My Lady Gambled (21 page)

It was as if they were feeding ravenously on one another and could not get enough. The soreness of that delight still abraded her inner core and thighs with each movement reminding her and enticing her. Drawing her. Luring her for more of Brynmore’s rigid male shaft pinning her and thrusting into her returning feverish undulations.

“Oh my.” Kit clasped her hot cheeks, then she patted them lightly. She had been wholly uninhibited. “That is good,” she muttered, nodding at her reflection. That was what she had been trying for, only her ardor had not been calculated, but wrenched mindlessly from her in rapture. Kit looked deep into the candle lit sheen of her dusky blue eyes. She really had to get a grip on herself. But her sex throbbed even now for Brynmore. His whip-hard shoulders, the range of sinew lumped over his chest, down his ridged flat-board stomach. To feel of the full length of his powerful thighs undulating next to hers and the soft burr of brown hair covering it all. Mmm, she loved the feel of all that warm short hair covering his body, of it brushing against her nude flesh. “Blast!” Kit exclaimed. Dropping her hands, she curled her fingers inward. She would have to fall into infatuation with a man at the most dire of times.

Suddenly, there was a sound behind Kit and she registered that it was the door to her bedchamber opening. Turning in her seat, she gasped at the sight striding toward her. Her eyes flew, darting over Brynmore’s amazing, altered appearance.

“Ye demanded I shave my beard, lass,” Brynmore said, his lips curling in a teasing smirk as he halted in front of her. He watched her hand lift in a gesture of surprise and land on his belly, palm against the fuzzy warm bare skin. The least of the surprises was that his chest was bare and he wore only a thigh length black cape with blood-red lining, tight black britches, and black leather boots over his trouser legs up to his knees. “I think I did fairly well with this fash silly deviant outfit. Now, you’re next, lass.”

Brynmore lowered to squat before her with his hands running up the silk of her robe on her outer thighs. His touch instantly spoke to pleasur-able sensations strumming inside her, but not even that was enough to waylay her amazement as her hand raised to his forearm and she touched the powdery sparkling-gold colored dust sprinkled on his skin. The golden dust was on his hairy chest, arms, and sprinkled in his hair that hung loose to his shoulders. There was dark kohl applied to his eyelids making his green eyes strike out dramatically. There was an intricately carved small dagger strapped to his inner left forearm. It seemed that Brynmore had a detailed theme in mind that they were going to use.

Kit remembered briefly that he had mentioned it last evening, blood and wildness was to be their fetish. Then, Kit saw the small glass amulet hanging from his neck, overlaid in places with gold leaves, but not obscuring something dark red caught within. Her fingers caught the amulet from where it lay in the muscular concave of Brynmore’s chest. She lifted it and saw the red move. It was liquid.

“Blood?”

“Aye, my sanguinary pet. I have one for you also.”

Kit let go of the amulet and raised her palm to Brynmore’s cheek, which was shadowed now, only with dark bristle. His beard was gone, but he had left enough for a lean and dangerous look. Brynmore without a beard was perhaps the one thing that astonished her the most. Lord, she had not known it was possible, yet he was more handsome. Brynmore must have been drawn to the pure sexual appreciation she had in her gaze, because he leaned forward, until his lips touched hers. They kissed passionately, until he left her lips wet and panting. Then he pulled away with his mouth hovering just above hers.

“Are you hot, pet?”

“Yes,” Kit panted lightly.

“Good, Kit. That is the way you need to be tonight, the way we need to keep you continually aroused so you show it. I want you to be a cat, purring, biting, nipping, and intertwining yourself against me.”

The heat of Brynmore’s mouth left its hovering presence over her lips as he sat back on his heels once again, while his hands on her thighs slowly pushed away the silk of her robe on either side. Kit felt the cool air touch her naked flesh as Brynmore lifted her robe open, until only the belt at her waist stopped his progress. She watched Brynmore’s eyes lower as her slit ached. “We need to shave you too, lass, but we’ll leave a trim little patch.”

Oh my lord, Kit thought. Just Brynmore’s words alone spilled an answer in her sex and Kit wondered how she was going to keep her thoughts together throughout this evening. “What is my part, Bry? I need to know what I’m suppose to do. What is our goal?” Brynmore’s gaze returned to hers as her hand curled inward with her fingers nearly digging into the back of his neck, as she whispered, “I do not know if I can do this. I cannot think straight.”

Brynmore turned his roughened cheek into her palm, nuzzling it. “Kit Montoya, you lass, can do anything.”

Kit nearly gasped again in surprise as her heartbeat thumped in her chest. No one. Ever. Had stated their complete confidence in her or her ability. Something hot spread in her chest, while she tried to get words past the sudden dryness in her throat. “You …you will help me?”

“Aye, Kit, I’m here to lean on as you will be here for me to lean on.”

Kit nodded, then leapt the distance for a tight embrace, taking Brynmore, she knew, a bit by surprised as he chuckled deeply and wound his strong arms around her. When he had thoroughly hugged her, until the air barely escaped, he let her go and dropped his head to kiss the side of her neck, talking between each kiss.  

“I know that.” His lips warmed her collarbone. “As aroused as I intend to keep you tonight, sanguinary pet.” Kit felt the shoulder of her robe pulling away as Brynmore kissed down the top slope of her breast. “You are going to have a hard time thinking of anything, but how your hot little muff throbs.” Brynmore’s lips touched her nipple, and she moaned. “And, sweet pet, all that need we are building and you feel, you let free tonight all over me and I’ll do the thinking for both of us.” Brynmore heated and dampened the taut point of her nipple thoroughly before he pulled away, leaving tingles trickling from her nipples to her saturating slit. “Now let’s shave you, pet. You need to come lay on the bed.”

Kit tried to not think about the reason for shaving her pubic hair was for other people that were going to see it tonight. And, Brynmore had her so keenly aroused that any sharpness in her anxiousness was dulled, for all intents and purposes, by the sexual vigor steadily building in her body. Abruptly, Kit realized that Brynmore was an incredibly clever man. What better way to overcome any hesitation and unsure feelings than by overriding them with stronger more powerful one’s.

“Wyndham and Or‚lan followed at least two members of The Order to a place in the underbelly of London called The Satyr Whip Club,” Brynmore said, as Kit moved to take her robe off and lay down on the bed. Brynmore veered in another direction and Kit turned her head, watching him taking a small leather satchel off the top of the armoire, next to the door of the bedchamber. “That was two nights ago and two from The Order went into the club but, unfortunately, robed as they were, we could not identify them.” Brynmore returned with the satchel and sat beside her. “We will call this our cult-catching fetish kit,” Brynmore quipped, winking at her once as he patted the side of the satchel.

Kit was amazed at the giggle that bubbled up inside her. Brynmore, it seemed, could make her laugh even at the most intense times and she felt some of her bottled anxieties ease with the humor. Then, Brynmore began to open the satchel as he continued to talk, leaving her extremely curious as to what was inside that satchel. “We are in bonny luck tonight though. They saw the carriage again tonight and followed it to the club, but this time, three robed people got out and one of our watchers caught sight of a woman’s skirts or gown beneath the robe.

“Dame Baset?” Kit asked, watching Brynmore take a razor and small amber bottle out of the satchel.

“Aye, we think so. We are not taking the chance to put anyone inside the club yet. It is rather exclusive as only perverts can be.” Kit’s lips lifted in a slight smile as Brynmore held up the small amber bottle to her. “I have it on Gabriella and Drummond’s authority that this oil is the best to use when shaving a fair lass’s muff.”

Kit blushed as Brynmore wiggled the bottle between his fingers and winked yet again at her. That meant the intimacy of her mon’s and its appearance or decoration had been discussed by several people. Without realizing it, Kit’s hands rose to cover her breasts as she felt her blush deepen and move down her neck.

“Shy?” Brynmore asked, setting the razor and bottle aside.

Kit shook her head vehemently `no,’ even if it were obvious that she was. She could not allow herself to be. She had to be tougher and more … more, hmm, just brazen and experienced, she thought. She gathered her resolve and dropped her hands back to the bed. Then she bent her knees and let her legs flop open widely, only showing her dread in curling her fingers inward against each palm. Cool air instantly splashed the clinging dew on her sex making her feel how really wet she was.

“Och, lass.” Brynmore looked stricken but with the look of burning lust simmering in his irises as he used his free hand to adjust his tight britches over the place she knew his male shaft would lay but she couldn’t see because of the darkness of the material. His exclamation and tugging gesture were all combined to say, he thought it was unfair that she affected him so and that he was overly affected. Kit was amazed. It was a unique reaction for her, and then she realized that, for the first time, she was tasting the richness of lovers who truly desired each other. There was no need to flinch at callous remarks made at displaying herself. It was never going to happen. Ever. That feeling could be laid to rest, in the past.

Only male appreciation and it seemed hardening reaction. Mmm, and she knew that hardness. She licked her lips, centering her attention in on that craving, promoting her vagina to pick up renewed aching. She might be infatuated with Brynmore, but she was wholly smitten with the ramrod of his male organ. “It’s going to be pure hell, keeping my cock out of you.”

Kit lifted her hands to rub her belly near her shiny golden pubic hair. “Why do you have to?” she asked, with a low drop of huskiness in her voice.

“We need to save it for the right moment,” Brynmore huffed tightly. Kit nodded slightly. She did understand, even as she tried not to envision the future of this night too closely. One thing seemed slightly certain, she might get through the evening with only having intercourse with Brynmore. Somehow she thought if she, if they, could manage that then she could handle anything else.

Brynmore’s palm suddenly slapped against her buttock for a light smack that was louder than anything else, as she jerked. “Now quit tempting me, pet.”

“Me?” Kit asked, on a high squeak. “I only lay here in obedience to you, umm, what do I call you?”

Then Kit winked at Brynmore to his returning quick smile, as he tilted his head a bit. “Hmm. We’ll be using our real names, but I’ll be calling you pet or the like. My thought is that Hellion sees all types of sexual perversion. I want to try something new that might catch his attention quickly. So, I thought we’d enact some style of blood mating, where we fuck in a frenzy and draw a little blood through a small cut to suck on near or at climax. Ye’ll want to throw your head back with blood on your lips and make certain Hellion or one of them—Dame Baset would be our luckiest next choice—clearly see you.”

It was really brilliant, blood for Hellion. Kit thought that would certainly intrigue him. She knew Brynmore’s nickname would have to be quite unusual, however she really was not sure. “Blood Master?” she asked Brynmore as he raised the opened amber bottle of oil over her pubic hair and tilted it forward.

The oil drizzled on her at the same moment, Brynmore said, “Exactly. That is what we will use, pet.”

“Mmm.” Kit rolled, her hips. The oil dripping over her sex through her hair was so erotic. Brynmore’s fingers followed, rubbing the oil through her soft thatch of hair. Her slit wanted the attention so badly her hips undulated.

“Lass,” Brynmore murmured deeply. Then his fingers lowered to smear the lips of her sex.

Kit hissed lightly in reaction, with her eyelids lowering. She wanted to climax now. She wanted to build it, until she erupted with Brynmore’s ramrod imbedded to her womb. Abruptly, Kit felt one of Brynmore’s oily fingers pierce her. She panted, digging in her heels, looking at him sharply, with pleasure radiating in the depths of her sheath.

Brynmore’s fierce gaze was all for her sex as she felt his finger curl upward and he tugged. “Oh.”

“Move closer, pet.”

Kit moved, following his finger pulling in her vagina lightly as she scooted her buttocks and her inner thighs stretched open wider. Once she had settled near the end of the bed with her heels barely hanging on the edge and her knees had fallen open to nearly the top of the bed, Brynmore’s finger began a different movement.

It was a soft curl in and out of her vagina. It raised her sex lips, plumping them for the pressure of the razor. That and his finger’s motion stroked the escalating unique pleasure in her sheath that she only felt with Brynmore before. Brynmore raised the razor and moved it toward her pubic hair as he continued the languid curling stroke of his finger.

“You are going to shave me now?” Kit panted lightly, her nipple points tight and jutting, while her belly and inner thighs flexed.

“Aye,” Brynmore responded with that devilish and carnal twinkle in his green eyes that she was beginning to recognize as pure Duneagan barbarian.

The first stroke of the razor was pure blissful torture as Brynmore’s finger enticed the intensifying aches in her sex, but at the same time she struggled to keep her aroused movements still. “Bry. Oh lord,” she gasped. Brynmore merely grinned wickedly at her as he continued to shave her thatch. “Please,” she found herself begging as the traction of pleasure raised sharply. 

“You are so orgasmic, sweet Kit.”