“No, my dear.” Diana allowed him to kiss her hand before drawing it back from his grasp. “But I believe I have many women who may fulfill your fantasies.”
“You are my only fantasy,” Sir Robert insisted.
Maggie giggled, rolling her eyes. The man was too much.
“Present your friend, sir.”
Sir Robert’s expression darkened, as if suddenly he saw his companion as a threat to his own plans.
“Madame Rouge, may I present to you a young man of town and nobility who has never before graced these rooms,” Sir Robert said finally. “He comes as my guest.”
“And what may we call you,” Diana asked, “while you are here in disguise?”
The man cleared his throat.
“Tonight, I wish only to be Poseidon.”
A hot flush reddened Maggie’s cheeks, even as she heard Diana’s surprised laugh.
“Poseidon?” Sir Robert looked at his companion as if the man had sprouted horns or acquired a trident at the very least.
“I see that my own dear friend needs no introduction,” Diana interrupted, taking Sir Robert’s arm. “Come, we shall stroll through this garden of earthly delights together.”
Maggie struggled to collect herself in Diana’s absence. She had thought it would be difficult to actually seduce an unknown man and engage in acts she had heretofore only experienced with her husband, but tonight, standing in this strange club, Maggie was aware of nothing but the present.
It was her move, she knew. By introducing himself as the god of the sea, he had announced his interest in her. Now Maggie had only to let him know the interest was returned.
How did one say, I find you attractive, and for this one night, I might choose you to end my loneliness?
She wet her suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue. His lovely eyes widened and she stilled, stricken by memories. Yes, this was how seduction was done: the little touches, the coy glances. It had just been too long since she had practiced the art.
She stepped toward him, closing the distance, and laid her arm on his sleeve.
“Sir, I’ve only just arrived. Would you care to stroll with me throughout the house?”
“Fair Amphitrite, most divinely faire, I am yours to command.” So, he was a man who not only clearly knew his Greek mythology, correctly identifying her costume as that of the sea god’s wife, but also quoted poetry.
“I take that as a promise,” Maggie said with a slow smile, thinking of how she would like to command him, to request that he bring her to the edge of ecstasy and hold her there for hours until finally neither could hold back any longer.
“Please, do,” Poseidon said. She shivered at the sound of his low, even voice tinged with desire. She knew without doubt that this man, this stranger, wanted her as much as she wanted him. She had never before experienced such pure, unadulterated lust.
Maggie let the man escort her up the dim staircase.
They didn’t speak and the silence allowed for all of Maggie’s other senses to take over. Where her hand touched his arm, heat radiated from him. Dizzy from a sharp pang of desire, she swayed closer and caught his clean male scent, overlaid with a spicy cologne.
She tilted her head back and found him looking down at her. As if by mutual accord they stopped their ascent, halfway up the stairs. He took a step down, so that he only needed to lower his head to reach her lips.
She was drunk. Overwhelmed. Everything about this man aroused her. His lips searched hers and she fell into the heat of the kiss.
Her husband had skillfully played her body like an instrument and taught her to please him, but she had never felt this before, this all-encompassing need that had nothing to do with finesse and everything to do with the part of her that was simply a female animal eager to mate.
He broke away first. She wondered if her expression appeared as stunned as his.
“Let’s forgo all this,” Maggie managed to whisper. “Come with me.”
She led him back down the stairs, racing nearly, down the hallway, to the large double doors. For only a moment, she fumbled with the key Diana had given her and then they were inside.
Chapter Six
For the first time in years, Oakley felt ruled by his cock. His wits had surely gone lacking, because all he wanted was to bury himself deep inside this whore, who looked more like a sea goddess than a prostitute.
All the prudence of twenty-four years fell away at her touch—her soft, velvety touch that even now stripped him of his evening clothes.
She’d brought him into Madame Rouge’s private room with its locked door. With its surfeit of rich materials and bold, lurid colors, the decor was both more opulent and more vulgar than any townhouse he had ever seen.
This woman had taken charge and Oakley was finding that there was something to be said for letting a woman lead, for losing oneself in the intensity of passion.
All sensation focused on where their bodies joined—their open, searching mouths, her teeth tugging at his lip, her hands running over the bare flesh of his chest. The palms of his hands and pads of his fingers tingled as he slid them over her lithe body, across the flimsy silk of the garment to the more luxurious silken skin of her buttocks.
Through the cloth of his breeches, her hand found his straining cock and he twitched against her fingers.
He reached around the curved flesh of her bottom to between her legs and skimmed his finger over the moist folds.
His sea goddess shivered.
Oakley felt like an untried boy. It had been months since he had touched a woman, delved into the velvet folds as his index finger now did, into her hot, wet, mysterious depths.
She unfastened his breeches. The cloth fell away and her soft hand grasped him. He shuddered at her touch, his eyes closing briefly, enjoying the exquisite pleasure of her fingers stroking the hard, pulsing length of him.
It was all he could do to not embarrass himself completely and spill into her hand.
He slid his finger out of her and clutched her buttocks in his hands, lifting her, fitting her tight against him. She snaked her hand out from between them and linked both behind his neck, her legs swinging around to grasp his hips. The center of her pressed flat against him—
Torture.
He ducked his head back down to possess her mouth, to lose himself in the sweet heat. Through the dizziness of passion, he staggered across the room and laid her down on the bed.
The back of his hands met the sensuous red silk counterpane even as he poised the tip of his cock against her nether lips. He slid into her moist heat in one smooth thrust, her muscles clenching around him.
He groaned into her mouth as his hands ran up her body, one coming to rest on her breast, the other rising up to entangle itself in her soft hair.
“You feel…wonderful,” she whispered, even as he pulled back till just the head of his cock remained buried in her folds.
“You feel wonderful,” he managed to respond. Her legs pressed against his buttocks insistently, and he followed her lead, thrusting back in, pushing her deeper into the feather bed.
She gasped, “You fill me up so completely.”
She knew exactly what to say, Oakley thought briefly, finding it hard to hold on to what little control he had. It had been far too long and her hot canal gripped him exquisitely. He set a hard, fast rhythm, pumping into her continuously until his vision blurred and his climax overtook him.
Arching away from her with a hoarse cry, his arms extended on either side of her, pushing into the bed, he thrust deep into her a final time.
His seed came out in convulsive bursts, till finally, shaking, he lowered himself on top of her, his lips finding her neck.
The sound of his own panting was deafening, but beneath, he could make out her ragged breath. Reluctantly, he slid himself out of her. Her legs dropped away and she propped herself up on her elbows, looking up at him.
He pulled his breeches up and refastened them. It was still early. He cou
ld easily further prepare for the speech he was supposed to give in the morning.
“You were delightful,” he said, reaching for his usual words after a sexual encounter, knowing they were inadequate for the passion he had felt.
She simply stared at him with an odd expression. Hard to tell under that mask, but he didn’t like the set of her jaw or the slight downturn of her mouth. Was that disappointment?
A twinge of anxiety chilled his spine, a sensation he hadn’t felt since his first sexual experience at eighteen.
In that heavy silence he simply stared at her. She stared back, assessing him.
Finally, she sighed and sat up, bringing her legs onto the bed, tucking them under her.
“You aren’t really going to leave yet, are you?” she asked plaintively. “Here I am trembling at the edge of desire and you wish only to leave?”
“Uh,” Oakley began but stopped. He had no idea what to say to that. Clearly some other part of him did, for his cock, so recently sated, began to stir at her words.
She moved in a cloud of silk, the scent of cloves and citrus filling the air.
Suddenly she was in front of him, her knees pressed into the thick rug. He half expected to feel her hands at his crotch, hot on his burgeoning erection. Instead, her soft touch caressed his ankle, encouraging him to lift his leg, and in surprise, he did. He looked down, to where she sat on her heels, slipping first one of his evening slippers off and then the other.
She glanced up. Candlelight caught the glint in her eyes—brown, with hints of amber—despite the surrounding mask. The baubles in her hair shimmered. Her perfect lips, that he now wished only to have wrapped around him, lifted in a seductive smile.
“You’ll stay awhile, my powerful god of the ocean.” She shifted, kneeling now, her hands finally coming to the buttons on his breeches. Her forearm brushed against him even as her fingers worked on the fastenings.
She let out a soft sigh and for a moment he thought the sound was his.
“A man with a form such as yours should be naked, should be admired,” she whispered, as she undressed him.
She wrapped a spell around them, filled the air with sensual magic. All that seemed to matter was the present.
His clothes fell, a puddle of unnecessary fabric at his feet.
She stood and stepped into the circle of his arms. The feel of her silken costume teasing his naked skin struck him just as his mouth met hers.
You can be anyone tonight. Diana’s words echoed through Maggie again as she closed her eyes, let her head fall back into the cradle of his hands and savored the mark of his lips on her neck. She had chosen to be Amphitrite, and here she was, with her husband Poseidon. That made it safe, perfect and right.
In the wake of their first bout of passion, unreleased energy had remained as a tight knot in her belly. While she had undressed him, the sensation had eased slightly; she’d fallen back from the edge. Now, as he kissed her, it built again.
Tonight she was Amphitrite—a goddess, powerful—and desire made her uninhibited.
“Touch me,” she whispered. “I need…”
Her words drifted away as he slid the shoulder of her dress down and kissed the soft flesh of her breasts.
His tongue found one of her already taut nipples and swirled around the small mound. Pleasure dizzied her. She drifted back, losing her balance. His strong arms caught her, lifted her and then he carried her back to the bed.
This time, he placed her in the center and when she fell into the soft, silken bedcovers, she was certain that they had descended into the ocean’s depths, made red with passion.
The bed shifted subtly as he joined her, his warm, naked body covering hers, his lips meeting hers. He suckled, licked, and delved; his teeth tugged and nibbled. She met each hungry action with her own, wrapping her legs around his thighs in imitation of what they had earlier done. His cock was hard against her once again and for a moment she wanted only to have him fill her.
He pulled away, looking down at her. His mask was slightly askew and his eyes were dark shadows.
“What would please you?”
Maggie’s breath caught in her chest as his words sunk in. Thomas had never asked, never given her the choice. He’d told her what to say. He’d known unerringly what to do and how to manipulate her body to completion. This, this felt…powerful, open and full of possibility.
“I want you to kiss every inch of me, my neck, my breasts, my hands, my thighs, my…cunt,” Maggie breathed. “To lick me at the center of my being until I explode, and then I want you to fill me up and take me there again.”
“Sweet Amphitrite,” he whispered and lowered his lips to hers.
Later, his head nestled in the junction of her thighs, he reminded her that Poseidon was the god of earthquakes as well as the sea.
Chapter Seven
Maggie didn’t want to move. Her body ached in every imaginable way, most especially her rather sore nether region. It had been too long since she’d engaged in such vigorous sexual activity, any sexual activity. And her Poseidon was a most well-endowed man.
She giggled into the silken sheets. She had been a most instructive teacher!
She turned slowly in the bed until she faced him. He still slept heavily, his dark curls matted against his head, his eyelashes long and dark against the pale skin of his eyelids.
She knew very well she had tired him out. Three years of celibacy had made her rather insatiable. It was clear that he had never worked so hard in the bedroom in his life.
She lifted her hand and touched the soft pink of his lips with her finger. As he stirred, she traced a line along his jaw to his ear, toying with the bottom of the black silk mask, which, although rumpled and creased, remained in place.
For a moment she was tempted to pull the distracting, silly fabric away.
In sleep, he was young and beautiful, boyish. The memories from the night before crested over her: his blue eyes, so sweet, gazing up at her, wanting so much to please once he realized he hadn’t.
Despite her protesting muscles, Maggie wanted him again.
She moved her hands lower, skimming his neck, down his chest, delving underneath the covers. When she reached the most tender part of him, already semi-hard, she smiled. Her fingers closed around him.
His cock stirred in her hand, rising, growing. She found a leisurely, firm rhythm and then, to that gentle touch, added her mouth on his shoulder, her tongue licking. She willed him to wake up to this pleasure.
Gutturally, he uttered something. His lips parted, his brow furrowed, but his eyes remained closed. The sound had merely been the confused garble of dreams.
Wondering how far she could take this before he woke up, Maggie slid under the covers, lifted her leg and straddled him.
She eased herself down on his cock, at first watching his expression carefully, enjoying the small signs of pleasure that shifted across his face as he slept. Then, as she knelt down, her buttocks almost touching her heels, the muscular walls of her wet slit stretched to their limit and the length of him pressed against the deepest part of her, she let her head fall back.
She shivered at the slight, sweet breeze her hair created as it passed over her shoulder. She savored the novel sensation of being completely in control, of being able to use his body to pleasure herself exactly as she wished.
She cupped her breasts in her hands, flicking her thumbs over her sensitive nipples. She pulled, tugged, massaged and kneaded the flesh even as her hips moved, up and down, slowly at first.
Too quick, the sensations built. She moved faster on him, her hands falling down to the bed to offer balance, her eyes closing in order to concentrate more fully on the exquisite feeling.
But it was his hands on her breasts—warm, welcome and perfectly timed—that sent her over the edge. She cried out as her body convulsed with ripples of sensation.
His hands moved to her hips. She opened her eyes and found him staring at her as if he wanted to devour her. Another sh
udder racked her body and she clenched around him.
His eyes closed for a moment. Then he lifted her up, sliding her off his cock. He pulled her down next to him and rolled over until he was on top of her, his strong thighs between hers.
He slid back inside smoothly, filling her deeply again. Maggie sighed, her back arching, her lips curling in satisfaction.
He pulled out and thrust back in, hard, relentless, pushing her overstimulated body to its limit.
She opened herself up to him, to his passion. She was an empty vessel, a worshipper in his glory. The waves of the sea they inhabited swept over them both, again and again.
In their sweaty, sated embrace, she fell asleep again. When Maggie next woke, Poseidon was gone.
Chapter Eight
Where were you, Mama?” the young voice demanded accusingly. In all of Emma’s six years she had never spent more than a day without her mother. Now, for one night of passion, Maggie had practically forgotten her child even existed.
The pleasant afterglow disappeared in an instant.
“Really, Margaret, if you plan to be out all night and half the day, you might at least write a note so we know you haven’t met your death!”
Emma’s half-sister, Olivia, stood by, her mouth pressed into a thin line, but Maggie did her best to ignore her. What mattered was not her stepdaughter’s judgmental eye, but Emma’s hurt feelings.
“We were so scared,” Emma agreed. “Livvie couldn’t sleep at all!”
Maggie took another look at her stepdaughter and finally noticed the shadowed eyes and the fragile composure. Though Olivia was only four years younger than Maggie, she was practically just a child herself, barely out of the schoolroom. With all their difficulties, it was sometimes hard to remember the younger girl had her own feelings, her own hopes and expectations of this sojourn to London.
“I am so sorry, Emma, Olivia. I should have sent a note. I stayed at Lady Blount’s,” Maggie said, consoling herself that it was not really a lie as Harridan House belonged to her friend.
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