Sexual Hunger

by Melissa MacNeal

  Jude framed her wet face between his hands and kissed her, tenderly at first, nibbling at her lips to make her giggle. With a low moan, he settled in for the longest, most relentless kiss she could remember…as though he wanted her to wish she’d be his, come tomorrow. With only the power of his affection, he held her captive against the back of the tub. His mouth plied hers eagerly, restlessly, and then retreated to the point she thought he’d allow her to stand and dry herself.

  But no! Jude launched into another lovely, languid kiss that nearly made her cry with its exquisite pressure…the dance of their tongues as though he might pleasure her all night…the melding of their sensibilities and their souls.

  He at last broke away, to gaze raptly at her. “If I can’t be your husband, I want to be your port in a storm: the man who listens to your complaints and whims and brings you resolution.”

  Maria blinked. He appeared so serious, sounded almost ominous. “I—”

  “Life amongst us Daringtons won’t be a rose garden, darling,” he continued quietly. Still he held her head, his eyes afire with a golden flame, as though he burned for her on this night before her wedding. “And at times when Jason must carry on in the name of duty and honor, as the firstborn, I hope you’ll allow me to be the comic relief, or the sexual release, or the answer to whatever you pray for. May I aspire to such things, at least?”

  Again he’d left her speechless. This man, so talented with gemstones and camera, paintbrush and piano—any artistic endeavor he undertook—was asking to be her fool. A slave to her desires. Maria nuzzled his palm, hoping to find words as lovely as his. “I would like that, yes,” she whispered. For a moment, only the soft lapping of the bathwater filled the little bathroom. “While I love Jason with all my heart, I would grieve deeply if something happened to you and if we were forbidden to spend time together. Does that make me a whore? A wife without conscience or scruples?”

  “I think not. But then, I’m biased.” Jude laughed softly. “Jason and I have agreed that a woman like you—a lover with such diverse and intense passions—is probably best satisfied by having two admirers. We know damn well that if you chose, you could exhaust us both and move on to the next man. So we’ve agreed to please you at every turn, in every way. A challenge, but we shall rise to it.”

  Maria’s gaze dropped. Yes, indeed, this man’s trousers were tented, yet he made no overt move to satisfy his need. “What if I got out of the tub, and you got out of your clothes—”

  “All in good time, dear lady. First we shall dry you, so your skin doesn’t crinkle like Mrs. Booth’s.”

  Her grimace made him laugh as he reached for a towel. “Hard to believe, but Quentin claims she drops her drawers. Invites him in.”

  “See there? We should never judge a book by its cover—even if it looks like it’s been left out in the rain.” Jude stood beside the tub, offering his hands to help her stand. “You’ll be the same way when you’re her age, darling. Insatiable. A vixen on the prowl.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Certainly not. I intend to be there, too, watching you in your glory.” Jude tossed the towel around her shoulders. As he tugged it side to side, inhaling, he gazed at the sway of her bare, wet breasts. “Lime. Not using these bath salts just because I’m here, are you?”

  Maria shook her head, relishing the way he caressed her body. “I am, however, wondering how I’ll ever repay you for all the ways you’ve spoiled me.”

  He smiled slyly. “Now that you mention it…” He raised her leg so her foot rested on the tub’s rim, to dry it—but then he sat down and ran his tongue along her inner thigh. When she sighed, Jude tossed the towel. Parted her nether lips and kissed her there.

  Maria’s head fell back. She grabbed his shoulders and closed her eyes as the sensations made her need surge to a new peak. To this point, Jude had toyed with her, but now he was determined to make her respond—to make her his. As he lapped the dampness from her sensitive folds, she swayed with the force of his intimate kiss…braced herself for the crack of lightning that made her pulse thunder in her head.

  “God, Jude…Jude,” she whimpered as the jolts of pleasure became almost unbearable.

  He thrust his tongue inside her, rubbing the nub he knew so well…exploring the depths of her desire as only Jude knew how. Just as the spasms began in earnest he grabbed her backside to steady her. He licked and tickled her rim, driving her to a frenzy before pressing his mouth against her, hard.

  Maria cried out. Their moans mingled as Jude kept thrusting, until she felt she might collapse in a boneless heap. Her hips took on their own rhythm until all her spasms were spent. She eased him away then, to regain her sanity, her balance, before stepping out of the tub. “It’s my turn to please you now, but I must catch my breath—”

  “Not so. This is my night to give and yours to receive.”

  “That makes no sense! Why should I be the only one to—”

  “Because I said so!” Jude grabbed her hand, his grin wet with her juices. “On to the next course! Champagne to toast the lady’s wedding day, and fine chocolate to sweeten the deal.”

  As Maria followed him to her bedroom, she could only wonder how he’d smuggled such treats upstairs past the ever-vigilant Mrs. Booth. “I could’ve sworn you were empty-handed when I saw you slipping in.”

  “Father stocks a fine cellar here at the town house. And since his ships’ captains know better than to sail home without the candy Mum craves…” Jude shrugged boyishly, which made his silk shirt shimmy around his shoulders. “Lean low, my queen. We’ll wrap your hair in this towel and then you may recline on your bed. Your serving boy shall fulfill your every desire.”

  Maria chuckled to herself: Jason would never declare himself her servant, nor would he lead her through these circuitous little games to arrive at his own satisfaction. But sprawling on plumped pillows, propped against the headboard naked while a handsome lover poured fizzy champagne into two flutes on a tray? She could grow accustomed to such indulgence!

  Jude broke off the end of the dark chocolate bar he’d smuggled in. “Sweets for the sweet,” he murmured. He laid the confection on her tongue, much like a priest would administer communion, and then he placed a piece in his own mouth.

  As the intense cocoa melted in their mouths, they gazed at each other. Anticipating. Savoring. Again she was struck by the way this twin appreciated such subtle nuances—and her! When the candy was a coating of thick richness on her tongue, the first sip of the liquor sent a rush of electricity straight to her head. Giggling, she downed the rest of it and held out her flute for more.

  Jude chuckled. “Let the festivities begin! A toast to your marriage tomorrow, Maria!”

  “And to you, dear man. If I roast in hell for this wickedness, at least I won’t be alone!”

  The slender man seated on the bed’s edge began to shed his clothing. While he wasn’t as athletic as his twin, Jude’s whipcord muscles rippled as he dropped his shirt and then escaped his pants. His eyes shone brightly, focused on her…full of his yearning for her. He took the towel from her hair, and from there it was a sensual collage of images: Jude slipping into bed alongside her, caressing her with his velvety skin…chocolate kisses that elevated her pulse, her awareness of how she craved him…how he inspired her playful response even more than their candy and champagne had. Sighs drifted between them as they languidly rolled…as Jude entered her with an expression of exquisite joy she’d never forget.

  Maria let her body follow his whims: all rational thought was gone. Their lovemaking took on a special poignancy on this eve of her wedding. He refused to be rushed, so Maria followed his lead in this intimate dance…lingered in each kiss and reveled in the way his golden brown eyes reflected her—and held her spellbound when his climax led to hers.

  “Maria…Maria,” he prayed as his body convulsed. When he was spent, he enfolded her in his arms. Rested with his lips in her damp hair until his breathing once again matched hers. “I
must go now. Before the urge to carry you off and marry you myself overrides propriety.”

  Propriety? She grinned wickedly yet held her tongue. Jude looked so solemn as he dressed, gazing at her in the dimness. Somehow the evening had flown and the candles had gone out without their awareness. With a final kiss, he left her sprawled on the rumpled sheets.

  “Sleep sweetly, Maria,” he murmured as he reached her door. “I look forward to making your portrait tomorrow, before your groom sees you in your bridal finery.”

  Silently Jude slipped from her room and down the stairs. Her mantel clock tinkled delicately and then struck two.

  Maria smiled. It was her long-awaited wedding day.

  4

  “Not even married yet, and already henpecked, are we?”

  “Come on, Darington! Last chance for a wild ride before the noose tightens!”

  “And we wouldn’t want to disappoint Miss Beddow, would we? She’s sizing you up, mate, and it’s not just because we’re paying handsomely for this trick! Do the deed, man!”

  Jason drew a deep breath to steady his swirling head. While he’d often passed Amelia Beddow’s brothel on the harbor, carrying out business for his father’s shipping empire—and while he was no stranger to ladies of the type she employed—he’d given up sporting women once Maria had claimed him. Who needed whores, when his own woman sated his sexual hunger so exuberantly? With sincere affection for him rather than his money or position. “It’s two o’clock. I really should—”

  “Lame! Limp!”

  “Never thought you’d refuse a lady. Dare!”

  “C’mon, now! It’s early yet! We brought you here to show us how it’s done!”

  He blinked to clear his vision, blurry from too many toasts. His three best friends egged him on with their lopsided grins: Daniel Hackett, Nicholas Northwood, and Clive McCaslin, who held the keys to their fathers’ kingdoms in textiles, mining, and banking, had outlasted the others. They’d escorted him to this finale of his bachelorhood with fistfuls of money donated by their cohorts at the gentlemen’s club. There was no denying Amelia Beddow’s intentions, either. The fiery-haired madam sized him up with a knowing smile, letting her lush, loose bosom speak for itself in an indecent gown of emerald silk. A gold tooth winked at him when her ruby lips parted. The tip of her tongue came out to play.

  “Well, well, well,” she crooned, advancing with a slow sway of her hips. She remained focused on him as she coyly extended her open palm. Her expression waxed triumphantly feral as Clive handed over his cash. “Why don’t we retire to my quarters while my girls entertain your friends, sir? Your tide’s about to rise, and I wouldn’t miss such an exciting voyage.”

  It was so blatant an invitation Jason almost laughed—except he suddenly regretted coming here. What if this little episode got reported to Maria, or—God forbid!—appeared in Miss Crimson’s gossip column in the Inquirer, right alongside the account of the wedding? But when Amelia grabbed his hand there was no backing out.

  “Polly! Cynthia—and Violet!” she called into the parlor behind her. “You’ve guests to entertain! Treat them like the fine, upstanding gents they are while I provide the bridegroom his last wave of pleasure as an unattached man!”

  He glanced toward the rear of this room, noting a sailor—or were there two?—seated at the shadowy bar. They nodded, seemingly unconcerned, when the madam waved as though she’d return after she’d wrung him dry. The furnishings of scarlet chintz and black lacquer blurred as he followed her down the hall. Jason tried desperately to think of an escape, a story that would satisfy Miss Beddow’s proposition, as far as his friends were concerned. To their delight, three voluptuous sirens had appeared in the hall.

  So, once behind the madam’s door, perhaps he could buy his way out of this predicament…offer the sloe-eyed madam more to let him go home than his chums had paid her to seduce him. It was a coward’s way out; a ploy that would disgust his father, who’d been a legend with the ladies. But his body prickled with unsettling little signs that he shouldn’t stay here. Some predatory women inspired the playful rake in him, but this vixen felt too sure of herself. Too smug by half.

  Did she know who he was? As her door shut behind him, Jason nearly blurted out his father’s name and pedigree—yet something silenced him. While he’d paid a few sporting girls for the occasional in-and-out, he’d remained anonymous and that seemed the better idea here: Mother would die, mortified, if he returned to Wildwood with telltale bruises and his clothes reeking of cheap perfume. She’d already announced that this wedding must outdo the matrimonial events her friends had engineered—especially since he’d chosen a bride none of them knew. A foreigner whose only virtue was her beauty, the way they saw it.

  Maria’s lovely face flashed before him and Jason faltered. Amelia poured him a drink he had no desire for. Why the hell didn’t he just walk away? Now. She’d been well paid for her time, after all.

  The madam assessed him coolly. She looked older from this proximity, and the lines around her world-weary eyes appeared deeper in the shadows of her dim room. “Methinks the gentleman might benefit more from a tonic than a fumbling match,” she offered. “Something to steady your stomach before the wedding.” The crystal decanters on her tea cart whispered as she chose one.

  “That’s very kind of you. I—”

  “I’m not partial to cleaning up your dinner after it splatters my floor—or my sheets. And besides” she dribbled the potion into the brandy she’d poured—“I’ve already been paid. Your friends were quite generous, so it’s the least I can do.” The snifter she offered beckoned him. “I’ll have my driver take you home while your friends have their fun. Easier on everyone, should they pass out. Don’t you agree?”

  It seemed so unexpectedly practical. Amelia went to her window, so he stepped up beside her, more grateful than he could say. The harbor stretched before them, a sea of deep blue punctuated by the skeletal black masts of ships bobbing nearby…a picture of tranquility few lanterns interrupted. The stench of dead fish drifted in with the breeze to poke him in the stomach, so he quickly quaffed his tonic. “How kind of you to realize needs my…friends don’t understand. They…envy me my…bride, I…think.”

  Amelia’s face blurred. He felt the sudden urge to retch, nearly opened the window to lean out, but he couldn’t grip the handle on the windowsill. The room swung sideways and he lost his balance. The snifter fell from his hand to shatter on the floor, a crash that echoed mercilessly inside his head. He tried to focus on her, tried to right himself and demand—

  She pulled a lever camouflaged by the curtain and the floor dropped out from under him. Jason flailed—had the sensation of falling like a rock—and then landed with an impact that knocked the wind out of him as it racked his entire body. His head struck the hard surface and he saw shooting stars like fireworks before he passed out.

  “Thank you, Captain. This is most generous…but considering who he is, my fee is double.”

  The seaman scowled. “I didn’t get a good look at ’im, so—”

  “Were I you, Terrence, I’d set sail immediately. Lady Darington doesn’t take it well when her plans go awry.”

  His bloodshot eyes widened, and he fished more money from his pocket.

  “Pleasure doin’ business with you, Amelia. Here—let me deposit that for you.” He chortled, slipping his hands down the front of her dress. Took his sweet time fondling her breasts, and then pressed them together to kiss the crevice. His money remained in the cups of her corset as he reverently placed her assets back inside her gown. “Looked like a solid enough sort, for peerage. Might have to beat some obedience into him, though.”

  “Never met a man who didn’t require training.”

  Captain Dunner and his first mate laughed as they slid from their stools. “Might I bring you anything from the Americas, my dear? Trinkets, perhaps? Least I can do, for the way you supply me with crewmen.”

  Amelia shook her head. Captain Dunner and his sail
ors lavished a lot of their pay on her and the girls, but it was best not to accept any gifts that might leave her beholden. Terrence wasn’t the sort she fancied. Had a mean streak as deep and wide as the sea when he got provoked: she couldn’t recall how many smashed lamps and chairs she’d replaced after his rampages. “Smooth sailing, gents. Come back and see us when you return.”

  As the two seamen lumbered out her back door to fetch the fellow who’d fallen to the deck of the Sea Witch, she finished her drink…listened for signs of activity in the rooms above. None of those girls kept their passion quiet, so the absence of creaking and moaning told her their three guests had probably passed out.

  As Amelia quietly opened the doors to their upstairs compartments, she was greeted with knowing female smiles as well as soft snores. The young man who’d handled the money snorted and turned restlessly, so she grabbed his shoulders. “You must go now!” she ordered as she shook him. “And take your friends with you!”

  He sat up with a start, glancing around the unfamiliar room as he raked his blond hair out of his bloodshot eyes. When he spotted Violet beside him, he flushed. “I—could be I was so tired from—and what of Jason? Our groom?”

  “He was magnificent. I sent him home in my personal carriage.”

  “Ah. Right kind of you.”

  “The least I could do. You’ve been most generous, but other guests await my girls.” She gazed at the disoriented young man and raised her voice. “I suggest you take your friends down the back stairs, as the four stevedores in my parlor are becoming…impatient. And, as I have only these three girls tonight…” She shrugged, allowing him to figure the odds.