Rules of Passion (Greentree Sisters 2)

What would a courtesan do now? she asked herself. Would she draw away and send her man home, still wanting her? Would she promise much but give little? Probably. Marietta frowned. She didn’t want to do that. She wanted to go on, not draw back, she wanted to feel what it was like to be Max’s woman.

His hips were between her legs, and she could plainly see the heavy bulge inside his trousers. He wanted her as much as she wanted him—he was just better at controlling it—but perhaps she could turn that around.

Marietta reached down and stroked the hot hard length of him through the cloth. Max went very still. The expression in his eyes changed to confusion, and lust, and then he closed them with a sigh. She stroked him again, her fingers searching for the buttons beneath the placket.

“I told you about the man who ruined me,” she said, in a husky little voice. “The night he took me to the inn.”

The first button popped open.

“I don’t even remember it, not properly. I was already having doubts, but I felt trapped. I suppose I hoped it would all work out. While he was doing it, I tried to think of something else. I hardly remember now what he did, and I certainly didn’t enjoy it. Not like this, Max.”

The second button popped open.

“I don’t think it’s fair, do you? To be ruined and to not even enjoy the experience?”

The third button popped open. She slid her fingers inside and found him. He filled her hand, heavy and big, swollen with desire for her. For a moment the doubts crowded back in, her fear of love and trust, threatening to destroy all her pleasure, but she forced them away, refusing to listen. This was her time, she deserved it, and she meant to savor it.

Max, his face taut and unsmiling, was gripping her hips, his fingers clenching with each stroke of her fingers on his hard length, but he let her do it. Let her use her hands to examine him, pet him, admire him.

“Are you sure all men have one like this?” she asked, watching him from beneath her lashes.

He laughed, and then arched against the pressure of her hand with a groan. “Rub yourself against me,” he said, when he could speak again. “Pleasure yourself.”

Puzzled, Marietta thought about that, but he urged her with his hands, and she slid down upon his lap, the silk of her trousers hushing against his thighs, until the length of him prodded hard against her. They both groaned, but then he adjusted her hips, tilting them, and he rubbed over her cleft, making her swollen flesh ache. Pleasure hummed through her, leaving her trembling. She did it again, pushing herself back up with her feet and then sliding, slowly, down onto him. This time it was even better.

Max’s hands were still gripping her hips, but now they curved around to cup her bottom, pulling her harder against him as she slid down, using his body to pleasure hers and hers to pleasure his.

Ecstasy was only a heartbeat away. She knew it. Her heart was pounding, her chest was rising and falling as if she couldn’t get enough air to breathe. Max groaned, swore, and suddenly he caught the front band of her trousers in one hand and took a firm hold. He looked up, into her eyes, and she knew then what he meant to do and that if he did there’d be no going back. But he waited. For a breath, he waited, to hear her say “No.”

Marietta whispered, “Yes.”

He ripped. The fine cloth tore, baring her from the navel down, and at once his hands were lifting her, readying her, and he entered her. It was easy, she thought feverishly. So easy. She was wet and ready, and he slid into her, deep, joining to her.

Max moaned, his mouth blind against hers, as he withdrew and thrust again.

“Please,” she breathed, pushing down against him and trying to make him hurry. There was an urgency in her she couldn’t restrain. But he wouldn’t hurry. He drove into her with deep, measured strokes, bringing her a little bit closer to the brink with each one. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging the curls impatiently.

He thrust, a slow, deep slide against her most sensitive spot, and she went over the edge and the world exploded about her.

She gasped, wildly crying out his name, feeling him thrusting harder now, driving himself to follow her. Then the warmth of his seed inside her, and he fell back against the sofa, Mariett a clasped firmly in his arms.

Chapter 13

There was a long silence. For a time all Marietta could hear was her heartbeat, and Max’s close by. Her chest ached with the need to breathe deeply, and her body throbbed with the aftermath of pleasure. But gradually everything returned to normal, the crackling of the fire and the low rattle of a hackney cab outside on the street, and then Max cleared his throat and said, “I apologize.”

“For what?” she managed sleepily, wriggling closer against him. Why had no one ever told her desire could be so exhausting?

“You said the waist up. I think you’ll find we were working below the waist there.”

Marietta giggled into his neck, and then she sighed. “Is it always like this?”

He hesitated. “No,” he said at last. “It is rarely like this.”

Marietta lifted her head and looked at him shrewdly, her hair tangled about her. “Are you saying that because you don’t want me to be a courtesan and do this with other men, or because it’s true?”

Max smiled. “Both.”

She touched his cheek, her fingers brushing his lips, and something in her heart fluttered. He kissed her fingertips, sucking on the ends of them as he had done once before.