Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(67)

“Not good enough?” It was all he could do to repeat her words as their full implication began to settle. Did she mean that she didn’t want to lie in her bed while he was out, or did she mean more than that? He had to admit that the seductress standing between his legs did not look like a woman who just lay on her back without moving. Again, he wished that his thoughts were clearer.

“Yes. If I do not satisfy you, you will need to tell me why. And what to change.”

Hell, she did mean what he thought.

She leaned forward, placing a hand on each of his thighs, the tips of her thumbs brushing against his swollen cock. He’d had this fantasy—although in his mind it always ended with her bound beneath him. But despite what she was saying, he doubted that was what she meant. Still …

He grabbed her forearms and with a swing and a roll brought her down to the bed, his body rising above hers. “Is this what you want?” he demanded, grinding his hips hard against hers.

She gaped at him, not making a sound.

“Well, is it?” He pushed his swollen cock against her again. Her hair spread across his pillow, the image so familiar, so a creature of his dreams.

“Damn you.” She thrust her hips up. “How can you visit Madame’s and then think that I’ll …”

Was there anything as confusing as a woman? “You’re the one who came to my chamber dressed for sex.”

“I—Just—Wanted—To—Show—You—What—You—Were—Missing.” She punctuated each word with a thrust of her hips.

He was going to die—or come—within the next seconds if she didn’t stop that. He shoved his hips down, holding her captive. “I believe you have proved your point.”

“Then I should go.” She attempted to slip to the side.

He held her tight. He’d had a woman’s naked ass in his face tonight and it had not affected him close to as much as his wriggling wife. Hell, it had hardly affected him at all.

Louisa, on the other hand—all she had to do was enter a room and he stood at attention.

There was no way he was letting her go now; the taste for power and control filled him. This was his moment. “Why leave? Do you so object to being flat on your back in my bed? Isn’t that what you were complaining about? And I have to confess, I like you this way. I’ve always preferred being on top, but perhaps we can experiment or …” He eased up on the pressure and, grabbing her hips, rolled her to the side until she was belly-down. He lowered himself atop her again, settling himself in the cleft of her buttocks. “… perhaps you’d be more comfortable on your stomach? I am sure I can still get the job done.”





Chapter Twenty





Louisa was speechless—and a little frightened. This was not what she’d expected when she’d entered Swanston’s chamber, although perhaps she should have thought it through. She’d somehow imagined that the night would end with him on his knees apologizing.

She couldn’t even begin to understand why she’d considered that a possibility.

Swanston ground himself against her behind, sending shivers of desire through her. An ache grew between her legs. She had to remember that he’d come from Madame’s. She was certainly not going to bed him when he’d just been with another.

He thrust again, pushing her legs apart, pressing his sex against her most sensitive spots. Even her breasts were afire as they rubbed against the mattress, causing the thin silk of her gown to chafe in a most delicious manner.

It should not have felt so good. Her anger should have been enough to shield her, but instead it fanned the flames hotter. There was something about lying beneath him, feeling his weight above her, his commanding presence, his domination.

She fought against the feeling, fought against him. She pressed down on the bed, trying to buck him off, trying to show that she would have her way. Pushing with one hand and then the other, she began to sway, fighting for her freedom—only to have him grab her arms and pull her hands behind her.

She was his captive.

His weight pressed her down; only her head and her legs below the knee could move. She struggled harder, kicking up with her feet, swinging her head. It was useless. He rode her as ably as a jockey on an old swaybacked mare.

This could not happen.

She fought on, releasing a stream of the worst swearwords that she knew, which unfortunately mostly consisted of “bloody” combined with something else. Bloody rodent. Bloody weasel. Bloody ass.

He stayed put with ease. And was that laughter she heard?

She would not let him win.

If only it didn’t feel so good having him rub against her. Even their position, which should have infuriated her, was doing something to her. It was maddening. It was aggravating. But it was also very, very arousing.

She didn’t want to feel this way.

With sudden inspiration, she let her whole body relax, melting into the bed. Above her she felt his hold loosen, just in the slightest, as he assessed the situation.

She waited, hardly breathing.

He was still and quiet above her.

One more moment.

This was it.

With a sudden lurch, her body rose from the bed, twisting hard to the left.

Freedom.

His hands had loosened on her wrists, and she pulled out as his body fell from her.