Before this night, they’d only made love in one manner—with Sheridan on top of her, in the dark. This way, with him beneath her, her pleasure increased tenfold; each stroke of his cock inside her caressed a sensitive place deep within, one that brought on the telltale spasms she’d learned signaled her release.
She shattered, screaming so loud it was a wonder the servants didn’t come running to ensure that someone wasn’t killing her. His hand clapped over her mouth, but his assault on her body never ceased. His hips pumped upward, his breaths growing shorter and more ragged, until he groaned his own release, filling her with the hot gush of his seed.
He collapsed against the chair, sweat glistening on his bare skin, chest heaving from the exertion. She fell against him, cheek resting against his shoulder.
Now came the part she’d always enjoyed—the closeness she always felt with him when their lovemaking had ended. Instead, now, even that felt better because they were both more satisfied than they’d ever been.
Before she knew it, her eyelids drooped and she had drifted off to sleep. She didn’t know how long they dozed, but when she came to, he was carrying her to the bed. The sun had long since risen, but with strict orders from the servants that they were not to be disturbed, Sheridan joined her in her bed, and they slept.
Chapter Six
When Sheridan awoke the next morning, the bed beside him lay empty. Yet, the pillow where his wife’s head had rested still smelled of her. Despite the late hour they’d gone to bed, he felt surprisingly well-rested. The tension that had taken up residence in his joints and muscles had eased away. He’d slept better than he had in months.
A smile curved his mouth as he got off the mattress, stretching, glorying in the light of the sun filtering through the sheer lace curtains and warming his skin. Ringing for his valet, he slid on his robe and entered the dressing room with a spring in his step. If he hurried, he could find Cecily before she finished breakfast and left for the day. She and one of her numerous lady charity groups would be visiting poor families in Whitechapel to deliver baskets of necessary items to help the struggling lower class to survive. They’d spent months accumulating the items during the season, and the day would be important to her.
He suffered through a shave, but cried off when James remarked that his hair needed a trim. He didn’t have time if he wanted to see Cecily off. Enduring the valet’s fussing, he allowed his mind to drift back over the explosive sexual encounter he’d enjoyed with his wife the night before. Who would have thought her sweet, innocent demeanor had hidden away an insatiable wanton? He did not know if his father had been wrong about gently-bred ladies, or if his wife simply proved a rare creature.
But, what if the entire thing had been an act? Perhaps Cecily had been led to believe she had to act like a wanton in order to hold his interest. Which would be the farthest thing from the truth. She had never needed wiles to capture him. He’d been ensnared from the moment he’d laid eyes upon her.
Scowling, he brushed James’ fussy hands off and declared his appearance more than acceptable. Sending the man away, he studied his reflection with uncertainty. Her words came back to him in a rush, filling him with guilt.
I don’t want you going back there.
His dear, sweet Cecily had done what she thought necessary to keep him from straying. Who could blame her? She had, in fact, caught him in a brothel. He tried to convince himself that he’d done nothing wrong because the whore he’d fucked had turned out to be his wife. Yet, a niggling thought in the back of his mind persisted—he hadn’t known it was her. If Cecily hadn’t been there, he might likely have slaked his lust on some other doxy.
She needed to be assured that his love for her, or his physical need, were not contingent upon her acting in a way that made her uncomfortable. It became even more imperative for him to speak with her.
A lady knows her place. She should never make demands of her husband. A man ought to do as he pleases, and a woman should never seek to tell him otherwise.
“Sod off, old man,” he mumbled, ignoring the unwelcome voice of the viscount.
He nodded cordially to the maid who paused in dusting a mirror and set of sconces in the hall to curtsy. Striding for the stairs, he fought to remain outwardly dignified in front of the members of his household staff. It would not do for him to run, or take the stairs two at a time, or cry out Cecily’s name as he tore through the house looking for her.
The dining room door hung open, and the lilt of feminine voices beckoned. He paused in the doorway, struck dumb by the sight that greeted him. His wife sat in her customary place, looking quite radiant in a white and blue muslin walking dress, her hair swept up in a soft, elegant arrangement. She poured tea for herself, and a guest—a woman whose low, throaty, accented voice sent a rush of blood straight to his groin.
That woman wore a walking dress in a shade of puce that would have made anyone else look like a drab. On her, the color enhanced the dusky hue of olive-toned skin and dark, shining hair falling just past her jaw in a soft shimmer of waves.
“Do you take sugar in your tea, Madame?” Cecily asked, her voice light and cordial, as if she hadn’t stood in a bordello with this woman the night before and allowed her to taste her sweet little cunt.
The memory caused his breeches to become uncomfortably snug.
“Yes, two lumps, please,” Petra answered in tones just as polite.
He watched them without moving from his place just within the doors, uncertain of how to approach such a situation. Not every day a man came down to breakfast to find his wife pouring tea for a brothel Madame. He became aware of the absence of servants, making him even more wary. Why had Petra come, and why had Cecily banished the servants to take breakfast with her? What the devil were they up to now?
“You may come in, my lord, and close the door as you do, please.”
Sheridan started, his eyebrows jumping up toward his hairline at Petra’s lofty command. In his home.
Frowning, he closed the door none too gently behind him, and strode forward. “See here—”
“Have a seat, darling.” Cecily’s soft blue eyes snapped up and locked with his, pleading silently. “Shall I serve you a plate? I dismissed the servants so we could speak in private, but I’m more than happy to see to the task. I know what you like.”
For some reason, her last statement held the hint of a double entendre. Was it his imagination, or did her voice grow huskier as she’d said it?
“Talk?” he murmured, glancing up to find Petra staring at him. “What is there to discuss?”
His wife had already left her place at the table and taken up an empty plate from the sideboard. As she filled it, Petra speared him with a knowing glance.
“The rules, my lord.”
He wrinkled his brow. “Rules?”
“Of our liaison—you, your wife, and myself. If we are to continue past last night, I must inform you of how I like to do things.”
Understanding finally dawned.
“Ah, well … there seems to have been some sort of misunderstanding. Last evening’s encounter need not be repeated.”
Her full, decadent lips curved into a smirk. “Oh, no, my lord. We shall find many other ways to enjoy each other.”
As he blustered and stammered, searching for an appropriate response, Cecily returned with his plate.
A throaty laugh fell from Petra’s lips. “Cecily, darling, did you not inform your husband that you have hired me?”
Roses bloomed upon his wife’s cheeks and she lowered her eyes. “We began talking about it, but …” she cleared her throat. “We became distracted.”
The Madame’s lips parted on a wicked grin. “Then our session last night was a success, no?”
He turned to his wife, ignoring the plate she’d set before him. His appetite had long since fled.
“Darling, I do believe you and I need a word alone. I suppose you are under the impression that I wish for you to do things which are distasteful t
o you in order to please me.”
Brow knit in confusion, she reached across the table and took his hand.
“My love, I think you are the one who has misunderstood. Did you not hear me when I told you I wanted more for us? That I wanted to explore beyond the things we did last night?”
His mouth fell open, but words did not come forth for several seconds. Shaking his head, he tried again.
“I … I did hear you. Quite clearly. But you … you meant it?”
She gave him a radiant smile. “Of course I did. I did not just come to Madame Petra’s last night to bring you home. I went to enlist her help. Her services come highly recommended, from what I gathered. I believe she can help us with our little … predicament.”
He felt uncertain of whether he should ask her who had referred her to the Madame, deciding to focus on the obvious questions for the moment.
“What predicament?”
“You are uptight, my lord,” Petra said, lifting the teacup to her lips. Taking a sip, she hummed in appreciation.
His jaw clenched, and annoyance flared his nostrils. “I beg your pardon?”
She set the tea onto its saucer and folded her hands on the table.
“Let us dispense with nonsense, Sheridan. The fact of the matter is, your wife hired me to assist you in injecting a dose of much-needed joy into your intimate life. Like most men of the ton, you are under the misguided impression that the lady you married is not a woman with sexual needs and desires similar to your own. You have handled her like a porcelain doll, when what she really wants is for you to treat her like a woman.
“Now, I am expensive, but that is because I’m good. I have worked with many couples of the ton, and I have never failed a single one. Together, the three of us will explore the boundaries of your intimate relationship and attempt to establish new ones. We will also seek to find the root of your problem, because based upon what I saw last night, your issue is not a physical one. It is all in your mind.
“That is why I am here. To guide you. To participate, if you want me to. It is not something I do with every couple but your wife seemed to enjoy it, so I see no need to deprive her, or you. Let us enrich your married life. Oh, and I must inform you that I am regularly inspected by a physician to ensure that I am clean. I also take precautions to avoid conception. You need not worry, I am a Madame worth her salt. We begin now, if you do not mind. I am a busy woman.”
For a moment, silence reigned in the dining room. Petra sat staring at him in quiet challenge. Cecily regarded him anxiously. He tapped his fingers against the table, staring back and forth between them both.
So the Madame was at their disposal. The sexual aspect of such an arrangement intrigued him. It appealed to him. However, having her attempt to counsel him in other areas, he could have done without. He knew good and well where his problem lay, and did not wish to discuss it with his wife, or her.
“What if I say no?” he asked, breaking the silence. “What if I decide that my marriage doesn’t need interference from you?”
“Then you would be making a very big mistake,” she said.
Glancing at his wife, he could see this meant a lot to her. Without the haze of exhaustion or too much brandy clouding his judgment, he now clearly understood that she’d meant every word of what she’d said to him the past night.
“I would do anything for you,” he said, drawing her gaze up from the tablecloth. “If you believe it necessary, I will participate.”
She exhaled, a sigh of relief. “Oh, Sherry, really?”
He nodded. “Perhaps Petra is right. I do have … notions which are hard to forget.”
Petra stood, removing a silver timepiece from the pocket of her gown and observing the time. “We will discuss that at length, but not today. I believe Cecily must depart within the hour and I have an appointment, as well, with a modiste. Before I leave, however, I do believe you should eat your breakfast, my lord.”
He frowned down at his still-full plate. The eggs had grown cold, and his appetite had still not returned.
“I’m not hungry.”
She rounded the table, hips swaying beneath her gown.
“Do the offerings on your plate not tickle your fancy? Pity.” Taking the plate, she placed it on the sideboard. “Cecily, darling, will you clear the table?”
His wife rose, complying silently. Yet, a glimmer of mischief shone in her eyes, and he began to feel like an antelope trapped by two voracious lionesses.
“If you are not interested in food, we must find something else to tempt you with, mustn’t we, Cecily?”
She murmured her agreement, coming to stand beside Petra next to his chair.
He remained in his seat, staring up at the two beautiful vixens standing before him. His breath hitched when Petra took his wife’s face in her hands and leaned in for a kiss. Cecily’s lips parted and her velvety, pink tongue met the other woman’s. His cock immediately filled with blood, and the organ fought for freedom against the front of his breeches.
Petra cupped Cecily’s breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze. Tilting his wife’s head back, she lowered her own and trailed her tongue from the valley between her breasts, up to the vein where her pulse thrummed. Cecily’s soft moan made his bollocks contract, rendering his arousal all the more urgent.
They shifted until Cecily’s back had turned toward him.
“Help your wife disrobe, my lord,” Petra said, her voice low and throaty as she continued squeezing and kneading Cecily’s breasts.
He knit his brow. “Here? Now?”
Petra stared at him over his wife’s shoulder as he stood.
“Our first lesson, my lord. I know you were likely taught to only make love to your wife in the evening, in her bed, with the candles snuffed out.”
Embarrassment heated his neck when he realized the majority of their encounters had been just that.
“This is your wife,” Petra continued. “She is yours to enjoy whenever, wherever, and whatever way you please. Spontaneity, my lord. Our first lesson.”
Excitement coursed through him, heating his blood and filling his ears with a dull roar. Pushing his chair aside, he stepped forward until his body brushed Cecily’s, the soft curves of her buttocks fitting perfectly against his groin. His hands shook as he lifted them to begin unfastening the back of her gown.
With a satisfied nod, the Madame returned her attention to Cecily. Catching the lobe of her ear between her teeth, she suckled gently before beginning to nibble on the side of her neck.
The gown began to sag as it loosened, and her fichu fluttered to the carpet, forgotten. His hands caressed the curves of her waist and hips as he pushed the dress to the floor. She stepped from it, and Petra took it up, laying it neatly over the back of a chair. Taking her place in front of Cecily once more, she hooked her forefinger into the neckline of his wife’s chemise and lowered it to reveal one plump breast, then the other.
His hips moved, causing friction between his hard cock and her soft derriere, while his hands slid up over her corset and toward the tits perfectly cradled and lifted by the undergarment. She shivered when he squeezed them with an urgency that stole gentleness from his touch. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the harder he squeezed, and the more insistently he tugged on her nipples, the faster her breath raced and the louder her moans became.
Petra bent to take one of the perky, pink nipples into her mouth, tearing a moan from deep in his throat at the sight. Cecily’s hips bucked, and the Madame moved closer, tightly pressing her between them.
He lifted Cecily’s breasts to the Madame’s mouth, massaging them while she feasted, her darting tongue circling the pink tips. Not to be outdone, he lowered his head and latched onto the side of her neck. His teeth scraped the taut tendons and his tongue caressed her beating pulse, eliciting another shiver and soft sigh of delight.
“Lay her on the table, my lord,” Petra whispered, raising her head from his wife’s heaving breasts. “I want a proper taste.�
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Turning Cecily to face him, he captured her mouth and wrapped his arms around her waist. Their tongues mated while he lifted her, setting her on the wood surface as instructed.
Grasping his arm, Petra knelt before the table and took him with her. She lifted the hem of Cecily’s chemise, revealing soft, creamy thighs and the naked triangle of curls between them. His mouth went dry when he realized she’d foregone wearing drawers.
The scent of her arousal filled his nostrils, and the golden curls covering her mons had become damp with the evidence. He reached down and applied pressure to his aching cock, desperate for release. However, he was too intrigued to discover where this might lead. So he restrained himself.
“So sweet,” Petra murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to Cecily’s inner thigh.
He stroked her calf, letting his palm skim over her knee and the top of her stocking. His thumb massaged her other thigh, steadily working toward her core. Petra’s slender fingers parted her curls, revealing the tender flesh within. His searching thumb came to rest on the swollen bud nestled within the folds. The gentle pressure elicited a shiver, and then a moan when he circled the digit, smearing her in her own honey.
He repeated the motion, hypnotized by the sight of his thumb stroking over the hot, wet flesh. With a low sigh of appreciation, Petra leaned forward and ran her tongue over the folds beneath his stroking thumb, then circled her opening. Cecily cried out, gripping the tablecloth in her fists. The Madame continued her erotic ministrations, the sound of her suckling and licking his wife’s wet cunt filling the room. Tearing his eyes away from where his hand met Cecily’s body, he allowed his gaze to fall to the swell of Petra’s breasts, heaving against the neckline of her gown.
A Marriage Most Scandalous (Scandalous Ballroom Encounters Book 2) Page 5