Authors: Lavinia Kent
Black pressed deep and then deeper. Green had gone almost limp; his head tilted back as Black pounded against him.
And then in an instant Black pulled back, pulling his straining cock fully from Green’s mouth.
She gasped. The cock stood straight and shiny, and red, so red as to be purple.
And then it moved, surging forward and back as Black’s hand wrapped tight about the shaft. It was beautiful—and hideous—in one magical moment. Black’s mouth opened again, and then his cock surged forward on its own, thick milky liquid shooting from the end and landing upon Green’s lower face and chest.
Her whole body grew still, startled. She supposed she’d known that they did that. She did understand how these things worked, but nothing had compared her for the sight.
Green gulped a great mouthful of air and then he laughed, his buttocks sitting back upon his calves. Lifting a hand, he rubbed it through the milky fluid and smeared it farther across his chest, before lifting the hand to his mouth and tasting it with some relish. His smile grew bigger, his whole focus upon Black, who still stood above him, looking equally as pleased. He placed a hand upon Green’s head again, tilting it back so that their eyes met and held. Leaning forward he moved his head close to Green, never losing eye contact. And then, leaning forward even farther, he kissed him, hard and firm, lips grinding against each other. The kiss started hard, grew soft and gentle, and then hard again.
Duldon’s fingers pressed tight right at the apex of her thighs, rubbing against the seam of the breeches, and Bliss started as the bundle of feeling there, that had coiled ever tighter, suddenly sprang fully to life. She squirmed against his hand, but kept her gaze still firmly ahead. She didn’t want to miss a moment. The men’s kiss went on and on. Green had risen to his feet and his torso, while slightly thinner than Black’s, was a work of art. It was actually far finer than any she’d seen on a Greek nude. The men stood hips pressed tight together and arms locked about each other, mouths moving in a dance of exploration and passion. And love.
She might be having a hard time accepting it, but there was no mistaking that expression, that meeting of eyes and souls. Swanston and Louisa looked at each other that way when they thought nobody was watching, or when they simply didn’t care—which in Swanston’s case was most of the time. Louisa, surprisingly, tended to be more circumspect than her staid brother.
But, yes, there was no mistaking that these two men were looking at each other with that same look of love and devotion. She’d never even considered that men might feel that way about each other, but now that she saw it she wondered why she hadn’t. Had she ever known other men who cared so much for each other? It was hard to say. She’d certainly known men who were lifelong friends, but had she ever seen that look pass between them—and would she have or would they have hidden it? Could it be hidden? Even behind the half-masks Green’s and Black’s emotions shone through.
She bit down hard on her lower lip, considering.
And then Duldon hit that same spot again. Her body arched and a slight cry left her lips. And then again. The tightening and coiling within her reached a point where she felt as if she’d break or burst if something didn’t happen. She closed her eyes, pushing away everything but the sensations of her body, letting her imagination run free. She saw again Green’s eager mouth as he worked over Black, saw his joy and eagerness, imagined her own mouth in place of his, imagined Duldon standing above her, naked and proud.
Duldon’s other hand finally settled about her nipple, a finger and thumb squeezing hard, the sensation running straight down to the spot that his other hand caressed.
God, it was going to happen again, just like in the garden. She was going to orgasm.
She bit harder on her lip trying to hold it back, not yet ready to accept the vulnerability that filled her in those moments of heated passion. His fingers moved pressing harder against hers. She opened her eyes again, looked through the peephole, tried to focus, saw Green and Black, their kiss now slow and seeking. It made it worse. She closed her eyes again, felt Duldon’s heat all along her back—and she gave in. She let her body press back against his, and gave up all pretense of ignorance or resistance. He pulled her up against him until she stood, their bodies separated only by clothing. His cock strained against her behind, every bit as large and full and hard as she had imagined, and she rubbed herself against it, enjoying its strength and heft. His breath brushed her ear as a deep groan slipped from his lips.
She moved her hips again and was met with another groan. He liked that and the knowledge warmed her belly—and ached between her legs.
The hand on her breast slipped higher for a moment, but before she could whine her protest she felt his hand on the bare skin of her chest above her bodice. The skin-to-skin contact sent heat straight to her core. Then his fingers slipped inside her bodice, pulling it down with them. Her nipples popped above the edge, the rough lace chafing them most deliciously, a fine line of pain and pleasure. Now it was her turn to moan, the sound rising from deep within her. His thumb and forefinger caught at her right nipple and squeezed tight, with the slightest twist. It hurt for the briefest second and then fire burned, but not a fire of pain, a fire so intense the pleasure almost made her scream. Duldon repeated the action again and again. She was writhing against him now, the feelings shooting through her body almost more than she could take. She clenched her teeth together, trying to gain some semblance of control.
“God, I wish I could see you, taste you. Are your nipples pink like a cherry blossom or are they deep strawberries made for a man’s mouth? They feel like strawberries just waiting for my lips. Should I turn you around and suckle you? Draw your breasts deep into my mouth, flick them with my tongue, and nip them with my teeth? Should I bite you once, hard, to leave my mark upon you so that tomorrow, when this is all over, you will see it and know that you belong to me?” He pinched her nipple hard and held it, not releasing the pressure as he spoke.
“But I don’t belong to you,” she answered, fighting to keep thought straight in her head.
He pinched harder and with his lower hand began to thrust in and out between her legs, the fabric of her breeches rubbing against her. “You do,” he said.
She wanted to argue, really she did, but…
It was close. It was coming so close. Her whole body centered at that spot between her legs.
Her legs parted, her hips sliding forward as she tried to press against Duldon’s hand, tried to move the pressure right where she needed it. There. Yes, there. Oh, it was so good.
And then he slowed, his movements drawing almost to a stop. “Tell me you are mine.”
Yes. Yes. Yes. “Never.”
“Tell me.” One more long hard stroke, his thumb flicking up to catch her just as she needed it.
“No.” Her voice did not sound as sure as it had.
Another flick. His other hand still held her nipple tight.
“Tell me and I’ll make you come. I can feel how you need it, feel the ache within you. I ache too, my pet. Say the words.”
“I…I can’t.” And it was the truth. Somehow the words that would betray her innermost self could not be spoken. She belonged to herself and only to herself. It had always been that way and it always would be. She would never trust herself to another. Another might betray her, hurt her, or leave her.
“Why not, my pet? You know they are true.”
“Please. Please. I need it. I need you.”
“You need me.” Even in her current state she could hear the satisfaction in his voice. “Should that be enough for me?”
“Please. I…Don’t do this to me. Please.”
“I will let it be enough—for now.” He squeezed her nipple even harder and then released it all at once. A sharp bite of pain. The blood rushed back in, filling the delicate flesh to swelling. And then heat. So much heat.
His other hand moved between her legs, hard, fast, grinding the fabric into her.
And she burst.
She broke.
The world filled with color and blackness. There was nothing but sensation.
She flew into a million pieces and was remade.
A great cry left her lips. His name. No. It could not have been his name.
Her body arched back against him, every muscle strained.
And then relaxed.
His arms caught her as she softened, drawing her deep into his embrace.
Her eyes drifted closed and for a moment she wondered if she slept. Everything was safe. Safe and calm, her busy mind still.
Chapter Nine
She slept. Duldon could only stare down at Bliss’s slumbering features and wonder at their perfection, wonder at her perfection. He didn’t know how he knew that she was the only one for him, but he always had.
Bliss.
Bliss Danser.
Lady Bliss Danser.
His wife-to-be.
Bliss Perth.
Lady Duldon.
He smiled as he cradled her in his arms, every protective instinct in him drawn by her delicate form. He would do anything for her, anything. It was probably a good thing she did not know that. He could only imagine the escapades she’d be taking him on if she did know.
He shifted his hips, uncomfortable. Bliss might have found her satisfaction, but he certainly had not.
Not that he had expected to. But then he hadn’t really expected any of this, hadn’t planned to let things go as far as they had. He had never imagined doing these things with his wife, doing these things with Bliss. That was, perhaps, not strictly true, but he’d certainly tried to hold his thoughts in check, to grant her respect.
And now?
Escapades, indeed.
Bliss overwhelmed his every plan, his every intention.
How had he ever agreed to take her here?
He glanced about the room Simms had directed him to. It could have been in any country manor, the fine fabrics of the curtains and bedding. The elegant dark wood of the mantel. Even the cut-crystal oil lamps and multitude of candles were to be seen only in the finest establishments.
It was far different than the usual chamber Ruby supplied him.
No one would ever have taken this room for a brothel, although—he glanced at the bed—the dark wood posts bounded a mattress of epic size, posts that would be perfect for restraints, perhaps someone with a careful eye might guess. It was far more comfortable than any guest chamber he’d ever been given. Was it because he was only an earl? Were the best rooms saved for dukes? And princes? And kings?
He smiled at the thought. Few were the occasions that he was not offered the best there was.
No, the truth was simply that Ruby knew that by providing a level of comfort offered by few other places she attracted a higher quality of guest. He knew that there were a dozen establishments in the city that could have provided for his needs and yet he always returned here. Ruby knew how to treat her patrons.
Which was probably why she had provided this room for him. She understood that Bliss was unlike any woman he had ever spent time with here. The others might have been ladies, but none had that special quality that flowed endlessly from Bliss. He’d never been able to define what it was about her that stirred him so: her innocence, her kindness, the vitality with which she approached every aspect of her life, the vulnerability that sometimes peeked out from her smiling eyes? He’d never been sure.
But he was sure that it was there.
As if sensing his thoughts, Bliss stirred in his arms, her face turning to nuzzle beneath his chin, her hand rising to curl against his chest. She settled for a moment, and then with a sudden jerk came awake. Her large eyes lifted slowly to stare first at him and then about the room. She blinked and he could see her confusion.
“Where are we?”
“Still at Madame Rouge’s,” he answered.
“Really?” Her eyes wandered about the room and he could see her making the same calculations he had previously. He saw her take in the thick brocade coverlet, the rich hangings above the bed and at the windows, the gilt embroidery that edged all. “This is Madame Rouge’s? First the parlor and then this? I never imagined this is what a brothel was like.”
“I’ve heard rumors that Madame Noir, the previous madam, was the lover of a duke, although the details remain sketchy as to which one. This, I believe, was the chamber he used.”
“A madame was the lover of a duke?”
The surprise in her voice made him smile. “I believe it is far more common than one might think. A number of the women who rise high in this profession have aristocratic connections.”
She looked puzzled.
“Did you listen to Ruby’s accent and tone?” he continued. “I have never asked her story, but I would imagine that she did not rise from the streets or even the villages. Nobody has those manners who has not been taught them from birth.”
“Hmmm,” Bliss replied, her thoughts clearly beginning to move beyond the chamber and to what had happened between them. “Did you do that to me on purpose, make me orgasm, make me come?”
Did she really question such a thing? “Well, yes, I did.”
“Why?”
How did a man answer that? “I thought you wanted it. You were rather pleading at the end.”
“But why did you begin? I understand that men like to touch breasts—at least most men. I imagine that the two gentlemen I watched prefer to touch other things.”
“Yes, I rather imagine they do, but I certainly enjoy touching breasts.”
“So I understand why you touched my breasts, although perhaps not why you pinched them so tight. It hurt.”
“And yet you liked it, did you not, little one?” he asked, realizing how much her answer meant to him. He’d sensed her arousal in that hint of pain, or had he been wrong? So much might depend on her answer.
He felt her chest rise as she pulled a deep breath in. Would she be honest? There had been no mistaking the excitement that filled her, but it could be hard to admit that even the slightest pain could hold an edge of pleasure.
“Yes. Yes, I liked it. But I don’t like that I liked it.” There was a slight pout to her voice.