Seducing the Master (An Erotic Historical in the Red Chrysanthemum Series) (15 page)

She moaned in desire, frustration and
despair.

“’It came on at length: the baronet led the
ectasy, which she critically joined in, as she felt the melting
symptoms from him, in the nick of which, gluing more ardently than
ever his lips to hers, he shewed all the signs of that agony of
bliss being strong upon him, in which he gave her the finishing
titillation;,we saw plainly that she answered it down with all
effusion of spirit and matter she was mistress of, whilst a general
soft shudder ran through all her limbs, which she gave a stretch
out, and lay motionless, breathless, dying with dear delight; and
in the height of its expression, showing, through the nearly closed
lids of her eyes, just the edges of their black, the rest being
rolled strongly upwards in their ectasy; then her sweet mouth
appeared languish-ingly open, with the tip of her tongue leaning
negligently towards the lower range of her white teeth, whilst
natural ruby color of her lips glowed with heightened life. Was not
this a subject to dwell upon? And accordingly her lover still kept
on her, with an abiding delectation, till compressed, squeezed and
distilled to the last drop, he took leave with one fervent kiss,
expressing satisfied desires, but unextinguished love.”

Gallant snapped the book shut. Terrell was
softly panting, for she had struggled throughout his reading to
free herself from the silk ties, but she could only roll and toss
upon the bed, unable to relieve the awkward position the bonds had
forced upon her body. The salacious descriptions, enflaming her
imagination, served only to torture her body. Lust, curling and
writhing inside of her, needed release, or some acknowledgement at
least.

Rising to his feet, Gallant approached the
bed and untied the silk from her. She groaned in relief to have the
freedom of her limbs in front of her.

“You are free to go, Miss Terrell,” he said,
his tone still stern.

Flabbergasted, she did not move. That was
all he intended to do with her? He had her bound upon the bed,
vulnerable and available to do as he wished, and all he planned was
to read from that bloody book? Others of his sex would have
paid—
did
pay—a good guinea to have their way with her.

“Good night,” he bid her as he opened the
door.

In disbelief, she watched him depart. What
manner of man was he?
Was
he man? He could not be if he
could refuse himself such ready and waiting pleasure as she
offered. Did he not desire her enough because she was a
blackamoor?

Pressing her lips together, she went after
him.

“Master Gallant!”

He was descending the stairs and did not
stop.

“We are done, Miss Terrell,” he said without
looking back at her.

She followed him, matching his quick pace.
“I was mistaken.”

This caused him to pause. She caught up and
stepped in front of him.

“I accept your apology,” he said, “and pray
you will henceforth pay me no further heed.”

She responded with a toss of her head.
“You’ll have no apology from me, lest you beat it out of me.”

His eyes widened.

“I was mistaken,” she continued, “when I
thought you did not fear me, but I think you do. I think you do
fear me, Master Gallant. Perhaps you fear that once you have tasted
of dark flesh, you will only want for more. Or perhaps you fear,
with me, you will be tempted to unleash your darkest, most wicked
nature.”

A muscle rippled along his jaw. “Miss
Terrell! Do you think Madame Devereux would approve of your
mischief if she knew of it?”

“She does well by me. She will not cast me
out.”

“What of Sir Arthur? He undoubtedly pays a
pretty price for your favors.”

“I am woman enough for two men.”

He drew himself closer to her and lowered
his voice. “And what makes you think I would desire cunnie that has
been used by another?”

If she were a young woman of polite society,
she would have slapped him across the face for his insolence. Her
hand itched to do just that. But she was not a gentlewoman. She was
a whore. That was what he intended to say. His words stung because
she knew, no matter how she improved herself, even if she gave up
the Red Chrysanthemum and devoted herself to the manner and
behaviors of superior society, as she had once attempted to do with
all her might, she would never belong. But mostly, the words stung
because they came from him.

Her reaction seemed to rattle him, for he
straightened and looked ill at ease.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I spoke harshly, but
you understand—”

“Miss Terrell!”

They both whipped around to see Sir Arthur
now stood in the hallway with them.

“Your pardon,” he said upon seeing Gallant.
He looked to Terrell, then back at Gallant. “Do I intrude?”

“Not at all, Sir Arthur,” said Gallant.
“Miss Terrell had been assisting a patron of mine, and I was merely
informing Miss Terrell that her services will no longer be
needed.”

With a bow, Gallant took his leave.

“Assistance?” Sir Arthur echoed once they
were alone. “I do not recall approving any extraneous
activities.”

“You made no prohibitions, Sir Arthur,”
Terrell replied. “And if you had seen the poor wretch, frightened
as she was, you would not have denied her. You seem to me a man of
great generosity. You would have done all in your power to aid
her.”

Sir Arthur appeared partly mollified.
“Nevertheless, I will require you to seek my permission from now
on.”

He looked down the hall as if expecting
Gallant to reappear. She recaptured his attention by approaching
him. She played with his cravat as if to straighten it.

“Did you forget something, Sir Arthur?”

He looked down at her, hunger flashing in
his cold grey eyes. “I wished to collect upon the ‘encore’ you
promised me.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

C
harles strained against
the iron shackles pulling his wrists to the bedposts. He knew not
how his bed came to have shackles, nor where his clothes had gone.
He was naked but for the rumpled bed linen covering his waist and
the length of one leg. The moon, still at its zenith, shone
brightly in the sky, but it felt as if an eternity had passed. The
moonlight bathed a path from the window to the bed. He did not
remember having left the curtains open and yanked once more against
the shackles.

“
You’ll be wanting this.”

His gaze darted to the door. Where had she
come from? How had she gotten in? The woman emerged from the
shadows, revealing herself to be more naked than he. She had not a
shred of clothing, and though he could not make out her form
perfectly, the blood rushed to his cock, responding to the swell of
her hips, her supple thighs and rounded breasts.

He needed the key she held. Knowing this,
her lips curled into a half-smile. She advanced toward the bed, the
movement of her hips and thighs hypnotic. Standing at the foot of
the bed, she allowed him to drink in her nakedness. With her
darkness, she might have blended into the night if not for the
moonlight.

“
The key is yours if you can earn
it.”

“
How?” he asked.

Her gaze fell to where his cock tented the
bedclothes. “Ravage me.”

“
Gladly,” he found himself saying, to his
own surprise. His cock throbbed. “But I cannot while shackled to
the bed.”

“
I think you can.”

Dropping the key, she crawled onto the bed,
her movements like that of a preying panther. He tensed. Despite
his prior acknowledgement, he was not prepared to fuck. Not yet.
Not while he was helpless. He would not be the one ravaging so much
as she.

Her smile broadened as if she were aware of
his thoughts. She hovered above him on hands and knees, her breasts
swaying. She lowered herself to kiss him. He turned his head
away.

No. He had merely
tried
to turn
his head away and found he could not move. Her mouth captured his,
her lips full and succulent. His head swam, his body warming
despite his inability to do anything but submit to her. With her
lips still locked to his, she reached for the bedclothes and pulled
the sheet down, exposing his rigid member. She wrapped a hand about
him. His protests were muffled by the kissing, but his pelvis
reacted differently and yearned toward her.

Releasing his mouth, she positioned her hips
above his, straddling him as she rested upon her haunches. The
hairs of her mound tickled his cock. She ground herself at his
cods.

“
Wait,” he protested.

But she ignored him. In one quick movement,
she raised herself and sheathed his cock. He roared as her wet heat
threatened to engulf his whole body. He tried to buck her off of
him, but the effort only angered her. She slapped him hard across
the face.

Stunned, he paused. She took the opportunity
to pump herself up and down his length. He groaned. He could not
resist the pleasure building inside of him. Soon he found himself
thrusting in rhythm to her motions, wanting to drive himself deeper
and deeper into her. If his hands were not shackled to the
bedposts, he would hold her about the waist so that he could ram
his cock deep enough for her to feel him in her throat.

She emitted cries of delight as she took
him, riding his cock as slow or as fast as she wanted, using him
for her pleasure. A small part of him resisted the ravishing, but
his body surrendered. It was no match against her, and his cock
erupted against his will.

No defeat had ever felt so divine.

He knew not if she had spent. When he opened
his eyes, he only noted her victorious smile. His gaze then went
past her…

With a start, he realized Miss Greta stood
upon the threshold, a frown gracing her countenance as she stared
at the scene before her. He tried to explain the situation, but she
had whirled upon her heels and left, taking with her the key.

Charles woke with a gasp. Staring into the
darkness, he blinked until he saw that he was still in his own
chambers, alone. The curtains were drawn, and only a thin sliver of
dawn shown between them. The bedclothes near his groin were wet and
a viscous fluid clung to his cock. He shook his head as if to
discard the remnants of the dream. After wiping himself, he threw
back the linen and got out of bed. At the basin atop the sideboard,
he splashed a plentiful amount of water onto his face.

Drying himself, he went to open the
curtains. He looked out at the empty square below. A busy day of
meetings with prospective supporters awaited him, and he was glad
for it. He was eager to begin campaigning rigorously, especially
now that he did not expect to see Miss Greta for some time, if
ever.

He considered sending another request to the
Brentwoods. If he could attain their support, he would not need to
rely upon Sir Arthur, though he had assured Sir Canning that he
would do nothing further to discourage Sir Arthur from backing his
candidacy.

“The man can do much for your career,” Sir
Canning had said, “and he is partial to doing so because of your
shared interest in China.”

“But we differ in approach,” Charles had
replied. “Sir Arthur would impose trade upon China by brute
force.”

“The Company would not take such drastic
measures without the approbation of Crown or Parliament. But I do
wonder what can compel China, if not force? The Dutch have been
exceedingly conciliatory in their approach. I understand they do
not hesitate to bow to the ground before the emperor, yet the
treatment they receive is no different than ours.”

“I confess Sir Arthur’s character concerns
me as well. I do not recall the rumors as it was years before I had
ever met the man, but—”

“There is always gossip with Members of
Parliament,” Canning had dismissed.

Charles had tried to recall the details. “It
concerned his wife.”

“And thus has no bearing upon political
concerns, and it is that which matters. His personal affairs are
irrelevant.”

Charles had granted his employer the truth
of this last statement. He hoped that he had not aroused Sir
Arthur’s suspicions last night. The man was unlikely to have heard
the exchange between Miss Terrell and himself, but Sir Arthur did
not look pleased that they even occupied the same place.

Recalling his words to Miss Terrell last
night, Charles winced. Her eyes had betrayed some pain. But it
needed saying, though his statement was less true than her
accusations. Her words still rang in his ears.

You fear that once you have tasted of dark
flesh, you will only want for more. You fear, with me, you will be
tempted to unleash your darkest, most wicked nature.

He needed to stop her. She was far too
persistent. She needed a set-down or a healthy dose of fear. The
woman was obstinate and foolhardy. Or steadfast and intrepid.
Reading the passages from
Fanny Hill
had been no easy task.
Of course he would have liked to enact the debauchery described.
But Miss Terrell was the last person he would permit himself to
engage with. He ought not even dream of such a thing.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“I
f you behave, I will
refrain from tying you to the chair once more,” Terrell said.

“Impudent trollop,” Sir Arthur replied but
complied by taking the chair he had sat in yesterday.

“Have I not always made it worth your
while?”

He smiled as far as his thin lips would
allow. “Will I be favored with the same encore?”

“If you behave,” she answered with a coy
smile. It never ceased to amaze her how enamored his sex could be
of her cock-sucking. She had taken him into her mouth last night in
the very same room they occupied now. When she had drawn his member
into her throat, he had gasped as if confronted with the vision of
death. Eyes wide, he had watched in awe as she swallowed him. Then,
after she had suckled him in earnest, he had bucked his hips
ravenously at her. His seed had tasted quite brackish, but she had
triumphed at making him spend with such ease.