Mistress - Amanda Quick [68]
“You’re ready for me, aren’t you?” Marcus sounded as though he were running a great race. “You turn to liquid starlight when I touch you like this.”
“Oh” Iphiginia squeezed her eyes shut. Her legs closed tightly around his hand.
Marcus probed gently, penetrating just enough to make her tremble with eagerness.
“Marcus. Oh, my God, Marcus.” She wanted more from him. She had to have more. But she did not know how to describe what she needed. She lifted her hips, arching against him instead.
“Hotter than the sun itself.” Marcus opened her gently.
Iphiginia cried out. Her fingers sank into the fabric of his shirt, biting into the muscles of his shoulders.
She was dimly aware of him removing his hand from between her legs. She realized he was fumbling with the fastening of his breeches.
She knew what would follow. After all, she had seen those statues in Lartmore’s hall. Iphiginia tried to prepare herself. The problem was that she did not know quite what to expect.
“Kiss me,” Marcus ordered against her mouth.
“Oh, yes. Yes, of course.” She clutched at him eagerly. This part was easy. She knew exactly how to kiss him, how to hold him close.
“My God,” Marcus muttered into her mouth. “You take my breath away.”
She felt him move between her legs and then she felt an object that was far larger than his finger start to enter her. She could tell at once that it would never fit.
“Marcus, I fear something is amiss here.”
“You are so amazingly tight.” He sounded half-strangled.
“Sir, you seem to be somewhat larger than the statues in Lartmore’s hall,” Iphiginia said desperately.
“This is no time to make me laugh.” Marcus withdrew slightly.
Iphiginia started to draw a sigh of relief. But without any warning he refitted himself to her soft passage and forged back into her in one long, powerful movement.
“Marcus” Iphiginia’s eyes flew open in stunned shock. She went absolutely still. She could not breathe.
But her reaction was nothing compared to Marcus’s. Buried to the hilt inside her, he went rigid.
“Bloody hell. Bloody damn hell”
A terrible silence gripped the Temple of Vesta.
“Is it always like this?” Iphiginia finally managed to inquire. “I had rather hoped it would feel the way it did the other night when you touched me.”
Marcus raised his head and looked down at her with glittering, accusing eyes. “You’re a virgin.”
Too late Iphiginia recalled her carefully crafted tale of widowhood.
“Oh, no. No, indeed.” Iphiginia licked her lips. “It’s just that it’s been a very long time since Mr. Bright passed on. And even when he was alive he was not what you’d call enthusiastic about his husbandly privileges. And he was not nearly so, ah, well-proportioned as yourself, my lord, if you take my meaning.”
“You’re a damned virgin. You lied to me.”
With a sinking heart, Iphiginia realized that he was furious.
Despair shot through her. She was not sure what to say next. Obviously he had guessed the truth. She sought for a way to moderate his anger.
“But no one knows that except you, my lord. Surely it does not signify? In the eyes of the world I am a widow.”
“How many roles are you playing, Iphiginia?”
Tears filled her eyes. “I am not playing any role at the moment.”
“For God’s sake, do not cry.” He braced his elbows on either side of her and caught her face between his palms. “I will not tolerate tears. Not after what you have done.”
Anger and outrage stormed through her. “I am not crying.” She sniffed. “And if you are going to use that tone of voice with me, sir, you can bloody well get off and let me up. I do not have to lie here and listen to you make nasty, hateful comments.”
“Iphiginia—”
“I said, get off me.” She braced her hands against his shoulders and shoved as hard as she could. It was like pushing against a mountain.
“The damage is done, you little fool.”
“I do not consider myself to have been damaged, my lord.” She glowered up at him. “I wanted you to make love to me. At least, I thought I did.”
“Why? Tell me why, damn it. Was