My Lord, Lady, and Gentleman (Surrey SFS Book 3)

by Nicola Davidson

  This woman’s innocent carnality would be the death of him. “Careful what you wish for, my lady. I can ramble for hours.”

  “I don’t mind. I find you…er, the topic, fascinating.”

  He tilted his head and stared at the baroness, far longer than was polite, until she quivered and bowed her head, showing a glimpse of slender, vulnerable neck made to be sucked and bitten. Preferably as he took her hard from behind. Would she be a lady who sighed and whimpered as she climaxed? Or one who screamed her pleasure?

  “Forgive my tardiness,” said a voice from the doorway, and relieved at the interruption to those particular wayward thoughts, Clayton turned and inclined his head at Lord Fenton.

  “It is of no matter, my lord.”

  “Where would you like me?”

  Several highly inappropriate answers danced on the tip of his tongue, but Clayton resisted. “That chair over there is fine. Now, Lady Fenton, have you had any further thoughts about who you’d like to be in the painting?”

  She bit her lip. “I’m not sure.”

  “Don’t worry, we can decide later. It’s more important to correctly capture your form. Are you ready to disrobe?”

  The baroness glanced at her husband, then back at him. And nodded. It probably took mere seconds for her to untie the dressing gown and push it from her body, but time had slowed to a snail’s pace, and the shy and clumsy reveal of narrow shoulders, small breasts with surprisingly prominent rosy-brown nipples, lush hips, and a thatch of light brown curls between slender thighs was more erotic than the most experienced courtesan. The urge to suck those delectable-looking nipples, to spread her thighs and lick her cunt until all he could taste was her spicy-sweet flavor on his tongue, to fuck her hard and deep, was so strong his fists actually clenched at his sides. Hell. He needed to stop being a lusty twit and start being the professional artist who had dispassionately sketched dozens of naked women, even a few couples. To remember his strict rule against bedding married women.

  “How should I arrange myself?” she asked softly.

  “Take down your hair,” Clayton growled, unable to moderate his tone. “In this painting, you’ll be ready for bedding or reveling in the aftermath, Lady Fenton.”

  The baroness blinked owl eyes at him. “In the circumstances, in this room, I think it would be best if you called me Susanna.”

  He swallowed hard. “Then, Susanna, hair such as yours should be seen in all its glory. Please unpin it, and recline back on those cushions. Right arm beside your head, left hand resting just above your mound, thighs spread.”

  “Do as Mr. Irving instructs, my dear,” rasped Lord Fenton from the other side of the room where he sat intently observing the scene, and Clayton looked away to compose himself at the thought the baron was equally aroused.

  When loose, Susanna’s rich brown locks fell below her shoulders, and Clayton nodded in approval as she lay back on the satin cushions. But it soon became clear she was exceedingly nervous, as she posed so rigidly her limbs were sharp angles rather than languid curves.

  Well versed in soothing his subjects, he smiled reassuringly. “Are you cold? It is certainly chilly outside. We can stoke the fireplace.”

  “N-no, I’m fine,” Susanna whispered.

  “Very well,” he replied. It was quite clear she wasn’t fine. Even less so a half hour later, when his best jokes and stories were exhausted, and no matter how he arranged her, or offered encouragement, she remained obviously frustrated and embarrassed at her body’s unwillingness to relax.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, her face taut with misery.

  “Don’t fret, Susanna,” said Lord Fenton. “Irving, perhaps you have another idea?”

  Clayton rubbed his jaw. “There is something. It has worked for particularly nervous subjects but is rather risqué.”

  “Just say it,” said Susanna. “Please.”

  “Then I want you to do something wicked for me. Think of the last time his lordship pleasured you. How delicious it felt to have his hair brushing your inner thighs, his fingers inside you, his tongue flicking and lapping your silky-wet center. How hard you orgasmed.”

  He paused expectantly, waiting for that secret little smile of a happy sexual memory, the corresponding relaxing of muscles. Yet the baroness went even more rigid, her pouty lips tight, her eyes dull with something that looked horrifyingly like disappointment and yearning.

  As if she knew what he meant, but hadn’t experienced it herself.

  “Susanna?” he said, alarmed. Surely that couldn’t be true. Surely. While he hadn’t witnessed much physical affection between the Fentons, they were so damned aware of each other with their quick glances and supportive words. That kind of trust and confidence only came from a solid shared history.

  But she stared back at him, and abruptly something sparked in her gaze. Something that looked a little like anger. “I’m afraid I can’t recall such an occasion. Perhaps you might ask Joseph…beg pardon, Fenton. His memory for detail is far better than mine.”

  Joseph had always known that one day there would be a reckoning for his many failures as a husband. Just not that it would be this morning, with an audience, and on such a humiliating topic. Now the truth of his wife’s unhappiness and frustration was burned in his mind. His determination to forget his past misdeeds and be a proper gentleman also meant he’d neglected her terribly in the bedchamber, and somehow having that fact revealed in front of none other than one of the ton’s most noted lovers, made his shame so much worse.

  How did a man explain that he sucked cock better than any courtesan, but was woefully inexperienced when it came to women? His clients had been wealthy men who wanted a very discreet interlude and paid well for it. Once he’d arrived in England and met Susanna, he’d fallen hard and bedding another woman, or man, hadn’t crossed his mind. Being an innocent virgin, she hadn’t known exactly how inept he was or how many pleasures she’d been denied because he couldn’t bear the thought of his rough hands or ill-used mouth on her sweet little breasts or tight, hot quim.

  “My lord?”

  Reluctantly, he met Irving’s quizzical gaze. “Yes?”

  “Forgive the impertinence, but I wonder if it is not modesty or nerves disrupting this session, but an intimate discord between the two of you. And if that is the case, then I cannot sketch or paint until it is resolved.”

  Guilt clawed at his insides and burned a path across his cheekbones. Yet Irving’s gaze was so steady, his tone so implacable, that Joseph couldn’t halt the embarrassing truth blurting out. “You are correct. I’ve failed in my husbandly duty, and it’s my fault. I lack…experience in pleasuring a woman.”

  The other man’s eyes flared. “I see. Well.”

  Bracing himself, he waited for the inevitable scorn. “Well?”

  “Well, you must make amends. At once.”

  Shocked, Joseph’s heart thudded in his chest. “Beg pardon?”

  “You heard me. To get the sketches I need for her portrait, your wife must know the bliss and languor of an orgasm. And there is no time like the present, when she’s lying here naked, and I can offer a little instruction. What do you think, my lady? Should Lord Fenton get on his knees and learn how to suck your clitoris until you come?”

  His wife gasped, but her nipples visibly hardened as she squirmed on the daybed, her thighs pressing together. “I…ah…”

  “Answer me, Susanna,” said Irving firmly.

  Christ. The excitement on Susanna’s beautiful face…he needed to do this, despite his depraved past. An orgasm was the very least he owed her. And today he had the chance to learn from an expert who was matter-of-fact rather than judgmental…such an opportunity would never arise again.

  On his feet before she even whispered ‘yes’, Joseph crossed the room and knelt at the foot of the daybed, which was a little low. But more than that, he wanted Irving close. Needed his calm guidance for a task that should have been mastered so long ago. Turning to the other man, the words fel
l helplessly from his lips: “Would you assist me by holding Susanna on your lap?”

  “If you wish,” said Irving gruffly.

  “Please,” murmured Susanna, making room for the artist on the daybed.

  Soon she sat perched on the other man’s lap, her head resting on his shoulder, her thighs spread wide by his, held steady by his hands at her waist, and her quim in perfect position to be licked.

  “Your wife is ready for you to begin, my lord.”

  “I think perhaps in this room, you should call me Joseph,” he said softly.

  The artist smiled. “Then I am Clayton. Begin, Joseph. Touch her. Show me what you know.”

  Joseph sucked in a harsh breath to calm his nerves, even as his cock throbbed. They were actually doing this scandalous thing. Then he leaned down and kissed a path along Susanna’s inner thigh until he reached the crisp curls shielding her center. Parting them with two fingers, he stared reverently at her sweet pink flesh before slowly, tentatively stroking her labia and nudging her clitoris with his thumbs.

  “Yes, that’s it. Good,” said Clayton. “Always gentle to start. Ladies are sensitive there. Now, Susanna, I want you to help him.”

  “H-how?” she replied, trembling a little.

  “Cup his head and guide his mouth. You know where it feels best, which side and how hard or soft. He needs to learn what you like. Isn’t that right, Joseph? You want to be instructed by your wife?”

  How did he know?

  “I do,” he said thickly. “Show me, my lady.”

  Cool, slender fingers rested on his head, and for a moment he indulged a fantasy where she forced him to submit, grinding her quim against his face as though his mouth and chin were her personal pleasure toys. Instead, he did his best to follow her whispered words and mild nudges as he kissed her clitoris and licked delicately at her petal-soft folds.

  Until he was yanked away by the hair.

  A jolt of lust coursed through him at the rough action and Joseph moaned as his cock jerked in the confines of his trousers. But it wasn’t Susanna who had disciplined him.

  “This won’t do at all,” Clayton said harshly. “Your wife wants to come. She needs to come. Do you think that will happen with some kisses and light laps? Or do you think she deserves her clitoris sucked hard, and your tongue deep in that hot little cunt?”

  Susanna whimpered, and pearly moisture bathed his fingertips.

  His innocent wife liked raw, explicit talk?

  Reeling at the revelation, Joseph somehow managed to nod. “Yes. She deserves that.”

  “Then command him, Susanna,” said Clayton, resting his cheek against hers, his thumbs stroking her belly. “At once, and most plainly.”

  She shifted restlessly, her nipples rock-hard and her quim glistening. “I want…I want your tongue inside me, Joseph. In and out. Like, um…a cock.”

  “Well said. Now, tangle your fingers in his hair and make him do it.”

  Speechless with lust as she obeyed, her hold on his hair deliciously firm this time, his wife pushed his face toward her quim. Joseph paused to inhale the intoxicatingly spicy scent of her wetness, before parting her labia, dragging his tongue along the silken flesh, and penetrating her entrance.

  Susanna gasped. “Yes. There. Mmmm.”

  Emboldened by the sound, and her words, he firmed his tongue and pushed it deeply into her. In. Out. In. Out. Fucking her with it, again and again, sliding his hands under her backside to hold her still as her hips began to writhe, gaining a perfect reward as honey trickled into his mouth.

  “More,” growled Clayton. “Make her come. She’s close. So close. Own that sweet little cunt.”

  Susanna arched, sobbing for breath, and dragged Clayton’s left hand to her breast.

  Yes. Pinch her nipple.

  As though the artist had heard him, he slid a finger either side of the swollen peak, and squeezed. Almost shaking, his cock so hard his trousers were a torture, Joseph frantically lapped his wife’s soaked quim, rubbing his lips and chin against her even as he buried his tongue inside to collect more of her delicious juices. And then, the most perfect sound of all: a wild cry of pleasure as she climaxed, her inner walls pulsing around his tongue, her hand tugging hard on his hair. He could only groan in dismayed ecstasy as his cock erupted, ruining his trousers forever as he drenched the fabric with harsh spurts of his seed like the greenest of lads.

  Joseph’s knees wobbled, and he slipped onto his side, caught only by Susanna’s thigh. Resting his cheek on it, scarcely able to catch his breath, he looked up. They were both smiling at him. Susanna’s cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling. Clayton nodding in approval.

  Because he’d done it. With the other man’s help, he’d actually done it.

  For the first time, he’d made his wife come.

  She had opened the mythical Pandora’s box. And to her eternal shame, she didn’t want to close it but open it even further.

  Pausing in the aisle containing long, smooth tables covered in bolts of gilt-shot silk, Susanna inhaled deeply of the warehouse’s scents. Fabric and wood. River air and damp stone. Camphor to keep away the moths. It wasn’t an especially pleasant combination, especially coming into winter when the Thames became even more sluggish and the dampness mocked the efforts of the fireplaces to keep the huge building warm and dry. But it was familiar. And she needed that to try and gather her thoughts.

  How could she be such a bad wife?

  Joseph had granted her many boons. Permitting Clayton to sketch her. Encouraging her when she’d been so blasted nervous. Then actually getting down on his knees and taking instruction so he could learn to make her come. Truly, he deserved all the praise in the world, especially for the mind-shattering orgasm that had torn through her body, more powerful and wonderful than anything she’d witnessed at the warehouse window. But how had she repaid him?

  By seeking the touch of another man.

  Susanna winced. How could she be so fiercely attracted to Clayton when she was a married woman who loved her husband? Even hours later, it was embarrassing to recall how eager she’d been to sit on the other man’s lap. How right it had felt with his muscled chest at her back and his strong, dexterous hands at her waist while Joseph’s wicked tongue plundered her quim. But she had compounded her crime by guiding Clayton’s hand to cup her breast. And when he’d pinched her nipple, sweet heaven. The exciting contrast of the bite of pain and the blissful licking, the reminder that not one but two handsome men were attending to her…well. Ecstasy like she’d never dreamed.

  Worst of all, she wanted so much more. Definitely more of Joseph’s tongue between her legs, but more of the forbidden, too. Clayton’s raw, explicit words in her ear, his stern commands, and his hands on her breasts. Perhaps even his fingers inside her. His cock. Both men making her beg for it and taking her roughly until her orgasmic cries echoed in the room…

  “Susanna?”

  She shrieked, spinning around so fast her peach-striped gown tangled around her legs and almost sent her sprawling onto the warehouse floor. “Jos—er, Fenton! Oh my goodness, you startled me.”

  “I did call out,” he said, with a lopsided smile. “But you were obviously deep in thought as you paced. Are you displeased with the silks? No one knows fabrics like you.”

  The praise both warmed her, and added to her guilt. “Lithgow Imports did well enough. Lithgow Fenton Imports has established itself as the best because of you, though.”

  A faint pink highlighted Joseph’s cheekbones. “That is kind of you. Not sure how true, though.”

  Impulsively, Susanna reached out and touched his hand. “It’s true, my canny baron.”

  “Ah, away with you, Susie.”

  She stilled, both at the pet name, and the brief return of his musical Irish accent. “I’ve missed that,” she said softly, all-too-aware of the dockhands lifting and carrying more heavy containers of satins and lace no more than twenty feet away. “Being Susie. And hearing your lovely brogue.”


  Joseph closed his eyes briefly. “Not now. I mean…not here.”

  “Then perhaps we should go home,” she said. “The carriage is nice and private. Perfect for a lengthy discussion on, ah, certain topics.”

  “Like earlier in the music room?”

  Oh God.

  Susanna nodded, even as her stomach churned. He offered her his arm, and they silently strolled across the vast warehouse, nodding to the workers and the foreman as they left the building and climbed into their lavish town carriage. It was barely in motion before she looked across at him, and words began to tumble from her lips.

  “I’m sorry, Fenton. I don’t know what came over me. In the moment…no, that is no excuse. I’m so sorry.”

  “After this morning, just Joseph in private. And I take it you are apologizing for having Clayton touch your breast while I was between your thighs?” said Joseph, in a remarkably calm tone.

  “Yes,” she whispered miserably. Bad wife.

  “Did you like it?” he asked, in that same even voice.

  Susanna blinked. “I…um…”

  “Ah. You did. I must say, his hands look very strong, yet agile too. I bet those long artist fingers are proficient at more than just pinching nipples. Imagine two of them deep in your quim.”

  She choked on a cough, and stared wide-eyed at Joseph. He’d never spoken to her in such a frank manner. Had he been equally affected by their time with Clayton? Somehow felt freer in expressing himself? It seemed far too much to hope that they might become closer because of a sensual interlude with a third person.

  “His fingers are indeed strong,” Susanna said carefully, not wanting to anger him with effusive praise of another man.

  Joseph ran a hand through his pitch-black hair, the hair she had tangled her fingers in and tugged hard as she’d orgasmed. “I know I’ve been a poor husband in the bedchamber—”

  “This morning was wonderful,” she blurted. “I quite thought I would fly to the stars when your tongue was inside me, and you rubbed your chin and cheeks between my legs.”

  He smiled ruefully. “I’m glad to hear it, but the sad truth is I don’t have much of a way with women. Unlike Clayton.”