Another Lover

by Eliza Lloyd

  He clucked his tongue. He grinned again—this grin he couldn’t get off his face. “Ah, something sweet Isabelle wants. Now, she must learn to ask for it.”

  Isabelle gritted her teeth and turned her head away.

  “A mistress with pride. That won’t do,” he said. He looked at her through squinted eyes, considering his next move. “I know how to break you of that pride, Isabelle.”

  Isabelle lay helpless and nearly frantic. Dorian wouldn’t hurt her. She knew enough about him to be assured of that at least. Preparation with a new lover always involved learning about his proclivities, his routines, his character. Normally after she opened the bids and accepted a lover, she only had a few days to learn what she could. With Dorian, she’d known everything there was to know.

  But oh, he could hurt her in other ways.

  To admit the things she wanted—it was a matter of pride that prevented her from admitting her lack of complete sexual fulfillment. She, the Westminster Whore, shouldn’t have to ask for anything, but there was one thing she wanted. She wanted the little death.

  And she had no idea how to achieve it with a man. She had for so long steeled herself to accept whatever her lovers gave, little as that was.

  She had never taken a lover for pleasure’s sake, not even in Italy. She maintained a respectable life there, more to protect her brother and grandmother, than her desire to be free of this lifestyle. Though there was no denying if she had had a choice, it wouldn’t have been to sell her body to the highest bidder.

  Her scheme now seemed both at odds with her practical decision to survive and her detached decision not to give any more of herself than necessary.

  Her patrons had no interest in pleasing her. Her duty involved providing pleasure for her lovers and pretending pleasure for herself. It was an unspoken condition for accepting payment.

  Her moans and groans, her throaty squeals of delight were all a part of the purchased package. The lover went away feeling like a king—her body the answer to the sexual morass of life. She was that good. Men always boasted of their prowess in bed whether or not they performed, but that men boasted of her prowess was a testament to her skill.

  She did have her pride.

  As much as she wanted Dorian, she couldn’t give up her will to his. She had to retain some control of the situation. Without control, what good were her talents? Dorian must be pleasured or she wasn’t the Westminster Whore.

  Now if only he would allow her to use those carefully perfected skills.

  For she had a secret—one of many learned from her Arabic housemaid—that drove men to their knees. When the time came, she would have no mercy on Dorian Montgomery.

  He kissed her stomach. Her body reacted strongly to his touch.

  “Pride is one of the seven deadly sins, you know.” He kissed lower, under her bellybutton. “Pride cometh before the fall, Isabelle. And you’re not pleasing me. I want you to open your legs.”

  Somehow, she knew his order had nothing to do with the usual intercourse.

  “I have something I want to put inside you, Isabelle. Let me.”

  His hand crept along her thigh, brushing over the dragon and across the hairless area he seemed so fascinated by.

  Ah, she thought. His fingers. He only wishes to use his fingers. Would he be rough and without finesse? Would he poke and prod, expecting her to moan with uncontrollable lust and longing? Would he press too hard or not hard enough? Would she be dry from lack of excitement?

  No, not that. Already moisture slid from her body and between her legs.

  Would Dorian of rumor satisfy her? A whore? Would he waste his precious time pleasing a fallen woman? Would he scorn her technique? Would he laugh at her desire? Would he believe that she had longings and feelings just like the pretty daughters of London cits he knew and the willing widows he bedded.

  She shifted. She moved her legs upward, sliding her feet flat against the bed covers, the arch of her foot tickled by the fringes of loose material.

  Dorian gave her a pleased smile.

  “Good girl, sweet. Now close your eyes and imagine the greatest pleasure of your life.”

  She blinked. Her body tensed, her hands pulling hard against the bonds.

  Dorian twisted, bending low and kissing her thigh. He leaned, his elbow pushing one leg away and wide. His other hand settled high on the inside of her thigh.

  His lips, when they settled over her mons, caressed and soothed. She waited for the hard, quick fingers to assault her. She prepared to moan.

  Her preparations were in vain. Dorian licked a path downward. His fingers spread the aching folds between her legs. Now. It would happen now.

  She lurched at the touch of his tongue, her bonds pulling tight. Her eyes flew wide as she tried to see past Dorian’s wide shoulders and between her legs. “Don’t.”

  As another slow caress of his tongue passed from her little tender button to the secret place men enjoyed, she clamped her legs together, gripping his shoulders. Unbearable pleasure shot upward. Her open-mouthed gasp echoed in the room.

  “Stop, Dorian, please. You can’t.” She tossed her head, her arms pulled, straining against the pleasure.

  He used his strong arms and elbows to push her open wider. She tugged hard against her cords, struggling against his overwhelming strength and dominance. She peered at him through slitted eyes—he was all man—wide, strong and determined to have his way.

  When his fingers touched her, she cried out. One, then two fingers slid inside her. With slow, sensual thrusts, he moved in and out of her body. She fell back on the covers, her legs falling open in languor. “Don’t,” she whispered, “Don’t stop, Dorian.”

  Yes. Her mind screamed, her body reacted, convulsing as her muscles contracted everywhere. Her arms, her legs, her stomach.

  Dorian’s lips and tongue played with the now sensitive, alive and aching nub. She felt her body clench and loosen in ways that made her weak and needy.

  Back and forth she shook her head, trying to deny the pleasure, trying to stop her reactions. Low in her back, she experienced a searching pressure. It looked for her and she wanted only to escape.

  “Kiss me, Dorian. Please.” She had to get him away.

  “I am,” he chuckled. Even the hum of his words against her skin excited her.

  For a moment, he stopped. She sucked in a lungful of air, willing her body to obey.

  He removed his fingers and bent lower. She felt the tip of this tongue search the little cavity where she wanted him to be. But not like this.

  His fingers pinched the tight skin and pulled in little pulsing tugs. Tugs that seemed to coincide with the waves of sensation sweeping her body.

  Death was coming.

  Instinctively, blessedly. Death was coming. And she would welcome it in the open arms of Dorian Montgomery.

  With that knowledge, she gave in to his promise, “the greatest pleasure of your life”.

  She let it happen. She let Dorian strip away her pride. Clamping her eyes shut, she existed only where Dorian touched her. She took in a deep breath, her body arching as she ceased and pleasure lived. She let the skies open to sunshine—radiant, fierce, hot rays beating into her body. Soaring, soaring, soaring. Then free falling until sharp, racking peaks of pleasure shot through her body.

  Her eyes flickered. For a moment, she returned to sanity. Then she gasped and her world went dark.

  Dorian gazed on the peaceful face of Isabelle St. Hillaire. Who would have imagined the Westminster Whore fainting?

  He knew how to rouse her again.

  He changed positions, something more comfortable for him, something just as pleasing for her. Untying one of her wrists, he moved her closer to the edge of the bed. He knelt on the floor and slipped between her legs, letting the long silky limbs fall open, supported by the strength of his arms.

  Perhaps her reaction was so strong because it had been nearly a year since she’d been with a man. It seemed the only explanation and a weak one
at that. Who knew what she did while in Italy.

  He viewed the pretty pink skin and the pearly signs of her excitement between her long legs.

  Calling her name, he urged her to wakefulness. “Isabelle, sweet, it’s time for seconds.”

  She moaned. Her hand went to her head, swiping at a light sheen of perspiration.

  When she realized one hand was free, she tried to sit up.

  Before she had a chance to say anything or deny him, he mouthed her private bits. She whimpered and fell back onto the bed against the pillows, spreading her legs farther to accommodate him.

  Isabelle accepted everything without a hint of defiance. As she peaked a second time, she moaned loudly. She stared down at him and on the wicked thing he did to her. She speared her fingers through his hair and held him there, urging him, instructing him, helping him make her pleasure more complete.

  As if he were going anywhere.

  The third time he had freed both of her hands. Her arms lay boneless at her sides.

  He reached for the bedstand where he’d placed the special toys he’d brought just for her and the scented oil that would make his play so much easier for her. He left the bottle on the bed, within arm’s reach.

  The dildo was magnificent, even by his practiced standards. He’d had it specially made, an enhanced version of himself, on the hopeful chance he would be her chosen lover. “Isabelle, would you like this?” He sat up, leaned over her and traced the smooth, wooden toy down her body, between her breasts until it rested at the junction of her thighs.

  The enticing display of her partially spread legs showed the creamy fluid he’d coaxed from her body. Her sex was swollen from the pleasure. “Isabelle? Answer me.”

  She shook her head in denial, but her gaze remained dazedly fixed on the smooth contours of the phallus. Her mouth open, she licked at her lips.

  “Ask me for it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Ask me or you’ll be tied to the bedpost until I’ve wrung every drop of this pearly fluid from your body.” He ran his fingers through those juices and then caressed her nipple.

  “Just do it,” she gasped, the air rushing from her lungs as her desire overcame her.

  Dorian brushed the hard phallic head against her luscious cunt and settled it near her entrance, pushing a small length of the tip inside. “Mmm, you want this badly, don’t you, sweet?”

  Her body lurched, hungry and demanding. He pulled the dildo away and her eyes flamed in anger.

  “Not yet. I need you to do something for me,” he said.

  She squinted at him, giving him a hard glance that said she wasn’t pleased.

  “On the edge of the bed. Grab the bedpost,” he said. “Don’t let go until I allow it.”

  Isabelle resisted his demand for a moment then obeyed. Glancing over her shoulder, her hungry gaze followed his every move. He knelt behind her, his chest to her back, one of his legs between hers to urge her supple limbs in the direction he wanted. “Relax. You’re going to like this.”

  He reached around and soothed the dildo down her body. She arched her back, her buttocks and legs flexing as she spread herself in anticipation. He slid his hand to the juncture of her thighs and held the soft, velvety skin open. Massaging the wooden toy across her lips and flaming bud, he waited until he heard the short, breathy gasps and felt the gentle thrust of her hips as she propelled herself against his straining erection and toward the secret wanting. Once he bathed the toy in her fluids, he slipped the thick pleasure rod into her body.

  Everything he did to her drove him higher. His excitement banded around his groin, his muscles contracting early. Too early. His release, when it came, would be blinding.

  Isabelle rocked back, rubbing his cock between her ass cheeks while Dorian thrust the phallus in and out of her. She keened, falling forward, gripping the post tighter. Her moan, low and throaty, filled the chamber. She glanced back at him, her eyes slitted and her mouth opened, wanting his kiss. He took her quickly, open-mouthed and deep while he moved his knee, pushing her leg wider, opening her farther. His cock fell naturally into the cleft of her fine, round bottom.

  “Shh. There’s more.” He thrust the invading member a few times, gentle strokes designed to please and entice. Each full, slow plunge brought a moan from Isabelle.

  Dorian intended to possess every inch of her. Repositioning slightly, he sheltered her smaller, more fragile frame, using the torment of the dildo, pressing inside her body, into her deep, desirable cunt. Her hips thrust rhythmically underneath him as she tried to soothe her body against the thick ridges of the crafted cock. She liked it. Her pleasant moans and hums satisfied Dorian’s need to master her.

  He grabbed one of her hands and brought it to the dildo. “Hold this. Deep. And don’t move.”

  With one hand, he caressed and then opened her tight-cheeked bottom, displaying the pink, puckered flesh. He grabbed the bottle of oil with his free hand, popped the cork and drizzled a generous portion over his cock. He swore as he tried to get the stopper back in the bottle with only one hand.

  She was moaning with want, barely noticing that he was engaged in stroking his cock with the silken oil.

  “Isabelle, I need you to be still for a moment.” He pushed his long, straining cock forward, touching her, nearly breaking through the dam of his carefully erected reserve.

  Her body froze in rigid anticipation. Isabelle gasped, “Dorian!”

  Poised at her other entrance, he allowed the fleshy cheeks to encase the length of his cock. She reacted with a long, needy wail. He placed a light kiss at her neck.

  “You will die from pleasure, Isabelle. I won’t hurt you,” he assured.

  “Dorian…I…” Her body pulsed and shook beneath him.

  With one hand, he spread her ass cheeks. He nudged inward, his hard cock probing through the soft cleft and tight sphincter of her fleshy ass.

  “Relax, sweet. I’m coming.”

  She was tight and tense. He retreated before he pushed forward again, advancing his cause and nearly losing his sight as the tight rim pulsed over the tip of his cock.

  Dorian did what he did best. He went slow, ensuring they’d both get incredible pleasure. He’d waited ages for a woman who could take him and take his desires without a single objection. The hard head pushed through the tight, tight hole. He reached around her again and encouraged her to rock the dildo in her cunt at the same time. She understood his direction.

  He filled her. Slowly. He gritted his teeth. His head fell back as he tried to steady his breathing. Crushing pleasure shot through his cock.

  He wanted to know what she felt.

  Isabelle fell forward, weak and barely holding on to the bedpost with one hand. He heard a muffled scream as she attempted to control her violent reaction, her hips jerked backward and he sank farther, causing yet another scream. He spread his legs, settling himself for the final penetration. His cock disappeared inside, only the root visible between the valley of her ass.

  He reached around her again, confirming the dildo was deeply encased in her cunt. He slipped his fingers over her labia closing her up, every inch of the dildo crammed inside her.

  With a last urgent thrust, he seated himself fully.

  “Tell me how it feels? I need to know.”

  “Dorian.” Her voice rasped, choked with pleasure. “I can’t take it. Don’t move. I can’t…I can’t…”

  She squirmed, only making things harder for Dorian. He bit lightly into her shoulder before relieving some of the pressure inside her body. She sighed and he plunged both cocks back in. Her eyes flew open and she gasped, her head lolling backward against his shoulder, her hair tickling over his body.

  From inside her anal cavity, he felt the first contractions. Isabelle went weak, screaming as her orgasm washed over her in repeated, deep, muscle-clenching torture.

  Dorian pumped into her from behind, still holding the dildo firmly inside her sheath. The tightness had given way to sweet, deep reli
ef as his aching cock and hard, tingling balls got more pleasure than he’d ever known with a woman.

  She was worth every pence.

  His thrusting grew more frenzied. He tried to slow, to control his desire but waves of pleasure were pulling him under.

  Isabelle’s hand pushed his away as she gripped the dildo. “Yes, Dorian. Take what you need,” she whispered. “Look there, Dorian. In the mirror. Do you like what you see? Does this bring you pleasure?”

  The words sank into his brain and he glanced to his left. In stark, bold outline, he saw her witch’s eyes glaze with satisfaction. She moved the dildo in her cunt in time with his thrusts.

  Inside her ass, his cock buried deep, her tight muscles contracted, squeezing with merciless pressure. His testicles lifted as the blazing pleasure spread though his groin. He couldn’t take his eyes from the sight. He pumped faster. His gaze lowered to the sight of his reddened cock thrusting in and out of her.

  His release came in hard, brutal spasms. He buried himself one last time, growling his satisfaction with a long moan before he went weak, collapsing into the bed covers as he brought Isabelle down with him.

  As he came around, he remembered her self-satisfied gaze as she clutched the dildo and assisted with her own orgasm.

  He rolled with her, covering her with his body. He fell on her, spreading her legs wide. The dildo had slipped from her body. He pushed it back inside her delectable cunt and then he devoured her swollen, red clit. He knew how to use his tongue to master a rebellious, insatiable mistress.

  She’d forget every man she’d ever been with, along with her own name.

  The fourth time, he tortured her with his tongue for long stop-and-go minutes before letting her go. She uttered such foul, enticing language he nearly took her with savage domination. She was near begging—begging him to stop, begging him to never stop. She wasn’t going to control his sexual experience. He’d bring her to heel.

  The fifth time, her body lay in relaxed stupor as his mouth worked magic. She cried like a newborn babe, all the while chanting his name. He heard the sweet surrender of her words, “don’t ever leave me”, “Dorian, I’ve never had such pleasure”. All music to his ears.