A Most Demanding Mistress (Fashionably Impure Book 2) (10 page)

“All men want that. I of all women know what
lengths they will go to in order to sate their hunger for it.”

“Hush,” he said, in a rough tone and then he
pulled her head to his shoulder. “Don’t think about it or anything else
associated with Winterton.” He rocked her within his embrace for a few moments.

The sensation soothed her.

Carrville had not insisted that she perform
the horrid act. But he had kept other mistresses who indulged that particular
vice and he had never hidden this from her.

It was hard to believe that Adrian was so
different in his lusts and sexual tastes than other men.

But she loved him all the more for his kind
lies to reassure her.

Yet, it would kill her, inside, if he were
to turn to another woman, even just for this one thing.

In an ironic gesture, Adrian was the one to
drop to one knee, as he rolled removed her garters and then rolled her
stockings down.

Rage pulsed within Adrian, though he sought
to hide it from Miranda. God, how he hated Winterton.

Even Miranda’s innocent delight in the gift
of the house, of the welcoming warmth of the fully decorated bedchamber had
brought to Adrian’s mind how much Winterton had to answer for.

For Christ’s sake, she was a duke’s
daughter.

She should not be on the verge of tears of
joy to have been gifted with such a modest house. And that she was only brought
to mind just how deprived she had been in parts of her life.

She should have grown up surrounded by
luxury, in the security of her noble father’s love, if not his name. She should
have long since been endowed with a fat dowry and wed to a wealthy merchant of
high standing or a knight or baronet who was appropriately dazzled by her
beauty to overlook her illegitimate birth.

Adrian ought to have taken Baron Drake’s
offer to simply have Winterton “disappear” perhaps in the wild mists of
Scotland or wherever these things were done.

Drake had certainly alluded to being an
expert.

But now such a death seemed too easy for the
heartless, sadistic duke.

Miranda had grown up without a father’s
love. She had grown up watching her mother’s only worth being her youth and
beauty, and when that youth and beauty had worn thin, Miranda had witnessed the
duke’s insane, vengeful act. Something no young woman should ever see, much
less enacted on her mother by her own father.

Miranda had known such pain and isolation in
her life and she had borne it all with the spirit of a fighter.

He would make sure she never had to fight
alone again, not as long as he drew breath.

He wanted to surround her with luxury. He
didn’t care how hard he had to work to do that.

But he wanted something else too.

He wanted to lavish her with sexual
pleasure, but sex motivated and gentled with love. He wanted to give her such a
grand storehouse of memories of their lovemaking that she would forget the
things she had seen that night when Winterton had attacked her mother.

He pushed his anger down and placed a kiss
where her garter had left a slight indentation in her ivory flesh. “You have
the most perfectly lovely legs.” He ran his tongue along the inside of her
thigh, lingering and sucking her sweet, tender flesh at the junction of her leg
and pelvis.

Her body trembled against him and she
moaned.

He raised his head to observe the red patch
he’d made there. His cock throbbed with the savage feeling of possession he
took from marking her like that.

It said the word “mine” far more eloquent
and lasting than mere words.

He wanted her to remember him and his
possession of her even when he could not be with her.

She would feel and see that little mark of
love and remember the touch of his tongue on her, making her come.

He took a ragged breath and forced himself
to ignore his aching cock and let his tongue drift slowly upward until he
reached the satiny heat of her sex.

Unlike with other women he’d known, being
with Miranda, becoming more and more familiar with her every nuance only
whetted his erotic appetite for her.

The salty taste of her wet, warm, velvety
core, the musky scent of her arousal, the feel of her nub as it grew rigid and
throbbing against his tongue, the sight of swollen, deeply pink, glistening
flesh, it all threatened to drive him insane with desire.

He loved nothing more than the feel and
taste of her like this.

He could never get enough of this.

He loved making her come with his mouth. And
come and come again until she was exhausted.

And suddenly, he could wait no longer. On a
low growl, he stood and swept her into his arms and bore her to the bed and
laid her on the soft featherbed.

She stared up at him with eyes gone dark
with desire, her auburn hair fanned out around her head, a vivid contrast with
the purple bedspread.

He knelt between her legs and he cupped her
lips. “Mine?” he asked.

“Yours, all yours.” She all but sobbed the
words as she arched herself closer to his face.

That was gratifying, he couldn’t deny it.

He gave slow, long licks to her entrance, to
her folds, feeling her grow wetter and wetter. That was the most arousing
thing, watching her grow ever more aroused.

She clutched at his head, pressing him
closer. He chuckled. “My lady is especially greedy today.”

“Adrian, Adrian, Oh God,
God!
” She
panted between the words, her thighs hugging his head, her nails beginning to
dig into his scalp.

He knew that part of her excitement, her
surrender to the pleasure he could give her, was due to the gift of the house.
Well, all women wanted, needed security. And security had been all-too-hard for
her to acquire.

He applied deft strokes to her throbbing,
straining nub and she gave a soft shriek, one that sent pleasurable shivers all
through his body. His cock ached with the need to thrust deep into her hot,
silken, wet depths.

But he denied himself, held off. He always
lavished her with pleasure first. He redoubled his efforts to tease and torment
her erect and throbbing pearl, then drew it into his mouth and applied a gentle
suction.

She clutched at his head tighter and uttered
a long, low wail, a sound of pleasure and frustration for she loved a stronger
suction. He knew it. But he liked to hear her beg to come.

And she did, arching her hips, writhing and
clawing at his hair. “Oh Adrian, oh Adrian, please, please!” Her begging became
more strident and then became a scream as he finally gave her all the suction
on that precious little part of her.

He made her come three times, teasing her,
holding her off then when he finally allowed her to come, he used all his skill
to drag the sensations out, to give her a deep and lasting climax.

When he finally moved to mount her, to take her,
her body was still quivering, still pulsing with her last orgasm, And when he
entered her, she began coming again, her sex bathing him in what felt like
cascades of hot wetness.

He wanted to come inside her. Desperately.
And he knew he dared not. But was part of that desperate hunger for something
more from her.

With a groan, he thrust into her harder,
stronger, deeper.

He wanted to be close to her, closer than
seemed possible. He held her hips in an iron grip, driving into her with such
intensity that his head spun and sweat poured from his body and hers.

Her cunt contracted on his, fierce spasms
that almost forced his climax too soon. He groaned and gritted his teeth,
resisting the force of it whilst allowing her to have her orgasm with his thick
length inside.

She threw back her head, moaning that last
cry of pure surrender as her spasms subsided.

He tore himself from her and his seed came
surging up his shaft and jetted onto her stomach in thick, white ribbons. The
savage pleasure and satisfaction consumed him.

And it was almost enough.

* * * *

“I can’t come here tomorrow,” Adrian said.

She’d been living in the Chelsea house for a
few weeks now and he had spent a part of each day with her since then. His
lovemaking had fast become a habit. Perhaps even an addiction.

She didn’t know how she’d bear even a day
without his touch. But she

 
shrugged and smiled up at him, completely prepared to play the
perfect mistress. “You’ll visit me when you can.”

He gave her a penetrating look.

“You needn’t explain yourself to me,” she
continued, feeling a little too exposed under his scrutiny. “I don’t expect
anything.”

He laughed softly, though he used it to
cover sudden ire. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t ever lie to me.” He grasped her
shoulder and rolled her onto her side. “We both know how much we need each
other, how hard it will be to spend a whole day apart.”

She gaped at him, with her mouth slightly
parted.

He swooped down and captured that enticing
mouth in a deep, hard kiss.

Miranda’s desire flamed to life, again, as
she savored the feel of Adrian’s tongue caressing hers, ravishing hers. She
clutched his shoulders, wishing he could stay even longer in her bed. But the
afternoon shadows were lengthening and she knew he wouldn’t give up his
evenings’ earnings at the card tables.

Not even for her.

He lifted his head and she saw that look of
determination that he got when he was leaving her.

“I have to spend the morning with Davey.”
Something in his tone told her that there was something very wrong with Davey.
Adrian was downplaying the significance.

“With Davey,” she asked, her heart
contracting with worry.

Half-dressed in his breeches, shirt and
stockings, he sat on the bed beside her. “He’s been having nightmares again.” He
took a long, weighty breath. “About Jane.”

“The woman in the white dress.” Miranda
remembered how hollow and sad yet awestruck Davey had been when speaking of
this dream.

“Oh my darling,” she said, caressing his
face.

He stretched out beside her and drew her
into his arms, the act telling Miranda just how overset he must be with this
situation. He never lingered over their goodbyes. Once his mind was made up to
go, nothing could change it.

“I don’t understand it, Miranda.” Worry lent
a ragged edge to his voice. “The doctors assure me that a boy his age should
forget and get about the business of just being a child and doing his growing
up. But he continues to grieve deeply, apparently. And he is starting to get
stomachaches and headaches. He is losing much sleep, picking at his meals. I am
going to take him for a day out on the town, to see all the sights that a young
boy enjoys.”

Adrian’s deep love for his sons was one of
the things that had softened her to him. She loved him all the more for his
parental devotion. She put her arms about him then kissed his cheek. “You
should take him to Applewaite for a week of riding out of doors or hunting or
whatever is suitable for a boy his age.”

“I wish I could.” Adrian’s voice sounded
heavy as lead.

“Why can’t you?”

“I would miss too many chances at the gaming
tables.”

“Then miss them.”

“I can’t, Miranda. It is how I earn my
living. It is how I earn back my sons’ inheritances. It is how I pay for your
lodgings and coach-and-four. And—” He glanced at the sideboard, now strewn with
soiled dishes and the remains of their noontime feasting. “—champagne luncheons
with strawberry preserves and pineapples.”

Accused, she started. Then she frowned,
truly concerned now. “You must let all those things go if one week away from the
gaming tables will really make such a difference.”

“I cannot take the chance.”

“You must. Nothing is as important as your
son’s well-being.”

His expression hardened and he rolled away
from her then arose from the bed. He gathered his strewn clothing and began to
dress in jerking motions.

“Adrian!” she exclaimed, unable to believe
he wouldn’t even consider dropping everything to take his son to the country.

“You understand nothing.”

“I understand that nothing is more important
to a boy than his own father’s time and attention.” She took a deep breath,
quailing inside at her daring to confront him, a nobleman, on something so
personal. But passionate feeling drove her on. She couldn’t bear the thought of
Adrian shirking his paternal duty. She could never truly love a man who didn’t
do right by his children. “I have often wondered why you allow Davey to live
with relatives and not with you.”

Silence greeted her question.