Mistress of Scandal (Greentree Sisters 3)

He reached up and cupped her breasts. “How do you know I’m not a satyr come to ravish you?” he said gruffly.

She leaned back into his arms. “I always imagine satyrs smell rather like goats,” she said thoughtfully, “and you smell of clean laundry and shaving soap.” She turned into his arms and smiled up at him. “But I’d rather be ravished by you than a satyr, anyway.”

“There is a resemblance, however,” he said, with that wicked glint in his eyes.

“Oh?”

He nodded toward the mural.

Francesca dissolved into laughter.

“You mock me, female?” he said in his satyr’s voice. “We shall see!” And he lowered her onto a nearby pile of cushions.

Sebastian began to undress her, planting kisses as he went, and soon her giggles turned to gasps and moans. She was dizzy with desire by the time he stood up and began to strip off his own clothing. Francesca watched him through half-closed eyes, enjoying the view.

“You were right,” she said dreamily, “you are very like a satyr.”

He growled and reached for her. To her surprise, he turned her over, his mouth hot against her nape, and then moving down her spine toward the small of her back. His hands closed over the ripe cheeks of her bottom, and he lifted her slightly and slid one of the smaller cushions beneath her hips.

She turned her head to look at him, puzzled, but not at all anxious. “Sebastian? Are you being a satyr again?”

“Why do you think satyrs creep up behind mortal women?”

“To frighten them?”

“To caress them into compliance.”

“But a woman would know it was no ordinary man!”

“Perhaps, or perhaps by the time she realized, she would no longer care, and then…”

He lowered himself to his knees, and she felt his shaft brush against her, sliding down to the core of her. He gripped her thighs, holding her firmly, and as she peered back over her shoulder with widening eyes, he slid deep inside her. She had a sensation of fullness, but actually watching him do it made her gasp with excitement.

Was that why the club had mirrors on the ceiling? So that people could watch themselves making love?

His chest was hot against her back, the hairs on his body abrading her softer skin. “Once the satyr has the mortal woman in his power, he can have his pleasure with her,” he whispered, his breath deep and breathy against her ear. “She is helpless against his powers. She is being made love to by the king of lust.”

The movement of his body in hers was pleasant, but she did not feel the same level of excitement as she had in previous encounters, the same swell of passion. And then, as if aware of her plight, he slid his hand beneath her and began to stroke the swollen nub between her legs.

“Oh!”

His other hand found her breasts, tugging gently at her nipples, enjoying the way they moved with his thrusts. She lifted her head, gasping now with pleasure, and found the mural directly before her gaze.

Was the satyr grinning at her? He was ugly, but he was certainly all male, and suddenly her imagination took flight, imagining Sebastian in such a guise. She, of course, would be the maiden all unaware, strolling in the forest glade, and then he would pounce upon her and before she knew it he would be…

His stroking fingers pushed her over the edge.

It seemed to her that the fantasy and the reality mingled in her mind, making the moment even more intense and pleasurable. Sebastian growled as he reached his peak, moving powerfully. He remained inside her, breathing heavily, and in that second Francesca almost thought it was true.

He was her own satyr.

And then he bent forward to kiss her ear and, clasping her in his arms, rolled over so that they were lying together on their sides, her back to his front. It was as if the world outside had ceased to exist.

“I’ve missed you…so much.” Francesca sighed, when they had caught their breath and her head had stopped spinning. “I hated leaving you at Lady Annear’s ball. It was awful.”

His leaned up on his elbow, and his gaze slid over her flushed face and tumbled hair, and fixed on her mouth. “I was tempted to pick William Tremaine up and tip him headfirst into the fountain.”

“I’m glad you didn’t, but I thank you for the thought.” She touched his face, her own eyes warm and amused. “I know you think I need looking after, like your sister, Barbara, but I don’t. I’m strong-willed, like my sisters. I would never allow a man like Leon to hurt me.”