Page 26 of Loving a Beast of a Marquess
She should have run. Now, there was still a chance for her to go. The Marquess didn’t hold her here—she was free to leave whenever she chose. She didn’t have to remain and submit to whatever advances he wished to make.
She didn’t have to kiss him. But she made no move to go, and when he bent, that hand still caressing her cheek and pressed his mouth against hers, she kissed him back.
ChapterEleven
Evangeline was kissing the Marquess.
Not just that—she was kissing the Marquess in his dressing room while he wore nothing but a robe. Some distant part of her mind screamed at her to retreat while she had some part of her dignity, but the part of her that was dominated by the soft press of the Marquess’ mouth against hers paid no heed.
Although there had been some anger in him before they had kissed, his hands were gentle as they explored the back of her neck and up into her hair. His lips, too, were gentle, opening her mouth with a practiced motion. The first brush of his tongue against hers made her shiver.
Just like that strange man in the garden, the Marquess knew how to kiss her in a way that made her knees weak. Her body responded to him in a rush of sensation that sent her hands pressing against his chest.
He stopped and pulled away. “Evangeline—”
Really, he should be calling her ‘Lady Evangeline’, but considering their current situation, she wasn’t in a position to quibble.
“Kiss me again,” she whispered, the shock at her words mirroring the shock on his face. “I just want—” This time, his kiss wasn’t soft. It was hungry, devouring her in a blaze of heat that ignited the flame in her stomach and roared through her veins. Desire was a visceral thing, she discovered, and it awakened to the smell of him and the taste of him. He ran a hand down her back, sending quivering sensations in his wake, and pressed her body against his.
And finally, she was touching him, the length of his body against hers, his hand maintaining its pressure on her back. This time, when she reached out and felt the broadness of his shoulders under his robe, he didn’t stop her. He didn’t stop her when she turned her attention to his chest, and to the sliver of skin that showed through the material. It had an odd texture under her fingers, but she found she didn’t mind it.
The Marquess shivered and gripped her a little tighter. Evangeline didn’t mind—the closer she was, the better. She wanted to be closer as though somehow by pressing herself against him more firmly, she could satiate the ache that was blooming between her legs.
She shifted, aligning her hips more securely against his, and as she did so, she became aware of a rod that pressed against her stomach. It twitched with her every movement as though she were somehow fueling it. And although she didn’t know precisely what it was or what it did, instinct had her grinding against it.
The Marquess gave a low, rough laugh. “Do you know what you’re doing, Evangeline?” The answer to that was perfectly clear: she had no idea what she was doing. But this felt good enough that she never wanted to stop—and why should she stop when he looked at her like that as though he had never seen a woman before—as though she was the only thing that existed in his world.
“Please,” she said though she hardly knew what she was begging for.More. She wanted that unfurling pleasure to bloom, for it to increase until she knew nothing except her body’s song. “Please, My Lord.”
“Call me Zachary,” he said, picking her up, one hand under her backside and the other wrapped around her back. That robe fluttered loose behind him as he strode into his bedroom and deposited her on the bed. She was on the Marquess’ bed.
“Tell me now,” he said even as he climbed over her. “Tell me you want me to stop.” Once again, it sounded as though he was trying to persuade himself. “Tell me we should not.”
“We should not,” she whispered, and he froze. “But I want to.”
With a groan, he bent down and kissed her again. This time, pressed against the bed with the weight of his body on her, the ache was more insistent, growing with every sweep of his tongue against hers. She wanted to be free of her dress, of every layer so she could feel him against her skin.
No—
The thought was brushed aside as he cupped a hand over her breast and traced her pebbled nipple. Even through her dress, the bolt of sensation was enough to make her moan. Never had such a noise escaped her mouth before, but judging by the way his hand tightened on her breast, and his hips ground into hers, he liked it.
“You are a temptress,” he muttered, kissing down the side of her face to her neck. She had never known how very sensitive the skin there could be, and his mouth was so very hot. When he flicked his tongue across her throat, she writhed under him.
“Zachary,” she moaned, and at the sound of his name, he cursed under his breath and ran his hands up her skirts. First, he paid attention to her ankles then skimmed his fingers across her knees. Finally, as she thought she might combust from the strength of her want, he reached her thighs. A little higher and he might reach where she needed. A little higher.
“Zachary,” she gasped, lifting herself onto her elbows to look at him. He had the look of a fallen god as he looked up at her, blue eyes alive and dark with pleasure, his thin mouth quirked into a half-smile at her face, his brown hair damp and plastered to his temples. His robe was open at the front now, and his muscles moved under his ruined skin as he shifted. And if she looked just a little further down, she might encounter—
“Do you like this?” he asked, those fingers skating closer to the precious place between her legs. “What would you like, Evangeline?”
“I don’t know,” she breathed, letting her head fall back. She wasn’t sure quite what satiating the ache would entail, but she wanted it—she needed it. “Please, Zachary.”
He chuckled and trailed one finger through the slickness at her core. The rush of pleasure was enough that she gripped her fingers in the sheets. “How about this?”
“I—” Her eyes rolled in the back of her head as he did it again, and her breath caught. “Please.”
“More?”
Yes. No. She was caught between the compulsion of her body and the warning tolling in her mind that she should not be doing this. That the Marquess—Zachary—of all people should not have access to her body in this forward, utterly inappropriate way.
