Wicked Desires (Wicked Affairs, Book One) (3 page)

The man loomed over her, his cock near her face.

Michael stopped stroking, knowing he’d spill prematurely if he continued fondling his penis while watching the woman draw the large cock into her mouth. He squirmed, even arching a bit as if it were his cock she were about to suck.

It would only take a word for that to happen.

He reached for his drink and swallowed at the same time the cock disappeared into her mouth and down her throat. Her throat moved, swallowing whatever he was giving her.

Saving himself for the toys and final penetration, Michael steadied his breathing while they continued the performance on the bed. He knew that’s all it was. A performance to get him off, when all he wanted was his wife.

Every time he considered approaching her for such sexual activities, he’d both feared her reaction and feared he wouldn’t be able to live up to the offer.

So he came here and didn’t have to worry about either rejection or humiliation.

At last, the male prostitute untied the girl and she rolled to all fours, displaying a lush, round ass and melon-shaped breasts.

On the tabletop was the smooth glass dildo. The man reached for it with clumsy determination.

Michael finally spoke. “The cunt first.” His voice nearly cracked under the strain. He pushed up out of the chair, leaving his drink behind and grabbing the ever-present towel.

He had to see.

“Spread yourself wider,” he commanded. The girl lowered to her forearms and spread her knees. Her pert bottom, round and firm, popped upward, displaying both tight passages along that enticing crevice.

He threw the towel over his shoulder and then braced one hand above the bed, against the wall.

When the man inserted the dildo, Michael’s body surged with want. “Thrust. Slowly.”

He palmed his cock again and started stroking in time with the in-and-out surges of the dildo. The girl squirmed and moaned. Michael didn’t care if it was an act. It worked for him.

The dildo glistened.

“You know what I want.”

The man pulled the dildo from her body and slid it upward. Michael felt shivers to his balls, anticipating the placement at her sphincter.

He stroked his cock faster. The dildo slid inside her anal canal. Michael watched as every inch disappeared into her body.

His body hummed with pleasure. His breathing was erratic and his legs barely sustained him. The man moved in behind her.

Clarissa. How he wanted to do that with Clarissa. Fill every inch of her. Have her screaming with pleasure and need and carnality. Until his impotence, he’d not once thought of using her for such base, varied pleasures. Now he thought about it all the time.

When the other man started to insert his cock into the girl’s wet cunt, Michael moved to watch. One of the male prostitute’s hands held the dildo firmly in place. Once fully seated, he started thrusting in her cunt. Michael stroked and jerked his cock in ever more rapid pulls. The other man had the skilled composure to perform as Michael had instructed and he set his practiced hand to the much more gentle in and out movement of the dildo.

The girl finally screamed as she climaxed and Michael watched as her body convulsed.

So did his.

The dildo shot out an inch. Michael grabbed the towel as copious amounts of cum spilled from his cock. Pleasure ripped up his spine, jolting his limbs, clenching at his balls, diming his eyesight.

He continued to stroke, his eyes closed tightly as he thought of Clarissa. When the thrashing on the bed stopped, he returned to his chair. He swallowed the last of his drink as he swiped at the mess he hadn’t been able to contain.

Leaning his head back in the chair, he waited until he heard the others leave the room and then he forcibly set his mind to the accounts he had to balance in the morning.

* * * * *

“I would like to speak to the proprietor of this establishment.” Clarissa was well-hidden by the black netting, but she knew her voice made her sound like the quintessential Mayfair snob. She’d chosen the most somber, unidentifiable dress in her closet and hurried to change while Michael had a drink in the library.

When she’d heard him leave, she’d followed in a hired livery. She’d lied to Anne about Michael’s evening habits. They’d often arrive home exhausted and yet on some nights, Michael slipped back out again.

“Yes, mum,” a servant said before disappearing into another room.

A grandmotherly sort of woman floated into view, her satins and bows of the finest quality, but more suitable to a young girl in the schoolroom. She smiled at Clarissa. “How may I assist you, your ladyship?”

“Might I have a word in private?”

“Certainly.”

Inside a small, frillishly decorated sitting room, Clarissa paced while her fingers entwined in worry and embarrassment. Everywhere there was lace and satin and silks along with plumply stuffed brocaded chairs and tufted benches.

“I am Madame DuPuis. May I ask who you are?”

“No…I…I’m not prepared to say.” The moment Michael had said he was going out, Clarissa determined she would seek her own answers. She’d nearly collapsed when she saw him enter the famed bordello. Anne had tittered and gossiped enough about the place since their friendship blossomed.

Never had she imagined Michael at a place like this. A mistress of quality yes, but this?
A whore?

“Do you wish a man? More than one man? Or a woman? I can provide all of those things. A fine young boy perhaps? Ah, but I sense this is the first time you stray, is it not?”

In her current state, the suggestions didn’t shock Clarissa. “I am not straying. I’ve come to you about another matter. A very private matter, Madame.”

“You may call me Alice.” Alice bustled toward a small serving tray and poured a draught of amber liqueur in a tiny crystal glass.

“It is about my husband. He’s here.”

Alice held up a hand. “That I cannot discuss. What happens here is between me and my clients.”

“But I have to know.”

“Madame, if you wish a lover, you’ve come to the right place. Granted, not the kind of lover you will find in your London ballrooms, but one guaranteed to give you satisfaction.”

“I want my husband. Where is he? The Earl of Dunnaway.” Clarissa clutched at her bag, finally pulling out five golden coins. “Surely, that is enough for the information I require.”

“Perhaps.”

“I want to know how often he comes here. I want to know who he sees and what he does.”

Alice lowered her aged bottom into an overstuffed chair, her skirts rustling until they settled into place and the money clinking in her palm as she appeared to consider what to say.

“Lady Dunnaway, those aren’t the things you want to know. What you want to know is why he doesn’t come to your bed.”

“He loves me!”

“I think perhaps you are right,” she said. The madam’s mouthed worked, forming little puckers as she considered her words. “What I show you is very private. It will cost you more than this,” she said, indicating the coins Clarissa had already handed over. “And I suspect it will cost you much of your fine dignity. Are you prepared to lose your innocence and perhaps your respect for your husband?”

Clarissa waivered, then opened her purse and dumped the remaining coins on the small table before Alice. It was the last of her pin money for the month.

“You won’t be able to go back, once you know the truth.”

“I’m prepared.” Clarissa straightened her shoulders and stared into Madame DuPuis’ eyes. “I want to go to him.”

“Madame, he comes here to escape you, I think.”

“Nonsense, he comes here for sexual intercourse and that I can provide. He just needs to understand.”

“All right. You’ve made your decision.”

* * * * *

Cold fear inched its way through her limbs.
What was she going to see? How beautiful would the woman be? Did he love the whore?

What was more upsetting? That he had a whore to service him or that he had just given his word that there was no one else?

She couldn’t turn back now, no matter how much she feared the truth.

Madame DuPuis led her to a narrow back staircase and they climbed to the next floor, where it opened on to a darkened, narrow hallway.

“From this point, you must speak in the smallest of voices. You will be able to witness most of what happens in his room. I cannot tell you what you will observe.” Clarissa suspected the woman knew exactly what happened in every room in the house.

“Here,” she whispered.

Clarissa stepped up. There was a cutout in the wall covered by some gauzy sheer material on the other side. She peered into the room, the gauze lending a dreamlike quality to all she saw. The room was well-lit, with candles accentuating the vivid colors of the brothel bedroom and the surreal sight of the sexual activities.

Michael stood near the head of a bed, bare except for his trousers. Her senses reeled. She fought for air. Two others copulated next to him! Every action seared into her gaze and lodged in her brain.

She heard Michael say, “Spread yourself wider.” Clarissa clapped a hand over her mouth. The woman obeyed. Clarissa couldn’t see the whore’s face, fortunately. She’d every intention of clawing the woman’s eyes out.

A sleek glass ornament came into view. Clarissa puzzled for a moment before she understood its use. Anne had explained it to her.

Clarissa’s face heated as she watched the dildo slide into the woman. She couldn’t take her gaze from the activity on the bed. She felt the first surge of moisture between her thighs, followed by the long-ago familiarity of unfulfilled desire throbbing between her legs.

She knew Michael’s reaction before she looked. He stroked his beautiful cock in time with the dildo.
Her
cock. Not one she would share with anyone. By damn, she would tear this house apart if he put his manhood inside that disgusting creature.

Michael spoke again. Clarissa’s knees nearly buckled as she watched the slick dildo emerge from the woman’s body and then she gaped as the man slid it up, poised on the brink of the whore’s bottom.
Her bottom!

Her own anus tensed and puckered as she watched the dildo slide inward. She knew Michael’s gaze was fastened on the display. His hand moved more rapidly. Her breathing surged in and out in time with his building arousal.

At last the other man, barely noticed before, shoved his inferior cock into the whore’s vagina and rocked against her, blocking much of Clarissa’s view.

She saw the change in Michael as he responded.

She had been able to excite him like that at one time. Once,
she
was what he wanted.

Pleasure consumed him. The familiar grunt and moan as he climaxed. She saw his long, hard erection one last time before he covered it with a towel.

She backed away from the cutout and leaned against the wall, her hand against her heart. “Tell me when it’s over,” she whispered.

There were no tears. Shock prevented her from reacting.

Madame DuPuis took her by the arm and led her away.

She didn’t remember how she got down the stairs, but back in the small sitting room, Alice shoved a drink into Clarissa’s hand, placed a comforting, stern hand to her shoulder to make her sit and then coaxed her to swallow.

“You’re a very lucky woman,” Alice said.

Clarissa frosted her with the coldest stare of an angry countess.

“Lucky? My husband is upstairs fucking a damn whore and you say I’m lucky?

She bit back the other disparaging comments that burned in her heart and mind. She turned away from the madam and clenched her teeth, trying to stop the tears. Her stays dug into her chest and she felt near insanity. One little push and she’d fall into the darkened abyss of her empty future.

“That’s not what he was doing.” Alice’s voice brimmed with irrefutable logic, as if Clarissa couldn’t see what was happening.

“When will he leave? I have to be home before he gets back.”

“He won’t yet. In about an hour, it happens all over again.”

“Oh my God.” Clarissa gulped down the rest of the drink. “Do you have something stronger?”

Alice obliged, handing her a half-full brandy glass. She took one swallow and coughed at the burning slide of the strong liquor. A momentary fireball erupted in her stomach, a welcome distraction though.

What was she going to do?

“Do you know why you are lucky?”

“No. Please explain it to me,” Clarissa said sarcastically.

“He’s been coming for six months. Six months, Lady Dunnaway, and he’s yet to touch one of my whores. Oh, he watches and he finds temporary relief but that’s it.”

“Yes, it’s clear to me now. Thank you for explaining.” She swallowed more of the drink, hoping for oblivion.

“You’re in the heat of anger. Once you calm down, you’ll see you haven’t lost so much. And if you want my opinion—”

“Which I don’t, thank you.”