by Mia Gabriel
No, I wasn’t letting him do anything. He’d do exactly what he wanted, as he always did. My role was to obey him, and a fresh wave of desire rippled through me. I arched my back to rub my now-aching nipples over the edge of the seat, the bristling plush teasing them with a delicious torment.
“I said not to move, Eve,” he ordered sharply.
I paused as he’d wanted, unconsciously making a hum of apology around him. The vibrations of it made him swear, and I ran my tongue lightly along the underside of his shaft to soothe him.
It didn’t work. Instead he flexed his hips and began to fuck my mouth in earnest, and I could feel him pulsing between my lips.
“Your hand,” he said roughly. “Use your hand, too.”
I closed one hand around the base of his cock, pumping my fist there as I took the head as deep as I could.
“Yes, Eve.” His voice sounded strangled now. “Yes.”
He thrust hard and fast, his hips bucking off the seat. I tasted the moment when his orgasm began, the violent explosion that ripped through him and continued for seconds afterward, the animal roar that marked it.
I choked as he filled my mouth, yet still I held fast until he was done, making sure he’d found his satisfaction. I wanted this to be a gift to him, a gift of selfless pleasure. He shuddered one last time, gasping for breath, and his cock slipped free of my mouth, soft and heavy across my tongue.
He sat back on the seat, and without his support I dropped backwards heavily to the carriage floor. Breathing hard, I wiped my hand across my mouth and sat huddled with my arms across my chest, breathing hard. My body ached with unfulfilled desire, my muscles tight and my sex throbbing with empty longing, and all of it punctuated by the sound of the horses’ hooves across the pavement.
“Come here, Eve.” He reached down and pulled me up onto the seat beside him. I burrowed against him, my head resting over his still-racing heart and his arm around my shoulders.
“You’ve learned your lessons well,” he whispered. “You’ve earned a reward for yourself, too, after your punishment is done.”
I smiled against his chest, thinking of all he’d taught me and all I’d doubtless still left to learn.
“Thank you, Master,” I murmured.
“No, I should be thanking you.” He tipped my head up to face him and kissed me lightly. “You’re a rare woman, Eve.”
My smile was tremulous. “You’re a rare man, too, Savage.”
“Savage,” he repeated, and belatedly I realized I hadn’t called him Master. Yet he didn’t seem perturbed that I’d dropped the guise of the Game. Instead he continued to stroke my hair, holding me close.
“You could kill me with that sweet mouth of yours, you know,” he said after a while, “and I don’t believe I’d mind.”
He traced my lips with his fingers, and I flicked my tongue over his forefinger, enough to make him chuckle.
“Wicked creature,” he said, teasing. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
“If I am wicked, then I learned it entirely from you,” I said. “Entirely.”
We laughed together, enjoying the closeness and affection of the moment.
“Perhaps that is so,” he admitted, and then with a sigh of regret he slowly pulled my bodice back over my breasts. Considering how familiar he was with undressing me, he did it with unexpected clumsiness, a clumsiness that I found both touching and endearing and very unlike his role as my Master.
“As much as I’d prefer you to remain as you are,” he explained, “I’d rather not have the footmen ogling you.”
“Nor would I.” I sighed, too, and slipped from his lap to the seat. “I suppose we must be nearly to your house by now.”
He chuckled, tucking his cock back into his trousers.
“I’ll wager we’ve been driving in circles around St. James’s Square for the last half hour,” he said. “My driver knows better than to stop before I’ve given him word to do so.”
I smiled, despite a little twinge of unhappiness that punctured the playful intimacy of the last few minutes.
Now that he mentioned it, I realized we hadn’t passed any other carriages or made any turns for a long while and that, in fact, we must be slowly circling the square’s small central park. From the beginning, we’d agreed that our private version of the Game would only last a week and that there’d be no complicated lasting ties between us. Neither of us wanted that.
But I still didn’t wish to be reminded that there’d been other women in his life before me and would likely be others after me, too. For now I wanted to believe—or at least to pretend—that I was the only woman who had played the Game with him, who’d shared his bed, who’d sucked his cock in the dark in his carriage.
I didn’t want to believe I could be as easily replaced as the others had been by me.
Logically I had no reason to expect any lasting allegiance from him, but at the heart of it—in my heart, anyway—the real reason was much more simple.
I didn’t want to be forgotten.
By now, he’d restored his clothing and I had done the same, at least well enough to make the short walk past the footmen, across the pavement, and up the steps to his house. He made three brisk knocks to the roof of the carriage, and at once the carriage’s pace increased. Within two minutes we’d stopped, and the door to the carriage swung open.
I hugged my velvet cloak around my shoulders, and though once again Savage placed his hand on my back to guide me up the steps, the gesture seemed perfunctory now. The intimacy was gone, and I felt foolishly sad over its passing.
I expected that we’d immediately retreat to his rooms, but instead the butler was waiting for us in the front hall, a concerned expression on his face.
Savage recognized it immediately. “What is it, Parker?”
The man pointedly glanced at me before answering, hesitating as if I were some terrible imposition.
“Did you receive the message that was sent to you, my lord?” he asked.
“At Gaspari’s?” Savage said, purposefully nonchalant, or so it appeared to me. “Yes, I did receive it, and acknowledged it, too. I’ve returned here as soon as it was convenient.”
That soothed me somewhat. At least he’d put me before whatever this mysterious message might have been.
The butler nodded, hesitating again.
“I fear there has been a change in the original plans, my lord,” he said. “The, ah, delivery was made earlier than expected. They did not wait until tomorrow, as planned. He—that is, the delivery—arrived a short time ago.”
Savage’s nonchalance dropped away, his face unable to hide either his surprise or his concern.
“He’s here now?” Savage demanded. “In this house?”
The butler nodded grimly. “Yes, my lord.”
“Why the hell did they believe that to be wise?” Savage demanded. “They’re paid to keep him there, aren’t they?”
“Yes, my lord,” the butler said patiently. “But under the circumstances—”
“The circumstances be damned,” Savage said. “This is not where he belongs, and I’ll see that he’s sent packing as soon as it can be arranged.”
At once I thought back to the first night and remembered the mysterious man whose arrival had so disturbed Savage and whom I’d glimpsed hurrying away from the house. Apparently he must have returned, and that return was not a welcome one, either. I could not begin to guess the nature of this business or why it had upset Savage, except that I probably had no place in it. Whatever had happened—or was happening—was beyond the Game.
I placed my hand lightly on Savage’s arm.
“It sounds as if you’ve other affairs to occupy yourself tonight,” I said. “Perhaps it would be better for now if I returned to the Savoy.”
“No.” He swung about sharply to face me. The expression in his eyes—unhappiness and sorrow—was at odds with the anger in his voice. “I want you here with me, Eve. I don’t want you to go. It’s not safe.”
/> I frowned, taken aback by that. “If by that you mean Blackledge—”
“Of course I mean Blackledge,” he said, but in a way that made it seem that the baron wasn’t the only reason or even the primary one. “I cannot force you, but it would be best for both of us if you did.”
“Very well, then,” I said. “If you insist that I stay—”
“I’m not insisting.” He took a deep breath, obviously struggling to control himself, and raked his fingers back through his hair. “I’ve no right to do that. I’m asking you to stay. Inviting you, as one friend to another. Please, do not leave. Stay.”
There was no way I’d leave after that. I reached up on my toes to brush my lips across his cheek.
“I’ll be upstairs, my lord,” I said softly. “Join me when you are able.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hart,” he said almost solemnly. “I won’t be long.”
It was an oddly formal moment, yet from the way he was looking at me it was also one I wouldn’t trade for the world. My gaze held his a moment longer, and then I turned and climbed the stairs alone.
I didn’t look back, and I didn’t doubt that he’d follow me. It was only a matter of when.
* * *
It was still dark when I awoke to find Savage standing beside the bed, his face lit only by the flame of the silver candlestick in his hand.
“At last you’re awake,” he said. He’d removed his evening jacket and his tie but still wore his black trousers and the white shirt, the sleeves rolled back over his muscular forearms and the stark black and white made more so by the candlelight. “I’ve been waiting.”
“You could have wakened me,” I said, groggy. I rolled over to face him, pulling the sheet with me. “What time is it?”
“Nearly two,” he said. “And I didn’t want to wake you. You’re so beautiful when you’re asleep.”
I frowned, not feeling exactly beautiful. “Were you drawing me again?”
“Not this time,” he said. “I was merely watching, and imagining all the things I’d do to you when you woke.”
At least that was enough to inspire me to try to wake the rest of the way, and I sat upright against the pillows. Earlier I’d undressed myself without a maid to help, and because of it I’d given only the most cursory brushing to my hair and hadn’t bothered with a braid. My hair was now wild and unruly, a tickling tangle over my shoulders. Impatiently I shoved it away from my face, but with more patience Savage reached out himself to stroke it back from my forehead.
“Is your business with the gentleman resolved?” I asked.
He frowned, not understanding. “My business?”
“Whatever it was that so alarmed your butler.”
“Ahh, that.” He set the candlestick on the table beside the bed and walked across the room to where a decanter of wine and several glasses were kept on a silver tray. He might have watched me sleep, but I watched him walk, all coiled power and grace like some great jungle cat. No wonder I was awake now.
“My business, as you Americans call it, is resolved for the night,” he said, handing me a glass of burgundy. “Forgive me if I alarmed you earlier, but it took me by surprise.”
I took the wine and raised it towards him before I sipped at the deep-red wine. “So the man in question has left the house?”
“He will in the morning,” he said. “I could not very well turn him out at this hour.”
I couldn’t help but feel he wasn’t entirely telling the truth. I knew Savage well enough by now to sense when he was holding back, and he was definitely holding a part of himself away from me now.
“Are you sure?” I asked uncertainly, praying he’d confide in me. “If this man is a danger to me, as you implied, then—”
“He’s not at all,” Savage assured me, and smiled warmly. “You have my word as a gentleman on that. The fellow is troublesome and a great trial to me, but of no personal danger to you. You are safe in this house, and safe with me.”
Slowly I smiled, too. It was true that I felt safer and more secure with Savage than I ever had before in my life, even more than when I’d been surrounded by my father’s guards. There had been a terrible irony to our row at Gaspari’s: Savage had accused me—rightly—of not trusting him in regard to the king when in reality there was no one I trusted more.
It wasn’t just Savage’s physical ability to defend me but a more intangible sense of well-being that I had when I was in his company. I couldn’t describe it in words. It was more something I felt.
And if he said now that I was in no danger, then I’d believe him.
He gave me a nod of encouragement. “Now drink, my own dear Eve,” he said. “Every drop. I want you ready.”
“Ready?” I asked, looking at him over the rim of the glass. If he’d slipped back into the Game, then so would I. “What have you planned, Master?”
“As you should recall, Eve, you’ve had difficulty obeying me,” he said. “I realize that it’s a matter of trust. I believe I’ve come upon a way that will both punish you for being so forgetful and remind you to be more trusting of me in the future.”
I smiled and drank the wine as he’d ordered.
As much as I’d wanted to give him pleasure and release in the carriage—and I had—sucking his cock had in turn aroused me more than I’d anticipated, and my body had ached with need and longing ever since. It didn’t take much of this talk of his to make that need spark and grow.
I set the now-empty glass on the table and slid to the edge of the bed, letting the sheet fall away from my naked body. That was how he liked me best, and I saw how immediately his gaze flicked down to my breasts, rounded in full by the candle’s light.
I reached out for his belt buckle, intending to undress him so he could join me in the bed. Instead he covered my hand with his and held it fast.
“Let me, Master,” I said, trying to wriggle free. “I promise I’ll be much more efficient than Barry.”
“I’m sure you would be,” he said, “but isn’t this another example of you disobeying me?”
I pouted, looking up at him from beneath my lashes. “How can I disobey you if you haven’t given me any orders?”
“You could anticipate my needs,” he suggested, “the way a well-trained Innocent would.”
“Then perhaps what I require is more training, Master,” I said. “Perhaps that is all that’s needed.”
Although he continued to hold me by the hand, I sat back on the bed and let my knees fall open, displaying myself to entice him.
He grunted, his eyes heavy lidded as he glanced down at what I offered. What man wouldn’t?
“You’re right,” he said. “You do need more training. But not here.”
He pulled me from the bed and to my feet, and taking the candlestick in his hand, he led me into the sitting room connected to his bedroom. Expectantly I looked about for the long cushioned bench that we’d made use of the other night, but it was once again where it usually stood, beneath one of the windows. Instead he led me to a door beside the fireplace that I’d assumed was to a closet or cupboard of some sort. He released my hand, turned the key, and ushered me inside.
We stood in a small room with six walls instead of four. The ceiling was domed and painted a dark blue with stars set in the heavenly constellations. From the ceiling and the curious shape of the room, I guessed that at one time it had belonged to a gentleman of a scientific or philosophical inclination who had used it for his private thoughts and studies, or perhaps it had even been a personal chapel of some sort.
Clearly, however, since it now belonged to Savage, it was neither of those things now. Except for the wall with a large window, heavily curtained for the night, the walls were hung with mirrors. Even the door we’d entered through was covered, so that when he closed it the opening disappeared seamlessly into the others. There were several wall sconces with candles, and Savage lit these, one by one, with the candlestick he’d carried from the bedroom.
As he did the mir
rors came to life, reflecting us endlessly in the small room. He was severe and masculine, almost ascetic, in his white shirt and black trousers, while I was as lushly female as any pagan goddess of love, my pale skin warm and glowing and my body displayed from every angle.
“Do you remember the room with the mirrors at Wrenton, Eve?” he asked.
“I do, Master,” I said. I’d thought of it instantly. How could I not? He’d sat on the painted throne of a Renaissance prince, and I’d pretended I was his royal concubine, straddling him to fuck him on his lap. The mirrors there had reflected us, too, but they’d been old and mottled and mysterious, the reflections wavy and defused. “I’ll never forget that. But these mirrors are different.”
“They’re new,” he said. “Obviously. The effect is very different.”
I held my arms outstretched and turned, posing for all the reflections of me in the mirrored walls. “It’s like being inside some magical prism, isn’t it?”
He chuckled, watching me twirl. But though the small room was devoid of any furnishings, there was one other item reflected in the mirrors that I’d never before seen in any house, in America or in England. I wasn’t exactly sure what it was, beyond some sort of swing or sling.
Four long cords, covered in red velvet, were suspended from a sturdy hook in the ceiling. Two of the cords met to support a narrow seat that was scarcely more than a strap of leather. A pair of large padded leather loops hung from the second set of cords, and smaller straps with buckles were attached to the cords a short ways above the loops.
“You’re admiring my new amusement,” Savage said, crossing the room to stand beside it. “I had it installed yesterday, specifically with you in mind.”
I raised my brows, skeptical. The contraption did not look particularly practical, nor comfortable, either. “For me, Master?”
“For you,” he said, “though I expect to benefit from the swing as well.”
He touched one of the cords, sending it silently spinning.
I reached out and stopped it. I was beginning to imagine the possibilities, and my heart was already racing in my chest, and not entirely from arousal, either.