“Then kiss me,” he challenged.
Her lashes fluttered. Then she rose on tiptoe. The soft brush of her mouth set fire to his blood. When she lapped at the seam of his lips like an inquisitive kitten, he let her in. The kiss grew hotter, and, before he knew it, he’d planted her arse on the desk, her skirts ruched in his fist—
A banging pierced his haze of lust.
“Corbett? Are you in there?” Fanny’s insistent tones filtered through the door. “I need to speak with you.”
With an oath, he set Primrose on her feet and instructed, “Wait here.”
He stalked to the door, cracked it open. Fanny stood there, fist raised to knock again.
“I’m busy,” he said shortly.
“You’ve been busy for the past week. We need to talk about the Nursery—”
“What nursery?” Primrose’s voice emerged from behind him.
Fanny’s gaze darted over his shoulder. “What’re you doing here?”
“I’m here with Andrew,” Primrose shot back.
Christ. “Fanny, I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said impatiently.
“But I have a new list of items that need to be approved for the Nursery—”
“What is this nursery she’s talking about?” Primrose demanded.
Before he could answer, Fanny drawled, “A milk-fed miss like yourself wouldn’t understand. Then again, there’s a lot you don’t understand about Corbett here, isn’t there?”
“I know him better than you do,” Primrose snapped. “You’re nothing but his employee. A bumptious old bawd.”
“Better a bawd who knows how to really please a man,”—Fanny’s hand slapped onto one out-thrust hip—“than some green chit who thinks lying on her back is all it takes. Really, Corbett, don’t you get tired of showing her around the bedchamber by her leading strings?”
“Shut your mouth, Fanny,” he growled, “and be on your way.”
The menace in his tone finally sunk in; his employee flounced off.
The minute he closed the door, Primrose rounded on him. “Are you sleeping with her?”
“I’ve already told you the answer to that,” he said curtly.
“Have you slept with her?”
“For Christ’s sake, no.” Striving for patience, he raked a hand through his hair. “I do not have sexual affairs with my employees. Ever.”
“What is this nursery, then?”
Seeing the suspicion in her eyes, he realized there’d be no peace until she had her answers. Stubborn chit.
“Although I encourage the use of contraceptive measures in the club, accidents still happen. The Nursery House is a new initiative of mine, a place where wenches can go to deliver their babes safely. Fanny is helping me with the project.”
“Oh.” Primrose’s lashes fanned. “So that is all you and Fanny are doing together—working?”
“Yes. Now I’ve explained the situation to you, and I expect you to let it alone.”
She drew in a breath, and he prepared for further argument.
What he didn’t do was brace himself for her to rush pell-mell into him. His torso rocked back as he absorbed the shock of her embrace. Her arms locked around his waist.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was muffled against his waistcoat. “I don’t mean to act like a jealous fishwife. I just don’t want you wanting anyone but me.”
His arms closed around her. “I only want you, Primrose.”
She tipped her head back, and he was startled to see the moisture gleaming in her eyes. “Truly?” Her voice hitched. “Even though I’m petty and shallow and act without thinking?”
“Sweetheart, you’re not petty or shallow, but you do have to learn to trust me.”
“I do trust you.” Vulnerability shadowed her fine features. “I just don’t understand why you like me. When you’re so handsome and worldly and,”—her bottom lip caught beneath her teeth—“you could have someone far more experienced. Who knows how to please you.”
That was what she believed? Her thinking mystified him. At the same time, his heart tumbled helplessly, bruising his chest with tenderness.
“You please me, love.” He tucked a curl behind her ear. “More than anyone I’ve been with.”
“Even if I’m a… green chit in the bedchamber?” Her gaze searched his.
“I like that you’re inexperienced,” he said quietly, “that I’m the only one who has the privilege of making love to you. I get to explore your desires with you. Me—and no one else. I’ve never had that before, never felt possessive over anyone before you.” He trailed his thumbs down her neck, loving her shiver of awareness, loving everything that she gave him. “You belong to me completely, Primrose, and that is the finest gift any woman has ever given me.”
“I’m so glad.” Her eyes shimmered. “Because you have given me so much.”
He was tempted to kiss her again. But if he started, he wouldn’t want to stop—and he didn’t want to spoil what he had planned for her.
“Since that’s settled,” he murmured, “let’s get to your surprise, shall we?”
She blinked, as if she’d forgotten all about it. Then she wrinkled her nose. “You mean that delightful exchange with Fanny wasn’t it?”
“Minx. You’re going to enjoy what I have planned far more.” He took her hand, his blood quickening. “We both are.”
~~~
Rosie’s hand trembled in Andrew’s large one as they ascended a private stairway to the top of the club. Her excitement mounted with each step, her nipples puckering against the silk robe he’d provided for her. She was nude beneath the fine gold fabric embroidered with peonies, as was he beneath his black robe, a silver dragon breathing fire across his broad back. The fact that they were traipsing through a pleasure house practically naked was undoubtedly wanton—and yet there was something strangely right about it too.
She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it had to do with having her hand in his. With seeking out adventure together. With Andrew by her side, she felt brave and strong, like an explorer ready to chart a new world.
They arrived at the top of the steps, where a closed door waited.
Andrew unlocked it. “Ladies first,” he murmured.
She stepped inside, her eyes widening at the sumptuous chamber, her slippers sinking into the thick ruby Aubusson. The walls were papered in soft gold silk, a gilt and crystal chandelier showering sparkles through the intimate dimness. A large tester bed occupied the back of the room, a wide red divan the front. Oddly positioned, the divan faced a blank wall.
Andrew came up behind her. His warm breath caressed her ear. “Like it?”
Desire tremored through her. “It’s very luxurious,” she managed.
He led her over to the divan, sitting first and pulling her onto his lap. With only the thin silk between them, the granite ridge of his cock pressed against her, making her squirm.
A smile lurked in his eyes. “One of these days, love, I’ll teach you the pleasures of waiting.”
“I have been patient. And I adore my surprise,” she said, playing with the lapel of his robe, “so can’t we please get on with things?”
“Sweetheart, you haven’t even seen your surprise.”
She canted her head. “I haven’t?”
He reached over to the wall, sliding open a panel that had been camouflaged by the pattern of the wallpaper. A pair of viewing holes appeared, and the sudden swell of sound caused goose-pimples to prickle over Rosie’s skin.
“Here’s your surprise. Go on,” he said huskily. “Have a look.”
Leaning forward, she did.
Her eyes widened at the sight of men and women—a dozen, maybe more—frolicking inside a circular arena decorated in a style reminiscent of the Near East. Blue arabesque tiles covered the walls, gauzy material flowing in the white plaster archways. Thick rugs and large jewel-colored cushions covered the floor, upon which people were engaging in astonishing sexual acts.
Rosie’s gaze
landed on a blonde, whose breasts bounced as she gyrated atop a man reclined on pillows. Her eyes migrated over to a redhead kneeling in front of another male. His scarlet member pointed at her like a lance, and she wrapped her hand around it, dragging her fist up and down…
Nearby, a dark-haired fellow was rutting a brunette, who was positioned on her hands and knees—like a farmyard animal! When a blond man approached, she winked at him… then took his cock in her mouth. Her voluptuous body jiggled as she was jousted between her partners, one at each end…
Reeling at the vibrant debauchery, Rosie turned to Andrew. His eyes had a wicked, seductive gleam. Her breasts tingled, her pussy moistening in a hot rush.
Chapter Thirty
As the sounds of boisterous fucking filled the room, Andrew reflected that he was right about his naughty minx. She liked to watch.
He’d observed her titillated response the last time she was at his club, when he’d mentioned the viewing holes. Then there’d been her delightfully wanton response to the looking glass above her bed. Thus, he’d thought to give her the ultimate voyeuristic experience: observing the play in the Sultan’s Seraglio.
As she perched on his lap, her cheeks were flushed, her tits surging, the tight tips visible beneath the gold silk. Her arousal was a potent aphrodisiac. Against her arse, his prick was steel-hard and throbbing with a heartbeat of its own.
“Do they know they’re being observed?” she whispered.
“Yes. It’s part of the allure.” He nuzzled her ear, feeling her shiver all the way in his bollocks. “Those who seek out the Sultan’s Seraglio enjoy being watched during sex. And for those who want to only observe, there are five other private viewing rooms like this one.”
“But what we’re doing—isn’t it terribly wicked?” She bit her lip.
“No rules but what we make, remember? You’re safe to explore your desires with me.” He caressed her shoulder. “I want to know what arouses you. I want you to know what arouses you.”
Her gaze veered back to the viewing hole, and he saw what caught her attention: Jilly, one of his lustiest and most sought-after wenches, was entertaining two of the customers simultaneously. The brunette’s skills were on full display as she took a ramming from the rear while performing fellatio with genuine enthusiasm.
Primrose suddenly tensed, and Andrew’s gaze shot to her face. Seeing her lips tremble, he wondered if he’d made a miscalculation. What went on in the orgy room was as common as bread and butter for him—but for her? While naturally sensual, she was recently a virgin and a well-bred one at that. Modesty was as ingrained in her as depravity was in him.
He silently cursed himself for his stupidity. For forgetting the differences between the two of them—for taking her too far into the darkness of his world. As an apology surfaced on his lips, she suddenly ducked her head, tucking it into the crook of his neck.
Her words were whisper-soft against his throat. “I find watching quite… titillating.”
That she had the courage to own her desires humbled him. And the fact that she trusted him—Christ, it was a feeling like no other. Pride expanded his chest.
“It’s a natural reaction, love.” He stroked her cheek. “And you’re a passionate woman.”
“I feel all awash,” she said in a soft rush.
She was trembling with need, with the arousal that she hadn’t yet learned to control.
Tenderness and lust surged through him. “I’ll take care of you. Trust me, sweetheart…”
He claimed her mouth, drinking in her sweetness while he untied her robe, pushing the silk off her shoulders. He cupped her breast, pinching the bold tip, and she moaned against his lips. Hell, they’d hardly begun, and she was about to go off like a Roman candle. Reaching between her thighs, he groaned at her lushness. He rubbed the heel of his palm against her pearl and drove two fingers into her tight sheath—and that was all it took.
Her cry of release made his cock jerk, pre-spend dampening the tip. He growled with pleasure as her cunny milked his fingers. When she was done, he brought his hand to his mouth, and, holding her passion-dazed eyes, licked her honey from his fingers.
“Goddamn, you’re sweet,” he said thickly.
Cheeks pink, she said, “But I… it was over so quickly.”
“It’s not over.” He took her mouth, sharing her delectable flavor with her, smiling when she quivered. “Sunshine, we’re just beginning.”
~~~
“Oh, I can’t. Not again.”
Except for her pout, Primrose made the perfect Lady Godiva, he thought. In fact, he wanted to have her immortalized in paint, a portrait for his eyes only. He wanted to view Primrose this way whenever he wished: sitting astride him, her supple curves playing peek-a-boo through the shining curtain of her hair, her milky skin flushed and dewy from their lovemaking.
After her first incandescent climax, he’d taken her on the divan, first on her back and then, when she seemed ready for something more adventurous, he’d positioned her on all fours. She’d gotten over her shock quickly, purring when he entered her from behind. Her snug, eager pussy had tested the limits of his endurance. Through sheer force of will, he’d made sure that she came again before he did. And while he recovered, he’d fingered and licked her until she creamed upon his tongue once more.
Thus, he had ample evidence to support the fact that not only could Primrose come again, she would. And she was so full of passion that it wouldn’t take much. Christ, she was his match in every way—and he was one lucky bastard.
Now they were on the bed, he sitting against the headboard, she atop him.
“You can,” he told her.
To prove his point, he fisted his cock, running the burgeoned head against her damp and swollen petals until she sighed. Quickly donning a fresh French letter, he fitted his prick to her hole, yanking her down as he thrust up. They both moaned. Gripping her soft hips, he guided her up and down on his rod, her quim flowering around him, slathering him with slick honey.
“It’s too much,” she gasped.
“Ride me. You saw how it’s done.” Deliberately, he reminded her of what she’d glimpsed through the viewing hole… and groaned when his ploy worked, her pussy constricting helplessly. “Goddamn, you’re milking me like a fist.”
“That feels so… I can’t…” Panting, she strained to reach her summit.
He grabbed one of her hands, brought it to where their bodies joined.
“Rub your pearl, love.” He guided the motion with their twined fingers. “Make it nice and slick while you ride me.”
Whimpering, she did as he instructed, and, God, she was stunning. Her jade gaze swirling with gold, her slim fingers diddling herself as she impaled herself on his cock, she was desire incarnate. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She absorbed him completely, like no one else ever had or would. When she took him into her body, she took all of him—his cock, his mind… his heart.
Raw need pumped through him, pushing a spurt of pre-seed into the sheath. In that instant, he wanted to tear the bloody thing off, to have nothing between him and Primrose, to take her and take her until they came together. Until she was plowed full of his seed, dripping with it. Gritting his teeth, he held onto his sanity. He palmed her shoulder blades, pulling her toward him, altering the angle so that his cock drilled against her pearl.
Her entire body tautened… and then—bloody fuck. Her cunny convulsed around him, lightning-quick spasms that sucked the seed from his balls, forcing it up his shaft. He roared in ecstasy, his hips bucking as he shot stream after stream of hot spend into the sheep-gut barrier.
She collapsed atop him, boneless as a kitten. He held her close, his fingers tangling in her silken tresses. Unspoken words pounded in his heart, and he smothered them against her lips.
~~~
“Andrew, are you awake?” Rosie whispered.
“Hmm.” His voice rumbled beneath her ear; he definitely sounded drowsy.
After the exertions of the
evening, she probably ought to let him rest. Cuddled atop his chest, watching the flickering fire in the hearth, she basked in the aftermath. Being with Andrew innervated her—made her feel content and limitless at the same time.
She rubbed her cheek against him, enjoying the light scratch of chest hair over hard, warm muscle. “Thank you for showing me this chamber.”
“Hmm hmm.”
“And for showing me that there’s nothing wrong with me or my desires.”
His hand ran lightly over her hair. “You’re a naturally sensual woman, Primrose—everything a man could desire. Why would you think there’s anything wrong with you?”
In her present relaxed state, it was so easy to share with him. “Because of the gossip about me. According to the ton, I’m a trollop.”
“The ton is made up of idiots and hypocrites.”
“Even if I’m not a trollop, I am a bastard. Even worse than that, I was…” She caught herself, just barely, a frisson of fear sizzling through her. Heavens, had she been about to blurt out a thought she hadn’t even allowed herself to think? Since Mama’s ugly revelation, she’d blocked the matter from her mind; she hadn’t permitted herself to consciously dwell upon it.
“What, love?” His hand continued its soothing stroke. “You can tell me.”
Could she? Could she trust him with the vile reality?
He gave her hair a gentle tug, and she lifted her head to meet his eyes.
“Tell me,” he said.
“Mama told me why Coyner took me as his ward.” The words tumbled from her lips. “It wasn’t because he wanted a daughter. He wanted... he wanted me for…”
She couldn’t make herself finish. Even if she could, she wouldn’t have been able to—for Andrew’s arms had tightened like steel bands around her, crushing her against him.
“It’s not your fault.” His voice vibrated with suppressed fury. “Whatever happened, it’s not your fault.”
“Nothing happened. According to Mama, Coyner meant to eventually make me his child bride, but she and Papa rescued me before that. Coyner died fighting Papa—died because he refused to let me go.” Her cheek pressed against Andrew’s hammering heart, Rosie fought to unearth the rest. “I do have memories of that time, and I don’t remember Coyner ever… harming me. In any way.”
The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6) Page 22