A Measured Risk

by Natasha Blackthorne

  How unfair, seeing as he’d spent the whole afternoon half-sprung. Nevertheless, his eyes had looked sober as he’d fixed her with a stern look. “Only two.”

  As soon as he’d disappeared into the card room, she’d downed three cups in quick order. God, it was like no other punch she’d ever drunk. Sweet with fruity hints of peach, pineapple and something else she couldn’t determine. Everyone around her drank freely. Why shouldn’t she? It gave her something to do other than hug her shoulders. Now she finished her fourth cup and felt rather intoxicated, her limbs languid yet her skin almost crawling with a jittery nervousness.

  Well, who wouldn’t be nervous in this room? Not that anyone bothered her. They were all too busy with each other. All around, couples sat on the richly coloured divans, the women—one couldn’t call them ladies—draped over the men, some men having two or three women at their disposal. She spied several bare bosoms and suspicious writhings. Musk, rose and other heavy perfumes saturated the air. Seductive laughter and sighs echoed in the dimly lit shadows.

  Was this Ruel’s way of telling her he now ranked her the same as these doxies?

  She bristled at the thought. In the morning, she was going back to Whitecross Hall. She’d didn’t care how she explained her arrival before her carriage. He’d pushed too far this time. This could not be borne.

  “Anne.”

  The husky feminine voice stopped her heart cold. She turned.

  Grey eyes peeked back from a dark blue mask that glittered with jets. The woman stroked her fingertips down Anne’s arm. “Only one woman in England could possibly have that gorgeous olive skin.”

  The curve of the smile tugged at her memory. However, it was the masses of chestnut-red hair and the natural birthmark above the full, red mouth finally made her remember. One of the few women who had been truly friendly to her in Mayfair—

  “Lady Waterbury?” Anne asked, unable to keep the wonder from her voice.

  A husky laugh. “Oh, I think we’re beyond our titles here. Call me Maria.” The woman ran her fingernails lightly up and down Anne’s arm again, leisurely, sensually. Sparks of desire raced through her. She could imagine those nails, lightly scraping her tightening nipples.

  The thought shocked her.

  “I always thought you were simply too beautiful,” Lady Waterbury fairly purred.

  Anne’s cunt clenched and wetness seeped from her channel and unreality descended over her. She glanced away, looking around at the firelight’s shadows dancing over the couples on the divans. Two women were kissing, while an older man fondled both their breasts. Across from them sat a young, golden-haired gentleman, a minor baron she’d never seen before tonight. He had a classically handsome face, almost too beautiful. One of his companions knelt between his legs, her head moving back and forth. His other companion pushed her teacup-sized breasts into his open mouth while he avidly tongued them.

  The sight fascinated her. Sexual heat pulsed between her legs, flooding her with wetness. She felt…she felt…almost dizzy, her throat and mouth gone quite dry. And her heart seemed to race away from her. The air grew hot, close. The punch—she’d had too much.

  She turned back to Lady Waterbury. The grey eyes were smoky. With desire. For her. Soft fingertips caressed her cheek. The other woman leaned closer. Her lips were parted and her fruity-scented breath proved strangely intoxicating.

  Anne sat back, then jolted to her feet. “I have to leave now, sorry.” She forced the words out in a rush before dashing across the drawing room, headed for the door. Something collided with her. Grasped her arms. She jerked her head up.

  Ruel’s azure eyes gazed down at her. Amused. Her heart ached as if it would tear in half. Well, she was certainly glad to have provided him with such amusement!

  “Where are you going so quickly?”

  “I don’t feel so well,” she said, truthfully. She didn’t feel herself at all. She hungered to have his hands on her. All over her. Tearing off her clothes. His weight pressing her down, his body hair caressing her nipples. His cock thrusting into her. Her gaze drifted over his body. He was dressed in black and, frowning, he looked sinister. He must have had clothes already here, for the suit fitted him perfectly, accentuating every line of his tall, hard-muscled body. Her cunt clenched almost violently. Dear God, she wanted him so badly that she would allow him to take her to one of the divans if he asked.

  “You do look flushed.” He laid his palm on her décolletage on the left side. “And your heart is pounding. Is that because Lady Waterbury wanted to kiss you?”

  “I don’t think she actually wanted—”

  He grinned, his expression somehow a stranger’s, as if a somewhat fiendish mask overlay his familiar features and yet he was the same Jon she knew. The sense of double identity made her dizzy. “She did. I know her.”

  The rich intimacy in his tone left no doubt. He knew the lovely Maria as well as he knew her.

  “Oh.” The word sounded hollow to her own ears.

  “Don’t you want to let her?” He caressed her neck with his fingertips. “Aren’t you curious?”

  Again, she had that sense of knowing him and yet him being a sinister stranger. She placed a hand to her forehead.

  “Not particularly. I-I told you I don’t feel well.” She just wanted to go somewhere alone and sort out all the confusing feelings. She could never think clearly until she did and she hated feeling so out of control of her own senses.

  “What if I said it would please me if you would allow her to kiss you?”

  Desire pounded through her with stunning force, weakening her knees so that she fell into him. He smiled down at her. Oh, she could deny him nothing when aroused like this.

  Please, don’t let him ask.

  However, he already had.

  “You certainly picked a nice, quiet corner. Why don’t we go there?” he said.

  “I couldn’t…not in here, with everyone watching.”

  “Everyone is preoccupied and it’s dark over there. No one is going to even notice. I could fuck you every way there is to do it and none would take a second glance.”

  “I care.” Heavens, why was she even discussing this? She should run, get away from his influence. If she did, clear thought would return. But his eyes held hers and she couldn’t move.

  “Then what if we invite her up to my chamber?”

  She had a vivid image of Lady Waterbury in his bed, her chestnut red hair a spill over his stomach as her mouth moved down—“No,” she found herself saying. “Please, don’t ask that.”

  “Why?”

  “I just don’t want to.”

  “You did a minute ago.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Is it that you don’t want me to touch her?”

  She closed her eyes, nodded vigorously.

  “I won’t touch her. It will be just you and her. I’ll just watch.”

  “You promise?”

  “Of course, trust me.” He caressed her shoulders in a light motion. “Do you remember in the horse stall, when you asked me to take the silver balls out and you offered me anything if I would?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, we could consider this tonight as payment.”

  She opened her eyes and stared up at his face. The skin drew taut over his cheekbones, his eyes dark as lapis with desire. He had her as neatly trapped as if he’d bound her. He wanted it, and sexually, she could deny him nothing. She trembled with excitement.

  A slow, sensual smile spread over his hard mouth. “We’d better go up now.”

  He swept her off her feet. She gasped in shock as he settled her into his arms. Then he turned and made a gesture with his head to Lady Waterbury.

  * * * *

  Anne stood, limp as a ragdoll while Ruel unlaced her. Lady Waterbury—Maria—undressed herself, but then she hadn’t as much to take off as Anne did. She’d worn a scandalously skimpy gown. French no doubt. Anne had been too anxious downstairs to notice.

  Cool air
touched her aching, stiff nipples and she glanced down to see herself bared. Surely no one could divest a woman of her garments like Ruel. It was almost criminal. Her legs were shaking so badly now.

  “Go to bed,” Ruel whispered in her ear.

  She nodded and stumbled over and sat. She stared at Ruel where he sat in a wingchair across from the bed.

  He pointed to Anne’s left. “Well, don’t look at me, sweeting, she’s trying to get your attention.”

  The humour in his voice warmed Anne’s blood. If only they were alone. She wanted him to come over and press her down on the bed and fuck her with his huge cock. But not with someone else watching. No, that wouldn’t do at all.

  Soft hands touched her shoulders. She recoiled for a moment. It seemed too gentle. Not repulsive but just too soft. Then she saw the fire flare in Ruel’s eyes and a thrill raced through her.

  He wanted this.

  She would give him whatever he wanted.

  She turned. Maria came closer, then their lips were touching. She caressed Anne’s breasts and Anne arched her back, hungry for sensation. She closed her eyes and pretended that Ruel was touching her, loving her. Each kiss and caress blended into the next. Her skilled lips moved low on Anne’s stomach and she writhed and moaned.

  “Stop.” Ruel commanded.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Anne startled. Lady Waterbury backed away from her, looking shocked. Then her lovely face relaxed and she laughed softly. “Turning possessive in our old age, are we?”

  “Apparently.” Ruel’s tone lightened considerably.

  But Anne could feel the displeasure beneath it. Why? In her inexperience, had she done this wrong? She glanced at him and his expression looked so fierce that it set her heart pounding.

  He stood, started walking towards the bed, and Anne’s heart pounded with dizzying speed.

  Oh fuck me, please fuck me.

  She swallowed tightly several times. Her throat was dry like parchment. She could drink a whole pitcher of water, but the hot desire boiling in her veins froze her in place. He stood by the bed, before her, wrenching at the fastenings of his trousers.

  “Well, I know when I am no longer wanted.” Beneath Lady Waterbury’s too-light tone, a serrated edge cut the air.

  Dimly, Anne could sense the other woman moving about, gathering her clothes. But she couldn’t tear her eyes from Ruel’s.

  He thrust into her savagely.

  Impaled her. Speared her. Stretching her, filling her. God, it was the most delicious, exquisite sensation—she clutched his shoulders, digging her nails in and raking down his back. Her cunt rippled over the thickness of his cock repeatedly, as pleasure exploded with her. She screamed with its force.

  She lay panting. Her throat burned like fire, her cries echoing in her ears as he withdrew.

  “Vixen,” he growled.

  Tears were flowing from her eyes, blurring her vision as she sat and tried to get close to Ruel’s body. Her hands made contact with his hard-as-boards stomach and she feverishly caressed him, searching for his cock. She wanted to feel him in her mouth, to swallow him whole. Taste his semen. A litany flowed from her lips. What, she had no idea.

  He took her by the shoulders and pushed her back to the bed. She rolled, now on her stomach. The bed rocked and she heard him moving about.

  The bed rocked again. He pulled her head up by the hair. “Who owns you, Nan?”

  She tried to speak, but her dry throat closed up.

  A sharp sting hit her buttocks. Then another. Another. Burning, fiery pain bloomed.

  “Who, Nan?”

  She swallowed hard, finding almost no saliva available to her. “Y-you.”

  Several steady blows came down on her, never hitting the same place twice. Fire raged in her cunt.

  Fuck me! Please fuck me! Her mind screamed the words.

  “Who was that, Nan?”

  “Jonathon Lloyd.”

  “Yes, good girl.”

  Something hit the bed beside her. She glanced at it. His riding crop. God. Horror washed over her. Surely he wouldn’t—Oh sweet holy mother, he already had. And, mad to have him inside her, she flooded with wetness.

  “Maybe with my marks on your arse, you’ll remember who owns you.”

  “Yes, yes, yes, oh God, yes.” She moaned the words into the pillow.

  “I didn’t hear you, Nan.”

  She turned her head. “Yes.”

  “I can make you do anything, Nan. Make you attend a party full of whores, make you kiss another woman. Anything. And you’ll be glad to do it for me. That’s how it is between us.”

  “Yes, yes, yes…anything.” She turned, wanting to touch him, to plead for him, to please him.

  “I can make you spend the winter with me in Scotland and I can make you love me.”

  She heard his words but they were too much for her overheated senses to deal with. She whimpered, reaching for him. He clamped his hand down on her head and pressed her back down. “Stay flat on your stomach.”

  He spread her buttocks and coldness gushed over her arse hole. The now familiar scent of coconut oil filled the air. She gasped and came halfway up. He pressed his hand on her back. “Down.”

  She lay back down and clutched the pillow. His finger traced along her puckered entrance. Anything for him. Anything. Yes, but… “Jon?”

  He made a sibilant sound.

  She bit her lip.

  He entered her with a slippery fingertip there, where she’d never dreamed it would. She trembled. He gripped her neck. “Easy, wench. Breathe normally.”

  She released her breath.

  “After tonight, there shall be no more doubts that I own you, body and soul. For always.” He slipped his finger inside again. Unexpected pleasure washed back over her. He slipped another finger in. Then he moved them back and forth. “I am going to fuck you here.”

  “Yes,” she moaned.

  “No part of you can remain unclaimed by me.”

  “Yes. Anything you want. Anything.”

  Her hips arched backwards, then she pressed forward onto the bed, trying to rub her aching nub on the crisp linen sheets. Her cunt spasmed and spasmed, pleasure claiming her, brief and intense.

  “Christ,” he groaned the word.

  The head of his cock throbbed against her arsehole, pressing. Instinctively, she arched her back. He entered a little way. Stretching her, hurting her. She cried out. He paused for a moment, then pushed further in. Bittersweet bursts of painful pleasure sparked within her.

  “Jon.”

  “Good girl, that’s it.” He entered her a little more and she whimpered, pressing her forehead into the pillow, tears flowing out of her eyes. He was tearing her in two and she didn’t care. He thrust with more force and she wailed. The sound echoed in her ears as her bottom pressed up against his pelvic bone.

  “That’s it, take it all, wench. My pleasure is your pleasure.”

  Her internal muscles contracted, hard. He groaned. She spasmed again.

  “Fuck.” He gasped the words, sounding pained. “Like this, do you, you little trollop?”

  She wailed again loudly in assent. He slid his hand underneath her pelvis and touched her nub, firing her desire to unbearable levels. Her tears flowed freely and she uttered stupid, senseless sounds. Begging him. Then he pulled up and thrust down. Hurting her. Pleasuring her. Several more thrusts and the pain eased, superseded by pleasure. She came, her whole body flailing, and she screamed as his hands tightened painfully on her sore buttocks, stilling her. He shouted harshly. His weight fell on her back, his panting breath sounded near her ear. He nipped her neck.

  Several moments passed.

  “You belong to me and you know it, Nan.” He bit her lobe, hard. Exhausted, she barely registered it. “In fact, you can’t live without me. You’ll come to Scotland and spend the winter with me. And you’ll stay with me as long as it pleases me, won’t you?”

  Her heart raced so hard and her thoughts swirled so fast that
she couldn’t latch on to any one of them to make coherent sense out of anything. She just needed to sleep, yet she felt so agitated she would never be able to.

  He pulled her head up by the hair. “Are you listening to me, Nan?”

  She stared into his frowning face. Her heart pounded. The chamber spun. “M-my heart won’t slow down…I can’t think straight.” She swallowed. “It frightens me.”

  He moved away from her, then candlelight shone in her face, blinding her. She closed her eyes, crying softly.

  “What the devil?” he said, sounding suddenly angry.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jon put the candle back, a dry metallic taste coating his throat. He knew he had not cropped her enough to elicit such a reaction. Her skin felt hot and dry.

  “How punch did you drink, Nan?”

  “Four cups.”

  “Oh Christ, I told you two—” He slapped his hand to his mouth and ran it roughly down his chin. “Lie here and be very still, Nan.”

  He leapt off the bed and found the discarded dressing gown. His hands were shaking as he drew it on. Damn him. Damn her. If she was harmed… Well, the first thing he was going to do what throttle Kean for making such a brew of God alone knew what aphrodisiac herbs.

  He threw the door open and flew down the corridor to pound on Kean’s door. “God damn it, Kean, get out here.”

  Shuffling and clattering sounded behind the door and it swung open. Kean appeared somewhat wild-eyed, his hair tousled. The odour of waterpipe hung heavy in the air. Feminine giggles echoed from within.

  “Anne had some reaction.”

  Kean’s eyes stared back dumbly. “Reaction?”

  “To the punch. Her eyes are almost completely dilated and her heart is racing. Her skin feels too dry. Hot like she’s burning.”

  “Oh,” Kean’s face sobered.

  “If anything happens…I swear I’ll kill you.”

  Kean held up a hand. “Don’t worry. The amounts of herbs in the punch are not dangerous. Some people are more sensitive than others. This is not the first time this has happened. Well, then, let’s have a look at her. Just a moment.” He disappeared back into the chamber and came back with a small dark bottle.