She turned to face him, hands clasped behind her back. Candlelight caused her dark hair to gleam and brought out golden flecks in her irises.
“Sit there, if you please,” she murmured, motioning toward a large, plush armchair just behind him.
Eyeing her warily, he backed into the chair and sat.
She crossed the room, took hold of a sheer, red curtain, and pulled. She moved from one end of the room to the other, using the curtain to block his view beyond it. The candlelight glowing on the other side cast a few shadows against the gossamer fabric.
She turned and gave him a glance over her shoulder. “Enjoy yourself, my lord.”
Chapter Three
One hour earlier …
Cecily studied her surroundings with wide-eyed curiosity. The room she’d been ushered into appeared as opulent as any in a Grosvenor Square townhouse; yet, she remained aware that she stood in a house of sin. A brothel. Her parents would suffer an apoplexy to know it.
Yet, she resolved to succeed in her quest for sexual fulfillment within her marriage. After leaving Penelope’s house that afternoon, she’d contemplated the best way to go about it. She couldn’t very well sit Sheridan down and tell him she’d been displeased with his performance in bed. Besides, she doubted she could ever find the words to properly express how, even though she went unfulfilled, she still loved him.
Thus, her plan to accost him at Madame Petra’s bordello. When his friends had come to invite him out for a gentleman’s evening, she’d been thrilled. She might have been an innocent maid at the end of last season, but she knew this sort of evening typically ended with the men adjourning to a house of sin. If what Penelope had told her proved true, Sheridan would be looking to ease his urges at a place like this. If she knew her husband, Madame Petra’s would be his establishment of choice. The first son of a viscount would be accustomed to the best of everything, and that included whores.
Whore. The word sent a little thrill down her spine when she met her own gaze in the gilt mirror. Reflected behind her was the decidedly sensual bedchamber with its massive, mahogany four-poster bed dressed with black curtains and red tassels. The silk robe she wore concealed the scandalous attire she’d been given. The deep, wine color of the material enhanced her coloring—bringing out the golden hue of her hair, deepening the tone of her blue eyes, and calling attention to her smooth, alabaster skin. She wore cosmetics for the first time, and found she liked their effect. Dark kohl enhanced her eyes, and rouge invited attention to her lips.
Observing her appearance, she thought absently of the woman who’d aided in her transformation. She’d only come prepared to speak with the Madame and perhaps enlist her aid concerning Sheridan. A few months ago, she’d never have thought someone like her existed, or that she’d ever have need of her services. Yet, here she stood, several thousand pounds poorer. However, the Madame had come highly recommended. If she couldn’t help them, no one could.
She hadn’t expected for Petra to be so warm and kind.
The Madame had ushered her into a private sitting room, where she’d promptly rung for a pot of chocolate and tray of assorted cakes. In the plush, comfortable surroundings of the room done up in shades of black and gold, Cecily had felt instantly at ease. When Petra had urged her to tell her the problem, she’d told her everything—her and Sheridan’s whirlwind courtship and hasty marriage, as well as the troubles they’d experienced in the bedchamber.
“I love my husband, Petra,” she’d said, fingers wrapped tight around a mug of steaming chocolate. “I just want …”
The Madame had moved from her chair across from her and settled onto the loveseat by her side. They’d sat so close, their thighs had brushed, and Cecily had felt the first fluttering of attraction for another woman. It had both frightened and excited her as she’d gazed up from her cup to find the Madame scrutinizing her with dark, fathomless eyes.
“You want passion,” Petra had murmured, reaching out to pat Cecily’s knee.
It was madness to wish the woman would trail that hand higher, caressing her thigh. Yet, Cecily had found herself wishing for it fervently. What was happening? Attraction to another female was something she’d never experienced before. What would her husband think of such a thing?
“Yes,” she’d whispered, trembling as Petra took her cup and set it aside.
The Madame had taken one of Cecily’s hands in both of hers. “There is nothing wrong with that,” she insisted. “Nor is there anything wrong with you for wanting those things. Women are passionate creatures, despite the quiet, dowdy mice men try to make of us. We simply have to show your husband the truth.”
She’d bit her lower lip nervously. “Could I be a passionate woman? I have never had the chance to discover whether or not I could be.”
With a soft smile, Petra had released her hand and reached toward her. Cecily had stiffened and gasped, but hadn’t pulled away as Petra began removing the pins holding her hair securely at the nape of her neck. Lock by lock, her hair fell loose, tumbling down her back. Petra had stroked the strands, her eyes seeming to soak in every detail of Cecily’s appearance. The fact that Petra was so beautiful should have intimidated her. Yet, she’d become acutely aware of the fact that the Madame’s gaze became appreciative the longer she gazed upon her. She’d liked what she saw.
Once her hair fell loose, the Madame had stroked it, trailing her fingertips through the strands, then lower over the column of her throat. Cecily’s pulse had raced as her heart thundered in her chest. She’d been taken by surprise when Petra had leaned toward her and swiftly covered Cecily’s mouth with her own. Her muffled gasp had melted into a sigh as soft, feminine lips had molded to her own.
Cecily had returned the kiss, never doubting her actions for a moment. Petra’s mouth had felt light and sweet, so natural, against her own. It had made her feel bold and desirable … wanton. Petra had traced the side of her face with one fingertip, then caressed lower, hooking the digit in the neckline of her gown. Cecily had shuddered when the fingertip had brushed one nipple, causing it to blossom and harden.
Pulling away, Petra had given her a cat-like smile and licked her lips.
“I think you’re doing yourself a disservice,” she replied. “You’re already a far more passionate creature than you, or your husband, even realize.”
The door to Cecily’s right opened, jarring her from the memory, and she turned to find Madame Petra. Her face heated as she remembered their shared kiss.
“Are you ready?” the woman asked, her lightly accented voice a soft purr in the candlelit room.
Cecily turned to face her, fingers fumbling with the knotted belt of her robe. “I hope so. Do you think he will come? Perhaps I’ve misjudged him.”
The Madame gave her a little half-smile—just the slightest curve of her plump lips. “He will come, and when he does, you will be ready for him.”
She gave herself another cursory inspection in the mirror. “I do hope he will enjoy it. I’d hate to think that he will be angry or disgusted with me.”
The Madame stepped forward and took one of Cecily’s hands in hers. “You love your husband, don’t you?”
“More than anything.”
“Your willingness to do everything to please him has made that evident. Do not worry, sweet Cecily. We will give your husband a show he is not likely to forget. Then, we will help him to unlock the animal in him just waiting to be freed.”
She shivered again, her nipples going hard against the silk of the robe as the image of an animalistic Sheridan tearing her clothes from her body and ravaging her played through her mind.
She could hardly wait.
“Remain here,” Petra said, releasing her hand and turning to leave. “I will return once he is in place. And stop worrying. You look beautiful, and he will be pleased.”
She then found herself alone again, with nothing left to do but wait. The seconds seemed to crawl by, and as they accumulated to minutes, she fought anxiety. The risk
she’d decided to take could result in the fulfillment of her wildest fantasies … or it could cause her to lose the man she loved. Nothing left to do now but hope the first result would come true. There could be no other outcome.
The things the Madame had instructed her to do—to allow Petra to do to her—had caused an embarrassing blush to heat her face. Yet, they also intrigued. Oh, she must be a wicked creature if such things could tempt her body and mind. If her husband found her wickedness pleasing, then she had nothing to be worried about.
If not … no, she would not think of that now.
She didn’t know how much time had passed, but by the time Petra returned, it felt as if she’d been waiting for hours.
The Madame’s eyes glittered with excitement. “He is here,” she whispered. “Are you ready?”
Her heart began to pound, and she feared the thrumming of her pulse would choke off her air supply. She could not respond with words, so she nodded.
“He is just through this door.”
Before she could think, Petra had taken her by the hand, leading her through said door. They entered a chamber similar to the one they’d just left, decorated in the same sensual hues. Cecily’s held breath released on a sigh of relief as she noticed the sheer, red curtain cutting the room in half. The shadow of a man seated in a chair fell against the fabric, dark and mysterious.
Sheridan.
She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes, fighting to remain calm. She did this for him—for them.
Petra grasped her shoulders, causing her to open her eyes. The woman stood close, so near their bodies almost touched. The hands on her shoulders felt soft, gentle but firm. Her fingers stroked over the silk-covered shoulders, and her breath caressed Cecily’s cheek. She pulled her, leading her closer to the curtain, until their silhouettes appeared against the fabric.
“Close your eyes,” she whispered. “He cannot see your face yet, and I won’t let him until the right moment. Enjoy yourself, Cecily. I intend to.”
She obeyed, allowing her eyelids to fall and her breath to escape her lungs in a slow exhale. She stiffened when the other woman’s hands came to the knotted belt, but forced herself to relax as it loosened. The silk fell away from her body, teasing her skin as it went. Heat rose in her cheeks when she was revealed to the gaze of the other woman, wearing far less clothing than she ever had in front of another person other than her husband. The lingerie she had on was nothing a respectable lady would ever own, making them perfect for this clandestine encounter.
A black corset cinched her waist, accentuating the flare of her hips and thrusting her full breasts upward. A pair of black stockings covered her legs to mid-thigh, tied with vibrant, scarlet bows. Her only other clothing consisted of a pair of black mules. She wore nothing else—not even a pair of drawers. Her hair fell past her shoulders in loose waves.
She felt Petra’s fingers stroking her locks, trailing down her shoulder. A fingertip traced her collarbone, then the valley between her breasts. Her hand found one of the exposed globes and squeezed. Cecily gasped, excited by the little tremor that the palm caused against her nipple.
Disappointment stabbed her when the hand fell away, but when she opened her eyes, she saw where that hand had gone. Petra had started undressing, loosening the fastenings of her gown down the back. The front of the garment sagged, then fell away. In a whisper of satin, it pooled at her feet. She wore nothing beneath it.
Cecily’s eyes widened and shock parted her lips. The woman proved even more beautiful nude than fully clothed. Envy stabbed low in her belly. She’d always been ‘pretty’, but this woman embodied all that sensuality entailed. Sex and passion in human form. Long limbs framing a sinewy body ripe with curves, her olive skin offset by the triangle of dark curls covering her mons. Dark brown nipples, large and round, drew the eye.
She snuck a peek at the curtain, finding their shadows perfectly outlined there. So similar, yet so different—one long and sinewy, the other round and lush with curves. She could hear Sheridan’s breath hitching on the other side of the curtain, feel his eyes on them through the fabric.
Petra reached for her, pulling until their bodies rested flush against each other. Another soft sigh escaped her lips at the feel of the other woman’s soft curves against hers. Their nipples brushed and hers hardened even more, becoming painfully taut. Petra’s hand cupped the back of her head and she lowered hers until their lips met. The other woman’s tongue caressed the seam of her lips and she parted them, meeting it with her own.
Petra moaned, wiggling against her and causing the most intriguing friction. She reacted instinctively, wrapping her arms around the other woman, allowing her fingers to sink into soft, pliant flesh.
If what Petra had told her about the tastes of men proved true, the picture they made would stir Sheridan. Hell, she grew aroused by the sight of Petra’s olive skin against her porcelain, the feel of the woman’s soft thighs against her own, their breasts touching, their nipples brushing.
She could never have imagined another woman could provoke her lust her so.
Petra’s hands cupped her breasts and lifted them, kneading softly at first, then with increasing pressure. Cecily moaned, arching her back, offering them up at a better angle. She grew wet between her legs, and an insistent throbbing began deep inside.
“You have beautiful tits,” Petra murmured, lowering her head to taste one. “So soft and lush.”
Her mouth was warm, her tongue gentle and slow as it circled one pink nipple. The dark beauty ran her tongue from one breast to the other, lapping them, nipping at them with her teeth, teasing them with soft, slow sucks. The cries of pleasure echoing from the ceiling were wild, increasing in pitch as the suckling pulls of the mouth around her nipple caused an answering throb between her thighs.
Behind the curtain, she registered movement and the rustle of fabric, Sheridan’s ragged breathing and low murmur of appreciation for what he witnessed. She closed her eyes and imagined him freeing his cock from his breeches and stroking it with a strong, firm hand. She’d seen him do it once, when he hadn’t realized that she’d walked into his dressing room. After watching for a few moments, she’d left the room, desire causing her cunt to ache so badly that she’d yanked up her skirts and pleasured herself to the image burned on the back of her mind. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out that stroking the little button buried within her intimate flesh, what was called clitoris, could bring her satisfaction. She’d longed to feel her husband’s hands there.
Moisture seeped from her core, soaking the soft thatch between her thighs. She brought her hands up to Petra’s head, her fingers threading through strands of thick, wavy hair. She tilted Petra’s head back, lowering her own for a taste of her tits. The feel of the other woman’s tongue on her breast had left her curious as to how a feminine nipple would feel in her mouth, how it would taste.
Petra gave a low purr, arching her back and reaching down to cup Cecily’s buttocks. Their mounds touched, downy blonde curls caressing dark ones. Petra rotated her hips, grinding against her and groaning low in her throat as Cecily’s tongue strokes grew bolder.
“Bloody hell,” Sheridan rasped from the other side of the curtain, his voice dripping with arousal and heavy with breathlessness.
The nipple in her mouth drew away, and Petra knelt in front of her, her mysterious gaze burning into Cecily’s. A smirk curved the corner of her lush mouth as her fingers delved into the damp curls covering Cecily’s mons. She gasped when slender fingers slid between the lower lips, encountering the velvety folds.
“My friend here is so wet, my lord,” Petra called out, so that Sheridan could hear from his side of the curtain. She leaned forward and parted Cecily’s curls, exposing her swollen clitoris. Swirling her tongue around the little bud, she made a low sound, as if tasting something heavenly. The heat and friction of her tongue caused Cecily’s knees to buckle. “Mmm, she tastes even better than she feels.”
Sheridan didn’t speak,
but his sharp intake of breath gave voice to his state of arousal.
Petra licked her again, running her tongue from Cecily’s opening, up over the sensitive pink folds, circling around the throbbing, hidden bud. Another moan tore from Cecily’s throat, and her hips moved toward Petra, a silent plea for more. No one had ever told her such an intimate thing were possible. It felt better than anything she’d ever experienced. She wanted to feel Sheridan’s searching mouth there, his hot tongue going where Petra’s had been and beyond.
“Would you fancy a taste, my lord?” Petra asked, as if having read her mind.
She could practically hear his indecision—the pause in his breathing, the break in the sound of his hand stroking his own cock.
“No,” he said.
Yet, his voice held a note of uncertainty, a huskiness that belied his refusal.
“Pity,” Petra murmured. Her breath tickled Cecily’s sensitive mound, sending a tremor down her spine. One of her fingers probed inside, invading her slick sheath. “So tight, too, my lord. Tight as a virgin. So sweet. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
He grunted in frustration. “I can’t.”
“Of course you can,” Petra replied, her finger continuing to wreak havoc on her insides. “My friend wants a man’s touch … your touch. Don’t you, my love?”
“Yes,” she rasped, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears. It came out deeper, throatier, a purr of desire.
Petra stood, breaking contact. Cecily bit back a groan of disappointment. The game they played had come to a crucial point. Time to move on to the next phase of it, and if Petra had been right, it would prove even more exciting than the first.
Chapter Four
On the other side of the curtain, Sheridan wrestled with indecision. Through the sheer veil, he could see two silhouettes and just enough detail to make out what they did to each other. In the back of his mind, he knew this must be wrong. He should have gone home to his wife. Instead, he found himself drunk, trapped in a room with two panting, groaning females, and a cock that had gone hard as stone. No amount of stroking with his own hand could tame it now. It had taken on a life of its own, craving the wetness and heat of a woman’s cunt.
A Marriage Most Scandalous (Scandalous Ballroom Encounters Book 2) Page 3