Make Me Beg (2 page)

“He’s notorious among the ladies I met tonight. You must have heard something.”

“It’s not my place to know about such as him, Mrs. Trent.”

“Hogwash. Footmen see and hear everything during those balls, and they pass it along to the rest of the staff.”

“What our betters do is none of our business.”

Olivia turned. “They’re not better than you because they have more money. And as to breeding…pfft.”

“American ideas, ma’am. They won’t fly here.”

“Be that as it may. I need information about Mr. Boulton, and for that I need your help.”

Anne gripped the brush, and her gaze darted away. Clearly, she felt torn between sharing some juicy gossip and fear she’d overstep her bounds.

Olivia pressed her hand to Anne’s. “I’d never give away anything you told me in confidence. But, I’m at a disadvantage without information.”

“How so?”

“Everyone else here knows him. Who his family is, his likes and dislikes, strengths and weaknesses. I’m a stranger.”

“You shouldn’t think to make a husband of him, I can tell you that much,” Anne said.

“Not good marriage material.” No surprise there, but then, neither was she.

“Lord, ma’am.” Anne fanned herself with one hand. “He’s been in and out of more beds than the rest of his type combined. Slippery as an eel, he is, and silent as a cat.”

“Useful traits for a man in his position.”

“He goes after married women mostly. Though many’s the husband suspected him, none have ever found any proof.”

Discretion. Another useful trait.

“They say he’s powerful good between the sheets, ma’am,” Anne went on. Now that she’d given herself permission to talk, she seemed ready to bubble over with information. “My cousin’s friend is Lady Blaisdell’s personal maid, and she says some very strange sounds came out of her room several nights when Lord Blaisdell was away on business.”

“Do tell.”

“Lady Blaisdell sounded as if she’d swoon. ‘Ah yes, there. I perish. I spend!’ My cousin’s friend almost went in to give aid, but she heard a man’s voice and went away again.”

“And she thought the man was Mr. Boulton.”

Anne nodded with enough force to get the ribbons on her cap aflutter. “He’d dined there several times. They’d all heard him.”

“And stole into the lady’s boudoir during his lordship’s absence.”

“As bold as day, ma’am.”

Olivia tapped her finger on her lips. Either Lady Blaisdell had a melodramatic disposition, or Mr. Boulton had done well enough for her voice to carry through a closed door. No doubt, the maid had had her ear to the planks, but still…he must have some talent at lovemaking or he’d never have earned his reputation. And he had an impressive one, no doubt of that. The moment he’d entered Lord Ridgeway’s soiree that evening, the female interest in the room had taken on an electric charge. The name Boulton had gone from woman to woman. Hushed, but audible to a tuned ear.

“Another story has it that a footman happened on him in a billiard room. He’d stretched the lady of the house over the table and had his face between her legs. The footman couldn’t see well because of her skirts, but she seemed in some kind of rapture.”

Gamahucherie.
That would explain his success with his lovers.

“Then, after a bit, he took his…” Anne’s voice trailed off.

“Go on. This is all very helpful.”

“His thing. Took it out of his pants, he did. And, it was huge.” Anne spread her hands at least a foot apart. “This big.”

Olivia pushed Anne’s hands closer together. “No man is that large.”

“Maybe not, but he was very big.”

His member had made a very nice bulge against his pants earlier. If she hadn’t decided to take some of the arrogance out of him, she would have enjoyed a seduction by a man with such an impressive tool. But, the game she’d planned—the challenge to see who’d beg first—held so much more promise than a simple roll in the hay.

“It seems for an eel with the escape skills of a cat, he’s gotten caught a few times,” Olivia said.

“That’s all anyone’s ever witnessed, but we know he’s done more than that. Everyone knows it, but no one can do anything about it.”

“What about the ordinary things?” she said. “His family. Where he lives.”

“He’s a second cousin to the earl of Bradsford, which makes him a distant relative of the queen, not that she or Prince Albert would ever receive him.”

“Not with his reputation.”

“He inherited Boulton Hall in Derbyshire, but he spends most of his time in town.” Anne bent toward Olivia’s ear like one conspirator to another. “And, he’s rich. Has an annual income double that of some in his circles.”

“Interesting, but I don’t need money.”

Anne’s eyes opened wide with shock. “You can’t be thinking of pursuing him, Mrs. Trent.”

“Why not?”

“He’s disgraced. No one in polite society would accept him.”

“They invite him to all their parties,” Olivia said.

“Out of respect for his family and because he’s rich.” Anne bent closer again. “I think they like to watch him misbehave, to tell you the truth.”

“He entertains them?”

“Gives ’em something to gossip about.”

“So, if they see me with him, they’ll gossip about me.” She rolled that idea around in her head. Proper ladies and gentlemen puffed up with outrage. Starchy glares of disapproval. If she worked things right, she might induce the vapors in some of the frailer biddies. “I think I’d like that.”

Anne clucked her tongue. “Such ideas you Americans have. You must get them from the red Indians.”

“We drove the Indians out of Manhattan long ago.”

“Lordy, ma’am, I don’t know what I’ll do with you.”

“You’re a dear, Anne, but don’t worry about me.”

Anne stifled a yawn. “Your hair’s brushed. Would you like me to braid it?”

“Leave it loose, and get to bed.”

Anne set the brush on the dressing table and curtseyed. After bending to scoop up Olivia’s used clothing, she let herself out.

Olivia blew out the candle at her elbow and rose, then went to the bed and climbed in. After pulling the covers up to her chin, she lay and stared at the canopy as light from the single candle next to her flickered there.

“Well, Elliot, you bastard, I’m having fun despite you.”

When had she started taunting her dead husband? Not in the time immediately after his death. Those days had been full with so much business. No one had expected Elliot Trent to succumb to anything. Certainly not to fall ill before his sixtieth birthday and last only weeks. They hadn’t planned for it. She’d had to make arrangements, accommodate his family in their mansion. All the while she’d fought off the sharks who would have taken Roberts’ Ironworks and Railway Systems away from her.

She’d had to do all that without anyone’s guidance and help. No one had prepared her to take over a huge company, and they all had expected her to fail. They’d watched her like vultures, ready to squabble over the carcass of the company. She’d fooled them all, and the moment she’d had things settled and humming along, she’d come to London to fulfill needs Elliot hadn’t satisfied in bed, either. For that, she’d found Mr. Boulton.

Thomas Boulton. Could he finally give her the satisfaction she’d craved since she first learned what went on between men and women? The breathless kisses. The touch of a finger that lit a fire as it traveled over intimate places on her body. The thrust of a male sex inside her that blotted out all other reality.

She’d had lovers. And kisses, caresses and even climaxes, but nothing like her imagination told her was possible. Would she get to the end of her life and discover that the promise of such bliss had all been a lie?

Most likely. She sighed. Well, she could amuse herself with her latest conquest. This bet she’d thought up would be different from anything she’d tried before. Some devil had whispered in her ear that the man needed to have some of the wind taken from his sails. Far too sure of himself and his charm, he’d fairly goaded her into issuing a challenge. Now, she only had to plan how to make him squirm.

Men valued fellatio above all other types of stimulation. They’d do anything to get a woman’s mouth around their cocks. Boulton had a proud one, if the outline against his pants told an accurate story. Still, she could humble it. The right suction at the tip, the trill of her tongue at the spot beneath the head, the right manipulation of his sac while she swallowed him—all those things could reduce him to a quivering wreck. Yes, that could prove a nice diversion.

Oh, dear. She must have waited too long between men because the mere thought of him had made her wet. Moisture oozed from her cunny, soaking her pantalets. She shouldn’t face him in this state—it would give him an advantage, but she could take care of matters herself as she often had in her own bedroom even during her marriage.

She blew out the candle and settled deeper under the covers in the now dark room. So much the better to let her fantasies run wild while she touched herself.

Ah, yes. The image of Boulton and his lover in the billiard room. She put herself in the woman’s place, her back against the velvet covered slate, her legs draped over the side. Spread wide to accept his face on her muff.

A languid heat suffused her skin, and she worked her hand under her gown and up to the waistband of her pantalets.

What an obstacle clothes made. Tomorrow, when she saw Boulton again, she’d wear nothing beneath her petticoats, leaving only skin from above her garters to her crotch.

Now, she had to fight all the fabric between her hand and her distended pearl. She managed finally and cupped her mound. Even though she hadn’t touched the nub directly, the pressure made her gasp. She had, indeed, become highly excited. Bringing herself to orgasm wouldn’t take long.

But, back to the billiard room. He’d bend and press kisses to her inner thighs, first one then the other. Upward from the knees toward the lips of her sex. She parted those lips now, and found her clitoris. It had swollen and hardened, and she could toy with it between her thumb and forefinger.

In her mind, her lover teased it with his tongue. Rolling and pressing as a haze of desire clouded her mind. He eased her legs apart and devoured her. Licking the inside of the lips, even dipping into the entrance to her pussy, and moving back to the bundle of nerves at the apex.

Good. Oh, so good. Her own touch had never felt like this before. If she could have a cock inside her now, she’d shatter all around it. She would have him eventually. Once she’d made him beg, she’d take his member inside her and ride it until they climaxed in each other’s embrace. Right now, she had her fingers and the pictures in her mind’s eye.

She rubbed herself harder and faster now as the climax approached. She’d reach the peak now, one way or another. She only needed to make it as delicious as possible. As she pushed on, she imagined him rising and fumbling with his fly. His eyes would have the heated look of a man driven past endurance. A lover who held on—just barely—to make his partner come before he indulged himself. After some cursing and growling in frustration, he’d have his fly open and he’d pull out an enormous member. Thick and hard, already crimson with need. Unable to restrain himself, he’d shove it into her to the hilt and immediately begin to move it inside her.

Damn! Her orgasm caught her and threw her into a spiral of white-hot madness. Her pussy tightened as she hit the crest and then contracted rhythmically. She couldn’t hold in a cry as it took her to that other realm where nothing mattered but her pleasure. After it finally stopped, she removed her hand from her sex and curled up in a ball, whimpering.

If Thomas Boulton could do that to her in her imagination, what would he accomplish in reality?

Boulton appeared at noon, as they’d agreed. Instead of an enclosed carriage, he drove a phaeton– an intimate conveyance containing one bench seat that they’d have to share. Clever man, he’d have to drive, and no driver or footman would witness what passed between them. Olivia smiled to herself. He’d planned well, but she’d planned even better.

Aside from two passengers, the rig only had enough room for the picnic basket between their feet. Ever the gentleman, he’d also stowed a pair of blankets against a chill if the sun disappeared.

“I hope you don’t mind the informality,” he said. “I’ve only just bought this, and I want to try it out.”

“It’s comfortable.”

“And fast. We’ll reach our destination quickly.”

“Where would that be?”

He touched the reins to the horse’s rump. “You’ll see.”

The tiny carriage did seem to fly through the city streets, and they soon found themselves entering the countryside. Scenery went by too fast for Olivia to take it all in. She settled in as the sun warmed her shoulders and the air grew sweeter. Cities stank, as she’d learned when Elliot had moved them from Saratoga to Manhattan.

“I trust your stay in London has been a pleasant one, Mrs. Trent,” Boulton said after a while.

“Very pleasant, Mr. Boulton. Will that be enough small talk, or should I ask about your family’s health?”

He chuckled. “You’re an odd female.”

“I’m a businesswoman. As you say, I’m in trade.” She screwed up her face. “How utterly horrid and shocking.”

“You do that very well.”

She cocked an eyebrow and looked at him.

“Your parody of our stuffiness,” he said. “You’re very good at it.”

“I’m good at a lot of things.”

“I’m sure I’ll discover what.”

Eventually they slowed as he turned off the main road and up a dirt lane not much more than a path. It ended at a little bluff overlooking a tranquil valley. At one end lay a small lake that reflected the blue of the sky. Most of the rest held orderly fields of crops—wheat most likely. A farmhouse stood nearby, smoke curling out of the chimney. Baking the day’s bread, no doubt. A paddock held a few sheep, their bahs just floating to them on the breeze.

“It’s lovely,” she said.

“I’m glad you approve.” He set the brake and climbed out, then circled the rig and held his hand out to help her down. When she reached toward it, he placed his palms at her waist and lifted her onto the ground in front of him. His fingers stayed there as he gazed down into her face.

“I could have gotten down myself,” she said. “I’m almost as tall as you are.”

“And as light as a feather.”

“That’s impossible,” she said.

“As delicate as a flower and twice as beautiful.”

“Now you’re being silly.”

“Indulge me.” His words referred to his silliness, but his expression told a different story. He wanted her indulgence for a kiss as he lowered his face a scant inch toward hers and fixed his stare on her mouth. Why not? They’d do more than kiss before the day had ended.

She placed her palm on his chest and leaned into him to grant her permission. He took his time approaching her mouth with his. A studied maneuver designed to make her eager for the contact. It worked. The moment drew out while her every sense came alive. The warmth of the sun, birdsong, the way her corset pushed her breasts upward against the linen of her chemise. And beneath her petticoats, the nakedness of her sex and thighs. When he finally brushed his lips over hers, her breath caught, and she closed her eyes to better concentrate on his caress.

He kissed her slowly, as if he had all the time in the world to study the curves of her mouth. Elliot had never done it unless he had to, not even before their Sunday afternoon couplings. Boulton kissed as if it was the most important thing in the world, and on this afternoon, on this sun-drenched bluff, it was.

She ran her arms under his and up his back to his shoulders—the most effective way of getting close to him. Now her breasts pushed against his chest, and their pelvises met. He groaned and tilted his head so that their mouths fit together more ardently. Running his tongue along the seam of her lips, he pressed for entrance. Instead of taking him inside, she touched the tip of her tongue to his.

He went stiff in her arms and lifted his head, finally pressing the side of her face against his. His breath came harsh in her ear.

“You’re very potent, Mrs. Trent.”

The evidence of her potency became clear as his member grew long and rigid and pressed against her abdomen.

“Only some of your own medicine, Mr. Boulton.” Her voice wasn’t much steadier than his.

He took her head in both his hands and pushed himself back from her. “I do believe you could make me beg for kisses like that.”

“And end our challenge that quickly?”

He smiled, and she took the opportunity to study his face. His skin had a pale hue, in contrast to the almost black of his hair. Hair mussed in the breeze just now, and a bit too wild for polite society. Above high cheekbones, his eyes were his most remarkable feature with their color—halfway between green and gray—and a tiny scar at the corner of the left one. No woman could resist that mouth, though. Lips that spelled sin, nicely curved, especially as they were now with one side raised in an indecent smile.

“There’s one thing we haven’t worked out yet.” He paused as his eyes searched her face. “The prize.”

“Prize?”

“What does the winner of our game take from the other as a reward?”

“Ah, yes. Well…” She bit her lip and gazed at him simply because she could. “What say the loser has to act out the winner’s darkest fantasy?”

He laughed. “It could be very wicked.”

“I’m sure.”

“Very, very wicked.”

“The more wicked, the better.”

He tapped the end of her nose with his finger. “I like the way your mind works.”

“Settled, then,” she said. “Now, I’d best get out of the sun. I’ve forgotten my parasol.”

“Nonsense. I like the way you look right now. The sun adds fire to your hair and golden flecks to your eyes.”

“It’ll add freckles to my nose and cheeks, too,” she said.

“Delightful. I’ll kiss each one.” He pulled her harder against him and against the prominent ridge of flesh that grew with every minute.

“This isn’t about romance, Mr. Boulton.”

“Isn’t it?”

“It’s about sex.”

“Same thing. Let me get the blankets and our lunch, and I’ll prove it.”

She stepped out of his embrace and watched while he turned back to the phaeton to unload their picnic. After a glimpse at his arse, she smiled and turned to walk to the shade of a tree. Many men had waited on her over the years. That was what gentlemen did, especially for a woman in her position of wealth and power. Thomas Boulton seemed to take joy in arranging things perfectly. In a moment, he had the blankets spread, the basket open, and roasted game, bread, cheese and fruit laid out on plates. As he motioned her to sit, he uncorked a bottle of wine. With the expertise of a sommelier, he poured two glasses, handed her one and sat beside her.

“One thing you have to understand before we start,” she said. “No attachments.”

He paused in the act of bringing his glass to his mouth. “That’s not the first thing a lover usually says to me.”

“This is no lasting relationship,” she said. “This is just a game.”

“Isn’t it always a game between men and women?”

“I’m not interested in cleverness, Mr. Boulton. I’m serious about this.”

He took a sip of his wine, looking at her over the rim of his glass while he did it. A drop of the deep, red liquid clung to the corner of his mouth, and he caught it with his tongue. A seductive move, but he honestly seemed intent on studying her.

“You’ve had lovers,” he said after a moment.

“Dalliances. I don’t want another man in my life.”

His eyes took on a gleam of concern. “Your husband wasn’t…um…kind to you?”

“He was fine. I’ve done that, and I don’t need any more of it.”

“I thought matrimony was the natural female state.”

“Really? Do you know that if I married someone he’d take control of me and everything I owned? Even my company.”

“Your company means everything to you.”

“It’s my income, my freedom, my source of power.”

“Yet, you left it for several months to come here.”

She took a sip of her wine. “I’ll go back to it.”

He stretched out against the blanket with his weight supported on one elbow. “Check, Mrs. Trent.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Do you play chess?”

“I tried it once, and I was awful at it.”

“I’ve checked your king. Or, you’ve done it for me.”

“Don’t be silly.” She drank some more wine and looked out over the meadow.

“A woman who values power and yet goes so far away from the source of her power. A woman who makes bets with men she’s only just met. Bets that involve surrendering her body.”

“I don’t plan to surrender.”

“You want to give up that power, if only for a while. You’ve dared me to take it from you, and you selected me because you know I can.”

“You’re a little too sure of yourself, don’t you think?”

“Not at all. I’m sure of you.”

He looked so smug lying there with a half grin on his face, looking up at her as if he’d already won. She could change that expression in a minute once she’d explored his erect member with her lips and tongue. She would in a bit, but first, she’d let him do his best on her. When he failed to get her to beg, the victory would be all the sweeter.

“Checked but not mated,” she said. “What’s your next move?”

“Let’s see.” He let his gaze drift over her, from her head to where she sat and then along her legs to her feet. Her heart sped up at his frank appraisal, and when he looked up again, it skittered in her chest. His expression said he’d like to eat her, piece by piece.

“I’d start off innocently enough,” he said. “Catch you off guard. Loosen the pins that hold your hair and bury my face in it.”

“Hardly innocent.”

“Compared to what I’d do later, it is.”

“Go on.”

“I’d kiss you until you did that cat thing with your fingers again.”

“I didn’t do any cat thing.”

“When I kissed you,” he said. “You weren’t aware you were doing it, but you curled your fingers into my chest and relaxed them several times.”

“I did no such thing,” she said. But, maybe she had. Her palms still held the memory of the feel of his jacket against them.

“While you did that, I’d work open the fasteners of your bodice. The swell of your bosom gets more visible the more excited you become. I’d want to see that naked.”

Sure enough, her chest rose and fell as breathing became more difficult. The movement rubbed her nipples against the stiff fabric, stimulating the tender points.

“By the time I had one breast free, you’d be quite beside yourself and would deny me nothing,” he went on.

“Do women always swoon so quickly for you?” she asked.

“With you, it wouldn’t be a swoon. You’d come to me eagerly, not pretending your appetites are anything other than what they are.”

“And, that would be…?”

“Lust. Unadulterated with cunning or pretense. Honest hunger. A need to couple for no other reason than heightened passion.”

“You’d be excited by that point, too.”

“I only need to touch you to become aroused, but yes. Priapus would have grown to full size and hardness. He’d crave your wetness, but he’d wait.”

“Is he erect now?”

“A palm at the front of my pants will answer that.”

Now that he’d invited her touch, she placed her hand there and got the full measure of him. Not quite the behemoth of Anne’s story or her fantasy as she’d masturbated, but very large, indeed. Although the length impressed, its thickness overwhelmed that. A woman’s body would have to be well prepared to accept that marvel. If he fucked the way he talked about it, he’d make his lover more than ready for him.

She squeezed him gently, and he sucked in a breath with a hiss.

“You’re not as calm and cool as you’d like me to believe,” she said.

“I never lied about the state of my cock.”

“In my experience, when a man gets like this he can’t wait very long for relief.”

“You haven’t experienced the right man.”

“You’re good with words. Are you as good with this?” She applied more pressure to his shaft, even finding the head with her fingertips.

He moved her hand away, and she allowed herself a tiny smile of victory.

“A good lover uses his member last,” he said. “Only after he’s taken the lady to the point where she craves it.”

She could crave his. Just imagining him entering her slowly started the delicious flame between her legs.

“Most men think they’ll send a woman into rapture at the sight of a well-shaped rod. They neglect to stimulate all the points of pleasure on her body first.”

“And, those would be…”

“Every lady has a particular spot on her neck that responds especially to a caress. It’s a delight in itself to explore for that exact inch or so of flesh, but once a lover’s found it, no more than a kiss or a nibble there will start her purring.”

What an odd idea. She raised her hand to her throat and rubbed it along the skin from under her jaw to her shoulder and then up again.

“There,” he said. “The space just below your right ear. Your eyes went wide when you touched it.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Not at all.” He set his wine carefully to the side of the blanket and then stretched upward. When his hand dipped under her earlobe and stroked, a tiny tremor went through her.

“You see?” He smiled, entirely too proud of himself. “I can find similar places all over your body. Along your ribs, on your hip, between your thighs.”

“It’s no secret that a woman’s sensitive between her thighs.”

“But do all men know to worship every bit of flesh in that heaven?”

“And you do?”

His smile grew broad. “Would you care for me to demonstrate?”

“I don’t want to get naked out here. Someone might see us.”

“I can use my hand beneath your skirts. It won’t be as good through your small clothes, but you’ll get a taste.”