What She Craves (9 page)

“Kenny!” She rubbed frantically along him as the walls of her womb clamped tight about his spent prick in wave after wave. Her arms collapsed. Her head plunked on his chest. They panted as one.

Her lips curved against his skin.

“Sweet.” He ran his hand through her dark hair. “There is no better way to wake up.”

“I know. You called out my name several times this morning and were stiff, so I…” She raised her eyebrows, staring down at him.

“Scandalous.”

“I guess I did take advantage. I couldn't resist.”

He sat up and pulled her with him.

“It is all like a dream.” Shaking his head, he pushed her thick black hair over her shoulder to nibble her neck. He kept thinking she would disappear just as he put his arms around her.

“This is real.” She placed her hand on his chest. “I love you, Kenny. I have since the summer we spent together.”

He flipped her, wedging himself between her legs.

“Do you? Hannah…I am not who you think. You deserve so much more than a man whose mother does not know who fathered him.”

Her blue eyes, filled with compassion and heat, stared at him. “Kenny, I have no doubt who your father is. You are the mirror image of the lord Duke of Deventon. Either way, it does not matter. Not to me. I love you.”

He smiled. “Love.” Such a strange all-encompassing passion. She had held his heart since boyhood, and now that he had hers, he would never let it go.

Shifting his hands, he cupped her bottom and lifted her to gaze at her beautiful full nether lips, swollen from fucking. There was nothing more beautiful. He wanted to massage them with his tongue. His cock stiffened; he would never get enough of her.

He leaned in to worship his love as she deserved.

Mayfair, London, England 1818

R
AP…RAP…

RAP…

The hard wood stung through Cora's gloved hand as the door to the large servant's entrance jerked open, revealing Lord Nottingland's cook, Jan. The woman's churlish eyes narrowed upon seeing her and scrutinized Cora's cloaked body.

“Yes, dear Jan, I still look as handsome as ever.” She pushed past Jan and into the kitchen.
What a jest.

Cora slid her hood back from her face; Jan still frowned at her. She no doubt noticed her jest in the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes that increased in length and width at each visit. No amount of cream could conceal them or the beginnings of gray that tinged her hair.

Jan's master would soon tire of her fading looks, as would all her protectors, and loneliness would be her fate.

The frown that graced Jan's face showed no compassion.

Disgust radiated from the plump woman's body as fevered as any lover's passion. Jan despised her and the men she still attracted.

“I believe your randy master is expecting me.” Cora raised her eyebrows. Jan's eyes widened in shock, and a grin tugged Cora's lips. She couldn't resist flustering her.

Allen's valet entered to escort her to his chambers. Smiling once more at Jan, she winked, clutched her satchel to her body, and followed him to his master's suites.

She entered the dim, royal-blue bedroom to find Allen stretched out on his ornately carved dressing couch. His robe lay open, displaying naked hairy legs, a typical scotch in hand. To think his title made him a catch on the marriage mart. If the ton could only see him now. She stifled a chuckle.

“My dearest.” He inclined his head. “I beg your pardon, but I am not up for our appointment this night.” Dark black bags hung beneath his eyes, his complexion sullen as he gulped a mouthful of the amber liquid.

She sauntered to him without saying a word, straightened her shoulders, and dropped her valise to the Oriental carpet. “Ah, but, Allen, I am the one who decides what we do.”

Inside, a smile lifted her heart at the thought of lounging by his side. It would be nice for a change to break from crops and whips, the tools Allen so craved.

“Indeed, that is true, but I am the one who pays for your service. I have no vigor after last night's debauchery. You would squander your fortitude this night, and you deserve the pleasure of making me squirm.”

If only he knew she didn't enjoy it. Well that was not entirely true. She did, just not the way he thought.

Her protectors were, well, not men she naturally found attractive. She chose them with the strictest of care, ensuring not one of them could overpower her.

“Very well, Allen. Tell me of your fun and share your scotch.”

She forced her lip to protrude out into the pout he liked, and inwardly sighed. This aspect of Allen she enjoyed; he truly knew how to relax after an intense night.

He slid his legs to the side and she sat, grasping the glass from his hands.

“'Twas the most amazing night, my dear. To say I saw and did things I only dreamed of would not boast enough. The Hell Knights—”

The Hell Knights.
She closed her eyes. Yet another of her clients that couldn't keep up with the infamous club's antics.

The Knights were everything she avoided in her career. Powerful, handsome, and ruthless in the carnal desires. The kind of men who made her blood heat simply by standing in the same room with them. A tremor raced through her muscles as she imagined a large powerful man licking his way across her dewed skin. Oh how delightful.

Several members approached her over the years, but she always turned them down. The risk of letting her emotions, her desires, get in the way of her profession was too great.

She'd made the leap once—her heart constricted at the memory—to catastrophic consequences and still had the scars to show for it. Her fingers slid over her stomach and the prominent line of flesh beneath the cloth. Though—she scrutinized Allen's slight form and crooked smile as he spouted on and on about his follies—it would be nice to do the act of shame with a man she fancied. She bit her lip. Perhaps one night she should indulge herself. Pins pricked up her neck. For just one night.

 

The carriage swayed and rocked as her stomach rolled. Bile rose in her throat, and her hand shot to her mouth. She wished the carriage caused her stomach's unease. She swallowed hard.

She swore she would never do this.

Her hands trembled, nerves raw. As she closed her eyes, the carriage rolled to a stop.

It was one night. One night she hoped would change her life forever.

Heart in her throat, she grasped the bottle of bourbon that sat on the brown velvet seat next to her. Raising the decanter to her lips, she gulped one last long swallow. Yes. The liquid smooth and strong scorched her throat and burned through her limbs.

Much, much better.

Her hand shook as she placed the decanter back on the seat.

This night was the thirty-sixth anniversary of her birth. Tonight she would indulge her desires and experience all she wished before her beauty faded and the world shunned her.

The door to the carriage opened. The misty weather beyond the coach didn't invite her out into the night. She bit her lip, her skin turning clammy. She needed to do this.

Her footman held out his hand, and she alighted on wobbly legs. The plain brick terrace house and warm candle glow cast from the windows did not intimidate her, but the members within the walls quaked her to the quick.

It was late evening and the street stood quiet. How foolish she acted. Once she had decided to attend, she washed and dressed in half the time she normally required but couldn't sit still and wait for the minute to arrive.

The past hour she rode the local rain-soaked streets waiting for the required time like a girl anticipating her first ball. No doubt she was the first to arrive.

Her lips quirked. The infamous, hard-hearted, Cora Durand eager to engage in a sexual matter? No one would recognize her by this attitude.

The man at the entrance stood a head taller than her. Shoulders held broad, he dressed impeccably in all black. A beaver hat sat atop his head, which upon closer inspection, was bald.

Eyes, a deep gray, fixed on hers, never wavering as she ascended the steps.

Indeed, he was fine. Powerful. A lord in the animal kingdom. Chills pricked her skin, her gaze trapped in his.
Lower your eyes, you goose, before you trip up the steps.
Her knees shook as she lowered her gaze to his tight-fitting black trousers.

If no one inside possessed the ability to quake her, this man would do; although the members who had approached her earlier in her career all possessed the ability. No doubt they still would. Tonight she would let down her guard and feel all these potent men could offer.

“Good evening, ma'am,” his cavernous voice boomed. “Tigers in the jungle…”

“Eat their prey.” Her voice shook as she said the password to enter; then she forced a smile.

He opened the dark green door, and she stepped past him into a large entrance chamber. Warm spiced scents filled the air, putting her at ease. A grand candelabra hung overhead, and the walls cut of coarse sandstone radiated warmth and richness.

This was a club of money.

Three naked men approached her, each one a different shade of tawny. Their chests broad and sculpted, free of any hair, led to rolls of muscle and proud stiff staffs.

Her eyes gaped. Amazing. Not one ballock between them, yet their staffs still stiffened. Never in all her career has she seen such a sight, and there were
three
of them. Where did they come from? And who cut off their sacks?

She reached for the ribbons that held her cloak closed. Just amazing. She shook her head.

Their hands raised and brushed hers aside. Her muscles tensed.
Oh no, you don't.

She would undress herself. Her hands rose to slap theirs away, but she quelled the urge. No, tonight was different. She was different. She stilled her hands in midair. Tonight she would let her true self come through, allowing others to tell her what to do, to touch her without permission.

No control. Her muscles relaxed and she sighed. For once, someone else would make the decisions. Not knowing what would happen to her felt edgy, exciting. Emotions she had not experienced in years.

Her hands dropped to her sides as her cloak lifted from her body. One of the men worked the tiny row of buttons to her dress while another hiked up her skirts and undid the garters about her knees, sliding her stockings and shoes from her.

Within a matter of moments, she shivered naked in front of the three. Her nipples pebbled hard in the air of the entry.

Without saying a word, they stepped toward her. Fingers wrapped about her arm and more fingers pressed to her back as they spun her about and pressed her hard up against the sandstone wall. Her heart leapt. Her face turned to the side, breasts pressed firm to the cool rough texture.

What were they doing?
Her skin tingled with excitement.

The masculine fingers worked her flesh. Her arms rose, and a wide leather strap slid about her wrists. They tied the tether firm, holding her hands spread high and wide.

Warm hands wrapped about her legs and slid them apart as a piece of leather slid over her eyes and part of her nose.

She jumped as they cinched the strap tight. A sliver of light came from the crease of her cheek, and the hairs on her neck stood.

Nothing of any significance would she see. Strapped to a wall, she would do nothing but feel.

Pulling on her arms, her muscles shook as she tested the strength of the straps. They held firm. There was no going back. Her chest rose and fell, and her lungs constricted as she labored for breath. She couldn't do this. She swallowed convulsively, her heart beating in her throat.

Would it be different this time? She was older, wiser, she'd been on the other side. Her emotions were not engaged with any of these men. She just didn't know if she could trust a man who could force her to do as he pleased. Icy sweat slid down her spine.

Relax, good God. No one can harm you the way he did.

Her hair fell loose down her back, tickling the sensitized skin. Fingers laced through and lightly tugged her tresses.

Yes. She closed her eyes. She could do this. She needed this; anyone could touch any part of her, and she could not object. Her throat tightened.

Only her voice could protest.

No matter what happened, she would not talk back. Well, she would try not to. This night, strapped to this wall, she would overcome her past. Tremors shook her body.

She would give control to take back the type of man she desired.

The three men receded from her, and she leaned against the rough stone wall, head spinning lightly. Every move of her body rubbed the flesh of her tingling nipples into the sandy stone wall.

The door to the street opened. A blast of frigid winter air sent shivers along her skin as the temperature changed from steamy to cold and back to hot again.

“Good evening,” the man at the door boomed.

“Well, well. You have snagged a prim pretty for your entrance decoration this night.” Was he referring to her? He obviously could not see her age. She held still, listening to the rustle of cloth.

Warm hands spread over the small of her back to her hips. Her muscles tensed and jumped, pulling her body away from the startling caress.

Blast. What was she about?

“Tsk, tsk. There, pretty. Don't you know not to move?” His hands left her body.

The blow was coming; she tensed, waiting for the crack of flesh on flesh. To feel the sting of his hard hand against her tender skin, to know if she didn't move, he would touch her kindly. Nothing happened. Her breath came out in a whoosh of disappointment. Maybe she was wrong about—

WHACK!

A large male hand hit her backside hard, sending pins and heat through her. Clenching her teeth, she forced herself not to make a sound.

Warm air caressed her ear. “There, pretty, let's try again.”

His touch rubbed the burning brand his hand left, and wet warmth traced the heated flesh, soothing the redness. Lips kissed the mark as another gush of crisp air washed over her.

“Good evening, my lord,” came the greeter's voice.

Another man. Her heart sped to a gallop as she imagined the feel of two pairs of male hands caressing her skin. She tried not to respond in any way to indicate her desire, but a small moan crept past her lips.

More cloth rustled and then male murmurs. The man who kissed her flesh with lust trailed his hands up and around to her sides. As he gently caressed her breasts, tingles circled her flesh and peaked her nipples hard against the stone.