“Lady Ambrose, rumors suggest you have a personal stake in a dressmaker’s shop.”
“How outrageous!”
“You were married twice before, I’ve been told?”
“Your ball gown is the most delightful I’ve seen this season.”
“Upon my word, it is true what they say? It’s a love match between you and the marquess?”
Varied conversations swirled around her, and the heat of the ball was almost stifling. Lily pulled away from the ladies as a waltz was announced. She turned on her heel, and suddenly her love was there, gathering her in his arms and leading her to the dance floor.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, pressing a fleeting kiss to her lips and ignoring several shocked gasps.
Lily laughed, delighted with his wickedness. He twirled her across the floor with his unique grace, and Lily had never felt happier. After the waltz ended, they scandalized the society present by dancing at least three more times together before Oliver whisked her away from the ball toward a darkened hallway.
“I’ve been burning to kiss you,” he murmured.
She paused and lifted her mouth to his.
“Not on these lips,” he said dragging his thumb across her mouth.
A blast of heat tore through Lily, thinking of where he wanted his mouth and how he would make her burn.
Her marquess stealthily opened a door and urged her inside a room where a fire burned low in the grate. Shadows danced from the low flame, but Lily recognized they were in the library.
She froze as a whimpering cry echoed in the room. Lily’s breath strangled as she realized Elizabeth was seated atop her duke, riding him with wanton intensity.
Oliver pressed into her back as he closed the door gently, so as not to startle the duke and duchess.
“We shouldn’t be here.” She shivered even as a flash of arousal burned through her.
“I thought you would approve,” he growled.
“You knew they’d be here,” Lily whispered, entranced with the picture the duchess presented, seated on her duke’s cock, her mass of dark hair rippling down her back, his large hand firmly gripping her buttocks as he slammed her down on his shaft, over and over.
A soft moan whispered past Lily’s lips as the duke lifted his duchess off him, spun with her, and placed her on the desk and buried his face against her cunt.
The fire burned lower and lower, painting the lovers in soft, erotic light. The duke was well muscled, his form powerful and lean, and with a large and ruddy cock. As if they had a will of her own, Lily’s feet moved soundlessly over the plush carpet as she crept closer. A dark, wanton heat speared her. She liked watching, and she enjoyed it all the more knowing the duke and duchess had no notion they had a v
oyeur.
He flipped his duchess around, then reached for something on his desk. A lavender scent rode the air. Oil. He pushed a cushion beneath her hips and splayed her wide.
Lily shifted so she could see around the duke’s broad shoulders. He did not reach for his wife’s wet quim, but the forbidden entrance below. He oiled her and his cock, then positioned himself and drove deep until he was buried to the hilt.
The duchess’s wild cry was one filled with pain…and pleasure.
Laden heat surged through Lily as she watched her friend’s ravishment. Was this how Elizabeth had felt when she had watched Oliver debauch her? This heat? This clawing lust to spread her own legs and beg her husband to fuck them to repletion?
“Do you want to join?” Oliver growled at her ears.
Lily sagged against him, grateful for the support of his strength. She never knew hunger could be this painful…this needy…and yet, she only wanted to be an observer.
“I just want to watch.”
“Then watch,” he murmured, kissing along her neck. “Look at how his cock is parting those tight muscles. He isn’t treating her like a glass that can be broken, or a lady that should be coddled. His duchess is his wife, his queen, but she’s also his mistress, his whore. He doesn’t hold back when he’s fucking her because he loves her and can be unrestrained with his duchess without judgment.”
Lily swallowed. “Look at her face,” she whispered. “Do you see the love, the lust, the knowledge that she’s more than his duchess? She knows, Oliver…just like I know I am your everything. Your lover, your wife, your marchioness, your whore. What he’s doing to her is wrong, depraved, maybe a sin, but she doesn’t care, and I don’t care. All that matters is the pleasure, the trust, and the love that blaze in her soul for her duke right now. I know because the same love and wanton submission burn in my heart for you.”