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Isabelle arched off the bed, moaning with want she couldn’t control.
He clucked his tongue. He grinned again—thisgrin he couldn’t get off his face. “Ah, something sweet Isabelle wants. Now, she must learn to ask for it.”
Isabelle gritted her teeth and turned her head away.
“A mistress with pride. That won’t do,” he said. He looked at her through squinted eyes, considering his next move. “I know how to break you of that pride, Isabelle.”
Isabelle lay helpless and nearly frantic. Dorian wouldn’t hurt her. She knew enough about him to be assured of that at least. Preparation with a new lover always involved learning about his proclivities, his routines, his character. Normally after she opened the bids and accepted a lover, she only had a few days to learn what she could. With Dorian, she’d known everything there was to know.
But oh, he could hurt her in other ways.
To admit the things she wanted—it was a matter of pride that prevented her from admitting her lack of complete sexual fulfillment. She, the Westminster Whore, shouldn’t have to ask for anything, but there was one thing she wanted. She wanted the little death.
And she had no idea how to achieve it with a man. She had for so long steeled herself to accept whatever her lovers gave, little as that was.
She had never taken a lover for pleasure’s sake, not even in Italy. She maintained a respectable life there, more to protect her brother and grandmother, than her desire to be free of this lifestyle. Though there was no denying if she had had a choice, it wouldn’t have been to sell her body to the highest bidder.
Her scheme now seemed both at odds with her practical decision to survive and her detached decision not to give any more of herself than necessary.
Her patrons had no interest in pleasing her. Her duty involved providing pleasure for her lovers and pretending pleasure for herself. It was an unspoken condition for accepting payment.
Her moans and groans, her throaty squeals of delight were all a part of the purchased package. The lover went away feeling like a king—her body the answer to the sexual morass of life. She was that good. Men always boasted of their prowess in bed whether or not they performed, but that men boasted of her prowess was a testament to her skill.
Shedidhave her pride.
As much as she wanted Dorian, she couldn’t give up her will to his. She had to retain some control of the situation. Without control, what good were her talents? Dorian must be pleasured or she wasn’t the Westminster Whore.
Now if only he would allow her to use those carefully perfected skills.
For she had a secret—one of many learned from her Arabic housemaid—that drove men to their knees. When the time came, she would have no mercy on Dorian Montgomery.
He kissed her stomach. Her body reacted strongly to his touch.
“Pride is one of the seven deadly sins, you know.” He kissed lower, under her bellybutton. “Pride cometh before the fall, Isabelle. And you’re not pleasing me. I want you to open your legs.”
Somehow, she knew his order had nothing to do with the usual intercourse.
“I have something I want to put inside you, Isabelle. Let me.”
His hand crept along her thigh, brushing over the dragon and across the hairless area he seemed so fascinated by.
Ah, she thought. His fingers. He only wishes to use his fingers. Would he be rough and without finesse? Would he poke and prod, expecting her to moan with uncontrollable lust and longing? Would he press too hard or not hard enough? Would she be dry from lack of excitement?
No, not that. Already moisture slid from her body and between her legs.
Would Dorian of rumor satisfy her? A whore? Would he waste his precious time pleasing a fallen woman? Would he scorn her technique? Would he laugh at her desire? Would he believe that she had longings and feelings just like the pretty daughters of London cits he knew and the willing widows he bedded.
She shifted. She moved her legs upward, sliding her feet flat against the bed covers, the arch of her foot tickled by the fringes of loose material.
Dorian gave her a pleased smile.
“Good girl, sweet. Now close your eyes and imagine the greatest pleasure of your life.”
She blinked. Her body tensed, her hands pulling hard against the bonds.
Dorian twisted, bending low and kissing her thigh. He leaned, his elbow pushing one leg away and wide. His other hand settled high on the inside of her thigh.
His lips, when they settled over her mons, caressed and soothed. She waited for the hard, quick fingers to assault her. She prepared to moan.
