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It was nice to feel in charge of a woman’s pleasure once more. By the end of his liaison with Jezebel, the attainment of sexual gratification had become an unspoken contest between them as they’d writhed, panting, almost combative, in one another’s arms.
“Oh!” She jerked when he slowly pushed a finger inside her, preparing her. He could almost imagine she’d never even touched herself before, her reaction was so genuinely startled.
“You like it?” he asked in a low growl as he rucked her skirt up over her hips using one hand before attending to his own buttons with his usual speed and efficiency. He was a man of strong sexual impulses and part of the game Jezebel had played with him was to appear when he’d least expected it. As if she—or perhaps Madame Chambon—had access to his private diary. Once Aubrey had paid his great-aunt a visit at the convent in Lincoln where she’d offered her devotions for the previous fifty years. As he was leaving, he’d been accosted by a nun and drawn into the shrubbery behind the high walls. It had been Jezebel, let loose from one priory, so to speak, to seek him out in another for some fast and furious rutting. Highly irreverent, of course, and all the more entertaining for the fact.
Now this little creature was all his for the breaking in and his ministrations would stay with her for the rest of her life.
“Just lie back and enjoy it. I said I wouldn’t hurt you.” The roughness of his voice and his deep scowl were a cover for a sudden concern completely out of character. Whores were for pleasuring him. They did it for financial gain. He was an experienced lover, he did not engage in gross and violent acts, and beyond that their feelings were of no account.
He was amused by her wide-eyed look and her stifled gasp when he tossed off his breeches and his member sprang free.
“More than you were expecting, sweetheart?” He chuckled as he rolled her onto her stomach and quickly undid the buttons on the back of her dress. “Let’s remove this, shall we? Madame Chambon will not thank me for spoiling her wares—though I pay her well enough for the privilege.” As he hauled her up beneath her arms into a sitting position, he reconsidered his strategy.
“Sit on the edge of the bed,” he ordered as he stood. “That’s right. Now grasp me. That’s right. Never felt a man’s member before? Well, you’re in for a treat. We’re about to become great friends.” He shuddered, closing his eyes in rapture as her little hands closed around him. This was just what he needed after the evening he’d had. A sweet, pliant creature he could tutor and whose inexperience required him to be gentle.
“Now stand up, turn around and put out your hands to support yourself on the bed. I’m going to enter you from behind, but from this angle I can pleasure you until you are screaming with desire. Believe me, you’ll feel nothing but a burst of rapture as I break your hymen.” He chuckled again. “I hope that was a gasp of anticipation.”
He leaned over her, covering her small body with his large one, reaching around so he could continue to fondle her. Her short, jerky movements indicated her growing excitement and it pleased him. Her thighs and lovely rounded bottom were moist with sweat as her breathing escalated. Meanwhile he curbed his own desire to thrust into her. He had to time this just right. She was tensing, releasing, tensing, even though she’d obviously never done this before, playing the game like the pro she was on the way to becoming and he was enjoying it as much as she.
When he felt her suck in her breath and hold it, as if she bal
anced on the edge of the precipice and didn’t know what else to do, he entered her gently, increasing the rhythmic pressure of his fingers upon the swollen nub nestled within the folds of her sex. With a gasp, she bucked against him, crying out as she reared again and again, her unbridled pleasure igniting his own so that his own climax occurred shortly afterward.
Instantly he withdrew, spilling his seed, which trickled down her leg. With a rapidly beating heart, he held her close to his chest, idly toying with her soft, full breasts beneath her chemise before he scooped her up and tossed her onto the bed, crawling up beside her.
“That wasn’t too bad, was it?” he asked, tucking her beneath the covers and lying with one arm loosely over her. “I’m sure Madame Chambon reassured you that you’d be in expert hands. There are plenty of other ways we can do this and you gave every indication you’re eager to learn more.”
He glanced over at her. She looked dazed but not terrified as she had earlier. “You don’t talk much, do you?”
She swallowed and her voice was faint. “I don’t really know what to say, sir?”
“Well, I didn’t like the idea before but enjoying the exclusive services of the virgin I broke in has its benefits. For one thing I needn’t worry about the pox, eh?” He chuckled. “No cundums, though of course there’s still the need for coitus interruptus. I’ll not foist a brat on you. Only my wife will have my children. Come here.”
He pulled her closer against him. She was a nicely rounded little thing and he felt protective of her in a way he had not with his other experienced whores or mistresses.
“Do you have a wife?” She appeared to be gaining assurance.
“I did…once.” God, but the memory still tore at him. He stared at the ceiling. “A dear, sweet creature when I married her—until she was enticed into the arms of another.” He gave a harsh laugh at her murmured commiserations. “In the eighteen months since I’ve lost her I’ve more than compensated, though in truth, no rutting has come close to what I experienced in the arms of my dear Margaret. I’m a sentimental fool at heart.”
“I heard you’re a dangerous man. Not a sentimental fool, sir.”
“A dangerous man,” he repeated, wishing he didn’t feel such an impotent one when it came to rejuvenating his unfairly tarnished reputation. Debenham had friends in high places. London was his stamping ground and he’d worked hard on his revenge. “No, lass, I’m a man with enemies but I am on a mission to clear my name. Mark my words, I shall bring to justice the one who is intent on ruining me.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Who, sir?”
He considered her a moment. In the dim light her eyes were luminous and her question seemed innocent enough. She was rather a fetching little thing, when all was said and done.
“A man called Debenham. My late wife’s cousin, in fact. He claims he has proof that I’m a felon. A letter found clutched in the hand of my darling Margaret when she died purports to the fact…apparently.” He made sure she registered his irony. “Conveniently, it has now gone missing.”
She raised herself onto her elbows, her look haunted. “So you are not a dangerous man?”
“I’m sure there are those who might consider me so—namely Debenham if I’m able to find proof that the boot’s on the other foot and that he’s the traitor in their midst.” He sat up and chucked her under the chin. “And now it is time for me to cast you out, for I have work to do, though I’ll render you the small service of fastening your dress once you’ve availed yourself of my washbasin.”
When he’d finished working on her buttons, he raked her with his appreciative gaze. “My, but a good tupping has done you the world of good. Your color and the brightness of your eyes are much improved. Pray inform Madame Chambon that I will require your exclusive services for at least the next month. No doubt her account will be exorbitant.”
* * * * *
Dazed, Hetty trailed through the corridors of Lady Knox’s residence until the strains of the music drew her toward the ballroom.
