What She Craves (4 page)

“This way, Armetis.”

He pushed her against the wall and dropped to his knees, pressing his lips to her stockinged leg as if worshipping her. Waves of pleasure pulsed through her. His hands clasped her slippered foot and slid her shoe from it, then he placed her foot on the cold tile floor. Her muscles jumped as iciness crept up her leg. His lips moved against her thigh and heat spread down to her toes. Knees shaking, her hand slid into his hair, gripping his head for support.

“What…What are you about?”

“Preparing you.” His lips curved against her flesh.

“Oh, it is delightful.”

“You may wear only a robe and mask. Nothing more.”

She nodded and leaned her head back against the wall as he raised his hands and undid her garters. Delicate caresses slid her stockings from her body, and her muscles bunched as she groaned.

“How do you like the brew now?”

“Mmmm.”

Moist kisses slid their way up her naked legs to the apex of her thighs. Placing his lips to her curls, his tongue slid out along her slit and back in one slow lick.

“Oh!” She closed her eyes, her sex clenching.

“Anything you wish of me, you need only to ask.” He stood.

I want you to tongue me. No, I want to lick you.
Her face grew hot and she nodded. What a wanton she was.

“This way.” He offered her his arm and escorted her to the edge of the curtain.

Naked flesh, both male and female, was everywhere. She glimpsed a breast with a rosy nipple peaked as a man cupped the mound—her breast swelled at the sight—then a bare shoulder blade and a bare ass. Her body tingled everywhere her gaze rested, the images emblazoned in her memory in short little bursts. It was beautiful. Mesmerizing and like nothing she ever dreamed of seeing or feeling in her life. She wet her lips.

From the ceiling hung swaths of dark cloth, which made the room more confined. Along the far wall, more cloth hung to create compartments that housed low mattresses strewn with silken colored pillows. Men and women lounged about the beds, drinking wine and smoking what she imagined were hookahs. Her heart sped and her nipples pebbled hard as she imagined Kenny's hands caressing her on that mat. Her body trembling as her slit dripped, and he pushed into her. Other faceless hands caressed her. What a scandalous thought.

This room was an erotic, exciting, fantasy world. Masked, one could do and be anyone they wished—the hunter or the prey. She would be bold, strong, erotic, a seductress. Yes. She would do what her body and mind wished without the social strictures society demanded of a female. She would learn what men desired. She would please them.

Her blond god's fingers tickled her palm; delicious gooseflesh raced across her skin and she shivered. She needed to know what to call him.

“Umm, who shall you be?” Hannah asked.

“Call me Timothy,” he said, and turned her to wander the room. “Prey to all things beautiful.” He smiled.

Prey to me.
She could be his huntress. Or his prey.

“There is more to see. Any pleasure you might wish can be found here. What are your deepest desires, Artemis?”

My deepest desires?
No one had ever asked her that. Kenny. She wanted Kenny. Kenny possessed a power she didn't understand. When he touched her, her body did things, felt things, she only dreamed of.

Yes, that was her desire, to pleasure him, to prove Simon wrong.

Her feelings were foolish; she should be running in the opposite direction, but she couldn't. Rake or not, she wanted his hard prick to sink into her. To writhe beneath him and coat his penis with her juices as he spilled his seed into her womb. She wanted to experience all of this night with him. Touching him, pleasuring him.

He would surely be here—she glanced around the room—somewhere.

“Let me show you what is offered. You may find a delight you fancy.”

 

Ugh. Kenneth reached up and ran his hands through his hair. The sharp pain in his head beat a tattoo against his skull. What the hell? He moved his tongue and dry flesh scraped against teeth. Groaning, he squeezed his eyes shut.

A drug of some sort caused this. One glass of wine never did this to him. He rolled to his side, his muscles aching in protest, and slit his eyes open.

Shit. Pitch-black stood beyond his window. What the hell time was it?

He struggled to sit up. His muscles resisted and lagged in response. Bloody hell. Straining, he flung his legs over the side of his bed and stood. His knees wobbled and his head spun; he sat back down. Damn.

He could hear laughter and groaning through the window. The party was already under way. Hannah. Shit.

The sound of her scream of rapture this afternoon rang in his head and eased a bit of the pain. He would bed her this night. His blood heated remembering the taste of her sweet cream on his tongue. But nothing swelled. He let out a long breath through his teeth and glanced down at his flaccid member. The devil, the drug did more than make his head split.

Emma did this with one of her brews. When he asked for Hannah to be invited, she certainly saw the desire, the pure elation in his face when Rupert said she was widowed.

He closed his eyes and pushed himself back to standing. The world spun, and he forced himself to stay still.

They both would find this situation incredibly funny and too irresistible to pass up. Walker succumbs to a female, a widow. A femme fatale. One of them gave him herb, he knew it. He stepped forward on wobbly legs.

Where the hell was Jerome? His valet always woke him. He staggered to the dressing room that joined his room and flung the door open. Light flooded him. Damn. Pain sliced through his head. Knees wobbling, he squinted and leaned against the doorjamb.

“Jerome?” he bellowed, then winced at the pain throbbing in his head. The door that led to the hall flung open.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I
…
I'm not well, sir.”

“What the hell is going on?”

Forcing his eyes open, Jerome stood in the same state.

“Bloody hell. Give me my tan robe and black mask.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How much of the party have I missed? Has selection begun?” His fists clenched. Bloody hell, if he missed the chance to bed Hannah tonight, he would go mad. No, he would kill Rupert.

“I don't know, sir.”

“Hurry, man, we have no time to lose.”

His valet came toward him and pulled his shirt over his head with a wince. “The woman you asked about is here. I checked with Guss on the way up.”

Ah, sweet Hannah. He closed his eyes as Jerome held up his robe, and he slid his arms in. She came. Of course she did. He smiled. She couldn't resist.

Good God, he was going to enjoy watching her as she awakened to what the underworld of society did with their free time. He had to see. Her curiosity, so great, so genuine, amazed him. He wanted to teach her everything he knew.

Now, if he could only get himself to the ballroom before selection and get his prick fit enough to serve her. He looked down. Grr. He may need help with that.

T
hey turned into the hallway, and a tall man dressed in a red robe stepped in front of Hannah.

“Mrs. Rosworth, enjoying yourself?” Rupert's baritone voice skittered down her spine.

“Yes, thank you for your kind invitation.” His emerald eyes stared down at her. He smiled wickedly, and her cheeks grew toasty warm. This man saw Kenny between her legs that afternoon. Good Lord. She lowered her head and tried to feign indifference she didn't feel.

“You may leave, Timothy. Meet her at the stage in quarter an hour.”

Timothy bowed down deep, knelt, and placed his lips to the bare flesh of Rupert's knee. Hannah gaped. A somewhat odd display for a man to give another man, but Rupert's hand slid into his hair. A gesture that showed he didn't mind.

Timothy stood. His warm fingers touched her arm, and gooseflesh washed across her neck.

He bowed his head. “Artemis.”

“Timothy.” She inclined her head.

He turned and his beautiful dimpled ass disappeared into the crowd.

“Take a turn with me.” Rupert offered his arm.

His long olive-skinned legs stood wide, partly covered in a dark red robe. A red robe that bulged at the apex of his thighs. The image of his prick sinking into Emma from behind flashed through her mind, and her heart sped. He found pleasure in watching a man receive a spank. Did he also enjoy receiving one?

His emerald eyes continued to stare at her, and a flush heated her skin.
You ninny, speak to him.
“I would be delighted.” Her breath hitched as she placed her hand on the back of his.

He walked with catlike grace, padding through the crowded room, head held high. An amazing man. His assurance, his presence, made people move out of his way without even noticing.

She stared down at those beautiful artistic hands she had wanted on her body so badly that day by the river, her hand so small next to his. His raw virility coursed through each motion he made. She was small and piffling in comparison.

When he reached the side of the stage, he stopped. Turning her, he backed her against the hard wood.

“May I touch you?” Though phrased like a question, the words were a demand.

Her body trembled, as his thumb drew circles in the back of her hand. Breath hitching, she stared at that spot.

“You already are.” Heat spread in a slow wash up her arm, and her breasts peaked.

“Indeed I am. Would you like more?”

God, yes. The urge to please him sparked strong and blazed, pulsing through her from the inside out. She was losing her mind. It was scandalous to accept advances from two different men in one day; it was wrong. She came here tonight to plea sure Kenny. For some reason she didn't care. She wanted Rupert's touch. Wanted to please him, and to please him, he needed to touch her.

She stared at his graceful hands and nodded.

“Ah.” He dropped her hand, and his touches traveled slowly up her arm. Sensation shot straight to the flesh between her thighs.

“Oh!” She closed her eyes. This was so wrong, but oh so good.

“Mmm.” His finger brushed the side of her breast, trailed to the already hard peak, and pinched. Her back arched, filling his hand with her breast as he squeezed.

“He has excellent taste. Always has.”

Her eyes shot open and settled on his chin. He kneaded again. “W-what?”

“No wonder he was in a panic to find out if you were wed.”

“Kenny?”

“Kenneth. Yes.”

Kenny wanted to know if she was married. Her heart sped. Everyone in this vicinity knew of her scandal. The widowed Mrs. Rosworth, suspect in her husband's death. He wanted her and she allowed his friend to take liberties. What was she doing? She shouldn't be doing this, but something in her couldn't make Rupert stop.

The brew. Panic possessed her and her throat constricted as sweat slid down her back. The brew was affecting her mind, her desires, her actions.

Her body trembled, and pain throbbed in her temple. She needed to stop him, to tell him enough. Raising her hands to his chest, she pushed and jerked away as he pinched and massaged her nipple. Pulsing pressure slid through her womb with a need for release. She shook her head as her vision grew soft. Oh, all she wanted was his touch.

Rupert's hand slowly trailed up the hem of her robe. How sinful. Just as she thought his caress would be. Her skin heated with dew.

“May I?” he said in that deep voice that made her tremble. Yes, indeed he could have anything.

“Umm-hmm.” She nodded and closed her eyes. His hand slid to the curls of her mound. Lightly flicking, he slid one long finger into her slick folds.

“Oh.” The most exquisite sensation. Her hips pressed forward into his hand. Two different men had had their fingers in her today. So thrilling. Cream drizzled and her sex clenched about his finger. Her mind wanted to recoil from this illicit act, but her body wouldn't let her. Never in her life had she acted such.

“He is so right to have craved you for as long as he has.”

“Craved me?” she whispered. Another finger slid into her wetness, circled her weeping flesh, then pulled back out to tap her blissful spot. What was she thinking? Oh yes…He could have anything, anything he wanted.

“Indeed. As I do now.”

His hand left her breast and circled her wrist. Her eyes fluttered open, and she watched his hand pull her touch to his firm, hard phallus. Gliding her fingers along the solid flesh just beneath the thin robe, her touch traced the width, the length, then circled the head. If she straddled him and rode down on his prick, would he growl in pleasure?

“Ah.” His finger circled that spot between her legs, and her eyes shut. Every muscle wound tight as her need built to have him between her thighs.

Warm breath spread across her ear. “She is pretty, isn' she?” a feminine voice purred. “A fine choice for him.”

Hannah's eyes shot open.

Emma stared at her with a wicked smile, then glanced at Rupert. “I need you, master. There is a problem only you can solve.”

Rupert stared at Emma and blew his breath out.

“You are ready, Mrs. Rosworth. Pardon me.” Rupert's fingers slid from her sex, leaving a blazing ache. He turned and left with Emma.

She wanted to drop down on her knees, as Timothy had, and crawl behind him, to please him in any way she could, to beg him to touch her again. Hannah shook herself and breathed in raggedly. How odd. She always wanted to learn to please a man but not like this. The pressure building within her made her feel as if her body would burst if she didn't please.

Glancing around the room, Timothy stood gazing at her with heavy-lidded eyes. A smile touched his lips as he pushed from the wall and strode toward her.

“Artemis.” He offered his arm.

“Timothy.”

Good Lord, what did she just do? Heat washed her cheeks. She shook her head, mortified and demeaned by her urge to please. Her legs shook as she stepped with Timothy into the crowd.

Rupert could have made her do anything. Timothy steered her to the edge of the room. The urge to please Rupert still pulsed through her. This madness had to be the brew, but shouldn't the urge to mate be greater than the urge to please?

 

Kenneth left his room, his head spinning. Damn. What the hell did he ingest? Wheezing, he tried to pull air into his lungs and clear his head. He would go outside and enter the ballroom on the far end. The crisp air might help shake loose the cobwebs.

Striding across the lawn, the cold night air pricked his skin, and he shook his shoulders.
Come on, old boy. Clear your head.

If he wasn't there to protect Hannah, anything could happen to her. He hastened his pace, and his heart pounded; he hoped the selection had not begun yet. Bloody hell, he would kill whoever did this to him. He had planned to meet Hannah at the door and keep her in his sight as she was awed and fascinated by what went on around her. Then he would have eased the brew's effects by teasing her and fucking her all night. He blew out through clenched teeth.

Hopefully Emma gave her one of the seasoned hosts. Cool sweat touched his brow. Every woman reacted differently to Emma's brew. One woman had spend after spend just by having him blow on her sex, but other times the women became so aroused they actually experienced pain with the need for release. He didn't know how the brew worked, but if eased properly, the effect always resulted in a more sensual experience for both man and woman. The brew pushed their innermost desires to the extreme.

Whatever trait the brew heightened, he hoped Hannah's host had experience and could ease her before pain arose. If he used the wrong ease or did nothing, things would slowly get worse. Shit. The idea of Hannah in pain because of him…He closed his eyes. He couldn't handle that. Piercing pain sliced through his temple.

He needed to see Guss. The old gardener would know an antidote to whatever the hell he ingested. He was no good to anyone in this state. He clenched his fists. He was going to kill whoever did this to him.

Glancing into the ballroom through the sea of bodies, his body heated. In the midst of all that debauchery stood a slice of angel he intended to savor.

Red cloaks bobbed among the field of naked flesh. They were readying for the theatrics the selection would follow.

Half an hour, no more, and the ceremony would begin. That wasn't a lot of time. Guss would be in the kitchen on the opposite end of the house. Shit.

He reached down, rubbed his hand along his cock, and called to mind Hannah's deep crimson cunt with black lace. His tongue ran along her flesh as he lapped her juices, her sweet aroma filling his nose. His mouth watered. He needed that smell on him again. On his cock, on his hands, on his mouth. Damn, he even wanted the scent on his toes. He squeezed his crotch and gritted his teeth. Come on, damn it. All he needed was a slight rise.

Stroking firmer, he recalled her sweet exquisite scream, her body quivering, as she locked her knees to his head and spent. Bloody hell. Not a damn thing. If he entered the ballroom now, he would be no use to her. His cock would not stand. He turned on his heel and ran for the kitchen.

 

“Wantons and Wickeds, the festivities are to start with an instructional theatric of Aretinian postures of pleasure.”

The first of the entertainers—a young couple—wandered out onto the stage. Timothy stood beside Hannah and watched her intently. The woman, dressed in a long white silk robe with black hair that hung loose down her back, smiled at her partner. The man, one of the striking hosts who escorted women into the masked event, flexed his arms and shook out his legs.

Before tonight, Hannah never knew sexual events like this existed, and now she and fifty or so other guests would watch instruction on how to mate. How to pleasure. She shook her head and blinked. She really was here watching this. Heat seeped through her body as the man turned, and the woman untied the feather covering his sex.

His short phallus, covered with thick veins, jumped as she stroked the length with her hand. Then the woman placed a skin on the tip of the man's sex and rolled the letter down. So that was what a sheath looked like. How strange. Would a man's heat penetrate that skin? The man then helped the woman disrobe.

“Position fourteen,” Rupert called out.

The man lay down on his back, then pushed up onto his hands and feet. Hannah could see under his back and bum as he created an arch.

His ass clenched in the most fascinating way, like what she imagined it looked like during futter. Hannah's hands fisted, as she squeezed his bum in her mind. Her nectar dewed her sex and her flesh throbbed. She gasped as the woman straddled the man facing away from him, then slid her fingers around the man's hard phallus and pulled his prick toward her bum.

“Don't pull the cart, dickhead of Cupid.”

Hannah jumped and sighted a second man speaking on stage. He read the Italian text from the
I Modi.

“Because I want to enter by way of the pussy, not in the rear,”
continued the man onstage.

The woman placed the phallus between her engorged red nether lips and sank down on the man. Everyone moaned. Applause rang through the room, snapping Hannah's attention to the others in the room. This couple on stage pleased the entire crowd. She closed her eyes as her chest tightened, the ache within her homing in on her blissful place. Her hands slid down her body to between her thighs. She needed to ease the ache. Her finger slid easily into wet and engorged lips.

Hannah's body tingled painfully. The words combined with the sight caressed her. She longed for Kenny's phallus to spread her sex as slickness slid down the hard shaft and he filled her, pressing deep. Like the woman onstage, she would ride him until they both cried out in pleasure. Her fingers slid into her opening. Why wasn't this working? Instead of the pleasure she created when alone, pain filled her womb and burned her skin.Timothy's mouth twisted in what looked like concern, but he did nothing but watch her.