A Marquess for Christmas (11 page)

She
responded by climbing atop of him. The heat of her sex burned his. His mouth
sought hers. He gripped the back of her hair, which was still swept up, despite
his propensity for threading his hands into it.

The
slow movement of her hips over him was an exquisite torture that he did not
want to end. He deepened the kiss, plundering the treasure of her lips until
she shivered and whispered his name.

Her
eyes looked glassy and her lips were a rosy pink. She couldn’t move because his
fingers were still in her hair.

“Now
what was the wicked thing you wanted to show me?”

All
signs of the haze in her eyes were gone. She gave him a fast peck on the mouth
and then swung her legs back over to the side of the bed and climbed down.

“Sit
at the edge of the bed,” she commanded. A soft breeze went through her voice
when she said, “Would you like the pleasure of undressing me?”

That
did not require a response. Taking the hem of her shift, he pulled it up,
skimming his hands over her thighs and hips as he went. His head throbbed as he
bent forward, but he would not let that pain interfere with making love to her.

“Now
hand me a pillow, my lord.”

He
grabbed it and thrust it at her, belatedly realizing she’d addressed him as
my lord
rather than ‘sir’ as she usually
did.

When
she dropped down to the floor, he assumed she meant to continue suckling him.
He was happy to oblige and shifted forward to give her access.

She
kissed the head, but then lifted up. “Hmmm.” A moment later, she was up and
looking through drawers. What the hell? Did she mean to tease him to death? He
was about to demand she return when she found a bottle, pulled out the stopper
and sniffed it. She smiled and poured a bit into her palms.

His
jaw dropped when she massaged her breasts, letting the—oil, yes,
oil—drip all over them. Good heavens. It was the only thing she could
have done that would excite him more than having her suck on his cock.

As
her gaze met his, she winked and rolled her nipples. His hand went right down
to his stiff prick and he pumped twice before she said, “Ah-ah, save that for
me.”

She
put a little more oil on her fingers then set the bottle down on the dresser.
Kit clenched his teeth to keep from moving while she padded across the wood
floor.

In
a moment, she was back down on the pillow. Her slick hands were all over his
cock and even his sac—Lord help him. She oiled him everywhere but the
slit.

Her
mouth was hot on the tip of his shaft and he finally had to grip the covers.
How much more could he take?

Violet
lifted her breasts and wrapped them around his cock. She slid them up and down,
stroking and massaging his erection until he could barely see straight.
Holy hell
. There was no way he’d be able
to hold back.

The
woman was wicked. There was no denying it now. She’d turned the tables on him
and now he had the losing hand. But God, did it feel good.

“Wicked,
wicked widow. Did you take lessons from a courtesan?”

Violet
grinned. “No. I am quick on my feet and I’ve had a little bit of practice with
getting creative when necessity required it.”

He
didn’t want to think about her past or his.
 
“But you are not on your feet madam.”

“No,
I am not.” She smiled. He should’ve known by the gleam in her eyes that she was
up to something because the next thing he knew, she nipped his shaft with her
teeth. The sharp sting sent a shiver through him.

“God’s
blood, woman.”

“Should
I make it up to you, my lord?” she asked, batting her lashes.

“Coquette.”

“Did
you say cock?” She went back to licking and sucking him.

For
the third time today, she’d surprised him. What polite gentlewoman used words
like that? It was fine for men to use in private company or when he mingled
with his boxers, but it was a word forbidden to a respectable lady.

Where
had Violet learned such a word?

He
didn’t have time to think about it. Supple breasts were gliding over his hard
length, making him forget everything but the feel of her soft skin stroking
him. She squeezed her breasts, tightening the grip.

Thrusting
upward, he pushed his cock through the valley of her breasts over and over
until his balls were tighter than a screw.

His
moans increased as his control spiraled far out of reach. “God help me,” he
groaned.

“Well,
the good Lord isn’t here, but I’ll do my best in his place.” She gave him
another one of her impudent looks before she licked the head of his prick and
blew on it. The cool breeze sent shivers through his entire body.

Violet
took hold of his shaft and tapped the tip on her nipples. First the right, then
the left. Then she repeated the process.

He
couldn’t hold back anymore. When she took him between her breasts once more,
his cock exploded, his semen splashing over her neck and breasts. She licked
the rest from the head.

“You
are far too wicked for your own good,” he said as soon as he could regain his
breath.

“The
question is: are you wicked enough?”

“Do
not test me.”

“Hmmm.
Why not?”

“Keep
pushing me and you will find out.” The woman had a mouth more tart than a
lemon.

He
reached for the pile of towels on the night stand and wiped the traces of his
seed from her neck and breasts. Though he couldn’t help but fondle them. They
were still slick from the oil and he loved the feel of his thumbs sliding over
her nipples.
I could do this all day,
he thought.

“Not
quite wicked, though you are getting warmer.”

He
pinched her left nipple, squeezing firmly. “Your saucy mouth is going to get
you into trouble.”

She
bit his finger, rubbing her teeth back and forth over it.

“That
is it. You have pushed too far!”

He
stood up then grabbed her waist and draped her over the bed so that she was
bent in half. She still wore her kid boots and stockings.

When
Violet turned to say something, he put his hands on her neck and gently pushed
her back down to the bed. He looked down at her derrière, admiring each curve
and glimpsing a peek at her sex. It dripped with her arousal.

“You
are an impertinent, brazen woman who does not know when to hold her tongue.”

“I
think my tongue did quite well at holding your manhood.”

“You
will learn.” He would punish her thoroughly and make her so wet she would spill
her silky come all over the covers. One thing that had not changed about him
was that he never shied from a challenge, even one issued by the most
delectable creature he’d ever met.

He
was the Marquess of
Kittrick
. Obstinacy was bred into
him like loyalty into a hound. He
remembered
!
It had been there on the edge of his awareness this week. He remembered his
sister’s name and her stern face and flashes of his mother and father, but his
full name had teased the edges of his mind.

Now
he knew it. Daniel Cosgrove, Marquess of
Kittrick
and
Earl of
Stanwick
. Though he preferred to go by Kit.
When he boxed outside of a gentleman’s club, he often used the pseudonym of Kit
Daniels.

“I
remain as uneducated as I was minutes ago. When will my studies begin?”

Violet
brought him back to the present. As elated as he was to finally have a name, he
could not forget about his dark promise.

He
sat beside her on the bed, which sunk under his weight, so he had to move her
into a better position. With a gentle sweep of his fingers, he stroked the
elegant curve of her back. Once. Twice. Next, he brushed his hand over her
round bottom. He massaged the soft mounds with both hands, even letting his
thumbs skim her sex.

Though
he would love to bend down and explore the open petals of her pussy, it wasn’t
time for that. So he lulled her into relaxing with tender strokes until he felt
her go pliant.

With
a crack, he slapped one side, then the other.

“
Oww
!”

“Quiet.”
He smacked her bottom again. A tell-tale flush had spread over her alabaster
skin. “You could have spared yourself, but you chose to goad me. Now your
derrière will pay the price.”

“I
could scream,” she warned.

“No
doubt you will,” he replied with a smile. “But do you think anyone will come
since they’ve no doubt already heard the moans coming from this room?”

She
did not respond.

“No
wise remark? Good, you are learning.” He rewarded her by sliding his fingers
over her pussy, stroking until she gasped.

“Please,”
she whispered.

His
response involved another crack against her left cheek.
 
She whimpered and he slapped the right
side.

When
he could count to twenty and she’d made no sound, he slid his finger into her
wetness. The temptation to suck her slick petals and rub the little nub at the
top of her sex was too enticing. He could give her the release she so badly
needed.

Already
his shaft came back to life and he wanted to fuck her.

But
today wasn’t about fucking. She’d given him such immense pleasure and stolen
something from him that no woman ever had before.
 
He would see to it that she came—hard and
frenzied—but he would teach her not to push him too far.

Violet
shimmied and he realized he hadn’t moved for a while. He loved watching her
beg, even if no words escaped from her lips—especially then.

He
bent down and kissed her bottom. He licked and sucked a spot on one side then
nibbled the other side. All the while, his fingers quested, exploring her
quim
in slow, measured strokes.

“I
can be generous,” he said, whispering close to her ear. “But never forget that
I am the wicked one, my dear.” In a steady rhythm, he spanked her several
times. Not so hard as to bruise, but enough that she would feel the sting.

A
small squeal made him ease up on the sweet torture. He could push her farther,
but he decided he’d rather watch her unravel before him. Taking three fingers,
he thrust into her pussy. She lifted her bottom and he kissed it.

Violet
loved her punishment. He would have to keep that in mind. He’d been wrong about
how strong a finessing she needed, but he’d been right that he could fulfill
his every fantasy with her.

With
every jab of his fingers, she moaned. At one point she even tried to grab his
arm and push him deeper. This time instead of punishing her, he spread her
thighs apart and angled her so that his fingers would get maximum reach.

If
only he had one of those phalluses that he’d seen on the Continent. He’d drive
its long length inside of her until she couldn’t take it anymore. It would
never be as good as a real cock, but he’d enjoy watching her with it.

When
she whimpered helplessly, he bent down to whisper again. “Soon, my love. Soon
you will be flying.” He pulled out his fingers and replaced them with his
thumb, so that he could stroke the hood of her sex while he thrust into her
cunt.

As
he played and stroked, he bit down on her shoulder. Then her back. She seemed
close, but she hadn’t fallen over the cliff yet.

Reaching
under her with his free hand, he cupped her breast. He rolled her nipple in his
fingers, teasing it. Her hips gyrated faster over his hand, which was now covered
in her juices. Kit pinched her nipple and her little nubbin at the same moment.

Spasms
shook Violet’s body and she mumbled incoherencies. A flood of her honey spread
over his fingers and he knew she’d found heaven.

He
kissed the side of her face. She lay quietly shivering, so he pulled his hand
from her body and grabbed a towel from the pile. He wiped her sex, then his own
fingers, but not before slipping one into his mouth to taste her.

“Next
time, I will kiss you until you scream.”

“What?”
She looked up dazedly.

“I
will taste you and draw the honey from your body, stroking you there,” he swept
his hand over her sex, “until you fall to pieces in my mouth.”

“Oh!”
She shivered again.

He
grabbed a blanket and draped it over her before climbing onto the bed and
joining her. Cradling her against his chest, he listened to her breathe until
he fell asleep.

Chapter Seven

Violet
woke to the sound of snoring and the feel of solid arms wrapped around her. She
was naked, so she felt every bit of the male body pressed against her back.

In
a daze, she realized that it was not John. This man was bigger, firmer, and he
smelled like a wild storm rather than the lavender-water that John often wore.

It
took a few minutes for everything to come back to her. It was Kit in her
bed—no, not
her
bed. She was in
his
bed. Violet’s eyes shot open.
She’d lain with a man in the middle of the day, when everyone in her household
was running about doing chores. Her cheeks burned and she put her hands up to
cover them.

How
had she let him talk her into this? If she was going to be so reckless, it was
better done at night when there was the illusion of privacy and she could walk about
her house with dignity.

Soft
lips brushing over her neck reminded her of how much she’d yearned for Kit, how
much she still craved him. Even though he’d spanked her like a child, it was
difficult to think back on that without feeling flushed all over. From
embarrassment, but also from arousal.

The
desire to have him push her down into the bed and throw up her legs was
palpable. It would be easy to turn over and take his hardness in her hands and
bring him back to life. She would ride him like a stallion.