But she was shrugging out of her bodice as she spoke, her skirts were rucked up over her thighs, her drawers untied, and he decided perhaps neither of them should wait for long.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, he smiled. “You’re an insatiable little puss, but far be it from me to deny you.”
“Thank you,” she sweetly said, too close to consummation to take a chance of offending him. Dildos aside, his strong body most appealed.
“Such acquiescence, darling.”
“I wouldn’t want to put you out of humor,” she said, slipping her drawers down her legs and tossing them aside.
He grinned. “At this stage.”
Her gaze was half-lidded, her hips gently swaying. “Indeed.”
“Then lie down, sweetheart, spread your legs, and let me know when you’ve had enough of Cellini.” It was at least smaller.
She immediately complied, one arm free of her blouse, the other not, and lying with her thighs open, flagrantly available, she smiled her temptress smile. “You’re such a darling…”
In a way he was for letting her have her way, when he’d thought better of it. But perhaps his French governess had schooled him too well-or rather, schooled him to perfection, his many satisfied lovers would attest-for he agreed to what she wanted. “Stop me if this hurts,” he murmured, sliding the smooth metal over her sleek cleft.
She nodded, and took a very small breath as the cool dildo glided over her labia and entered her. How many women had felt the pleasure of this toy in the last three hundred years, she wondered. Were they, too, in illicit affairs? Were they in love or infatuated like she? Was their lover as beautiful? Did they feel this degree of infinite bliss…?
He saw her smile and smiled himself at the half-undressed woman with tousled hair and pinked cheeks who had lured him into her seductive net. And when in the past he would have balked at being caught, instead, he set out to please her.
She whimpered once and he stopped.
Her eyes opened and she looked up at him with a fevered gaze.
“More? ”
Her eyes went shut.
Understanding, he exerted a modicum more pressure, and so it went-he carefully monitoring her response, she softly moaning, catching her breath from time to time. At which point, he always stopped until she gave him leave to continue.
But orgasms never took long with the ravenous Mrs. St. Vincent, her libido on a very short fuse, her orgasmic impetuosity charmingly predictable.
But when she came-more quietly than usual-he glimpsed tears seeping under her lashes and panicked. “Christ, I’m sorry,” he whispered, carefully withdrawing the dildo, scrutinizing the gold surface for traces of blood, calling himself every kind of brute for not being more sensible.
Reaching up, Rosalind brushed his lips with her fingers. “Tears of happiness, darling,” she whispered, knowing the truth would never do. “I’m not hurt.” She was lovesick instead, craving a man she could never have, desperately enamored after a few brief days. Foolish beyond words.
“Honestly? ”
“Cross my heart.”
“Dammit, that’s it,” he firmly said, his heart still racing, not sure he could believe her. “We’re done. We’ll have tea instead.”
“No we won’t because I want you too much. And if you say no, I’ll cry. Really, Fitz, I’ll make a scene.”
She wasn’t smiling. God, he dreaded crying women. On the other hand, he daren’t do anything that might harm her. That’s what came from becoming attached to a virtuous woman, he decided with an inward sigh. They turned out to be fragile as hell. “I wish you wouldn’t cry,” he said, testing the waters. “And I also wish you’d wait.”
“We could wait until we undress,” she offered as if she were actually complying when she was in fact being bloody difficult.
He groaned. “I’m trying to be virtuous-Jesus, don’t tempt me. I’m not good at resisting temptation.”
“Nor am I. Perfect,” she brightly said.
“No it isn’t,” he grumbled. “We might end up dealing with some goddamn catastrophe.” Abruptly coming to his feet, he walked to the window and stared at her blighted garden.
“I’ll lock you in.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I won’t let you go.”
He spun around.
“Come back to bed, darling,” she coaxed, “and hold me.”
He looked at the irresistible woman who drew him back against his better judgment day after day, her half undress more provocative than nudity, her heavy auburn hair framing the stunning beauty of her face. “Just hold you,” he replied.
“Yes, yes, that’s all,” she lied, playing Circe without compunction for the first time in her life. Why shouldn’t she seize what happiness she could, when Fitz was no more than a meteor passing through her life?
He approached her slowly, though, not quite trusting her, trusting himself less, and finally stopped, indecisive and restless, beside the bed.
“You’re much too nice, Your Grace,” she teased, looking up into his grave gaze.
“And you’re much too enticing, Mrs. St. Vincent.”
“Maybe we could come to some agreement.”
“I wish we could.”
“I’m sure we can.” She slipped off the sleeve still half draped on her arm, shrugged out of her blouse, and began unbuttoning her chemise.
He didn’t move, save for his rising erection.
But when she’d slipped off her chemise, exposing her large, resplendent breasts, and began unbuttoning the waistband of her skirt, temptation was too great for a duke who had commanded the world since adolescence. Jerking her to her feet, he shoved her skirt and petticoat down her hips, pushed her back on the bed, and fell on top of her fully dressed and shod, still unbuttoning his trousers.
“Don’t say I didn’t try,” he said through clenched teeth, swiftly guiding the head of his cock to her sex. “And don’t fucking say I hurt you.” Goaded past the point of civility, he flexed his quads, swung his hips forward, and plunged into her sleek, ripe body.
He wouldn’t have had to worry about injuring her, his forward progress unimpeded in the slippery heat of her well-lubricated cunt. Relieved, gratified, mostly lecherous and lustful, he settled into a deft, experienced rhythm sure to please his partner and ultimately himself.
Today, everything about Fitz intensified her frenzied ardor-his restive need, the wildness in his eyes, his smooth, restrained thrust and withdrawal that brought a thin beading of sweat to his forehead, the erotic sensation of him fully clothed under her hands, over her, the titillating friction of his trousers on her thighs. He was as hot- headed as she, as skittish and high strung. As immune to reason.
He’d waited for her to return. She knew the feeling; she’d been waiting for him ever since the first night he made love to her. And now he was offering her pleasure as only he could and she wanted it all-every enchanting measure-until he left her. As he would most certainly, she sadly knew. But not right now.
“You please me, darling Fitz,” she whispered, her orgasm fast approaching, passion and tenderness a feverish, heady tumult that warmed her heart and soul.
He looked surprised for a fraction of a second at the winsomeness in her voice, then he raised one brow and smiled. “You’re the sunshine of my life,” he softly said in return, braced his shoe soles against the foot of the iron bedstead, and pleased her even more.
SLIDING OFF HIS jacket and shoes, Fitz held Rosalind close after their first frantic passions had been appeased, her head on his shoulder, the warmth of her body pressed against his. Advising himself against making more sexual demands, he politely made conversation. “Tell me,” he suavely remarked. “How did you like Dr. Swindell? ”
