Desire Me Now

by Tiffany Clare

  DEDICATION

  To my sister from another mister.

  I couldn’t have done this without our crazy-mad brainstorming sessions.

  Love you!

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  An Excerpt from Desire Me More

  About the Author

  An Excerpt from Bad for Me by Codi Gary

  An Excerpt from Wild With You by Sara Jane Stone

  An Excerpt from The Devilish Mr. Danvers by Vivienne Lorret

  An Excerpt from Need Me by Tessa Bailey

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  CHAPTER ONE

  London, 1881

  “Tell me what you want, darling.” Victoria pressed hot kisses against his chest, scooting lower and lower with those pouty red lips of hers until her hand cupped his sac and her tongue danced teasingly over his abdomen and toward his half-stiff cock.

  Nick Riley wasn’t generally a man to complain about being in such a position. “I have some errands to attend to this morning,” he said as he fisted his hand in the fall of Victoria’s blonde tresses.

  When she rotated her tongue around the head of his cock, all his good intentions and morning obligations went out the window. Anything that needed taking care of could be done after that pretty little mouth of hers got his cock off.

  Cat-like green eyes stared up at him, all innocent—though that was the last thing Victoria could be called. His hand tangled in her hair, angling her head back. That didn’t stop her from flicking out her tongue once more.

  Refusing her would be like looking the gift horse in the mouth. While they’d agreed to end their affair last night, that hadn’t stopped her from seducing him right back into her bed. Not that he’d tried very hard to dissuade her, so he was just as much at fault for their current position.

  And what a perfect position this was.

  “Victoria,” he growled as her head lowered once again to the prominent protrusion standing very ready between them.

  She didn’t hesitate to take in the full length of him, practically fucking him with that sweet mouth of hers. His hips thrust off the bed as her mouth drew on him. God, she felt good. She continued to swirl her tongue around him until the first bit of semen emitted from the tip. Sucking that into her mouth, she released him with a pop before she crawled up his body. Her breasts swayed enticingly as her hard nipples stirred the hair on his chest, begging him to say yes.

  “I’m just making certain you start the day on the right foot, Nicky. You cannot very well go around with a massive bulge in your trousers. What should the delicate misses think to see you in such a state?” As she spoke, her hand curled around his shaft and stroked it from the base up. “We did agree on an amicable parting, and I find our position perfectly . . . amicable.”

  Nick sat up with Victoria poised above him, her legs straddling his hips. The tip of his cock brushed against the damp curls between her thighs. He clasped her waist, stopping her from lowering. There was no way he was getting out of this bed without feeling the tight clasp of her sheath at least once more, but he would be the one in control.

  Flipping her onto her back, he slammed into her welcome heat. Her legs curled around his back, her heels digging into his ass as he took her hard, pounding into her with a ferocity that didn’t ebb as her nails bit into his arms, and she screamed his name until her voice was hoarse.

  He pumped into her so hard they almost tipped right over the edge of the bed by the time he had emptied himself inside her sweet little cunt. He stayed inside her until she milked every last drop out of him.

  Sucking her bottom lip into his mouth, he pulled out and flopped them both back on the bed, with her draped over his chest. They stayed that way long enough to get their breathing under control.

  “That didn’t feel like you were done with me, Nick.” Victoria slipped out of his arms and the bed to retrieve the blue silk robe draped over a chair. Cinching the robe tight around her waist, she stared back at him, expecting him to respond. “I’ll draw you a bath before you leave,” she said, with just enough annoyance in her voice that he nearly told her to come back to bed.

  Instead, he gave her a curt nod as she stood in front of him, her arms crossed over her middle. “Will you stay long enough for breakfast?”

  Threading his fingers behind his head, he looked at her. The drape of her robe skimmed off one shoulder, revealing the creamy expanse of her right breast but covering her ruby red nipple from view. There was no sense hiding just where his eyes lingered as he answered her. “Yes.”

  “After five years, you’re just going to walk away from what we have?”

  “You knew this wasn’t permanent,” he said, wishing the damnable material would slip right off her shoulder to give him the view he craved. When she only shrugged, he continued. “What we have is nothing more than a convenience.”

  “I fail to see anything wrong with that,” she replied.

  “Everything, for a woman who needs to keep up a pristine reputation for practical and business reasons.”

  As a prominent businesswoman and successful shopkeeper, Victoria had to remain above reproach if she were to gain the things she craved most . . . which only a week ago she had said was marriage.

  That simply wasn’t something that Nick could offer.

  She walked away in a huff, throwing the double doors open to the adjoining plunge bath. The rush of water drowned out the silence of the room, and tendrils of steam drifted into the bedchamber, laced with the light scent of rose oil.

  “Your bath is ready,” Victoria said as she walked back into the bedchamber and sat at her dressing table to brush her hair.

  Nick padded across the floor until he stood behind Victoria. Settling his hand on her shoulders, he leaned down and pressed his lips to the top of her head. Even now, his cock stirred as though not sated by their morning interlude.

  “You will find someone who can give you the things you want, Vic.”

  “I don’t want a man in my life who will dictate my actions.”

  He wasn’t up for a fight. “Then find someone better than that.”

  She sighed as she set down the silver brush and slid the slipper chair out from beneath the dressing table. He didn’t fail to note that her nipples were pebbled into two perfect peaks beneath her robe. They might be finished with their affair today, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t feast before he left.

  “And what about you?” She tilted her head back to look up at him.

  He shrugged and headed into the bathing room. Men like him didn’t settle down with a family. His nature was too dark for that kind of life, his past too fucking brutal.

  “I’m busy enough without that kind of entanglement,” he answered.

  Victoria let out a mirthless laugh as she followed behind him. “Seems like a contradictory standard. Because I’m a woman, I should marry and start a family, and you, being a successful businessman, should bury yourself in your work. What of my shop? My employees? Should I hand those over into the care of a husband?”

  Once he stepped into the porcelain tub, he turned to her with a frown. “You’re more than capable of running things yourself and having the family you told me you wanted.”

  She merely shook her
head and pulled up a wooden chair to the tub. Grabbing a sea sponge that overfilled her hands, she motioned for him to sit with his back to her. She didn’t touch the scars that covered most of his back; she just squeezed a hot stream of water over his shoulders and arms.

  “So we’re to break off our arrangement amicably.” She dipped the sponge into the water next to his hip. Her hair falling forward stuck to his shoulders. “What will you do when you want to keep your mind off the things that keep you up at night?” Hot water trickled over his chest as she squeezed the sponge again.

  “I will manage.”

  “I don’t believe you can truly stay away,” she said, soaping up his shoulders, her slender fingers kneading into his tense muscles. “We need each other, even if it’s not for the right reasons.”

  “That is probably the best reason to end our affair.”

  “I know you better than anyone else.”

  He couldn’t refute that claim, which was to say Vic knew more about him than the average man, aside from Huxley, who could never be described as average.

  This topic was not up for debate. He’d made up his mind. Finished talking, he turned and curled his arm around her waist to tug her into the tub. Water sloshed over the edge and splashed on the tiled floor.

  She grumbled about her silk robe, but she didn’t struggle to get away.

  His mouth hovered above hers as he stared into her sultry green eyes. Sometimes he wished he could be the man she needed. For now, they could each be what the other craved in the moment.

  “This does not change anything,” he said.

  “You’re an ass,” she replied, a second before he slammed his mouth against hers and settled her knees around him. As her fingers threaded through his hair, he plunged into her once again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The last thing Amelia Somerset could recall with any clarity was dinner, followed by the hot tea her employer had insisted she drink. The events after that were hazy at best, so she thought hard about the last thing she remembered as her mind slowly awoke.

  She’d been enjoying a hearty serving of beef stew in the kitchen quarters with the rest of the household staff when her employer, Sir Ian Hemming, had called her up to his study for his nightly update on his sons’ studies.

  Sir Ian was a stern man with a strong—if somewhat frightful—bearing. She always stood to attention when in his presence for fear of reprimand on something as small as her posture. She kept her head down and remained diligent in all her duties so he would never have reason to fault her, as he did so many others.

  Now . . .

  Now Sir Ian’s breath was hot against her ear as he spoke. “Just a dream, Miss Grant. Sleep easy; I shall take care of you.”

  What did he mean? Was she having a dream?

  With her fists clenched tightly against his chest, she lifted her arms with all her might to push him away. But her arms were trapped. She shoved harder, struggling to be free, even though she wasn’t quite sure from what she needed to be freed. She blinked back the tiredness that assailed her. When her surroundings finally came into focus, the reality of her situation grew sickeningly clear.

  “What have you done to me?” her voice croaked. Her mouth was so dry that her tongue stuck to the sides, making it difficult to talk. Her arms were a dead weight, though that didn’t stop her from trying to push him off her.

  “Shhh, dovey. Let me take care of you,” he said, his finger pressed against her lips. “Relax. I can make it better.”

  She turned her head away from the heat of his stale breath. Even that proved too hard to do. Her head spun and throbbed with the continued motion, but when she turned away, there was sudden clarity to her situation: She was lying on her lumpy bed with Sir Ian stretched out over her, covering half of her body with his own.

  How was he even in her room when she didn’t remember getting here on her own?

  Her lips trembled in fear and disgust. A cool breeze brushed over her legs where her drawers had been unfastened and pushed out of the way. Sir Ian squeezed her upper thigh with his rough hand, and the pain he caused helped to snap her out of her groggy state, giving her the strength she needed to fight back.

  Jabbing her elbow into his cheek, she tried to roll out from under him, but her skirts were trapped beneath his bulk, and her body was sluggish and uncooperative, despite her mind growing more alert by the second.

  When he shifted himself between her thighs, she opened her mouth to scream. Sir Ian’s hand slapped down, muffling the sound.

  “You would not want to wake up the boys, Miss Grant. You be a good girl and hush up.”

  She bit him as hard as she could, tasting blood as he ripped his hand away. She spat it out, not wanting the foul taste in her mouth.

  His hiss of pain wasn’t as satisfying as she had hoped. It only angered him further, for he reared his arm back and smacked her hard across her cheek. The force of his blow knocked her head to the side, leaving her dazed and her ears ringing.

  Bringing up one knee, she twisted and pushed it between them, trying to squirm out from under him with renewed desperation. His hand tangled in her hair, and he yanked her head back so hard that her neck cracked. She stilled immediately, though nothing could stop the whimpers of fear and pain that slipped past her lips.

  He leaned over her helpless form, instilling his dominance, his upper hand. The stench of his whisky-laced breath nauseated her, and her stomach roiled in protest.

  “Please,” she begged, hating herself for the despair in her voice. But this couldn’t be happening to her again.

  “Stop your wriggling,” he said roughly, his hand tightening in her hair. His other hand squeezed painfully at her breast, causing her to cry out.

  She shoved harder against his weight. Sobs tore unwillingly from her throat, and fat tears fell down her face. She didn’t want to cry. Sobs amounted to weakness. And weak was the last thing she wanted to be. She had not escaped her past only to surrender to another kind of vile, unacceptable future. She wanted to scream, but her voice was lost to the hopelessness of the moment.

  Finally freeing one hand, she scratched the exposed skin above his shirt as hard as she could. The enraged shout that came from him was just loud enough to let others know he was in the staff quarters. She wasn’t so naïve as to believe anyone would come to her rescue, as they hadn’t already, but the ruckus they surely made might be enough to stop him. At least for tonight.

  Sir Ian hauled himself off of her, his body vibrating with a violence that had her cowering.

  Show no weakness, she told herself over and over again.

  Show. No. Weakness.

  Amelia scrambled up and pressed her back hard against the wall to anchor herself. She clenched her hands into fists, prepared to defend herself from further attack.

  Be strong.

  Sir Ian swiped his hand across his neck where her nails had scored three angry furrows into his pale flesh. She took pride in knowing that a necktie would not easily hide the evidence of her struggle, and it was that thought alone that had her chin jutting forward defiantly and her fists rising marginally.

  He looked like a wild man—nostrils flaring like a horse after a hard race, hair disheveled around his face, eyes pinpricked and focused on her.

  If she stayed in this house another night, she knew she would pay for her actions. He cracked his knuckles as he flexed his hands. When he tilted his head to the side to give his neck the same sickening pop, she flinched. He continued to stare at her as he wiped the blood from his hand on a handkerchief and dabbed at the nail tracks of blood on his neck.

  Amelia didn’t move and didn’t dare break contact with his emotionless blue eyes.

  To her surprise, he turned away, shutting the door softly behind him, as though no one knew he was in her room to begin with.

  She exhaled in a rush and slumped forward in relief. Legs numb and shaking, she stretched them out in front of her, letting the pins-and-needles sensation fade.

 
She needed to get out of this house—and fast. Sliding out of the bed, trying to make as little noise as possible, she knelt on the cold plank floor and pulled out the sack she’d stowed under the bed. Retrieving what clothes she had, she rolled them up tight and stuffed them into the bag.

  At the washbasin, she gathered the last bit of soap she’d taken from her home in Berwick and the silver brush that had been her mother’s. She had no other possessions, except a small oil painting of her parents in a broken silver locket, given to her on her tenth birthday and torn from her neck during one of her brother’s rages on her eighteenth birthday.

  Pulling up a loose floorboard, she retrieved her drawstring reticule with the money she’d stolen from her brother. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it had been enough to get her to London and pay for lodgings for a month, if she had needed that long to find a job. The money would be put to good use now.

  She packed only what she’d come with, as she didn’t want her employer accusing her of thievery. Hopefully, if she left quietly, Sir Ian wouldn’t pursue her, as she knew something of the determination of men when they were denied what they wanted.

  With her sack tied and slung over one shoulder and her shawl and mantle over her dress to keep her possessions safe, she tiptoed down the servants’ stairs and escaped out the back gate near the stable house. The cool air bit at her cheeks, so she quickened her stride, hoping that would keep her warm.

  Once she was on the main streets, Amelia kept her head down so no one would see the tears flooding her eyes. It hit her suddenly that she’d left behind her last hope for a decent job.

  Had she known how abhorrent her employer was, she’d have turned down the opportunity to teach his children. Sir Ian hadn’t wanted a proper governess for his young boys; he’d wanted a mistress living under his own roof. A woman he could visit in the cover of night, when his ill, bedridden wife was none the wiser.

  She covered her mouth with her lace-gloved hand, feeling sick to her stomach. All she could do now was go back to the agency that had placed her and hope to find new employment.

  Where would she go if they turned her away?