His Lily trembled and glanced down at him. A thousand questions lurked in the beautiful depth of her eyes, along with a powerful flare of lust…and perhaps apprehension.
Lord R and Lady W, she mouthed.
I know, he, too, mouthed.
This time when the door opened, in sauntered Viscount Fenton and his wife, and Mr. Andrew Darby and his lover. They, too, took their places, centering their undivided attention on his flower. Without breaking from Lily’s gaze, he encircled her ankle lightly and pushed up, dragging her dress up and baring her stocking clad legs to their audience. Her breath hitched, and her eyes grew slumberous. Oliver leaned in and pressed a reassuring kiss to her stomach when she trembled. Using the gentlest of ministrations, soothing kisses along her inner thigh, he slowly undressed his lover, removing her stays, and dress, leaving her only in her pure white stockings and garters, and her delicately heeled silver dancing shoes.
Oliver stood and removed every article of clothing, dropping them beside hers on the floor. Lily’s entire body was flushed pink, and her bottom lip quivered ever so slightly, but her expression was a study in sensuality. Gripping her hips firmly, he brought her to him, her breast flush with his chest, and took her lips in a deep kiss.
A soft, hungry sound purred from her before her lips parted, allowing him to dip into heaven. Her beautiful mouth and wicked tongue were the sweetest instruments of carnal torture. His muscles clenched with the force it required to hold back from dragging her up, wrapping her legs around his hips and rocking his cock into her deeply.
Somehow, she became the seducer, wresting control of their kiss, angling her mouth beneath his, tipping on her toes and taking his lips in a harder kiss. Oliver moaned as her mouth retreated then came back with light kisses, sensuous stings on his lower lips, then another deep, lascivious tangling of tongues.
Her lips trailed over his throat, over his chest and down. Sweet Mercy. This was not going entirely how he had planned their coming together here. He shouted as her tongue glided over his heavy and engorged cock.
“Lily,” Oliver groaned, a thrust of his hips pushing him too deep, but she took him, with such beguiling sensuality, he found himself gathering the silky curtain of her hair in his fist and slowly fucking her mouth.
She hummed her delight in pleasing him, the power she wielded over him and her captivated audience unchallenged. It was the most arousing thing he had ever seen, her lips stretching over his cock, her tongue flicking and curling over its engorged head as she knelt before him.
He blew out roughly, hanging on to his fragile control by his fingernails. She released him from the wet, tight grip of her mouth, leaned in and nipped the inside of his thigh, then soothed the sting with her tongue.
She stood, quite gracefully and surveyed their audience. Everyone seemed to be on edge, lust glowing from their eyes, their tenuous restraint hinted by the manner in which they gripped the armrests of their chairs. They wanted to touch…but could not. Lily knew it, the knowledge fueling the carnal power she held over them.
She tossed that glorious mane of dark red hair, which rippled over her shoulders and breasts like fire. She was a creature of sensuality as she tipped her head back and cupped her breasts, pinching her nipples.
The duke groaned, and Lord Radbourne surged from his chair to fist his hands at his side.
Possessive hunger roared inside of Oliver, and he went up behind her, clasped her hips, and kicked her legs wide to cup her mound quite possessively. He ran his fingers through her soft curls and down to part the lips of her tight cunt so they could see her pink, glistening flesh. Her breathing hitched, and she shuddered.
“She is mine,” he growled. “Only mine.”
The temptress in his arms moaned her approval. “As you are mine,” she whispered achingly.
And he almost dropped to his knees at the promise of love he saw in her eyes. Lily was one of the sweetest, kindest women he’d ever had the fortune to meet, to kiss, to hold, to converse with, to burn in lust and adventure. An undeniable knowledge filled his heart. He would never find another woman who would fit him this perfectly. His Lily radiated with warmth, lust, and such bravery and trust she humbled him. She deserved the world at her feet, and certainly more than just to be his mistress. A woman like her should not be hidden away or be made to feel less than any other. Her last husband had done that, and Oliver would be damned if he would continue his foolhardy ways. It would be a disservice to keep a woman as lovely and vibrant as Lily as a soiled dove, when she deserved the full richness of a family and acceptance.
He dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “You’ll never regret being mine,” Oliver vowed softly.
He walked her to the chair in the center of the room. “Kneel on it, my sweet.”
She climbed atop the chair, her hands braced on the padded armrest, her ass arched delightfully in the air. He went behind her and gently pushed her knees apart until the very wet folds of her quim were bared to their audience.
She turned her head and looked back at them, her eyes daring them to touch, yet also challenging them to only watch. She was a pagan goddess. Oliver stepped back and stared, awed by her sweet wildness. He allowed his cock to nudge against the wet opening of her pussy and thrust to the heart of her in one smooth glide. She was that wet, and despite her slickness, her sheath hugged him in a fierce grip.
Her moan resonated with longing, pleasure, and arousal. Take me, she mouthed.
He felt his soul chaining to her as he fucked her, possessed her, loved her. And the awareness felt right. He loved Lily Layton. She was witty, kind, possessed a wonderful sense of humor, and stunning sensuality. For long moments there was nothing but the feel of his cock penetrating her slick channel. The sounds of wet sex and gasping cries wrapped around him until he could hear her sobbing for relief. He pressed his thumb on her pearl and rubbed.
She orgasmed in an exquisite burst, keening his name.
The stark pleasure of her pussy clamping and squeezing his cock ripped his climax from him, and with a hoarse shout, Oliver emptied his seed inside her. He hugged her to him, ignoring the moans from their audience that indicated they had succumbed to the carnality in the air.
Oliver pressed a kiss to her damp neck.
He loved this woman, and he needed t
o do something about it. Lily Layton would be his marchioness if she would have him. His mother was going to be scandalized, society would be appalled, but he would be happy if she would consent to be his wife. He hadn’t forgotten her vow to never remarry.
Dear God, love me, Lily…