She’d said she was to be enjoyed, hadn’t she?
Deciding that he very much wanted another glimpse of her sumptuous tits, he reached back and unfastened several of the tiny buttons running down her spine. She arched her back, offering her breasts to him as the front of her gown sagged to her waist. The thumb of his right hand quickened, continuing to stroke Cecily’s clit. His left hand slid down the front of Petra’s chemise and closed around a perky breast. The nipple leapt to attention at his touch, stiffening between his fingers.
She whimpered, but never ceased in her own actions, her tongue lapping at the honey seeping from Cecily’s entrance. One of her hands found the front of his breeches, and he hissed as she caressed his cock through the fabric.
“Yes,” he growled, thrusting against her questing hand.
She gave him another bold caress, then rubbed lower, squeezing his bollocks.
Snatching the garment open, he freed his member and watched it fall into her hand. Her fingers closed around him and stroked rhythmically. Her palm felt soft and warm, her grip firm, creating the perfect amount of friction. Resting his head against Cecily’s thigh, he closed his eyes, groaning as the hand around his cock stroked faster.
The scent of her arousal overwhelmed him, and he longed to taste her for himself. Gripping Petra’s hair firmly, he pulled her away and availed himself of her lips. Her mouth was plump and ripe, perfect for kissing. Even better, they tasted of his sweet Cecily, slick with his wife’s arousal, and he found the flavor dancing on her tongue, as well.
Pulling away, he turned his attention to the cunt spread out on the table before him. Parting her lower lips, he latched onto her pearl, suckling with gentle insistence. Cecily screamed, her back arching and causing her hips to thrust against his mouth. He devoured her, his lips and tongue drawing even more wetness to seep from her core.
Petra found her way in, her tongue darting between Cecily’s buttocks and trailing upward, lapping at the trickle of moisture that had escaped Sheridan’s hungry mouth. Their tongues touched and caressed one another, Cecily’s tender pink flesh between them. On the table, his wife squirmed and writhed, crying out her pleasure. The Madame’s hand left his cock, and she lifted it to thrust two fingers into his wife’s welcoming sheath.
“Oh my,” she murmured, taking up a rhythmic stroke within Cecily’s channel. “I can feel her throbbing, my lord. She’s so close.”
“Yes,” Cecily whimpered, hips thrusting wildly against Petra’s questing fingers and his devouring mouth. “Heavens, that feels so good.”
Her words only further exacerbated his own need. She enjoyed this. His wife was a passionate, responsive creature.
“Come for us, darling,” he murmured.
She trembled, then shook and fell apart. Muffling her screams with the back of her hand, she rode Petra’s fingers and his tongue to completion.
As he lapped at Cecily’s weeping cunt, he faintly realized that the other woman had ceased pumping her fingers inside of her channel. Taking up where she’d left off, he pressed first one, then a second finger into Cecily’s sheath. Slick, wet heat enveloped him at the moment the same thing happened to his cock.
Gasping in shock, he felt the muscles of his abdomen contract, nearly knocking him to his back on the carpet as Petra’s mouth and tongue stroked him in a rapid, merciless rhythm. Moaning against the cunt pressed to his lips, he closed his eyes and held on to Cecily for dear life. Never could he have imagined a pleasure so intoxicating—the feel of one woman’s mouth wrapped around his cock, while the taste of another fueled the fires of his lust.
In his youth, he’d experienced the mouths of many whores, but none as skilled as Petra. She suckled him as if starving, her tongue stroking and teasing the ridged underside of his member while her fingers fondled and squeezed his tender bollocks.
His fingers quickened within Cecily, coaxing her arousal to life again with him using his digits to fuck her in the same rhythm with which Petra sucked his cock. His wife hurtled toward release again, her thighs trembling on either side of him as she fisted the tablecloth once more and rested her bare feet on his shoulders.
She reached her peak at the same time he groaned and shuddered, his seed spurting into Petra’s mouth.
His tense muscles melted, and a languid sort of fatigue dropped over him. Cecily fell limp and silent on the table, her bared breasts heaving as she fought to catch her breath.
Petra deftly tucked his cock back into his smallclothes and fastened his breeches. The two worked together to set Cecily to rights.
He helped her to her feet and straightened her chemise. Petra held her gown while she stepped into it, then gave him her back as she buttoned Cecily’s dress. He buttoned the Madame, allowing his fingertips to linger on the back of her neck when he pushed a stray lock of hair aside.
The encounter had been more satisfying than he’d imagined. His wildest fantasies could not have compared. Cecily had been right last night when she’d teased him by guessing at his secret thoughts. He did want to fuck Petra from behind, watching as she drove his wife to the heights of pleasure with her perfect, skilled mouth. He clenched his teeth, balling his hand into a fist at his side to keep from snatching her skirts up and making his dream a reality then and there.
His wife had paid a king’s ransom to retain Petra for them, which meant there would be plenty of time to have them both in every way he could think of before it would all end. He’d never thought he wanted a mistress, but thinking of sharing one with his wife became an intriguing notion. Damn the costs—Cecily had touched very little of her dowry, and if this made her happy, he was glad to oblige her. After all, he benefited in the process.
As Petra bid them both good-bye, leaving them in the dining room with her promise to return soon, he gazed down at his wife and smiled. She looked radiant—eyes wide, bright, and shining with a secret only he and Petra could know, cheeks flushed pink from exertion, skin glowing like a woman who’d been thoroughly loved.
At that moment, he had a hard time remembering why he’d protested this arrangement in the first place. Who could have known bringing another woman into their intimate life would have made his prim, proper little wife so content?
Chapter Seven
“What’s gotten into you?”
Cecily turned to Penelope and smiled. “Whatever do you mean?”
Even as she asked, a giggle bubbled in her throat. Her step was light—downright springy, even—and a cheerful hum had been dancing on her tongue all afternoon.
They walked the dirty streets in one of London’s most despicable slums; yet, for all her cheer, one would have thought she strolled the verdant expanse of Hyde Park.
“You’re humming,” her friend observed aloud, eyeing her incredulously. “And you’re … good heavens, you’re skipping!”
Glancing down at her calfskin boots, she grinned. “So I am. And why shouldn’t I hum and skip? Our many months of raising funds and gathering items for the needy have paid off. Today, we get to see their smiling faces while we give them their baskets, and it’s such a glorious spring day, besides.”
Lady Mary Anne Willoughby poked her head between them with a laugh, thrusting her basket through the gap she’d created and linking each of her arms through theirs. Her basket swung against her hip, then Cecily’s as they continued on at a steady pace.
“It’s more than that,” Mary Ann said with a sly grin. “It takes more than a sunny afternoon of charitable work to put a glow like that upon a woman’s face. Mr. Cranfield must be quite the randy stallion.”
The two exploded into a paroxysm of giggles, while Penelope shushed them and glanced around to ensure none of the others had overheard them. They were in the company of twenty other ladies—members of the Mayfair Ladies’ Charitable Society—and ten gentlemen. Several husbands and brothers had been coerced into coming along to protect them from street urchins and pickpockets.
“Do you want everyone to hear you talking like a Haymarket
strumpet?” Penelope hissed, her voice a low whisper.
“Oh, do calm down,” Mary Anne scoffed. “There’s no one here but us.” Turning back to Cecily, she lowered her voice. “Do tell me everything, darling. Is he wonderful?”
Cecily thought of Sheridan’s long fingers thrusting between her legs, his cock doing the same as she straddled him, and a blush heated her face.
“He’s everything I ever imagined,” she whispered, “and more.”
“I knew he was a good sort,” Mary Ann replied. “I can always tell.”
“Yes, because you’ve so much experience when it comes to men,” Penelope grumbled.
“I’ve got more than you,” Mary Anne retorted, her voice dripping with syrupy sweet venom.
Like Cecily, she was newly married and seemed to be enjoying her status as a countess and a wife.
Frowning, Cecily observed Penelope from the corner of her eye. Her friend was even surlier than usual. She’d always been opinionated on the subject of men—even seemed to hold them in very low regard—but today, it appeared to have reached a new level of hatred.
“I am happy for you, darling,” Mary Anne whispered so only the two of them could hear. “A happy marriage is the one thing a young lady has to hope for, is it not?”
A happy marriage, yes. A passionate one.
She could hardly wait to learn what Petra would teach them. As well, she could not wait to learn more about her husband and the reasons behind his stiffness and reticence. As much as she loved him, she was all too aware of the fact that their speedy courtship hadn’t given them time to get to know one another. They had their entire lives for that. Yet, something told her that learning more about her husband on an intellectual level would only deepen their intimacy—which had been her ultimate goal in hiring Madame Petra.
Cecily threw herself into her busy day, losing track of time as she and her ladies went from home to home, delivering baskets and luxuriating in the joy they’d brought to the unfortunate. By the end of the afternoon, her feet had grown sore and she felt exhausted, but nothing could wipe the smile from her face.
She arrived home just in time to begin dressing for the Morley’s ball. She could hear Sheridan chatting with his valet through the door separating his dressing room from hers. Deciding to give him a bit of privacy, she kept to her room to prepare for the night. Taking her time, she enjoyed a long, languid soak in the tub while her lady’s maid prepared her gown and accessories.
The ensemble she’d chosen was unlike anything she’d ever worn. Yet, Petra had insisted on it.
“You must show your husband that he is married to a woman,” she’d said when they’d covered the subject of Cecily’s clothing. “Not a porcelain doll. A woman who knows how to accentuate her best assets commands notice. Sheridan will be unable to keep his hands off you.”
Grinning at her reflection, she decided the Madame had been right. She hadn’t even donned her gown yet, and already, she felt like the most decadent, sensual creature in the world. The items Petra had given her were the height of French fashion in ladies’ undergarments. A corset of black satin cupped and lifted her breasts in a display that would leave her husband salivating—Petra, too, she realized, as the Madame had confessed to enjoying her breasts. A silk chemise edged in black lace felt like heaven against her bare bottom. Going without drawers had seemed naughty, but she enjoyed the way the silk felt against her skin and the way her thighs teased her mons when she walked. Black stockings, edged in crimson lace and bows, completed her secret ensemble.
Her gown boasted the same shade of scarlet, with a neckline so daring her nipples would be sure to make an appearance if she so much as sneezed. She clasped a black diamond choker around her neck, a piece from the Cranfield family collection, and matched it with a pair of earrings bearing the same stones. Black silk gloves covered her arms to the elbow. Her maid had styled her hair in a soft arrangement of loose curls, leaving several to rest over one creamy shoulder. It teased the eye, inviting lips to kiss her exposed collarbone and travel lower.
Taking up her matching reticule, she descended to meet Sheridan in the lobby.
He stood waiting at the foot of the stairs, one hand braced on the mahogany balustrade, his head lowered. The candlelight caused his hair to gleam like brilliant gold and the diamond pin situated in the frothy white linen of his cravat to twinkle.
Clearing her throat, she struck a pose at the top of the staircase and waited for him to notice her.
Green eyes lifted and found her, widening while taking in her appearance from head to toe. His gaze smoldered while she began to descend, giving her hips an exaggerated sway. His nostrils flared, and his chest swelled as he ascended the last few steps and offered his arm to assist her the rest of the way down.
“Good evening, Sherry.” She smiled up at him.
He did not smile back, but then, he didn’t have to. His gaze spoke volumes, as did the bulging bicep beneath her hand and the quickened breath she detected.
He’d grown aroused.
Her husband looked gorgeous in his black evening clothes, a silver satin waistcoat relieving the dark color. He’d been freshly shaven, but had foregone a haircut. His golden locks almost swept his shoulders now, and Cecily found she liked the rakish, masculine appeal the longer hair gave him.
“Good evening, my love,” he murmured, raising her hand to his lips for a kiss.
His mouth lingered and his fingers tightened around hers, possessive.
“You are an absolute vision,” he said, placing her hand back on his arm. “I will be the envy of every man present.”
The butler opened the front door to reveal their waiting carriage. A footman appeared with his greatcoat and hat and her cloak. Once properly attired, Sheridan led her out into the night and toward the waiting conveyance.
Another footman opened the door and handed her up. The door closed once Sheridan had climbed in behind her, and within moments, they were underway.
She’d never felt so excited about attending a ball. Yet, as the carriage rocked and swayed, carrying them closer to their destination, she experienced a tiny thrill at the notion of what the end of the night could bring.
They arrived at the perfect time—not so early that they were forced to stand in the receiving line overlong, nor too far past fashionably late. The low buzz of conversation seemed to swell as they descended into the ballroom, causing Sheridan to smirk.
“I do believe you’ve caused quite a stir with your mode of dress, my love,” he murmured.
She glanced up at him. “Are you displeased, husband?”
“On the contrary. As you enter on my arm, no man here can take his eyes from you.”
She raised her eyebrows. “And you want that?”
He led her to the dance floor while the strains of the first waltz filled the ballroom. She had eyes only for him as he drew her close and awaited the music.
“Let them look,” he murmured. “Let them all look and know that you belong to me. They will languish to know you could never belong to them.”
“You’re an arrogant show-off,” she said, laughing.
“And you’re a tease,” he whispered before swinging her into the first steps of the waltz.
Losing herself in the music and the moment, she allowed her husband to carry her away in his arms. It would not do for them to dance together more than twice this evening, and her next waltz would likely be claimed the moment they parted. This would be the only time tonight when they could hold each other this close. It could be a prelude to what would come once they returned home.
By the time the dance ended, Cecily salivated for it. Since she’d been introduced to pleasure, she couldn’t seem to get enough.
Lifting her gloved hand, he placed a kiss upon the back of it and gave her a knowing smile. “Until later, my dear.”
They parted ways—she to find her friends for gossip and chatter between dances, he to sign a few dance cards and engage in some obligatory dances before
retreating to the gaming room. Finding her fan, she opened it and employed it against the stifling heat. The ball could already be hailed a success based upon the crush filling every available inch of the room.
Wafting her fan languidly, she gazed about her, searching for Penelope in the crowd. Frowning, she noticed that the murmur she’d caused when entering the ballroom had not faded. In fact, it seemed to have increased now that she stood alone. A lump of panic rose in her throat as she turned in a slow circle, now acutely aware of the many pairs of eyes boring into her. Hands hiding behind gloves and fans, the members of the ton whispered about something … something involving her.
Her gown wasn’t that scandalous. She was married now, besides, and could certainly dress as a mature woman without being gossiped about.
Her heart began to pound as she realized something had gone horribly wrong. The ladies present gave her a wide berth when they passed her, a few even going so far as to lift their skirts to keep them from touching hers. Several gentlemen watched her like hawks, their gazes openly salacious, as if they saw her as a fallen woman ripe for conquest.
“Sherry,” she whispered, looking for her husband.
He couldn’t have gone far; yet, she felt so utterly trapped and alone with so many eyes upon her, as though an entire canyon separated them.
Holding her head high, she began to move, testing her theory. Sure enough, a wide circle of empty space seemed to surround her wherever she went, with people going out of their way to avoid contact with her.
Typically, her dance card became full within minutes of stepping into any ballroom. Yet, tonight, it remained empty. She spotted Mary Anne nearby, along with several other members of her ladies’ society group. Smiling, she made her way toward them. These women were her friends—surely, they would greet her and tell her what had the ton in such a tizzy.
Yet, when she approached, several fans snapped up to cover gossiping mouths. Eyes shifted to avoid her gaze, and curls bounced as heads turned, dismissing her. Gasping, she backed away from them, hurt and betrayal stinging her like the lash of a whip.
A Marriage Most Scandalous (Scandalous Ballroom Encounters Book 2) Page 6