M Is for Marquess (17 page)

“What you’re asking…” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m not going to take your virginity without giving you my name.”

“Surely there are less irrevocable ways to test our compatibility? In the carriage, you didn’t…” Her cheeks pulsed with heat.

“I wanted to. I wanted to take you then and there, hard and fast.” His tone was gritty. “Which is why I didn’t unleash my desires. Why I had you hold onto the strap—so your touch couldn’t tempt me to further madness.”

She had the sensation of standing on a precipice. Fear and exhilaration made her breathless. All her life she’d been waiting for this moment: to spread her wings and fly.

Taking a breath, she said, “What if we did it that way again?”

Chapter Seventeen

Blood plummeted from his brain and rushed hotly into his groin.

“I beg your pardon?” he said.

His throat went dry when she untied the belt of her flannel wrapper and pulled it free of the loops. The robe hung open, revealing the voluminous folds of her night rail. With care, she folded the wide strip of cloth in lengths and held it out to him.

“Bind me again—make love to me in whatever way you wish. I trust you.” Her sweet, reckless faith blasted heat through his veins. “Don’t you want to see if this is possible between us? Don’t you want me enough to try?”

He said nothing. Didn’t trust himself to open his mouth.

“If I don’t like what happens, I promise I’ll stop you. But if I like what you do,”—even in the moonlight, he could see her blush—“you will promise to give our relationship a chance.”

God help him, her words had an unravelling effect. By now, she ought to have fainted, screamed, or run off. Instead, she’d plucked his deepest desires from his chest and presented them to him, tied up in ribbons of courage and innocence.

Innocence is the operative word. She has no idea what she’s in store for.

“You’ll get no promise from me,” he bit out. “It’s over between us, Thea. It should have never started. Now do you want to leave first or shall I?”

Her bottom lip quivered. He thought she would turn and flee then, but she remained rooted there, her blasted belt held out like an offering to the Gods. He felt like the veriest bastard—but he’d only be more of a bastard if he stayed. He turned to leave.

“Coward.” The accusation echoed like a slap.

He pivoted to face her. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.” Her face was flushed, her bosom heaving.

Anger roiled with lust, the tempest battering at his wall of control.

“I’ve killed men for less than that,” he said evenly.

“I’m not afraid of you.” Though her voice trembled, there was no mistaking the disdain. “There’s only one weakling in this room, and that’s you.”

“I’m no bloody weakling,” he growled.

“You’re not protecting me; you’re protecting yourself. You’re terrified of taking a risk.” She crossed her arms. “Of seeing where this relationship could go.”

He knew where it was going: straight to hell. But it didn’t matter. His vision was already darkening, the beast rearing inside. She wanted proof of what he was? Of how disgusting and degenerate he could be? By God, she was going to get it.

He snatched the length of flannel from her. Hefting the soft weight in his palm, he saw her lips tremble, yet her small chin was set, her expression determined.

“You’re certain this is what you want?” he said with lethal softness.

“Yes.” The fire in her eyes made him hotter than Hades. “It’s the only way for us to see if we’re meant to be together.”

We’re not
, he wanted to snarl.
Why do you keep rubbing my sodding nose in what can’t be?

But there was no fighting this; she’d pushed him too far. There was only one way out, and that was to show her what he was. To force her to recognize the truth: she was too innocent, too good for the likes of him. He circled her slowly, the crackling awareness between them feeding his dark hunger. When he faced her once again, he took her chin between finger and thumb.

“Remove your robe. Let it fall to the ground,” he said.

Her wide-eyed gaze shimmered into his. A moment later, she shrugged off the flannel, the soft folds crumpling at her feet. The beribboned white nightgown she wore beneath was even more prim than the layer she’d shed. His pulse raced as he imagined what lay beneath the shapeless, billowing fabric.

But he didn’t have to imagine.

“Take that off too,” he said.

Her eyelashes flickered, her eyes swirling with a myriad of emotions. Disgust? Fear and regret that she’d started this?

Leave me
, he thought in an agony of desire.
While you still can
.

Her fingers fumbled with the tiny pearl buttons on the front placket. In a swift, decisive motion, she pulled the garment over her head and let it, too, fall to the ground.

Devil and damn.
His breath lodged in his throat. She was so lovely that it hurt to look at her. Alabaster skin, curves subtle and sweet. Delicate down to her very bones. He reached out and took a tress of her hair, caressing the silk against her right nipple. He heard her soft intake of breath, watched with dark satisfaction as the coral peak stiffened into a tight point.

He moved behind her. Stretching the belt she’d given him between his hands, he placed the wide fabric over her eyes.

“Gabriel, what are you…?”

“Not a word—unless it’s ‘no.’” He wound it twice and then secured the blindfold with a knot. “Say no, and I’ll stop. Say no, and we’ll put this madness behind us.”

She pinned her lips together. Stubborn wench.

“You wanted this, you’re going to get it.” He pulled her back against him, against the throbbing column of his erection. Nothing polite about that. Nothing cowardly. Against the vulnerable curve of her ear, he rasped, “Say no, princess. Tell me to stop.”

She said… nothing.

He grazed her earlobe with his teeth. Feeling her tremors, he did it again, this time suckling, using his tongue and teeth on the plump flesh as his hands coursed over her front. He cupped her breasts, pinching the stiff tips, and she wriggled against him, her soft pants fueling the inferno inside him.

Taking her hand, he drew her over to the bench. He sat and pulled her, standing, between his thighs. He couldn’t help but feast upon the sight of her, trembling and willing. Beauty beyond compare. Primal need heated his blood; he felt like a medieval crusader who’d stormed the castle and claimed his prize.

She’s
not
yours. Teach her a lesson. Show her she’s no match for the beast that you are.

He couldn’t stop his hands from framing her soft hips, pulling her closer. He kissed the curve of one breast, inhaling her sweet scent. She shivered, her hands clutching his shoulders. He licked her smooth white skin, kissing around the pretty pink nipples that stood so impudently, demanding his attention.

“Gabriel, please,” she sighed.

“Please what?” he said.

“Kiss me.”

“Where?” He challenged. “Where do you want my mouth?”

“On my breasts,” she said shyly.

Disbelief and satisfaction mingled as he gave into her wanton request. He laved one pouting peak with his tongue, took his time sucking the sweet bud as her head fell back. He repeated the action on its twin. She whimpered his name, her fingers curling in his hair, drawing him closer.

Grasping her by the hips, he pulled her back.
Stay in control. Prove your point.

“Get on the bench. Kneel on it and hold onto the back,” he said brusquely.

With adorable awkwardness, she did as he asked.

“Spread your knees farther apart.”

She complied, a shiver passing over her elegant limbs.

The sight of her posed with such decadence made his desire swell to new heights. His cock thrust fiercely upward against his abdomen, the head seeping with pre-spend. He ran a hand along the supple length of her spine, riveted by the erotic contrast between her milky paleness and his bronzed skin.

Why couldn’t she see the damned difference between them, how wrong he was for her? How could she let him touch her with his filthy hands?

This wasn’t some faerie tale. Sooner or later, she would realize that he wasn’t going to turn into some prince. The beast was here to stay.

Get this over with.

“Thrust your bottom out,” he said grimly. “Be quick about it.”

She jutted her arse out, with no hesitation, and in spite of his self-disgust, his nostrils flared at the sight. Pale and trembling in the moonlight, the hills of her derriere beckoned like a field of untrodden snow. Unblemished, unclaimed—inviting him to leave his mark. Arousal pumped through him.

He smacked her on her right cheek.

She squealed in surprise. “What are you—”

“No talking. Not unless you tell me no.” He spanked her other cheek. “Tell me to stop this depravity. Tell me to stop debasing you.”

Her jaw clenched. She thrust her bottom out further, giving it a subtle wriggle.

Christ. He couldn’t believe the spirit in her, the absolute gumption. His balls burgeoned in answer to her feminine defiance. Although he’d hardly used any force—he spanked to arouse not hurt—her bottom bore pretty pink marks. The visible evidence of his possession made him randier, harder than he had ever been in his life. Gritting his teeth, he administered another swat, cupping his hand, minimizing the impact but amplifying the lascivious slap of flesh meeting flesh.

This time she sighed. Bloody
sighed
.

Lusty and anguished, he did it again.

What was it going to take for her realize what a bastard he was?

***

Thea was bombarded with sensation. It was like being immersed in music, in a different world where reality was suspended and nothing but feeling existed. She was glad for the cloth covering her eyes; her senses were already overwhelmed, and seeing what was happening would be too much. Here in the darkness, it was easier to let herself go.

To surrender to the wicked percussion of his dominance.

Her hands curled around the cool, smooth back of the bench as Gabriel’s big hand smacked her bottom. The contact wasn’t painful—quite the opposite. Who knew that being spanked would feel so
good
? His touch made sparks leap from nerve to nerve. Wherever he made contact, tingling warmth and pleasure spread.

“For God’s sake, Thea, tell me to stop.”

The agitated arousal in his words made her want him even more.

“Give me more, Gabriel,” she whispered.

She heard him curse, and for an instant she feared he meant to stop altogether. Then he growled and branding kisses fell upon her shoulder blades, the undulating length of her spine. Strong hands cupped her bottom, kneading, soothing the stimulated flesh. Stars flashed across the dark field of the blindfold as he suddenly delved lower, into her swollen folds.

“
Christ
, your pussy is drenched for me.” His words were guttural, disbelieving.

That part of her grew wetter at its naughty name. She gripped the back of the bench, her senses dissolving in a delicious haze as he cupped her, palming her soaking cleft.

“Devil and damn, you
liked
being spanked by me?”

He was catching on.

Shamelessly, she rubbed herself against his hand, sighing, “Oh, yes.”

“You want my hand here, petting your pussy?”

“Yes, yes,” she gasped.

“And this?” he growled.

His fingers plunged, filling her where she needed him. She moaned, her muscles clenching on the penetration, the fullness shooting fire along her nerves. Then he began to move in deep, masterful lunges that pushed the breath from her lungs.

“Push back on me, princess,” he ordered. “Fuck yourself on my fingers.”

His wicked words made her giddy with arousal. She obeyed, her need mounting as she rode his hand. His groans melded with the slick sounds of their connection, driving her on, making her wild in her pursuit of that vital finish. She’d never felt more alive, her lungs pumping, her skin burning with need. Suddenly, his touch skated over her hidden bud, and the race careened out of her control.

“Your pearl, your cunny belongs to me,” he rasped. “Your pleasure is mine.”

“
Yes.
”

He circled her pearl in rhythm to his invading touch. “Then come for me now.”

His forceful thrust propelled her over the edge. With a cry, she flew into the glittering horizon. He caught her, one hand muffling her moans as the other coaxed out spasm after soaring spasm.

The blindfold lifted. Floating on a cloud, she gazed up blissfully into his smoldering eyes as he settled her on the bench. Standing before her, he untied his robe and unfastened the fall of his trousers. Her breath caught as he pulled out his manhood: it was ruddy and thick, prominent veins girdling the length. The upthrust shaft visibly pulsed and strained against the confines of his fist.

“Touch me,” he commanded. “Put your hands on my cock.”

She’d thought herself well-read, but tonight her vocabulary was increasing by leaps and bounds. Excitement stirred as she wrapped her fingers around him. It was like holding a lightning bolt: a hot, potent rod that she could barely contain between her palms.

“I like touching you,” she breathed.

Approval and dark wonder heated his eyes. “Then do it harder. Frig me like this.”

His hand closed over hers, tightening her hold on him, urging a new, ferocious rhythm. He was a powerful instrument, and she was eager to learn how to play him properly. To give him the same pleasure that he’d given her. Under his tutorial, she pumped with both fists, lingering at the engorged crown when that seemed to enhance his delight. Moisture leaked from the slit in the tip, lubricating her touch, making him groan aloud.

Suddenly, he pushed her hands away.

“Your eyes, princess. Give me your eyes,” he said as his hand jerked over his cock.

Her gaze flew up to his. The glittering possessiveness she saw there thrilled her to the core. The mask of the Angel was gone. Gabriel was baring himself, showing her his primal desires. Trusting that she was strong enough to be his match. The muscles of his jaw suddenly stood out, his teeth grinding as if against a shout.