Private Research: An Erotic Novella (11 page)

The attic was stunning and far more cluttered, though in a fairly orderly way, than the addition behind the Mallards’ house. One glance revealed layers of history and, luckily, the most recently stored materials were obvious and labeled in plastic storage bins.

I wrote down the names of all the people with whom he’d corresponded, to check it against the list of friends who had accompanied Colin Bosworth to Harridan House, but none of the letters referenced the club at all. In fact, if we hadn’t read the journals, it was unlikely we’d ever have imagined that he’d spent a few years of his life dedicated to complete hedonism.

Until, at about ten in the morning, when the sun was finally starting to shine through the windows and heat up the room, we found the faded black silk half mask with the small gold-embroidered letters HH. Out of context, the item would have meant nothing, perhaps been thought part of a costume for a masquerade, but there it was in front of us: tangible proof that this club had existed outside the pages of one man’s journal.

Sebastian fingered the silk carefully, his eyes alight with excitement.

Then he reached for me, caught me at the nape of my neck, fingers intertwining with my hair, and kissed me. I understood this kiss, one of excitement over our discovery, and yet, I so wanted it to mean more.

But for Sebastian, this was the ultimate treasure hunt. He spent his days searching for truth in numbers, for the essence of finance. He loved the hunt, the search, the relentless progress toward a final goal, even with all the circuitous twists and turns that cropped up along the way. And I did too. As frustrated as I was with being stymied in my Gracechurch research, I enjoyed the moments of discoveries, the feeling of being on the trail of something great.

This little scrap of cloth was our gold.

We worked with renewed vigor after that. Despite that find, we were still far from any sort of concrete progress. Yet Sebastian didn’t seem bothered by that. Had he had an equal lack of urgency about his research before I’d agreed to help? Or was it that now that he’d delegated this “obsession” to me, he was free to pursue others, lessening the intensity?

We stopped at lunchtime, after which we had to head back to London. I was surprised when, instead of sitting down to eat with his aunt and uncle, Sebastian picked up a picnic basket from the kitchen and led me outside.

“I want to show this to you before we go,” he explained as we trekked across the lawn, over a stile and stream, and through a small copse of trees. I was amazed at how large the estate still was despite the years of selling off land.

Finally, we came to a meadow with the stone ruins of a castle.

“It’s not real, of course,” Sebastian said. “Or rather, wouldn’t have been real when it was first built two hundred years ago. Faux ruins of a Norman castle. Now it has its own history.”

I loved it. We were still high on our find of that morning. Somehow the day was more beautiful, the grass greener, and this folly that much more magical. I helped him lay out a large woolen plaid blanket over a flat patch of grass and started to open the basket.

“We used to play here every summer. My sister, Lydia, and me. Nigel, sometimes, when he felt like humoring us. Sometimes Ruby and James, or Matthew.” The last were all second cousins from Rose Felch’s line. “Hide-and-seek, it.”

“It . . . like tag?”

“That’s right,” Sebastian said, a familiar glint in his eye, and my whole body tensed in readiness for flight. He reached for me, but I was off already, stumbling over the grass and fallen (or carefully placed) stones. Of course, I’d only made it as far as the outer wall before he grabbed me by the waist. I squealed as he pulled me back, struggling, my gasps warring with laughter.

“Stop. I’ve caught you. You’re mine.”

His. With his other hand he fumbled with the fastenings of my jeans, then thrust his hand down the front, under my panties, grabbing me, fingers sliding between my lips and up. His touch was rough and shocking. I struggled again, this time to turn around so that I could be an active participant in this new game. But his fingers slid up and inside me, two of them pushing in and out, the motion limited by the constricting fabric of the jeans.

“I’m sure your games weren’t nearly this X-rated as a child.”

He laughed. “Oh no. Games are much more fun as an adult.” He withdrew his fingers, leaving a damp trail along my belly as he dragged them up. Then he lifted his hand, past my cheek. We were so close that I could smell myself on him, just before he sucked his index finger into his mouth and slowly drew it out. “I love the way you taste. Like sex, primordial.”

He slid his hands back down, over my breasts, my waist, hips, and then he turned me around. Took my hand in his and led me back across the clearing and into the folly’s inner circle of stones.

“I’ve always wanted to do this.” Sex here, I assumed, until I saw the big stone worn away by time so that its top was near flat. Centered in the middle like some sort of sacrificial table.

“
Someone
had kinky games they wanted to play here,” I noted.

“One of my brilliant ancestors, naturally.” He positioned me in front of the stone. “I’ve always wondered about the ancestor who had this created. Why he chose to move this rock here and if it was ever actually used in any ritualistic way.” Whether it had or hadn’t been, it was certainly about to be used creatively. “For a virgin sacrifice, you’re wearing far too many clothes.”

“It’s chilly,” I said, amused. “And I’m not a virgin.”

“We can pretend.” He tugged my jeans down my legs, stymied for a moment by my sneakers, but then pulled those, the jeans, and my panties off. I shivered

“Would you have liked that? To be my first?”

“Perhaps. I think I would love to have seen your face the first time you were penetrated. The first time you reached orgasm. Arms up.”

“My first time hurt, and there was blood everywhere,” I said flatly, my voice somewhat muffled through the wool of my sweater as he pulled it over my head.

“Then we’ll have to make up for that this time. Although the blood might have been useful to appease whatever deity we’re sacrificing you to.”

Standing there naked, I was acutely aware that despite the noon hour, the sun hadn’t warmed away the chill of the night or the previous day’s rain.

“Come here.” He lifted me up to sit on the stone, which was also cool still from the night. I shivered.

“We’ll get you warm soon enough.” He stripped out of his own clothes. I noticed the condom he pulled out of his pocket and set on the stone before he tossed the pile on top of mine. Always prepared for sex.

“I doubt those were part of the ritual,” I said, but my gaze was trained on his erection, on his beautiful, hard length. I was on the pill and, as we’d discussed, I’d been tested before I’d left for England, but it hadn’t been more than six weeks after the last guy I’d fucked, so there was no way I could say for certain I was a hundred percent disease-free. For both of us, it was better to be safe than sorry. Even if I did have an overwhelming desire to know how he’d feel inside me completely bare.

“Lie back.”

I did, and with more surface area now touching the stone, I shivered even more. He moved to my side and stroked my neck with his hand. “Shh,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “This is your duty.”

My duty as the sacrifice.

My nipples were hard already from the cold, and when he closed his mouth over one, the heat was nearly painful in contrast.

He worked his way down my body, ensuring this duty was a pleasure, and soon my shivers weren’t all from the cold. I writhed on the smooth stone, fingers moving down, needing to ease the growing pressure. But he pushed my hand away, pulled my hips to the edge gently. Then his mouth was there, tongue sliding up my folds, parting me and delving within. He feasted on me like he loved it, and maybe he did. After all, I loved his cock in my mouth—funny how it was always a cock to me when I thought of oral sex, everything harder and more forceful—I loved the taste of his semen and knowing that I could take everything from him.

His lips closed on my clitoris, and his tongue’s probing was replaced by fingers. One, then two. My legs tensed. I was close, so close. Then, for a moment, there was only cool air on my damp flesh, before he was back, his hips perfectly aligned with mine.

“Look at me.”

I opened my eyes and lifted my head a bit to look down the length of my body at where he stood poised to enter, the tip of his cock pressing against me. I met his gaze, dark and intense, focused entirely on my face. Our eyes locked, he pressed in, parting me, filling me. I gasped when he suddenly thrust forward, sinking into me fully, deep. My head fell back, eyes closing even as I reached for him, wanting to wrap myself around him.

“Look at me,” he repeated, demanding, and I forced myself to lift my head again as he slid out and then back in, pushing me into the stone. His hands gripped my hips, nearly lifting me when he wanted deeper access, and I aided his goal with my legs.

Then he shifted, moved one hand to my clit, moving more slowly as he played with the little rise of muscle and nerves, gaze still focused on mine. I came suddenly, almost unexpectedly, my upper body arching against the stone, eyes closing. I heard a growl a moment before he was slamming into me hard, fucking me even as I was still shaking with the remnants of orgasm.

“Fuck!” I heard the word distantly as he came, pushing my knees up against my chest, leaning over me.

His breath was ragged, but his mouth was hot and open on my breasts. I peered at him between half-mast lids, at his blond head bent over me.

We rested there for a moment more, until finally he pulled out, slipped off the condom, and picked me up in his arms.

“Maybe it was fated for us to run into each other at the archives, or maybe it was just lucky chance. Either way . . .” His voice drifted off as he laid me down on the picnic blanket and then, this time far more gently, made love to me all over again.

Hours later, as we drove down the tree-lined lane back toward the motorway, I knew that what Sebastian had said the night before was a lie. He was nice. Exceedingly so. It was just hard for me to reconcile everything I knew about him with the way I’d blamed him for my “dark ages” all this time. It meant that at some point I was going to have to sit down and take a hard look at myself and my actions.

And that wasn’t something I really wanted to do.

Chapter Nine

T
HE DAYS BEGAN
a delicious sameness, a domestic normalcy: Sebastian off at work until late, me following leads on both the Gracechurch and Harridan House projects, then a shared dinner whenever he came home followed by sex. Or sex followed by dinner. Or sex, followed by dinner, followed by more sex. Interspersed between satiating our appetites, we discussed the research, or the news, or any random thing. Or I worked more, and Sebastian sat at his laptop, plugging away at some other project. He seemed calmest when he was doing something, whether it was fiddling with numbers (not that he’d appreciate that description of his activities) or sex.

And then Sebastian’s cousin showed up, back in town after the trip to Monaco, which had been followed by a detour in St. Tropez.

“My cousin,” Sebastian said, looking up from the text on his phone, but there was a wealth of backstory behind his mild words. I could hear it in the restrained tone that I was coming to know so well.

“The Honorable Nigel Bosworth,” I said, remembering from the notes on his family.

Sebastian smirked. “Right.
Honorable,
such an interesting word, so liberally used.”

“What, he’s not nice either?” I wondered what it was about his family that made Sebastian’s judgment of them so severe.

“Oh, he’s nice enough. But
honorable
is a far weightier word. I’m not certain the Bosworth family, or the Grahams for that matter, know its definition.”

Interesting that his criticism extended to himself as well.

“And we’re going to dinner with him?” I pressed.

“He wants to meet you. The American girl I’ve shacked up with.” He added the last with a smirk.

Not quite the detailed description of their relationship that I’d hoped for. “Why?”

“Because you’re staying here, and you’re helping me research a sex club.” Sebastian shrugged as if his cousin’s interest should have been obvious, but somehow I was a bit stunned at how cavalierly he’d been discussing this with his cousin.

“You told him?”

I’d known that he’d at least mentioned Harridan House to much of his family but had assumed he hadn’t gone into details if they didn’t recognize the name.

“If anyone in my family would have known about the club, it would have been Nigel.”

And that statement suggested to me that Nigel was cut from the same promiscuous Bosworth cloth as his grandfather and other ancestors. As Sebastian.

We took the car, which seemed an unnecessary expense and hassle considering our relative proximity and the ready availability of public transportation, or even of a cab if we were desperate. But we parked in a structure that was a block away from our destination.

Sebastian stopped me as I started to open the car door and instead reached over and rested his hand on my bare leg.

“I think you’re a bit overdressed.”

I’d put on the dress I’d worn to Ziva. If this continued, I was probably going to have to buy another outfit for going out, something that hadn’t been a particularly big concern the first four months of my stay. Sebastian was almost casual, if one could call the elegant insouciance with which he wore no tie and the shirt under his fitted jacket slightly undone at the neck.

“You should have mentioned that when I still had the chance to change.” I was confused and slightly irritated that he was even commenting on my clothes in any way other than positive.

But then he slid his hand under my dress, a little smirk curving his lips, and my irritation drifted away. When his fingers tugged on the elastic of my flimsy mesh thong, I lifted myself off the seat to assist him. I knew girls from school who’d gone around without underwear for all sorts of reasons. I’d seen the paparazzi shots of celebrities who, whether purposefully or not, bared their naked bottoms to the world as they slid out of limos en route to a club or premiere. But the only person who would know about this tonight was Sebastian.

And me.

I was wet just thinking about it.

W
E MET AT
a private club that catered to the entertainment industry, which apparently Nigel was enough a part of to be a member even though, from what Sebastian intimated, the most creative endeavor he did these days was choosing his newest model or actress girlfriend.

As we checked in at the front desk, I noticed instantly that everyone who walked by us had that certain “sheen,” that level of polish that seemed to be innate in the famous. Not that I recognized most of the people around us, but I recognized that they
could
be famous, that their clothes, eyebrows, airbrushed features were all hallmarks of those the paparazzi chased regularly, who showed up on the covers of tabloids and all the Internet news sites that barely pretended to real journalism anymore. Maybe some of them weren’t wearing underwear either.

We were sent up an elevator to the top floor of the building, where the club’s restaurant and main bar were situated.

Nigel looked very similar to Sebastian. Some of the gene pool was quite dominant, from their height to the shape of the nose to the line of their jaw. But that’s where the resemblance ended. In every other way, the older man took after his mother. Dark hair, blue eyes, fuller lips. It was obvious what had made him a successful model in his twenties and helped him continue to be a successful playboy in the years beyond. He was distinctly more classically handsome than Sebastian.

He also knew it.

“So, Mina,” he said as we sat down. “How did you meet Seb?”

“Grad school.”

“Were the two of you dating then?”

“We’re not dating now,” I said quickly. I didn’t dare look at Sebastian. There was a time when a real relationship with him had absolutely been something I’d wanted. But things had progressed too slowly and then . . . well. What we had now was more of an intimate understanding. Like temporary fuck buddies. I took a deep drink of my raspberry lemon drop.

“But you’re having sex.”

I nearly spit the drink out.

“Yes, Nigel,” Sebastian cut in. “We’re having sex.”

“And she’s helping you research this club Grandfather belonged to?”

“That too.”

“Well, if you find this holy grail of sex . . . assure me that I’ll be the first to know.” He scanned me with a rather lascivious look that had me shifting in my seat as if that could relieve the sudden heat that pooled between my legs with the movement. “Or we could always just head back to your place, coz. Knowing you and this whole situation, I’ve no doubt Mina is a right little goer. There’s always another poker game next week.”

“To which I wasn’t invited? I’m insulted.” I stared at the two of them, a little stunned that in the wake of Nigel’s casual suggestion that we all have sex, all Sebastian cared about was a poker game.

Apparently depravity
did
run in the family.

Nigel slanted me that hot glance again. “What do you say, love? We send Sebastian off to play cards, and you show me exactly what you aren’t covering with underwear right now.”

My eyes widened and, indignant, I looked to Sebastian in alarm, but he didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, that his cousin had just made a pass at me. That his cousin had correctly assumed I was completely bare beneath my dress. Was this sort of behavior what Sebastian considered nice but not honorable?

“Joking, love,” Nigel said with a laugh, holding up a hand. “Well, not about the knickers.” I winced inwardly, wondering with just how many women Sebastian had played this little game and what the purpose was. “I know my little cousin well. And I wouldn’t let him near my friends with that wicked brain of his. He’s even blackballed in Monaco.”

I was sufficiently distracted by that little tidbit. “What, do you count at cards or something?”

Sebastian shrugged. He was definitely
not
the chatty cousin.

But later, after dinner, when we had stepped out to a small balcony overlooking the city, and Nigel had gone for drinks, Sebastian leaned close to my ear, his lips touching my skin. “Would you do it if I asked? Let me share you with Nigel?”

I stiffened. “Are you jok—”

“No?” He pulled me back against him, against his unmistakable arousal. “But you find him attractive. I want to know what your fantasies are, Mina.”

“You’re a perv,” I whispered.

“No,” he denied, licking my skin, making me shiver, “I just like sex. And I like sex with you.”

I was wet and, bereft of my panties, which were stuffed in the glove compartment of Seb’s car, I could feel the moisture on my upper thighs.

His hand was creeping up my dress, sliding over my bare skin. I held my breath in anticipation of his destination.

“Started the party without me, did you?” Nigel’s amused voice cut through the haze of desire sharply. I pushed Sebastian’s hand down and away before turning.

“You must be between girlfriends,” Sebastian noted, reluctantly letting me turn but still pulling me close to his side. His body was warm against mine and I savored the feel of it.

“No, actually.” For the first time that night I saw Nigel’s expression turn serious. “In fact, I was going to talk to you about that later this week.” His gaze flitted to me as if deciding whether or not he could talk in front of me. I didn’t really see why not since he’d treated me much like an object most of the night. “I proposed to Kate in Monaco. She said yes.”

Sebastian’s hand fell away from me.

“Congratulations,” I said with a cheerful smile, trying to imagine what kind of husband Nigel would be, if his lascivious talk was just that . . . talk, and he’d be faithful. His promiscuous grandfather had been faithful to the whisky heiress once he’d said his vows. Maybe that journey was a Bosworth trait as well.

“Kate Grinnell?” I knew the name. In fact, she was probably the one English actress I actually would recognize if put to the test. I’d been fascinated when I’d seen her on a late-night show displaying her prowess with American accents. She was an indie actress darling.

“Yes, coz, what other Kate would I be talking about?”

“Congratulations!” Whatever daze had fallen over Sebastian had apparently been broken, and he embraced his cousin. “Your mum will be thrilled.”

“No doubt. Of course, she won’t be as thrilled to learn Kate’s three months along and we’ll be having the wedding this August.”

“Sometimes it takes the unexpected to move you in the right direction.” There was a note to Sebastian’s tone that made me study him sharply, trying to figure out the deeper layer of his words. Or maybe there was none and I was simply overanalyzing, English Lit-style.

“Sometimes,” Nigel agreed, though he seemed to miss the subtext I still hadn’t deciphered. “Listen, mate, I want you to be one of my groomsman.”

A
N HOUR LATER
we were walking back to the car, and I struggled to keep up with Sebastian’s brisk pace.

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?” He’d put up a good show at the club, but the instant we were on the street, his mood had shifted.

“I mean, are you
not
happy for your cousin?”

Sebastian didn’t slow and instead turned into the doorway of the parking structure.

“And what the fuck was it with all that talk, treating me like I’m some sort of escort, like I’m not even in the room.”

Finally, Seb stopped, so abruptly I nearly collided with him. He pulled me close anyway, trapping me against the door. “That’s who my cousin is. In fact, that’s who I am. Some pervy bloke who suggests threesomes and
has
shared women with his cousin before.”

But was that Sebastian? There was what he was saying, what he had proposed two years earlier, and then there was everything else I was learning about him.

His hand was on my thigh, pushing my dress up, and I looked over his shoulder in shock, hoping no one would stumble over us.

“And now he’s not your wingman anymore?” I managed, even as his fingers found me, slid over my damp heat, parting me.

“I’m not
his,
” Sebastian corrected. “He’s my older cousin. More like a brother, really. You’re so wet.”

There was something else I wanted to ask him, but it was hard to think. I gasped as he thrust a finger up inside me.

“I would have fucked you on that balcony, but instead I’ll fuck you here.”

“I thought London had cameras everywhere. Isn’t there some law against this?”

“Do you care?” With his fingers inside me, at that moment I didn’t care much.

I shook my head, eyes closed, breath coming fast. Somehow, standing out in the cool night, knowing anyone could stumble upon us, made sensation that much sharper, made the rise that much faster.

Then he did something else with his fingers, hit the right spot in just the right way that had my knees buckling. “Just don’t stop,” I mumbled, and he didn’t.

His mouth descended on mine, his tongue invading my mouth the way his fingers were, thrusting, searing. I came hard, hitting my head against the door as I clenched around his hand.

I breathed in deep and then let out a ragged breath when he slid his fingers out. He lifted his hand to his mouth, the scent of my pleasure heavy in the air as he licked his fingers. “Later, I’m going to lick your pussy,” he whispered. “Just like this.”

I moaned, and he steadied me, hands on my hips.

“I like Kate. But he’s cheated on her before.” Still reeling from the orgasm, it took me a second to make sense of the words.

“So you don’t think he’ll be faithful? Your grandfather was, even after all his Harridan House escapades.”

“Yes, my grandfather was never unfaithful. Once he married, that was it. Even though he didn’t love her.” Apparently, this was something Sebastian cared about.

“So you don’t approve?” Not that I did either, but somehow I’d imagined Sebastian to be a bit less judgmental, a bit more laissez faire where matters of the flesh were concerned.

“Kate deserves more. And now I’m supposed to stand up there and support the pretense.”

There was a certain morality to Sebastian that grew clearer the longer I knew him, that made the attempt to understand him more complex. That made his critique of his family and his discussion of honor that much more intriguing. Was there some secret, or was it just the usual familial drama?