She groaned, her legs buckling when his middle finger left her clit and sank into her cunt, teasing her insides with slow, languid movements. “Aye, m’laird … I can endure it.”
Crouching behind her, he nuzzled one of her tortured buttocks, then kissed the crease where it met her thigh. She cried out, the sound of her jerking against her bonds bringing a smile to his face. She’d let him bind her, because they both knew how difficult it was for her to be still for him. If he hadn’t wanted her arse raised in the air, he would have shackled her ankles, too.
“But I am good to you, am I not?” he murmured, brushing his lips against her cunt, parting them to let in her taste. “Giving you back every bit of what you give me.”
“Always, m’laird,” she moaned, her thighs trembling when he began lapping at her, teasing her with light tongue strokes.
She had earned her pleasure well, but he wanted to make it last, make her beg for him. So, he lapped at her folds and slipped his tongue into her slick opening, treated her to little kisses and strokes of his fingers … until she shook, her body wracked with spasms she seemed unable to control … until she begged him to fuck her.
Even then, he did not give in, closing his lips around her clit instead and suckling until she came off on a tortured wail, holding her still with his hands on her hips to keep her from squirming away from him. He was relentless, sucking at her little nub until she began to weep, begging him to stop, claiming she could take no more. He knew very well she could take more as he’d tested her limits time and time again. However, his cock had begun fighting against the placket of his breeches, begging to be sheathed inside of her. Spanking her had taken the edge off, but nothing would bring him peace and clarity like release.
Straightening behind her, he snatched his breeches open and let his cock fall free. He palmed her buttocks again, holding her at the angle he wanted and opening her up so he could watch with savage satisfaction as his cock sank into her. She moaned and circled her hips, drawing him in deeper, adding a perfect counterpoint to his thrusts. Closing his eyes, he sank his fingers into her flesh and pulled her back into him, pounding her with every ounce of his pent-up frustrations.
Her little body proved sturdier than it looked, able to take the hammering of his hips and the brutal hold of his fingers. Her moans soon grew into screams, his own breaths beginning to come out on ragged moans. He reached out and found her hair, winding a thick portion of it around his hand and making a fist, pulling until she made a strangled sound in her throat. That sound sent him over the edge, and while she cried out and spasmed around his cock in climax, he slammed into her a few more times, gritting his teeth and fighting for more time. He managed to hold out until she collapsed, spent, before pulling out of her and stroking himself to the end. His seed erupted from him almost violently, spraying her arse and lower back, staining her, marking her. It didn’t matter that she was a whore who serviced half the men in Edinburgh; whenever he entered this room and she knelt for him, she became his.
Sitting back on his haunches, he closed his eyes and waited for his breath to calm, listening to her own swift gasps die away to quiet pants. He could only rest in this place for a short while, as the urgent need to help his kitten clean up and release her from her shackles took precedence over his own wants. He left the bed and went to the washstand, finding a stack of clean linens she always kept there. Dipping it into the basin of warm water, he wrung it out and returned to the bed, quickly wiping her clean. Then, he released her from her shackles, allowing her to make herself comfortable on the bed.
He made quick work of cleaning his own body with a fresh linen, then returned to find her shifting over to make room for him at her side. Sliding beneath the cool sheet, he gathered her against his side and let her rest her head on his chest. Her light weight was pleasant, and despite being a whore, she always managed to smell like a field of wildflowers. Lowering his head, he took in her fragrance, then nuzzled the crown of her head.
Most nights, he preferred to lay here in silence, and she was always content to let him. Unlike the other women he’d bedded, she did not make demands of him … did not try to press him when he wished to be silent. But, just now, silence was not what he wanted.
“I shall try to make time to visit you one last time, kitten,” he told her. “But it won’t be long before I set out for my Grand Tour.”
He felt her smile against his chest.
“Och, why’d ye have to go and ruin me good mood, m’laird?”
With a chuckle, he gave her hair a playful tug. “Surely, you won’t lack for bedmates while I’m away. Besides, it will not be forever. I shall return, and I wager your bed will be one of the first places I come when I do.”
Sitting up, she gazed down at him with a soft smile. “Bedmates, aye. But none like you, as ye well know. And … we both know you willnae be comin’ back.”
Frowning at her, he inclined his head. “Why would you think that?”
Lovers, they were not, and love her, he did not, but Adam had always felt a certain affection for her. Their arrangement suited his needs, and he doubted a few years touring Italy, France, and Spain would change that.
“’Tis just the way things are,” she said, shrugging one shoulder. “Ye aren’t me last customer to go runnin’ off to the Continent, and ye won’t be me last. They never come back.”
“Well … if my father’s prediction holds up, he’ll be dead by the end of the Tour,” he quipped. “So I’ll have plenty of reason to return … if not simply for your sweet little cunt.”
She gave him a look that said she clearly did not believe him, but did not protest when he rolled her onto her back and sank on top of her. His cock flared back to life with a predictable insatiableness. By the time he’d left here, he would have had her at least half a dozen times. The worst he felt upon arriving on her doorstep, the longer he stayed, the more he needed.
For the moment, he lost himself in primal pleasures, the kind that kept him from thinking or feeling.
CHAPTER THREE
The following morning, Adam returned home in far better spirits than he’d left it. After venting his frustrations with Fiona, he’d fallen asleep in her bed, his big body curled around hers. He’d awakened her through the night, putting her back in her shackles and using her in whatever way he saw fit. Gorging himself on her until the sun rose, then sleeping for a few hours more, he’d then returned home sated and wrung dry.
The household had just begun to stir awake for the day, servants bustling about their daily tasks as he took the stairs two at a time to his chambers. There, he found blessed solitude. He’d never fancied keeping a valet, being a man grown with enough sense to know how to tie his boots and cravats. So there was never anyone in his private chambers unless he wanted them there—which was not often.
A chambermaid had come and delivered a fresh basin of water not long before his arrival, and he found it still warm when he dipped a hand in to test it. Undressing and leaving his clothing in a heap on the floor, he took his time washing and drying before lumbering nude into his dressing room. As always, he wore only breeches, a shirt, and boots, having no intention of leaving the house today. It annoyed his father to no end, but Adam never saw any sense in wearing a waistcoat, coat, and a cravat while lounging about at home.
He left his chambers and trotted back down the stairs, heading to the dining room in search of a meal. Breakfast should still be on the sideboard, and after the night he’d spent at the brothel, he was hungry enough to eat an entire horse.
The sound of a thud coming from behind a drawing room door drew him up short, and he paused, inclining his head with a smirk. The door rattled in the frame as he approached it, and a woman’s breathy pants came from under the crack, interspersed with a man’s restrained groans.
Glancing left to right to make sure his father was nowhere in sight, he leaned against the wall beside the door, reaching out to knock on the panel. The sounds ceased, and the scuffle of feet and
rustle of clothing from the other side made him chuckle.
“You may as well come out of there, Livvie,” he teased through the door. “I’m not going anywhere.”
After another moment of rustling clothes and low whispers, the door swung open to reveal his stepsister. She peered through the opening with wide, brown eyes, the inky black strands of her chignon hopelessly disheveled and hanging around her face. Her pale skin flushed pink, and her lips were plumper than usual—swollen from being kissed.
“Oh, hello, Adam,” she said breathlessly, trying to smile and appear natural.
As always, she failed miserably. Olivia was a gentle soul, and a guileless one. Lying was not something she did well, hiding her feelings near impossible.
“Oh, hello, dear sister,” he teased, finding his posture relaxing and his lips shifting into a true smile.
His sister was the only person who could do that—she had been since the first time he’d met her, on the day that his father had wed her mother. The ceremony had been intimate, held in a drawing room at Dunvar House. Forced to wear knee breeches and a coat, a thunderous scowl upon his face, Adam had stood at his father’s side and glowered at the little bundle wrapped in lace and frills held in the arms of her mother. This woman would be the new countess, and he had been told her young babe would be his sister.
But, Adam had not wanted a sister. He’d wanted his mother back—the beautiful woman with the golden hair and soft smile who had taught him to play the pianoforte. The only person in the world who had accepted him as he was. She did not care if his hair was combed, or if he wore proper clothing. She had protected him from his father’s scorn, insisting he be allowed to flourish at music, even if it was not something a gentleman of the ton would typically indulge in. She’d held him and kissed him often.
He hadn’t been touched since her death.
It was not until the new countess and her daughter had been a part of their family for an entire fortnight that Adam had begun to soften toward her. He’d been skipping rope up and down the corridor, which had taken him past the door of the nursery every few minutes. It had seemed a clever ruse in order to get a closer look at the countess, who’d sat in a rocking chair near a bassinet, a needlepoint frame resting before her.
However, after his fourth pass, Lady Edith had called out to him, inviting him inside. She had smiled at him in a way that had reminded him of his own mother, then reached out to rub the top of his head, making his cowlick stand on end. She’d smelled like flowers and she’d looked like the depictions he’d seen of fairies. Large brown eyes, dark hair, pale skin, and light, delicate features.
The babe had begun to cry, and the countess had urged him to look in on his sister, insisting that his position as an elder brother meant he must always look after her. As he’d grasped the edge of the bassinet and peered inside, he’d seen the little pink-faced infant and felt a shift deep inside himself. And as Olivia had ceased crying and peered up at him with those dark eyes, her mouth split into a toothless smile, his heart had been ensnared.
From that day forward, they’d been inseparable. He’d spent every moment not in the schoolroom in the nursery, playing with Olivia and basking in the attention of his new stepmother. She treated him much like his own mother had, and he liked her now … even if she did not know how to play the pianoforte.
There were whispers among the servants that she’d only wed the earl for money and security, needing both after the sudden death of her first husband—but such things had not mattered to a young boy who missed his own mother. He’d loved her almost as much as he loved Olivia … right up until her death.
As she’d lain in bed, wasting away from some fatal illness, she’d placed a damp palm against his cheek and begged him to look after his sister. Then she’d whispered a weak ‘I’m sorry, my son,’ before closing her eyes for the last time. It was not until he had become a man that he’d realized what she’d been apologizing for.
Leaving them both alone with the cold, distant earl.
However, he’d found that his stepmother had had no reason to apologize; not when she’d left him Olivia, who had taken the sting out of his father’s constant scorn. With her filling his day with smiles and joy, he did not have to care that the man who’d sired him seemed to despise him.
“Is Father around?” she asked, drawing him out of his reverie.
Her gaze darted about as if she were afraid the earl would appear from around the corner any moment.
He shrugged one shoulder. “I am not certain. I’ve only just returned home.”
She gave him a coy smile. “How is the fair Fiona?”
Pursing his lips at her, he inclined his head. “How is Niall?”
Her smile faded, and her gaze flitted away from his, the flush deepening in her cheeks. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about.”
He might have laughed at her if it weren’t so bloody tragic. His sister had grown into a beautiful young woman—one who could have her pick of the men in Edinburgh. Yet, she had developed a tendre for a stable groom. While that stable groom also happened to be one of Adam’s only true friends, even he could not approve the match. They would never be free to love one another without scorn—a lady and a servant who mucked out stalls. He’d caught them kissing and pawing at one another on more than one occasion, but had known better than to intervene. Trying to keep them apart would only send them sneaking about behind his back.
Besides, no one knew better than he that it could not last. In a few months, Olivia would leave for London, embarking on her first Season. She would surely find a match there and be married within a year, putting her out of Niall’s reach for good. Who was he to deny them the simple pleasure of being together for the short time they had left?
“So, you haven’t seen Niall?” he teased, waggling his eyebrows at her.
She huffed, running a hand over her disheveled hair. “No, Adam, I have not.”
“Very well,” he relented, deciding to let her off easy this time. “If you happen to see him, tell him I’m looking for him. I could use some time with an épée and a worthy opponent.”
She raised her chin and feigned nonchalance. “I am certain I won’t be encountering him any time soon, but if I do, I shall certainly pass along your message.”
“Right, then,” he said with a chuckle. “As you were.”
She closed the door, and he continued on his way to the dining room. His sister was the only thing about life at Dunvar House that he would miss during his Grand Tour, but he’d known separation would happen sooner or later. They were becoming adults—him going out to learn about the world before being forced to settle down and rise to the earldom, and her going out in search of a husband and a new life.
But, he truly believed she would get on well in his absence. She had a proper pair of chaperones for her trip to London, and a level head. By the time he returned from the Continent, he fully expected to find her married, and perhaps even heavy with her first child.
He smiled at the thought, wishing for it with all his heart … if for no other reason than marriage and becoming a mother might save her from the heartbreak she would suffer if she allowed herself to fall in love with Niall.
CHAPTER FOUR
On the day before he was scheduled to depart on his voyage, Adam stood in the vestibule of Dunvar House, watching as a large crate was toted into the dwelling by a cluster of large, male servants. One of them was Niall, sweat breaking out along his brow as he helped place his gift for Olivia onto the gleaming tiles.
She appeared at the bottom of the steps, gasping as the servants stood back, huffing and cursing under their breaths. The crate and its contents had been a nuisance to have delivered and a pain to carry up the front steps, but it would be worth it once she discovered what he’d purchased for her.
“Is this it?” she squealed, dashing across the foyer and throwing herself against his side. “Is it my present?”
Wrapping an arm around her sho
ulders and turning his head to kiss her crown, he chuckled. “As terrible as you were as a little lass … so impatient.”
“You’re bloody right I am,” she replied. “Now open the box … I am dying to know what you got me.”
“Right away, Lady Olivia,” Niall murmured, stepping forward and motioning for a footman to help him pry the crate open.
She stiffened at Adam’s side, her breath hitching as the large stable groom held her gaze for a brief moment. Adam felt the way it affected her, from her head down to the tips of her toes.
Niall tore his gaze away, helping to get the front panel of the crate pulled away to reveal the extravagant gift inside. Olivia gasped and broke away from him, stumbling forward with a hand clapped over her open mouth at the sight of the harp. Made of solid gold and adorned with figures of angels, it had seemed like the perfect parting gift for his sister. It was one thing they had in common—music—despite having been born of different parents. She had proved decent enough at the pianoforte, but the harp was where she truly shined, her hands and fingers so light upon the strings, creating the most heavenly music. They often played together, but the harp she’d been plucking at for the past decade was old and run down. This one was worthy of her, beautiful and well-crafted, an instrument she could happily play for the rest of her life if she wished.
Turning to face him, her eyes glistening with tears, she shook her head. “You shouldn’t have. It’s too extravagant.”
“It is perfect for you,” he argued.
“Father will not like the expense.”
He scowled. “Are you trying to ruin my good mood on purpose? I leave tomorrow, for chrissake. I wanted you to have this, and it’s yours. How about a thank you, then shut your trap?”
She laughed, launching herself into his arms with a joyful sob. “It is beautiful, Adam. Thank you.”
He held her slight body in his arms and patted her back. “Anything for you, butterfly. No matter the expense. And Father can go to the devil.”
Hart: A Villainous Short Story Page 2