“Marcus,” she breathed, her hands reaching for his head.
“Let me taste you,” he murmured, seduction dripping in every word. Heavens. He was wicked—and she reveled in it. His fingers grazed the outside of her knees in teasing circles that made her limbs shake. He turned his face to trail kisses along the inside of her thighs, his tongue darting out to lick. His teeth occasionally biting and nipping and making her jerk in delight.
Her hands lifted above her head and grabbed fistfuls of pillow. She arched, loud, undignified pants escaping her, broken by the occasional yelp.
With a groan, he crawled above her and latched on to her nipple. She felt the perfect prod of his cock against her barrierless sex. He teased her there, tormenting her. Not yet penetrated. His eyes looked up at her, devilish and taunting.
“Marcus, please,” she begged.
“Please, what?” he murmured, his mouth talking around the aching nipple he was working with his tongue, lips and teeth.
“Oh, you’re a wicked man.”
He flicked her nipple with his tongue. “Please, what?”
“Take me.”
“You’re going to have to be clearer with your words, Your Grace.”
She didn’t even care at the designation. Not then. Not with her body tightened like a bow beneath him.
“Marcus,” she complained again, writhing . . . at a loss.
He moved to her other breast, sucking the nipple deep into his mouth as his hand came up to squeeze the other one, his finger and thumb clamping down on the distended peak. She screamed, coming up off the bed as she flew apart. “What. Are. You. Doing. To. Me?” A hot breath punctuated every word as her entire body convulsed.
He moved then, sliding down her body and dropping between her splayed legs. His mouth covered her, drinking her climax deep. She jerked, startled at the sensation of his mouth on her.
“Say it,” he prodded, bucking harder against her aching core, grinding his manhood against her sex. “Oh, you’re soaking, sweetheart.”
Heat flamed her face at his words.
His mouth continued its assault between her legs, sucking at the little nub of pleasure hidden there, taking it deep into his mouth until she forgot everything. Her name, her title—real or false.
She cried out, her fingers clawing through his hair as his hands slid under her, gripping her backside and pulling her closer to his face. He pulled her to his mouth, sucking her between his lips, savoring her with hard licks.
He continued to taste her, drowning in her, it seemed. It would be mortifying . . . if it didn’t feel so amazingly good. The tension began again, throbbing in her core and twisting throughout her. She started to shake and rock against his questing tongue. He settled deeper between her thighs, adjusting his hands under her bottom and lifting her higher for him. The torment was endless and yet not nearly enough.
The wicked man feasted on her. She screamed and cried out . . . aware that the entire household could likely hear her. They would know what the duke was doing to her. Still, it did not stop the sounds from tearing from her throat. That was a physical impossibility as long as he continued his sensual assault.
Her fingers clenched in his hair as he increased his mouth’s pressure, his tongue playing with her sensitive flesh until she was senseless, tears leaking from her eyes as he hurled her back into the heavens again.
She cried out, pushing into his mouth wantonly and without shame.
Then he added his hand to the mix. As he thrummed his tongue over that tiny pleasure bud nestled in her sex, he slid a finger inside her, pushing deep and hard, curling inward in a way that made her come out of her skin and scream his name.
“That’s it, Alyse. Say it. Tell me what you need.”
He established a rhythm, pushing and pulling in and out of her body, playing her like an instrument.
She released a muffled screech, convulsing all around him, coming apart yet again, her channel tightening around his finger.
He lifted his body up. She still shook from the impact, clinging to his shoulders. His devilishly satisfied eyes locked on to hers in the darkness. “I’m still waiting to hear it from you, Alyse.”
She stared back at him, her heart pound like a drum in her chest. “W-waiting for what?”
“For you to say what you want.” His eyes locked on her, encouraging, willing her to let go and embrace this thing between them.
“I,” she started and moistened her lips. Lifting her chin, she finally said the words he was waiting to hear. “I want you to make love to me, Marcus.”
A slow smile spread across his features.
As he came over her, she welcomed him into her body, gasping as he sank deep inside her ready heat. She reveled in the moment, wrapping her thighs around his hips and scraping her nails down his back and telling herself it would be enough for the lonely years to come. The glorious memory of this would be enough.
It had to be.
Chapter 23
Her cage was gone. But she felt unchanged just the same. Trapped as always.
He wasn’t in bed with her when she woke. He was gone. Again. She shoved aside the hurt. It made things easier after all.
She dressed herself quickly and repacked her valise. On her way downstairs she bumped into Helen, the kitchen maid who made their dinner last night. She carried a tray laden with food in her hands. She blinked and looked Alyse up and down, not missing the fact that she was dressed for the outdoors in her cloak and boots and carrying her valise in her hand.
“Good morning, Your Grace. Your husband said I should bring breakfast up to you this morning.”
Alyse stopped one step above her and perused the tray, ignoring how odd it felt to be addressed in such a manner. She selected a delicious-looking iced bun the size of her head off the tray. “Thank you. This looks scrumptious.”
“You’re welcome, Your Grace.” The maid glanced inquiringly at her bag clutched in her hand. “Could I help you with something . . .” Her voice faded away suggestively. Clearly she was curious as to what Alyse was about.
She forced a bright smile. “No, thank you. I am quite well.” She wiggled her bun in the air. “This is all I need. Thank you for this. I’m sure I will quite enjoy it.” Bestowing another smile on the bewildered-looking girl, she stepped around her and descended the stairs.
Once outside she made haste for the stables, hurriedly devouring her bun and eyeing the grounds for a glimpse of Marcus. This would be easier to do if she didn’t have to see him. Easier on her aching heart.
In the stables, she set her bag aside and went in search of her mule.
There were other horses, of course. Bucky was missing and she assumed that Marcus had taken him to do whatever errand he was about. She knew any of the other horses would be faster than her mule. But that didn’t feel right. It almost felt like a trial to pick another horse at this point. The mule was hers. She didn’t feel like a thief taking it. Taking another horse would make her feel like she was sneaking off with something that didn’t belong to her.
She saddled the mule and secured her valise. Fortunately he was small enough she didn’t even need the mounting block.
The mule felt like an old friend. After his customary greeting nip of her flesh, they settled into a familiar routine. He plodded along at a snail’s pace. Only without Marcus to lead, the mule would occasionally slow to a complete stop and stare off into the tree line. She would have to do everything just to get him moving again.
At this rate it would take a year to reach London. She sighed, wondering if she should have taken one of the horses in Marcus’s stables, after all, whether it felt like stealing or not.