by Tarah Scott
“Bloody hell,” she cursed.
In the distance, the rear of the maze gave way to trees that stretched heavenward, but she stood no chance of navigating through the twists and turns that led to them. She faced the mansion and studied the path leading back in that direction.
“Left, right, second right, third—no—second left,” she said, while reciting a silent vow never to have a stupid maze on any of her properties.
Caroline turned to jump from the bench and shrieked. A masked, kilted god stood nearly eye-to-eye with her. She stumbled back. He seized her waist and yanked her forward. She instinctively threw her arms around his neck to keep from falling and her cheek met the warm, damp flesh of his shoulder. Her heart raced at a gallop.
“Careful, my lady.” The deep, cultured English accent didn’t quite disguise the hint of Scottish burr.
Gooseflesh chilled her arms. Yet, her body warmed. Her nipples hardened to erect peaks against the thin fabric of her costume.
“My lady,” he prodded.
Fear that he would feel the heat of her arousal immobilised her.
“I can stand here all night, if it pleases you,” he murmured.
The erotic vision of him doing just that while she rubbed her nipples against his hard body snapped her head up. Dark eyes indistinguishable from the shadow stared at her through a black eye mask.
A flurry of butterflies swirled in her tummy. “I am lost.” She cursed the breathless note in her voice.
“Nay, I found you.” He shifted. A dusting of hair at the nape of his neck tickled her fingertips. He slowly slid her body against his as he lowered her to the ground.
The scent of leather and cloves clung to him. She inhaled, heart fluttering, then tilted her head up. “You have my gratitude, sir. I would be even more grateful if you could direct me out of this…this…labyrinth.”
“Even more grateful?” he repeated.
Caroline became aware of the rough wool of his kilt against the sensitive skin of her thigh. She willed her racing heart to slow. Here was the warm flush that had been missing with the domino in the ballroom. Cruel fate. Far too late has come my redemption.
“Would you like to return to the masque?” His hands dropped from her waist.
A strange sense of loss washed over her. She steeled her resolve to go home and stepped away from him. “I am leaving.”
“Through the gardens?” The harshness in his tone startled her. “It is more likely you fled the festivities to meet someone. The blue domino, perhaps?”
Caroline stiffened. “Anyone attending the masque is well aware of the frolicking taking place in these gardens.”
“Frolicking?” he repeated.
“You are here, sir. Need I feel recrimination because I am a woman? Bah,” she added in a mutter. “I have no time for this foolishness.”
She meant to head towards the mansion, but he blocked the way, so she turned deeper into the maze.
“My lady.” He grasped her arm.
She dropped her gaze to his long, dark fingers. His hold, though light, held her firm. An unexpected vision of those strong fingers gripping her hips while he pumped into her from behind caused her to snap her head up.
“No time for this foolishness?” He lifted his free hand and drew a thumb along her bottom lip.
Heat coursed through her veins. There was no misreading the invitation. Had he read her mind? He offered what she so desperately desired, a night of passion in the arms of a man who hungered for her. This man would demand more than she could afford—but suddenly wanted with every fibre of her being to give.
He pulled her an inch closer. She took the step haltingly. Amusement showed in the upturn of his mouth and he tugged her so near that her nipples came into contact with his warm chest. A tremor radiated through her. In all her planning, she hadn’t considered a man might steal her breath as well as rational thought. Heat crept into her face. She disengaged her arm from his grasp.
“Forgive me. I—” She faltered, unable to trust her ability to resist should he twitch even a muscle. “I fear I may have grossly misrepresented my position.”
He gave a low chuckle. “Most who attend these events misrepresent their position. That is the brilliance of the masque, Aphrodite, the night is ours.”
A jolt to her pussy drenched her folds. She took a step back only to find the awareness intensified when he countered by stalking closer. The prickle of the hedge against her back halted her retreat. He stopped a hair’s breadth from her. Scents of peony and juniper mingled with the dizzying scent of him, assailing her senses. Caroline tilted her head up. Moonlight glinted in the eye slits of his mask.
She drew a sharp breath when he bent and whispered a kiss on her neck. His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “You are beautiful.” He flicked his tongue against her beating pulse point. “I want to steal you away, but I will settle for having you here.” He cupped the back of her head, angling her mouth for a kiss. She parted her lips and his tongue glided along hers. A low groan rolled from his chest as he pressed the hard length of his cock against her abdomen.
“Having me?” Clutching fistfuls of his shirt, Caroline allowed her head to fall back.
“Yes,” he murmured, and blazed a trail of kisses along her jaw, down her neck, to the curve of her shoulder. He traced the swell of her breast, then found and pinched a beaded nipple.
She cried out. He tugged down her bodice, exposing a taut tip, then plucked the bud between his lips and gently bit.
“So sweet.”
“My lord,” she breathed.
He threaded his fingers through her wig. The wig shifted. Caroline jerked to shove it back into place, brushing her hip against his erection. He sucked in a breath and yanked up his kilt. She froze at sight of the full erection jutting towards her, as if begging her to take what she wanted. His warm fingers closed over hers and guided her hand downward, where he firmly wrapped her fingers around his shaft.
She startled at the velvety smoothness. He was so…she squeezed. Not rough or calloused—her heart raced—what had she expected? Caroline realised with a horrified start that she had no idea what to expect, and released him as if he were a snake. She flattened her palms on his chest in an effort to distance them and met the warmth of his sculpted torso.
“Good Lord.” She snatched her hands back.
He cupped her derriere, lifted her more intimately against his arousal, and rested his forehead against hers, their masks touching. “Let me touch you.”
Her pulse jumped. They were alone. Margaret believed she had fled the masque. What could a little touch hurt?
“Yes,” she whispered before she could change her mind.
He set her feet back on the ground, then slipped a finger beneath the dress and shoulder. Gooseflesh raced along her arms where his warm fingers touched her. She shivered. His gaze remained on her as he slipped the dress off her arms. The fabric dropped to her elbows, exposing both breasts.
Silence drew out between them. She trembled, but knew her reaction was fear and not the damp air that crept across her flesh. What had happened? Had he changed his mind? Caroline stiffened. Was she not beautiful enough? She lifted her gaze to find obsidian eyes staring from within the slits of the mask. He watched for another long moment, then lifted a hand and cupped a breast. She shuddered.
His mouth curved into a slight smile. “Do I please you, Aphrodite?”
Caroline was unable to utter a sound. He gave a low laugh, then bent and traced a circle around her nipple with his tongue. Cool night air chilled the places his hot mouth and tongue touched. She grasped his shirt. A woman’s moan of pleasure abruptly intruded on their solitude.
He straightened. Caroline yanked her bodice over her breasts. He pulled her close, sheltering her from view. Whispered words drifted towards them from the maze entrance.
“Bloody hell,” Caroline cursed.
He looked down at her. “Interesting vocabulary, my lady.”
She scowled. “No
t nearly as interesting as our present position.”
“Indeed.”
There was no mistaking the laughter in his voice and Caroline narrowed her eyes with the intent to chastise him when the woman giggled.
Caroline jerked her gaze in the direction of the voices. “They are searching for a private nook.”
“I shall inform them that this particular nook is occupied.”
He started to turn and she seized his arm. “No!” The voices drew closer. “Good God.”
Caroline released him, and rearranged the sash. The bodice didn’t fit as snugly as it had earlier.
She blew out a frustrated breath. “Do you think we will be discovered?”
“There is always a chance.”
More giggles followed, closer this time. Caroline squinted past him into the shadows. His warm fingers grazed her cheek beneath her mask. She lifted her gaze up to his. He stared down at her and her pulse spiked. A woman’s low moan sounded nearer. Caroline’s masked lord grasped her shoulders and manoeuvred them a few inches to the left, then back between the bench and denser foliage. The rustling of fabric drew her attention and she peered around his broad shoulders.
“Shh,” he whispered against her ear.
A woman dressed as a chambermaid faced the stone cherubim, gripping the angel’s shoulders as a masked bandit stood behind her and bunched her drab, brown dress up around her waist.
The bandit swatted her backside with an open palm. A blush of rose coloured her cheek.
“Please, do not hurt me,” she begged with feigned acquiescence. “I promise to be good.”
He swatted her again and chuckled. “That I know, I believe I have had you before.”
The bandit held the maid’s dress in place, while loosening the tie on his pantaloons with his free hand, then shoved them down far enough to free his cock. The man took a step forward and plunged his engorged member into the woman. Caroline’s mouth fell open. The kilted stranger pressed closer. His breathing grew shallow and fingers tightened on Caroline’s hips. Did he want the same pleasure from her?
“Beg for my cock,” the bandit said. “Beg me to fuck you.”
“Please. Please, fuck me,” she pleaded as the man thrust his large, ruddy cock in and out of her. Her cries of pleasure matched the rhythm of his pumping hips.
Another loud smacking sound made Caroline jump.
“Oh yes!” the woman cried.
Caroline couldn’t tear her eyes from the sight. “Do you suppose this will take long?”
“If it is done right,” the kilted god replied.
She glanced at him and his gaze slowly tracked her face and down her body. He growled and pulled her close. Feral grunts from the man joined the woman’s pants. Caroline’s would-be lover gripped her derrière and pressed her mound against his shaft. A tingle started between her legs and radiated out. The steady, yet rapid beat of her heart throbbed in her nipples and between her legs. He rolled his erection against her a second time and she answered with a tremulous undulation of her hips against him.
“You surely know how to drive a man to his knees,” he said.
Caroline glanced down. His tartan stood at a point, aimed towards her, testament to his arousal. She returned her gaze to his face. “I would like to drive you to your knees, my lord.”
He stared as if daring her to test his worthiness, to push him to the edge, then beyond. She wrapped her fingers around his shaft through his tartan. He shuddered and an unexpected sense of power swelled inside her. A loud moan from the woman made Caroline’s heart pound harder. Dare I?
Caroline glanced up at him. Then she knelt.
“My lady,” he rasped.
She lifted his kilt, exposing heavy, muscular thighs, then lifted it higher. She gasped. The sight of him, the smell so close, intoxicated her beyond any wine she’d drunk tonight. Deep red, his cock jutted from a thatch of dark, tight curls. Tentatively she closed her hand around the girth. He sucked in a ragged breath. She instantly released him.
“Does it hurt?”
He gave a strangled laugh. “Aye.”
He grasped the base of his shaft with one hand and placed the other on her head. She swatted at the hand grasping her wig. If he knocked the wig from her head, the disguise was worthless.
“Take me in your mouth.” His strained voice turned gravelly.
He slid his hand higher along the thick, veined stalk. She breathed in the musky essence as her masked lover stroked the length, pulling back the foreskin to reveal a large, mushroom-shaped head. Clear liquid seeped from the tip. Caroline touched the leaking slit, smoothing the slippery cream over the crown. Sticky, yet the velvety skin felt hot to the touch.
Anxiety surfaced with the memory of overhearing John tell of how women pleasured men in this manner. She had gone to the stables in search of him and stopped short at hearing his voice from within one of the stalls. “I tell you, Matthew, when Clarice took my cock in her mouth, she near did me in with the first stroke.”
The flush Caroline had felt evaporated at the raucous laughter that followed. She had determined to find and bed a young stable boy. Instead, she’d found herself awaiting John in the drawing room like a good soon-to-be-Viscountess.
Her tummy tightened. This man seemed to share John’s baser desires. His cock pulsed. What if she didn’t please him? She steeled her nerves and placed a hand over his. With a breath, she leant forward and took him into her mouth.
“Sweet Christ,” he ground out.
Caroline glanced up and found him staring as she opened wider and took more of the engorged length into her mouth. The taste of the tangy sweet excretion from the tip was pleasant, but what now?
He must have understood her silent question because he whispered in soft, encouraging words, “Do what you will. I am yours.”
He released his shaft and, covering her hand with his, helped build a rhythm with her strokes. Caroline sucked on the smooth crown and slid her lips along the shaft. She unexpectedly grazed him with her teeth. He jerked and she released him, tumbling to her backside.
She stared up at him, heart pounding. “I–I am sorry.”
He gave a strangled laugh and pulled her back onto her knees. “Take me into your mouth again.”
He tucked his kilt into his belt then, legs spread, held his cock to her face and cupped the wrinkled pouch hanging beneath. Caroline adjusted herself on her knees more comfortably. In the years to come, this night would remind her that she was a woman capable of inciting a man’s passion. Perhaps he, too, would remember the rustle of wind in the trees and the scent of juniper in the air…and the squeals of lovers in the adjacent area. Caroline grimaced. She could do without the woman’s cries.
Steadying her trembling fingers, she worked his shaft between her lips with renewed zest. A hint of saltiness sizzled on her tongue. She swallowed and licked the length, dragging her tongue from base to tip, before sucking him deep into her mouth until the crown touched the back of her throat. Slowly withdrawing, she stroked the taut skin, mouth meeting fist in the centre of his shaft.
Warmth infused her. Her masked lover groaned, pumping his hips. He gently cupped the sides of her head, but didn’t interfere with her rhythm. In an effort to discern his likes, she listened for the change in breathing and subtle shifts in his body.
With a low feral growl, he ripped his cock from her mouth, angling to the side. Cream spurted from his shaft. Muscles in his thighs tensed, then relaxed. The heavy musk scent of his essence made her mouth water. Why had he pulled away? Gripping the back of his thigh, she spun him towards her and took his rod into her mouth.
“Wait.” He clutched her shoulder, but she had already begun sucking the head. “By God—fuck.”
She lapped until he glistened. Yes, she could see why a man would be driven crazy by a woman’s mouth. Disappointment unexpectedly surfaced. As a wife, she wouldn’t dare pleasure her husband in this fashion. Lust coiled in her tummy. She wouldn’t have the courage to drop to her knee
s for the Viscount of Blackhall, nor would she beg for the pleasure of her husband.
Caroline lifted her gaze. This man begged for nothing. Tonight’s memory must last a lifetime, for she would never witness stark lust on her husband’s face like that of her masked lord.
Chapter Three
The woman was a she-devil. Innocent as a girl just out of the schoolroom, she had driven him as wild as any mistress, nonetheless. Innocence and sin. Heaven and sweet hell. What was such a woman doing at a masque—what had she been doing dallying with William Edmonds, Viscount of Thornhaven? What did it matter? She had left the earl in the ballroom. And now, she was here with him, submitting to his needs, offering her treasures to him—if only for the night.
Might he see her again? Tomorrow—curse God—tomorrow he was to wed. Instead of this vixen in his bed, he would plough into the dry channel of a woman who had no more use for him than she’d had his brother.
Guilt stabbed at him. She had been but a child when he’d met her. His brother had died a year ago. Not nearly long enough to prepare a man to bed his brother’s betrothed.
She adjusted his plaid and slowly rose. He pulled her close, sealed their lips with a kiss. The taste of his musk combined with her feminine scent nearly undid him. What would she do if he tossed her over his shoulders and fled with her back to Strathmore? What would his family do if he married a Sassenach other than the one intended for him? What would she do once she found herself abducted to Scotland?
Taran had never kept an unwilling woman. Aphrodite muddled his thinking. A tryst in the gardens wasn’t enough. He wanted her. More than he’d wanted a woman in…in longer than he could remember. But he wasn’t yet at the point of locking his paramours in the dungeons of Strathmore.
Taran pulled back. The blonde wig sat askew on her head. What was her natural color? He realised they were once again alone.
“I believe it is safe to leave.”