by London Casey
“You cannot complain. It’s always been enjoyable for everyone, hasn’t it? And I know you, Jon. The sheer perversity of bedding your intended wife and your beloved mistress is simply too delicious.”
Maria knew him. Far better than Anne did.
Well, Anne was going to have to get used to his ways. All of them. He wasn’t going to change for anyone.
Dressed in a yellow muslin gown and a dark green mask adorned with canary-yellow feathers, Anne sat in the drawing room. Ensconced on a divan in the far corner, she was still fuming over how Ruel had all but dumped her off after supper.
“You’ll be fine,” he had said.
“What if someone—”
“They won’t.” He grinned, showing his white, even teeth against his tanned face, that earlier cruel light glittering in his azure eyes. “Not unless they want to face me at dawn.”
His restlessness seemed to crackle on the air. She almost imagined he wished it to happen. She’d never seen him like this.
He’d lightly gripped the base of her throat. “You look like a queen in that gown. Every man who sees you, wants you. But even were I not here, none would dare approach you for fear your icy exterior would freeze their cock off.”
She made a choked gasp.
“I am the only one, aren’t I, Nan? The only one who can thaw you.” His hand tightened. She swallowed against his hold. “Aren’t I?”
Wetness slid down between her thighs. She suppressed a moan.
He chuckled softly, released her throat and then put a finger to the tip of her nose. “No more than two cups of punch for you, wench.”
How unfair, seeing as he’d spent the whole afternoon half-sprung. Nevertheless, his eyes had looked sober as he’d fixed her with a stern look. “Only two.”
As soon as he’d disappeared into the card room, she’d downed three cups in quick order. God, it was like no other punch she’d ever drunk. Sweet with fruity hints of peach, pineapple and something else she couldn’t identify. Everyone around her drank freely. Why shouldn’t she? It gave her something to do other than hug her shoulders. Now she finished her fourth cup and felt rather intoxicated, her limbs languid yet her skin almost crawling with a jittery nervousness.
Well, who wouldn’t be nervous in this room? Not that anyone bothered her. They were all too busy with each other. All around, couples sat on the richly coloured divans, the women—one couldn’t call them ladies—draped over the men, some men having two or three women at their disposal. She spied several bare bosoms and suspicious writhings.
These women might be whores but they were expensive ones. Musk, rose and other perfumes saturated the air. The scents were nuanced and pleasing to the senses, obviously the more costly versions of these distillations. Rich looking silks, satins and velvet adorned the women’s bodies—those who were still clothed—and jewels glittered on many of their necks. Feminine laughter and sighs echoed in the shadows of the dimly-lit room.
Was this Ruel’s way of telling her he now ranked her the same as these doxies?
She bristled at the thought. In the morning, she was going back to Whitecross Hall. She’d didn’t care how she explained her arrival before her carriage. He’d pushed too far this time. This could not be borne.
And yet she couldn’t keep herself from gaping at the living sensual tableaux unfolding all around her. She had never imagined watching other people—much less so many at once—pleasure themselves sensually.
You want to see those things that have been denied you because you are a lady.
Her heart pounded harder and a panicked feeling of having been read too clearly swept over her. Ruel could read everything in her being and he was fully capable of using it to manipulate her. Using it against her. But no, no! She jerked her head down so that she stared at her lap. He wasn’t correct. He did not know her inner self that completely. She still kept herself protected, even from him.
She was still safe.
“Anne.”
The husky feminine voice stopped her heart cold. She turned.
Grey eyes peeked at her through a dark blue mask that glittered with jets. The woman stroked her fingertips down Anne’s arm. “Only one woman in England could possibly have that gorgeous olive skin.”
The curve of the smile tugged at her memory. However, it was the masses of chestnut-red hair and the natural birthmark above the full, red mouth that finally made her remember. One of the few women who had been truly friendly to her in Mayfair—
“Lady Waterbury?” Anne asked, unable to keep the wonder from her voice. She hadn’t expected to see another lady here.
A husky laugh. “Oh, I think we’re beyond our titles here. Call me Maria.” The woman ran her fingernails lightly up and down Anne’s arm again, leisurely, sensually. Sparks of desire raced through her. She could imagine those nails lightly scraping her tightening nipples.
The thought shocked her.
“I always thought you were simply too beautiful.” Lady Waterbury fairly purred the words.
Anne’s inner walls clenched and wetness seeped from her channel as a sense of unreality descended over her. She glanced away, looking around at the firelight’s shadows dancing upon the couples on the divans. Two women were kissing, their movements so slow and deliberate, as if they were unaware of anything else in the chamber save for the feel and taste of each other’s mouths. An older man with silver streaks in his dark hair was fondling both their breasts.
Across from the trio sat a young gentleman, a minor baron Anne had never seen before tonight. He had a classically handsome face and his curly hair glowed like antique gold coins in the flicker of firelight. He was almost too beautiful, he looked so utterly angelic. Fascinatingly so. A thin and very nubile looking young woman knelt between his legs, appearing to be avidly swallowing him, her cheeks drawn as though she were sucking hard. Her bright auburn ringlets bobbed wildly as her head moved up and down. Another red-haired woman sat near his head and pushed her teacup-sized breasts into his open mouth while he avidly tongued her stiff, bright pink nipples.
Anne’s own nipples tingled and a stronger flare of sexual heat pulsed between her legs, flooding her with wetness. She was experiencing lust for the young man. The thought stuck her with a measure of shock and she managed, finally, to tear her eyes away.
She noticed then a third naked woman who was watching the angelic baron and his ladies. This woman was a bit older, her breasts were large, just beginning to lose the firmness of youth yet still quite lush. The woman’s bright red painted mouth was open, she was moaning loudly and touching herself between the legs—no, not just touching! She appeared to be making use of some sort of object made of green glass that glittered as she thrust it in and out of the dark triangle between her full thighs. A huge false phallus that would surely put a stallion to shame.
Oh God… It was all just too much. Anne felt…she felt…almost dizzy. Her throat and mouth had gone quite dry. And her heart seemed to race away from her. The air grew hot, close.
The punch—she’d had too much.
Soft fingertips caressed her cheek. She turned back to Lady Waterbury. The grey eyes were smoky. With desire. For her.
Anne gasped and recoiled slightly from shock.
The other woman leaned in closer. Her lips were parted and her fruity-scented breath was strangely intoxicating.
Anne jolted to her feet. “I have to leave now, sorry.”
She forced the words out in a rush before dashing across the drawing room, headed for the door. Something collided with her. Grasped her arms. She jerked her head up.
Ruel’s azure eyes gazed down at her. Amused. Her heart ached as if it would tear in half. Well, she was certainly glad to have provided him with such amusement!
“Where are you going so quickly?” he asked.
“I don’t feel so well,” she said, truthfully. She didn’t feel herself at all.
Yet she couldn’t keep her gaze from moving over his body. Dressed in black and frowning, he
looked sinister. He must have had his clothes already here, for the suit fit him perfectly, accentuating every line of his tall, hard-muscled body. Her cunny clenched almost violently.
She hungered to have his hands on her. All over her. Tearing off her clothes. His weight pressing her down, his body hair caressing her nipples. His cock thrusting into her.
She wanted him so badly that she would allow him to take her to one of the divans if he asked. In fact, she began to wish quite desperately for him to take the initiative and force the issue.
Dear God!
She—they would become just another couple disporting themselves in this mad orgy.
She didn’t care.
She wanted him. Here. Now.
What would it be like to let him take her, knowing they had an audience? Arousal like she’d never known flamed in her blood and made her tremble with its force.
You want to see those things that have been denied you because you are a lady.
Wicked. Everything occurring in this chamber was so wild, free and deliciously wicked. She wanted to be so wicked, too.
He had known that about her, somehow, he had known something about her she hadn’t even guessed at before.
She knew, also, why he had left her alone. He had wished her to watch and to feel and to be seduced by the utter lusciousness of this event. The lascivious sensuality of this world, his world.
He wanted her to join him in his world!
Oh God. Yes, that was it.
Her heart pounded even harder than before, causing giddiness to make her head spin.
She was not safe. Not safe at all. Not from Ruel and his seduction.
“You do look flushed.” He laid his palm on the swell of her breast above her bodice on the left side. “And your heart is pounding. Is that because Lady Waterbury wanted to kiss you?”
“I don’t think she actually wanted—”
He grinned, his expression somehow a stranger’s, as if a somewhat fiendish mask overlay his familiar features. And yet, he was the same Jon she knew. The sense of his double-identity made her dizzier.
“She did want to kiss you. I know her.” The rich intimacy in his tone left no doubt. He knew the lovely Lady Waterbury as well as he knew her.
“Oh.” The word sounded hollow to her own ears.
“Don’t you want to let her?” He caressed her neck with his fingertips.
At his touch, shudders of pure longing raced through her.
“Aren’t you curious?” he asked.
Again, she had that sense of knowing him and yet of his being a sinister stranger. She placed a hand to her forehead.
“Not particularly. I-I told you I don’t feel well.” She just wanted to go somewhere alone and sort out all the confusing feelings. She could never think clearly until she did and she hated feeling so out of control of her own senses.
She was in grave danger. Danger of being sucked into this seductive world and losing herself. Maybe forever.
“What if I said it would please me if you would allow her to kiss you?”
Desire pounded through her with stunning force, weakening her knees so that she fell into him. He smiled down at her. Oh, she could deny him nothing when aroused like this.
Please, don’t let him ask.
However, he already had.
“You certainly picked a nice, quiet corner. Why don’t we go there?” he said.
“I couldn’t…not in here, with everyone watching.” Suddenly, with the prospect becoming all too real, she didn’t feel so adventurous.
“Everyone is preoccupied and it’s dark over there. No one is going to even notice. I could fuck you every way there is to do it and none would care.”
“I care.” Heavens, why was she even discussing this? She should run, get away from his influence. If she did, clear thought would return. But his eyes held hers and she couldn’t move.
“Then what if we invite her up to my chamber?”
She had a vivid image of Lady Waterbury in his bed, her chestnut-red hair a spill over his stomach as her mouth moved down—“No,” she found herself saying. “Please, don’t ask that.”
“Why?”
“I just don’t want to.”
“You did a minute ago.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Is it that you don’t want me to touch her?”
She closed her eyes, nodded vigorously.
“I won’t touch her. It will be just you and her. I’ll just watch.”
“You promise?”
“Of course, trust me.” He caressed her shoulders in a light motion. “Do you remember in the horse stall, when you asked me to take the silver balls out and you offered me anything if I would?”
She nodded.
“Well, we could consider this tonight as payment.”
She opened her eyes and stared up at his face. The skin drew taut over his cheekbones, his eyes dark as lapis with desire. He had her as neatly trapped as if he’d bound her. He wanted it, and sexually, she could deny him nothing. She trembled with excitement.
A slow, sensual smile spread over his hard mouth. “We’d better go up now.”
He swept her off her feet. She gasped in shock as he settled her into his arms. Then he turned and made a gesture with his head to Lady Waterbury.
Anne stood, limp as a ragdoll while Ruel unlaced her. Lady Waterbury—Maria—undressed herself, but she hadn’t as much to take off as Anne did. She’d worn a scandalously skimpy gown. French, no doubt. Anne had been too anxious downstairs to notice.
Cool air touched her aching, stiff nipples and she glanced down to see herself bared. Surely no one could divest a woman of her garments like Ruel. It was almost criminal. Her legs were shaking so badly now.
“Go to bed,” Ruel whispered in her ear.
She nodded and stumbled over and sat. She stared at Ruel where he sat in a wingchair across from the bed.
He pointed to Anne’s left. “Well, don’t look at me, sweeting, she’s trying to get your attention.”
The humour in his voice warmed Anne’s blood. If only they were alone. She wanted him to come over and press her down on the bed and fuck her with his huge cock.
Soft hands touched her shoulders. She recoiled for a moment. It seemed too gentle. Not repulsive but just too soft. Then she saw the fire flare in Ruel’s eyes and a thrill raced through her.
He wanted this.
She would give him whatever he wanted.
She turned. Maria came closer, then their lips were touching. Maria caressed Anne’s breasts and Anne arched her back, hungry for sensation. She closed her eyes and pretended that Ruel was touching her, loving her. Each kiss and caress blended into the next. Maria’s skilled lips moved low on Anne’s stomach and Anne writhed and moaned.
“Stop.” Ruel commanded.
Chapter Seventeen
Anne startled.
Lady Waterbury backed away from her, looking shocked. Then her lovely face relaxed and she laughed softly. “Turning possessive in our old age, are we?”
“Apparently.” Ruel’s tone lightened considerably.
But it sounded strangely hollow and Anne could feel the displeasure beneath it. Why? In her inexperience, had she done this wrong? She glanced at him and his expression looked so fierce that it set her heart pounding.
He stood, started walking towards the bed, and Anne’s heart pounded with dizzying speed.
Oh fuck me, please fuck me.
She swallowed tightly several times. Her throat was as dry as parchment. She could drink a whole pitcher of water, but the hot desire boiling in her veins froze her in place. He stood by the bed, before her, wrenching at the fastenings of his trousers.
“Well, I know when I am no longer wanted.” Beneath Lady Waterbury’s too-light tone, a serrated edge cut the air.
Dimly, Anne could sense the other woman moving about, gathering her clothes. But she couldn’t tear her eyes from Ruel’s. He grasped her hips and positioned himself at her entrance.
He thrust into her savagely.
Impaled her. Speared her. Stretching her, filling her. God, it was the most delicious, exquisite sensation—she clutched his shoulders, digging her nails in and raking down his back. Her cunt rippled over the thickness of his cock repeatedly, as pleasure exploded with her. She screamed with its force.
She lay panting. Her throat burned like fire, her cries echoing in her ears.
“Vixen,” he growled as he withdrew.
Tears were flowing from her eyes, blurring her vision as she sat and tried to get closer to Ruel’s body. Her hands made contact with his hard-as-boards stomach and she feverishly caressed him, reaching for his cock. But he turned and moved away from her.
She moaned softly. Oh God, she wanted to feel him in her mouth, to swallow him whole. Taste his seed. A litany flowed from her lips. What she said, she had no idea.
He took her by the shoulders and pushed her back to the bed. She rolled, now on her stomach. The bed rocked and she heard him moving about.
The bed rocked again. He pulled her head up by the hair. “Who owns you, Nan?”
She tried to speak, but her dry throat closed up.
A sharp sting hit her buttocks. Then another. Another. Burning, fiery pain bloomed upon her flesh.
“Who, Nan?”
She swallowed hard, finding almost no saliva available to her. “Y-you.”
Several steady blows came down on her, never hitting the same place twice. Fire raged in her cunt.
Fuck me! Please fuck me! Her mind screamed the words.
“Who was that, Nan?”
“Jonathon Lloyd.”
“Yes, good girl.”
Something hit the bed beside her. She glanced at it. His riding crop. God. Horror washed over her. Surely he wouldn’t—Oh sweet holy mother, he already had. And, mad to have him inside her, she flooded with wetness.
“Maybe with my marks on your arse, you’ll remember who owns you.”
“Yes, yes, yes, oh God, yes.” She moaned the words into the pillow.