Chapter 4 #2
Even as he buried the guttural sounds of this all-consuming lust for her, he absorbed those of her like hungering.
He slanted his lips over hers again and again with such ferocity, his magnificent lover—fully committed to her part as virginal debutante—struggled to keep up.
The evidence of her self-control amidst his lack of restraint grounded Tremaine enough that he managed to make himself exercise greater restraint.
He playfully nipped at her voluptuous lower lip.
“Ah, you kiss like an innocent,” he teased, and she did. It only added to the allure of the game they played.
“I am,” she whispered, and her silvery voice, a shade lower, bespoke the beauty’s desire.
His erection swelled to the point of pain. God, she is perfection. That uncharacteristic, reverent awe for a lover whispered in his lust-filled brain.
“I am your first, then?” he demanded between kisses.
Her extraordinarily long, silken eyelashes fluttered like a butterfly’s wings. “The first and o-only, Captain Jeremy.”
The first and only.
Given the salacious scene she brought to life for him, Tremaine could let the whole Captain Jeremy business fly.
With a growl, Tremaine hiked her enormously ruffled skirt up, baring her legs.
She gasped.
The moment he scooped her under her supple ass, the rest of that breathless exhalation faded to nothing.
Tremaine lifted her and brought one of her remarkably athletic legs about his waist.
His pretend-innocent was a quick study. She wrapped the other graceful limb about him as he’d taught her.
He grunted his approval.
“You love a good ride, do you?” he praised between kisses.
“You know I do, Jeremy.”
He’d always preferred his lady’s legs to be thick for a greater cushion when he fucked. His new lissome lover gave Tremaine a whole new appreciation for a lady with well-sculpted limbs.
Mad with lust, Tremaine rocked his aching shaft against her bare center.
She moaned. “Jeremy.”
He drove her back against the wall.
“You want my kiss,” he demanded between each angry slant of his mouth over hers.
She moaned and tangled her fingers in his hair, gripping him hard, as no virgin ever would.
Even the best actress could only carry the game so far. “Tell me,” he growled. “I’ll have you say it.”
“I want your kiss, please, Jeremy,” she keened.
“How prettily you beg,” he praised, nipping hard at her lower lip.
“Jeremy,” she gasped.
He liked the sound of his name on her lips too much.
“Do not call me Jeremy,” he warned in the tone he’d used to put down three mutinies. “Unless you want me to stop.”
When she didn’t respond, Tremaine stopped making love to her mouth. He sank his fingertips into the supple flesh of her thighs.
His paramour gasped, an exhalation that oozed desire and pain.
“Do you understand me, sweet?”
“Y-yes,” she squeaked, her voice tremulous with fear, passion, or maybe both. “Sh-should I call you C-Captain?”
He stilled and then, tossing his head back, roared with laughter. Lady Featherstone had procured them quite the skilled actress. He’d never had a taste for virgins or virtuous women, which made his sudden fire for the game he played with his bed partner an unexpected aphrodisiac.
His amusement faded as quick as it’d come. “Yes,” he purred. “Call me Captain. I’m your captain.”
Her mouth quivered. She ducked demure eyes. “I’ve always wanted to sail away with you, you know.” Her confession brimmed with bashfulness.
Tremaine buried his face in her neck and sucked and sipped her flesh. “Have you?”
He felt her shaky nod.
Her fingers twined more tightly in his hair, and as he laved and worshipped the long, graceful column, she moaned.
“My f-family would be s-scandalized,” she confessed.
God, she possessed a greater commitment to her part than Sarah Siddons.
“We shan’t tell them,” he vowed, and then raised his head to lay siege to her mouth once more.
This time, when he kissed her, she kissed him in return and with an increasing urgency and skill.
“J-Jeremy,” she panted, opening her mouth to let him inside.
He’d punish her later for her disobedience.
He dashed his tongue against hers.
“Jeremy.”
There it was again, her whisper of his name. This time more insistent.
Perhaps he didn’t mind the sound of it so much, after all.
Tremaine swirled his tongue around hers.
That didn’t matter; he’d still punish the siren for her recalcitrance; they’d both enjoy it immensely.
She shoved her palms against his chest. “Someone is coming!”
“Yes,” he rasped. “Given you’re new to this, I’ll let you come first.” But never again.
The price he’d exact for the gift of putting her release before his own would be brutal. After this night, he’d draw out the enchantress’s pleasure until she physically hurt with her need for release, just as he did now. He’d allow himself two—nay, three—climaxes, and only then would he service—
“You. Aren’t. Listening.”
This time, the lady’s earnestness proved too much. Frustrated, he drew back.
“There is someone here, Jeremy,” she whispered furiously.
There is someone . . .
Ah, yes.
Finally, he registered the delicate tread of footfalls and giggles outside.
“The other member of our party has arrived,” he said sotto voce. And by the sounds of the accompanying voice and footfall, with even more company.
“Our party?” His tempting shepherdess’s blond brows flew to her hairline. “Are you mad? Jeremy, we’ll be discovered.”
His mind dulled by desire, it took a moment to register the great urgency in the young lady’s eyes.
A deuced horrifying realization crept in the very same moment the marquess’s neglected door hinges creaked.
“Tremaine, I am here, and I’ve brought a surprise for us to enjoy.”
He looked in the general direction of the baroness’s sultry voice.
There came a faint but decisive click, indicating his potential mistress had shut the panel behind her.
Tremaine’s gaze went flying back to the flushed, scandalized beauty at his side. Her verdant green irises revealed a shock, horror, and confusion that couldn’t be feigned.
Oh, shite.
His pretend-innocent wasn’t a grand actress, but rather a real-life, flesh-and-blood, goddamned innocent miss.
Tremaine recoiled.
What in hell? He’d been about to fuck a virgin.
The little deceiver made to speak, to give them away.
Was that the game she played?
Swallowing a curse, Tremaine covered her mouth and glared the chit to silence.
Her previously enchantingly pink skin turned pale.
“Not a goddamned word.” He clearly enunciated each of those silent syllables.
“I expect you are cross with me for the delay, Tremaine,” Lady Featherstone called out, a petulant pout in her very much wrong supposition. “You’ll be even more angry when you discover where I’ve been.” She paused. “Or perhaps I should say, what I’ve been doing.”
Whomever she’d arrived with giggled in response.
“I decided to first sample the gift I’d brought you, Tremaine.”
While his tiresome potential paramour prattled on, Tremaine scoured the face of his current partner. The earlier air of familiarity that’d plagued him briefly resurfaced, and he only distantly heard Lady Featherstone’s words.
“I only sought to determine whether Lady Catriona would be worth our efforts, and I assure you, she very much is. You may punish me for climaxing twice before I brought her to you.”
If his mystery lady’s eyes grew any wider, they were going to swallow up her entire face.
The sounds of their repartee grew more distinct, indicating they’d drifted deeper into the art room.
Who the hell is she?
Tremaine didn’t possess a title, but as a marquess’s son and an obscenely wealthy man in his own right, he was ripe for fortune seekers.
The baroness’s already husky contralto sank a shade lower. “I sampled her cunny, but I did you the favor of bringing the lady to you wet and desperate.”
Who the hell is . . . ?
“Tremaine?” Lady Featherstone called out, interrupting his far more important ruminations. Impatience left the lady’s voice pitchy.
“Perhaps you have the wrong room?” Lady Catriona murmured.
“I don’t have the wrong room, you stupid cow.”
His current companion wrinkled her nose.
Tremaine and his mystery lover were alike in regard to the baroness. With such shrewishness, Lady Featherstone put to bed the question Tremaine had come in search of answers to.
She would not be his lover.
He didn’t deal with harridans, even ones who possessed the buxom breasts and ample hips of Lady Featherstone.
As for Lady Catriona, her increased respirations revealed her desire at being so abused.
“You know I made it good for you before, Lady Featherstone. Let us decide who will have Lord Tremaine first,” she panted.
“We shall make one another come. Whichever one of us manages to last the longest shall be declared the winner.”
There came the faint rustle of noisy muslin.
“I can make it good for you again,” Lady Catriona promised huskily.
A tense, heavy silence followed. Moments later, a sucking and suckling commenced. By the soft moans and breathy sighs, the pair of beauties were well underway with their night’s pleasure and oblivious to their audience of two in the corner.
While the debauched beauties pleasured one another, Tremaine remained singularly unmoved.
He’d observed countless women so engaged enough times that this current aside bored the hell out of him.
What he’d not, on the other hand, had the wonder of witnessing was a virtuous young lady being a voyeur to such debauchery.
His earlier questions about the lady’s identity or what she’d been doing were instantly forgotten under the powerful aphrodisiac of an untried woman.
He’d never been one to deny himself anything. Nor did he intend to start now with this enchanting shepherdess—that was, unless she asked it.
But she wouldn’t.
When it came to sex and desire, women were powerless against him. Oh, he wouldn’t ruin her by fucking her, but he would enjoy her. And as a service to the respectable groom she’d undoubtedly wed one day soon, he’d break her in.