that the man behind Aphrodite had now buried himself to the hilt between her thighs, a smile now curving the fullness of her lips as she arched her throat, the huge erection of the second man in her mouth.
‘You have never been in here before?’ Wolfingham enquired harshly.
‘I— No.’ Mariah was too stunned still to be able to think straight. Or even attempt the sophisticated response that might have been expected of her! ‘No, thank goodness,’ she repeated irritably. ‘I usually retire earlier than the other guests at these affairs and have never— I have never seen any of this before now.’ She waved a dismissive hand, eyes downcast so that she did not have to actually look at those statues again.
Statues that should not have shocked the notorious Lady Mariah Beecham and would surely have amused the sophisticated Countess of Carlisle. And yet Mariah was shocked and far from amused.
She was also aware that her thoughts had taken flight as she imagined herself and Darian engaged in those intimacies.
His mouth on her breast.
His mouth feasting between her thighs.
His shaft buried to the hilt between those same thighs.
His entering her from behind with the fierceness of a stallion coupling with a mare.
Mariah’s fingers encircling his hardness as she parted her own lips and took that swollen length into her mouth. She turned sharply on her heel, knowing her response should have been one of sophistication, and perhaps even boredom, at such an erotic display, but for the moment she was unable to even attempt to be either. ‘You are right. We should leave.’
‘Mariah?’ Darian reached out and grasped her wrist as she would have brushed past him as she hurried to the door.
His gaze was searching on her flushed cheeks, and he drew in a sharp breath as she raised her lashes and he saw the fevered glitter in her eyes. An aroused and fevered glitter?
Mariah had presented him with one puzzle after another since the moment they’d first met, it seemed. One moment behaving every inch the sophisticated and notorious woman of society she was reputed to be. The next, as she appeared now, seeming to be as shocked as a girl barely out of the schoolroom, by this evidence of the excesses of the less reputable members of the ton.
The more time Darian spent in Mariah’s company, the more of a mystery she became to him. And it was a mystery that Darian was fast becoming addicted to solving.
He had no wish for it to be that way. Had no wish to ever become so enthralled by one particular woman that he could think of nothing and no one else.
So enthralled that his every waking thought was of making love to and with her. As the pulsing and throbbing of his erection now testified he wished to do. With Mariah.
Perhaps if he made love with her, witnessed her in the throes of sexual pleasure, saw that she was a flesh-and-blood woman with carnal needs that matched, or even exceeded, his own, then this hunger would go away?
His fingers tightened about her wrist. ‘There is no reason for us to leave here just yet if you wish to remain.’
Mariah’s heart leapt in her chest, the heat increasing in her cheeks, as she looked up and saw the burning intensity of Darian’s gaze fixed so intently upon her lips. Lips that instantly tingled with the memory of his kisses from the evening before.
Lips that parted instinctively as Darian’s gaze held hers captive as his head lowered towards her own.
It was as if the hours between their time together the previous evening and this morning had never happened; the desire was instant. Tongues duelled, hands caressed, their breathing sounding ragged in the silence of the temple as they kissed hungrily.
It was as if they could not get enough of each other. Could not get close enough.
Mariah could feel the evidence of Darian’s desire pressing hot and heavy against her softness as the kiss continued, tongues tasting, teeth gently biting. She felt the pulse, the thrill, of that arousal, all the way from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her breasts swelled, ached painfully, against the bodice of her gown. She felt a gush of wetness between her thighs in response to that desire and she was aware of Darian groaning low in his throat as he now arched, ground that arousal, against and into her.
She felt her folds swell, become wet and slick, as Darian moved one of his hands down and in between them in order to cup her mound through her gown. His palm pressed against her, unerringly finding and putting rhythmic pressure upon the sensitive nubbin nestled amongst her curls, as his fingers curled to trace the delicate folds beneath. Teasing. Caressing.
Mariah wanted more, needed more, as she instinctively thrust up and into those caressing fingers, the pleasure building, growing unbearable as she arched her throat, head back, eyes widening— And instantly found herself looking up at those scenes of debauchery painted upon the ceiling!
It was as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over her, dousing every measure of arousal and desire as Mariah wrenched her mouth from Darian’s to draw in a deep and shaky breath at the same time as she pushed against Darian’s chest and put herself at arm’s length. ‘I do not—’ She gave a shake of her head. ‘This place makes me feel...uncomfortable.’
Darian’s eyes glittered down at her heatedly. ‘Uncomfortable or aroused?’
Mariah’s breath hitched in her throat and the trembling increased in her limbs. A trembling that Darian could not help but be aware of when his hands were still on her waist. ‘A little of both,’ she acknowledged gruffly.
She heard Darian draw in his own breath sharply before he answered her huskily, ‘I feel the same way.’
Mariah glanced about them at the erotica depicted so graphically on the frieze on the walls and ceiling, and those explicitly erotic statues. And knowing that she could not—
‘Not here, Darian. I could not bear to do this here—’ She broke off with a shudder. ‘I can only imagine the scenes of excess this room has witnessed during the Nicholses’ weekend parties! And will no doubt witness again this very night.’ She was so tense now that she flinched as one of Darian’s hands moved up to cup her cheek before he gently lifted her face up towards his own.
Darian looked down at Mariah searchingly, once again struck by her beauty, at the same time as he recognised those familiar shadows in her eyes and the slight trembling of her lips.
As he also knew that the flush in her cheeks was partly due to the arousal the eroticism in this temple could not help but evoke.
Not completely because of him, or for him.
And it might be a matter of false pride on Darian’s part, but when—if—he ever made love to Mariah completely, then he wished to be the only reason for her arousal.
He drew in a steadying breath before nodding abruptly and releasing her before stepping back. ‘Then again I suggest we continue with our walk.’
Mariah was more than a little unsettled by the abruptness of Darian’s acceptance of her withdrawal as she led the way out of the marble temple. Could it be that he had actually wanted to remain in the temple and indulge in those sexual fantasies depicted by the paintings and statues?
