by Lavinia Kent
Towels in hand, he turned—and stopped.
His mouth suddenly dry.
Ruby stood just where he’d left her a moment ago, but the chemise now lay in a pile at her feet.
God, he’d never seen anything so delicious.
He’d thought that having seen her almost naked he knew what she looked like.
He’d been wrong. Shit, he’d been wrong.
Her breasts rose high, despite their lush size, the delicate pink nipples hardly darker than a baby’s cheek. Her waist curved sleekly inward beneath delicate ribs and above swelling hips. Her navel was deeply indented—a gentleman could sip champagne from such a cup. His mouth grew drier still.
He let his gaze slip lower, to the golden nest of curls, soft as down, the long sleek legs slightly crossed to hide her innermost secrets from him. He knew those secrets well, but still in this moment they were a complete mystery.
And her skin. Her skin was pale as cream, but still flushed with desire. Perfect. Smooth. No silk or satin had ever been as fine, or looked as untouched.
He brought his gaze back up and met her eyes. Was she nervous, unsure of herself? It seemed unlike both the confident Madame Rouge he’d met upstairs and the seductive angel who had followed him here, but there was no mistaking the slight hesitation that marked her eyes and the slight wrinkle that formed between them.
He wanted to tell her she was beautiful, that no woman had ever been so lovely, that she was Venus come to life, but though the words flowed with ease through his mind his dry lips could not form them.
All he could do was shake the towel open and hold it out to her. Still holding his gaze she took it and blotted at damp skin. He swallowed, almost reached out and took the towel back to dry her himself. Forcing his hand back to his side he took his own towel and began to rub himself dry, his eyes never leaving Ruby.
The moment he felt close to finished he dropped the towel on top of her sodden chemise and stepped toward her.
A dozen possibilities ran through his crowded mind, but he pushed them all away.
Sweeping Ruby into his arms, he cradled her against his chest and strode toward the stairs, toward the duke’s bed.
—
Well, that had decided things. Ruby burrowed her face into the captain’s chest as he mounted the stairs. For a moment, a second, she had not been sure. Should she return to her own room? Should she take him with her? She’d never allowed a man in her chamber—well, other than Billy carrying up parcels and luggage, but that hardly counted.
It was unclear why the captain brought out these insecurities in her. No man since her father had ever made her question her actions. Even with the most imperious of lords she held her calm and dignity. She was the mistress in her house and all who entered knew that. It didn’t matter if a man was a mere “mister” or a “your grace.” In Madame Rouge’s House Ruby’s word was law.
So why was she dithering and acting like a schoolgirl now? At least she didn’t think he could tell how undecided she was. He’d certainly acted with such assurance that he could have no questions about how the rest of the evening should proceed.
Well, if he didn’t, she wouldn’t either. She’d made her decision when she’d slipped down the stairs.
So how would Madame Rouge act in this moment? Perhaps her mistake had been in trying to be Emma. She wasn’t even sure who Emma was anymore. Emma was trapped at the age of nineteen, still waiting for her father’s approval, still waiting for any man’s approval.
Perhaps that was the draw of the captain. She sensed she would never have his approval and therefore there was no reason to work for it.
So what would Madame Rouge do? What should she do?
That was easy. Madame Rouge would enjoy, enjoy every moment, every second, every minute.
And so would she.
With a slight tilt of chin, she moved her face back far enough to lay a soft, and then not so soft, kiss upon his chest. His small brown nipple puckered beneath her touch and with a delighted smirk, she captured the button between her lips and sucked hard. He halted mid-step with a sharp intake of breath.
“Hell.” The word slipped from under his breath, so quiet it was hard to be sure it had been said.
She sucked harder, adding the gentlest nip of teeth.
He moved again, taking the few remaining steps two at a time. How strong was the man? He lifted her as if she weighed no more than a child and now he moved as if he carried no burden at all.
They were through the door and into the white chamber before she could even understand how he’d juggled her; he’d opened the door, and slammed it behind.
Expecting to be deposited on her feet beside the great bed, she was surprised to discover herself flung down onto the bed, the towel stripped away as she fell. She landed facedown, her nose buried in the thick comforter. She started to turn, but his hands were on her hips, holding her firmly in place. Pushing against him, she tried harder to move.
A quick swat on her behind, and with a huff she settled. In a moment she’d try again.
But then he was pulling her along the bed, so that her ass lay there right at the edge, her legs draped over the side so that her toes would have touched the floor if the bed had not been so high.
He couldn’t be ready again so fast, could he?
Oh, he definitely could. There was no mistaking what was pressing between the cheeks of her behind.
Chapter Seven
A good quick fuck, or two, or three. That was what he liked, what he’d always liked.
And was there a better opportunity for it than this? The thought hadn’t fully formed when he’d tossed Ruby onto the bed, but how would a man resist the sight of two such perfect globes, warm and fresh and oh so available?
She tried to twist away, but Derek placed a firm hand on each cheek, and gave a gentle squeeze.
His cock had already weighed in that it was more than ready for another go, swelling fast and heavy against his thigh. Stepping between her legs, he spread them wide.
She was so pretty, all soft and pink between the gentle curls. He traced a finger down the cleft between her cheeks, running quickly over the ridges of her nether hole, before delving again into the sweetness of her cuny. She shivered and shook as his touch moved over her.
And she was ready too. Sometimes it was hard to tell with women, but there was no mistaking either her movements or the sleek dampness that coated his fingers.
Widening his stance, he positioned himself at her entrance, waited a moment to see if she would show any resistance, and then sank into her. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head, it felt so good.
Hands still gripping her ass tight, he pushed as far as he could and then pulled back, stopping just before sliding free.
Normally, he liked it hard and fast, but given his recent activity, now he wanted to relish each moment of pleasure, the warm, muscled walls fisting around him, the slide of velvet flesh and heat.
She moaned slightly as he pulled back again, her buttocks rising from the bed, wanting more. Her inner muscles pulled at him, trying to draw him back in.
And who was he to deny a lady? He pushed forward again, and again.
Faster. Harder.
He felt her tighten against him, and then again.
Ruby’s head lifted from the mattress, and a gravelly moan of pleasure escaped her.
He angled himself lower, rubbing hard against the lush fullness of her front wall, aiming for that spot that seemed to escalate a woman’s desire. He might be honest enough to admit he was mostly in this for his own pleasure, but he’d always found that the more he worked on pleasing his partner the greater his own satisfaction.
It was getting hard to think. Every time her muscles closed about him another portion of his brain moved into his cock. Soon all he’d know was sensation and then release—and he couldn’t say that he minded at all.
Closing his eyes for a moment, Derek sank into sensation. Pleasure grew and grew, his world tightening unt
il all he knew was the feel of Ruby, the smell of Ruby, the tiny moans escaping her lips.
He opened his eyes and stared down at the vision before him, curved hips, halo of golden curls, and that skin, that wondrous creamy skin.
He pressed forward again until his ballocks slapped against her flesh.
It wouldn’t be much longer now.
Again.
Again.
He would last.
He concentrated again on rubbing against her, leaned forward and slipped a hand around, seeking that tender bundle of sensation.
She came apart under his hand, her body rising from the bed, straining toward him, her cuny convulsing about him, milking him.
And with a roar, he gave in.
Heat. Color. Intensity.
A kaleidoscope of color and woman.
Always woman.
Always Ruby.
—
She wasn’t sure she would ever move again. It had been hard to leave the bath, even with the water cooling rapidly about her, but the thought of even shifting on the plush mattress was nigh impossible. The thick down comforter seemed to rise about her, cushioning her in softness, tempting her to slumber.
The warmth from above seeped into her, each muscle soaking in heat and comfort. The captain should have been too heavy, but his weight was wonderful, trapping her in safety and protection.
“Are you purring?” The rumble of words sounded in her ear.
“I think I may be. Are we talking now? I was growing fond of the mysterious near silence.”
“I must admit a fondness for silence myself.” His weight shifted from her, but before she could complain, he was drawing her up and pulling the covers back, before reclining her against the pillows and sliding in beside her.
To sleep or talk? Sleep was so tempting, but when would she have a chance like this again? Sliding over to give his mammoth frame more room, she turned on her side and faced him.
“If we’re going to talk, let’s make it interesting. No small talk, no talk of weather, no discussing whose curricle can make it to Richmond and back in record time.”
He turned to her, his face solemn, staring deep into her eyes as the candles flickered on the mantel. “You expect me to tell you my secrets? I don’t know you. Why would I share such intimacies? Do you indulge in blackmail? Why else would you want to know such things?”
She had not handled that well, although how he could even question intimacy between them at such a moment she was not sure, unless he really did regard her as just a whore, a woman bought for a night’s pleasure. She had thought they had moved beyond that, but with no words spoken between them perhaps it was just her imagination that had moved into more tender territory. “I was not asking for your deep, dark secrets, assuming you have any. I merely wanted to know something interesting about you. It could be as simple as that you were the eldest of a dozen children and hope to never see another baby in your life.”
“Hmmm.” His response gave no indication of his thoughts.
“Let me start with something simple, that while not quite small talk will perhaps increase the intimacy of the moment.” She rose up on one arm, letting the sheet fall until it clung to the tips of her nipples. His eyes, as expected, dropped. “What is your name?” she asked.
“You know my name.”
“I know you are Captain Price. What is your Christian name? That I do not know.”
He was silent for a moment and she wondered if he would answer.
“Derek,” he replied, speaking the word slowly. “Derek David Price.”
She smiled, not a large one, but enough to turn up the corners of her mouth and show her pleasure. “And I am Emma.”
“Emma?”
“Oh, don’t worry about remembering or even trying to use it. I am not sure I would think to answer if someone did call me by it. I’ve rarely heard it spoken aloud in almost ten years.”
“Emma,” he said softly, raising his eyes to linger on her face and tousled curls. “It suits.”
“It used to. I am not sure it does anymore.” She lay back on the pillows, letting her gaze linger on the embroidered figures on the underside of the canopy. She’d never before looked at the multitude of nymphs and satyrs from this angle. If she hadn’t been so worn out already she might have suggested trying out some of their more interesting positions. She was definitely more Ruby than Emma these days—except on Sunday afternoons, but those were part of a different life and not to be shared here.
“You’ve grown quiet. Do you not want to know anything else interesting about me?” he asked.
“I thought it was you who did not wish to talk about secrets.”
“But you have assured me that we are not speaking of secrets.”
She turned to him again, to Derek, putting aside her momentary disquiet. “Tell me about the dragon then. How does a man come by such a thing? I have never seen its like and I have seen many things.”
“Peeping through your peepholes.”
“Yes, I peep. Now, are you going to tell me or is it secret?”
To her surprise he drew back the sheet, revealing the dragon to her gaze. He looked down upon it without any sign of emotion. “Not a secret, merely foolish. And I reckon you may never see another one. The pain involved was more than any sane man could bear.”
“Are you not sane then?”
“I am not sure I was at nineteen. I’d just experienced something…something rather distressing, and rather than head home to discuss it with my family, I jumped ship and headed to the Orient.”
“I thought it must have come from there.” Leaning forward, she ran a finger down the scaled chest of the creature, enjoying how his skin quivered beneath her touch.
“In the way of young men I quickly found a group of friends who were all escaping from something or other. We lived wild times, working when we needed and smoking, drinking, and wenching when we didn’t. There was a constant competition between us. Who could drink the most, who could lift the most, who could run the fastest, who could win at cards. And because we were young men, of course, who could fuck the most.”
“And you won that.” She said it as a statement. Already the dragon beneath her fingers was beginning to rouse, his tail twitching and lengthening. Three times and it was almost ready again. If he was like this now what had he been like at nineteen?
“You don’t even question.”
“I did watch you last night, and now have some experience of my own.” She ran a finger up the neck of the beast, away from the surging tail, admiring the delicate red of the scales that lined the underside of the dragon’s throat and the deep blue that colored its shining eyes. “It is exquisite work.”
“And painful, so very painful.”
“So I still don’t quite understand how…” Her finger traced the spine from end to end, this time not avoiding the tail, which now stood high and proud. She let her finger circle his cock, following the tattoo.
“They named me ‘the beast’ after I won. And I am afraid I took pride in the name, using it myself. And then I learned I was born in the Chinese year of the dragon and began to add that to my boasts. I did not realize what a buffoon I had become until I woke up in the early hours of one morning, strapped to table, still drunk and perhaps more than drunk, with the oldest man I have ever seen poking needles into my jewels. I think I screamed for hours, but they would not let me go. To this day my friends insist that it was all my idea and that I paid the man double to be sure he finished the job.”
“And you doubt their word?”
He laughed and not with pleasure. “No, not really. I was enough of an ass to have done as they said, to have thought that nothing would prove my manhood like having a dragon on my prick. I can only be thankful the man didn’t make the tail longer.”
“I do think it’s quite long enough.” She cupped her hand about his cock, running it upward, stretching the painted skin tight, lengthening the tail.
His hand came down on he
rs, holding it still. “No, don’t distract me. I’ve told my story, now you must tell me what you were doing at nineteen.”
Shit. She hadn’t expected to be asked that. “But you haven’t told me what you were escaping that led you to the Orient.”
“Perhaps later. Now, tell me. Nineteen?”
Well, why not? It wasn’t a true secret even if almost no one knew the story. “At nineteen I was buying a whore house. This one, to be exact.”
“At nineteen? How is that even possible?” He sat up in the bed, the dragon pulling from her hand, the muscles of his belly forming the most wonderful ripples.
Closing her eyes, Ruby considered. How much was she willing to reveal? Did it matter? Derek was a sailor and would be gone soon. Could it hurt to tell? “Madame Noir, the previous owner, was good friends with my mother. I grew up knowing about the house and how it worked. It was just another part of life. It was impressed on me that there were only four choices for a mistress as she got older. If she was unlucky she ended up on the streets. Otherwise she could move to some distant place and pretend widowhood, she could try to maintain a salon for the younger members of society’s outskirts, or she could enter the business. Madame Noir entered the business and made it clear she’d never regretted it.”
“I am still not sure I understand.”
A long sigh. “My mother died just before my nineteenth birthday. She had been my father’s mistress for well over twenty years.”
“And…”
“And when she died I discovered there was nothing left between me and my father. He had made that clear the year before. Everything she had still belonged to him, her house, her carriage, even her servants were paid by him. The only things that had belonged to her were her clothing and her jewelry.”
“So your own father left you without a home?” His voice sounded with disbelief.
“Not quite. He never had his men come and remove me. He merely had his man of business visit me with a note for five thousand pounds.”