Page 40 of Unmasked by the Marquess
She played along. She was practiced at playacting, after all. A veritable expert at deceit, his Robin was. “Of course, Lord Pembroke. Come to my study.”
She must have been out riding, because she was wearing riding clothes, and her hair was even more disordered than usual. Now that he had seen the body underneath the clothes, he couldn’t walk behind her without his gaze straying to her legs, her hips, the curve of her arse.
They made it all the way there without dropping the facade. It wasn’t until Alistair himself had turned the key in the door behind them that they even touched one another.
And then she did actually launch herself at him, and he was glad of it. “You vile bastard,” she said, covering his face with kisses. “Where were you?”
“Shropshire.” He scooped her up against him and then, realizing he had better things to do with his hands, pushed her against the wall, caging her in with his body and running his hands all over her—the nip of her waist, the small of her back, the slight swell of her breasts. He wanted to be touching all of her at once. Kissing her, possessing her.Madness.
“I was beginning to fear you meant to spend the rest of the season in the country.”
So had he, for that matter. “I had to think.” He kissed her ear, her neck, the tip of her nose. Her freckles seemed to have multiplied in the last week.
She rubbed her face along his jaw, which he supposed meant she wasn’t too cross with him. “You couldn’t think in London?”
No, he quite plainly could not. He had come here to behave respectably, and now look at him. He was grabbing fistfuls of her shirt, crudely shoving aside waistcoat and riding jacket, all to get to her skin, and this while only a few yards away, a roomful of ladies and gentlemen sipped tea. “There are other things I do in London,” he said, before taking her mouth in a kiss.
She tasted like lemons and sugar and he couldn’t get enough. He stroked his tongue along her lower lip, her teeth, her tongue. And she kissed him back relentlessly, like they were having a contest to see which of them could do the most kissing. The thought crossed his mind that they were on the road to total dishevelment, and that he had no strategy for retying the cravat she was currently mangling in her hands, but then she wrapped her legs around his back and he found that he lost even that scruple.
He slid his hands under her backside, bringing her closer against him, making her feel how much he wanted her, how thoroughly lost to all standards he was. He needed her to know how being around her made him lose that part of himself, because maybe she would understand why he had to go through with his purpose in coming here. Maybe even he would understand.
But she made a soft and needy sound, and his thoughts scattered like pigeons startled by a cat. There was nothing outside the four walls of this room and maybe there never had been. There was only Robin moaning when he let his hand settle between her legs.
He had never, not even as a young man, not even in his wildest fantasies, allowed himself to conjure up anything so arousing, anything so utterly indecent as this. Breeches and riding coat, unkempt hair and unbound breasts.
“Too many clothes,” he managed to say.
“Do you mean to undress? I won’t complain.”
“I mean to undress you, because I can’t figure out how to properly fuck you otherwise.” He knew she liked it when he swore. He was truly far gone.
Her eyes darkened and her face assumed a dangerous expression. “Is that a challenge?”
“It’s whatever you want it to be as long as I’m inside you in the next thirty seconds.”
She turned to face the wall and pushed her breeches below her hips. He could see the curve of her arse below the hem of her coat and his cock throbbed with need. He unfastened the minimum number of buttons necessary to take out his cock, then rubbed it between her legs, sliding it along her wet warmth. His hips settled against the softness of her backside, and she braced her hands on the wall to steady herself against his movement.
She shot him a sly glance over her shoulder. “You said thirty seconds.”
He gave her a quick, hard kiss before tugging her hips back and thrusting into her. He groaned at the sensation of tight warmth surrounding him, holding still for a long, grateful moment. This arrangement didn’t allow for much movement. Her legs were bound by her breeches and he couldn’t quite position his own legs between them. But the way their movement was hampered only heightened his need. She was rocking her hips onto him in rhythm with his thrusts. Inspired, he shoved the coat and shirttails away so he could watch the place where they joined. Every time his cock disappeared into her flesh she gave a small, satisfied moan.
“You like this,” he said, pointing out the obvious. She liked the feel of him inside her.
“So much,” she said. “So much. I thought about it all week.” She took one of her hands from the wall and slid it down to where he entered her, circling his erection and then stroking herself. He brought one of his own hands to join hers, so she could teach him to touch her the way she touched herself. So light, barely any pressure, only the tip of a finger tracing small circles around that one bud of nerves.
When she came, he felt her tighten around him, and that was enough to bring on his climax. He pumped hard into her, and she had to use both arms to brace herself and take his thrusts. He managed to withdraw in time to spill into his handkerchief, but still he didn’t step away from her.
“I came back for a reason.” His mouth was against her ear. “Marry me, Robin.”
She must have misunderstood. “Excuse me?” Her body had gone stiff, the last lingering traces of her climax chased away by his words.
“Marry me. You’re familiar with how it works? Church, vows, ring.”
And here she had thought him a reasonable, prudent person. “That’s mad.” She pulled up her breeches and wriggled away from his grasp.
“It’s the right thing for us to do.” He looked so bloody solemn she wanted to slap him.
She felt her face heat. “Fuck your right thing to do. I don’t want any part of your righteousness. I don’t want to be your goddamned good deed, either.” She balled her fists at her sides. “Marry you, my arse. Go home, Alistair, and sleep it off. You wouldn’t be the first man to make hasty offers after a tumble. You’ll think more clearly in the morning.”
