Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

A laugh pulsed from Lily’s throat, and she tipped back her head, the graceful length of her throat on delightful display. There was no shame in her eyes or demeanor to know that it was evident to all she was his chèr ami.

His Lily glowed, and Oliver had never seen a more beautiful lady. Radbourne had been pleasantly shocked when he recognized her, but he had wisely refrained from commenting. Everyone had been so welcoming that Lily had relaxed, and the dinner party had been filled with lively conversation spanning Prinny’s obsession with war, the struggles of soldiers, the arts, and the opera, and his love had kept pace effortlessly.

Nor did he detect a superiority of manner when his friends conversed with her. Quite the opposite, and ardent admiration was expressed by the duchess over Lily’s dinner gown, which was apparently one of a kind. She wore a stunning ice blue gown of her own creation, with sleek and elegant lines and delicate lace trimmings. Oliver had gifted her with a brilliant sapphire necklace and earrings, which she wore, and Lily had caught her hair in an elegant chignon, with a few red tendrils teasing her cheeks. She looked soft and ravishing, and she was his.

The dinner ended, and the men were to retire to the library for port, and the ladies to the drawing-room. Instead, Oliver excused Lily and himself with a promise to return shortly. They strolled down the hallway, his lover laughing in delight.

“Oh, Oliver, your friends are wonderful. I never imagined it would have been so … so … splendid.”

“You expected monsters, did you?”

The corners of her mouth lifted slightly, and he wanted to kiss that small smile. “More like rogues and scoundrels, and very proper, priggish countesses.”

“My heart is relieved your expectations were exceeded.”

They came upon a door, and he opened it, allowing her to precede him inside. A hearty fire burned in the grate, and several candles were lit, washing the large drawing room with a warm, inviting glow.

“Do you trust me?”

“Oh yes,” she murmured, giving a sweetly sensual smile.

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew a slim leather book and handed it to her.

“My diary!”

“I’ve marked a page, will you read it?”

She shot him a quizzical smile but removed the bookmark. “Dearest Diary, I like watching others be intimate. Several nights I’ve touched myself to the memory of Lord R licking along Lady W’s wet quim.” She stopped, cleared her throat, then continued. “There is a dark need in me for men … and even women to see me naked. Would they admire my plump curves, would they think I am beautiful, would they crave to taste my snatch, would they hunger to take me?”

His lover closed her diary, clearly unable to continue reading her wanton thoughts.

“Have you read all of it?” she asked huskily.

“Several times. And I want to give you every desire written here,” he murmured tapping the book. “I want to wipe away the shame I feel sometimes in your words. You are beautiful, Lily, inside and out. A woman of carnal heart, and that is never something to be ashamed of. I quite admire you, and I want to please you in all ways.”

She flushed a delightful pink. Oliver took the diary and rested it on the chaise. He tugged her to him gently and unpinned her glorious mane of hair, spreading it across her shoulders and décolletage. Lily’s eyes darkened with anticipation, but when she lifted her beguiling mouth to his, instead of kissing her as her entreaty demanded, he dropped to his knees.

She quivered. “You did not lock the door.”

“That was deliberate.”

A question flashed in her eyes, and she glanced back as the door opened and the Duke of Basil strolled in with his wife.

Lily jerked and then froze. The duke did not speak as he lowered himself into one of the six chairs artfully arranged in a semi-circle and drew his duchess onto his lap. Their avid stares did not move from Lily and Oliver in the center of the room. The door pushed open once more, and Lord Radbourne and Lady Wimbledon entered and commanded their respective seats.

His Lily trembled and glanced down at him. A thousand questions lurked in the beautiful depth of her eyes, along with a powerful flare of lust … and perhaps apprehension.

Lord R and Lady W , she mouthed.

I know , he, too, mouthed.

This time when the door opened, in sauntered Viscount Fenton and his wife, and Mr. Andrew Darby and his lover. They, too, took their places, centering their undivided attention on his flower. Without breaking from Lily’s gaze, he encircled her ankle lightly and pushed up, dragging her dress up and baring her stocking clad legs to their audience. Her breath hitched, and her eyes grew slumberous. Oliver leaned in and pressed a reassuring kiss to her stomach when she trembled. Using the gentlest of ministrations, soothing kisses along her inner thigh, he slowly undressed his lover, removing her dress, and stays, leaving her only in her pure white stockings and garters, and her delicately heeled silver dancing shoes.

Oliver stood and removed every article of clothing, dropping them beside hers on the floor. Lily’s entire body was flushed pink, and her bottom lip quivered ever so slightly, but her expression was a study in sensuality. Gripping her hips firmly, he brought her to him, her breasts flush with his chest, and took her lips in a deep kiss.

A soft, hungry sound purred from her before her lips parted, allowing him to dip into heaven. Her beautiful mouth and wicked tongue were the sweetest instruments of carnal torture. His muscles clenched with the force it required to hold back from dragging her up, wrapping her legs around his hips and rocking his cock into her deeply.

Somehow, she became the seducer, wresting control of their kiss, angling her mouth beneath his, tipping on her toes and taking his lips in a harder kiss. Oliver moaned as her mouth retreated then came back with light kisses, sensuous stings on his lower lips, then another deep, lascivious tangling of tongues.

Her lips trailed over his throat, over his chest and down. Sweet Mercy. This was not going entirely how he had planned their coming together here. He shouted as her tongue glided over his heavy and engorged cock.

“Lily,” Oliver groaned, a thrust of his hips pushing him too deep, but she took him, with such beguiling sensuality, he found himself gathering the silky curtain of her hair in his fist and slowly fucking her mouth.

She hummed her delight in pleasing him, the power she wielded over him and her captivated audience unchallenged. It was the most arousing thing he had ever seen, her lips stretching over his cock, her tongue flicking and curling over its engorged head as she knelt before him.

He blew out roughly, hanging on to his fragile control by his fingernails. She released him from the wet, tight grip of her mouth, leaned in and nipped the inside of his thigh, then soothed the sting with her tongue.

She stood, quite gracefully and surveyed their audience. Everyone seemed to be on edge, lust glowing from their eyes, their tenuous restraint hinted by the manner in which they gripped the armrests of their chairs. They wanted to touch … but could not. Lily knew it, the knowledge fueling the carnal power she held over them.

She tossed that glorious mane of dark red hair, which rippled over her shoulders and breasts like fire. She was a creature of sensuality as she tipped her head back and cupped her breasts, pinching her nipples.

The duke groaned, and Lord Radbourne surged from his chair to fist his hands at his side.

Possessive hunger roared inside of Oliver, and he went up behind her, clasped her hips, and kicked her legs wide to cup her mound quite possessively. He ran his fingers through her soft curls and down to part the lips of her tight cunt so they could see her pink, glistening flesh. Her breathing hitched, and she shuddered.

“She is my woman,” he growled. “Only mine. I could never share her.”

The temptress in his arms moaned her approval. “As you are mine,” she whispered achingly.

And he almost dropped to his knees at the promise of love he saw in her eyes. Lily was one of the sweetest, kindest women he’d ever had the fortune to meet, to kiss, to hold, to converse with, to burn in lust and adventure. An undeniable knowledge filled his heart. He would never find another woman who would fit him this perfectly. His Lily radiated with warmth, lust, and such bravery and trust she humbled him. She deserved the world at her feet, and certainly more than just to be his mistress. A woman like her should not be hidden away or be made to feel less than any other. Her last husband had done that, and Oliver would be damned if he continued his foolhardy ways. It would be a disservice to keep a woman as lovely and vibrant as Lily as a soiled dove, when she deserved the full richness of a family and acceptance.

He dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “You’ll never regret being mine,” Oliver vowed softly.

He walked her to the chair in the center of the room. “Kneel on it, my sweet.”

She climbed atop the chair, her hands braced on the padded armrest, her ass arched delightfully in the air. He went behind her and gently pushed her knees apart until the very wet folds of her quim were bared to their audience.

She turned her head and looked back at them, her eyes daring them to touch, yet also challenging them to only watch. She was a pagan goddess. Oliver stepped back and stared, awed by her sweet wildness. He allowed his cock to nudge against the wet opening of her pussy and thrust to the heart of her in one smooth glide. She was that wet, and despite her slickness, her sheath hugged him in a fierce grip.

Her moan resonated with longing, pleasure, and arousal. Take me , she mouthed.

He felt his soul chaining to her as he fucked her, possessed her, loved her. And the awareness felt right. He loved Lily Layton. She was witty, kind, possessed a wonderful sense of humor, and stunning sensuality. For long moments there was nothing but the feel of his cock penetrating her slick channel. The sounds of wet sex and gasping cries wrapped around him until he could hear her sobbing for relief. He pressed his thumb on her pearl and rubbed.

She orgasmed in an exquisite burst, keening his name.

The stark pleasure of her pussy clamping and squeezing his cock ripped his climax from him, and with a hoarse shout, Oliver emptied his seed inside her. He hugged her to him, ignoring the moans from their audience that indicated they had succumbed to the carnality in the air.

Oliver pressed a kiss to her damp neck.

He loved this woman, and he needed to do something about it. Lily Layton would be his marchioness if she would have him. His mother was going to be scandalized, society would be appalled, but he would be happy if she would consent to be his wife. He hadn’t forgotten her vow to never remarry.

Dear God, love me, Lily …