Rules for a Fake Fiancé (Rogues Gambit #1)

Chapter Ten

Overwhelm his senses while keeping yourown.

S he knew this was wrong. Unmarried ladies did not entertain gentlemen in their bedrooms. Not while in their night rail, and certainly not with brandy and kisses. She knew it, but she was unable to stop. After a lifetime of demure seclusion, Melinda had tossed logic and decorum aside.

She blamed him.

She blamed him for charming her out of her anger. She blamed him for leaning close and being so handsome that she ached to touch him. And she blamed him for being so good at kissing that she wanted to do it forever.

Their lips touched. His were warm and tempting, like hot chocolate on a cold morning. She wanted to lick him slowly before relishing tiny sips. But she never had control with him or chocolate. She knew she’d start gulping him down while his touch still burned her tongue.

She kissed him full and deep. She thrust her tongue into his mouth, then quickly lost that duel as he dominated her. She was stretched awkwardly in her chair. He wound his fingers through her hair as he took control of her mouth and her kiss.

She tried to stay dispassionate. After all, she’d kissed other men. What made this man’s caresses so much better than another’s? Was it the way his one hand was firm as he cradled her head and the other stroked sensuously down her neck? Was it the way his tongue was unpredictable, first thrusting then stroking? A push then a nip while she scrambled to keep pace? Maybe his total command of the situation was thrilling and…

He touched her breast.

She knew he would. While their kiss had gone on and her mind had spun its distraction, she had allowed his fingers to slip the shoulder of her night rail down. She’d felt it but hadn’t demurred. Everything seemed dizzyingly beyond her control.

And so her breast was bare. Of course he should touch it. And of course, she loved it.

He broke their kiss, dropping his forehead against hers while their breath mingled hot and sweet. His fingers weren’t idle. He brushed the rounded swell of her breast, then slipped quick as a wink beneath it. She felt him lift her slightly, and his thumb brushed her nipple.

Lightning tingled up her body, lingering in her jaw for a second. Bizarre, she thought, and then he did it again. His thumb, back and forth across her nipple. This time the sizzle went low, heating her belly and weakening her legs.

“You must trust me,” he said as he pressed a kiss to her nose.

“I do,” she answered, though she’d meant to say, “of course not .” She did not trust a lustful man in her bedroom at night. She was a proper girl and not a fool. But then he pressed his lips to her shoulder. A kiss. Another. Then the scrape of his teeth against her skin.

She shivered with delight. What an odd reaction, she thought, but as soon as the idea formed, it slipped away under the steady thrum of his thumb across her nipple.

“Trevor,” she whispered. She lifted her hand, meaning to push him away. Instead, she feathered her fingers into his hair, feeling the soft caress of his locks across the back of her hand. Soft curls. Sweet kisses, now on the curve of her breast.

He shifted until he was kneeling before her. He pressed his mouth against her skin and pushed her backward in the chair. Her head dropped back against the ornate chair, and her pulse rushed close to the surface. She felt it in her throat, and yet she also felt the stroke of his thumb as if he touched the deepest center of her body.

Then he lifted her breast higher, bringing it to his mouth.

She had heard of this before. She wasn’t completely ignorant, and she often overheard ladies whispering together. Gentlemen liked breasts. “Sucking on tits” was the phrase they’d used. She never guessed that she would enjoy it too… That the press of his lips would set her to gasping. That her pulse would jump as his suction pulled at her. Or that she would grip his shoulders and hold him so that he would never stop.

He sucked. Sometimes he stopped, and his fingers twisted her nipple. Not painfully. Or yes, a little painfully, but in the most wonderful way. On the other breast. On both breasts. And then, yes, he took her nipple into his mouth again.

Her heart hammered, and she shifted restlessly. She wanted to draw him closer, but she couldn’t think clearly. She felt his pull. Every stroke. Every caress. She felt it…

Everything tightened unbearably.

So tight. Like everything drawn in and held.

Until it broke.

Her belly convulsed, and her mind sputtered in shock.

Everything pulsed and writhed and rushed inside her. And it was wondrous!

It continued for a while, with her body throbbing, while everything else tried to grab hold. Her mind tried to understand, her breath tried to catch up, and even her belly, which quaked and quivered, tried to gather its dignity and pull her legs closed. Nothing worked except this flight of pleasure powered by the contractions of her belly. And in the end, she surrendered to the sensations, only to have them fade into a pale tremor.

Which was when she opened her eyes to see him watching her. His eyes were wide and his mouth slightly parted. His expression seemed dazed, but beneath it all was excitement. Not lust, but giddy joy.

Or was that her?

“Has that ever happened to you before?” he asked, his voice hushed.

She swallowed. “N-no.”

He smiled. “And what did you think of it?”

Think? She couldn’t think at all.

His smile widened into a grin. “That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. I feel quite accomplished.”

He was laughing. She could hear the delight in his words, but she didn’t understand it. Accomplished?

His expression gentled, and he lifted his hand to stroke her cheek. “You’re beautiful. Every time I see you, I find something more remarkable.”

“W-what?” she stammered. Her thoughts would not be corralled. She tried to straighten in her chair. She meant to pull her knees together, but he was pressed against them, keeping them wide. It was only the fabric that kept him distant from her full body.

Then he straightened away from her. She still fought to control even the smallest aspect of her body while he slipped an arm underneath her legs and the other behind her back. Then he lifted her out of her chair.

She gasped in surprise, managing to wrap an arm around his shoulders as he maneuvered to her bed. Then he set her down, his touch gentle, even as his eyes sparked with delight.

“Lord,” he murmured, “the things I could show you.”

She ought to object. She knew that. But the words didn’t form. Instead, she gripped his sleeve as he drew away, his expression regretful.

“This wasn’t well done of me,” he said with a sigh. “I should have left that to your husband, lucky bastard.” Then he flashed his mischievous grin. “But I can’t regret it. God, the way you looked. Surprised. Delighted. I haven’t the words, Mellie, but I was awed.”

She didn’t understand what he was saying until her biological knowledge gave her the facts. That had been an orgasm. Contractions and pleasure—she understood now. Women could take delight in their bodies. That was good to know.

But he was leaving, so she clutched his hand, trying to hold him still. She needed to process what had happened while he explained…and provided more examples.

Many more examples.

“Mellie—”

“Not yet,” she managed. “Don’t leave yet.”

He paused. “You tempt me too much. Do you understand? I’m barely holding onto my honor as it is.”

She did understand, and yet… “This is so new. I want to…”

“Explore more?” he asked.

“Oh yes.”

He chuckled. “Then I must leave. Mellie, I have had too much brandy.” And yet, he lingered and still held her hand. His thumb stroked her skin, and her nipple tightened in memory.

She watched what he did, and she felt her belly tighten again. She licked her lips and heard him groan.

“Mellie—”

“Does that happen every time?”

“With me it does,” he answered, pride in his tone.

“No wonder the ladies flock to you.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I read about you in the society papers. I know you are a favorite. Now I know why.”

She tugged on his hand, and he obliged her by settling on the edge of the bed. She felt his heat against her thigh and idly brushed her fingers through the hair on his forearm. He had such lovely arms. Corded with strength, but still soft enough to stroke.

“The papers have me bedding every female in England. I assure you, that is far from the truth.”

She shrugged. “But I understand it now.”

He sighed, and the sound seemed to come from deep within. “Mellie, I will not debauch you.”

She bit her lip. She wanted to be debauched. How had she lived this long without having that experience?

But the more time passed, the more she knew he was right. She risked everything when he touched her. There were too many things set against her on the marriage mart. She had to be sure to stay a virgin. She knew this, and yet it was so hard to stop touching him.

Then she had a thought. A way to satisfy her curiosity. She rushed the words out before she could stop herself.

“Will you teach me?” she asked.

She felt her words jolt through his body. A jerk of his hand, but a sudden heat in his eyes. “Teach you what?”

“Show me how to do that…to feel that way again. By myself.”

She watched him swallow, and his eyes seemed suddenly bright before his expression closed down. He looked hard and very remote.

“Don’t be angry,” she said, though—God in heaven—she had no idea why she said that.

“I’m not angry,” he said. “I’m trying to hold onto my honor.”

“But—”

“Yes.” The word was hard and clipped, but there was no anger in his face.

“You will?”

“Yes. But not tonight. I’ll… We’ll… Tomorrow night maybe. Or…Jesus.” He rubbed a hand over his face. Then he abruptly straightened and stepped away. He gently disentangled their fingers and left the bed. “Another time, Mellie.”

“But—”

“Not. Tonight.” Then he gave her a stiff, awkward bow and headed for the door. “I—” he began. He shook his head. “Jesus.”

Then he slipped away.

*

Trevor stumbled to his room, his mind reeling. What an undiscovered jewel Mellie was! All men longed for a passionate, responsive wife, but there was no way to tell before the wedding what kind of sexual creature one had married. Most men discovered they’d tied themselves to a frightened virgin who eventually became a cold fish.

Mellie wasn’t that kind of woman. She was sensitive. Good Lord, he’d never seen someone who could come just from nipple play. Add to that her naturally curious mind, and she could become a goddess in the bedroom. It only required some simple encouragement.

Her husband had better not be a clod. What a waste that would be!

He hastily stripped out of his clothes before collapsing naked onto his bed. He couldn’t bear the thought of Mellie with an idiot for a husband. Which was why he’d promised her he’d teach her. If nothing else, he’d make sure she knew how to pleasure herself.

He nearly began her instruction then, except he knew himself. If he got one hand between her thighs, nothing would stop him from completing the deed. He’d embed his cock so deep, she’d never forget him. And he’d surely end up releasing his seed.

He knew that about himself, so he had run from her like an errant coward. He had awakened her to her body’s possibilities then abandoned her.

He released a litany of curses, but it was really a distraction. Easier to damn himself for a fool than to think of the way she’d writhed during her awakening. She had been so shocked, she hadn’t even cried out. He’d heard a gasp and the sweetest mew of delight as her body shot from her control.

He closed his eyes, remembering that moment. He replayed it over and over while he wrapped his hand around his cock. And how ridiculous was this? He hadn’t pleasured himself in years. Even under his current restricted finances, there were always women happy to entertain a future duke. But the idea of any other woman repulsed him.

So he took himself in hand and dreamed of the surprising Mellie. Of her smiling, her eyes languid and her body soft. She was so rarely soft with anyone, but with him, she had sighed in delight and shivered like a newborn colt. She had gripped his shoulders and arched into his caress.

He pictured himself repeating what he had done while slowly spreading her legs. He would slip in, taking his time so that she could adjust to him. She would be virginally tight. She would grip him as he plowed her, and her lips would form that perfect O of delight.

And he would…

While she…

Images flew through his mind, each more graphic than the last. And when he exploded in his hand, it was almost an afterthought. The ideas continued, the thoughts of what he could do with her consuming him. It would take years to accomplish them all, and by that point, he would have thought of some more.

He lay in the bed, his mind drifting through scenarios. And for the first time ever, he allowed himself to contemplate marrying her in truth. Many a man would trade his title for a lifetime of passion between the sheets.

No, that was a lie. Else there would be dozens of courtesans now named Lady This or Countess That. And even if that did happen, could he truly pick his duchess simply on her prowess in bed?

Of course not. He owed more to his family name. Mellie was a cit. He didn’t like the term, but it was appropriate. She could certainly trade her dowry for a title, but his family was neither disgraced nor impoverished. There was no reason for him to stoop to her class for his bride, and every reason to make sure that his wife understood what was required of a duchess.

Mellie did not know these things. And even if she could learn them, there was no escaping the rest: her birth was common, her mother a lunatic, and her father an eccentric. Certainly, he adored both Mellie and her father, but that was no reason to bring them into the family.

The gossips wouldn’t stop with poking at her true history. They would make up all sorts of nonsense, and it would continue every day of their lives, renewed each Season, and brought out with extra imagination on special occasions.

Mellie would crumple under the strain. No woman could handle constant criticism, no matter the training. Besides, he wasn’t anxious to become the man who failed his title.

In short, marrying her wasn’t proper. There were well-founded reasons to marry within one’s class, so as delightful as Mellie was in the bedroom, he could not hurt her so deeply as to subject her to a lifetime of being reviled.

He could not.

He’d never despised being a gentleman more.