Mistress - Amanda Quick [100]
Iphiginia had said that she loved him.
Again.
Quite clearly.
Marcus studied her very closely. She did not appear to be overwrought as she had the other night in the Temple of Vesta when she had thought she’d murdered him.
“Marcus?” Iphiginia frowned in concern. “Are you all right, my lord?”
“No.” But he could not explain what was wrong or changed or different. He could not even form a coherent sentence.
He reached out and caught Iphiginia around the waist. He dragged her off the seat and into his arms.
She uttered a small, delicious gasp of surprise and then dropped her fan when he crushed her mouth beneath his own. Her shawl fluttered to the floor of the carriage.
“Marcus.” Her arms stole around him. She sighed softly and nestled close.
Without taking his lips from hers, Marcus closed the carriage curtains. The cab was filled with soft darkness.
He kissed Iphiginia deeply, hungrily, with all the consuming need that he had kept tamped down since the night in the Temple of Vesta.
She did not appear to mind his desperation or his lack of subtlety. She clung to him. Her hands moved in his hair. Her head fell back against his shoulder.
Marcus put his hand on her stocking-clad calf. He slid his palm up to her knee, past her garter, and all the way to the warm, silken flesh above. Her delicate petticoats foamed around his arm and cascaded across his legs.
He found his way to the heated place between her thighs and groaned when he discovered that she was already damp. She smelled of roses and feminine desire. It was the most intoxicating scent he had ever encountered. His whole body clenched with need.
Marcus realized that his hands were trembling. He fought for breath and control. He would not throw himself on her the way he had last time, he vowed. He would not act the rough, clumsy farmer. He would make it good for her.
He wanted to please her.
He was desperate to please her.
He had to please her.
He eased her to a sitting position until she straddled his thighs. Her white skirts pooled on the black velvet cushions. He reached down to unfasten his breeches.
Iphiginia braced her hands on his shoulders. “Marcus, what are you doing?”
“Making love to you.” His erect shaft sprang free.
“In your carriage?” A narrow sliver of light from the crack in the curtains revealed her wide-eyed expression.
“It must be either here or on your front doorsteps. I cannot last until we find the comfort of a bed. Touch me.”
“Yes. Oh, yes.” Tentatively, she removed her hand from his shoulder. She took the tip of one gloved finger between her teeth and tugged. Then she went to the next finger. Slowly she eased the white satin glove off her hand.
Watching her strip the glove from her fingers was one of the most excruciatingly erotic sights Marcus had ever witnessed.
She finished the task. The satin glove that dangled from her teeth gleamed in the strip of light. She reached down, fumbled a bit, and then gently curled her fingers around him.
“Marcus.” The glove dropped from her teeth.
For a moment Marcus thought he would disgrace himself just as he had on the last occasion. He sucked in his breath and wondered if he would survive.
“Marcus?” Iphiginia sounded anxious. “Are you all right? You are not about to collapse again, are you?”
Marcus nearly choked on his laughter. He smiled faintly. “No. At least not just yet. I want to be inside you, Iphiginia. But I don’t want to rush you. This time you must guide me.”
“Very well. But I warn you, all I know of this sort of thing is what I have learned from our last experience together and what I observed during my tour of Lartmore’s statuary hall.”
“It will be enough, I promise you.” He cupped her with his palm and felt the moist heat that awaited him. “More than enough.”
“You’re certain?” She ran her thumb across the end of his shaft.
Marcus steeled himself. “Quite certain.” He moved his fingers through the soft nest of hair between her thighs until he uncovered the swollen bud. He stroked gently.
“Good