Mistress of Pleasure

by Delilah Marvelle

  Every moment throughout the day had been thought out by Edmund. In between the moments that weren’t dedicated to lovemaking, large silver trays magically appeared outside their door laden with tea, fruits, tarts, cheese, pastries, and meats. And no sooner were they set back outside the door, they magically disappeared.

  “I rather like this townhouse,” Maybelle nonchalantly commented as Edmund strode naked toward the door to set out their empty tray. “Magical trays and all.”

  “The magical trays only come with me,” he drawled over his shoulder.

  “Drat. I thought so.” She grinned and sat up on the bed to get a better view of Edmund’s muscular backside, which tightened and flexed with each movement. The candlelight further shadowed and highlighted his skin in the most golden, erotic way.

  She bit her lower lip. By God, he was beautiful. And thoughtful. He had tended not only to all of her pleasures but also all of her needs and comforts. For heaven’s sake, if a man could go through such effort for a mistress, she could only imagine what he’d do for his wife.

  Maybelle paused, realizing what it was she was thinking, and quickly shoved the thought aside. It was an impossible idea. One that did not belong inside her head.

  She nibbled on her apple and paused as he opened the door and leaned over to set the tray outside, exposing an amazing view of his balls. She swallowed the remaining apple in her mouth and wondered if he was always this comfortable with the women he chose to bed.

  He closed the door and strode toward her once again, his dark eyes trained on her. Stopping at the foot of the bed, Edmund grabbed hold of each end of the four-poster bed, stretching the width of his muscled chest, and stood there for a long moment watching her.

  Although she wasn’t particularly shy after everything that had occurred between them, the way he kept looking at her made her want to sweep up the linens around her naked body and cover herself completely.

  “Toss the apple and turn onto your stomach.” His voice was deep, raw. His huge erection already pointed toward her, ready.

  She smiled deviously, tossed aside the apple onto the floor, and flipped herself over onto her bare stomach, stretching out for him. “What now, Your Grace?”

  The bed shifted as he climbed on. “On your hands and knees, darling.”

  Darling. Why was it she loved hearing the way his deep voice practically growled when he said it? Maybelle slowly pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and waited. Waited for him to thrust into her and bring her to another state of mindless bliss. One she couldn’t seem to get enough of.

  Edmund grabbed her waist hard and yanked her entire backside toward him, pressing the length of his shaft firmly against her. He leaned forward, his velvet warmth spreading across her back, and slid his hands from her waist down under toward her breasts.

  “Does my lady desire the use of her dildo?” he growled into her ear, rubbing himself against her.

  “But of course.” Maybelle eyed the space of the bed, hoping the dildo was within reach so she wouldn’t have to leave him. Seeing the leather dildo just beside one of the pillows, she quickly reached out and grabbed for it. She held it out for him, trying to keep her breathing calm, but otherwise didn’t move.

  “Wet it with your mouth,” he said, flicking his thumbs across each nipple. “Get it as wet as you can.”

  She shuddered from his touch, brought the dildo to her lips, and spread as much of her saliva onto the tip of its length as possible. Knowing it was ready, she shakily held it out for him again, desperately yearning to know what he planned to do with it.

  He took it from her and using his one hand spread her cheeks apart. He gently nudged the head of the dildo into the opening of her rear.

  Her eyes widened as it eased deeper inside of her and a strange new sensation took hold of her. He reached down between her thighs and rubbed at her nub, slowly but firmly. She gasped, feeling as though she could already climax. With but that single touch.

  “You said to try new things,” he whispered, rubbing her nub and slowly moving the dildo in and out of her ass.

  She gasped again, her body wanting to shudder from the overwhelming sensation. “It makes me want to explode from pleasure,” she said hoarsely, not moving. “With so little effort.”

  “I don’t want this to be the end of our session just yet.” He slipped the dildo slowly out, taking away the heightened pleasure she’d been experiencing, and tossed it aside. Without any warning, he grabbed her waist and thrust himself deep into her wet folds, jerking her back hard several times against his length.

  She cried out each time as the sensations mounted more intensely around her core and shot up through her stomach. Her breasts bounced back and forth, moving along with the rest of her body he had taken command over.

  “Allow my seed to spill into you,” he harshly panted, driving deeper and deeper. “This once.”

  Maybelle dug her fingers into the linens and pushed up against him, giving in to each and every violent thrust, her skin heating, her chest tightening. She didn’t know why, but at that moment, she felt as if her climax wouldn’t be complete unless he spilled every bit of himself inside of her. She wanted it. Needed it.

  “Yes,” she choked. “Do it.”

  His fingers dug deeper into her skin, acknowledging her words. He pounded faster. Never once stopping or letting her rest. As if wanting her climax to come at a rapid pace she’d not yet experienced.

  She stiffened, her core already taking over her entire body. She cried out, everything blissfully and momentarily disappearing from around her, including her own thoughts.

  Edmund yanked her back hard against his length one last time, holding her savagely against him, and groaned as his shaft pulsated against the walls of her womb and his seed spilled deep into her.

  It was quiet now except for their ragged breaths and neither she nor he moved. Eventually, Edmund slipped out of her and turned her gently over onto her back. He lowered himself beside her, cradled her head within the crook of his long muscled arm, and kissed her forehead.

  The warmth and wetness of his seed lingered between her thighs and she knew things between them had officially changed. Why had she allowed him to do it? Why had she wanted to breathe and feel every bit of him in a way she’d never thought possible?

  Edmund gently brushed aside a strand of her hair which was curling around her neck and after a few moments of silence whispered, “I want more of you.”

  She blinked up at him in astonishment, then gurgled out a laugh. “More? You truly are relentless. You realize that?”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “No. That is not what I meant. I want more nights like this. With you.”

  He observed her from above with that warming softness, then leaned over, snatched up the side of the linens, and swept it over them. Nesting them in white, cool softness.

  As he pulled her head more comfortably into the crook of his arm and propped himself up to look down at her, she felt as if she…belonged. As if she belonged to this man. Completely. And it frightened her.

  “Maybelle?” he murmured.

  “Yes?” She anxiously looked up at him from the pillow he had made for her against his bare arm and shoulder.

  He glanced down at her, then stared off somewhere to the side. “Make me an offer. Any offer. I will take it if it means having you like this.”

  Her eyes widened and her heart pounded. Did he want her to be his personal demimondaine? Dear God. How was that different from marriage? Both carried expectations. Commitment. And worst of all, emotional entanglement that was beyond her comprehension.

  He shifted, brought around his other hand, and softly touched the side of her cheek. In a loving and gentle way that stirred something much deeper from within her.

  And that is when reality came crashing down onto her. She couldn’t have her independence and all of this. It was one or the other. “What more do you want from me, Your Grace?” she whispe
red. “Because I am confused as to what more I can give you without altogether handing over my independence.”

  He stiffened, his soft caress ceasing, and suddenly refused to meet her gaze.

  After long, agonizing moments passed and he still said nothing, she knew exactly what it meant. That he did not know what he wanted any more than she did.

  She had to stop this. Now. Before it got any more out of hand. Maybelle sat up and gently pushed him aside. Scrambling off the bed, she hurried over to where her chemise lay and snatched it up. She wasn’t even going to bother with her corset as she knew she couldn’t get it back on without Edmund’s help.

  “I must take leave of you,” she confided, pulling the chemise over her head and yanking it down over her body.

  He sat up, the linens spilling down and around his naked waist. “I am willing to make concessions, Maybelle. All you need do is name them.”

  She turned away, keeping herself from facing him for fear she would not listen to her own sense of reason. “This is not about the concessions you must make. It is about the concessions I must make. And I will not make them. Edmund, ever since I was a girl I learned that being a wife came with too many expectations. Not to mention too many heartaches. All of which I refuse to take on.”

  He scrambled off the bed. “So there is nothing I can offer? Nothing at all?”

  What else was there? What world existed between that of a wife and a demimondaine? There wasn’t anything else. Maybelle held up a shaky hand to keep him from coming any closer. “You have already received your night from me. It is best we go our separate ways. You do not need to be attached to my troubles any more than I need to be attached to yours. Between us both, we have endured enough heartache and certainly do not need any more.”

  He paused, then after a few moments softly asked, “What if you are with child? What then?”

  With child? Maybelle put a hand to her belly, the thought both exciting and frightening her. She still couldn’t understand how she had allowed herself to compromise all of her beliefs in the name of pleasure.

  She swallowed. “I will notify you of that. Now please. Do not complicate matters for me by coming to the school. And please do not use your anger by enlisting Parliament to shut down the school. My grandmother lives for her school. It is all she has left of her glory days.”

  Edmund was quiet for a long moment and she wondered what it was he was thinking. “I assure you I will not enlist Parliament.”

  She nodded, though strangely, the weight she felt inside of her remained unchanged. “Thank you, Your Grace. Understand that this is our last encounter.”

  “I understand.” His voice now sounded distant. As if his mind had drifted somewhere else. “There is a carpetbag in the corner. Take it. As part of our agreement.”

  Maybelle struggled with the reality of what she was about to do and what it very well could mean. But there was no other way around it. Taking the money didn’t feel right. She felt as if receiving his body had been payment enough. “Give it to charity, My Lord. I have no use for your money. I cannot accept this townhouse either. I respect you too much and have no intention of taking advantage of your generosity.”

  After a moment of prolonged silence, he murmured, “You may go now. If you must.”

  “Thank you.” With that, she hurried past him and out of the room, not daring to look at him.

  How had she fooled herself into thinking that she could hand over her body to him for a night and then walk away from the experience untouched? God help her, she had somehow lost herself to him without meaning to.

  She used to be content with her way of thinking, her approach to life, her claim to independence. And now? All she wanted was this unfamiliar, aching pain within her to go away. To go away so she could return to the way things were. Untouched.

  Long after Maybelle had departed, Edmund continued to simply stand naked in the middle of the bedroom feeling as though he’d been stripped not just of his clothes, but of his very heart. How? How had it happened? How had he allowed himself to fall in love with her?

  He gritted his teeth, made his way toward the nearest wall, balled his hand into a fist, and slammed it against the paneling. The muscles in his arm jumped back as he savored the stinging throb in his knuckles, wanting to feel anything but this…this loss of control.

  He wanted her. Wanted her so damn much that he didn’t care anymore that she was merely the granddaughter of a courtesan. Didn’t care if she ever learned the ways of a duchess or if the ton turned their backs on them completely. What was worse, he’d almost told her that. Almost admitted that he was in love with her.

  But somehow, he couldn’t force himself to do it. It remained buried deep inside, where he’d always kept his emotions under strict command. He simply could not force himself to let go and trust that she wouldn’t abandon him in his time of need. Abandon him for her real lover—independence. For if his own father could betray him on every level, she could. And she would. The only difference here was that she at least was aware of her ability to hurt him.

  Edmund turned and strode toward the far corner of the room. Yanking up the carpetbag filled with banknotes, he flung it hard against the wall. The bag exploded and banknotes fluttered everywhere, twirling and scattering across the floor.

  Damn her!

  Donate it to charity.

  Was this all a goddamn game? He should have known he couldn’t change her. Couldn’t make her his. She was what she was. And he was what he was.

  He turned and stared at the bed, where Maybelle had laid beside him only a few moments ago. All that was left now of her was her corset, hanging pathetically half off the bed. He shifted his jaw and slowly approached it. Taking it up and without thinking what it might do to him, he drew the smooth, yet stiff contraption to his nose.

  He closed his eyes, breathing in the lavender oil scent of the woman he desperately wanted and needed, and tightly pressed his lips together from the agony of it all.

  “Leave her be,” he muttered, crunching the corset into a fist and looking back toward the open door. “Leave her be.”

  It was time to recognize that just because he finally learned to wholeheartedly love a woman, it did not mean that she would ever return that love.

  Lesson Eighteen

  Ah, love. Everyone eventually wallows in it. And although many drown, some manage to survive.—The School of Gallantry

  Late morning

  Footsteps from outside the parlor caused Maybelle to pause and glance up from her sewing.

  Clive entered, carrying a tray laden with tea and pastries. A tray she had not requested. He placed it on the small walnut table across from her and straightened.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, lowering her eyes back to the needlework and pulling a needle through.

  She pretended that nothing was on her mind, although every time the thread caught, which seemed to occur more and more with each passing moment, she couldn’t help compare the tangled mess before her with her life.

  “You haven’t eaten or taken tea since you returned late last night,” Clive pointed out, still lingering before her.

  Maybelle’s cheeks grew warm as she remembered all too well how he and two other servants had witnessed her running in through the servants’ door trying to keep her ripped gown from falling off her body. God knows what the rest of London saw. “I am not hungry, is all.”

  “You also never sew, Miss. Should I be concerned?”

  “No.” The needle came up through the material and pricked her finger. She winced, brought it to her mouth, and tried to suck out the pain.

  “Allow me to fetch a thimble.” Clive turned.

  “No need. Really.” Maybelle secured the needle into the quilt she was working on and set it aside for the first time in hours. “Is Grand-mère still sleeping?”

  Clive turned back to her. “Last I knew.”

  Damn. Which meant she had nothing better to do bu
t keep on sewing. For it was the only thing she was in possession of that didn’t relate to sex, love, or relationships. Even the thought of Voltaire depressed her. For now she associated him with Edmund and the damn book he had to go and give her. She supposed there were other ways of distracting herself. “Speaking of thimbles, Clive, would you like to hear how they came to be?”

  He stared at her for a long moment, unsure as to where their conversation was heading.

  “My father once told me the story,” she prodded.

  He crooked a bushy brow. “Oh?”

  Maybelle smiled and nodded, remembering how her father’s voice always lowered into a hush whenever he related the tale. As if it were some great secret. “There was once a beautiful girl named Thimbla. She was a servant to a very rich, very titled man. A man she was madly in love with. So much, in fact, that she spent hours upon hours sewing the most beautiful things for him. Her master loved her as well, but despite that, they were forced to deny their love, for he was a nobleman and she naught but a servant. In time, he was set to marry someone else. A woman of equal status.”