Page 46 of A Whisper of Desire
He didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know how to tell her that she would be no more important to him than Priscilla, and God help her if she was. He’d never let himself fall in love. His father’s slide into debauchery started when he fell in love with Maitland’s mother.
“Perhaps your words have merit. I’ll talk with her after we catch our villain. There is no point upsetting her before she returns to The Vyne. This is her first trip to London in ten years.”
“You’re very kind, do you know that?” She studied him for a minute, then undid the sash holding her robe closed and let it drop to the floor. “If you are not in love with her, or any other woman, why is it you find it so easy to resist me?”
Ah, he began to understand the background to this conversation. “I don’t find it easy to resist you.” How could she think that? The vision before him would tempt the devil to give up sinning. It was only his tight hold on his self-control that stopped him from tasting her passion every minute of every day.
She ran her hands over her body. Maitland drew in a sharp breath at the alluring sight. She was so beautiful.
The picture of beauty before him turned him into a slave caught in her thrall. He couldn’t stop his response, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he moved closer. “Your breasts are perfect.” He reached out and trailed a finger over the gentle slope of one unblemished breast, circling her pink nipple, which pebbled beautifully at his touch, before his hand fully cupped the plump pertness.
He gently squeezed and she shuddered.
His blood, which had fired as soon as he’d entered her bedchamber, was now pumping hot and fast in his veins. It was Wednesday, three days since their wedding. Every three days was the rigid routine he’d set for himself. His schedule was torture when married to a woman as beautiful and as sensual as Marisa.
They stood looking at each other, her eyes challenging him, clearly wanting, needing, this as badly as he did. Maitland inwardly groaned, stepping closer so that his robe brushed the tips of her breasts. His hands skimmed her hourglass figure, her slim waist, her full hips, and stroked over her rounded buttocks, cupping the globes to pull her fully against him.
Fighting his desire was futile. In this moment his pretense at a restrained sexual schedule was ripped to pieces; there was only need, want, overwhelming all the reasons why he should restrain from falling under her spell.
On tiptoes she eagerly gave him her lips. She consumed his tongue in scorching intensity, claiming his mouth as she claimed every one of his senses. All reason fled from his mind, and for once he let passion take hold. Want poured over him and he didn’t try to shake it off.
Her hands made short work of removing his robe. The feel of her fingers dancing over his skin was like kisses from heaven. Glorious in its innocence, yet molten in its effect.
He drew back, wanting to drink in her beauty, to grab some semblance of control before his desire ran wild.
This was insanity to give in to his base desires, especially with a woman who lived in his house, whose room was next to his. A woman he had unlimited access to. But Marisa excited him so deeply that he was past caring.
He lowered his head to claim her mouth, wresling control from her. She tilted her head back and parted her lips wide to receive his burning kisses, returning them with all ofherfire.
To his surprise, she broke their kiss. They stood so close their naked chests were touching as they both gulped in deep breaths.
“You are in my boudoir, I’m in charge here, and I believe we should practice my role as I’ll have to play it tonight.” Her smile was deliberately provocative. “Unless coming will hinder your performance later tonight.”
Hinder his performance? Christ, he had only to look at her anytime, day or night, and he was hard for her.
Swearing silently, Maitland cursed himself for being a fool. He’d married the one woman who it seemed could dissolve his self-discipline at will. After only a few days he was obsessed with his own wife. With her vibrant beauty, her joy of life, her determination to embrace this marriage, and her defiant spirit, how was he, a mere mortal, expected to deny her? She was a temptress who made him ache with desire. The first woman in more than ten years who could drive him so wild that his rigid self-denial, his ironclad control, evaporated like rain in a sun-drenched desert.
Now he faced his greatest mistake and knew he could never give her up. Somehow he would have to learn how to control his need for her, or there was a real possibility he would fall into his father’s dark, debauched pattern of destruction. Knowing the pain and suffering his father’s sexual compulsions caused, he would not let himself become addicted to his baser needs. He would not turn into a rutting beast like his father.
“I’d like to practice so that I may not look a gauche fool. I don’t know why you’re hesitating, I’m sure you’ll instruct me so that you’ll enjoy it,” she whispered in his ear in that low, sultry voice that tied him in knots and saw him harden to the point of pain.
Composing his features in a mask, he tried to distance his inner self from Marisa. Perhaps if he treated her like a stranger, he could just about keep a rein on his conflicted emotions. He forced himself to remain immobile, even as she fumbled with the placard of his breeches. He breathed deeply, trying to placate the pounding blood in his veins.
There was no way to hide his response. Marisa’s questing fingers soon found the head of his erection. Her fleeting touch saw his insides quiver. When she ran her pink tongue over her lips, he almost fell to his knees.
His heart thudded frantically in his chest when she drew open the fabric to expose his already seeping cock. He had to fist his hands at his sides to stop from forcing her to her knees when, with a tempting smile, she closed her caressing fingers around the base of his pulsing arousal.
Her hand worked magic upon him, slowly sliding up and down the length of him while she placed scorching kisses over his chest. How she teased him, and all he could think about was where her hot, wet mouth would soon be. He didn’t care if his life ended minutes later, he had to feel her wrap those soft lips around his pulsing cock.
As if reading his thoughts, she slowly sank to her knees and he praised God. He had to close his eyes. The sight of her on her knees, intently studying his cock, almost made him spill his seed, and she hadn’t even put her mouth near him.
Marisa swiped a finger over his weeping slit and he heard her taste.
“A bit salty.”
He pried one eye open, only to quickly shut it as he saw her begin to lean closer. Marisa’s lips pressed kisses along his throbbing shaft, while her fingers continued to stroke him. He jerked and let out a groan as her lips found his sensitive head. She pulled back.
“Is that wrong?”
