Making of a Scandal (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 3)

by Victoria Vale

  He seemed taller out of his clothes, his legs endless and notched with more of the lean muscle blanketing his frame. His cock was terrifying and marvelous all at once, hard and long, curving up toward his navel in its aroused state, the swollen head glistening. She bit her lip, remembering the feel of the steely organ in her hand. It had been intimidating enough then, peeking out from the confines of his clothes, but looked even more alarming now that she realized where he meant to put it.

  Her legs squeezed together as a pang of anxiety rippled through her, but true to form, Dominick was having none of that. He climbed onto the bed and ran his hands up her calves, gripping beneath her knees and prying them apart. She fell onto her back as he raised one leg, his lips caressing the arch of her foot, her ankle, then lower until his tongue was tickling the inside of her thigh. He draped the leg over his shoulder, eyes flashing up at her through disheveled strands of his hair. His hand palmed her other thigh, pushing it open to spread her wide. She whimpered, her face burning as the urge to cover herself and the need to experience what he had in store warred within her.

  “Christ, the way you look just now,” he murmured, his breath teasing her wet, tender flesh. “So delectably innocent, just waiting to be ravished.”

  She laughed, the sound shaky and tinged with her nervousness. “What a wicked rake you are, sir.”

  “Your rake now,” he murmured, flicking his tongue at her in a tentative overture.

  Her entire body went rigid, her thighs pressing inward. But he merely held her open, his smile feral and filled with promise as he lowered his head to go back for more.

  “And yes, goddess … I am about to do very wicked things to you.”

  His mouth on her eradicated any response she might have formed, and there was nothing left to do, to say, to think. There was only sensation, his lips soft and teasing against her mons, his tongue sliding along the hidden folds and the sensitive bud. Her eyes slid closed and she gasped for breath, hardly accustomed to one thing before he’d layered another manipulation over it. He didn’t just kiss and lick, he sucked, clasping her pulsing clit between his lips and pulling on it with gentle tugs. He used his fingers to spread her open, lewd sounds emitting from him as he lapped and sucked as if he derived his own satisfaction from the act.

  And what an obscene act it was, intimate and improper, and so blissful Calliope thought she might weep. Calliope gripped the coverlet with shaking fingers, her hips flexing of their own accord, as if her body instinctively knew how to demand more of what it craved.

  “Don’t hold back,” he whispered, gently biting the inside of one thigh. “Ride my mouth … take your pleasure from me.”

  She gasped when he latched onto her again, his tongue rubbing and circling with perfect precision. The last of her shyness fell away. If he could be so wicked, why couldn’t she? Bracing her feet against the mattress and raising her hips came as the most natural thing in the world, pressing against him at just the right angle and making stars explode behind her closed eyelids.

  “Oh, my God … Nick!”

  Her insides seized and twisted, sending shocked cries of delight ripping from her throat. There was no room for worry over what was proper or seemly; not when she felt herself building toward the same release she had experienced that afternoon. Only this time, she was certain she might die when it was all over, torn apart by the almost violent convulsions making her legs go stiff and her womb clench and spasm.

  Dominick groaned, hands tightening on her thighs as he went at her with relentless intent, driving her up and up until she took flight. She pinched her lips to muffle the cries she couldn’t contain. The climax reached its height, then slowly eased, ebbing away like a receding tide while Nick calmed his fervent ministrations as if he knew she could not take much more. He punctuated the finish with a lingering kiss and one last swipe of his tongue before going up on his haunches, lips glistening with her juices.

  It occurred to her that perhaps she ought to be mortified at the proof of where his mouth had just been, but she could only lie there in a stupor, shaking and twitching in the aftermath of exquisite pleasure. Nick grinned as he moved up her body, licking his lips like a cat savoring the last bit of cream. He lingered over her breasts, teasing her nipples and bringing the glowing embers of her need back to life like a flame striking a dynamite fuse. She reached for him, desperate for the rest of what was to come. The crisp hairs on his chest rasped against her fingers, and his heart beat at a wild, thunderous cadence.

  Their bodies fit together seamlessly, as if they’d been made to come together this way—chest to chest, belly to belly, his narrow hips fitting within the cradle of hers. His cock fell against her, thrumming with its own pulse. It fit within her seam, gliding along flesh made slippery by her arousal and his tongue. His eyelids drooped over eyes burning with intense need as he flexed against her.

  He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, taking her first finger into his mouth and rasping his tongue along it. “Tell me you want me.”

  Her voice came out shaky and breathless as he nudged and pressed against her, his rigid shaft unrelenting against her overstimulated clit. “I … I want you.”

  He gave her nipple a light pinch, rolling the hardened bud between his thumb and forefinger.

  “I want you, Nick,” he urged. “Say my name so I know it’s me you want … only me.”

  She cupped his face, drawing him down to her for a kiss, registering the earthy taste and scent of herself on his lips. “I want you, Nick. Only you.”

  Gratification shone from his eyes as he levered one of her legs upward, until her knee nearly touched her chest. He took his cock in hand, and Calliope couldn’t tear her gaze away from the hypnotizing sight of him smearing himself with her wetness. Then, he was angling himself toward her entrance, jaw clenched in concentration. Calliope braced herself for the initial invasion, knowing there would be pain, but also knowing she had to endure it to discover what awaited on the other side.

  His gaze snapped up to lock with hers once the broad crown of his cock was situated within the mouth of her channel. Then, he gave a nudge of his hips, pressing into her an inch and going deathly still. She held her breath, watching as he trembled and panted, vibrating from head to toe as he seemed to hover on a precipice, waiting for the right moment to throw himself over the edge. The cords in his neck stretched taut, the muscles of his torso rippling as he surged with one thrust, plunging deep. Calliope’s lips parted on a scream she couldn’t seem to force out, her chest burning and her back arching as her sheath stretched and throbbed, adjusting to the foreign invasion. Nick’s head fell back, an artery in his throat undulating with every beat of his heart, a matching rhythm making his cock jerk inside her.

  “Are you … all right?” he managed between heavy breaths.

  She nodded and swallowed, forcing words past her lips. “Y-yes … don’t stop. Please …”

  Through the discomfort and burning stretch of her channel, there was something else—something she desperately wanted more of. She couldn’t wait, couldn’t stand another moment of this stillness now that he was inside her. He pulled back and thrust again, his rough groan tangling with her sharp cry. His lips clamped over hers to muffle the sounds, more of them spilling forth as he rocked in and out of her, stretching her, filling her, reshaping her to mold to him in a tight, grasping clench. His tongue mimicked his cock, plundering her mouth in the same slow rhythm.

  Her thighs spread wider, the tension of her body melting and giving in to his presence. The down on his chest stimulated her nipples, the coarse hairs of this thighs abrading the sensitive skin of her own. He wasn’t only inside of her, but all around her, consuming her, bringing parts of her alive that she hadn’t realized existed until he touched them.

  “You … you have to …”

  He quaked in her arms, his lips parting and closing on words that wouldn’t come as easily as before. Gritting his teeth, he took a breath and tried again, tangling his fingers
in her hair.

  “Tell me if it’s too much … I don’t want to hurt you … but I can’t … it feels … too good, so good.”

  He hooked her leg around his waist, rolling his hips and grinding against her, sending a sharp burst of pleasure spiraling through her core.

  “There!” she cried, arching beneath him and seeking more.

  He repeated the motion, and she pressed her mouth against his shoulder to quiet her moans.

  “Like this?”

  “Yes … oh, yes!”

  He murmured unintelligibly against her ear, increasing his rhythm as she clutched him. She drank him in through her every sense, the hypnotizing ripple of his shoulder muscles as he moved over her, the feel of his sweat-slick skin against her, the musky scent of him, the sound of his groans, the taste of him as she kissed his neck, his shoulder, his cheek.

  His hands slid beneath her, cupping her buttocks to lift her hips off the bed, and that somehow enabled him to stroke deeper, his thrusts gaining power and momentum with each passing second.

  “Anni … my Anni … I … I love … love you.”

  The words came tumbling out between labored breaths, and Calliope felt them echoing through her with every stroke of his cock, phantom ripples of euphoria picking up where each pang of ecstasy ended, until she was drowning. She could hardly breathe through the powerful culmination ripping through her, tearing her open and leaving her vulnerable in his arms, every nerve exposed and attuned to him.

  She tightened her hold on him, her face buried in his neck as she gasped and sobbed, helpless against such an onslaught, surrendering to its overwhelming force.

  “Yes, that’s it,” he rasped. “Come for me, goddess.”

  She splintered, her vision fading to black as her climax consumed her. Nick groaned and ground out a string of oaths, pounding into her as she clenched and squeezed around him, drawing him in deep as he plunged one last time and gave in to his own release. Her Bengali name was a prayer on his lips, repeated with each jerk of his hips, each hot spurt of his seed inside her, each beat of his heart hammering against her breast.

  They lay tangled with one another as they fell silent and still, panting breaths and sighs the only disruption to the calm following the storm.

  Calliope lay limp beneath him, strands of hair sticking to her damp face, her sheath pulsing and sore around his cock—softened but still lodged within her. A little laugh bubbled up in her chest, elation and relief in the sound as she realized what Dominick had just given her. Not just his body or a fulfillment of her desires, but something far more precious. Turning her head to kiss his brow, she smiled at the soft sound of contentment he made in response, all he seemed capable of at the moment. It was enough.

  Chapter 12

  “Due to the house party taking place at his rural property in Surrey, talk of the nabob Viscount B has reemerged. It has been some years since anything of substance was circulated about the retired EIC officer who returned from Bengal with a half-caste daughter. It is also said that there is a hidden room inside his home, where he goes to kneel and worship the heathen gods of his wife. If I had been invited to his little gathering, I might have attended if for no other reason than to ferret out the truth about that!”

  The London Gossip, September 25, 1819

  Dominick awoke to the distinct quiet of night giving way to dawn, and Calliope laid in the curl of one arm. She faced away from him, long masses of her hair splayed over his chest. With consciousness came good sense, which told him he should leave before he was discovered. The other guests wouldn’t wake for hours yet, but the servants would be up and about, and might see him slinking through the corridors.

  He told himself he only needed one minute more, but once that minute had passed, he let himself have another, and another. He ran his fingers through her silken hair, raising it to his lips.

  As a courtesan, he ought to be annoyed with himself for his performance the night before. He’d been as overeager as a boy having his first taste of pleasure, unable to even reach for the filthy words that were a signature part of his repertoire. He’d lost his grip on skill and finesse, abandoning the tricks that had once made the most experienced of women scream their shocked delight. He’d found he could hardly think with her gripping him so tight, let alone employ any of the techniques that had earned him his reputation.

  As a man in love, however, he could feel nothing but soul-deep satisfaction. His eyes had been opened and he realized that despite all his skill, his persona as a courtesan had been nothing more than a game of smoke and mirrors—a facade that allowed his keepers to see or feel nothing of the man himself. He had given Calliope his all in a moment of raw vulnerability, and found no shame in that. Not that he wouldn’t be averse to introducing her to a wider range of pleasures now that she was no longer an innocent.

  He had scoffed at the other courtesans who’d fallen headlong into the supposed trap of love, thinking that choosing one woman meant missing out on all the others. It had never occurred to him that other women would cease to exist for him in the shadow of one. Forsaking all others seemed like something to aspire to rather than to be avoided.

  Rolling onto his side, he wrapped his other arm around her. She sighed when he kissed her shoulder, his lips skimming over smooth, bronzed skin.

  “Wake up, goddess. Come, kiss me good-bye.”

  She groaned, turning to face him. “Don’t go.”

  He gave her hair a gentle tug, turning her face up so he could kiss the tip of her nose. “It’s nearly dawn. If I don’t leave now, we’ll be discovered.”

  “But you’re so warm,” she murmured, wrapping an arm around his waist and draping a leg over his hips. “The fire’s gone out, but I hadn’t even noticed with you here.”

  “I’ll be sure to start one for you before I leave. But you must let me go, otherwise, not only will we be caught, your lady’s maid is likely to get an eyeful. I’m going to want you again, and I doubt even her interruption would be enough to stop me. There will be plenty of time for lazy mornings in bed once we are wed. During our honeymoon, I refuse to let you leave the bed or dress until well after noon … and maybe not even then.”

  She sat up, thankfully covering her breasts with the bedclothes. His goddess was far too delectable first thing in the morning, all that dark hair draping her shoulders, one bare leg peeking out from among the tangled sheets. He tore his gaze away and threw his legs over the side of the bed.

  “And just where will this honeymoon take place?” she asked, watching as he slipped on his breeches.

  “How do you fancy Paris?” he asked, striding to the hearth and shoveling coal into the grate.

  “I’ve never been, but I think I would fancy it very much.”

  “Then that’s where we’ll go. Though, you shouldn’t expect to see much of it. My rule against clothes will make it difficult for you to step foot outside the bedroom.”

  She laughed, the sound low and husky, heavy with the remnants of sleep. It did things to him; things that made it increasingly hard for him to leave. He powered through his urges and continued dressing.

  “We’ll go to your father after breakfast. Given your shameless seduction of me last night, I’d say it’s best.”

  “If you expect me to apologize for it, I wouldn’t suggest holding your breath.”

  He shoved his cravat into his coat pocket, not having the patience just now to fuss with it. “Then you don’t regret it? I don’t want to assume, but … you were a virgin, and … I’ve been led to believe there might be some …”

  He waved a hand through the air, finding his lack of the right words had followed him into the morning. This was such new territory for him, this consideration and care for another person beyond the pleasures of the moment.

  She rose, crossing to the screen concealing the washstand and taking up a gold silk dressing gown. Once shrouded in it, she came to him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

  “I regret nothing, and neither shoul
d you. I do not feel as if I lost anything last night. I rather feel as if I gained something instead.”

  Relief sagged his shoulders, and he returned her embrace. “Thank God.”

  They pulled apart, and Dominick reluctantly began backing toward the door.

  “I will see you in a few hours. Try to rest some more. And … perhaps a hot bath?”

  She sank back onto the bed and nodded. “Both those things sound wonderful. Good-bye, Mr. Burke … for now.”

  “Yes, only for now.”

  Dominick tiptoed from the room with shoes in hand, looking forward to the day when he wouldn’t have to sneak about to be with her. It would probably be best for him to keep his hands off her until after the wedding, but such a feat seemed impossible. Perhaps a short engagement would be best. They could be wed as soon as the banns were read, and he wouldn’t find the limits of his patience tested too sorely.

  He returned to his guest chamber without incident but found that his thoughts would never let him go back to sleep. Instead, he dug about in his trunk until he came out with the writing box he’d brought along and carried it to an armchair near the window. By the light of the approaching dawn, he penned a missive to Benedict, doing his best to explain the changes that were soon to come without disclosing that he’d already compromised Calliope. It was really none of the man’s business.

  Sealing the letter and setting it aside for Thorpe, he then turned his mind to other practical matters. There was much to do to prepare for his new life, the most important being facing a reality he’d wanted to avoid. His uncle’s inevitable death would see him set up to provide for Calliope, and what had once felt like an unwanted burden was now a fortuitous blessing. It didn’t matter that she had no need of money; he would be damned if he married her without a home to shelter her and his own funds to shower her with everything she could ever want.