The Scandalous Diary of Lily Layton

“One of them.” Her father was a botanist, and the names he bestowed on his children reflected his love and passion for flowering plants. She could only pray her marquess would not connect Lily with Dahlia, but she wanted to hear one of her names whispered from his lips when he found his pleasure.

She rolled her hips below him, and at the same time nipped the underside of his jaw. “Fuck me.”

He chuckled, the soft sound holding such sensual menace she purred.

“You cannot take more of me at this moment…Dahlia.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “This is not the way to distract me, that I promise you.”

He was perhaps correct in his assessment, her core still felt very tender, but the promise of tormenting pleasure in his soft warning had arousal stirring in her veins. She reached down between them and fisted his manhood, which was already rising hard and sure. Twisting her wrist, she stroked up and down, gratified at the deep rumble that pulsed from his throat.

Everything felt more acute, knowing that the man above her was Oliver. How she wished she could grant him a similar delight, if only he wouldn’t possibly turn from her in disgust. Arching her hips, she wrapped her legs around his back, her heels digging into his firm buttocks. Then she rubbed the tip of his length over her aching nub. Lily’s entire body burned under the lash of pleasure.

“Where have you been all my life?” he whispered, making her heart leap.

She got so wet, so fast, as she rubbed him in circles, trembling at the sensations quaking through her. She should be mortified at the ease at which her sex was soaked with her arousal. The wretched man did not help her, only holding himself still, his forearms braced above her head locked with tension.

With a muttered curse, he fisted his cock, pushed it against her opening, and shoved to the hilt. She cried out, distantly hearing his groan, Dahlia a rough entreaty on his lips. He paused to take her hands and draw the curtains attached to the canopied bed, firmly binding her hands with the silk. Lily tugged at the restraints, a weak, hungry sensation flowering through her.

“I want my name on your lips,” he ordered, shoving his cock deep into her in one smooth stroke. For an instant, they both lay unmoving at the exquisite fit.

“Oliver,” she instantly breathed.

Wet heat trailed at her neck, his teeth nipping and delivering sharp stings. One of his hands slipped between them, down to her mound, to pinch her sensitive nub. She jerked under the sharp lash of sensation. Her wail echoed in the dark chamber as he started to ride with shocking depth and strength. His devilish finger stroked her throbbing clitoris while his hips surged into her with erotic power, sinking her deep into the mattress as he ravaged her.

The friction of his thumb against her clitoris as he rubbed it hard, and his rough pounding, had Lily biting into the muscles of his shoulder, her pussy quivering helplessly around his almost punishing thrusts. Raw, piercing sensation filled her, and Oliver overwhelmed her senses with a pleasure so brutal, Lily arched her neck and screamed his name as shards of ecstasy consumed her.

“I need more of you,” he groaned, his breath feathering over her damp forehead.

“Yes,” she sobbed, caught between wanting to rest and drowning in flames of delight once more. Sharp bursts of pleasure sizzled along her nerve endings as Lily responded to his urgings with flaming sensuality. There was enough length on her silken restraints for her to loop her bound hand around his neck and pull his lips to her. Oliver pressed their mouths together in a hungry kiss, his tongue teasing and plundering her mouth as he rode them to fulfillment.

Chapter Ten

An hour after she had slipped from the chamber and hurried through the secret passages, Lily groaned as she sank into the heated depths of a bathtub. She had fretted she would be discovered as she’d furtively heated the water in the kitchen and lugged it up the stairs to her large copper tub in her bath chamber. Her muscles had protested, but she had marshaled on without rousing any of the other servants until her bath had been ready. A sigh of pleasure escaped her lips as the water soothed the aches and pain in her body. Though the tender ache in her core would last for days, she wouldn’t trade her experience for anything, for now she would have several memories to cherish when the nights were cold and lonely.

A face to picture, and a deep, masculine, and achingly sensual voice to remember.

What would he have to recall? Her throat tightened, and tears splashed her cheeks, the salt stinging her bruised lips.

How delightfully thorough he had been as he had debauched her at least twice more before they had fallen into a slumber. She had eased his arm from her waist, slithered from the bed, and donned her nightgown as quickly as possible before fleeing. Under no circumstances could she see him again. To think she had been silly enough to entertain the notion of something more lasting, like an affair. The marquess was hunting for a bride, one who had impeccable connections and who could give him children. Any of the widows in attendance could give him that, along with the added benefit of being a woman of experience.

Lily refused to linger over impossible dreams—she had dreamed enough of those over the last eight years. Only her shop and building her clientele needed her attention.

…

The very next morning was dreary. The clouds were dark, and rain hovered on the horizon. Lily had still ventured outside for her morning walk and to also escape the discontented guests in the drawing rooms and music room. They most certainly believed grumbling about the weather was warranted, and she had wanted to escape it.

A gust of wind tried to tug the bonnet from her head, whipping her pale-yellow day dress high around her legs. With a scowl at the sky, she turned around and hurried back to the manor. Perhaps she had lingered too long and most certainly had strolled too far. She had taken the path that led to the village, and Belgrave Manor could not be seen from where she stood.

“Mrs. Layton…Lily?”

She whirled around and slipped, cursing when she tumbled. The marquess lunged and grabbed her, steadying her with strong arms.

“It seems as if all I do around you is trip, my lord.”

“I startled you, forgive me.”

She pulled from the clasp that still lingered. “Forgiven.” It took an inordinate amount of strength to contain her blush when she peered up at him. Did he truly not know she was his lover? She assessed him from beneath her lashes. The marquess did not look at her as if he had ravished her for hours last night. “I…I was taking a walk, but the weather has forced me back to the manor.”

He glanced over his lands in the direction of Belgrave manor.