“She was doing a poor job of it in the first place, remember? What makes you think if you kept her on, she’d suddenly do her job to the best of her ability?”
“But we’ll never know now, will we?” Rother huffed in disdain. “From now on be sure to stay out of business affairs you know nothing about.”
“You can’t really believe Vivian would be a long-term asset.”
“Nathan, get away from me. Just go.” Rother waved me off and turned his head. “I’m sick of looking at you.”
Offended but not surprised, I didn’t need to be told twice. It was harder than I expected not to make a scene. I almost snatched a vase off a side table and used it for target practice on Rother. Well, I did pick it up, but managed to put it back down again.
Keeping the indecent sod in my sights was too tempting, so I went upstairs. Now was not the time to indulge in petty squabbles. Another day.
I wasn’t sure where I was going. The days of me running to hide in the bedroom were over. It only provided me with a small measure of sanctuary since letting Rother back in. I worked my way through the halls, seeing almost no one since all staff would be on the main floor during business hours unless they were entertaining a guest in a private room.
Not much noise emanated from the playrooms. The evening had been quiet indeed. Hardly a trace of debauchery could be heard through the doors. The depravity common in this house bothered me less with each passing day.
When I reached the end of the corridor, I found myself in front of the viewing hall entrance. I’d only stepped across the threshold once since arriving. I knew Rother would be incensed if I entered without his supervision, but he’d ordered me away, which was all the permission I needed.
A certain exhilaration filled my chest when the door closed behind me. Voyeurism had never been a fetish of mine, as far as I knew, but I wanted to see and know more. Feeling bold, I stepped forward into the corridor of immorality, ready to experience a little snippet of the world without my boorish husband. My trek came to an abrupt halt as I rounded the corner.
Blythe stood before one of the windows, one hand supporting himself against the glass. Staring so intently into the room, he hadn’t noticed me. What I couldn’t help seeing was how his free hand squeezed the sizable lump in his pants, aimed up to his hip. The severe light left no mistake.
I backed up a step out of sight and scuffed my feet a bit to save us both a little shame. Of course, to be honest, it was more for my benefit than his. Blythe would likely increase his efforts to see if he could make me pass out in shock.
When I came back around, Blythe’s free hand had joined the other on the window. He’d shifted his stance to hide his arousal, but it was futile. Blythe was not a small man in any regard. I pretended not to notice as I approached him.
His hands on the window curled into fists at the sight of me. “You’re not supposed to be in here. Does Rother know where you are?”
“He told me to get out of his sight. His instructions weren’t more specific.”
“He’s gonna get fucking bent if he finds you in here.”
“Rother’s too busy watching over his business. I see you’re working awfully hard tonight.”
Inside the room, a gruff man bedded down the youthful blond I always questioned over his age. The pair of men were in a tight clutch, well into their assignation. The customer’s buttocks flexed hard with each thrust, pushing lusty moans out of them both, which drifted through the wall, a soft, decadent chorus. The sloppy, desperate kisses shared between them were more than a simple financial transaction.
I’d seen the customer on several occasions, requesting the same man on each visit. One was not taking advantage of the other. If the young man felt nothing more than the cock plunging into his body, his acting skills were award-winning.
“It’s my job. Make sure nothing goes wrong.”
Blythe continued to watch them, and his eyes’ longing belied the pretense. The scene playing out was intense and arousing, and I couldn’t ignore the similarities between the two and myself and Blythe.
And Blythe saw it too. His fists spread wide on the glass as if he might reach through and steal their moment for himself. If he could, I would have helped him. His breathing became a steady bellows between licking and chewing his lower lip.
A guilty thought raced through my head. Bringing it into the open made it little more than a whisper. “Are you still waiting for me?”
The steady inhale stilled. Minor twitches pulled at the corner of Blythe’s eyes. There were miles of unspoken words in his expression, but they couldn’t or wouldn’t be uttered.
I pointed at the young man through the window. “Do you want him?”
“No.”
“I’ll understand if you have to take care of your needs elsewhere.”
Blythe’s raspy snort was fraught with sadness. “You’re usually a better liar than this.”
“I didn’t say I’d be happy. I just said I’d understand. You look miserable. Do you want me to leave?”
“Doesn’t matter. If you’re here or not, it’s the same. It’s what I get for telling you I’ll wait.” From the moment I appeared, Blythe continued to stare into the room. Was I so frightening to face?
Another terrifying thought escaped me. “I don’t know how much longer it will take.”
“Don’t care. I’m patient.”
“Are you sure?” I couldn’t stop asking questions even though I begged him in my head not to answer.
“Nothing’s changed.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you willing to wait when I can’t promise anything?”
Blythe took three shaking breaths and forced his comment into the air, thick and trembling to restrain the force behind it. “Some things are worth waiting for.”
Something inside me swelled, leaving my chest too small to contain everything. The pressure made my eyes water.
I should have felt guilty—and I did—but it was such a tiny sensation in comparison to the rest. I should have hated myself for putting this man through hell while I sorted out my life. But I didn’t. The mood was unfamiliar, bathing me in its acrid shadow for the first time in a way I could define.
I was jealous. Fiercely, fiercely jealous.
Jealous of the men who courted Delaga House and chose their companion without fear. Jealous of the people who walked through their life without knowing abuse and uncertainty. Jealous of the people whose futures granted them hope without resorting to schemes and manipulation.
But most of all, I was jealous of Ben Sillus going home to Silas Archer, knowing how their feelings for each other made them stupid and happier than I might ever be. And here was this man who swore his loyalty to me, saved me, and showed me true devotion when I could offer him so little.
My presence caused him pain. My absence made him suffer. Granting him a thank-you he would appreciate was small compensation. I reached over and took a firm handful of the hard pipe distorting the front of his trousers.
With a sharp hiss, Blythe clamped his hand over my wrist. “Don’t.”
“It’s not charity. I want this too.”
“I said I’d wait.”
“I’m not you. Now put your hand back on the window.” When he didn’t move, I gave his stifled member a squeeze. “I said, put your hand back up there and watch the show.”
The struggle in his eyes lost the war to my kneading touch. Blythe released my wrist and returned his hand to its previous position as instructed. His trust enflamed me, empowered me. Without hesitation, I examined the hefty bulge from tip to balls, giving him the caress or force he craved. Heat poured into my palm through the rough fabric, already damp with sweat and more.
Blythe followed my lead as I knelt. Stepping back, he gave me the room to find my place between him and the wall. At no time did he take his hands back.
I continued to press against his trapped flesh with both hands. The sight and feel mesmeriz
ed me. Blythe leaned into each touch, searching for more. The hardness under my hands grew until I worried he might burst free and damage himself.
And I couldn’t have that.
Blythe let out a hiss of faltering words. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
But he did nothing to stop me as I attacked his clothing.
Would Harston have been proud of me with the quick work I made of the fasteners of Blythe’s pants? I didn’t spend much time wondering. The freed beast sprung forward, as impressive as the first day I’d seen it, and for some perverse reason the lack of undergarments thrilled me. I wrapped my hand around its girth and took possession of what was mine.
“Nathan… we can’t….”
Gliding his foreskin up and down the glossy, swollen fruit ended his feeble protest. A healthy flow of sap leaked from the slit, and I couldn’t resist the urge to spread the slick juice over every inch of him. I used both hands to stroke the length, trace the veins, and cup his hefty sac. The strength of his arousal sang within me.
I knew how insane this was. If anyone walked in, the consequences could be dire for us both. But I’d waited so long and come so far I couldn’t stop myself, and Blythe didn’t want me to either. Not judging by the incremental sway of his hips back and forth.
Glancing up, I caught him watching me, so I halted my movements. Blythe frowned, confused at the loss, but I wanted this scene to continue under my direction. I squeezed his balls to get his full attention. “Go back to your dirty peepshow.”
Giving me his best smutty grin, Blythe licked his lips and went back to the paid performance. No longer on display, I angled his rigid cock to my mouth. I drilled my tongue under the foreskin and was rewarded with a grunt and a fresh gush of salty fluid. I swirled it over the head, feeling him shake, and plunged the flesh past my lips. Blythe gasped.
This. This I coveted beyond all else. Sharing the ecstasy of his turgid horn filling my mouth, willing my throat not to choke, wanting it all, which might not be possible. I held on tight, taking all I could. Relishing how the gnarled club invaded me was heaven. I did all I could to extend my joy to Blythe, whose legs quaked with each plunge, going farther than before. He held himself tight, smothering each grunt and moan into a soft whisper.
I took a solid grip on the fat shaft to keep him from piercing my gullet and because I wanted to taste the impending explosion. As rough as his breathing had become, he wasn’t going to last much longer.
When Blythe reached down and tangled his fingers into my hair, I didn’t object. I doubled my efforts as he tried to sink in to the hilt. The moans from the room grew more frantic as Blythe keened and his organ hardened into steel.
He shoved his cock as far as my hands would allow and tensed into marble. With a scream muffled through his closed mouth, Blythe unleashed. Chest heaving, he hissed and whimpered, trying to stay quiet. Along my tongue, a surge shot through the underside of his penis, a gush of hot nectar bathing my mouth. I kept my hold as he jerked and pulsed, giving more and more of the scalding syrup. Swallowing the torrent was a pleasure strong enough to cancel the painful pull on my hair.
When the flow finally reduced to a trickle, I let him slip from my mouth even though I wanted to suckle him for hours. The hand in my hair drifted down to my neck, and Blythe drew me to my feet so he could plunder my mouth with his own.
Grateful swipes of his tongue robbed my legs of their firmness, but I had to pull back no matter how much I wished it not to end.
“I have to go.”
Blythe’s sated face twisted in frustration. “I want to make you come.”
I had to place both hands on his granite chest and put the fact his trousers hung down his thighs and how his heated weapon still sought me out of my mind. “And you will. This was just for you.”
It looked like Blythe might refuse. The strain in his face gave away his conflict, but he pushed off the wall and gave us a little distance. It was a shame he had to straighten his clothing and hide away that proud monster. The memory would fuel me until the end of my plan.
“How much longer?” Blythe’s plea tugged at me in ways I never imagined. A year ago, pining over a servant would be unthinkable. It would be a match of high scandal leading to ruin. Now I didn’t see him as a lowly commoner, and I didn’t see myself as the wealthy son of a noble house. Social standings meant nothing in this world. The impossible became possible.
“Soon. Everything is almost ready.” I steeled myself to ask one last question, praying the answer wouldn’t flay me. “Can you still wait?”
Blythe stomped forward and crushed his mouth over mine for a brief moment, and when he answered, left his lips ghosting against my own.
“For you… I will.”
ONCE I sorted myself, I made sure no one saw me leave the viewing hall and make my way back to the main floor. I returned to my role of mingling with the customers but kept my distance from Rother. As a safeguard, I sipped a whiskey to cover any foreign scent on my breath. The bartender hesitated when I told him not to give me the diluted liquor, but he acquiesced in the end. I didn’t see Blythe for the rest of the evening.
The poor attendance caused Rother to close the house early once the last customer left the building. He ordered everyone to bed, and the house conceded. It was a poor night to be had.
As we prepared for bed, Rother performed his most recent ritual and jammed his hand down my pants, prodding my backside. For the last few weeks, this was expected but no less jarring. He checked me for the presence of semen or oils that might signal proof of my infidelity. As always, Rother found nothing.
Why else would I have halted Blythe’s advances?
THE HOUSE’S mood the next afternoon was restrained. Cleaning was performed with little enthusiasm even if the work was done well. Plus, the slow pace last night left less to be done than usual. I wondered if theories as to the slackened business had worked their way through the house. There was certainly time left over to gossip.
Rother was out running errands—as I preferred him these days. The moment he left me alone, I attacked myself with my bare hands to the recollection of Blythe in the viewing hall. I needed to bathe after I wrung the pearly spatter out of myself in the most glorious way. Being fitted with a chastity belt by age fifteen had ended any opportunity for self-expression. Touching myself now was a rare treat. I didn’t do it often due to a lack of privacy and because Rother taught me how.
Because of this, I could count the number of times I’d used my hands on the fingers of one hand. I giggled to myself at the wordplay.
I tapped my teapot to hear the empty echo. I’d spent more time on the screened porch than I realized. Like everyone else, I suppose I had little else to do.
The door chime rang as I headed back through the house. I collected the post from the deliveryman and found a letter to myself in the pile. I stashed it safely in my vest and distributed the rest amongst the house.
Back in my bedroom I opened the letter. Hope blossomed bright, and I hid it away with the rest.
Stepping over to the music box, I turned the key. I selected a tune from the collection and listened to the jovial music. The repair was finally complete. Every part was in place and working as expected. It made me want to dance.
Chapter 26
ANOTHER NIGHT on the arm of Lord Rother Marsh Delaga III, I bore witness to another abysmal assembly of customers at Delaga House. I’d thought after Alvus Martinique’s death, the business couldn’t suffer worse.
I was wrong.
Not half as many guests crossed our threshold to ride the carnival of delights compared to the evening before. The sharp decline was troublesome at best. A year ago I would have applauded the demise of such an establishment.
I shook my head at my evasive description. There was no shame in calling a thing what it was. Bordello. Much better sounding than whorehouse. Yes, I preferred bordello.
With even less interaction from the customers, we had little to keep us busy. Waitstaff borde
red on harassment trying to serve. I was bored. In a brothel. Not offended or moralizing. Just bored.
“Would you care for a drink?” I asked Rother, looking for something—anything—to do.
The condescending stare I received was nothing new. “I suppose that would make you useful.”
Rather than make a remark, I left his side, heading for the bartender. Anything to distance myself from His Grace’s aloof-to-the-point-of-callous attitude. This had been Rother’s mood all evening, from the moment he came downstairs and we opened the doors. Had he been taking lessons from my father? I thought I’d left the air of rude snobbery behind in Deilia. Now I was bathing in it from a man too poorly bred to live on the top of the social hierarchy.
After ordering his drink, I closed my eyes as I let out a slow, cleansing breath so I could correct myself. An insufferable narcissist and immoral lout Rother might be, but his breeding—or lack thereof—was not a factor in what would make him a suitable human being. No, he’d ruined that through sheer force of will and poor choices.
Working back to Rother was quick given the lack of people to dodge through the salon. I handed him the glass, and he eyed the beverage with suspicion.
“I thought you might appreciate it full strength tonight. To get us through the evening.”
Without taking a sip, he placed the glass on a side table and turned away from me without a word. Not even the mildest thanks.
“It’s hardly poisoned. That would be a bit hard to explain, don’t you think?”
Rother didn’t acknowledge my half joke. In fact, he took a sidestep, creating a visible chasm between us. The trophy spouse had lost its sparkle, and the lord’s disinterest sat center stage. Don’t roll your eyes. Getting through this evening would be trying.
Previous nights, if I’d drift too far off, Rother would follow, declaring his marital possession to the masses. Tonight he didn’t care. Without drawing attention, I wandered to the other side of the room, nodding to a customer or two. Rother stayed. No, he stepped in the opposite direction, leaving his drink behind. I wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or concerned.
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