Eliza Lloyd (3 page)

Lucy would have liked to dispute his notion. She had also
told Madame Dupuis that she wanted kindness in her amour, but she sensed a hint
of bitterness in his voice that he attempted to cover with humor.

“Can I not be appreciative of your time and skill?”

Her body still hummed. Between her legs, she felt used. For
the first time, used as a woman was meant to be used and with the results that
should accompany it.

“It’s your money.”

Her lids drifted shut.

“Tess, tonight there will be no slumber. Or very little.”

She smiled, uncaring that he wanted to disrupt her sleep and
well on her way to dreamland, ignoring that she was naked, uncovered and that a
strange man stood watch. Sexual congress was what she bought, but right now,
she would have liked him to lie down beside her, curl his body next to hers and
fall asleep beside her.

He did have soft, brown hair. She would remember.

She came to sharp awareness when he slapped his hand across
her bottom.

“No sleep. You can rest in your own bed on another night.”

He strode across the room, to that sideboard with the
curious implements. After much jingling and clanging, he returned to her at the
side of the bed. Curiosity got the better of her. He held what appeared to be
ropes and chains and maybe something made of leather. Tossing the rigging on
the bed, he sorted through it until he reached two wide leather bracelets.

His muscles bunched as he moved. Madame Dupuis’ selection
had exceeded Lucy’s expectations. Those physical requirements seemed like trite
requests—what had she told her? She was certain she had not requested a man
with such an inspiring instrument of passion.

“I can’t have you sleeping through the night,” he said.

She glanced toward his cock, which was still impressive in a
semi-flaccid state. He seemed to think nothing of being naked in front of her.
She was no better, lying there in nothing but her stockings, and one of them
had loosened.

He encircled her wrist and fastened one of the leather
bindings.

“What is this for?”

“How many men have you bedded, Tess?”

She frowned at the intrusiveness of his question. “One.”

“Your husband?” he asked.

He reached for her other hand and secured the second leather
bracelet. What could she say? He would know even if she didn’t answer so she
said nothing.

“Women like you are why men are bored in their marriage
bed.” He worked with a rope until he reached the unknotted end. “You play the
dutiful wife. Bear the children. Dress to entice. And then close the door when
it is time to play your most important role—that of lover.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Was your husband faithful?”

“I didn’t come here to talk about my life.”

“No, you came to get away from it.”

“Perhaps if the secrets of the marriage bed weren’t so
guarded, young women would have more to offer their husbands.”

He
hmpfed
in neither agreement or disagreement, then
threaded the rope around the post at the end of the bed and another around the
post on the opposite side at the head of the bed near the wall.

Lucy didn’t want to fight the drowsiness she felt. She
rolled to her side while John turned his attention back to the bracelets at her
wrists. “What are these used for?” she asked, examining the metal clasp
attached to the leather.

“Give me a minute and you will see.”

He fiddled with the rope, tying it off. As specimens went,
Lucy thought he was lovely. Except for his erect manhood, he was perfectly
proportioned with lithe muscles and strong shoulders. What would it be like to
lie with him every night?

“Is the mask uncomfortable?” she asked.

“It might be for you, if I took it off.”

She found that funny and laughed longer than she should
have.

“On your knees, Tess.”

“No, I’m tired.”

He stood at the end of the bed and tugged on the rope. Her
hand and arm were stretched outward. She jerked at the tightening rope. “You’re
tying me to the bed?”

She supposed she was shocked more than alarmed. What a silly
idea, to restrain someone rather than enjoy each other’s touch.

“That’s the idea.” He strolled to the head of the bed. “This
will be a mite uncomfortable if you don’t get to your knees.” She struggled as
the restraints pulled her arms wider. He was stretching her across the bed. She
yanked but now the resistance was too much to fight against and the only
natural thing was to push to her knees.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “Unless you want me
to.”

“Is this Madame Dupuis’ idea?” Lucy was surprised by her
lack of apprehension, but she found that John’s easy manner had a calming
effect. Or the climactic response to his loving ministrations had her willing
to entertain the more unconventional aspects of intercourse. She hadn’t deluded
herself about what happened at brothels.

And now she was a bit wiser about what happened between
lovers.

“It was your idea.”

“Mine?” she asked.

“Were you not the one who used the words
curious
and
explore
when describing your desires?”

Should she feel fortunate that the madam had understood her
need so well and that John was a willing participant in her exploration? He
stared at her, his gaze dark and mysterious as he peered at her through the
mask.

He knelt on the bed in front of her. “What to do next?” he
mused.

He pulled a cloth from his fisted palm and reached around
her, wrapping the material around her head and blindfolding her.

“That’s not necessary. I don’t like the dark.”

“It isn’t dark. All the candles are still lit. The room is
ablaze. I can see your body perfectly. All is as it should be.”

When his hands cupped her breasts and his lips touched hers
softly, Lucy knew he was right. This night was as it should be.

John had peeled off his mask to watch Lucinda Aversham,
Duchess of Wallingford, submit to his caresses. Once his palms were full of her
breasts, he leaned in for their first kiss. One for which he had waited nearly
eight years.

What he wouldn’t have given to be kissing her sweetly under
a large oak tree in Hyde Park on a rainy afternoon, caught in the open by a
sudden storm and taking shelter in each other’s arms.

Gawd, he was a romantic fool.

Fool foremost.

Instead his task was to swive the delectable duchess as if
she were a common trollop. Not only would he get to service her but Madame
Dupuis was going to pay him most handsomely at the end of the evening.

Her lips were plump and soft and, for once, not coated with
the reddish hue of paint. Already his cock had firmed up, pressed against the
feminine curves of her body. She might hear the sound of his yielding moan and
think it part of his practiced seduction but his breathlessness was real. The
rapid beating of his heart was the result of years of yearning and the final
fulfillment of those much-anticipated dreams.

One night to hold her body, kiss her lips, her skin and the
honeyed caverns of her woman’s center. One night to fulfill his darkest
fantasies in a way that pleased her.

No, not pleased her,
fulfilled
her. He had this one
opportunity to give her things of which she could only dream.

But no matter what he could do to her physically, it would
still lack the ultimate in fulfillment. There would be no love to bind them.

When he left the whorehouse behind, he had not been tempted
to seek that sort of association with any other women. Sex had been a job, a
way to fill his belly and earn his keep.

It had been surprisingly easy to avoid such entanglements
after he’d fallen in love.

He plundered, slipping his tongue into her mouth and feeling
the receptive greeting of hers, skilled but tentative, as if she waited to
learn from him. There were benefits to her marriage—he could see that now. But
while she had been married to the veriest scoundrel, John had to endure the
scandalous stories of the duke’s conquests and affairs and abuses. How much
more must Lucy have suffered?

After Thomas Aversham died, John was not sure who had
mourned other than his young son. Lucy, dear Lucy, had been faithfully,
faultlessly proper during her mourning.

Since then, it seemed no man had tempted her, least of all
him.

But come tomorrow morning, when they would part as
strangers, she would at least remember him. She would remember riding his cock,
being full of him and experiencing the joyful gratification of multiple
releases.

There were so many things he wanted to do to her. So many
things she could do for his cock.

Her lips were succulent and his hands had never held such
lush flesh. It was agonizing to pull his lips away, but her nipples were a
reward for his sacrifice. He suckled them until they were distended nubs, hard
little pebbles that rasped against his tongue. And of course, Lucy’s soft moans
seemed a symphony to his ears.

She thrust her breasts toward him. Her body gyrated against
his, proving what he had always believed about her. She was a sensual creature.
Her husband had never recognized it or taken advantage of what might have been
a highly rewarding connection. Wasn’t that why she had approached Madame
Dupuis? Because she had never been fulfilled? She might have had an affair with
any rogue about town—enchantment came naturally to her.

But she was also proper—a vision of virtue and femininity.
There was also her son—now the duke. John did not know all that motivated her
in regard to his upbringing and their respectability.

John believed he’d understood her physical motives. Her
husband had done nothing to make her feel like a woman who was desired and
cherished.

If all that Alice Dupuis had said about the duchess was
true, she was ready to test the limits of her need. He was prepared to oblige,
especially now that she was tied to the bed, arms spread and her body craving
even the smallest of sensual delights.

He reached for the scented oil again, unplugged the stopper
and poured some into the palm of his hand. Before the night was over, he was
going to have touched every part of her body.

She couldn’t know his reason, but he thought he might be
able to put his feelings into all he did for her. There would be feeling in his
touch. In his kiss. In the dedication he gave to building each arousal.

Rubbing his hands together, he warmed the oil and then
placed his hands to her shoulders. He glided his palms over her smooth skin and
marveled at the delicacy of her bones. She hummed a little, pressing her lips
together and smiling just slightly. When he encircled her neck, he let his
fingers rub deeply along her spine and into her hair.

“Mmm,” she said.

“Do you enjoy my touch?” Before she answered, he set his
mouth to hers while he continued to stroke her upper body, trailing down to her
breasts and back up again. She wasn’t capable of denying the pleasant
sensations. Her body responded. Even her arms were tense against the bindings.
“I can help you find release with just this,” he whispered in her ear. His
finger circled the hard nipple of one breast and then he squeezed. His other
hand searched between her legs and he slipped one finger into her sheath. Wet.

Her throaty moan had his cock twitching.

Her oily skin gleamed in the candle light. Her breasts
heaved with each breath she drew.

He was torn—his arousal screamed for immediate relief but he
had thought too long and too deeply about wanting her. And now that he had her,
he wanted to please her in every way, even if that meant he would remain
wanting.

The fragrant rose oil scented the room and Lucy’s body. He
drizzled more on her and spread it slowly with his hands.

At each camber, he caressed with slow movements. Exploring
her waist and hips and ass was a paradise of curves and hollows that, as a man,
had always intrigued him. Lucy’s rounded features were nearly more than he
could bear touching without wanting to devour all of her.

As a man, his ideal was fucking a woman he’d craved to his
innermost being. As the man in love with Lucy—every minute and every hour they
spent in this room had to be more than that. He had to layer in the romance,
the passion, the memories, the touching, the kissing—all the things of which he
hoped she would dream.

If he could not know her, he wanted to know that she dreamt
of him.

She rested against his body as his hands caressed her back.
Whatever resistance she had was gone. Her moaning sigh was enough for him to
believe in miracles. When he drew his hands away, she murmured, “More. Don’t
stop.”

The more was about to start.

He left the bed for a moment and collected more pleasure
implements. He hadn’t decided whether he would use them.

Tomorrow, Lucy would feel a repeat of every nuanced pleasure
in the way her body ached from tonight’s abuses. He would also make sure she
felt no shame afterward.

Only the chains seemed to hold Lucy upright.

John lay on his back and scooted nearer to Lucy. “Lift your
leg, Tess.”

She obeyed him without a hint of rejection. Once she was
over him, John fitted himself between her thighs. Their bodies were slick with
the rose oil. When she realized he was hard and neatly between her legs, she
smiled with feline beauty and set about rubbing him as if she were a cat in
heat. The chains rattled with her movements.

She was Lucy Aversham but not as he’d ever seen Lucy. Wisps
of hair had loosened from her braid.

He gripped her waist, lifting her onto the thick head of his
cock. He doubted she was alarmed this time, not if the way she licked her lips
was any indication. She slid and squirmed downward, taking him and moaning with
each inch.

The tight squeeze was like a bit of heaven wrapped around
his erection.

Grasping the chains in her hands, Lucy tested her balance
before she began a slow dance up and down his cock. With each downward slide,
she took more of him.

Mostly she used her thighs but he saw that she pulled hard
with the chain too. John had already been well satisfied and knew that he could
endure the pleasurable assault as she rode him. Control had made his sexual
experiences rich and had made Madame Dupuis very fond of her favorite male
prostitute.

John had offered to pleasure her once, before he left the
brothel. She had been both horrified and amused. He hadn’t realized until much
later that she had nearly thought of him as her son.

A fine sheen of perspiration coated Lucy’s skin as she
labored over him. Were he not lying flat between her legs, he would have
enjoyed a mouthful of her fine, bouncing breasts. He had not caressed the
sensitive areas of her body to assist her. The best knowledge was to learn how
a woman pleasured herself. She rocked forward with each impalement, trying to
brush her swollen nub against the root of his cock. John fisted one hand,
placed it next to his cock and watched with amusement as she began rubbing
against the bend of his knuckles.

There was another trick she used—she had a fondness for
squeezing as she pulled upward.

Wishing that he had more time to enjoy her body in all ways
was pointless. No woman would reveal all her secrets in one night and anything
else he wished to do involved trust, which he didn’t have time to build.

When her release came, she jerked against him and the chains
with a beautiful violence. Her screaming groans might have rattled the windows
in every room. Afterward she hung, replete and helpless, and fully impaled on
his upright cock.

He allowed her to rest for a few minutes before he canted
his hips and forcibly reminded her the night was still young.

“I can’t,” she said.

She could. And did. Twice.

By the third, John was ready for relief too. He lifted her
near boneless body from his cock and rolled away. She could hang in the
armbands for a while longer.

He gripped his cock, stroked with hard up and down motions
just as he liked it. When he came, the prodigiousness of the volume seemed as
though he had saved everything for this special occasion. He left the bedcover
a mess.

“I need to sleep,” she said, her voice almost plaintive.

“One last thing,” he said. Going to his knees, he reached
for the phallus, already slickened with the rose oil.

He leaned toward her, opening his mouth over hers, kissing
her deeply. Her response was soft and welcoming. He cupped her ass and brought
her flush against his body. His cock should have been flaccid but each touch of
her skin seemed to add life to his.

He tugged at one of her rounded cheeks and opened her to the
final penetration. He wanted Lucy in every way. Here he would be the first, he
was sure.

He pressed the dildo against her bottom. She jerked a little
and moaned into his mouth. He pushed against the tight sphincter, and once
through, the phallus went deep.

Her kisses turned ravenous. John’s body exploded with need.
He thrust the faux cock in and out of her body. She writhed against him,
fighting against the chains as if she had to escape.

Worse, as if she had to have him. John.

Air burst from his lungs as he pulled away. He pressed his
mouth to her face, nibbling and biting down her neck and finally suckling at
her breasts.

When she groaned, John pulled her hard against his straining
erection. He released again, semen spilling between them and coating their
stomachs. He kissed her again, thinking that this time he gave her his soul.

Sleep was finally necessary. He reached around her to grab
his mask. Once it was firmly secure, he worked at loosening the bindings.

She nearly collapsed as the final band came loose. She
tugged at the scarf covering her eyes.

“You’ll be here when I wake up?”

“Better. I’ll wake you myself.”