His face was as harsh and unreadable as ever, but something had changed behind the rock wall he presented to the world.
Alicia focused on not fidgeting with her hands—something she never did—and breathing evenly: a thing she was finding it difficult to do.
He turned away to stare out the window, giving her his harsh profile.
Alicia saw his lips twitch—ever so slightly.
Her eyes narrowed. Had he noticed something? Did he think—
Did he notice you are like a bitch in heat for him and does he find your behavior amusing? her Aunt Giddy suggested with a chuckle.
The corner of his mouth pulled up higher, his expression no longer in question.
Alicia sucked in a harsh breath; why, the arrogant bastard! How dare he think—
—that you want him?
A sudden, horrid, thought assaulted her—something that Shelly had said when he’d given his report about Gormley—that he’d been driven to leave his last post when the viscount’s adolescent daughter had become enamored of him.
Alicia bit her lip to keep from groaning; she was no better than a schoolroom chit. He’d seen the desire on her face.
Oh God. How utterly mortifying.
Let that be a lesson to you, her aunt said, smugly.
Alicia ground her teeth, glaring at the man across from her, as if her infatuation were his fault.
She had to try and convince him that he’d not seen what he thought he’d seen. She could redirect his suspicions with a few subtle questions and comments.
“I know that you patronize a place called the White House.” Alicia wanted to kick herself.
So much for subtlety, Allie.
He turned toward her slowly, his thin lips curved in an amused—and oddly resigned—smile. He studied her in silence, entirely justified in not answering such an invasive question.
Alicia should have clamped her jaws shut, but her mouth had other plans. “You don’t look surprised that I know.”
“Actually, it does surprise me, my lady.”
It was the same low, harsh voice as ever, but now there was a lack of restraint. Oh, he hadn’t raised his voice, but his inflection was no longer the subservient tone of a mere groom.
And whose fault was that?
Fine! she snapped at her aunt, It’s my fault. Does that make you happy?
But her aunt had gone, leaving her to decide what to do next.
Why stop now? She’d already made a fool of herself.
“Tell me, Gormley, do you go there often?”
Something flickered in his dark eyes but Alicia could not identify it. Whatever it was, it made her face heat. Which only annoyed her more.
“When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer me,” she said more sharply than she’d intended.
Rather than appear chastened by her obnoxious command, he wore that same smirk “Perhaps once or twice a month.”
Jealousy flared in her stomach.
Her body’s ridiculous reaction infuriated her.
It also stiffened her spine. “Tell me, what kind of place is it.”
One of his eyebrows—they were the only elegant feature on his rough-hewn face—cocked. “You already know what kind of place it is.”
“Yes, but I understand the White House is singular when it comes to . . .” She floundered like an idiot. “Well, places like that.”
“Surely you could ask such questions of one of your lovers?” There was not-so-subtle mockery in his voice.
And Alicia didn’t like it; it was past time he remembered who she was.
“I could ask whoever I choose. I choose to ask you. And when I ask one of my servants a question, I expect a timely answer.”
He leaned forward so suddenly she flinched back. “People fuck when they go there, my lady.”
She gaped, more stunned by his quiet ferocity than his foul language.
Beneath her shock was another emotion: powerful, intoxicating arousal.
The words tumbled out of her. “Tell me about your activities there? I understand the place offers—” she gulped, unsure of what word to use, which phrase would be least embarrassing. “Er, well, deviant practices.” Her voice was breathy and the question was more of a plea, but she didn’t care. “Is that what you do?” Her voice was soft she hoped he hadn’t heard the question.
But he had.
“Why?” He looked sullen and mulish.
Stop, Allie! You’re behaving like an infatuated fool!
“Why?” she repeated dumbly. Her addled brain spun, looking for a quick, clever response but all that came was the same tired line: “Because I employ you and when I ask a question, I expect you to—”
“Fine. I quit.”
Chapter Nine
Gormley rapped on the roof. “Turn back,” he ordered when the vent opened.
“What do you think you are doing?” Alicia demanded, her voice breathy and weak.
“I’d get out right here, but I don’t want to leave you unattended.” He stared out the window.
His words were the cool, impassive words of a proper servant but they cut her more than a yell.
She had misjudged him, seriously misjudged him.
Not only that, but he’d saved her and she had responded to his noble actions by ordering him to disclose the most personal details of his life as if he didn’t have a right to his privacy. As if she owned him.
And all because she was obsessed with him.
She rapped on the roof and the vent opened. “Take us for a drive.”
The driver coughed. “Ah, beggin’ yer pardon, ma’am, but where to?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just keep driving.”
There was a pause, but the vent closed.
Gormley cocked one eyebrow.
“I’m sorry.”
His expression alone was worth the apology. The shocked disbelief was comical, bringing his stone face to life. He stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment before nodding abruptly.
Relief flooded her; why did she care so much for a servant’s forgiveness?
Because you’re not entirely cast away yet, Allie Benton. Aunt Giddy was back.
The low rumble of his voice pulled her from her misery.
“How did you find out about the White House?”
The last thing Alicia wanted to tell him was that she’d hired a man to follow him.
“I shouldn’t have—I was just—” She closed her eyes and dropped her head back, too ashamed to finish. After all, what could she say? “I was hoping to use the information to pressure you into being my lover?” or “I have been entertaining wanton thoughts about you day and night and scheming as to how I can force you to act them out with me?” Or—
“Yes, you were just . . .” he prodded.
His tone was gentle, patient, and slightly amused.
She opened her eyes and found him leaning toward her, his forearms resting on his thighs, an action which brought his face close to hers in the cramped confines of the carriage.
Alicia could see herself doing it, but she had no control over her body.
She closed the distance between them and kissed those thin, stern lips.
∞∞∞
If there was one thing Joss knew about wealthy women and sex, it was how to read their expressions. After all, it had been his bread and butter for almost four years.
He could have avoided her mouth without making it obvious; he could have salvaged her pride and his job.
Instead, he crushed her lips while sliding his arms around her soft, slender body and lifting her onto his lap.
She gave a soft grunt of surprise, her lips clinging to his.
Joss thrust into her like a green boy, no finesse, only hunger and want. She moaned and her fingers slid from his chest to his neck, cool soft leather on his hot skin. Her hands were delicate but strong as they pulled his head lower, her tongue shoving his aside to plunder him.
God. She tasted like—like—
He
aven.
He parted the folds of her heavy cloak and unfastened the gold clasp at her throat. The luxurious fur fell away to expose a gown as insubstantial as his self-control.
Joss slid his fingers down her body, throbbing at the sight of his big hand caressing her generous curves.
He’d had countless women—slim, fat, tall, short, young, old, pretty, not so pretty—but none of them had ever felt like her. Not a one.
He stroked her with the heel of his hand, pressing firmly over her mound, her stomach, the unforgiving bone between her soft breasts, all the way to her throat.
A golden collar hugged her long, elegant neck; a fortune in jewels that wasn’t worth even a fraction of the woman who wore them.
Joss lowered his hand over the cool metal, feeling the fragile cords and sinews of her neck tighten at his touch. “You look well in a collar, my lady.”
Her lips parted and her chest expanded with a deep breath, the pulse above her collarbone pounding, her eyes wide and lush lips parted.
Joss insinuated a finger between metal and skin and gave a soft tug, offering her one last chance to take a different fork in the road
“Do you want me to tell the driver to turn around and take you to your party? Or do you want—” His hand tightened around her delicate throat, fingers flexing. “Or do you want this?”
She spoke without hesitating: “This.”
Joss was relieved that she’d made the decision for them.
He lowered his mouth over hers and she thrust into him, their tongues tangling, their hands stroking, events moving much too quickly. He wanted to savor this; he wanted this to last and last and last. Because he doubted she would ever succumb to a momentary hunger again.
He pulled away from her sweet mouth, the raw yearning in her eyes sending a brutal ache to his groin.
Joss yearned to kiss and caress and love her, but that wasn’t what she wanted.
She wanted a brute—a beast who would dominate her, taking what he wanted.
It was a bedroom game that he had once loved to play—and would still welcome with a woman who loved him—until he’d discovered that sex without love was, ultimately, unfulfilling.
His body was desperate to take what she offered—no matter that it would wreck him.
Maybe you’re wrong, Joss. Maybe you aren’t the world expert on female sexual behavior that you fancy yourself to be. Why don’t you give her a chance before you decide what she wants?
He grimaced at the smug voice, but forced his mouth into a cruel sneer. “Tell me what you want,” he ordered, stroking her throat in the way that caused her eyelids to flutter. “I want to hear you to beg for it.”
Her entire body shuddered beneath his hand and her lips parted as her chest rose and fell in shallow jerks.
No, not wrong, after all.
Joss didn’t care; if it was master and slave games she wanted, he could give her all she wanted and more.
“Tell me,” he ordered, his grip tightening on her delicate throat. “Beg for it. Or do I need to put you on your knees right here in this dirty hackney? Yes—I like the sound of that.” He began to lift her.
Her lips moved, and he hesitated. “What’s that?”
Her expression was a mixture of lust and mortification. “I don’t . . . I can’t . . .” she made a frustrated sound—but her legs moved apart.
He snorted rudely. “Want my hand on your cunny—inside your cunt? Say please Mr. Gormley, I want you to make me come. Say it!” he snapped.
She jolted at his sharp command, her pale skin flushed with passion. “P-Please, Mr. Gormley, make me c-come.”
It was Joss’s turn to shudder and his hand shook badly as he caressed over her thighs, past her bent knees, to the hem of her gown.
It was winter, and a cold one at that, but she wore only a single, fine petticoat beneath the liquid silk. His groan was audible even over the clatter of the carriage wheels as the coach traversed what sounded to be ragged cobbles.
“You dressed like this—exposing your body—for me, didn’t you?” he snarled. “I’m going to use you hard, my lady—harder even than the whores I use at The White House. Is that what you want? To be my whore?”
She whimpered, “Yes. Yes,” she whispered, her thighs parting. “Your … whore.”
Christ!
Joss’s lifted his hand—stunned it wasn’t shaking with the force of his lust—pulling off his glove with his teeth, finger by finger.
Her eyes were black as she watched his deliberate actions.
When his hand was bare, Joss held up his thick middle finger. “I’m going to fuck you until you scream.”
Her jaw dropped and Joss claimed her mouth in a kiss that was for him—not that of a rude and crude brute, but a slow, sensual exploration, unhurried, just like his fingers as they slid up past her garters to the naked flesh of her thigh.
Joss squeezed his eyes shut at the exquisite heat of her, the realness of damp, quivering skin.
For one jarring second he felt like he was in the middle of one of his dreams. Any minute now he would wake up alone, his cock hard, weeping, and wanting—
The carriage jolted and the driver yelled something rude, snapping him back to the here and now.
Joss slid his naked hand to the apex of her thighs and traced the seam of her lower lips, worshipping her with his gentle caress.
She pushed her sex against his palm. “Please.”
Once again, Joss put aside his foolish desire and gave her what she wanted.
∞∞∞
Alicia turned her head into the arm cradling her, biting his bicep to muffle her groan; biting him hard enough to make him hiss.
“You like that,” he rasped, his big, thick finger roughly circling her swollen core. “This is what you’ve been needing.” His thumb rubbed her in a way that made every muscle in her body clench with utter joy. “Say you need it.”
“Yes.” She forced the word through her gritted teeth, breathing like a horse that had been ridden to a lather. “I need it.”
He gave an ugly, demeaning chuckle that both thrilled and shamed her. “I know you do. Such a tiny little thing,” he whispered, doing something unspeakably delicious that made her buck and bite his arm yet again to keep from screaming. “Poor countess,” he mockingly crooned. “You want to come, don’t you—a wanton harlot, spreading your thighs wide for your servant.”
He might be your servant, but at this moment you are his slave and you both know it.
She risked a glance up at him and saw one brow was cocked, his nostrils slightly flared, as if he knew exactly what was going through her head.
Her obedient servant had transformed into something diabolical. “Do you like it fast and light,” he demonstrated, his thumb dexterous beyond belief as he swirled, barely touching. “Or slow and hard.”
She made a low, growling sound that caused her face to heat.
He chuckled with smug satisfaction; the slightly rough pad of his thumb magical.
Alicia bit down hard on her lower lip and tried not to humiliate herself. It was pointless; she groaned and squirmed like a wanton.
Her tenuous hold snapped and she shuddered, coming apart under his expert fingers.
“Good girl,” he praised as her inner muscles convulsed, the pleasure almost unbearable. “Such a responsive cunny you’ve got.”
Without warning, he shoved his thick finger into her slick, swollen entrance, the action forcing a low, mortifying whimper from deep in her chest.
He pumped her with deep, almost violent thrusts.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
It was all she could do to lift her heavy lids.
“Do you want more?” he asked, not stopping his thrusting.
There was more? If there was, she couldn’t recall it at the moment. When had a man touched her so patiently, skillfully, intently?
His face went slack. “You’re just as lovely on the inside,” he murmured so softly she almost didn’t hear it.
His words sent a shock through her and his powerful arm began to work her, pumping her relentlessly until he stroked some part of her body she didn’t even know existed, and causing her entire body to spasm.
She thrashed but he held her immobile with one arm while he stroked her to a climax that threatened to turn her inside out .
“Yes, that’s right,” he praised, his arm pumping with increasingly savage thrusts, quickly driving her toward madness.
It was too much sensation—too much pleasure.
“I can’t,” she whispered, even as her hips rose to meet his hand. “I can’t…it’s too much, please, . . .”
His mouth flexed into a cruel smile. “Come for me, my lady.”
His raw, vulgar words catapulted her over the edge, into a climax that rolled through her and hung on and on and on, as intense and relentless as the man who’d summoned it.
∞∞∞
Alicia opened her eyes some moments later to find him watching her, his lids heavy, his expression slack, almost as if he’d had his release.
But he hadn’t.
She knew he hadn’t because she could still feel his long, hard shaft pressing against her hip.
She’d never been with a man who gave pleasure without taking it. She’d never been with a man who’d known exactly what she needed and wanted—no matter how base and humiliating.
And she’d never, ever behaved the way she had these past few minutes.
Memories of her spread thighs, thrusting hips, begging, crying out, and shameless writhing flooded her and Alicia struggled to sit up—as if she could escape her shocking behavior.
When she reached down to cover herself, she saw he’d already straightened her gown and fastened the clasp of her cloak, wrapping her up against the cold.
The realization was like a slap: He’d tended and cared for her while she’d basked in pleasure, utterly unaware.
Without warning, he lifted her up and lowered her gently onto her seat.
His coat was still buttoned, his hat still on, his face that of an impassive servant.
Joss and The Countess (The Seducers Book 2) Page 9