Edward chuckled. “He is guilty of that from time to time.”
The door opened and Phelps himself entered with the tray.
“Thank you,” Edward murmured, his eyes riveted to Nora as she turned to prepare their tea.
“I’ve taken the liberty of putting you in your old room, Miss Nora.”
“That will be lovely, thank you, Phelps.”
Phelps took in Edward’s dropped jaw and dammit if the man didn’t crack a smile. Albeit the smallest one visible without a microscope.
The door shut silently behind the butler and Edward closed his jaw.
He wanted to speak, but he was worried this was one of his more frustrating dreams—the ones where he saw Nora on a street and it turned out to be somebody else. Or the ones that—
“Edward?”
She was holding out his tea. “Thank you,” he said in a voice not his own. He took a sip of scalding tea and grimaced.
She handed him a plate, on which she’d placed three macaroons. He stared.
“I asked Phelps for them—they were always your favorite.” She paused when he still didn’t take it. “But perhaps that is no—”
He hastily took the plate. “No, it is still true.” He picked one up and took a bite, as if to prove the veracity of his statement.
They sipped tea and ate biscuits, Edward expecting her to disappear like a mirage at any moment.
Nora had always had a shocking capacity for sweets and he was content to watch as she ate thee macaroons and two pink frosted cakes—where the devil had Phelps found those? He was in no hurry to disturb the blissful vision of her inside his house again after … He struggled to recall the date in his head. When he did, he realized she was watching, her smile knowing.
It was three years to the day since she’d moved into his house.
His heart thudded so loudly he swore it sounded like somebody pounding on the front door, shaking the house, moving the—
“I brought something for you.” She picked up a satchel that sat beside her chair and extracted a sheaf of papers.
Edward rose to take them, confused but intrigued. He could see by the structure of the document it was a contract of some sort. He sat and lifted it to read, but her voice interrupted him.
“I’m offering you a carte blanch and that is the contract I’ve drawn up. It’s a—”
Edward stood and marched to his desk, his hand shaking as he flipped to the back without reading anything and signed his name. Hers, he saw was already there.
“Paragraphs two, five, seven, twelve, and fifteen.”
Edward’s lips curled as he flipped and signed in all the spots where her signature preceded his. His Nora’s contract was longer than the one he’d given her. Excitement, hope, and—yes—a smidgen of fear swirled in his belly. He replaced the pen and walked back to her.
She took the contract and cocked her head while looking up at him, her pupils flaring. He laid a hand on the back of her chair to keep from dropping to his knees—even though that was where he wanted to be.
“It doesn’t seem wise to sign this without reading it, Edward. I hope you don’t come back to me at some later date and try to negotiate.”
“I shan’t,” he said, his lips twitching at her very good Edward imitation.
“Hmmm.” She tucked it into her bag. “You may be seated,” she said in a dismissive tone.
Jesus. Mary. And Joseph.
Edward walked on wobbly legs back to his chair.
“Where do you think you are going?”
He swung around at her voice. “But you said—”
“Tsk, tsk, Edward, you should have read the contract. It’s paragraph five—one of the very paragraphs you initialed. It’s very clear about your position whenever you’re in a room with me.” She spread her feet … wide and pointed to the floor between her knees. “Kneel.”
He knew his haste was unseemly, but he didn’t care. His knees made popping sounds as he lowered himself.
“That sounds painful, Edward.” She reached behind her and pulled out the narrow back cushion, offering it to him with an arch look that made his already hard cock throb even harder. “We don’t want any permanent damage.”
Once he was kneeling, she looked down at him with lust darkened eyes. “Take off your coat, slowly.”
His hands shook and he made a mental note to purchase only four button coats from now on.
“You may put it on the table behind you. And then remove your tie.”
He pulled out the plain gold bar he used and she held out her hand, her smile wicked. “I’ll hold on to that for you. Now your waistcoat.” And then, “Why Edward, your hands are shaking. Are you nervous?”
You’re bloody well right I am. “A little, Nora.”
“Hmm, if you’re only a little nervous I must not be doing this right.”
He opened his mouth and she shook her head. “I’ll ask the questions and tell you when to speak.”
God, he was going to come in his trousers.
“And no orgasms, or things won’t go well for you.”
Edward knew it would be a terrible mistake to laugh.
“Now, I want you to unbutton your shirt.”
Edward’s fingers stumbled more than ever. He was leaner—would she notice? Would his body still please her?
First he removed his collar, setting it on the pile.
“Slowly,” she ordered as he raced through the buttons.
He complied. And when he reached the bottom, he unbuttoned his cuffs.
But when he reached up to pull it off she said, “No, I’ll do that.” She leaned forward a little in her chair, her eyes almost level with his; for all that he was on his knees. She insinuated her hands beneath the flaps of his shirt, her eyes never leaving his. When her cool, calloused hands touched his heated skin he sucked in a breath and shivered, his chest rising and falling like a locomotive engine gathering steam.
“You feel leaner,” she said, her voice speculative as she explored him with her hands.
He opened his mouth to ask her if she found him too lean.
“Ah, ah, ah, Edward, no speaking until you’re told to do so.”
His mouth snapped shut.
“You are leaner. I can feel the individual muscles beneath your skin. I always could, but now you’re harder.” Her nostrils flared and he swore he’d faint from loss of blood. “Stripped down, more toned—like a racehorse.” She smiled, the expression unspeakably wicked. “If I remember correctly, one part of you was already like a racehorse.”
Edward clenched his jaws and stiffened—all over as she dragged short nails over his chest, grazing his nipples hard enough to hurt, her fingers continuing down to his stomach.
“Mmm, yes, as hard as I remember. You must have been doing something to keep so fit. Tell, me, Edward, what have you been doing?” She suddenly grabbed his right nipple and pinched it. Hard. “And don’t lie, because I’ll know it. Have you been . . . fucking?”
“Yes.”
She frowned and tugged cruelly on his tiny bud. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, Nora,” he gasped. He grimaced at his mistake. “Or—”
“No, not Natalie—Nora.” Her pincher-like grip eased.
“Tell me about your current fucking habits.”
To be honest, his sexual needs were just as rampant as ever. Would she—
“This hesitation does not bode well for you, Edward,” she said in a low, menacing voice.
“I favor a place called the Birch Palace as it caters to, er, well, men with my predilections.”
“And what predilections are those?”
She was good at this; he never would have guessed just how good.
“I like to bind my lovers and then whip them. Hurt them.” He almost smiled and then caught it. Ah, how he loved that traitorous pulse of hers.
Her hands slid up his belly and stopped on his shoulders. “We shall speak more about that later.” She pushed off the shirt, her eyes dropping to his b
ody for the first time. Her lips parted in a way that spelled ruin for his trousers. And then one side of her mouth pulled up into a sinful smile as her eyes rose to his. “Still black here. Are you black down below?”
Oh, Nora. You have no idea what I have down below.
“Edward.”
He straightened at her warning tone. “Yes, black everywhere else. Only my head hair turned white.”
She nodded thoughtfully and sat back in her chair, her eyes burning holes through him. “Lift my skirt.”
He couldn’t help it, a groan escaped him.
“You’ll be punished for that later,” she promised.
She was trying to kill him.
He took the hem of her skirt and began to lift. She dressed in a fashion he knew to be favored by the dress reformers and he had to admit he highly approved—no cage crinoline and only a mid-weight petticoat, which he lifted with the skirts. He paused at her knees and she nodded. So he pushed the skirts up her thighs.
He swallowed and it was a noisy gulp. She wore stockings, but no knickers, no drawers, nothing but Nora. Still pierced he saw, but unshaved, he had to swallow repeatedly.
“That will be one of your tasks,” she said, her voice not as brisk as it was. “Keeping me properly groomed.”
“Yes, Nora.”
She gave him a regal nod. “You may proceed.”
Edward didn’t need to be told twice. He took her beneath the knees and jerked her toward him, his rough action earning a gratifying squeal.
❈❈❈
Good God she’d missed his mouth.
He yanked her legs over his broad shoulders—he was even more defined and hard than ever—and positioned her the way he wanted.
There was no finesse, no gentleness. He sucked her into his mouth and ravaged her, the thick middle finger of his hand slamming into her hard, his thrusts deep and remorseless.
Nora plunged her fingers into his thick white hair, holding him firm while she ground herself against him, spreading wider and fucking his tongue, his lips, even his rough chin, which scratched skin that was almost virginal it had been so long since it had last had contact with anything but her hand.
Not like Edward, who’d been fucking and whipping women other than her all along. The familiar swirl of lust and jealousy filled her belly and overflowed into her womb, her body pounding with a primitive throbbing for him.
Her inner muscles contracted and her first orgasm in months—with another person—seized her by the scruff and shook her until she threw back her head and grunted his name.
As ever, he read her body like a book, knowing which parts were too sensitive and shifting his attention to her puffy lips, sensitive thighs, and even the thin skin behind her knees. By the time she pulsed for more he’d already worked his way back up, the soft, hot suction of his mouth shoving her toward yet another climax.
Her hips jolted and shuddered, her hands still buried in his hair, which she’d pulled hard enough to hurt. Or so she hoped. She shoved him away roughly when his greedy mouth moved toward her entrance.
“Enough,” she panted. “Down. Put me down and go back to your chair.”
He gently lowered her rubbery legs to the floor; Nora had to admit she thrilled at ordering this big, powerful man around.
He slid his hands around her corseted waist—her only concession to modern fashions—and lifted her with ease, setting her against the chair back before returning to his own seat.
Nora didn’t bother covering herself up—she loved having his eyes on her. In fact, she hitched one knee over the arm of the chair, an action which caused the vein in his temple to stand out, its tempo matching the throbbing in her sex. She dropped a hand to her swollen lips and idly stroked herself, thrilling at the straining cords in his neck.
His cock, she saw, had soaked the front of his trousers.
“Did you orgasm, Edward?” she asked the question in a lazy voice as she languidly stroked. “Look at me when I speak to you,” she ordered sharply.
His eyes flew up with gratifying speed. “No, Nora. I didn’t spend.”
“You’ve been a very good boy so far.”
His jaw clenched and Nora had to bite back a smile. Ah, her Edward was not born to take orders.
Nora gave an exaggerated yawn. “My, my. I don’t know why I’m so exhausted.” She lowered her leg and carelessly pushed down her skirts, enjoying the thunderous expression on his face as he watched her nudity disappear before his eyes.
She stood and he stood with her, wincing with discomfort.
“I’m for bed,” she said airily. “You will not touch yourself tonight,” she reminded him as she strode toward the door, tossing over her shoulder. “Fetch my satchel and bring it up to my room before you retire for the evening. Just leave it inside the door and don’t disturb me. Good night, Edward.”
She opened the door and spun around before she delivered her final words, gratified by the sight of his unhinged jaw and flaring nostrils. “Oh, and I’ll want you in my room at six o’clock sharp tomorrow morning.” She frowned. “I dislike tardiness.”
And then she left him there, furious and as hard as a pike.
Chapter Forty-Five
Edward thought he might have to actually tie himself to his own bloody bed to keep from tearing the door off the hinges and storming down the hallway.
A quick glance at the heavy brass clock on his nightstand told him he’d been tossing and turning for almost two hours.
Nora was here in his house.
She was here.
But was she? Perhaps he’d merely hallucinated the entire episode in his library?
It was a testament to how crazed he was that he almost yanked on the bell pull beside his bed and summoned Phelps to reassure him that yes, Nora-Natalie-Hudson-Hartwicke really was in his house.
His body was hard—every damned part of it—and it felt as though somebody had delivered a bolt of electricity that raced around and around under his skin. As he laid there, his cock throbbing and leaking, he cursed all the nights he’d not pleasured himself—all those lost opportunities.
“You bloody fool,” he muttered. “Why don’t you just get your arse out of bed and go check for yourself?”
“Yes, you fool, why don’t you?”
Edward screamed like a bloody schoolroom miss and leapt out of bed.
“Goodness, Edward—you appear rather . . . on edge.”
Edward had clutched at his throat with one hand like a trembling virgin in a gothic novel—which, he was embarrassed to admit, he’d read more than a few of these past few months. He hastily lowered both hands to his sides.
It wasn’t until his clenched fists brushed the skin of his outer thighs that he realized he was naked—and erect—in front of her.
A gasp came from the pale figure in the darkness. “Edward.”
Did he grin at the wonder in her voice? Perhaps just a bit.
Nora had no time for his face, her eyes riveted to his cock as she closed the distance between them.
“Yes, Nora?” he said, wondering if she heard the hint of smugness.
She dropped to her knees in front of him. “Light your bedside candle,” she ordered, her voice pulsing with . . . well, something that made his condition even worse.
He complied and was pleased when she gasped again.
“It’s—it’s magnificent.”
He preened. And then yelped when a touch lighter than a feather brushed over the sensitive, impaled head.
“Does it hurt?” she asked quickly, still not looking up at him—at least not his face. He now knew what she must have felt like when he couldn’t take his eyes off her pierced hood.
“No. It’s long healed.”
“Hmmm.” Her breath was hot on the swollen head and his other head reeled.
And then her hot, wet mouth lowered over him.
❈❈❈
Nora’s carefully planned evening of seduction and torment flew out the window the moment she saw the glint o
f silver on the crown of his oh-so-very-lovely cock.
Her lips and tongue began making all her decisions and she took him into her mouth, groaning at the familiar taste and feel of him—even with this very unfamiliar, and wildly exciting, addition.
Above her, he moaned in a way that told her he was quickly slipping past the point of any control. She was glad—it was time to end this farce; she hated having to scheme and plan and plot to drive him mad. She was not, she’d always known, a woman who enjoyed having the whip hand. It was exhausting having to think two steps ahead. She just wanted . . . well, she wanted this: she opened her throat to him and lowered her head.
“God, Nora. If you do this—I can’t, it won’t—oh God.” He shook as she swallowed around him, again, and again. His sounds were those of a man pushed too far past his limits to endure her torments for much longer. And when his big, powerful hands landed on her head, she shivered with pleasure. “Yes,” he hissed in a gravelly, guttural growl, his hips moving with minute pulses that rubbed the hard silver against the back of her throat, the sensation something new to acclimate herself to—the friction almost painful.
Nora swallowed yet again and he gave the low, wicked chuckle that gutted her. “Mmm, my Nora. Nobody has a throat like you.” He flexed into her sharply enough to startle a muffled cry out of her, held the hard silver ball against the tender flesh of her throat, and whispered. “And believe me I’ve fucked numerous throats in search of a superior one.”
Her body clenched, heated, and thrilled with furious jealousy at the thought of him rubbing this glorious new part of his gorgeous body against another.
“Shhh, I can feel you shaking,” he said, his voice heavy with dark amusement as he released his hold on her, and then just as quickly thrust back in. “Such a jealous thing to deny me any pleasure when I know what you’ve been up to.” He pumped, slowly getting into a rhythm. “You know how many nights I lay here alone, fisting myself to you—don’t you, my Nora? My exquisite lover, my perfectly trained whore, my temptress and torment.” He pulled out until only his thick head remained, leaning low at the waist. “My heart and my only love.”
Nora’s mind could not contain the almost painful joy of his words: his love. She was his only love.
His Harlot (Victorian Decadence Series Book 1) Page 33