A Whisper of Desire (7 page)

He sank onto the end of his bed, still holding the post for support, his mind blank, his body shuddering with the aftereffects of one of the most explosive releases he could remember giving himself.

She spoke softly. “Beautiful. That's the most erotic thing I have ever seen.” Her breath feathered his cheek as, on her knees, she came up behind him, her breasts and hard nipples grazing his back.

“I wanted you too much. It will likely hurt your first time unless I prepare you properly, and I was worried about staying in control.”

She nibbled at his neck. “I'm pretty sure I'm more than ready after seeing you pleasure yourself.”

A gentle chuckle left his lips. “Do you pleasure yourself often?” he asked. “I didn't think a virginal young lady knew of such things.”

“I caught Sebastian doing what you just did when I was fifteen. He was with a girl from the village. It was too awful watching my brother, so I slipped away and waited to talk with her afterward. I asked her to explain what they were doing. She kindly did and I went home and experimented.” Her voice lowered to a seductive purr. “And I liked the sensations.”

He turned his head and caught her lips with his. When he broke the kiss, he rose and walked behind the screen to clean himself off.

She was still sitting at the end of the bed, her legs curled under her. He couldn't stop himself. “If you lie back and let me watch you pleasure
yourself,
I assure you I'll be ready to fulfill my husbandry duties in a flash.”

She blushed furiously and stammered, “I'm not sure I feel comfortable doing that while you watch.”

He crawled onto the bed beside her. “You were a few minutes ago.”

“I guess I was caught up in the moment. You looked magnificent and I wanted to please you.”

He linked his hand with hers. “Do you no longer wish to please me, little one?”

“I wish you wouldn't call me that. I know I'm large and ungainly—”

He silenced her with another kiss. Finally he drew back. “You're not ungainly, you're simply little compared to me. I think you're beautiful—perfect, in fact.”

He let go of her hand and moved to cup one breast. “Your bosom fits my hand as if made for it.” He gently squeezed and ran his finger over her taut nipple, making her squirm. He pushed her onto her back and she sank into the soft mattress. Lying next to her, he ran his hand up her long, toned leg to where it joined her hip. “These long legs were made especially so they can wrap round my waist, allowing me to pleasure you deeper and harder.” He placed his hand over her stomach, stretching his fingers from hip to hip. “You have broad hips, all the better to cradle my children deep within your womb.” Lastly his hand rose and his thumb traced her lips. “Your lips are plump and ripe, and now all I can think of is kissing them.” He watched her nibble her bottom lip, running her tongue over it as if testing if his words were true. God, what he'd love to teach her to do with those lips. He pictured her taking him into her mouth, those lips suckling him until he exploded once more.

Already his dark desires surfaced. He'd have to be careful. Marisa could be the ruin of him and the Lyttleton name.

Focus.
For the rest of the night and into the morning, this would be all about her. Her pleasure, her wants, and her desires.

She looked at him from under lowered eyelashes, her silky dark hair the perfect shield for her expression. “I don't know what to do to please you. Show me,” she entreated on a soft sigh, and she took his hand and placed it at the junction of her thighs, leaving her hand on top of his.

He relished her letting him take command, leading her how he wanted, teaching her how to pleasure herself and how to please him. Focusing on his partner's pleasure kept his needs at bay.

He was expert at helping his partners learn the ways to make passion last, to reach the pinnacle again and again until they were fully sated.

He rose up on one elbow, resting his head in his palm. The other hand, the hand that was exactly where he'd longed to be since she'd walked into his bedchamber, he let sink into her curls, shuddering at how wet he found her. He loved that she readily responded to him. He took her tiny hand in his and ran one delicate finger down through her wet folds and then back up to press firmly on her hardened nub.

“I love that you're so wet for me. I bet you taste like the sweetest nectar.” He repeated the movements, but this time he lifted her finger coated in her body's fluids to his mouth and sucked. “Delicious.”

He guided her finger back to her wet folds. “Now do it on your own. Stroke and then press, hard or soft; you find the rhythm that brings you the most sensation. Then, when you're ready, taste.”

He settled in to watch as she unthinkingly obeyed him. She explored as he directed with the odd comment all the while never taking her eyes from his face. She watched him watching her, and she could see his desire for her build. At one point Marisa briefly closed her eyes on a sweet moan, but when she felt his member stir against her thigh, they flashed open. Only then did she raise her finger to her lips and taste herself. Before she could remove the finger from her mouth, his lips sought hers and they tasted her together.

“I need more; you taste delicious,” he said, then let out a gravelly command: “Move further up the bed.”

Once she had done as he'd directed, he lay in the V of her thighs, spreading them wide with his shoulders. He drank in the sight and smell of her.

“When do I get to taste you? It's amazing what a young lady can learn when her brother is easily distracted and has not-very-discreet friends.”

“Whom did you spy on? Was it me?” The thought of her secretly watching him at love sport made his cock throb.

“No. It wasn't you.”

“Then I don't want to know.” The idea that she'd seen another man being pleasured and got aroused by it saw a possessive haze blur his vision.

“Soon you'll taste me, and only me. Just as this feast before my eyes is for me alone.” He ran his tongue up the inside of her trembling thigh. “Now is about your pleasure. You have some catching up to do.”

She'd registered the angry scowl that had crossed Maitland's handsome features when she'd mentioned seeing another man being serviced.

Only a few weeks ago, at Lord Donnel's ball, she'd sought the quiet of the gardens when Rutherford had once again failed to propose to her. She was sitting quietly by a small fountain when on the other side of the roses a couple appeared. She recognized Arend's voice. She hadn't meant to watch, but the look upon Arend's face as a woman on her knees serviced him, taking his member into her mouth with her hand stroking him, had kept her frozen to the spot. She'd come over all hot and flushed, her body reacting to the sight of his obvious pleasure. She'd watched a man she'd thought dark and dangerous come apart, his hands wrapped tightly in the woman's hair, his hips thrusting his erection deep into her mouth, his growls animalistic, and yet the vulnerability in his face as he came almost made her weep. The woman may have simply been one of Arend's many lovers, but he gave all of himself to the act. For a brief moment you could see into his soul, pure and good.

The woman also seemed to enjoy it immensely, because as soon as he slipped free of her mouth, Arend pulled her into his arms, his hand fumbling under her skirts, and it took no more than a few strokes before she was quivering in his arms and calling out Arend's name. They simply held each other, breathing deeply. That's when he'd looked over to where she stood on the other side of the arbor and smiled. She'd turned tail and run. He'd never once mentioned the moment to her.

Since that night, she'd always dreamed of being able to make her lover lose control like that. To be so caught up in passion that they dispensed with their outer armor and showed their inner selves, their vulnerability.

Maitland's previous release seemed so controlled, as if he was scared to expose his inner self. Perhaps it was because they were still strangers?

A nip on the soft skin of her inner thigh refocused her. She looked at Maitland's head as it lay between her thighs and wondered if he ever completely lost himself in passion, or would he stay controlled, as he had when he pleasured himself. He stroked himself as if to order. He'd obviously found release in the actions, but to her it was as if it could have been any woman lying open and naked before him. There was nothing special about the woman in his bed being his newly married wife.

It was as if there was a routine or pattern to his lovemaking. Perhaps he started all his amorous pursuits this way.

The notion disturbed her. She'd known he rarely showed emotion, but in the bedroom? Surely he felt secure enough to let go? She didn't like to think Maitland hid himself from her. They could hardly build a life together if she never got to know or understand him.

Soon any thought of understanding anything was driven out by the shock of Maitland's tongue sweeping through her folds. Her legs instantly tried to close, but his massive shoulders held her open to him.

His tongue was gentle one minute and then ruthless the next. She was kept on edge, never knowing what to expect. A soft cry fell from her lips when he touched a certain spot. Another stroke. He paused and her whole body tensed in anticipation. This time he gently sucked that special spot and her eyes rolled into her head under her closed lids.

Sensations so exquisite bombarded her to the point she almost forgot to breathe.

Just when she thought nothing could be better, she felt a finger enter her and it was too much. She moaned into the room. Heat grew with each touch from his magic tongue and fingers!

To her embarrassment, her hips moved, trying to press closer, trying to ease the ache inside. His clever tongue hit the spot again and her whole body lifted off the bed.

“Mait…land…” she cried.

His chuckle sent more waves of pleasure washing over her, the sensations too intense, too overwhelming, so she almost wanted him to stop.

“Stop thinking and just enjoy,” he commanded, and then he nibbled on that magic spot. He gave a painful little bite that saw her straining once again. As her back arched he soothed her with his lapping tongue while a second finger joined the first, stretching her, readying her. She remembered how big Maitland had looked as he stroked himself and she wondered how he would ever fit.

His thumb found her hardened nub and pressed. Soon she was panting, her whole being focused on what he was doing to her. The combination of lapping tongue and his fingers deep inside her made stars appear under her tightly closed eyelids.

Now she understood how hard it was to lose control in front of another. You had to give up a part of yourself.

She knew the pleasure she'd receive would be worth it when Maitland allowed her to reach the pinnacle. He held her on the edge of the chasm. One more lick or suck in the right place, and she'd fly. After watching Arend, she'd pleasured herself in her room, alone, with not a soul around to watch her. But this time she had an audience, a man who liked to control everything, and suddenly the idea of letting him control her secret moments scared her.

“Let go, Marisa,” he urged. “I want to see you overcome with pleasure.”

His whole mouth suckling her, devouring her, followed his words. She felt shudders go through him where his hands gripped her thighs, spreading them wider.

Just when she thought she couldn't take any more, his fingers left her, only to be replaced by his tongue. He used his fingers on her hard little nub, catching it between his fingers and pinching while his tongue entered her over and over again.

She wanted the sweet release and she could feel it building. Her body shook with each thrust of his tongue and soon she'd bare her soul to this man, and she was glad to. He was her husband, her life partner. He'd be the father of her children.

Her body grew tight, her hands gripped the sheets, and her mind closed to everything but what his mouth and hands were doing to her.

The climax hit with such force it knocked the breath out of her. She flew up into the clouds and her world came apart in an explosion of color and stars.

Her body convulsed out of control and her eyes flew open to see Maitland watching her come undone with possessive pride in his eyes.

For a brief second she wondered what he saw.

Fate had selected his wife well. Pride invaded his chest and he felt his heart swell. She gave of herself unabashed, relishing in her passion, not embarrassed to show him her desires.

He was hard and aching all over again; her climax, hearing her climax, knowing he brought her to earth-shattering release, aroused him beyond measure.

He lifted himself on his elbows and admired his work. He loved how wet and glistening, swollen from his mouth, she was, so ready for him to make her his wife.

He rose above her on all fours. Her legs stayed spread, her limbs boneless, but a smile as saucy as any courtesan's settled upon her lips. She looked utterly satisfied and so beautiful in the dim lighting of the room.

“Let's do that again,” she whispered.

He crawled up the bed and lay beside her, his hand trailing over her damp skin. “I'm more than happy to oblige, my duchess.”

Marisa turned toward him and the enormity of the night hit him deep within his chest. Tonight was not simply about sex with a beautiful woman. Soon he would make her his and their lives would be entwined forever.

He'd thought he could keep her at arm's distance. They would lead independent lives yet share only the occasional intimacies. Something painful akin to a hand gripping his bollocks caught him off guard. He wasn't sure how to keep his life as it had been—calm, contained, controlled—with a woman like Marisa. She was so much more than he'd expected, and this marriage of convenience was in danger of becoming more.

There was something about her that called to him. Had it been there all along, and that was why he'd suggested their marriage to Sebastian a few months ago? Had he been fooling himself even then?

No. He was in control of his destiny and he knew what he required in a wife. Companionship, ability to run his many households; she should maintain his dignity in society and bear him sons. He would have a marriage so far removed from his father's marriages that society would soon forget about the disgrace his father was.

It was imperative that the woman, the enemy who forced his hand to marry, who was after vengeance against the Libertine Scholars, did not reveal any of his father's secrets, or society may look too closely and uncover the secret he had to carry to his grave.

Marisa rolled to cuddle next to him, and he inwardly sighed. The sooner he got her with child, the better. Then he'd have an excuse not to lie with her.

The image of Marisa large and round with his child focused his thoughts. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly.

Her hands ran down his back, feeling his muscles before cupping his buttocks and pulling him closer to her. His body roared to life, his erection stiff and seeking.

He rolled her under him, his to command, and his to take. The idea of teaching her about coitus excited him.

She buried her face against his chest, her breath hot, her tongue seeking, lapping his nipple as he had lapped her secret folds. He let out a growl when her teeth nipped and sucked. Her hands explored and he felt his control slipping. He should be the one directing.

His erection stirred, crying out for attention, and when her hand slipped between them and wrapped about him, it was his turn to rise up from the bed.

Her previous voyeurism had given her knowledge, and her fingers began to move. Up and down, timid at first, but soon her grip tightened and he was forced to reach down and grab her hand to slow her down.

“You like being in control, don't you?”

Her words startled him. “Most men do.”

“Surely it is a nice change to be the one who is being led, so you don't have to think, you can simply relax and indulge.”

Absolutely not.
Relaxing and indulging was what had led his father down a path of destruction. After watching his father destroy himself, his honor, and almost the family, Maitland spent his adult life fighting the impulse to give up the tight control he strove for. There were buried secrets in his family, and if he relaxed he never knew what might come out. That's why he was so focused on capturing their villainess. She was simply another wicked deed his father had perpetuated, and Maitland had fought too hard to let the Lyttleton name fall from grace. Especially now that he was married and would soon become a father.

The control he cultivated was what would save the Lyttleton name from disgrace. Only his ability to think dispassionately kept his father's wicked deeds secret. In addition, he had used the gift God had bestowed upon him, his brain, to rebuild the family coffers.

A shiver slid down his spine to where her hand still caressed his buttock. He suddenly realized that Marisa might not be so easy to control. A stab of anger engulfed him. This marriage had not started out as he'd planned. He'd never thought she'd approach him tonight and she was far more adventurous and enthusiastic in bed than he'd imagined a virginal young miss to be. He thought he'd control the bedroom as well as the home.

He leaned down and kissed her roughly, determined to wrest back control of this night. The kiss was not soft, was not kind, it was all about domination.

His tongue pressed through her lips, not asking permission. It swept her mouth, deep and hard. He would teach her that she might think she knows about desire and passion, but she was in fact only a novice.

But she wasn't going to let him regain control. She met his tongue with a parrying thrust of her own. Taste for taste, they were equal. She was still running her hands over his back and she gripped his buttocks and pulled him down on top of her. He could feel her hard nipples pressed into his chest; she was not backing down, nor was she afraid of his ardor.

They kissed, hands and mouths racing over heated skin, and rolled on the bed like animals, and it was the closest he'd been to letting loose of his control. She sent heat and need racing through him, and he imagined what it would be like to make love to her once her virginity had been taken care of.

Night after night he could introduce her to new positions, new ways of giving and receiving pleasure. His mind filled with images of her on her hands and knees, his cock buried deep in her. Or of her riding above him so he could watch his cock disappear into her hot, tight sheath.

So much for his masturbation; he was almost to the point of exploding again.

He rose up, his arms taut, his hands braced on either side of her head. He looked down at her and, holding her gaze, deliberately used his legs to widen her so he settled in the V of her thighs. They quivered in excitement or apprehension. Suddenly, she did not look so brave.

His stance softened. “I'll try to make it as painless as possible. Once your barrier is breached, I promise you it will be better than with my mouth.”

“I believe you,” she said, and wiggled beneath him, widening her legs so as to give him better access, her impatience with his lack of progress driving his desire higher. He stifled a groan. Never in his life had he wanted to simply plunge in. Where was his finesse?

He cursed himself. He was behaving like a starving man at a feast or, worse, a man who thought he could simply take.

She lay looking at his stern face. What had she done wrong this time? Rising above her like a Greek God, he made her heart race just by looking at her. When he touched her she fairly flew to the skies.

A moment ago she'd thought she'd rattled his significant control as they rolled on the bed, eager to give of themselves, but then he'd reverted to form and now it was all seriousness and gentleness. She liked it a bit rougher.

When his fingers had pinched her nipples and his hand gripped her hair as if he never wanted to let go, her body responded with need.

Now he was just looking at her with that worried look on his face.

She wanted the wild man back. She deliberately rubbed herself against the long, hard length of him sitting at her entrance, and she loved it when his head dropped and he groaned.

She did it again, eager to lift her hips and make him ease the ache that was swirling deep inside her.

“You're playing with fire, little one,” he growled, and she felt his rising fever when his palm cupped her breast.

“At least I'm playing. Why have you stopped?”

“I'm trying to gather a semblance of control so I don't hurt you.”

His member entered her slowly and her world began to focus on that one small inch of flesh spearing her. Her eyes closed and she almost begged him to join them now.

He held still, his body not moving except for his chest as he breathed deeply. She could smell him, a hint of sandalwood mixed with the musky smell of sex. The weight of his hips pushed him in a little farther and she would have raised her hips to join them, but his strength pinned her down on the bed.

A cry of frustration escaped and she flopped her head on the pillow.

At last he moved and slid deeper. She sighed her approval as his hips continued to pin her down. His head lowered and he took one of her aching nipples into his mouth. Her body grew tighter as he suckled her. She watched him through an aroused haze. She could see his broad shoulders and muscled chest above her. But her mind focused on the feel of his hard muscled thighs and lean hips, and most of all his cock, large and stiff, moving slowly within her.

Her body clenched with need, her inner muscles eager to draw him deeper.

He stopped moving once again and she groaned.

“I've reached your barrier. This might pinch a bit,” he said, and on the word “might,” he thrust home, just when she was not expecting it.

Thankfully, there was only a moment of sharp, biting pain. As it dulled, all she could focus on was how he seemed to fill her, stretch her; she was scared to move an inch, as the fit felt so tight.

“Breathe in—then out. The pain will lessen.” She could see his taut arms beside her shake with the effort not to move.

He hung suspended above her, a sheen of sweat on his brow. “How are you?” he asked, as if he were asking her to pass his cup of tea.

Her hips shifted slightly to test whether he would split her in two. There was no sharp pain, but she certainly felt—“invaded” seemed a good word.

“Fine. Perhaps you could make it better?”

He smiled then, and her breath fled. She wished he would smile more often. He slowly pulled back in a single smooth movement, and then he pushed back in, deep and hard. His size meant she felt every inch as he impaled her once again, but this time it felt different.

He continued to move within, and soon it was too slow for her liking. Each time he entered her she felt her stomach flutter, and that special sensation grew. Her hips soon matched his rhythm, her inner muscles gripping as if to stop him from leaving her. She urged him with her hips to speed up, and on a growl he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head to the bed.

That served to arouse her more.

Her head left the pillow and she captured his mouth with hers. The melding of their mouths got the required response. He thrust faster, harder, and her body clenched about him.

The pleasure began to build, her whole being poised to fly—she focused on their joining, waiting to reach the pinnacle. She wanted to reach it with him.

She could feel him trembling above her. He was all she could see, hear, and smell. He thrust faster and his bollocks slapped against her flesh. She opened herself wider, her legs straining to ensure he went as deep as possible.

At last she recognized he was close. The cords in his neck were so tight every vein could be seen. His eyes blazed with heat and his grip on her wrists tightened.

She stopped fighting her body and let the sensations grow, tighter and tighter, every nerve ending screaming to be set free. Her head arched back with the strain of waiting for him.

Just when she thought she could take no more, he frantically began to move. He thrust so hard she was being pushed up the bed. Her body sang his tune and soon the whole bed was rocking.

Then she was flying, through a kaleidoscope of colors in a bright sunlit sky. A scream left her lips, his name—Maitland. She cried out over and over again. She let the waves of pleasure send her floating to that secret place as she felt Maitland still, then strain, as he called out her name.

It was the most glorious moment she'd ever experienced. She wanted to savor the feeling, hug it to her chest, and imprint it on her memory. Whatever else happened in this marriage, she would always have this night.

He flopped down upon her, still holding her wrists, but lightly now. His weight, great and heavy, was comforting. He seemed to be as undone by the experience as she was.

And then he rolled off her to lie by her side. His large hand drew one of hers into its grip and he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“Are you all right? I'm sorry. I was a bit rougher than I should have been. I promise I'll be more controlled in future.”

“It was perfect the way it was. I'll never forget this night as long as I live.”

The intimacy of their joining would stay with her long after the act.

They lay together, each relaxing, getting their breathing under control. Maitland's gaze was focused on the fire. She wondered what he was thinking. Soon she had her answer.

“You should go back to your own room. You'll need a good night's sleep before meeting the staff in the morning.”

His words were a knife to her chest. Beatrice never slept anywhere but in Sebastian's bed. Why was he pushing her away?

“I don't mind staying.”

He rolled to the edge of the bed and stood, donning the red velvet robe once again.

He picked up her negligee and came round to her side of the large bed and offered the garment to her.

“I'm a restless sleeper and would only keep you awake. Besides that, I snore.”

She lay naked before him on the bed, undecided on what to do. Should she obey him? Before God, she'd promised to obey him.

Against her better judgment, she reached for the flimsy garment. Aunt Alison had always told her to pick her battles. Marisa did not wish to tarnish this night with an argument, but as she made her way through the adjoining door to her room and slipped into her cold, lonely bed, she vowed that this arrangement of sleeping apart would be brought to a very quick end.

Maitland walked to his sideboard and with shaking hands poured himself a drink. Tonight had not gone as planned, and that in itself unsettled him. He planned most things meticulously.

What unsettled him was his wife. Marisa's behavior tonight was nothing like he'd assumed, but then again, he'd not really given too much thought to her as a person.

He had expected that she was the same as any young lady of quality. He barked a laugh into the empty room. Like a fool, he'd not considered that he'd spent very little time with young virginal ladies, so how could he possibly have known what to expect? His planning lacked detail, something their rushed marriage precluded completing.