“Marena.” It was a supplication, a question with no answer. He pressed his nose to the apex at her thighs, breathing in her scent as she ran her hands through his hair.
“Please. I need you,” she pleaded, her voice hoarse, and he felt addled by it. His control edged out by the need to possess her. He had no idea what had caused her change of heart, but he would not be foolish enough to question it. With his eyes locked on hers, he slid up the chemise, over her knees, then her thighs, until the fistfuls of linen, lace and silk were bunched up against her waist. He pressed his nose into the soft brown curls and inhaled deeply, drunk on her.
Arlo enjoyed sex and could draw satisfaction from giving and receiving pleasure, but this urgency, this all-consuming need, was a revelation.
“I want to do unspeakable things to you with my tongue,” he muttered, lips already pressed to the thatch of hair at the juncture of her thighs.
“I’m very keen to let you,” she gasped. “I’m curious to know what skills a gentleman rake acquires to earn that title.”
He didn’t speak another word, already engaged in the task at hand. He grazed his lips to her mons. Something between a moan and a hiss escaped her lips as he explored her.
“You’re torturing me,” she groused, tugging on the hair at his nape.
He clicked his tongue as he used his thumbs to lay her bare to him.
“Beautiful.” His mouth watered with the need to taste her. “And so wet for me.”
She glistened, beads of liquid beckoning his tongue. He applied himself to the work of tasting her as if he were aiming for the highest marks. He lapped at her cunt like it was coated in honey. The tip of his tongue circled and flicked her hardened nub until her moans turned into frantic cries. Her hand was fisted in his hair, keeping him pressed to her pussy. God, but he loved how demanding she was.
“More,” she begged, and he obliged, desperate now to taste her crisis, the nectar of her passion flooding his mouth and his senses. He used one hand to hold her open to him, tongue lashing into her, and pressed two fingers inside.
“Ahh...yes, fill me up.” Arlo thought he’d known passion, that he’d done all there was to do. But that was before Marena. He thrust in his fingers as she demanded more of him. Her hips undulated, seeking her climax.
“Yes, use me, love. Take your pleasure,” he coaxed, circling the pads of his fingers against her clitoris.
“I’m so close,” she hissed, making him redouble his efforts. He used his thumb on that little button, making her keen against him. He tasted and caressed her until she was too sensitive for his touch. His mind swirled with a million thoughts. He wanted to pick her up and take her against the wall. He wanted to stay right here until she let him worship her with his mouth again. He wanted… more. More of her body, of her time.
But Marena had already told him what she was protecting herself from, and he would not be his father. To have more of her would mean changing the rules he’d set for himself. It felt like too much, too soon, and yet he could not stop himself from wanting it.
When he felt her nails softly scraping his scalp, he looked up, and the satisfied smile on her lips melted away his fretting. He had her here now.
“I hope I lived up to my reputation,” he said, feigning a smugness he did not quite feel.
“So far, I am moderately impressed.” She smiled mischievously at his sound of protest and bent for a quick kiss. Arlo had always wondered about men who lost their heads, squandered fortunes, ruined their names, lost their lives chasing after a woman. He’d thought them foolish and callow, but now he knew he’d engage in unmitigated recklessness to keep those blazing brown eyes on him.
“Moderately,” he muttered as he gripped that backside which was already an obsession. “That kind of cheek will only achieve making us even later for dinner.” She laughed, and it quickly turned into a breathy gasp when he began applying small bites and kisses to the soft skin of her belly before making his way up to her breasts. He kissed one, then the other as she made encouraging sounds. He placed his lips to the hollow of her throat, going higher and higher until he could taste her mouth again. After a moment, she pulled back, chest heaving up and down.
“I may need a few more demonstrations.”
“You’re requesting an encore then.” There was no hiding the satisfaction in his voice, so he did not even attempt it.
She laughed in his arms and a rare jolt of joy flared in his chest.
“I would say it’s more like I was intrigued by the first act and would like to experience the rest.”
“I am exceedingly happy to oblige.” He picked her up in flurry of lace and crumpled linen as she screamed in delight.
“Your Grace, put me down.”
“I am willing and able to take you through the second and third act with no further intermission.”
She shook her head, barely able to speak from laughter. “Absolutely not. We are going to dinner. I have a gown and an appetite. I will be fed,” she demanded imperiously, a queen who would have her every whim fulfilled, and Arlo wanted to satisfy all of them.
He could lose every ounce of sense for this woman. He had already started to.
“All right. But I reserve the right to skip courses and possibly chewing,” he teased, already wondering how he could accelerate the five-course dinner he’d planned and get her back here in his bed.
Chapter Seven
They managed to arrive at the restaurant after only a few minor delays. Marena recognized the white façade as Café l’Anglais, one of the most exclusive eateries in Paris. Without asking, he had brought her to the one place she would’ve picked in all the city. She had not eaten here during her months in Paris; the prices were exorbitant. But she’d walked by the popular restaurant many times. She felt a frisson of delight at the idea of eating here with Arlo.
“You’re staring, Your Grace...again. I thought rakes were aloof and uninterested once they slaked their passion,” she said as he helped her out of the carriage. She was having too much fun with this man, and this time when he offered her his arm, she took it.
“I am nowhere near satisfied, and I assure you, sweetheart, neither are you.” If the last hour had taught her anything, it was the Duke of Linley could absolutely see that kind of promise through, and it was probably best not to provoke him in a public place. No matter how her body tightened, or her core ached at the mere suggestion of having him “satisfy” her again.
“I’m afraid to ask.” She turned her face up to look at him, and he returned the same giddy expression she was sure she wore. Like her, he had refreshed his appearance, and was looking every inch the Duke of Linley. The man was imposing, almost aggressively male, and now that she knew what he could do with his hands, resisting the full effect of his heated gaze on her was a test of endurance. Marena knew this dalliance would have its consequences. No longer being the object of Arlo Kenworthy’s attention would be a deep hole to crawl out of, and yet she had no regrets. She was enjoying him too much to fret about what, at this point, was inevitable.
“I assure you will enjoy every second of it.” The man was too arrogant.
“Promises, promises,” she said, mouth twitching as the corners turned up into a grin. She could feel him looking at her, but she kept her eyes on the massive door in front of them. Before they could knock, it opened, and they walked into a low-lit foyer covered in gleaming dark wood and gold-plated fixtures. The man who greeted them had a generous mustache, which was meticulously clipped and oiled.