Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

S ince taking his first woman at fifteen, Ambrose Curtis had never once gone down on his knees for any woman. There had been countless who had gone down on their knees for him, a handful he had lain between their legs for when the urge arose. But this thirst, this hunger he felt to taste Barbara like this? This was new.

He had meant to give her the spanking he had threatened her with, but instead, he was giving in to something more carnal. Barbara’s juices tasted like spiced honey on his tongue, warm and sweet. Above him, her moans were muffled by the thick wall of his study. Drops of precum had beaded on the tip of his cock, staining his trousers when he had glanced up and seen her so tightly pressed against the wall, as if she could barely hold herself upright.

Pleasure rippled through him as he felt her begin to struggle to stay on her feet, torn between focusing on her balance and her pleasure. Deciding to take pity on her, Ambrose wrapped his hands around her hips and pulled her down to him, spreading her limbs like a star before burying his head between her legs once more.

Though the first position had been useful in torturing her, the second one was certainly more for Ambrose’s pleasure. From this angle, he could lick and suckle and nip as he liked. At one point, as he tried out different strokes and combinations to see what made her gasp the most, Barbara’s hands delved into his hair, and her hips rose to meet his lips as his name spilled out of her mouth.

Ambrose willingly repeated the motion, letting his flattened tongue run from the very bottom of her vulva, pointing it to delve into her hot, wet center, then flattening it once more before moving into a slow, swirling motion around her taut, sensitive pearl. A whimper escaped Barbara’s lips then as her body quivered, her breasts heaving into the air as she tossed her head back and arched her back. Suddenly, a wicked, certain-to-be-effective idea formed in Ambrose’s head, and he pulled back to lean up on his elbows.

His blue eyes dipped down to her exposed mons, and he had to fight the urge to feast again. This, however, was a teaching moment—and possibly his most effective one yet. It was not long before Barbara was lifting her head, her green eyes bright as they met his, her brow furrowed into a pleading question. Why?

“Apologize,” he demanded, his deep voice low.

“What?”

The question came out breathy and confused as she lifted her head to peer down at him. Ambrose met her eyes with a seductive gaze and reached toward her clitoris again with his middle finger. She gasped at his touch, then moaned when he began to draw slow circles around the sensitive pearl. Ambrose drew his hand away just as her head started to fall back again.

“Say I apologize for my lack of sincerity, Your Grace,” Ambrose commanded as her eyes fluttered open once more.

Fury burned through her pleasure for only the briefest of moments before her furrowed brow softened, her lips parted, and she drew in a breath that relaxed her entire body beneath him.

“I apologize for my lack of sincerity, Your Grace, ” Barbara said in a trembling voice as her eyes remained on his.

There was no sarcasm in that tone, no haughty smugness or humorous backhanded compliment. There was just raw, earnest willingness.

Her submission to Ambrose caused a surge of need to ripple through him so strongly that a red haze settled over his vision, and he had to brace his forehead against her trembling, sweat-slicked thigh as he forced himself to regain control. He was taking things between him and Barbara far, but he could not go further… no matter how much he ached to do so.

“See?” His voice came out low, rough. “That was not so difficult, was it?”

Ambrose heard Barbara start to say something, but her words turned into a sharp intake of breath as he buried his face between her legs again. Her thighs clamped around his head as her entire body began to tremble once more beneath his wicked tongue. He may not be able to drive other parts of himself into her, but damn it, he was going to give himself the pleasure of her orgasm.

As he thrust his skilled tongue between her delicate, dewy petals again and again, drawing her honey out with each scoop of the tip, her nails found their way to his back, and he moaned into her mons as he felt her nails dig into his flesh and leave eight trails of fire from his lower shoulder blades to the back of his neck.

His hands cupped her backside tighter, pressing her further against his mouth, and he was rewarded with a breathy, beautiful chanting of his name.

“Ambrose… Ambrose… Ambrose…”

With each repetition, her voice grew softer, breathier, as her undulating hips suddenly found the rhythm of his tongue. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he felt another wave of her juices coat his tongue, and he heard the soft tearing of fabric as breeches— his breeches—ripped at his crotch.

Christ!

He cursed silently, grinding his hips against the floor, searching for any small relief against the rising ache. Instead, he only felt the rip in his breeches grow bigger and the burning in his groin grow hotter.

How could a man be in heaven with his mouth but in hell with his cock? Barbara , that was how.

Quiet. Barbara must remain as quiet as possible. It was the only sane thought her mind seemed to permit—the one logical connection allowed was that Helena was somewhere in the house, completely unaware of Barbara’s presence, and it needed to stay that way. No matter how great the pleasure, how wet the floor beneath her grew, she would not, could not scream.

So, when her orgasm made her spine arch back so far that she rose into a sitting position, when Ambrose’s tongue was so deliciously, perfectly, flicking against her taut bundle of nerves while his fingers caressed her tight inner walls so that she erupted like a waterfall, she drew in a deep , shaky breath through her lips, dug her fingernails into his back, and let her mouth drop into an O as a cry froze in her lungs.

Breathe . She needed to breathe! But the pleasure was still racking her body, another gush flowing from her mons as he thrust his fingers into her a final time, and she struggled to do this most basic thing. If she breathed, she would scream his name.

Unable to hold her breath any longer, Barbara sent up a silent prayer for her voice to remain still for the first time ever, and she drew air into her lungs. Her trembling body relaxed as she did so, and she drew her nails from Ambrose’s back before she fell bonelessly to the floor.

Ambrose groaned between her legs as her body relaxed, and he buried his tongue deep inside of her one more time before pulling his head back with a savage noise of satisfaction. He drew his hands away then, and as he propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes—once more dancing with blue and gray flames—met hers. She had expected to see smug confidence there, but no. That was a pure, raw need in his eyes. She did not need to read a book or have the experience to know what that look meant. It spoke to her from a primal place, somewhere beyond manners and society.

There was a battle raging in his gaze. She saw it clearly as she saw the evidence of her pleasure glistening across his lips.

He’s trying to control himself, she realized, watching his body continue to tense up and vibrate as he drew in ragged, shallow breaths. Seeing him like this, vibrating so powerfully with strength and need, and trying to control himself for her benefit, sent a surge of desire through her body all over again.

Wordlessly, she drew herself up, grabbed his shoulders, and brought her lips to his. Ambrose took her mouth hungrily, a growl rumbling in his chest, and she used her hold to push him down to the floor. She broke the kiss, rising to look down at him, and her eyes widened as she saw his stiff manhood. It had strained against the fabric of his breeches so hard that a rip had formed.

Taking her bottom lip between her teeth, Barbara reached her hand toward the bulging fabric and delicately trailed her nails from base to tip. A sharp intake of breath followed by a tight “Barbara” did nothing to stifle her growing curiosity, and she once more repeated the motion. This time, however, as she reached the tip, she swirled her nail in small circles.

“Enough,” Ambrose said, rising so suddenly that she hadn’t realized he’d grabbed her shoulders.

“Tell me what to do,” she pleaded, pressing a hand to his chest to hold him back.

Confusion joined the lust and other emotions raging in Ambrose’s eyes, and he swallowed slowly as he looked at her. When he didn’t answer, Barbara only pressed her hand harder against his chiseled chest, and he stiffly lowered himself. His hand came down to his breeches, helping her unfasten them until she could slide them and his drawers down his angular hips until his cock was free.

Barbara felt her mouth water as she took in the sight of his dark purple velvety head, the gleaming drops of dew that formed at the very tip every other second. His shaft was, in her opinion, a thing of beauty. Thick and veined like a column from base to tip, his manhood reminded her of the great pillars that upheld the ancient Greek temples to the gods.

Her nails were gently tracing one of the larger veins before she knew it, and she and Ambrose drew in a sharp breath at the same time. Satisfaction coursed through her as his manhood bobbed and pulsed under her touch, and she quickly did it again.

“Your tongue,” Ambrose’s raspy voice broke through, pulling her gaze upward. “Lick from the bottom to the top, as you would lick an ice cream.”

Yes, she remembered that from one of the romance novels Alice had lent her. She could use her tongue like he used his, varying its length and size to bring him pleasure.

Keeping her eyes on his, Barbara lowered her mouth to his pulsing manhood and slowly ran her flattened tongue just as she was instructed to—only, instead of just stopping, she swirled the tip of her tongue around the opening of his tip, sucking on the multiple droplets that came spilling forth.

Ambrose muttered a string of curses she couldn’t quite catch, but she heard the low, heady moan of gratitude a moment later when she opened her mouth wide and lowered her throat down onto him. His size stretched her jaw so much that she was barely able to sheathe her teeth with her lips. Even taking him into her mouth as deep as she could go, a third of his thick cock remained exposed and pulsing.

Shifting her jaw, she found herself able to gain just a little more room and let her tongue slip out to lap at his base. Ambrose’s fists pounded into the floor at his sides as his hips rose, pushing himself further into her mouth just as she drew in a fresh breath. This time, she was able to make out her name among the smattering of words he spoke, and she could have sworn the words heaven and please were also present among the curses.

Pleasure and… power surged through her as Ambrose’s hips began to move in time to her suckling. She had enjoyed the way his tongue had made her utterly come apart, but having him, Ambrose Curtis, the Duke of Propriety and Poise, pulsing and thrusting so needily into her mouth, as if she were his only hope? The reality of this had her juices trickling down her thighs once more, and she found the ability to relax her jaw and take him another inch deeper.

This time, Ambrose’s hands delved into her hair, pushing out the pins and releasing her curls like a veil around his hips. Unlike her touch though, which had been sharp and scratch-worthy, his strong fingers massaged her scalp as he pushed her head down more. His gentle touch allowed her body to relax yet again, and this time, her lips successfully met the base of his cock.

Beneath her, Barbara felt the pace of Ambrose’s hips grow faster, and as he held her fast, she felt his length begin to slide in and out of her throat with growing fervor. Her name tumbled out of his lips in a guttural curse before he arched fully into her mouth, his cock growing even bigger somehow at the very last second, and his seed shot down her throat. Ambrose’s heavy, slightly grunting sounds of release came with each new spurt until, like she had, his back and legs collapsed onto the floor.

Barbara felt his hands slip from her head to her throat to her shoulders in a caressing touch before he drew her upward, releasing himself from her mouth, and pulled her to his chest. His dark blue eyes, so full of ache and chaos and tension only moments ago, were now almost hazy with pleasure. With another ragged moan, he lifted his head and took her lips in a dizzying kiss that seemed to last an eternity.

After several long, gratifying moments, Ambrose broke the kiss, squeezed his eyes shut as he drew in a deep breath, then let out a desperate-sounding chuckle as he opened his eyes and said, “I believe we are in trouble.”

“Obviously, that was something that should not have happened,” Ambrose stated, struggling to find the right words.

Barbara’s lips twitched, and she tapped her fingers against her crossed arms.

“Obviously,” she echoed. “But I am a practical woman. I understand my culpability in this. It was… pleasant.”

Even though they were both dressed now and sitting on opposite sides of the table, he was still having trouble concentrating. His body was still heavy from the pleasure of his release, and he was trying his best not to think about how her mouth had brought him to it so damned embarrassingly quickly.

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline before he had a chance to control his facial features at her comment.

“Pleasant?” he repeated.

Barbara nodded, then gave him a wink that sent a jolt of pleasure straight to his groin. “Extremely pleasant,” she confirmed, no sarcasm in her voice. “But it was a-an accident.”

“An accident?”

Ambrose cursed silently to himself. Why was he acting like a parrot?

Because that woman sucked your soul from your body and you don’t know if you will ever get it back, the voice of truth sang in his head.

He frowned at the thought and shook his head before drawing his focus to the conversation. “Yes, right, an accident,” he agreed. “Neither of us meant for this to happen, but it did. We cannot change it, but we understand this cannot happen again. And we shall move on.”

“Yes, I believe we should,” Barbara agreed with an enthusiastic nod. “Though your point was wicked at the moment, I certainly better understand the power of stroking a man’s—” She cleared her throat suddenly, as she almost said another word. “Ego. It can certainly make a man more, um, pleasant when spoken to properly. I shall take your lessons seriously from now on, I promise you.”

“Quite right,” Ambrose agreed, then paused.

What did he need to do? Apologize? Warn? Both?

“You do not need to worry,” Barbara said with a casual shrug as if reading his mind. “You do not need to lead me like an innocent lamb into a lecture on why I should not just let any man do that, nor do you need to apologize. I, too, took my teasing too far. It seems we both get a certain… joy from torturing one another, but it does not need to happen again.”

“Have you done this before?”

The question left his mouth like he was not a master of his words, as he was known to be, but he decided it did not matter. He had no right to ask, he knew that, but suddenly he needed to know if she had put her mouth on another man’s cock like that. He wouldn’t be angry. He couldn’t after everything he’d done during his bachelorhood, but he would feel something.

Barbara’s eyes sparkled with an ember of fury, but she only answered, “My education does not extend beyond the romance novels I occasionally borrow from Alice.”

Ambrose’s face blanched as his chin dropped to his chest.

Barbara looked at him curiously as he took a staggering step forward and said, “You—are you saying such acts are described in these books? These books that my sister also reads with great ferv—oh, good God, I do not need to know this.”

Barbara pressed her lips together tightly as if to suppress a giggle. “Put it out of your mind,” she suggested with a trembling voice, her laughter threatening to burst out. “The less you know, the better. Let me just answer by saying, no, I did not learn how to do that with another man’s guidance. Unless the authors are men, which I suppose isn’t impossible.”

Ambrose had no right to feel pleased by the fact that Barbara had never been so bold with another man, but he did. That knowledge allowed his scrambled brain to come neatly back together, and he settled into his chair, feeling much more himself.

“Very well then,” he said. “I suppose if I tried to take those books from Helena anyway, I should likely end up on the wrong end of one of my very own pistols.”

His eyes darted to her for confirmation, and her smirk was all of the confirmation he needed.

“So, you have grasped your lesson then?” he asked, and he was relieved when Barbara let out a laugh and rose from her chair.

“I believe I have, Your Grace,” she replied, curtseying to him. “Dress to impress, practice etiquette, and stroke the man’s ego.”

Ambrose felt his cock stir as she said the word stroke, but he refused to let his lust get the better of him again. After all, they had just agreed that this would not continue to be a part of their lessons, and that was for the best for both of them.

“Believe it or not, I do think that I am learning something from these lessons,” Barbara said as she went to grab her cloak. “I look forward to practicing them at the next garden party. How is your search for my new husband, by the way?”

Ambrose looked at her suspiciously. He was grateful that Barbara was not declaring him a taker of honor, but her nonchalant way of handling their little tryst threw him a bit off guard. He had expected—well, he was not sure what to expect anymore. He had not expected to bury his head between her legs, and he certainly did not expect to have his manhood buried in her mouth. Her soft, silky mouth that enveloped and suckled him?—

“Ambrose?”

“It is coming along. I shall have a few other practice blokes for you, but when we all head to Duncan and Alice’s country estate in a week, I shall have a serious prospect for you.”

Barbara’s brow furrowed. “But that is outside of the extension you gave me on my father’s debt. I must be engaged next week, not just courted.”

“If our practice goes well, that is exactly what will happen.”

Ambrose tried to say the words with his usual arrogance, but he was having trouble doing it.

“Very well then,” Barbara replied, and he felt the heavy realization that she trusted him to make sure this was true. “Then let us say, in three weeks, my father’s debt shall be settled, and this thing between us will be over.”

“Indeed,” Ambrose murmured, following her to the door. “Take the carriage,” he then ordered.

Barbara turned toward him with a smirk as she reached the bottom of the stone steps, then drew her shoulder up in a coy shrug.

“Who knows? Maybe tonight is a good night for a walk,” she purred.

The sparkle in her eyes told him that she remembered his threat if she would do such a thing, and Ambrose tightened his hold on the doorframe to stop himself from going to her.

“Barbara,” he warned, but she laughed before he said another word. A soft, clear laugh that was somehow wholly sensual without meaning to be.

“Relax,” she sighed, shaking her head at him with a coy grin. “I merely jest, Your Grace. ”

She curtseyed then, so elegantly that she could have been a princess.

“Have a pleasant evening,” she said lastly, then headed for the gate, where the carriage waited.

Ambrose watched her silently, until he saw her open the gate and reveal the carriage and footman beyond it, then shut the door quietly but firmly. His hand remained on the knob long after it was shut, and there, leaning against the glass-paneled door, he let the memory of what had just happened between them run rampant through his mind.

He had been in pure, physical torture by the time Barbara’s thighs had clamped around his head and her orgasm had burst into his waiting, yearning mouth. He had tried to hide his embarrassingly rigid manhood but had failed so miserably when he had turned onto his back. Then, when Barbara’s eyes had ventured to the apex of his thighs and remained there, he could have sworn he had seen lust flicker in her eyes.

If Ambrose had sensed any ounce of pity from her, he would have stopped her immediately, but there had been none. There had been a hunger in her eyes that had pleased him more than any other looks he’d received from the opposite sex, and before he knew it, he was untying his breeches for her. Not for himself, but for her. Because the need to taste him had been so apparent on her face and in her heavy breathing that he could not even fathom denying her.

And she could have left him. That thought rang out loudest of them all. She could have seen his need, his misery, and she could have snickered and walked away, leaving him with nothing but a sarcastic comment and an ache that not even several rounds with the working girls at his hell would have resolved.

Barbara’s nature to get the best of an opponent was one of the many qualities he admired about her, but she had spared him.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Ambrose squeezed his eyes shut and forced a steadying breath through his nostrils. His body raged for another release, but he did not want to satiate it. Instead, he shot up to his feet, and as he walked to his practice room, he began to unbutton his shirt. The thought of going to the gambling hell to seek another woman or self-help suddenly disgusted him, but there were other ways he could expel his energy.

Ambrose drew up short as he opened the door to his personal training room to find Ezra already inside, stripped down to his drawers and going absolutely mad on the hanging bag. He watched silently as Ezra’s mitt-covered fists pounded into the bag three more times.

Ezra turned to look at Ambrose casually, as if he had been expecting him all night.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” Ambrose asked crossly, shutting the door behind him with extra force.

Ezra only tilted his head to the side and quirked an eyebrow at his friend’s agitated tone. He took what Ambrose thought was an annoyingly long time to draw in some deep breaths into his heaving lungs, then answered simply, “Your bag is better than mine.”

Ambrose only shot him an annoyed look before he shrugged off his shirt and breeches and walked toward the pegs of mitts on the opposite wall.

“Better or not, I’m using it now,” he said stiffly, lacing up his first glove. “You shall have to deal with your own.”

“Or you could go a few rounds with me after you warm up,” Ezra replied in a bored tone.

Ambrose opened his mouth to tell his friend to leave, but the thought of putting in the extra effort of dodging counterpunches appealed to him, and he smirked.

“Give me ten minutes with the bag first,” he replied, striding past Ezra as he backed away from the equipment.

“What’s happening to you?” Ezra asked, only after two minutes into Ambrose’s warmup.

Ambrose stiffened only for a second before he drew in a deep breath and landed another precise blow. His thoughts had been loud, but surely not so much that his friend could hear them.

“I know not what you mean,” he replied, then landed another blow with his right hand. This one landed slightly too far to the left and sent the bag spinning.

Ambrose cursed under his breath, knowing his quiet but perceptive friend would catch the physical tell.

“I believe you do,” Ezra replied calmly.

A moment later, he appeared on the opposite side of the bag, his ungloved hands holding the bag steady for Ambrose’s next punch.

“You are doubting your ventures. You are dipping back into the investigation about our fathers’ deaths. You are not giving your time to the ladies at the hell anymore. You are dancing with Barbara Hatcher.”

Ambrose put a little too much force into his last punch as Ezra mentioned Barbara’s name, and the bag lurched back enough that his friend had to regain his footing.

“You are reading too much into things, as you always do,” Ambrose panted, taking a step back from the bag. He beckoned Ezra over, and his friend followed him toward the much smaller practice ring in the room. “Barbara is a friend of Helena’s, nothing more.”

“Answer me this, then,” Ezra coaxed as he squared up to him.

Ambrose sank down onto the balls of his feet, letting his knees and core sharpen his balance as he too raised his fists. “If you are no longer dallying with the lovely ladies of the night, and you are not involved with Lady Barbara, tell me, how did you get those scratch marks on your back?”

“Leave it,” Ambrose growled, fury sizzling through him.

“Something about her is making you falter,” Ezra said, his blasé tone gone as his dark eyes turned black. “I suggest whatever it is you are doing with her, you end it and get back to your life. The hell is beginning to struggle, Ambrose. And if your venture fumbles, so does mine.”

Ambrose threw the first punch with the precision of an arrow, slamming into Ezra’s right cheekbone. Ezra stumbled back, but not far enough before Ambrose landed another punch to his right ribs. Ezra gasped but quickly regained his footing and landed a retaliating right hook successfully in Ambrose’s gut.

No more words were exchanged as the sparring commenced, a brutal dance that lasted far too long and Ambrose barely won by the skin of his teeth.

“I’m serious, mate,” Ezra panted, blood smeared across his lips from a well-aimed hit. “You need to focus, or else we will lose everything.”

The two of them had collapsed after the fight, both of them bruised and bloodied and weak.

“As of late, too many people have been able to sneak in,” Ambrose barked through ragged breaths. “Duncan’s constable was not the first, nor would he be the last. We need to get out before it can get the better of us. We have other ventures, Ezra.”

“ You have other ventures,” Ezra snarled. “My life’s blood runs through that hell. Every other pursuit under the King’s law is failing. Now, if you say that it is not Barbara who is making you soft, then I believe you, but something is. And whatever it is, you need to destroy it soon, before it destroys you and takes me down with you.”