Night of Pleasure (35 page)

He drew in a ragged breath, watching that dildo slide in and out of her mouth. He was going home and fucking his wife. As a…friend.

Clementine tightened the bow of the apron around her waist, ensuring that her chartreuse gown was better protected. Once again taking up the large wooden pallet covered with an array of colored oils she had chosen, she dipped the tip of her brush into green paint and started moving the brush on different small angles across the canvas, her gaze following the small leaves she painted onto the trees lining the path of Rotten Row where she and Derek had been riding almost every afternoon. Tilting her head, she drifted into replicating even the breeze that had rustled the leaves. She pinched her lips, trying not to get overly excited about how perfect it was.

The door to her painting room opened, making her glance over. She paused.

Derek closed the door behind himself, tossed a satchel onto the nearest chair and took off his morning coat then flung it to the floor. “I’m home.”

Her mouth quirked, glad she only had a few leaves to finish on her painting. “How was class today?” She returned her attention to the canvas, dipped her brush again, and dabbed at a larger gathering of leaves hanging over the painted path.

“We studied dildos,” he said matter-of-factly.

“How nice.” She kept painting. “Why are they having you study extinct birds?”

He snorted. “I didn’t say
dodo
, darling. I said
dildo
.” He laughed.

“You’re laughing at me.” She kept painting. “Are you telling me I’m supposed to know what a dildo is?”

He cleared his throat. “No, you— We’ll talk about it another time. When it’s more…
applicable
. By the by, we got invited to a…risqué party by Lord Caldwell. One of the men at the school. Apparently, it became mandatory for reasons I don’t know. I like Caldwell and the other men enough to want to go. Are you up for going with me? We can always leave early. We simply can’t tell my mother.”

“No worries. If you don’t tell my father, I won’t tell your mother.”

“Agreed.”

“By the by,” she added. “I have officially stopped smoking.”

His brows shot up. “Since when?”

“It’s been five weeks now.”

“Five? You mean you haven’t…?”

“Not once. I thought about it, mind you, but never once gave in.”

“Bravo. I get to finally kiss my wife without tasting tobacco.”

She rolled her eyes.

He strode over and shoving his hands into his pockets, lingered for a long moment beside her. He eyed the canvas. “Is that Rotten Row?”

She nodded and kept painting. “Yes. Isn’t it beautiful?”

He slowly crossed his arms. “The artwork is stunning, yes, but I never once rode down Rotten Row and thought to myself it was beautiful. Not when you can barely see over the heads of other riders and you’re constantly veering your horse out of piles of manure.” He glanced at her. “Out of all the things you could have honored, why Rotten Row?”

Oh, how she loved surprising him. “I always paint things for a reason, Derek. Aren’t you going to ask why I painted it? You should.”

He lowered his arms back to his sides. “Now I’m curious. Why?”

“Because something happened when we were on the path yesterday afternoon. Something I want to remember.”

“Is that right?” He shifted closer to the canvas, his brows coming together. “I’m trying to remember what happened. We went riding, talked about the Diorama, I bought a flower off some random woman for you, and then I don’t…what happened?”

She bit her lower lip, finishing the last of the leaves and set aside the wooden pallet. Stepping back, she gestured toward it. “I had an epiphany. Try to find it.”

He tilted his head and squinted to better look at the painting. “I see a lot of riders, horses, leaves, sky.” He glanced over at her. “What am I looking for?”

A breath escaped her. He probably hadn’t noticed them yesterday. She hadn’t said anything. She pointed to the stretch of grass off to the side where a woman in a bonnet cradled a babe while a man in a top hat leaned in and kissed the woman’s cheek. “I decided I want that to be us. We can commence whenever you like.”

Derek stared at the painted couple and the babe in the woman’s arms. He snapped his head toward Clementine, his brown eyes searching her face in astonishment. “We’ve only been married five weeks. Are you…
really
?”

She set aside the wooden pallet and brush, let out a shaky breath and turned back toward him. “They have been the best five weeks of my life, Derek. You have proven to be…I can’t thank you enough for making me feel part of a real family. Your family. I don’t have to wait to know those happy weeks will turn into more months and then years. I saw myself holding that baby. I really did. That was us. I…you’ll be a wonderful father. And I will do my best to be a wonderful mother. That is all that matters. That I do my best and you will help me do my best.”

His lips parted. “Clementine…I…” He stepped toward her and grabbed her face with both hands. “I love you.”

She pressed her hands against his. “I feel the same.”

He smirked and wobbled her face against his hands. “It wants to come out. I know it does. Can’t you say it just once? For the father of your unborn child? I promise I won’t ask to hear it again.”

She bit back a laugh and managed, “I love you.”

He grinned. “Now I believe it.” Capturing her mouth with his lips, he kissed her deeply, his tongue rolling against hers.

She melted into his arms and kissed him back harder. It was the first kiss they had allowed themselves in two weeks and she felt herself almost staggering against it, knowing they officially shared more than passion. They shared a life.

He broke their kiss and scrambled to remove his cravat and waistcoat, whipping them both aside. “We’re not going to make it into the bedchamber. We’re doing it here.”

She untied her apron and tossed it at him. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He gathered his shirt and yanked it off, the lean muscles of his arms and chest flexing. “On the chair in the corner.” He tossed the shirt at her. “What do you want me to do?”

This ought to be interesting. “Bring over the chair and the satchel.”

His hands paused on the flap of his trousers. “Just don’t use the whip, all right? I’m really not into pain.”

She tapped a finger to her heart. “I would never.”

He jogged over to the chair, his trousers hanging low on his hips. Hefting it up onto one shoulder, he strode back and set it down. He opened the satchel and handed it to her. “Be merciful, my lady.”

She reached into the satchel and pulled out the rope, tossing the rest of the satchel aside. It unraveled and coiled at her feet. She tried gathering the rope only to find it was excessively long. “Dearest Lord. She gave us enough rope to tie you to the entire building.”

He grinned. “Not that it will hold me down.” He purposefully flexed each muscled bicep for her, including his chest muscles, before sitting in the chair and adjusting his trousers. “I’ll let you do the rest, heiress.” He set his arms around the back of the cane chair. “Don’t break the chair.”

“I can do whatever I want,
husband
.” She walked over to him, the rope dragging behind her. Coming around him, she bent over and tied his hands, looping and knotting and looping and knotting again and again, until his hands and forearms were bound with every last inch of the rope. She bit her lip and peered over his bare shoulder. “I actually used all the rope.”

He tugged, hitting the back of the chair. “Something tells me I’ll be in this chair a few hours.”

She walked toward the paints. “If you thought I was sore after our first night together,” she chided, “wait until I’m done with you. Ha.”

He sat up against the ropes, trying to move. “Wait now. Where are you going? I’m over here.”

She picked up the wooden pallet and paint brush and walked back toward him. “I’ve always wanted to have a
real
canvas to work with. Sit still.”

“This masterpiece doesn’t require any more paint.”

“I disagree.” She sat on his lap and daintily dipped the paintbrush into a random color. She painted a blue bird on the left side of his chest. Then a yellow star. Then a red music note. Followed by an orange bonnet.

He glanced down at his bare chest as she continued to paint. “Couldn’t you paint something a bit more manlier on me? In case it becomes…well…I don’t know…
permanent
?”

“Oh, now, cease whining.” She tilted her head and dipping her paintbrush in green, she drew a large dagger on his stomach. “How is that?”

He groaned and threw back his head. “It’s pointing toward my cock.”

She smirked. “I know. It’s brilliant.” She pertly got up and bustled the wooden pallet and brush back over to the table, depositing both onto it. She kicked off her slippers and slowly sashayed her way back toward him. “Now that I’ve properly marked you…”

He leveled his head and captured her gaze. “You’re going too damn slow.”

“Oh hush.” She paused before him and let out a breath, trying not to embarrass herself. Everything they did was always such a blur. She dragged her hands up his thighs like he did to her their first night together. “How is that?”

His jaw tightened. “The legs are nice but go for whatever is under the flap.”

She was officially nervous. She veered her hands inward, noticing that his erection was already sizably protruding against the wool of his trousers. With fingers that now trembled, she unbuttoned his flap. “I really don’t know what I’m doing. Should I…sit on it?”

He tilted back against the chair, widening his legs and rasped, “Put your mouth on it first.”

She paused. “Don’t be ridiculous. How do you expect me to fit all of it into my mouth?”

He jerked his arms, but they remained tied behind him against the chair. “I’m not asking you to swallow the whole thing. Just…suck on it.” He tried to move but couldn’t. “Jesus. My arms are losing sensation.”

She pulled out his rigid length and smoothed her hands over it. “You’re just saying that.”

His lips parted and his chest fell and rose more unevenly. “God. That…don’t make me…it has to end with me inside you. Or those children won’t be in our arms anytime soon.”

She hesitated and then quickly lowered her mouth onto him, taking his erection into her mouth. Not knowing what she was supposed to do, she sucked on it. Hard. With her teeth.

He startled against her, jarring the chair against the floor. “
Jesus
! What are you doing?!”

She unlatched herself and glanced up at him, trying not to panic. “Did I do it wrong?”

His chest heaved, his face flushed. “No teeth. All right? No. Teeth.”

It was obvious she’d hurt him. She winced. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how you want me to do it. I can’t readily remove the teeth from my mouth, you know.”

A gargled laugh escaped him. “Can you untie me? Because this isn’t going to work. I’ll end up dead. We’ll do this again when you’re…more experienced.”

Her cheeks got hot. “I’m sorry. I’m a terrible lover, aren’t I?”

He captured her gaze, his features growing serious. “No. Don’t say that. And don’t you dare apologize.” He dragged in a breath and let it out. “Use your lips to cover your teeth. That will help.”

An exasperated breath escaped her. “Maybe I should just untie you.”

“No. I’m…” He cleared his throat. “Teeth aside, I’m enjoying this. Really.”

She hesitated. “Are you certain?”

“Quite. Try again.”

Now she felt like
she
was in school. She awkwardly and carefully took hold of his erection again. Lowering her head, she molded her lips against it and pushed her mouth down onto it, pulling up and pushing down, ensuring her teeth weren’t touching his length.

A groan escaped him. “Beautiful.”

She adjusted her grip on him and continued moving her mouth against him, enjoying the feel of him. Hard and smooth. It was so…
erotic
. Everything about him was. She could feel herself getting wet. And he wasn’t even in her. She moved her mouth more and more.