Page 19 of A Most Improper Duchess
Arley didn’t think he’d ever undressed so fast in all his life.
Vivianne’s golden hair, all tousled and loose ringlets, like it had been brushed by the wind, trailed over one shoulder. Little wisps tickled his skin as she kissed him, kissed his neck, licked the depression below his Adam’s apple, then circled his nipple with her tongue.
‘Were you dreaming of me, Arley?’
Her tongue traced a slick line through his centre. She nipped at a slight softness around his stomach, then grazed her teeth across the indentation between there and his hips. He pushed back against the pillows and let a hum buzz his lips, the tingle a mirror to the purr she sent through him.
‘Every night since I first saw you. And each day feels like a dream too.’ He could barely give the words voice, but she had spoken her truth to him. He was not ready to tell her everything, but he could tell her that. To let himself be vulnerable. It seemed only fair he give her back a little of that power.
Her light pink tongue flicked, and she shuffled herself to the side and scooped her hair over her shoulder so that it cascaded behind her like a tumble of spun sunlight. On all fours at an angle to himself, her toes peeked over the edge of the mattress. The expanding morning light showed the silhouette of her body beneath her chemise.
‘Are you always so quiet?’ She trailed her tongue along his shaft. His cock jerked in reflex to the sensation.
‘Measured,’ he scratched out, even as her tongue circled his knob. ‘Controlled. All the time.’
‘You will not be measured this morning,’ she said.
Her hand wrapped around his cock, and he arched into her palm, and when she took him into her mouth, his whole body groaned. He propped himself up a little to watch. Her tongue flicked at the crest of his knob, before she took him deeper into her mouth, and a stroking hand met her lips.
Arley sat up a little more. The sight of her teasing mouth wrapped around him sent another jolt of wicked pleasure. Like the kiss in the park, she was giving herself, freely, and he wanted to be with her and to give her pleasure in return. And perhaps he was not ready to have the balance between them settled. He stroked her back, brushed his palm over the delicate curve of her spine, and over her taut arse. Bunching the chemise to one side, he slipped his hand between her thighs.
‘Dear heavens. You shave?’
She released his cock from her mouth. ‘All the dancers do.’ And she took him into her mouth again.
No stiffness about fucking, no faux formality, just lust and sweat and desire. She rolled her hips as he stroked her wetness, her moan rippling through him as her head gently bobbed with the movement. He slid a finger inside of her, pulsed into her body, found the rhythm of her body and settled into the synchrony. He stroked the slight roughness of her intimate stubble, then teased at her, before plunging his fingers into her body again. But it was not enough. He wanted more.
He rolled her slightly, so that they lay side to side, and Vivianne did not release him from her mouth, only gave a muffled squawk against the motion. His stomach pressed into her chest, and the lovely small mounds of her breasts and hard nipples indented his skin. Grasping her thighs, wrestling her damned chemise aside, wishing he’d demanded she shred it as she’d stripped him, he pulled her close and pressed his mouth to her sex.
Bodies entwined, her thighs pressed against his cheek, she rolled against him. Salt, tang, sweat, sweetness, lust, woman and heaven, he licked, and supped as famished as she had been the night before. He teased her delicate nub, tasted it, drew it into his mouth and suckled, as if drinking her down, like she could quench the uncertainty and unease he always carried in him. Her moans rippled tremors of energy. He felt like every part of him was caught in the storm of her passion, and it battered every bit of him, even as she sent the most unparalleled bliss through him. Her body writhed against his, her thighs clasped his ears so tight that he could barely hear her moans, only feel them vibrate through his chest. All he could see was her skin, the cleft of her arse, and the rumpled edge of the sheets. He inhaled a breath of her, then fucked her with his tongue. She smelt of want, and desperate need, and abandon. From his cock to her mouth, from her chest to his stomach, from her thighs to his mouth, and the sweet heaven of her cunt, they formed a chain of lust and longing made of the most wicked abandon. Arley teased his tongue until he found her nub again. No, not nub, nothing so short and crude, her clitoris, a beautiful word shared between their languages, like it had been made for this moment. Her gentle firmness pitted his tongue, her flavour an elixir.
He could stay locked in this moment forever. Arley dipped into her again, her sweet heaven coating his tongue. She thrust a little, her mouth riding his cock, sucking tighter, taking him a little deeper.
He craved her, even as he pleasured her, he wanted to impress her and wipe away the memory of any other man. He wanted to make her feel good. He’d spent his life immersed in morals and rules, a sentinel of proper behaviour, as a damn patron to a society that turned gossip into a virtue. Now consumed and saturated by her, the freedom of the past few days surged and melted into the moment. Encased with practical, base desires, he flicked his tongue against her clitoris, suckled it, nipped her, just a little, eager to learn, to feel what she liked and to do it again and again. He wanted to feel her scream against his cock, and he wanted to shout his muffled ecstasy into her body.
Her body pinched a little as a tremor shuddered through her, but just as he went to plunge his tongue into her again, she disentangled herself from him, dragged her chemise over her head and flung it to the floor. She turned to grip the bedpost, her back to him, her knees apart.
‘Baise-moi,’ she ordered over her shoulder. Fuck me.
‘I cannot pay…’ he stammered, even as his cock twitched in rebellion against him.
She fixed him with a look that was half lust, half fury. ‘Baise-moi,’ she repeated. ‘Now.’
Arley crawled the length of the bed, drinking in her nakedness, before tasting the back of her thigh, licking the top of her cleft and kissing the line of her spine, mouthing each vertebra, he imprinted the texture of her skin on his tongue, melding her scent, taste and sensation into a fluid memory. Moans, like little mews of delight, tumbled from her lips. He breathed her scent of jasmine and sweat, licked the salt from her nape, and kissed her till he was drunk, catching snippets of her mouth as she curved to his body. He took her hips, aligned himself to her wetness then plunged into her as deep as he dared. A stream of garbled French spliced with groans and gasps filled the air. He tried to catch her words with his kisses, a mix of street slang alien to him and words he knew, most of all,Je veux plus, she groaned, over and again, andJe te veux.
I want more.
I want you.
Oui, oui, oui.
Somewhere between losing himself in her groans as much as his own, he heard her demand, ‘Louder, Arley. Shake down the walls.’
She tensed and her thighs clenching against him as she cried out, as if she had only aching moans left in her vocabulary. Arley fell into the essence of her, his climax rebounding through him, and as her trembling met his, he groaned, at first biting his lips as he always did, forcing restraint into every moment of his life, before he released it, and let himself be loud, like she wanted. He threw back his head and half howled her name, and in reply, she amplified, her shouts of harder, faster, louder melding with his own. Who cared if he was heard? Who would gossip about a liaison between a no name clerk and a ballerina? He was just a man, lost in the body of a beautiful woman.
She bent slightly, eased back against him, and he pushed deeper and spent as she trembled. She jerked with energy, her release the twin to his. He’d never felt so in sync with another. Never felt so connected, so raw. Fucking had always been primal, a physical necessity, the quenching of a base desire. As Vivianne arched, her body relaxing, he clasped her hips and pushed just a little deeper to hold the ecstasy a little longer. Everything about her felt different to anything he’d known before.
But beneath the pulsation of release, the ebb of desire, the satisfaction of seeing her posed before him in total surrender, the gift of her body stirred something else. A feeling that had been there from the first time he’d made her laugh, had grown as she’d shown him her city, and with it, herself.
