Surrender to Sin (Fallen)

by Nicola Davidson

  “Well then. Why don’t we try an experiment? Kiss me, and I’ll tell you what it says.”

  For a long moment she hesitated. Sweet heaven she wanted to. Badly. But it had been so very long since she kissed someone she actually wanted to kiss; the secrets of finishing school seemed like a hundred years ago. What if she and Sin banged noses or foreheads? What if all she could demonstrate was friendship or lukewarm teasing? A mild scandal had seemed so easy. Perhaps it wasn’t at all. “I’m woefully out of practice,” she said awkwardly. “Probably not very seductive.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that. Look, I’ll even meet you halfway on the chaise. Shimmy closer, pet, and kiss me as though bloody Baxter was peering through the window right now.”

  Grace nodded, excitement coiling in her belly at the chance to have something she’d wanted for the longest time. Then she leaned across and carefully brushed her mouth against his, once, twice, before timidly touching the tip of her tongue to his lips. A low growl escaped him, and she jerked back. “I did it wrong, didn’t I,” she said tightly, embarrassed. What a countrified twit she must appear to someone of his experience. “I’m sorry.”

  “On the contrary. It was sweet and perfect. But sweet and perfect won’t end an engagement. If we are to create a public scandal, you cannot hold back. You must give me your all, so any gossips looking on unequivocally believe that rather than the quiet, virtuous widow of repute, you are an independent, hot-blooded woman with reckless, ungovernable sexual needs. For that is the last kind of wife a man like Baxter wants.”

  “I understand. Can we try again?”

  His smile was pure wickedness. “Oh, I dare you to.”

  Dizzy heat flooded her, and Grace licked her lips. As if the quiet challenge had woken her inner wanton from an endless sleep, slowly, deliberately, she moved on the chaise, hitching up her gown and straddling Sin’s lap. His eyes flared in surprise then darkened with desire, and she shivered at the unfamiliar and utterly addictive sensation of power.

  Cupping his face, Grace kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his stubbled jaw, tasting and exploring the salty warmth of his skin. Then she moved to his mouth, tracing and licking the hard lips so very different from her own, until he opened and sucked her tongue inside. Abruptly the kiss became something hot and wild, a light breeze to a violent storm. He wasn’t gentle, nor did she want him to be, and she could only sigh with pleasure as one hand clamped around the back of her neck, the other on the small of her back, and he crushed her lips with his.

  Oh God. This was the kiss she’d been dreaming of her whole life. Raw and brutal and wonderful. With a low whimper, she threaded her fingers through his silky, short-cropped hair, letting her knees slide farther apart so she sat closer to him, unable to stop herself from rubbing her hard, aching nipples against the rock-solid expanse of his chest.

  “Sin,” she gasped in frustration, when the light friction wasn’t nearly enough.

  “I know. I know what you need,” he said hoarsely, and she moaned in gratitude when the hand at her back slid up over her hip to cup one breast, two fingers massaging her nipple through her bodice. But again, she soon wanted more.

  “Harder,” she demanded, the wanton refusing to be denied a second longer.

  “So greedy, darling.”

  Yet there was nothing but approval in his voice, and when the two fingers delved under her bodice to pinch her nipple directly, it sent a jolt of fierce arousal straight to her dampening core and she arched, crying out. This was passion, what the ladies whispered about, what they craved and risked all for. And if he ever stopped, she would—

  “Sinny!”

  Horrified, Grace jerked around to stare at the amused-looking brunette who now lounged in the doorway to the parlor. Her glossy hair tumbled down her back and she wore just an emerald satin dressing gown that barely constrained Venus-like curves, but she remained utterly at ease. Who would dare just march in? Was the stunningly beautiful woman one of Sin’s mistresses? Sweet heaven, she could actually see the brunette’s nipples, big and dusky rose colored, but so soft-looking, like velvet.

  Quickly, Grace turned away, her cheeks on fire.

  “What is it, Charlotte?” said Sin, as he removed his hand from Grace’s breast and straightened her bodice so expertly, she wanted to kick him. “And what the hell happened to knocking?”

  “I did knock, several times, but you were obviously, well, distracted. Your harem is waiting for you.”

  His harem? Grace didn’t realize she’d growled the word until Sin laughed and squeezed her hand.

  “Don’t give me that look, pet. I’m in charge of staff at Fallen, and my harem is the maids. Most days I’d say coven rather than harem, though.”

  “Aw, Sinny, don’t pretend you don’t love us to bits. I’ll tell the girls you’ll be there in five minutes, don’t make me get out my crop, now,” the brunette said firmly, blowing them a kiss, and strutting from the room.

  “Crop?” Grace blurted. “Did she mean a riding crop? Does she use it on people?”

  As soon as she said the words she wanted to take them back, it was hardly her business what happened here. But Sin didn’t look annoyed. More…pleased.

  “Charlotte is our resident dominatrix. That is a woman who takes the lead role in sexual play. And yes, she often uses a riding crop or other toys. Many men and women find it incredibly pleasurable to be whipped.”

  “They do? And what do you mean by toys? What kind?”

  He grinned. “While I would adore to continue this glorious conversation and answer all your questions, I do actually have to get to the meeting.”

  “Oh. Of course. Sorry!” said Grace, awkwardly scrambling off his lap. How on earth did one leave a lover, anyway?

  “I’m the one who should apologize. Completely forgot I changed the meeting day. But I’ll suffer for my lapse,” he said ruefully as his gaze dropped meaningfully downward.

  “Oh dear.” She bit back a wayward smile at the very large bulge between his legs. She, Grace Carrington, had caused that.

  “Besides, we can meet again tomorrow, correct? I think we’ve got more to discuss about mild scandals before we go public. And we’ll need to practice our scenario.”

  Indeed.

  She couldn’t wait.

  …

  “Sin! Mary can’t sing, she has a head cold and sounds like an addled rooster.”

  “Sin! Number 42 spurted all over my pirate queen costume, and now it’s ruined.”

  “Sin! You tell Number 19 the next time he swings his cock in my face while I’m pourin’ drinks, he’s gonna find teeth marks and an inch missin’.”

  As he took his chair at the front of the spacious chamber they’d converted into a meeting room, Sin shook his head and regarded his harem of ex-prostitute maids with an exasperated yet fond smile. Although they drove him to drink some days, every complaint, all the banter, each belly laugh was a victory against the demons of their pasts. All had been assisted away from deplorable situations of cruel violence, rape, starvation, and poverty, where they were left on the streets to die if they became ill or pregnant.

  At Fallen, every maid was paid well and chose her own destiny, whether it was a quiet life of sewing and fussing over guests, taking a lover, indulging in party games, or a combination of all three. Watching them heal, become confident and outspoken, and gain independence was a source of profound satisfaction.

  Sure, vicious threats came in on a daily basis from pimps and bawds; on several occasions Sin had been lucky to escape the hellholes of London with just cuts and bruises after brawling with people who made a rabid wolf look placid. The so-called do-gooders were almost as bad, all refined taunts and threats, frantic placard-waving, and a propensity for hurling handy objects. But under no circumstances would he stop. Actually, perhaps he was acting in memory of his mother as Devil suggested—although her situation had been markedly different to the maids of the harem.

  Sin held up a hand in a half-hearted attempt to
halt the chatter. “One at a time, you ornery wenches. I’ve heard less fuss from a migrating gaggle of geese.”

  “Oooh, sounds like someone needs some warmed milk and a nap,” called one maid from the back of the room.

  “More like he needs his pipe drained,” cackled another.

  “Actually, it’s both,” said Charlotte, and he scowled at the gleeful look on her face, one that indicated she was about to update the harem in full graphic detail of what she had witnessed in the parlor. The domme dared a lot, thanks to her longstanding close friendship with Devil.

  “All right, all right, let’s get this meeting started,” said Sin, hoping to distract her from her tale, and him from an erection that still refused to fully subside.

  No such luck.

  Charlotte beckoned the other maids closer. “Gather round, girls. Our Sinny has found himself a nice, young lady widow! Got her onto his lap and learning the true meaning of the word kiss, hell in a teacup, that much was clear. I knocked and knocked but they didn’t hear me, and oh, you should have seen her sweet face when I barged in to remind him of the meeting. Scarlet like a virgin, bless her. Do you have details to add, my lord?”

  He smiled blandly. “Not a single thing.”

  Immediately a chorus of pleas and arguments filled the room, along with chairs scraping and cambric gowns rustling as thirty-one determined maids settled into a semi-circle for a group interrogation. The whole bloody lot had been pestering him for years to find a ‘bride of his station’ and sire children for them to dote on. For some unknown reason, they couldn’t grasp that a ton wife would never work; even with his title, no well-bred woman would tolerate a scandal-rich, liberal-minded cit for a husband, a man not only the son of a courtesan, but firmly dedicated to helping prostitutes and running Fallen.

  Hell, they only needed to look at Devil’s example. Their quiet, near-respectable mathematical genius tried marriage to a lovely society chit, and it had gone so catastrophically wrong that Eliza now lived hundreds of miles away. Besides, he was too much his father’s son to want a wife and a mistress, so it was far easier to remain a bachelor and meet his varied sexual needs with a succession of uncomplicated wanton beauties.

  He was jolted back to the present as the meeting room protests reached roof-lifting proportions.

  “Come on, Sinny,” demanded an older maid to his left. “Tell us. What is her name?”

  “None of your bloody business.” He reached for a sheet of paper on the nearby wide oak desk, and dipped a silver pen into an inkpot. “Now, what must be ordered from the modiste apart from a come-free pirate queen costume?”

  All at once silence reigned, and he lifted his head to see thirty-one pairs of eyes regarding him with grave disappointment. Like he’d cancelled Christmas, stolen their sweets, and yelled at orphans.

  “Enough with the sad pup looks,” he said irritably, the current state of his cock and the thought of long, Grace-less hours until tomorrow morning shortening his temper. “There is no tale to tell.”

  “We just want you to be happy, my lord,” said a young maid, with far too much knowledge in her eyes.

  “I am happy,” he barked. “I’ll be even happier when a completed order can be delivered to Madame Alice. Besides, there really isn’t anything to tell. I only just met Grace.”

  Fuck.

  Throwing his pen aside, Sin let a fierce glare roam the meeting room. Thirty-one faces beamed back at him.

  “Lady Carrington is a widow in a very complicated situation. I am assisting her, and in a fortnight’s time the matter will be resolved and we’ll part on amicable terms forever. That is all. Now, let’s settle this order. Last name down will be running about after Prinny and his current favorites for the rest of the week.”

  A near stampede of women descended on his desk, and he almost smiled. Almost.

  Except he couldn’t stop thinking about Grace. Her mischievous wit and curiosity. The heady combination of rose-scented soap and aroused woman. Her gasps and moans and cries when he’d kissed and played with her.

  Sin gritted his teeth and shifted uncomfortably in the high-backed chair. Steel rod had nothing on his cock at the moment. All the day needed now was Devil and Vice to stroll into the room, all arched eyebrows and mocking grins, to repeat their appalling quips about the joys of oiling rusty, shrieking Gates, and his brain might actually explode.

  What the hell was everyone’s problem, anyway?

  It wasn’t like entertaining a widow was a novelty. Fallen had long ago established a reputation as a sanctuary for any age and gender. Perhaps no women as innocent as Grace, or with her strict background, and maybe he rarely allowed others into his private parlor, but that was by the by. He could do whatever the fuck he liked. Always had. Always would. As he’d said to the maids, he was merely assisting a lady in need.

  Nothing more.

  Chapter Three

  “Must say, Lady C, it will be a happy day when I don’t have to dress you in plain gray or lavender anymore. Fine for the ladies who truly miss their husbands, but there isn’t a soul in London who is sorry old Carrington passed. Especially not his heir.”

  Grace smiled grimly in the mirror at Nell. “I thought that, too, but yesterday afternoon’s visit to the milliner…all that color and trim and those high-necked, long sleeved sketches made me feel quite ill. For if my plan fails, I am soon to be a wife again.”

  “Bah,” spat Nell, as she styled Grace’s hair into a neat chignon. “I still think you should ask Sin to drag the puffed up old boot to those haunted lands down Dartmoor way and leave him for the wildlife. It would be a sour, bony offering, but—”

  “Better the wildlife nibble Lord Baxter than me?”

  “Exactly. Then you could wed Sin and spend your days nibbling that fine figure of a man instead.”

  Even the thought made her entire body heat. She’d felt Sin’s trouser-covered erection between her legs, but what might it be like to hold his naked length in her hands? To taste and explore every inch of that big, hard body with her lips and tongue and make him come?

  “No,” she said very regretfully. “Our nibbling is strictly on a friendship basis. He made it very clear he is not the marrying kind.”

  “But not at all averse to kissing you senseless? Your lips must have wondered what on earth was going on.”

  Grace nodded ruefully. “Sadly true. I was dreadful to start, peck, peck like a little bird. But then…oh my. He still believes I would benefit from more practice, though, and we got interrupted discussing the plan, so that is why I’m going back today.”

  “Well, just mind that he doesn’t spend inside you until I’ve found some of those sponges to soak in brandy. Now is not the time for a pregnancy.”

  “Nell!” she spluttered. “It is only kissing!”

  Her maid snorted. “So that was the only thing that happened? He didn’t touch you anywhere other than your face? Ha. Your ruby cheeks confess. And I think you should absolutely indulge should the opportunity arise…so to speak. No one need know.”

  Words of denial sprung to her lips and then faltered. “I thought about him all night. What I might do or say if it became more than kissing. And…I want to. I want this for myself, and have for the longest time.”

  “Of course you do,” said Nell. “It’s Sebastian bloody St. John. You know, if I were twenty years younger and had unlimited funds, I’d buy the pirate fantasy room at Fallen with a sign outside that said ‘Dear Sin, enter and plunder at will.’ Promise me you’ll go in there one day, my lady. If I must live vicariously through you, I expect details to make my slippers melt.”

  Grace laughed. “A pirate fantasy room? Oh, come on, that is surely a Banbury Tale.”

  “My brother says it is true. Apparently he was at a soiree and overheard another group discussing it, he gave them quite the lecture on immorality. It drives the ton barmy how secret the membership list is kept, but every so often details about the club’s activities escape, and it sends the city into a f
renzy. Actually, if Prinny is a patron, it’s no doubt him who leaks like a rusty bucket.”

  “No doubt,” said Grace. Even in the wilds of Gloucester, they’d heard about the Prince’s loose tongue. “We’d best be on our way. I know I’ve said it before, but I really do appreciate your discretion and willingness to, er, explore the city in my carriage for the next two weeks.”

  All humor left Nell’s face. “I’m pleased to help. You know how I feel about your father and the feral bat he married. One elderly husband is quite enough for any woman, but attempting to saddle you with a second? Outrageous. I’m not sure I believe his claim that your uncle endorses this new arrangement, either. Perhaps you should pay an impromptu afternoon call on the duchess.”

  “Actually, as soon as we arrived in town I sent a note suggesting afternoon tea. I didn’t specify the reason in case other eyes read it, and unfortunately, I haven’t heard back yet. I hope Aunt Anne isn’t cross with me. I always enjoyed her company, but Carrington rarely allowed me to come to town and it has been over a year since I saw her in person.”

  “You give the duchess too little credit. She is a very astute woman who probably understands more than you think. In the meantime, there is no point waiting here for the post.”

  A half hour later they descended on Portman Square. Waving Nell away, Grace hurried to Fallen’s discreet back entrance and rapped the shiny brass knocker. Anticipation robbed her of the ability to stand still, and she found herself almost dancing a minuet on the steps waiting for admittance.

  “Ah, Lady Carrington,” said a soft, accented voice, and she nearly yelped in surprise at the mountain of a man now blocking the doorway. How could Fallen’s butler, who was broader than Sin and surely must be six and a half feet tall, move so soundlessly?

  “Oh, Diaz. Good heavens, you startled me,” she said with an embarrassed laugh as she remembered Sin’s kitten to starving tiger quip. The attractive Spaniard was polite and deferential, but his bald head, pierced ears, scarred cheek, and unblinking black stare did indeed speak of a deadliness only barely leashed.