Mastering the Marquess (7 page)

“You can stop now. Turn toward me,” he directed her.

Her soft breaths echoed in the quiet of the room as she turned, stopping when she faced him. She dropped her hands to her sides, and then brought them in front of her, clasping them together. Her chin dropped down, teeth nibbling on succulent red lips.

“Lift your chin. It is my turn to look at you.”

She gave a small gasp but complied. The teeth continued to worry at her lip.

Moving to the chair, he sat, legs spread, and watched, and examined.

A few minutes of stillness would help them both, calm them both, but he did intend to enjoy them.

He leaned his head back against the high chair. Ruby really had surpassed herself.

Grace was incredible. With her back to the fire she was completely silhouetted in light. She was small, he had been right about that, but perfect, so very perfect. Curved hips designed to cradle a man, well rounded but not fleshy. He could already feel his fingers gripping them, pulling them tighter. And her waist—he was sure he could span it with his two hands, perhaps even with one. Her ribs curved out from there until they reached the gentle fullness of her breasts. They were not large, but perhaps larger than he would have expected given the narrowness of her frame, her thinness.

He had a sudden desire to feed her, to tempt her, to satisfy her every hunger.

Shifting in the chair, he sought a more comfortable position.

He could not quite make out the true color of her nipples as the light shone from behind, but he could make out their peaks, see their hardness, and knew that in bringing out her desires, he was making her ready for him.

He forced his eyes higher, past well-defined collarbones.

And then her face. He could not see it all, the blindfold covering more than half of it, but there was great excitement in that. A hand slipped to his cock. A single long stroke.

Perhaps he should finish it off now. He certainly would not have trouble becoming engorged again. One look at that plump mouth, those nibbling teeth, the eyes shrouded in silk, and he’d be close to exploding again.

Another stroke.

He had to stifle a groan as his fingers circled the head.

She jerked. She had heard him and did not know what was happening.

He would wait. He wanted this to be perfect, to be all he had dreamed without knowing.

He settled back, watched as she became both more nervous and more curious.

“Aren’t you going to say something, tell me what to do?” she finally asked.

“You are doing just what I want. I enjoy looking at you, and you are becoming more used to my looking at you. And I thought we had agreed you would not question me.”

“I am not sure that I agreed to that. I thought the idea was that I would be comfortable. How can I be comfortable if I do not question?” She began to nibble at her lower lip again, a bright indent forming. Her hands shook slightly and she squeezed them shut.

“You must trust me.” He leaned forward, trying to judge the expression on the parts of her face he could see. He should not have had her turn her face into the shadows—no matter how enchanting the silhouette.

“But, it is not about trust.”

“No?” He could not wait to hear this.

“It is about curiosity. How can I learn if I do not ask?”

He sighed. “I will allow you questions, but only when they seem to seek knowledge.”

“Do you want me to take off my gown now?” She sounded quite nervous. Her fingers moved to pluck at the string that held the neckline.

Damn, Ruby had chosen well. The gown was perfect: virginal and alluring at the same
time. And he had no doubt that Grace had no idea exactly how much he could see with the light shining through.

“I was going to wait longer. I do so enjoy looking at you. Are you warmed by the fire? You have stopped shivering.”

“I am quite warm. My backside is positively toasty.”

“Can you imagine it as my caress, my warmth against you, cushioning you?”

She blushed. Even in the half-dark he could see the color rise up her chest and the flush spread across her lower cheeks. “Do you want me to?”

She did like to talk, to chat, though perhaps it was only a sign of her nerves. “Yes, I want you to imagine that everything is me tonight—the silk of the coverlet, the warmth of the fire, the brush of your hair, even your own hands. If I ask you to touch yourself, you will imagine it is me. Everything tonight is under my control, and therefore is me.”

“Oh.” It was almost a squeak.

He let silence hang for a moment—and then leaned forward. “Do you wish to take off your night rail? I will allow you to if you wish.”

“Do you want me to?”

“I want you to let it go whenever you are ready, ready for my eyes to feast upon you.”

Her blush grew more colorful. Her fingers rose and fidgeted at the tie, pulling slightly but not enough. Her head turned to the right and left as if seeking some sound, some indication of what he wanted.

He watched and waited, hardly breathing, refusing to give her any indications of his wants. This was up to her.

She shifted from foot to foot, her legs parting so that he could see light seep between them, the shadow between her legs growing visible.

How long was she going to make him wait? Ruby had praised him for his patience, but he did not feel patient now. Still, this was about Grace. She needed to be ready. She needed to express her desires.

Only once she had admitted to her wants would he fulfill them.

Chapter Six

Wasn’t he ever going to speak again? Louisa twisted the tie of the gown between her fingers. Why didn’t he just tell her to take it off? She was getting hot. The fire was beginning to overheat her behind—her ass, he would call it—and she wanted to move, to shift. Her whole body wanted to move, to stretch, to find ease. She felt as if she had springs inside her, ready to uncoil.

She shifted again. Why didn’t he just tell her to?

If he told her to then she’d obey and it would be simple.

It wouldn’t be because she wanted to, because she wanted him to see her, wanted to know what came next.

If he told her to she would simply be following orders.

She wouldn’t have to admit that she wanted.

And she did want.

She wanted him to see her.

She let the thought settle about her. Wanting had never been part of this. It was supposed to be about completing a task so that she could marry.

It was definitely not supposed to be about wanting.

Ladies did not want. They were ladies.

But she did want.

She closed her eyes beneath the blindfold.

Nobody would ever know. For tonight she was safe.

She could want tonight, could admit to wanting, and tomorrow she would no longer want and it would no longer matter.

Nobody would ever know.

Not even Charles would know. He would know somebody, some woman had wanted, but he would not know it was she.

For this one night she could be free. She could do what she wanted.

Want.

She wanted.

With quivering fingers she pulled the ties, felt the silk gape about her neck. It slipped from one shoulder—and then the other. She held it with her hands for a moment, catching it just above her breasts. She held her breath.

Wanting and doing were two different things.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

She let it drop another inch. If only she could see him, knew if he liked what he saw. Another inch. It was just about falling off her nipples.

Was that a gasp that she heard, a groan?

She knew what that groan meant.

With sudden bravery, she let her arms slip to her sides, let the night rail slide to the floor.

He couldn’t breathe. She was exquisite, every inch of her formed just for him. He wanted to taste her, to lick her, to examine every bit of her, every crevasse, every orifice. He grabbed his cock again, squeezing the base tight.

God.

And then she bit that lower lip—and he groaned, unable to hold his silence a second longer.

“Turn around,” he growled.

She complied. She had an ass from heaven, high and full, wanting his bite. His swat. Just for a second he allowed himself to imagine the reddened imprint of his hand.

He closed his eyes, gave in to the image—and then put it away. That was not for tonight. Not for her—not ever. Because for the two of them, there was only tonight.

“Bend over.”

She hesitated, and he thought she would refuse, would say no, but instead after a moment she obeyed.

She was damp. He could see the glisten of moisture upon her upper thigh.

It was too much.

“Spread your legs.”

Another pause, but then compliance. She was pink and swollen between the dark of her
curls, the upper hole dark and puckered—but the lower. The lower called to him, her honey beckoning.

“Stay still. Do not move unless I tell you. Keep your legs straight, your head bowed.”

And then he began to stroke, with firm, heavy motions.

He saw her legs quiver with the strain of standing so still, and it urged him on.

He wanted to stride over, to plunge into this offering.

To scream his ownership to the heavens.

But it was not time.

Instead he watched—and stroked.

With practiced motions he continued. And then suddenly it was here: the great gush, the straining of every muscle—and the cry. He could not hold back the cry. His whole body screamed in release as his cum covered his hand, more and more.

Her head had jerked up at his cry, but then she caught herself and lowered it back down.

“May I ask what just happened?” Her voice was quiet, questioning. “I am truly curious. I feel I should know.”

He gasped, trying to bring his mind to the moment—to escape the images that had filled his imagination and the sensations that had controlled his body. “You may stand and turn around,” he began. “I allowed myself to come.”

She stood slowly, and twisted from the waist before bringing her feet about. “I thought that was supposed to happen when we joined. Why did you do it now? Did you not want to … not want me?” Her voice rang with insecurity.

“I wanted you too much. I would have grabbed your hips and thrust into you with no care for you or your pleasure. That is not what I want for tonight, and so I released some pressure.”

Her lips pursed, and he could see her try to think, to understand. “You can do it again?” she finally asked.

A gentle chuckle left his lips. “Yes, I can do it again. More than once.”

“Then why did you not let me … keep touching you?”

“I wanted to wait, to have the first time be when I was buried deep within you, but I could not. You are simply too much.” He reached into a small drawer in the table beside him and pulled out a soft cloth and cleaned himself. Ruby was always prepared.

She looked like she was going to say more, but she did not. And then he saw her
remember her nakedness. Her hands shifted to cover herself, and then she hesitated, returning her arms to her sides, restlessly moving from foot to foot.

He wished he could see her eyes, see her thoughts. He’d never before wished to study a woman’s eyes, to know her soul. He figured it must have been a factor of not being able to—what one could not have was always more desirable.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Her head dropped as if she were looking at the floor, even though he knew she could not see.

Did she wish to hide her face from him? That could not be allowed. Even if he could not see her eyes, he would take what he could, learn what he could.

Rising from his chair, he strode across the room. When he reached her, he stretched an arm and placed one finger beneath her chin, lifting her face. The dark silk against her pale skin was enchanting. He’d always liked blindfolds, liked the way they raised levels of sensation, but this was beyond “like.” He ran his finger up her cheek and along the edge of the silk.

She was so lovely.

Her head turned and her lips sought his finger. He ran it across them once and then pulled it back. It was time to proceed with the evening, before things ran beyond his control again.

Although, for the first time he could remember, loss of control had not been awful—in fact, it had been rather wonderful.

“Are you ready to move to the next step?” he asked.

“What is the next step? Do I get to touch you again?”

God, he loved her eagerness. “Not yet. It is my turn to touch you. It is time for the bed. Do you need me to guide you to it?”

A slight hesitation and then she shook her head, and with those same sliding steps she walked to the high bed, her arm stretched in front. She reached the bed and paused again, before climbing up with some effort.

He almost offered to fetch the stool, but the movements her body went through as she struggled could not be missed.

He waited for her to lie down. It was hard to resist the image that his mind formed of her lying spread across the bed. But not this bed, his bed; not a thick white coverlet, but his own navy and gold. She would look splendid against the deep colors, her skin cream against a night
sky.