Mastering the Marquess by Lavinia Kent

into her like a madman—and she’d been with him every inch of the way. When she’d wrapped herself around him, her muscles milking him, he’d been unable to contain himself. He’d virtually exploded, pleasure as he’d never known taking him.
    He looked down at her. The blindfold had risen farther up one cheek, revealing the high, elegant curve of bone. He knew she must be unbelievably beautiful.
    He could push the mask up now and she would never know. He could see her, study her, know her. It could be his secret. He would never betray her even should he meet her again.
    But that would be a betrayal in itself.
    He reached down and stroked her cheek. He could not do it.
    A soft hum left her lips, and he felt her calves move. Her lips parted.
    She stiffened, her body drawing tight. Her hand came up, reaching for the blindfold.
    A moment’s temptation, but then he reached up, stopping her. “Don’t. You are safe, but you must keep it on. Do you remember where you are?”
    She held quiet for a moment, thinking. “Yes. You are Charles and I am no longer a virgin.”
    Aah, that was his girl, his woman. “No, you most certainly are not.”
    “It was far better than I expected.”
    “I am most pleased to hear that.”
    She pressed closer to him, the lines of her body conforming to his. Her breasts moved against him, soft upon his chest.
    Again his body stirred.
    She felt the movement. Her hand moved down, stroking and then wrapping about him. “You were right. You can do it more than once.”
    “But you probably should not. You will find yourself quite sore.”
    “I would like to say I am not, but I do fear you are correct—although it is a most wonderful sore.” Her fingers moved upon him, her own little dance.
    He reached down and grabbed her hand, stilling it. “You should rest.”
    “But I have not yet tasted.”
    Damn, she was temptation itself. “Perhaps later. We still have the rest of the night.”
    “But …”
    “Why don’t I gut the candle and you can sleep a little longer. I should not have woken you. There is no one waiting for you, is there?”
    “No. Even my maid thinks I am visiting a friend. I sent a note that I had decided to spend the night.”
    “That is good. So rest. Despite what you’re holding in your hand, I also could do with a breather, and, perhaps, a glass of brandy.” There was some truth to that. He could use a respite—only in normal circumstances, he would have taken it later. When did a man turn down a willing mouth—and such a full, lovely one. He ran a finger across her lips.
    She caught it with her teeth, sucked it in.
    Had he taught her that?
    He pulled away, from both her mouth and her hand. “Brandy,” he said, and swung from the bed, away from all that she offered. She truly did need rest and a chance to understand all that had happened between them.
    The fire had burned low, and he grabbed the poker and stirred the coals. He almost added another log, but stopped. Instead he poured his brandy and gulped it down fast. A shameful way to treat such a fine vintage, but he needed the burn. He set the glass down and turned back to the bed.
    Did a woman ever look more delightful than when tangled in sheets, her hair a tumble and her breasts marked with kisses? He stood and let his gaze linger over her. This was one picture he wanted to never leave him. If it had been possible he would have requested just this as a portrait. Instead he would have to trust in memory.
    “Are you coming back?”
    “Yes, just let me snuff the candles.” He quickly accomplished the task before returning to the bed. Once he’d climbed in he reached out and extinguished the final one.
    Darkness descended, the few coals on the hearth not enough to cast more than the faintest of glows.
    “Would you like me to remove your blindfold?” he asked.
    “No.” Her answer was quick.
    “I’ve put out all the lights. I can no more see than you. If I take it off I still will not seeyou.”
    “Are