me see," he murmured, sliding his hand over her knee, his warm palm coming to rest on her lower thigh.

"I'd rather you didn't." Her smile held a restive constraint.
"For safety's sake."

"This can't be dangerous. Relax." He slipped his hand between her thighs. "How does this feel?"

"I don't feel anything," she lied, knowing she shouldn't allow him to touch her, knowing a simple brush of his hand was disastrous to her resolve.

"How about this?"
He slid his middle finger over her swollen labia with infinite delicacy and he could feel the muscles of her thighs clench. "Let me take that glass," he murmured, lifting it from her hand, continuing the bewitching massage, promise in the enchanting drift of his finger. "You're really wet," he said a few moments later, kneeling beside the couch, the liquid evidence of her arousal drenching his fingers. "Why don't I let you come?"

Mute against her mortifying desires, shamed by her wanton response, she raised her hips, incapable of defense against her longing, against his consummate skill. He seemed to know exactly where to touch her, how lightly, how slowly, how deeply. She moaned as his fingers sank knuckle deep inside her.

She arched upward against his hand, wanting more, seeking surcease. Spreading her legs wider, he bent his head, ran his tongue over her throbbing labia, found the swollen tip of her clitoris.

She cried out.

His lips closed over the taut, erectile nub and he gently suckled, his fingers still buried deep inside her.

The passage of time seemed momentarily arrested as riveting sensation bombarded her brain. Her vagina pulsed, throbbed, roused to fever pitch, his mouth so artful and pleasing on her clitoris, she was panting, seconds from climax. And then he bit, lightly, delicately, as if he knew how to push her over the edge and she died away in a sweet flood of pleasure.