It's Beginning to Look a lot Like Scandal

She gasped as his warmth seeped into her from behind. She made to move, and powerful hands gripped her hips, holding her still. Weakness invaded her limbs, and she burned in shame as she felt her drawers dampen. A harsh moan of denial ripped from her, and she could only shiver as wet heat scalded her neck from the open kiss he placed there.

“No,” she whispered, knowing she lied.

He gripped the fold of her day gown and drew it to her hips. She wore no shift, so she felt painfully exposed. She closed her eyes, imagining that it was Maxwell, and could not. As twins, they were identical in almost every manner—tall, muscular, and distinguished with that air of rakish danger about them. Both possessed midnight-black hair and eyes she could drown in. But it was their mannerisms and the color of their eyes that told them apart. Maxwell’s eyes were a bottomless shade of gray, the color of ash. Marcellus’s were pure silver, always glinting wickedly. Maxwell was easygoing, charming, intensely passionate, filling her with love. Marcellus was hard, his personality forceful and inciting some level of fear in her, and Emily felt that fear now.

He snaked his hand around to her stomach and tugged her drawers down her thighs. He stooped behind her, lifting one foot, then the other, removing them. An overwhelming weakness quivered through her. She knew she should protest, but all she could do was tremble at the need that gripped her. “Marcellus, I…”

“Shh…you have nothing to fear,” he soothed her.

She knew that was nonsense; her reaction frightened her immensely.

He stood behind her, lifted her as if she weighed nothing, and carried her to the large oak desk. He eased her over the desk, pressing her stomach into the smooth surface. He slid her dress up farther, bunching the fabric on her lower back, letting the cold air wash across her bare legs and buttocks. She shuddered, confused. Maxwell had never taken her like this, half-naked, from behind.

He kicked her legs open and then cupped her; his hand was firm and possessive. Vulnerability seeped in. He caressed her soft folds, and rational thoughts fled. She moaned, her body already slick with her arousal. He ran his fingers through her wetness, his touch edgy, and she cried out as he thrust two fingers into her. She made to rise, and his hand pressed into the deep of her back, holding her down on the desk.

“Let me up!” she snapped, more afraid of her intense reaction than anything else. She was too desperate for his touch.

He froze. “Do you want me to stop, Emmeline?”

She inhaled, trying to control the chaotic hunger that had erupted in her body. His scent, a combination of sandalwood and pure maleness, wrapped around her, seducing her.

“Tell me,” he said, the passionate intensity in his demand arousing her further. Thick, hot tension swirled around them, drawing her further into lust. The cravings of her body that she had suppressed for so long surged to life, burning away all resistance.

“No…don’t stop.” The words slipped from her lips before she could contain them, but it was the truth. She needed this, but God, what was she doing?

Soft kisses caressed her shoulders; then he removed his fingers from her wetness and smacked the upturned cheek of her buttocks in a shocking, sharp slap. She trembled as arousal swept through her, blistering and forceful. She whimpered, shivers danced down her spine, and all thoughts fled.

“I am going to touch you in ways that Maxwell never did,” he promised, his voice low and rough. “I am going to spank your ass, eventually taking you there.” His wicked words washed over her.

She flinched, her senses reeling. “I don’t understand.”

“You will.” His response was one of sensual promise. “But first I am going to take your pussy.”

Another stinging blow landed, and her arousal slicked from her, hot and sticky.

“I bet you taste as good as you feel,” he whispered. He pressed wet kisses along her hips and around to her rear. The cool glide of his tongue on her heated buttocks had her mewling. She turned her face to the desk, her lips brushing the cool surface, her thoughts drowning under a hot wave of sexual hunger.

He nudged her legs even wider, and she tensed in anticipation of his touch. It came from the swipe of his tongue, devastating as he lapped at her already wet channel. He licked her folds, parting them, and then he covered her nub with his lips, sucking it delicately. The soft lash of his tongue as it circled her bundle of pleasure was too much and not enough. The teasing, licking strokes were driving her crazy. Emily panted for air. She bucked against his mouth as sensations raced through her. He released that aching spot with a gentle scrape of his teeth, then drove his tongue hard into the very center of her body.

A strangled moan escaped her as exquisite tension twisted in her belly. She parted her lips, yet no scream emerged. His tongue was like a flame searing her soaked channel—she burned. Two long fingers thrust hard inside her. She splintered, and wetness gushed from her.

“Marcellus,” she groaned, needing him.

He placed wet kisses on her inner thighs, then on her buttocks that still stung from his slaps. He gripped her hip, and she felt the blunt head of his erection at her entrance. She arched her hips in instinctive want.

“Marcellus!” She wailed his name as he forged into her depth.

The pleasure-pain was a fiery cascade of sensations that swamped her. She fought to accept his wide girth, sweat slicking her skin. He had the same thickness of Maxwell, bruising and hard as steel, but Marcellus did not take her with the same tenderness, crooning words, and lazy strokes. He pushed past her resistance despite her broken cries and the tautness of her muscles. He curved his tall, muscular frame over her, his touch scorching her back, burning through her clothes.

She turned her head and met his gaze. He roll

ed his hips, plunging into her, his face tightening in savage lust. He pressed a hard, wet kiss to her lips, and she froze. This was the first time he’d ever kissed her. He devoured her mouth with wild urgency, his tongue sinking into her, soothing and stoking her desire hotter. His mouth was spicy and sultry, flavored with a hint of brandy. He bit her lower lip, and her eyes opened wide, held by the raw hunger in his gaze. His teeth sank deeper into her lip, stinging her with sweet erotic pain, and at the same time, he buried another inch of his hardness inside her.

She tore her mouth from his, breathing raggedly. He lifted her, still impaled halfway on him, and moved to the sofa nearest the fire. He laid her gently on her stomach, then slid his left arm under her belly and drew her onto her knees, raising her hips and positioning her for him with strong hands. Emily lowered her head weakly onto a cushion, her arousal so strong she could feel her wetness seeping down her inner thighs.

Marcellus nudged her legs wider and settled firmly behind her. He curved his hands over her upturned cheeks, caressing and smoothing her skin. He trailed his fingers and touched between her buttocks, exploring bundles of nerves she never knew existed.

“Easy,” he murmured in soft reassurance when her body jolted in shock. “Grip the cushions over your head.” His rough command sent heated shivers straight to her nipples, beading them into tight, hard points. “My hunger for you is insatiable. I am going to take you hard.”