The Marquis's New Clothes (Fiery Tales Book 7) Read online

  “Your caleçons are wet with your juices. I like that.” He rubbed her lightly over her drawers.

  Her breathing hitched, and she grabbed the wall, digging her fingers into the stone. The heat from his hand was spine-melting. Her clit throbbed in time with the hard thuds of her heart.

  “Do it, ma belle. Spread your legs for me. You won’t regret it,” he coaxed in her ear and lightly bit her earlobe. A sultry sound escaped her mouth. His foot nudged hers. She widened her stance, without another thought, giving him easy access to her needy sex.

  “Excellent …” His hand had slipped inside the slit of her drawers and he was gently caressing her slick folds, strokes that were all too perfect, inundating her with voluptuous sensations. She whimpered. She’d never done anything like this. So outrageous. So unbridled.

  He slid his fingers inside her core. She lurched but his strong arm around her waist kept her in place, not allowing her to escape his delicious invasion. He pumped his hand, the heel of his palm tantalizing her clit. She’d no idea how many of his long wonderful fingers were sliding in and out of her. She knew only a sublime pressure and exquisite friction as he filled her and withdrew. Filled her and withdrew.

  “You have the sweetest cunt, Aimee. So wet and silky soft … I love how you’re squeezing around my fingers. You like being possessed this way, don’t you?”

  Yes! Shaking, her breaths ragged, she turned her head and pressed her forehead against the back of her hand still clutching the wall, refusing to answer him. Her mind screamed, “End this now!” but she’d no will in her body to stop him. She couldn’t even muster a protest when his other hand opened the front of her gown, and pulled down her chemise.

  Cool night air whispered through the opening of the justacorps and gently blew across her hardened nipple. A soft cry slipped past her lips.

  He captured the distended tip of her breast and masterfully rolled and pinched it. She could barely hold in the sounds surging up her throat.

  “Have you ever been fingered like this in public, Aimee?”

  She shook her head. Her husband had never done anything like this to her. Had never incited her to this magnitude. Her muscles were taut. Her body tensed as she fought against the waves of hot lust crashing through her, wrestling for a modicum of control.

  “Chère, don’t fight it. Let me give you the pleasure your body is hungry for … You want to come, don’t you, beautiful Aimee?”

  She was panting now, yet she managed to nod her head. What was the point in denying it? He was purposely holding her on the edge with his skillful hands and measured strokes. He could send her over the edge anytime he wanted.

  “Let me hear you say—”

  “I want to come!” she quickly injected before he could finish his sentence. “Now! Right now …” She didn’t care if someone heard her. Or where she was. She needed this. Needed him. Wanted what he was offering. Had to have it or die.

  “I want to come for you, Adam.” She heard the smile in his tone as he fed her the line in her ear, his experienced hands holding her gripped in a flood of erotic sensations.

  “Yes … I want to come …” Squeezing her eyes shut, she was practically delirious with desire.

  “… for you, Adam,” he supplied.

  “… I want to come for you … Adam.”

  He kissed her neck, trailing his way to the sensitive spot below her ear. “It would be an honor to pleasure you, Aimee …” Curling his buried fingers, he brushed over the ultrasensitive spot inside her vaginal wall.

  A cry burst from her lips, her knees almost giving way as he stroked that sweet spot with stunning finesse, milking more juices from her sex. Her hips jerked forward. Her sex contracted, and she knew she was going to go over soon. Very soon. The pleasure and tension inundating her became entwined into one exquisite sensation, mountaining inside her. Surging fast. And furious.

  His name erupted from her mouth. Rapture exploded through her senses, her body stiffening. She pushed up against him hard, her scream eclipsed by the final firecrackers in the sky, her sheath contracting wildly around his fingers.

  “That’s it, Aimee. Ride it out. I’ve got you.” He held her, his strokes slowing down only when the delicious spasms ebbed.

  Applause burst around her, signaling the end of the fireworks display.

  Adam slid his fingers out, the luscious sense of fullness slipping away. She shivered. Her skirts fell back in place while he busied his other hand with her bodice. Knowing people were about to leave, she tried to help, her trembling fingers fumbling, hindering his progress.

  “Let me,” he said softly in her ear. In short order, he had the front of her gown closed without anyone around them being the wiser.

  She turned and slumped against the wall, still wearing his justacorps as the crowd disbursed toward the tables set out in the gardens for the feast about to be served. Her breathing and heart calmed. She felt euphoric, her muscles deliciously lax.

  She felt light enough to fly.

  Her marital relations with Marc had been the best part of their marriage, and as good as they were, they had never been like this. She’d never been left feeling this incredible. There was a wonderful warmth in her belly that was slowly seeping through her entire being. A calm sated feeling. A feeling of well-being. A peace.

  She met his gaze. The night’s light shone on one side of his handsome face, making him look even more devilishly beautiful. He was beyond potent. Dangerously irresistible. Women throughout the realm should be warned—the Marquis de Nattes had devastating allure and sexual talents no mortal man should possess.

  He ran a knuckle lightly down her cheek. It was then she realized it was wet. Oh God … He’d moved her to tears during sex. She swiped her other cheek dry, embarrassed by the unprecedented occurrence. She’d made it a habit of hiding her tears during her marriage. Never once had she shown them to Marc.

  “You come beautifully, Aimee.”

  How did one answer that? “Thank you”?

  Most of the crowd was gone. They were all but alone. Did he expect pleasure in return? Of course he did. Marc demanded pleasure for pleasure. Didn’t all men?

  A sudden urge to taste him swelled inside her. She quashed it. “I … should go.” She expected his ire to hit at any moment. Yet, it was the only response she could offer. She desperately needed some distance to collect herself. To snap this unsettling spell he’d cast on her.

  The corner of his perfect mouth lifted in the most sensual smile. “If you must.”

  No anger?

  “My cousin awaits me,” she told him, completely unsure why.

  He took a step back. “Then you shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

  She shouldn’t? No argument? He was simply letting her go after giving her the strongest orgasm of her life?

  She held his gaze, unsure what more to say. His expression was unreadable and she wished she knew what he was thinking.

  She pushed herself off the wall. “All right then.” She managed a smile, feeling out of sorts, unable to shake the wish that he’d demand more of her. A kiss. Or simply to give that delectable part of his male anatomy that was still solid and erect some carnal attention.

  If he’s this talented with his hands, imagine what he can do with that beautiful cock.

  She immediately chastised herself. Those sorts of thoughts will get you into the kind of trouble you don’t need.

  “Are you sufficiently warmed now?” he asked.

  “Pardon? Oh, yes, I … I’m warm now.” Warm me some more …

  “Then may I have my justacorps?”

  Her brows shot up. “Oh, of course …” It suddenly occurred to her she’d never checked the lower pockets. She’d completely forgotten to search for the ring. Aimee drove her hands into the pockets and brightened her smile. “This really is a very nice justacorps.” She slid her fingers around the pockets, hoping to touch upon the ring. “You do have exquisite taste in clothing.”

  “Thank you.” He look
ed amused. “The justacorps, if you please?”

  Nothing. The pockets were empty. “Yes … absolutely. Here.” She removed the coat and handed it to him.

  He leisurely put it on. She watched with fascination as one strong shoulder and then the other slipped inside the blue knee-length coat. In the distance she could hear the chatter of the courtiers and strains from the violins.

  His dark eyes gazed back at her but he said nothing more. Why are you still standing here, Aimee? Leave! “Good evening, Adam.”

  “Good evening, Aimee.”

  She took a step, then stopped and said, “Thank you.” Thank you? Good God. Did you just thank him for giving you a climax? She felt her face turn red. One release and she was behaving like an unsophisticated fool.

  His lips twitched and she could tell he was holding back a smile. “For what?”

  The devil. He knew full well what she’d just thanked him for. He was going to make her spell it out. “For the … uhm … the …”

  “Orgasm?” he supplied.

  She was grateful it was night and he couldn’t see just how red her cheeks were. “Yes, for … that.”

  A slow steady smile graced his mouth, one of pure male pride. “It was my pleasure.”

  Oh, he was good. Much better than Marc on too many disquieting levels.

  She gave a nod and, feeling completely awkward, forced one foot in front of the other, walking away from Adam, tamping down the desire to rush back to him. The sight of Renault de Sard, Louise’s former lover, marching toward her stopped her dead in her tracks.

  “I want a word with you,” he said the moment he reached her.

  “Really? I don’t much care to have one with you, sir,” Aimee bit back. The wonderful lassitude that had been humming in her veins dissipated instantly by Renault’s presence.

  “Have you seen your cousin?” He was unfazed by her curtness.

  “Of course I’ve seen her. I see her quite regularly.” She stepped around him.

  “Halt right there,” Renault ordered.

  Aimee turned around to see Adam approaching, a frown furrowing his handsome brow.

  “I’ve not dismissed you,” Renault added.

  Aimee set her jaw. “I don’t need your dismissal to leave your presence, sir.”

  Renault walked up to her. “I am the King’s Lieutenant General of Police.”

  “So?”

  “So I am permitted to detain anyone I choose and ask them questions.”

  Aimee’s ire heated her blood. “Do you dare speak to me as if I were a criminal? Have you forgotten your place?” She never threw her title or social standing around for clout, but he’d been made noble because of his political office.

  She was a noble by blood. And, after the way he’d treated her cousin, he deserved a dressing-down.

  “What is the problem, Renault?” Adam placed his hand on the vermin’s shoulder.

  She disliked everything about the man. His arrogance. His cutting disregard of Louise and her affections. She never understood what her dear cousin saw in him. About the same age as Adam, Renault was of similar coloring, yet of slighter build. And his features were as stern as his disposition.

  Upon seeing Adam, Renault changed his demeanor. “Oh, it’s you, Nattes. It’s nothing … Just a matter between a former mistress and me.”

  Adam looked at Aimee and lifted a brow.

  She immediately added, “He’s referring to my cousin. A lovely woman with terrible taste in men.” She looked pointedly at Renault. The last thing she wanted was for Adam—or anyone—to think she’d take a lover as unappealing as Renault de Sard.

  “Your ‘lovely’ cousin has never behaved herself a single day I’ve known her, yet she has stayed away as requested and not a peep has been heard from her,” Renault said. “A most uncharacteristic behavior. I want to know why. What is she up to? It’s usually no good.”

  “Perhaps she’s finally come to the conclusion that you are a waste of her time,” she responded, coolly.

  With that, Aimee picked up her skirts, turned on her heel, and stalked away on weak and wobbly legs, her heart pounding. That was all she needed—for Renault to be keeping Louise under close scrutiny.

  Reaching the long elegant tables with gold service, surrounded by torchères, Aimee scanned the area and quickly located Louise. She was by her side in an instant.

  “Where have you been, Aimee?” Louise whispered the moment Aimee sat down. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

  “I got caught up in the crowd,” she responded vaguely, not quite ready to talk about her encounter with Adam.

  “Did you find Adam de Vey?”

  Just as Aimee was about to respond, she glanced down the lengthy table and caught Adam’s gaze. He was seated at the same table at the opposite end. He smiled at her and lightly ran the length of his finger along his upper lip, just under his nose.

  Heat rushed to her cheeks as the impact of what he was doing hit her. Her scent was on his fingers, and he was clearly enjoying it. She felt a quickening low in her belly. Her sex clenched, hungrily.

  She tore her gaze away and forced her focus onto Louise.

  “Oh, look, Aimee. Adam de Vey is at our table.” Once again, Louise pointed out the obvious. “Do you want to check his justacorps?”

  “No!” she cringed at how strongly that came out. “I mean, I already did, darling. There was no ring.”

  Louise’s disappointment was etched across her features.

  “That’s not all, Louise.” Aimee covered her hand affectionately. “Renault is suspicious of you and thinks you’re up to something.”

  Louise flinched. “Oh God! He does?”

  “Yes, I think I defused it some, but we must be careful. And we must act quickly.” Aimee glanced down the table, but found the beautiful Marquis de Nattes gone. His seat had been vacated and another sat in his place.

  Disappointment over his disappearance stabbed into her. And irked her.

  Her unusual behavior toward him was completely explainable. Her lengthy celibacy was to blame, motivating her wanton reactions to him. Nothing more.

  “Tomorrow afternoon the Marquis de Nattes has a meeting with the King.”

  Louise’s eyes widened. “And?”

  “And I intend to go to his personal apartments and check in each and every justacorps he owns until I find the ring.”

  All this madness was going to end tomorrow.

  Chapter Four

  “You can stop grinning like a fool, Robert,” Adam said dryly. Palms pressed against the large desk in the King’s private apartments, studying his drawings while waiting for His Majesty to arrive, Adam could see his friend out of the corner of his eye.

  “You’re being very quiet about your whereabouts last night.” Robert was smirking. “And as coincidence would have it, last night Louise d’Arcy couldn’t locate her cousin anywhere. She came to me and asked if I’d seen her. Any idea where the fair Aimee de Miran was last eve?”

  Adam felt his cock harden at the mention of Aimee and last night. Merde. A stiff prick was the last thing he needed just before he met with the King. Damn Robert.

  The memory of Aimee in his arms, of her honeyed sex squeezing around his fingers while she came, rushed through his mind. That very same memory had kept him up most of the night—keeping both him and his cock fully awake.

  Adam had always enjoyed a chase—especially since he didn’t usually get much resistance to his advances, but his pursuit of Aimee was far more than mere entertainment. Having her meant too much to him.

  More than it should.

  More than he was comfortable with. His desire for her had spanned an eternity. Nothing had been so difficult as to watch her walk away last eve and not pull her back and claim what she so obviously wanted him to take.

  But he refused to do it and resisted by sheer iron will.

  If she wanted to be taken, she was going to have to come to him and ask with her very own sweet lips—without reservatio
n or inhibitions. To that end, he’d made great strides last eve, despite being left with a painful prick. She’d lingered afterward, waiting for him to demand more, and the disappointment in her golden eyes when he hadn’t had been difficult to miss.

  Adam sensed it wasn’t going to take much longer. Then she’d be all his.

  And he had six years of pent-up fantasies to indulge in with her.

  Robert walked over smiling, and stopping on the opposite side of the desk, pressed his palms down onto the surface. “Please tell me you fucked her. Any man who’s been walking around with a stiff cock for another man’s wife for six years deserves some relief.”

  Adam looked him square in the eye, grasping for patience with his irksome friend. “Remind me again why I tolerate you?”

  Robert laughed and straightened. “You’ve got that wrong. I tolerate you,” he teased. “What happened with Aimee? Out with it.”

  Adam pushed himself off the desk and blew out a breath. “Robert, she’s never had a lover.” Of that he was certain. Since Marc’s death, he’d kept his ears open, always listening for news about her.

  While in mourning she’d kept mostly to herself at her country château, her main company, her cousin Louise. But once the mourning was over, she’d returned to Paris. Adam knew whenever she was in the city and he’d made it a point of attending those salons and fetes she’d be at. He’d kept his distance, sensing the timing wasn’t right, sensing she wasn’t ready to take a lover—though controlling his gaze whenever she was in the room was a different challenge altogether.

  “If I push for too much too soon, she’ll bolt.” He was approaching this the way he’d approach any challenge, methodically, carefully, with well-thought-out steps.

  “So you didn’t bed her.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly?”

  “It was more of a sampling.”

  “You sampled her?” Robert burst out laughing.

  Adam rested his hands on his hips. “What about that amuses you?”

  Robert shook his head, still chuckling. “Nattes, you are either losing your touch, or you have the worst tendre for this woman. Which is it, my friend? I’m starting to strongly suspect it’s the latter.”