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Extrait du chapitre 9 In the Bedchamber
The silk in his hands was still warm from her body, and when it had wafted toward him, he sensed her spicy, floral scent. Nothing as sweet and feminine as the jasmine Haydée favored, but muskier, spicier, mixed with what had to be lily-of-the-valley overtones.
Monte Cristo sipped his brandy and watched her smooth golden body, curvier than he remembered, in the hips and lightly rounded belly, and the full sway of her breasts. Despite the heat of the liquor, his mouth was dry and his throat tight. He relaxed his fingers, loosening the silk and forcing them to open slightly in his lap.
Beneath which raged his hungry cock. |
He glanced over at Morcerf, and his skin prickled with abhorrence, but he kept his face blank. He would watch, perhaps even participate, in tonight’s events from an impassive perspective. It was a means to an end, and he could stay removed enough as he watched—and enjoyed—her humiliation.
She surprised him for a moment, when she paused in stalking the prey of her husband, and suddenly turned to him. One moment, she was watching Morcerf, pinning him with those deep, dark eyes, and the next, she was there, in front of him.
Slender arms angled on either side of him as she closed her fingers over the arms of his chair and leaned forward, over him. Her long hair fell in a dark pile onto the white silk and lace in his lap, brushing over his hand. She surged forward, catching him by surprise when she covered his mouth with those sensuous red lips, slipping her warm, slick tongue over the front of his teeth until he opened and let her in.
The kiss was hot and brief, and she pulled away, her eyes half lidded so he couldn't read what was there—but he saw her pulse pounding in her throat.
"Enjoy the show," she murmured near his ear, her voice low and warm, filtering over his skin as she retreated.
Quick as a whip, he lashed out and grabbed her arm, yanking her back. He kept a cool lift to the side of his mouth, an unconcerned one, as he placed her hand over the bulge in his trousers. "I paid enough.... I expect a more satisfying performance than the one you gave earlier this evening." Then he shoved her away before his hands touched her anywhere else.
She barely stumbled, but her breasts jounced pleasantly, and there was a flash of something—annoyance, surprise… something—there in her eyes. But then Mercédès was standing with a knowing, coy smile back on those lips, and she turned her attention to her husband.
Monte Cristo watched as she sashayed toward Morcerf… toward her husband... the man who looked as if he were half in shock and half drowning in lust. The man's throat moved as he swallowed, his Adam's apple convulsing as Mercédès lowered her fine, round ass onto his lap, her own legs turned primly to the side as if she were sitting sidesaddle on her mare, her knees facing Monte Cristo.
She bent forward to kiss her husband in the same deep, sensual way she'd kissed him only moments before. He saw the dark red slide of tongue, the quirk at the corner of her lips, the little laugh she gave into her husband’s mouth, as though sharing a private joke.
She wouldn't be laughing if she were kissing him.
Monte Cristo reached easily, deliberately, for his glass and realized it was empty. He closed his fingers over the diamond-cut crystal and continued to watch. The only thing he hadn't investigated during the last decade was the state of Mercédès and Fernand’s intimate relationship. Those details were something he didn't want—need—to know.
Now, it appeared, he would see them firsthand.
He lifted the bottle to pour a few fingers into his glass, as well as into Morcerf’s, as he watched the other man's hands move up the smooth golden skin of her back, under that heavy, dark hair that smelled like lily of the valley. Mercédès had untied her husband's neckcloth and pulled it away, and was now unfastening his shirtwaist as he played with her breasts.
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