Seduced (London Kink Club)

by Kate Allure

  Again, sexy Ian King popped into Tori’s mind, but this time in a large bed, and she lay there with him, naked, tangled, and panting.

  She gasped and tried to cover it by speaking too loudly. “I know you enjoy having lots of lovers and wild sex, Diana, but that’s not me.” But was she trying to convince her friends or herself? “Now, if you please, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  She pulled off the lids of her neglected presents. “These are smashing!” She gazed down at a pair of stunning ruby earrings and a matching bracelet. “You spent way too much! But thank you.”

  “Nonsense,” said Diana.

  Tori smiled at her two longtime mates. Their friendship had sustained each of them through many years of hard work, sometimes heartbreak, and two divorces among them.

  “Do you like how they look?” she asked, holding up the rubies to her ears.

  Maybe next time she met Rupert at the door, she’d be wearing them…and nothing else. That should stir things up!

  Chapter Three

  Across the pub, Ian King gazed at The Honorable Ms. Justice Whittingstall.

  After taking another swig of his ale, he glanced down at the single long-stemmed lavender rose laying on the ancient, dark-wood bar. Fifteen minutes earlier on his way home, he’d spied her entering the pub and had impulsively followed her inside after buying the rose from a corner shop.

  She laughed, the throaty sound traveling across the pub to tease him with its lusty sensuality. The lady was formidable and strong—which he liked—but when laughter softened her expression, she became soft and feminine—which he liked even better.

  He’d secretly desired her for months and had recently launched a sometimes not-so-subtle flirtation with her, his tried and true method for winning beauties to his bed.

  It had got him nowhere. Her humbling public reprimand was still fresh in his mind. But why had she resumed their sexy banter? Perhaps she wasn’t completely immune to him, after all.

  The judge had made an impression on him from his first appearance in her court two years ago. That she was older than him had been apparent, but somehow it only added an element of experience to her allure. The efficient manner in which she ran things—so authoritative and firm, she could have been a Domme—and her dry sense of humor made him look forward to the days when he was on her docket.

  But what really drew him to her was her incredible legal mind. Brilliant and sharp. It was always a thrill to spar with her over legal minutia. That she sometimes bested him didn’t matter, because he’d learned so much from her.

  She was a frontal cortex thinker, and he longed to go up against her in a game of chess.

  Then he’d seen her jogging by the Thames a few months back, and the impact of her lusciously curvy bod in skintight Lycra had made him want to play other games with her. Naughty games.

  If he’d known it was her, he’d have made a move right then, but away from the Royal Courts and out of her hideous boxy suits, he hadn’t realized why she looked so familiar. By the time he’d recognized her, it was too late. After that, visions of her bouncing tits and that great ass as she’d run by him had haunted his dreams.

  Tonight as he watched, she reached one hand behind her neck to pat her strict, always tidy bun. Why did she wear her hair like that? Was it habit, left over from years of concealing it under the ugly horsehair wigs that were still worn in some English courts, but thankfully not theirs anymore. What would her hair look like down and flowing around her shoulders?

  An image of it loose and spread out on a pillow while she gazed up at him with eyes full of passion, her sultry voice begging him, hit him like a sensual tsunami. He groaned aloud.

  He’d found himself thinking about her way too often over recent months. His fascination had grown into an absurd obsession, and he never obsessed about women—rather, more the other way around. Girls had chased him since he was a teen.

  Advancing in his career was all that had ever mattered to him. All that still mattered. He hadn’t worked every waking minute studying and practicing law since passing his A-levels to fall in love and settle down, even if that’s what his member-of-the-peerage father expected. The fact that he served in her court was yet another reason he should cease and desist this madness.

  Ian wanted to reach a rung on the legal ladder where he could really help people, and he wanted to do it on his own, without any assistance from his illustrious family. As a result, he had no time for wooing a clingy girlfriend—especially not a judge—and wasn’t ready for a “proper” marriage. He didn’t need romantic love in his life. At all.

  But his body needed physical love, and that was a hard puzzle for a man who only wanted to win in court and not at courting love.

  Standing here watching Victoria and unsuccessfully trying to hear her conversation, he admitted she’d disrupted his orderly rules and beliefs. She’d intrigued him, plagued him, and distracted him to the point that he’d abandoned his “no wooing” rule and bought the rose now lying before him.

  He needed to raise the bar, since his usual flirty methods hadn’t worked worth a bloody damn. Tonight, he’d take a first step and ask her out on a real date. The fact that she’d consistently rejected his flirtations—today’s encounter being the single deviation—didn’t even weigh in his deliberations. He hadn’t achieved this much in life this quickly by playing it safe. And he never conceded a battle before giving it everything he had—not in the courtroom nor in the bedroom.

  He tipped his mug back and finished his Adnams. Grabbing the rose, he moved to join the three women, since it didn’t seem he would catch his quarry alone.

  But then Victoria rose and headed in his direction.

  He turned away, hiding among the crowd until she drew near.

  Most likely, he didn’t have a chance with her—she was so far out of his league—but he would give it one last A-levels try.

  He waited, ready to step into her path.

  Chapter Four

  Tori sidled through the busy pub on her way to the loo, the distracting barrister once again sliding into her thoughts.

  A masculine voice interrupted her wayward musings. “Hiya!”

  She looked toward the bar.

  Surprised right down to her toes, she skidded to a stop, belly butterflies doing loop de loops in her gut.

  “Oh! It’s you!” The rogue himself, Ian King, stood before her. Without thought, her hands brushed her conservative suit free of nonexistent wrinkles. “Hi,” she added, her voice a breathy exhalation.

  “Happy birthday.” He stepped closer and offered her a solitary rose.

  She took the proffered flower and felt herself blush. Her erotic daydreams and night fantasies—the ones she kept denying she had—coalesced in front of her like magic into one sexy, seductive, shameless package.

  Needing to put distance between them, she stepped backward and looked down at the rose. Raising the lavender-colored bud to her nose, she inhaled the delicate scent. “Um, thank you. It’s beautiful.” Her eyes snapped back to him. “How did you know it was my birthday?”

  “I made it my business. And I think you know why.” King stepped nearer to her, so close they almost touched.

  The growing crowd of after-work revelers had surged in around her, trapping her in place and pushing her toward him.

  He inhaled the air near her hair. “Is that lavender?”

  Dazed, she nodded. The air had suddenly gone thin. She needed to get away from him, but she didn’t move. She stared like a trapped deer into his ice-blue predator’s eyes… And the oddest melting sensation made her knees weak. Barely inches separated them, the pull to lean closer as strong as if he were reeling her in by invisible twine.

  She swayed closer, and for a second his hard chest brushed against her breasts.

  Jerking back, she sucked in a breath, but there didn’t seem to be enough air in the pub. Her chest felt tight, her lungs empty, and she panted.

  Seeking escape, she made to go around
him to the loo. “Well. Thank you. For the pretty rose. Lavender is my favorite color. Love the color. My favorite perfume, too,” she babbled uncharacteristically.

  “It suits you.”

  His determined manner and intense gaze turned the twine into steel cable that kept her locked in place.

  Without preamble, he gently touched her hand. His voice dropped lower, huskier. “Go out with me.”

  His quiet request felt like a command rather than an invitation, and it did strange tingly things to her insides. Struck dumb, she stood there docilely, yielding to his strange allure.

  Everything happened in slow motion. The way he leaned ever closer. His insistent caress on her hand. Everything except for the electric sensation zinging with lightning speed from his hand to hers, up her arm, and outward through her body. Rather than shocking her, the sizzling electricity sealed her hand to his, as if the forces of nature desired their physical connection.

  But the sparks between them jumbled her mind. Like individual atoms out of kilter, memories and fantasies flashed through her in an uncontrollable explosion—from illusions of them wildly banging, to the reality of them flirting in court, to worries about the impropriety of her messing around with a colleague, and, finally, to the difference in their ages.

  He leaned even closer then, and it started all over again, her mind circling around every doubt and dream she’d had about what sex should be like, what she felt deep inside that she was missing. What she worried she would never experience in her entire life.

  Torn between her safe, hard-earned life and her yearning for something more, the vague, unfocused longing transmuted in that moment into the very solid, very real person of Mr. Ian King.

  She wanted this man.

  Too honest with herself to ignore the truth, she admitted wanting him. Badly. Right this minute. In her life. In her bed. Inside her.

  What should she do?

  She wanted to say yes.

  Scream yes!

  He stood watching her. Waiting.

  She could feel him willing her to say yes. A thousand times, yes.

  He slowly raised her hand. He bent low and kissed the back of it, a polite, gentlemanly thing that felt anything but. His warm, full lips on her skin sent fresh jolts skittering along her nerves. Tingles of pleasure traveled through her at lightning speed straight to her sex, making her pelvis clench. His intense gaze kept her eyes locked with his.

  He slowly, deliberately rotated her hand and kissed the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. Fresh electric shock waves snapped through her. Gasping, she wavered, her body swaying against the intense arousal rocking through her. It shocked her out of the sexually induced trance he’d created.

  This isn’t right. He’s too young.

  But was that really true, or only rules she’d constructed for herself?

  Feeling like she was being torn in two—between duty and desire—she opened her mouth and said words she detested.

  “Thank you, but I must decline.”

  She hoped he didn’t notice her voice’s breathless quality. She felt a need to explain the rejection, but vanity kept her from acknowledging the true reason—she was too old for him.

  “You’re a barrister in my court. It would be inappropriate for us to form a liaison. But thank you again for the flower and kind invitation.”

  As the words left her mouth, she recalled that it hadn’t felt like an invitation at all—rather more like a command. Why did his authoritative tone affect her so much? Reduce her to a willing suppliant, making her knees weak and her mind mush? In court, she reveled in her leadership role, and it disturbed her carefully constructed self-image that she liked the femininity and willingness this man’s actions inspired in her.

  What did it mean?

  Unsettled, she puffed her chest and raised her chin. She attempted to sweep past him and put an end to this…whatever it was. She tugged on her hand, but he tightened his grip, refusing her release.

  “It’s just a date. One date. So we can see what this is between us.” He grinned, revealing a hint of arrogance. “You know you feel it, the pull that draws us every time we’re in the same room. Don’t be a chicken…Victoria.” The slow drawl of her name made it a sensual caress.

  “It’s Justice Whittingstall to you,” she retorted, jerking forcefully on her arm.

  He released her hand, but the hotheaded young barrister didn’t give up the argument. “Come on, say yes. Nunc aut nunquam. It’s now or never.”

  “I know Latin, too, thank you very much. And I choose nunquam.”

  A part of her admired that King also spoke the ancient language she loved, one small thing they shared…even though she shouldn’t want any commonality. She couldn’t risk a liaison with a sexy young barrister from her court. And instinct told her he wanted exactly and only that—sexual satisfaction and nothing more.

  “I’m not going to fold so easily. I look forward to more fun sparring with…my lady.” Clearly, he enjoyed this game she had never agreed to play.

  Great gobs of giddy fury consumed her. She wanted to stamp her foot at his innuendo-laden emphasis on my. Wipe that smirk off his face with a slap of her hand. Throw herself into his arms to rub herself against him until he was as speechless as she.

  Grabbing tight control of her emotions, she forced her voice into a quiet, calm timbre. “I’m not your anything.”

  He leaned in and murmured into her ear, “But you want to be.” Pulling away, he whispered so low she had to strain to hear. “Be warned…my fair lady, every time I’m in your court, you will know how much I desire you. You’ll see it in my eyes. Hear it in my voice. And then you’ll feel it…deep inside.”

  She gasped, frozen in place, unraveled and weakened as much by his irresistible masculinity as by his phenomenal nerve.

  She should be outraged!

  But that wasn’t the emotion swamping her.

  Drowning her.

  Even the way he’d said “my fair lady” had sounded dirty, naughty, exciting. He’d talked to her as if she were a slut.

  Her intellect resisted, but her body welcomed it, becoming thoroughly, wiltingly, warmly aroused. It almost seemed as if he knew the truth—that the exact opposite of a demure lady lurked within her.

  She turned abruptly and left him standing there.

  Thank god he couldn’t know what he did to her. A wild, hungry thing waited impatiently to be released…and Ian King held, possibly, the only key to unlocking those secret desires.

  Chapter Five

  “Who?” Kate asked. She’d called to see if everything was okay after the odd way the birthday celebration had ended. Tori had returned from the loo subdued and quiet and, shortly thereafter, departed for home complaining of a headache.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Tori said, lying on her bed, tucked in but nowhere near calm enough to sleep.

  “Hmm.” Kate didn’t say anything more, and the pause stretched. And stretched. Her friend, a barrister hoping soon to be promoted and take silk, was well versed in cross-examination techniques.

  She knew what Kate was doing, had done it many times herself. Then again, she needed to figure out what mattered in her life before it was too late. So she let herself succumb to the pause.

  “Okay, fine. It’s Ian King. I ran into him earlier at the Seven Stars, and he’s the most insufferable, egotistical man I’ve ever met.” Tori loosened her white-knuckle grip on her mobile phone before she broke it and explained to her friend what had been happening.

  “He is an arrogant young thing, isn’t he?” Kate replied, amusement sounding in her tone. “I finally went up against him in court the other day. Blimey, what a gorgeous specimen of manhood, filling out his legal robe like a bodybuilder, and those eyes—blue topaz that could melt a woman on the spot. And those lips—”

  “Enough! I concede your point. He’s easy on the eyes. But the guy is also a cocky arsehole.”

  “Well, word is he’s a rising star, extremely capable and smart. I gues
s there’s a reason for his confidence,” replied Kate. “He’s a second son, you know.”

  “Second son?”

  “His dad is the Marquess of Staffordshire. So he holds the right to be styled Lord Ian King if he chose, but I understand he wants to succeed on his own merits.”

  Unwanted respect for King surged through Tori. He didn’t share her humble background, but his hard work to make it on his own impressed her. “He may be modest about his parentage, but he sure seems comfortable flaunting his good looks to get attention.”

  “I don’t think he flaunts it. Really. He’s just bloody gorgeous. Dogs’ bollocks! If I weren’t already married, I’d join the long line of women pursuing him, too.”

  “Long line?” Tori asked, keeping her tone neutral.

  “There are a great many court ladies who would gladly trade places with you right now, but he doesn’t seem to notice their constant flirting.”

  “Whatever. He’s too young for me,” Tori replied, glad Kate couldn’t see the gratified smile spreading across her face.

  “Tori…thou doth protest too much.”

  “Nonsense. I have a perfectly nice companion already, and things are developing.”

  “Hmm.” Again, Kate drew out the sound and let the conversation hang.

  “Okay. Fine. I didn’t want to say it in front of Diana, given how she feels about Rupert. But I think there’s a chance we might settle down together.”

  “Really? You’re getting married? To Rupert?”

  “He hasn’t proposed or anything, but he’s made it pretty clear he wants me in his life. That visit to his estate last autumn felt almost like he was introducing me to his staff for a purpose. And we spend more and more time with his teenage sons when they’re not with their mum.”

  “Wow! You’re going to be a baroness.”

  “That doesn’t matter to me. Well, okay, it does sound like fun. But what I really want is to have a family and someone permanent in my life who truly cares for me. And for all his hoity-toity faults, Rupert does care for me. I just wish sometimes he didn’t put me on such a high pedestal.”