Pleasuring the Lady (The Pleasure Wars)

by Jess Michaels

  Her eyes went wide. “Ever?”

  “Never. I never want to lift your skirt and find your body covered again unless it is by something I give to you to wear.” He held her stare. “Do you understand?”

  She nodded, a jerky motion though he couldn’t tell if she was utterly offended or completely aroused. Perhaps a touch of both.

  He tossed the drawers away and sucked in breath through his teeth. He had touched her pussy in the carriage but not seen it. Now it was spread open to him like a fine meal and he forced himself to stay calm. To move slowly.

  He looked up at her face. Her cheeks were dark red and she was shaking, but she didn’t flinch. She didn’t tell him to stop. He admired that strength. That dedication to the course she had put herself on.

  “Don’t be ashamed of your body,” he said. “Not with me.”

  “No one has ever seen me this way,” she whispered.

  He flinched, thinking again of the fact that she was looking for Windbury that night at the masquerade. Had no one merely seen her this way or was she truly untouched?

  “You are beautiful,” he reassured her. “You look good enough to eat.”

  She swallowed, and he could see the wheels of her mind turning, turning, turning.

  “Eat?” she repeated.

  He nodded. “Surely you saw this at the masquerade. Saw the women being licked and pleasured?”

  She let out a tiny moan and then nodded. “I-I saw them.”

  “Didn’t you wonder what it would feel like to have a man’s tongue on your skin? To feel him drive it deep inside of you? To taste you?”

  Her nipples were getting hard beneath her dress, and he smiled. She was an apt pupil indeed.

  “Answer me,” he ordered softly.

  She nodded again. “I wondered.”

  “Then let me show you,” he said, and lowered his head between her legs. He rubbed his cheek against her inner thigh, inspiring a hiss of air from her lungs before he spread her lower lips with his thumbs and licked her from top to bottom with the flat of his tongue.

  She arched beneath him with a wail of both surprise and pleasure that echoed in the room around them. Once again, he was nearly overwhelmed with a desire to drive his cock deep within her, but he controlled it. Tempered it. Reminded himself that soon he would do just that.

  For now, though, he focused on her sex. He licked her again, tasting her sweetness, feeling it flood his mouth as she grew wet with his attentions. She arched beneath him, her eyes wide as he swirled his tongue around the swollen pearl of her clitoris.

  “Miles,” she gasped, and he smiled as he looked up the length of her quivering body without slowing the pace of his mouth on her wet slit.

  She was writhing, her cheeks pink, though not from embarrassment this time, and her face contorted with pleasure. He pushed her legs open even farther and began to suck on her clitoris, swirling his tongue over the little nub with just the right pressure.

  She cried out as her body began to convulse beneath him. She moaned as she turned her face into the settee cushions, her hips lifting toward him in a silent, reflexive demand for more. A demand he met as he dragged her through release until her body shook and she lay limp and panting on the pillows.

  He licked her one last time, then sat up to smile at her. She was staring, eyes glassy with dazed desire, up at him.

  “Do you feel like you have repaid some of my, as you put it, kindness?” he asked, stroking his fingers along her thighs slowly. His cock felt so hard that he could have driven it through a wall.

  But he knew the wait would make the ultimate pleasure all the better.

  She blinked at him. “That isn’t all, though. You have taken no pleasure.”

  He shrugged. “Seeing you lose control is very much a pleasure.”

  She sat up enough that she leaned on her elbows, though she made no motion to fix herself. “You know that isn’t what I mean. You give me release and take none for yourself. How can that put me in any position except that I continue to owe you more and more?”

  With a frown, he reached up and pulled her skirts back over her body before he stood and paced away. Her utter lack of faith in him was troubling, especially when coupled with her surrender of her body. Most women of his acquaintance couldn’t give themselves without faith in their partners at the very least.

  It left him once again questioning everything he knew about the woman who would be his bride in only a few short hours.

  “If you spend your life counting what you are owed and what you owe, you will never be happy, Portia,” he said softly. “We are in this situation now and we can make the best of it or not. It’s up to you what that answer is. One way or another, we will be wed tomorrow. Now, would you like to take a brief tour of the wing we have prepared for your mother?”

  She got to her feet, watching him with continued wariness but also a hint of chagrin. Then she smoothed her wrinkled dress and reached for his arm.

  “Yes. I would very much like to see what you have in store for my mother.”

  He nodded once and led her from the room, but as he guided her upstairs, he was struck by how little had been resolved by their encounter. He wanted her all the more, but Portia was still an unexpected mystery he feared he might never solve.

  Chapter Nine

  It was her wedding day. Those words echoed in her head, repeating over and over until she thought she would go mad with it. But there was no pretending this moment away now. It was far too late for that.

  Portia stood in the hallway of Miles’ home, staring through the open door to the ballroom where her fiancé was located, his broad back to her. A few friends and family members, including her fidgeting mother, sat along aisles, awaiting her entry that would signal the beginning of the wedding.

  Her knees trembled. She had hardly slept after leaving Miles’ home the night before. She had not eaten that morning. She kept thinking about his touch, his bringing her pleasure, the bargain they had made about sex and sin.

  She had no idea what her marriage would be like, but she had no doubt it was going to change her life forever.

  Everything felt like a dream as her brother took her arm and glanced down at her. “Are you ready?”

  She flinched at his tone. Hammond sounded so pleased to be rid of her, so happy that this moment had arrived, no matter how they had come to this place.

  “I have no choice but to be ready,” she responded, trying to maintain composure. “So we should begin.”

  Her brother did not kiss her cheek, he did not even look at her as they began to walk into the room together, down the long expanse of the decorated ballroom and toward Miles.

  Miles turned as they hit the halfway point of the room, and Portia saw him catch his breath a little. She wished she could read his thoughts. Know if he thought she looked pretty in her gorgeous new gown, which had been finished only that morning, or whether he was just trying to keep himself from fleeing the room screaming.

  She turned her attention to the others in the room. On her side of the aisle, her mother sat, blinking a little too much as she clung to Mrs. Potts’ hand. But she was smiling and that warmed Portia’s heart immensely. At least she could save her mother.

  Ava and Christian were there too, also smiling, though Portia recognized Ava’s hesitation. And then there was Hammond’s wife, Iris. Her arms were folded and she watched Portia like a bird of prey would do. She briefly wondered if Iris would swoop at her if she were to try to run.

  On Miles’ side of the aisle were just his sister and brother-in-law. Tennille watched her with unfettered kindness and an utter lack of hesitation. For some reason, Portia was welcome with them, though she certainly had not earned that place of friendship with Miles’ family.

  Portia’s thoughts vanished as she reached Miles. Her brother took her hand and placed it in Miles’ before he stepped back to take his place beside his own wife.

  The clergyman began to talk. He droned on, speaking about the purpose
of marriage. When he reached the point where he spoke of how marriage was a remedy against sin and fornication, Portia stiffened. She wasn’t certain her own marriage would prevent either. Nor was she entirely convinced she wished to be free of those things if they made her feel so good.

  She shivered and tried to attend to the rest of the ceremony. It passed mercifully swiftly, and soon he said, “Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”

  There was a resounding amen and it was over. She was a wife. And not just any wife, but wife to one of the most celebrated rakes in London, whom a dozen women had tried to capture. She was Marchioness Weatherfield.

  Her knees shook, and she clung to Miles’ strong arm as he led her from the ballroom and back to a parlor where they would gather themselves before they met everyone else for the wedding breakfast.

  As he shut the door, she moved to the other side of the room and stared at him. She had no idea what to say. How to say it. How to face him as a wife.

  He seemed to have no such hesitation. He crossed the room in three long steps and gathered her into his arms. His mouth was on hers, heated and passionate. He claimed her with his tongue and her body lit on fire. She couldn’t control the needy moan which escaped her lips as she clung to him, shaking with desire and the knowledge that in a few short hours he would take her body and they would truly be bound forever.

  He pulled back, his eyes wild, and smoothed his jacket. “Good morning, wife.”

  She smiled despite all her worries and fears. “Good day, husband.”

  He grinned in return and for a moment their eyes locked. She saw emotions in his stare, lightness she hadn’t noticed before when she saw him as merely a friend, before she’d felt the full impact of his desire.

  “They are gathering in the Blue Parlor,” he said with a shake of his head. “So I suppose we must join them.”

  She tensed. “The Blue Parlor where last night…where you and I…”

  Blood flooded her cheeks and he smiled again, flashing straight white teeth she had felt scrape along her—

  “No one but us knows what we did in that room,” Miles drawled. “Consider it the first of many sinful secrets we shall share.”

  Many sinful secrets. Portia shivered.

  “Now come along, Lady Weatherfield,” Miles continued. “Your guests are waiting.”

  “So you are wed.”

  Portia turned away from the sidebar lined with wine and smiled as Ava wrapped an arm around her. She leaned into her friend and for a moment she was allowed to be herself. To be real.

  “I am, it seems,” she said with a shake of her head. “Good Lord.”

  Ava poured them each a glass of wine. “Are you well?”

  “I am as well as can be expected under the circumstances.” Portia laughed to soften the words. “Do not misunderstand me, I am not complaining. This entire fiasco is my own fault and I could do far worse than Miles, who has been nothing but kind to me.”

  Ava’s face relaxed a touch. “I’m glad to hear it. You certainly look lovely.”

  Portia looked down at herself. It had been so long since she had such a pretty frock that she found herself secretly fingering the silken folds when she hoped no one was looking.

  “His sister’s lady’s maid arrived at my home and helped me and my mother ready ourselves,” Portia explained. “And the gown is one of several her seamstress made with some kind of magic, considering how lovely they are and how quickly they were sewn. Apparently there are to be a dozen more coming in the next month or so. All arranged for and paid for by him, of course.”

  She glanced at Miles. He was talking to his sister and her husband. His face was utterly neutral, she couldn’t tell what he thought or felt. Nor had she been able to since the moment they joined the larger group. It was almost as if that searing kiss and that whispered promise of passion in the parlor had never happened.

  Would she ever solve the puzzle of her…husband?

  “Why should he not shower you with pretty things meant to make you light up?” Ava said with a smile. “You are his wife now.”

  “Plenty of men do not do so. Especially to wives they did not choose.” Portia sighed.

  Ava’s eyebrows lifted. “I can understand your hesitation, but you must expect the best. He’s taking care of your mother. Did he do that because of my suggestion that you…” She leaned closer. “Offer yourself in exchange?”

  Portia hesitated. This was hardly a subject to broach in the middle of a parlor, not an hour after her marriage. But she so desperately wanted to talk to Ava about it.

  She turned into her friend to block the rest of the room from what they were saying. “I did. And he accepted those terms.”

  “Excellent.” Ava clasped her hands together with a wicked smile.

  Portia shook her head in confusion. “Excellent? How is this anything close to that?”

  “You underestimate the power of passion,” her friend murmured with a quick, heated glance toward her own husband, across the room kindly entertaining Portia’s mother and Potts.

  “That may be because I have no idea what to do!” Portia said with a sigh. “Miles implies a large array of passions, shocking and powerful. Already he has, er, done things to me.”

  “Well, that is how you two ended up here,” her friend laughed, her attention still on Christian.

  Portia shook her head. “Not that.”

  Ava’s eyes went wide and suddenly she was staring at Portia. “Since you two were compromised at the masquerade?”

  Portia swallowed, her hands shaking as she thought of the pleasurable moments she and Miles had shared in the carriage and even in this very room. Her body thrummed with desire just recalling them.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “And has he…” Ava dropped her voice. “Taken you?”

  Blood rushed to Portia’s cheeks, making them almost unbearably hot. “Not taken me, but…other pleasures.”

  The corners of Ava’s lips lifted slightly. “That is very encouraging.”

  “Encouraging?” Portia repeated, forcing her voice to stay low even though she wanted to shake her friend in frustration. “How so? As I have already said, I have no idea how to keep his attention or fulfill his no-doubt high expectations.”

  Ava smiled. “You will learn quickly enough, I will tell you that. When a man desires you and you desire him in return, what to do becomes very, very natural, very quickly.”

  “I have a hard time believing you.” Portia shivered. Nothing she and Miles did felt natural. Uncommonly pleasureable, yes. Natural, no. “Can’t you give me advice beyond ‘do what comes naturally’?”

  Ava touched her arm. “I can certainly give you advice,” she whispered. “As delicately as I can in this environment. But are you certain you wish to hear what I have to say?”

  Portia took a deep breath. This was her only chance before her wedding night to have a talk with someone who understood. In the public of a parlor or not, she couldn’t turn that down.

  “Yes,” she said, leaning closer with nervousness and excitement mobbing her. “Tell me everything you can before we are interrupted.”

  Miles kept a tight, false smile on his face, but it was a difficult proposition as he mingled with the few guests from his wedding and a few more who had been invited to the wedding breakfast after the ceremony ended. Talking to them, accepting their felicitations, seeing their knowing smiles behind their fans was almost unbearable.

  If someone had told him a fortnight ago that he would be wed after a scandal, he would have laughed in their face.

  And yet here he was.

  “Weatherfield!”

  He turned, and his smile wavered as Portia’s brother approached. Cosslow had a huge grin on his face and a drink in his hand. He was wobbling ever so slightly, a result of draining Miles’ bar since the moment the wedding ceremony had come to a close.

  How in the world had he ever called this bastard a friend?

  “Cossl
ow,” Miles said with a slight nod as acknowledgment.

  “It all went off without a hitch.” Cosslow hiccupped. “I must say I feared you might go running off, damn the consequences. Not that anyone would blame you.”

  Miles flinched at the cruelty of both his new brother-in-law’s words and his tone.

  “I had no intention of doing that to your sister,” he said. “I’m a man of my word.”

  “Yes, so it appears.” Hammond shrugged.

  The two of them looked across the room at Portia. She stood with Lady Rothcastle and the two of them had their heads close together, talking with far more intensity than Miles would have expected at a wedding celebration.

  “Ava has certainly changed for the better with her marriage,” Hammond mused with a guttural grunt of appreciation. “Who knew?”

  Miles pursed his lips in disgust. “They have been friends a long time, have they not?”

  “She and Portia?” Hammond shrugged. “As long as I can recall. But then, the wallflowers always seem to stick together.”

  Miles sighed. “Their friendship seems deeper than that.”

  Cosslow looked at him almost as if he didn’t understand the statement.

  “I suppose it is.” He swigged a drink. “Portia used to moon over Ava’s brother, though Windbury never showed her any more mind than any other man did.”

  Miles tensed. Once again, there was a stark reminder that Portia apparently cared for another man. She had all but admitted it the first night they met at the masquerade. And she had been seeking another man the second night before they fell into each other’s arms.

  His stomach turned. Was that what the two friends were talking about so closely? Liam?

  A sudden, mind-numbing possessiveness passed through him, overtook him. This was his wife. His. And he would by God claim her in some way right now if only to take thoughts of another man from her mind.

  “Excuse me,” he muttered, barely acknowledging Cosslow as he set his drink down on the closest table and strode across the parlor toward Portia and Ava. Portia’s back was to him, but Ava saw him before he reached the two. Her eyes went wide, and he realized she recognized his intent.