Fifteen
Apollo had already been half out of his head by the time they reached the bedroom, but seeing her like this, so free and lost in his touch, was making it too easy to forget this was a woman he could not keep. Not after what he’d learned about her past. He knew he could not be another man to hide her, to make her feel like she didn’t fit in his life. But he didn’t want to think of any of that tonight. Her pleasure was all that mattered in this moment.
He lifted her legs until those white boots were up on his chest and held them up with one hand, then pushed back so her pink, slick sex was on full display for him.
“Beautiful,” he told her, running a thumb over her slippery folds. It was a secret pleasure to know that this was only his. That when she needed to be touched, to be fucked, it was his hands she wanted. “So ready for my cock, Fiera.” She nodded in agreement, and he rewarded her with a pinch. She bucked wildly into his hand and licked her lips.
“You’re torturing me,” she croaked, and he soothed her with a kiss to a shapely calf. She was a roaring fire on his white sheets. Her brown skin glowed in the gaslight. He could devour every luscious inch and still want more.
“What’s that?” she asked, with a little shudder, as he slid those gloves she loved so much over her pubis. He didn’t answer, going lower. She let out a little gasp when his thumb pushed in. His cock bobbed every time she made one of those sounds, and he was aching to be inside her, but she was so delicious to watch.
“How does that feel?” he asked her, flicking the supple leather against her core.
“Good?” she moaned, her hips rocking back and forth. He did it and she cried out for him, her eyes screwed shut. “Do it again,” she ordered, her voice eager.
“I’ll ruin your gloves, darling,” he told her, and she popped one eye open, an outraged look on her face.
“Those are very expensive,” she protested, then gasped when he rubbed them again to her clitoris.
“I’ll buy you new ones,” he promised, swatting her again.
“Harder,” she ordered, widening for him, giving him a better look of all that sweetness. He could live with his face buried there, inhaling her, with her arousal down his throat.
He did as she asked, striking her again and again until her legs began to tremble. Then tossed the gloves aside and lowered his mouth to her one more time, latching his lips to her sex, and nursing that sensitive pearl until he heard her cries of pleasure echoing around the room.
“So sweet, so damned good for me, Fiera,” he soothed, delivering soft kisses to her thighs, her mons.
“You better replace my gloves,” she huffed, making him laugh. But he was moving briskly now, his blood churning as the last threads of his control came very close to snapping.
“I have to be inside you.” He loomed over her, examining that expanse of brown-sugar skin that made him lose his head. With a hand, he positioned himself at her entrance, kissing that delicious wet heat with the head of his cock. “Are you certain you don’t want me to use French letters?”
She shook her head. “Dutch cap,” she told him. “I put it on earlier this evening,” she admitted cockily, and he finally understood then her insistence in going home. “I take other precautions too.” He knew what the opinion of most men would be for her kind of brazenness, but this only made her more appealing to him. This was not a woman who left anything to chance.
He leaned down to kiss her, tasted long and deep until he could not wait another second. With one hand, he guided himself to her entrance and pressed inside just an inch, just enough to make them both cry out.
He pressed his forehead to hers and breathed, willing himself into control. “I can barely hold myself back, Fiera,” he told her, his voice tight.
“Go easy on me, Duke,” she returned, and he almost asked her to do the same. He was frantic, his body eager to take her, his need overwhelming well-practiced restraint. It took everything in him to only go in another inch, panting at the tightness enveloping him.
“You’re perfect,” he moaned truthfully, as he pressed inside. Slow, short strokes until he was seated to the hilt.
“Is this all right?” he asked, running a shaky hand over her flank, as he forced air in and out of his lungs while he waited for her answer. He needed to know this was good for her.
“Yes, it’s just—” she gasped, slithering under him, until he began seeing black spots from holding his breath. “You’re very large.” He was not certain it was a compliment, but something primal still howled inside him at the way she held on to him while she said it.
“Does it hurt?”
She shook her head, which was a relief, then buried her face in his shoulder. “No.” A sweet little puff of air escaped her, and he risked another thrust, this one longer, deeper. “I’m so full of you.”
Bloody hell, the way she said it, with a touch of awe. Like taking his cock was a marvel. He never lost control with women. He could always deliver an elegant seduction where everyone got what they wanted. But tonight he was unraveled. Inside this woman, nothing he’d known before quite worked.
“I’m so deep inside you,” he told her, starting to move his hips in earnest now. Braced on his hand so he could see her face. She met him stroke for stroke, her nails digging into him as he pushed inside her. He pulled almost all the way out and sank in again, and she sighed as though it was the exact thing she’d needed.
He put his arms around her and lifted her until they were both sitting with her impaled on his cock.
“Move these nalgas, Doctora.” He added a swat to his command and bit her bottom lip for good measure. She met his challenge like the Fiera she was. Without shame or reservation, she grabbed on to his shoulders and hoisted herself up.
“Like this?” she asked, as she ground herself on him. “I’ve never…”
“Just like that,” he encouraged, moaning as he felt her muscles flutter then tighten around his cock. He grabbed her hips and worked her up and down his length, the sounds of slapping flesh and harsh breaths reverberating throughout the room.
“I like this,” she beamed at him, while he leaned in to lick a bead of perspiration from the hollow of her throat. He slid his hand between them and pressed on that tight nub of nerves while she took him inside her again and again. She threw her head back, eyes closed as she rode to her pleasure. He felt the contractions as her orgasm took her, and soon he was follow ing her down. He roared as his climax tore through him, his arms like a vise around her.
He felt her drop to the mattress, her breath still fast and harsh while he attempted to regain control of his limbs. It took him a moment. He should’ve known bringing a cyclone like this to his bed would leave some kind of permanent alterations to his life.
The trouble was he was starting to think the kind of chaos Aurora brought was exactly what he needed. He’d intended to be gentler with her, but he wanted her so badly he hadn’t been able to hold back. Her appetites matched his own to a degree that was almost frightening. He wanted her again already, but he couldn’t even be sure she wouldn’t be running out of his bed in the next minute.
How the mighty fall, he thought. He was usually the one escaping the bed of a lover. A small hand shoved at his shoulder and then her delectable body began to wiggle under his own.
“If this is your way of telling me you’d like a repeat performance, you just have to ask, Fiera,” he teased, pressing a kiss to the round curve of her breast. She scoffed and shoved again, harder, then directed that bellicose gaze at him.
“If this is your way of obtaining praise, you’re out of luck,” she told him haughtily, while tossing that mass of mahogany curls over the pillow. “And you ruined my gloves.” She was so damned prickly, despite her very slow, very thorough assessment of his upper body.
He was vain enough to show off a bit for her. He worked hard at his muscles, riding and sparring with Gilberto, and it was most satisfying to catch her admiring him.
“You’re too attractive,” she told him, glaring at his chest.
“Is there such a thing?” he asked, tucking an errant curl behind her ear.
“Yes,” she assured him, then flopped back against the mat tress, still wearing those fancy boots. “And incredibly pushy. And don’t tell me I’m beautiful. I know I’m not.” The defenses were already going up, but she was still touching him. Her hand possessively wrapped around his arm.
“I will be the judge of that, and I don’t appreciate you making judgments on the women I bed.” He swatted her behind in answer, which made her yelp.
“Hey,” she protested, pulling away, but he convinced her to stay with a pat and a squeeze on her rump. She retaliated with a nip to his chest, which sent a spark of electricity right to his cock. He covered her with his body, eager to be inside her again.
“Don’t manhandle me,” she protested but let him nestle her between his thighs. “You are too sodding big.” She accompanied the huff with a vicious glare, but when he tightened his arms around her, she didn’t bolt.
“Gilberto and Mihn are hopelessly smitten with you,” he told her, coaxing a sweet little smile out of her while she attempted to gather her hair in a gravity-defying coil with two pins that simply did not look up to the task.
“I liked them.” And he liked her in his bed, a little too much perhaps.
“From what I gather, you like everyone on sight, except me,” he told her, only half joking while she shook her head.
“Fishing for compliments is not becoming, Your Grace.” Receiving her barbs was becoming his new obsession.
“I don’t need compliments,” he rasped against her ear. “The way your tight pussy clenches around me when I make you come is all the accolade I require.” She sucked in a breath at his words while a little shiver ran through her.
“Usted tiene un boca muy sucia,” she reproached, turning her head to sink her straight teeth into his bicep.
“Pero te gusta mi boca, Fiera.”
“I might like your mouth some of the time,” she admitted with a saucy grin. “Besides, it’s not true that I like everyone,” she argued, her tone very serious despite the smile tipping up her lips. “I despised the Hymen Brothers on sight.”
“Did you just say the Hymen Brothers?” he asked, and now it was he who repressed a laugh.
“That’s not their name,” she tossed back, with an aggrieved exhalation. “They’re disciples of Ambroise Tardieu in the forensic medicine field, who essentially made a science out of inventing ‘detection methods’ to ferret out women they believe had interrupted a pregnancy.” She gave him a probing look as she said this, clearly expecting a certain kind of reaction.
“They ought to remember inquisitions never end well for anyone.” This seemed to be somewhere in the vicinity of the correct answer, and he was rewarded with something akin to a smile. It only figured that Aurora’s idea of post-coitus conversation would be a lecture on hymens. He was well on his way to a full-fledged obsession with this woman.
“I just call them the Hymen Brothers to annoy them, given their status as the foremost experts on the integrity of the maidenhead.” She was particularly gifted in delivering the most shocking things impassively, so for a moment, he honestly thought she was joking.
“You’re jesting.”
“I truly wish I was.” She shook her head, which made the loose bun on her head bob precariously. Her voluminous sable locks, as usual, were in a fight to the death with the pins, and the pins were losing. “They wrote an entire book on it, The Hymen in the Americas .”
For this next part, she turned around and knelt on the bed with her hands clasped over that enticing chest of hers. He had to force himself to focus on what she was saying as they bounced every time she moved. It was not easy to resist pinch ing one. “‘Virginity is one of the most precious jewels for which man searches,’” she recited drolly. But he knew now to look for the spark of mischief in those cacao eyes. “‘All civilized nations must prioritize its maintenance, establishing rigorous punishments against all acts committed against it.’”
“That is,” he said, then closed his mouth again in honest astonishment, which seemed to amuse her immensely, “highly objectionable, though I am impressed with your memorization skills.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste, but he didn’t think the sentiment was directed at him this time.
“Wouldn’t you memorize words used to whittle your worth down to the existence or absence of a membrane?” Apollo was not unaware of men’s infamy, but there was something very humbling about the way this woman spoke of the hypocrisies they all held up as civilized behavior.
“I can’t say I’ve ever had to think about it,” he confessed, half expecting to have his head torn off.
“I wouldn’t expect any man to,” she said with an air of defeat he disliked with violent intensity. Anything that made Aurora Montalban despondent was now his personal dragon to slay.
“So, how do we fix it?” he asked, reaching for her again. “Do we put all the maidenhead marauders to death?” he inquired while he set her astride his lap.
“Maybe,” she retorted, with an absolutely devilish glint in her eye, and Apollo startled himself with the sound of his own laughter.
“I thought doctors were invested in keeping people alive,” he teased.
“I suppose.” She made a face, then circled her arms around his neck, with a tipsy grin on her face.
“You know you can catch more flies with honey.” It was an approach that had served him well. One could hide all kinds of wrath and nefarious intentions behind a smile. “‘Kill them with kindness’ need not be merely a figure of speech,” he told her, to which she responded with an aggrieved harrumph, before sending him another one of those censorious pouts. He wanted to kiss it right off her mouth.
“Kindness might be an efficient method,” she agreed, before pressing her lips to his. “But they die just the same if I use fire.” She whispered the words right against his mouth, and he wondered how people saw and talked to this woman every day without ever realizing she was the single most glorious thing in Paris.
“But you might get burned in the process, Bella Doctora.”
“It would not be the first time.” The words could’ve been a punch, the way they knocked the air out of him. He had questions about her family. Wanted to know more about what had gone on with her brothers tonight, but he didn’t want to ruin the fragile joy of this moment. He didn’t want to see that hunted look in her eyes. “Tell me about Mihn and Gilberto. Are they really a couple?” She changed the subject, before he fully recovered from her previous statement, but Aurora Montalban did not dwell. She pushed on, focused on the things she could fix. It didn’t surprise him that his friends had caught her attention.
“They are.”
“Is Mihn a teacher too?”
“No.” He shook his head, and with her arms still around his neck, he reached for the small jar he’d procured not long after that first time she’d come to him. “In fact, I had him make something for you.”
He took her hand so that it was palm up between them and he put the round metal on it.
“What is it?” She kept her narrowed eyes on him as she opened it, then sniffed it suspiciously. The scent of lavender and lemongrass filled the space.
“It’s a salve. Mihn’s mother makes it,” he told her and watched her take a deeper inhalation of the fragrance. “He said this will help you with the dryness in your hands.”
She popped her head up and he saw she’d gotten a bit of cream on the tip of her nose. Just a tiny white dot, which made his heart ache. It was then that he came to a realization that had eluded him since he’d met her. The unflappable Doctora Montalban was a sweetheart. A sweetheart who secretly loved to be pampered, and that was information he planned to use in the future.
“Lemongrass and lavender are a rare combination,” she told him matter-of-factly, then batted his hand when he attempted to swipe the bit of cream on her nose.
“You’re so sweet,” he joked, and she bared him her teeth.
“What I am is the owner of a large collection of scalpels,” she huffed out, and by some miracle he managed to keep his grin on the inside. “Where does she make this? Does she have an apothecary?” Her brown eyes were alert now, the languidness from their lovemaking, replaced by clear interest. He could only assume she was asking questions out of more than curiosity.
“Phuong is her name, and she’s from Vietnam, which the French call Indochine,” he explained.
“I know what Vietnam is,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
“She has a farm in Aix-en-Provence, where she grows lavender, among other things.” She was definitely more than just curious. Her eyes were wide as saucers now and she was examining that jar like it held the secrets of the universe.
“She does?” She appeared to be filing away the detail for later use. “But how did you end up with a jar of salve in your bedroom?” she asked, then sent him another one of those withering looks he was starting to think were the closest Aurora Montalban got to outright flirting.
He refused to feel awkward about it. She’d confessed that insecurity about her hands and he’d asked Mihn for something that could help.
“You said you wanted soft hands,” he told her.
“Oh.” There was a hint of surprise in that short answer, and maybe even a little pleasure. Very carefully she scooped a bit of the salve and then rubbed it onto the top of her hand. She made a little sound of appreciation, which made something pulse white hot in his chest.
“Thank you,” she finally said in that affronted tone of hers, a sharp contrast to the smile on her lips.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered, leaning closer and pressing their lips together. She sighed into the kiss, opening for him. She moaned eagerly when he sucked her tongue. But when he slid his hand up her inner thigh, she pulled back.
“We are conversing, Your Grace,” she admonished, then softened it by laying her head on his shoulder. He tried not to show his shock at this overture. But she’d had to deal with that terrible scene with her brothers and then he’d brought her here and fucked her like an animal.
His Fiera needed comfort and this was the closest she’d come to asking.
“What would you like to know?” he asked, his voice a bit raspy with sudden emotion.
“How did you end up with this den of iniquity?” She looked around the place with a glint of ownership, and as far as he was concerned, it already belonged to her.
“It’s where I lived during my time at the Sorbonne.” She turned to him in surprise at that, making him grin.
“I didn’t know you were also at the Sorbonne.” He could see the pride in her when she talked about her education, and she should be proud, knowing what he did about her upbringing.
“It’s not that alarming,” he laughed, running a hand down the curve of her rump. He could not stop touching. “There are many students from the Americas in Paris.”
“That is true,” she conceded, still sending him those suspicious looks.
“If you can believe it, I managed to scratch out an education in mechanical engineering.”
“Engineering.” He laughed at her astonishment. “That is remarkable.”
“I finished with honors too,” he added, grinning at how her mouth dropped open. “Have I finally impressed you, Doctora?” It figured that it would not be his title or his wealth that had, but his mathematical abilities.
“Well, it is notable.” He imagined that would be as close as Aurora Montalban would come to admitting any kind of admiration.
“So, this place has not always been a den of iniquity?” she asked, and he suspected that was only part of the question.
“Not quite,” he admitted, then corrected, in an effort to be honest, “Well, not entirely.”
“I’m sure that’s what you tell all the poor souls you bring here,” she teased again, her amused expression hinting at a smile.
“For your information, Fiera—” she harrumphed at the pet name he’d given her, but he had noticed her demands that he stop using it had ceased “—you’re the first woman I’ve ever brought here other than my aunt, and Manuela that night after she jilted that dolt she almost married, I suppose.” Her eyes practically crossed in disbelief. But it was true, this had always been his sanctuary. Now whenever he walked in and she wasn’t here, it felt like the walls or the roof were missing.
“Your aunt lived here in Paris?” He nodded and could not resist planting a kiss on her lips.
“No.” He shook his head, smiling at the idea of Dona Jimena in this small space, with no room for a retinue of servants. “She visited every year I was here in the hopes I’d leave Paris with an education and a lovely French wife.” Even then his aunt was thinking entry into the aristocracy, vying for a wife who’d help him gain access to his father’s circles. He’d refused, promising to settle down once he claimed his revenge.
“But her wish was not granted?” his bedmate inquired cannily.
“There’s no wife hidden under the floorboards, Fiera,” he teased, grimly pondering what his aunt would think of his infatuation with Aurora Montalban.
“I take it this new hunt for a bride is her way to remedy her past failures?” Another question that had a second question lying right under it. More and more, he found the topic of his future to be particularly repugnant.
“I suppose.” He was tempted to tell her about the real reason his aunt’s plans for him had failed in the past. But she’d probably get the wrong idea.
“I would’ve imagined a supple, virginal girl with a big bosom and no opinions would’ve tempted you out of bachelorhood long ago.” This he recognized too. This was Doctora Aurora Montalban being provocative. He was more than happy to take the bait and do a little provoking of his own.
She gasped when he cupped the back of her head and brought his head down, so their faces were only inches apart.
“If I wanted that, I’d have it.” She made a surprised little sound when he clasped her waist, pressing them together.
“You always get what you want, do you, Your Grace?”
“I usually do,” he told her, carding his fingers through her curls. She was so lush. So warm against him. At times, he feared he’d spent so long scheming he’d forgotten how to do things for the pure pleasure of it. But Aurora in his arms disproved that theory in ways which seemed quite dangerous to him.
“Can I ask you something?” She looked very serious.
“Yes,” he said, reluctantly, wondering if he’d misjudged what she’d wanted from him. Just because she hadn’t run yet didn’t mean she wouldn’t.
“Do you have anything to eat?” He didn’t think that was her real question, but he didn’t want to push and end the night with her walking out on him.
“Is that what you came here for, to be well fucked and fed?” he asked with a grin, then nuzzled her neck. She stretched like a cat seeking his attention. Making happy little sounds as he worked to finally remove her boots. It took great doing to force himself from the bedchamber once he had her fully naked and resting on a bed of pillows, like an empress.
He found her snoring when he returned to the room. A soft purr that reminded him of a slumbering lioness. She’d been bedded and now wanted sleep. If he wasn’t already half-smitten, this would’ve done it.
“I thought you were hungry,” he said, when she perked up, likely from the aroma of the bread he’d brought her.
“I am,” she told him, all mussed with sleep. She had a love bite on her neck and her hair was utter chaos. The sight of her robbed him of air and filled his lungs all at once. He watched her make quick work of a few slices of cheese and bread, then drink deeply from the goblet of water he handed her. By the time she was done, her eyes were half-closed.
“I will want to do that again,” she told him, and rested her proud chin on his chest.
“That is a promise, Fiera,” he said, with a grunt, when she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. By the time he eased her under the covers and used a damp, warm cloth he’d brought from the kitchen to clean her up, she was fast asleep.
He kissed the top of her head, at a loss of how he’d gone and fallen for the only woman on earth who considered mar rying a duke tantamount to a life sentence. As he slid under the sheets and pulled her to him, he remembered what he’d told Evan months ago.
Caribbean women will turn your life upside down.