Page 24 of A Most Improper Duchess
How to explain? Sex, fucking, bodies rutting, desire, none of it held any mystery for her. She was no maid. It was far from her first time. It wasn’t even her first time with Arley. But never had she felt so stretched and exposed, so completely vulnerable, her heart ripping itself from her body as if magnetised to him. She’d never loved, truly loved, in a way that might destroy her.
‘Je t'aime.’ It came out hoarse, her voice as rough as the meaning soft. ‘Je t'aime.’
Arley took a slow breath, then stole her promise with his lips. ‘Je t'aime,’ he whispered. ‘From the moment I saw you.’
As she lowered herself onto his shaft and welcomed him into her body, Arley gritted out a clenched groan. He held her tight against him, his heavy sigh coursing and melding them. Thighs tightening, she rose along his length, then lowered herself, enjoying his deepness, the sensation of his hardness in her, but most of all, the flutter of his eyelids as he tipped his head back and grunted to the ceiling.
‘Do you ever fake your pleasure?’ he asked, then nipped her lips.
Vivianne rolled her hips, then settled lower. Her bottom rested against his thighs. ‘Fake?’
‘Pretend. Make the right noises.’ As if embarrassed, he hid his mouth close to her ear. ‘Do you pretend to orgasm?’
‘You are as fragile as a petal.’ Vivianne rose again, and this time, thumped down hard against him. He shuddered as he dug his fingers into her hips. ‘Not with you. Not yet.’
She had meant it as a deflection, a jest, but Arley tensed. He grasped her chin and drew her face close. ‘Never with me.Compris?’
For a moment, she wanted to shrink. To roll her body from him, to bend from his intensity and hide. But he held her chin tight, his blue eyes searching, pleading.
She nodded. ‘Never, my love. Never.’
No caring, no performance, only jolts and thrusts, they bucked and swayed with the train’s momentum. Arley braced her as they slowed to cross a bridge, and he guided her to closeness as they arced into a sweeping bend. Vivianne rested her arms on his shoulders and teased her fingers through his hair, drank his lips, all while riding him hard as she chased her own pleasure and release. Even his grunts fell away, and when he pinched her nipple, and bit her ear, she thrummed against him, faster, until she tipped her head back and howled at the ceiling.
‘Shhh,’ he half laughed as he smothered her cry with a kiss. ‘People will hear.’
‘I don’t care.’ The last of her own perfect storm eased, and spent of her own energy, she sought him, kissed him and held her thighs taunt as he thrust into her. ‘Again. Make me come again. Finish with me.’
Arley pushed his hand between them, stroked her clitoris, moving his hand deftly in time with her body’s movements. As they knocked against each other, he groaned her name and gripped her body to hold it in one place before pummelling into her with unrestrained abandon. She cried out as another wave rose and washed over her, and releasing her hold on him, she surrendered into his hold as he gripped her. Vivianne arched back, presented her body for his feasting, and let her arms hang limp by her side as he sunk into her with a few heavy, concentrated thrusts.
How could such pleasure come from one man?Mon Dieu, he was exquisite.
The air in the carriage cloyed, and as she blinked herself into awareness, all she could smell was humid muskiness. The windows perspired as thin snaking beads trailed lines down the glass. She kissed a matching droplet from his forehead.
A faint tap came at the door. ‘Is something wrong in there?’
Vivianne snuffled a cry of surprise, and hunched against Arley, who wrapped his arms around her.
‘Nothing is amiss. On your way,’ he said.
He sounded so bold, so authoritative, that she had to lean back and take him in again.
‘What is that voice?’ she asked with half a grin. ‘One minute you are a mouse, and now, a lion.’
‘Just my voice.’ He tugged her close against him and stroked her hair. ‘Oh, Vivianne. I can’t wait to bring you home.’
Chapter Thirteen
Notyet.Justnotquite yet.
Vivianne sat perched on the edge of the seat as she peered out the window. She rocked easily with the hackney’s roll, even though Arley felt every bump.
The last two days had been exquisite torture. They’d travelled by train to the coast, then caught the steamer from Calais to Dover, before catching another train to St Pancras. Amid the bustle, he’d found a cab, and hauled Vivianne and her small bag inside. The entire time, he expected someone to recognise him and spoil his surprise, but somehow, they’d managed the entire trip.
It had likely helped that they barely left the cabin on the steamer. The more he had her, the more times he lost himself in her body or held her against him as she slept, the more of her he wanted. A lifetime would not be enough. Her light, her laughter, her playfulness. Her everything.
Should he tell her now, by the park? No, not just yet. When Number 10 came into view. Then, he’d tell her.
Vivianne sat composed, her head occasionally turning as they passed a tall building, or a gathering on the street. Her fingers tangled into each other, and occasionally bunched her burgundy skirt. It was the nicer of the two dresses she’d brought with her. Soon, he’d give her an entire wardrobe. Jewellery, gloves, hats. Anything she wanted.
