Surrender to Sin (Fallen)

by Nicola Davidson

  “Do not tease me, Sebastian St. John,” Grace said fiercely, and before he could move, she leaned forward, tore the top button of his linen shirt and nipped his flesh with her teeth. “Fuck me. Like you mean it.”

  Christ.

  Violently aroused by her unashamed need, so close to coming he could hardly see straight, Sin somehow managed to unfasten his trousers and free his engorged cock. Coating the head in her juices, he thrust several inches in then pulled back, setting up an uncompromising rhythm to the symphony of her ragged moans.

  “That’s it, darling. Louder. Let them all hear you.”

  “Harder. Please. Oh God, please, more.”

  “Like that?” he asked, plunging brutally deep, the question entirely unnecessary as her fingernails dug into his neck and she climaxed with a wild cry. Barely able to withdraw in time, shocked at the selfish, primitive urge to break his own rule and risk a pregnancy by spilling every drop of his seed inside her, he came all over her mound and inner thighs with a low roar.

  “Sebastian? Is something wrong?”

  He quickly shook his head. “No. I just seem to have lost the ability to think. And remain upright. Excuse me while I slide to the floor and become syllabub. Or in my case, Sinabub.”

  The rich sound of Grace’s laughter warmed his heart, and he leaned forward, capturing her mouth with his own. The tender kiss couldn’t be more opposite to their frenzied fucking, and at that moment he knew he was in far deeper trouble than he’d ever imagined.

  “We need a handkerchief,” she murmured, her head falling back to rest against the diamond window pane. “There is one in my reticule.”

  After swiftly cleaning them both up, Sin stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket and tucked his cock back in his trousers, but didn’t fasten them. Nor did he fully lower Grace’s gown. “I think I hear footsteps. Fear not, Lady Carrington, we are soon to be discovered.”

  “Will you be thrown out of the townhouse?”

  “Probably not thrown. I did bribe my way in by making a donation to the church roof fund. Never ceases to amaze me how fast the cold and righteous forget their scruples in exchange for a bank draft.”

  “What kind of sum?” she said, looking at him not with avarice, but mild curiosity.

  He shrugged. “Two thousand pounds. I know the church they are repairing; it is an old and pretty building, with some kind and truly Christian parishioners.”

  “Two thousand! Baxter was preening over three hundred.”

  “He would. No doubt he’ll make them get on their knees and grovel for every penny as well,” Sin replied, his gaze narrowing. “I saw the two of you talking, and his grip on your arm. What else did he say?”

  Grace’s lips tightened, and he regretted the loss of her soft, sated smile. “That if I am a silent, docile china doll, who accepts his painful, perfunctory bedchamber visits, I will have the honor of birthing sons to carry on his line, and daughters to sell to the highest-ranked bidder. All while gaining a veritable tidal wave of tasteful jewelry, figurines, posies, and hair ribbons.”

  His gut twisted, and he enveloped her in his arms, smoothing a hand over her hair as much to soothe himself as her. “What lady could resist such a thoroughly tempting offer?”

  She looked away, but not before he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. “Once upon a time I did want a child. Badly. But the thought of him in my bed…of being trapped in a cold marriage again with someone I despise in every way, ruling me, lecturing and molding my sons and daughters, punishing us all for any perceived transgression… I can’t do it. I simply canno—”

  A truly ear-murdering wail interrupted her, and Sin glanced sideways to see the red-faced visage of their hostess, a small army of appropriately outraged guests trailing behind her. “Ah, Lady Miles,” he teased. “What a becoming shade of pumpkin you are wearing. Contrasts perfectly with your tomato-esque cheeks.”

  “Not one more word, sirrah, you…you despicable bounder! I see my husband’s tale was gospel truth. And Lady Carrington acting the slattern…the two of you treating my home like…like a brothel!”

  “I wouldn’t say brothel,” said Grace, in a voice so sultry it made his spent cock throb.

  “Nor I,” he added. “That is overly harsh, Lady Miles, not a penny has changed hands. Although if you’d like to negotiate a share as bawd, do let me know.”

  Red became purple, and Sin’s lips quirked in alarm. Today it might be indeed possible to definitively answer whether a human head could implode.

  “Get out,” screeched Lady Miles. “Get out, get out, get out!”

  “Sebastian,” said Grace, not even looking at the woman. “Would you escort me back to my father and stepmother?”

  “Be my pleasure, angel,” he replied, refastening his trousers, assisting her down from the window ledge and adjusting her gown.

  Surely now they had achieved victory.

  Surely.

  …

  The memory of Lady Miles’s scarlet-faced caterwauling would never cease to make her smile.

  Mainly because after their false start last night, this could now be pinpointed as the day she managed to get rid of Lord Baxter forever. And again she’d been pleasured mindless by Sebastian. What he’d just done to and for her lifted her heart to the heavens, but she couldn’t even look at him as they strolled arm in arm back to the parlor, not when her pussy was still damp and thrumming from the relentless thrusting of his thick cock.

  Oh God, not just his cock. His mouth, his fingers…the heated words he whispered in her ear, the way he moved between sweetly gentle and deliciously rough at any given moment.

  “Darling,” his voice purred in her ear. “You’re making me blush.”

  Grace blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “The sheer lust on your face. Thinking about what I just did to you?”

  “No,” she mumbled, cheeks blazing.

  “Pity. I am. Every time your hand caresses my sleeve, every time the air delivers me light wafts of your rose soap and wet cunt, I want to find a bed to spread you across. The way you scream and grip my fingers or cock when you come is really quite addictive.”

  “Stop it,” Grace hissed, almost stumbling at his blunt, erotic words. “I can’t focus when you talk like that, and I have one more audience with Lord Baxter to fulfill.”

  Sebastian sighed. “You’re right. Plus, I’m hurting myself. Don’t be alarmed if I walk a step behind you, but I find myself in sincere need of your voluminous skirts. Or perhaps a pelisse I could carry?”

  Her gaze darted down without thought, and she shivered at the growing bulge straining against his trousers. Oh sweet heaven. She’d just had that inside her, been soaked with his warm, salty-sweet come, and he was ready for a second bout.

  “Grace! Where have you been? Lord Baxter here was worried sick!”

  The militant tone of her stepmother, Edwina, yanked her back to reality. Swallowing hard, Grace forced herself to meet both the woman’s accusing glare and her fiancé’s ice-cold gaze. But before she could even begin the tale, a furious splutter sounded behind her.

  “Where has your stepdaughter been?” Lady Miles snapped, in high temper. “Oh, I’ll tell you where she has been. Perched on a window ledge enjoying lecherous acts with that man!”

  Gasps sounded from every corner of the parlor, but a quick glance around revealed almost as many looks of blatant envy, as shock or disgust. Sebastian’s reputation did indeed precede him everywhere.

  “Rather surprised to see you here, St. John,” Lord Baxter eventually said, in a frigid tone. “Don’t recall seeing your name on the guest list approved for this private gathering.”

  “It wasn’t!” squeaked Lady Miles, clenching and unclenching her hands in the folds of her orange gown. “I swear!”

  Sebastian shrugged. “I was a late responder. But as soon as I heard of the fundraiser, I simply couldn’t ignore the need. And the ladies here were so very grateful for my arrival, poor pets.”

  “They are but
women in need of far stricter guidance,” said Lord Baxter easily, but his shoulders were rigid and his eyes practically spat loathing. “Dare we hope you might have followed my lead and dropped a few guineas into the fund? Or are you quite the cit now and channel all your resources back into, er, trade?”

  Grace quivered as she attempted to smother a snort of laughter. Her wretched temporary fiancé no doubt considered that the worst insult possible, completely ignorant of Sebastian’s skill and lifesaving generosity toward others.

  “Oh no,” said Sebastian, quirking an amused eyebrow at her before smiling equably at Lord Baxter. “I was pleased to donate. I can only hope two thousand pounds is enough to make a difference to that charming church and the good people who worship there. My mother was a part of the congregation for a time, and they were always so warm and welcoming to her…I say, Baxter. Are you all right? Forgive an indelicate observation, but you’ve gone a rather unbecoming shade of tomato. No, wait, aubergine. Now, where have I seen that phenomenon recently…hmmm.”

  Lady Miles shook her fist at him. “Why, you unconscionable reprobate—”

  “A gentleman wouldn’t make such an uncouth statement,” snapped Lord Baxter. “Nor would he put his hands on another man’s property. Step away from my fiancée.”

  Sebastian turned and grinned at her, one finger slowly tucking an errant blond curl behind her ear then trailing sensually along her jaw. “It is my experience that Lady Carrington very much enjoys my hands on her.”

  “No,” Edwina moaned, cupping her pale cheeks. “Oh no. Grace, what have you done, you stupid, stupid girl?”

  Taking a deep breath, strengthened by Sebastian’s touch and presence, Grace looked her stepmother square in the eye, and smiled widely. “Everything.”

  Lady Miles swooned. Edwina’s face twisted and she flailed her arms in apoplectic rage. Sebastian began to laugh.

  “’Tis true,” he said, his amber eyes gleaming. “My darling Gracie is a most willing and adventurous minx. By the by, Baxter. I must chide the use of such an archaic term as property. Good God, man, next you’ll be saying a lady must endure rather than enjoy the bedchamber.”

  Lady Miles gasped from where she sat on the floor, having been revived by a friend waving a vial of hartshorn under her nose. “Lord St. John!”

  “Be at ease, my lady,” said Lord Baxter, bestowing a small smile on the fallen pumpkin. “St. John’s upbringing was far more casual than ours and Lady Carrington’s due to his mother’s background. A common strumpet wasn’t she, my lord?”

  Sebastian’s laugh was carefree, but his eyes were stormy. Grace shuffled closer, about ready to spit on Lord Baxter’s champagne-polished boots.

  “No,” drawled Sebastian. “Cherished companion to a select few in the upper echelons of power. Then she met my father and happily retired. But I daresay you are right, my upbringing being different to yours. Several generations apart and all that. Now, Lady Carrington, I wonder if you are a trifle parched after this afternoon’s exertions and excitements. May I fetch you a glass of punch?”

  She nodded. “That would be lov—”

  “No time,” said Lord Baxter with a bland smile. “The speeches are about to start. St. John, I do believe you have outstayed your welcome and should depart with all haste. Come along, Grace my dear, Edwina, our seats are reserved next to the bishop’s.”

  Before she could blink, her fiancé hooked his arm around hers and started dragging her toward the front of the room. When she glanced back, Sin still watched them, and from this distance he looked troubled, as though torn between several emotions. The same as she.

  “My lord,” she gritted out, turning back to Lord Baxter and shaking her head at the fanciful thoughts. “I don’t believe we are going to miss anything. The committee hasn’t set up yet.”

  “Oh, I know. But I wanted a word in private with you. Edwina, would you mind?”

  As her stepmother fled, Grace’s heart skipped a beat. Was this it, the moment she’d been wishing for—him crying off and setting her free?

  “Yes, Lord Baxter?” she said softly, keeping her gaze on the ground so he wouldn’t see her joy.

  “You have acted with atrocious disregard for propriety this afternoon, Lady Carrington. Allowing a lowborn whelp like St. John to touch you. Insolence toward Lady Miles and your stepmother. Causing scenes in the middle of a fundraiser. All conduct grossly unbecoming my fiancée.”

  “And so?” said Grace, hardly daring to believe her good fortune. Tentatively she lifted her head, ready to be faced with revulsion and righteous anger as he formally ended their betrothal.

  Instead, Lord Baxter’s pale eyes were bright with feverish excitement. “You may not be aware, but everyone invited here today is utterly beholden to me. Over time I have collected their debts, loaned them money, provided introductions, and done them favors. But one misstep, and I will collect. I own them. Just as I will own you.”

  “What?” she said, confusion and stark horror almost robbing her of voice. The man wasn’t just awful, he was actually evil.

  “They know I will destroy each and every one of them…their families, livelihoods, and social standing…should one word spread of your shocking behavior. But now your true depraved and willful nature is revealed, I must answer the calling. You require a husband with a stern, resolute hand, one who is prepared to employ whatever correctional methods necessary to ensure you stay on the right path. I will be that man. And so, Lady Carrington—Grace—we must bring the wedding date forward.”

  Chapter Six

  “Apologies for disturbing you, my lord, but you have an unexpected visitor. She says she needs to speak with you urgently.”

  Sin glanced up from his parlor desk, where he was attending to the last minute list of costume requirements for the evening’s annual pirate ship fantasy extravaganza. The most anticipated event on Fallen’s calendar, the extravaganza allowed club members to either take full part in the most extreme and uninhibited of role-play orgies, or indulge their voyeuristic tendencies and watch from comfortable tiered seating. It promised to be an intense sexual spectacle and a half, as things tended to be when Vice was in command.

  “Diaz, I have told you repeatedly to call me Sin, like everyone else does.”

  The butler folded his meaty arms and scowled, turning an already intimidating visage into quite possibly the stuff of nightmares. “And I have responded repeatedly, señor, that no Castilian would accept such familiarity between employee and employer. I will not disgrace the memory of my family with such behavior.”

  “Irritable bastard. After tonight, I’m giving you two full days off with pay. Find a nice woman, or man, if that is your preference, and enjoy yourself.”

  “No thank you, my lord. I am more than content with my life and hours here.”

  Sin tilted his head and studied the bald man-mountain in front of him. “You know, Diaz, if I didn’t know better I might say you stay close to Fallen for a reason other than job satisfaction. Perhaps you’ve found that nice woman or man already?”

  Something like pain flared in the butler’s eyes, but it was gone in an instant. “The visitor, my lord?”

  “Who is it?”

  “Lady Carrington.”

  Sin cursed and leapt to his feet. “For God’s sake, man, you don’t announce Grace, you escort her straight in. Even when unexpected. Understood?”

  Pushing past the other man, Sin hurried toward the foyer, anticipation and dismay fizzing in his veins. He hadn’t gotten the chance to speak to Grace after bloody Baxter dragged her away, and ten o’clock in the morning was very early to be paying an unscheduled call. Had she come to confirm victory and say a last goodbye? Or something else?

  “Grace?” he called, rounding the corner at such pace his boot heels skidded on the marble floor.

  “Sebastian,” she said, and seconds later she hurled herself into his arms and buried her face in his shoulder.

  Christ Almighty. She was crying.

  “
Darling?” he said in alarm, carefully scooping her up and carrying her back to his parlor. “Tell me what is wrong.”

  As they settled on the chaise, and he chafed her cold hands in his, Grace’s tearstained face lifted to his. “T-tomorrow at eleven o’clock in the morning, I am to be m-married to Lord Baxter.”

  “No!” he snarled, the words like a fierce jab to the stomach. “We fixed it…Lady Miles and her fucking awful friends saw…”

  “Except it seems they all owe great sums of m-money and favors to Lord Baxter. He has them on the tightest of leashes, you should have seen their faces later. It was bizarre—like what we did never even happened! If anyone did say a word, I think he would destroy them in a heartbeat and not break a sweat.”

  Sin clenched his jaw. “Damn it, he would, too. Baxter has a habit of surrounding himself with weak people easily led and influenced, or those in desperate financial situations. Power is everything to him, that is why he hates and rarely spends time with those who have more. Did he say anything else?”

  “That now my willful and d-depraved nature is revealed, I need stern, resolute correction. My blasted f-father and stepmother agreed, so the wedding isn’t cancelled, but brought forward.”

  His hands tightened around Grace’s. “Like hell you need correction. No. Not going to happen. No way are you getting shackled to that cane-happy bastard.”

  “Cane-happy?”

  Unable to look at her as memories scraped him raw, Sin stared at the floor. “Baxter’s correctional tool of choice. A long time ago he was engaged to a friend of mine. Sara. He hurt her. And one day she…she died. I’ll never forgive him for what he did, nor will I stand back and let him crush your spirit. You are too…warm. Too alive. To never hear that wicked laugh, or see your eyes sparkle again…hell.”

  “Look at me.”

  She said the words quietly, he could pretend he hadn’t heard them, at least until he got himself under control. At the present time his eyes burned and his chest felt like it was clamped in a fucking vice. But then Grace dislodged her hands from his and scrambled into his lap, her warm, soft hands cupping his cheeks and forcing him to meet her open, compassionate gaze as she gently kissed him.