Wicked Desires (Wicked Affairs, Book One) (8 page)

Her bottom still throbbed from the abrupt entry, but she had to admit, the rich orgasm had gone a long way toward relieving the intrusive burn.

Once Michael’s hand had touched her, her world righted itself. She’d relaxed and allowed the secret excitement to bloom into full passion. She’d prepared her body and her mind for all he would do to her.

Accepting the dildo, Clarissa smiled without showing her teeth. “
Oui, monsieur.
”

The fear and dread had turned into something new, a sexual tension, a forbidden desire she’d not known existed and never dreamt she’d enjoy pursuing.

Her heart pounded in her chest. A flush spread across her skin.

From here, everything she did was to entice her husband, her now-illicit lover. Michael seated himself in the chair, facing her open legs.

Clarissa wiggled her bottom and scooted to the edge of the bed. This was her opportunity to remind him of the wife he could have. She lifted and then spread her legs wide, bracing her feet against the wooden bed frame. His intake of breath confirmed that her actions had the desired effect.

Teasing the dildo along the sensitive slit, she closed her eyes and moaned. “Does
monsieur
not wish his cock inside instead? You don’t like?” They rarely spoke French at home. He seemed not to notice anything about her soft voice.

“Put it in.”

Clarissa shivered at his command. “
Je
préfère
—”

“Mademoiselle, I prefer to see you fuck yourself while you imagine this cock filling you.” He stated the dark words, evidence of the deep need he refused to allow full rein. He gripped the base of his penis and positioned it for her view.

Clarissa’s body spasmed. Indeed, she did imagine his cock inside her, but the whole point was to
get
it inside her. It had been too long.

She rolled her upper body so she could rest on one elbow while her other hand started the slow movements on the outside of her body, teasing and toying but refusing his command. Through the feathered mask, she stared at her husband, who in turn, watched her through half-masted lids. He stroked his cock in time with her.

“Mademoiselle, do hurry.”

She held the dildo up and wrinkled her noise. She kept her voice soft and lilting. “But it is so small, and you, you are so big.” She dangled it from her fingers. “It is dead, no?”

Michael’s lower body tensed and his hand gripped his penis. His eyelids tightened and she sensed he might be near another climax.

“But I put it in, if it makes you happy.”

His eyes peeked open. His jaw clenched and worked as if he wanted to say more to her.

Clarissa thrust slowly, almost enjoying torturing her husband. The knobbed end dangled from her temptingly. She fell back on the bad and whined, “No, I feel nothing.”

He burst from the chair and reached her in one long step. He reached for the ties on the bedpost and had her wrist secured in a soft binding before she realized what he was doing. The dildo was still in her vagina, so she grasped the protuberance and attempted to free it, but he clutched her other wrist and had it bound. Suddenly, it was no longer a game.

She’d believed she was enticing him, but she found out quickly she was an amateur and he wanted what he wanted. Struggling against the binds, she grew fearful again.

He reached between her legs. She flinched. His big, firm hand took the end of the dildo, positioning it up, pressing into a very sensitive spot inside her. She gasped and struggled to turn, wanting relief from the sudden pressure.

“Since you enjoy talking, I want you to tell me how you feel.”

He wasn’t moving the dildo in and out, rather he started a circular motion that forced the bulb-tipped end to stimulate her.

“
Oui.
”

“
Oui?
Is that all? Are you thinking about my cock now or do you like the pleasure I’m giving you with this?”

She shuddered.

He inserted the length of the dildo. She felt it touch her womb and a sudden, quick pain shot through her. She lurched, jerking against the bindings.

Pressing his hand against her lower belly, he started the gentle thrusting that made her forget she was here for her husband’s cock. The weight of his hand made her feel as if the organ inside her was a club rubbing every nerve ending raw. In a good way.

She dug her heels into the bed and tried to get away. She twisted her body but it only made him laugh and thrust the dildo a few more times.

“
Mais, non
. It is too much.”

“Do you want to come? If you say yes, I’m going to make you come again and again. If you say no, I’m going to leave you tied to this bed and invite our friend back in to fill you. What would you like?”

Michael stopped the movements. “Tell me,
chérie
? I know you are greedy, but who do you want it from?”

“You. I want you. Your cock.”

“That’s not one of your choices.”

She bucked up against him, her senses feverish as if he left her hanging from a cliff and the only choice was to jump. Instead, she clenched hard against the dildo, trying to find her own relief.

“Didn’t I give you enough the first time?”

“Please,
monsieur
. Please.”

He tugged on the dildo, starting to withdraw. “Once I take this out, you know what you get.”

“No. No!”

Filling her with a quick push, he smiled down at her. “I take that as a yes. You must have your pleasure.” She relaxed for a moment and then he did it to her again. His hand massaged and pressed at the soft spot and the dildo deep in her body worked her into a frenzy.

Clarissa gave in to his sexual torture. She stopped fighting against the bonds and the uncontrollable, raw pleasure.

Once he found a rhythm, she clenched her sheath on the outward stroke, sending fire to her toes and eyelashes. She arched, soared and hung suspended before she crashed into wild pulses that beat where his hand lay against her stomach and around the thick phallus still buried in her body.

“Good,
chérie
. I enjoy your pleasure, but you’ll need to learn that Madame DuPuis’ whores are here for their client’s pleasure foremost. It is what the client wishes.”

She whimpered as he started again. Her cunt burned with sensation and sensitivity. She didn’t think she could do it again so soon. The third time had her limp and satiated. Her arms were still spread, held by the soft binds. Michael viewed her body, the want and lust still clearly visible on his face.

Clarissa didn’t understand what stopped him.

“But
monsieur
, what if the client doesn’t know what he wishes?”

His reaction was swift.

Michael backed away from her, turning his back and hoisting his trousers closed in quick, angry movements.

The bed was comfortable and Clarissa’s exhaustion weighed her down. So did the weight of failure. She’d pushed him away. Again.

The sound of a door snapping shut brought her back to awareness.

Michael had left her tied to the bed.

* * * * *

Clarissa jerked on her dress.

Madame DuPuis had arrived in her room a few minutes after Michael left. The woman didn’t react, only bent to the task of freeing Clarissa from the bed and assisting her into a proper robe.

A few minutes later, in Madame DuPuis’ sitting room, she finished dressing.

“What did I do wrong?” Clarissa asked, once she deemed herself presentable. Madame DuPuis pursed her lips and in her grandmotherly wisdom said nothing.

“He doesn’t want me at home. He doesn’t want me strapped to a bed doing everything that so obviously pleases him. What does he want?” Clarissa jerked on her gloves.

The madam raised her brows. “He is still deciding.”

“Deciding?”

“Deciding whether he is going to choose a whore over his wife.”

Clarissa had humbled herself, performing unheard-of acts, standing nearly naked in a room with another man, allowed that same man to touch her intimately, all to seduce her husband.

And all to no avail.

“What do I do now?”

“Nothing. As he left, he said he would not be back.”

“So this was all a waste? I’ve humiliated and degraded myself for nothing?”

“You had to try.”

“Yes. I suppose I did.”

“Your livery is waiting.”

At the door, Clarissa turned to face the sanguine Madame DuPuis. “What would you have done?”

“I’ve never had a man I wanted to keep.” Alice smiled and her round cheeks dimpled.

“This isn’t over yet,” Clarissa said.

“I’m glad to hear it. It’s been an entertaining and profitable evening. Hopefully, more so in the future, should we continue our alliance.”

Inside the carriage, Clarissa rocked to the jolting rhythm and listened to the clickity-clack of the horses along the cobblestones. Somehow she had to find a way to get through to her husband.

She marveled at his restraint. When they were younger, it took much less to excite him. Why did she have to work so hard now? Ridiculous men like Martin DeLacy panted after her to the point of bother. She’d slapped him once for stepping over the bounds of propriety, but Michael was nowhere to be found when she needed him to defend her or see the incident to know that she was still desirable to other men. Michael seemed immune and indifferent of the attention other men paid her, and it would be childish to attempt to make him more than nominally jealous.

Clarissa vowed to entice him in her home, and if that failed, at Madame DuPuis’. She now knew first-hand what he liked and she’d use every underhanded trick to get him to realize she’d enjoy the same things. As long as it was with him.

She also understood his obstinacy in refusing to discuss their lack of intimacy. She feared his reaction to confessing what had happened tonight. And if Clarissa had heard about such activities from her husband, she might have never understood.

Having experienced the desire and pleasure firsthand, she was more sympathetic.

And more determined.

Chapter Five

Michael stared through the ornate window of their front sitting room, facing the street as the nondescript hackney approached the house. He stood to the side, near the curtain. The room was dark, only a small crackling fire kept him company.

His wife exited the carriage quickly and hurried up the stairs. He didn’t move as he heard the footman at the front door, a few words of greeting and his wife’s furtive steps up the long staircase.

He’d had several drinks already, but had the presence of mind to avoid yet another while he waited, imagining the very worst scenarios. He calmed himself with a few deep breaths, reminded himself she should at least be able to defend herself before he made wild accusations and then solemnly followed her to their joint bedrooms a few minutes later.

Entering his room, he walked to her door and knocked. Immediately, he regretted not tidying his appearance. He wore only his open shirt and evening trousers. He was in his socks.

When she didn’t answer, he walked in. She stood near the end of her bed, wide-eyed and fearful, adorned in her usual white garb. Guilty.

“Michael?”

Unrestrained anger propelled him toward the sitting chairs near her fireplace. Flopping in a chair, absent his usual impeccable manners, he mulled his first words. He did not think he could be near her without his inner rage boiling over.

But he couldn’t bear to be far away from her either.

“Clarissa, won’t you join me?”

“I was just going to bed.”

He entwined his fingers and pressed his lips to them, wanting to get it right. Wanting.

“I’ve done a lot of thinking tonight and I believe my worst fears are coming true.”

Still she didn’t move.

“When I arrived home, your carriage was here but you weren’t.”

“Oh, I know,” she said and then smiled brightly. Falsely. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I ran into Anne. She and Randall brought me home.”

“Ah. Your dear friend Anne.”

Clarissa padded toward her bed and sat down, pulling the thick coverlet over her legs. “I’m tired, Michael.”

He clenched his teeth but pushed out of the chair. He strolled toward her, blowing out two candles on her mantle before he gazed down at her. How could he want someone so much and be able to do nothing about it? Even now he felt nothing. No faint stirring of arousal. No strong erection. Nothing at all to tempt her into nights of debauchery and unrestrained pleasure.

“I think we will return to York early this year. I’ve been missing home,” he said. If he could get her away. If they could go home, perhaps he would relax enough, perhaps she would forget the enticements of other men. And maybe she would forgive his inadequacy as a man and his failure as a husband.

“Why? The boys won’t be home for weeks yet. It will be drafty and lonely if we return now. Oh, no. Let’s not. We still have almost five weeks before the end of the Season.”