by Brown, Em
She glanced at him to find him studying her. She shifted uncomfortably. Those eyes of his were both enthralling and unsettling.
“Shall we enhance the game with a wager?” he inquired.
“I have not much in the way of funds upon me,” she replied as she dealt the cards.
“A wager of a different nature.”
She was about to peer at her cards when he put a hand over hers.
“Have you ever been bound?”
Her mouth went dry. “Bound?”
“Tied.”
Her gulp was audible. “No.”
“Bondage can often enhance the pleasure.”
She said nothing. Her heart throbbed against her ribs, feeling as if he had discerned her secret somehow.
“Is this part of your customary seduction?” she stalled.
“Not at all,” he said, his gaze pinning her in her seat. “But you strike me as someone who would dare to experiment with the adventurous.”
“Indeed?”
That surprised her. She had never thought anyone would consider her daring. “And w-why do you think that, Lord Barclay?”
“People are not always what they seem, Lady Lowry.”
She sucked in her breath. “What is the wager you propose?”
“If I win this hand, I will have the privilege of rigging you.”
“And if I win?”
He grinned. “You may bind me.”
Something stirred in her loins. She looked him in the eyes. “Very well.”
He removed his hand, and she looked at her cards. A queen and a six. Not the best hand, but she had the advantage of going second. She waited for him, but he shook his head. Damn. That meant he had a decent hand. She would have to take the chance. She gave herself another card. A seven. Damnation. He revealed his hand—a ten and five.
“I promise you will not regret having lost,” he assured her.
Her pulse quickened.
“You have done such things?” she inquired carefully.
“Yes.”
“What have you done?”
“With light bondage, I would bind the wrists together, overhead or behind the back. For the more experienced partner, I might tie the heels to the thighs, lay you across a table, and fuck you from behind.”
She squirmed in her seat. “I think that I shall retire upstairs for a brief respite.”
He grinned. “How coincidental. I, too, have a mind to retire upstairs.”
HE FOLLOWED HER UP the stairs to her room. When he had closed the door behind him, she turned towards him. He smothered her with a deep and probing kiss. Her desire permeated the air and in the ardor with which she returned his kiss.
“Remove your clothing,” he ordered.
“But I have not been long in them,” she protested.
“I will have you naked, my Countess.”
She hesitated.
“Come, I will assist you.”
Together they removed the pins and untied the various parts of her gown. He caressed the parts of her skin laid bare. After unlacing her stays, he stepped back and watched as she did the rest. The throbbing in his cock intensified when she slid the stockings from her legs. She stood naked but for her chemise. She looked at him.
“Surely you are not overcome with modesty?” he asked as he did an appreciative sweep of her body. “I do not think you had forgotten last night.”
She blushed.
“Would you rather I ripped the chemise from your body?”
There was a hitch in her breath. Dutifully, she let fall the chemise. It pooled about her ankles. Circling around her, he could sense her desire to cover herself. Perhaps it were easier for her in the dimness of night than to expose herself in the glare of day. No matter. She would overcome her timidity with him.
He began to unloosen his cravat while she stood naked and uncomfortable. After he had slid off his waistcoat and discarded his breeches, he reached for her and molded her bare body to him.
“What—what else might you do when binding a lover?” she asked.
“I could wind the ropes about your breasts...” He traced where the ropes would have been with his finger. “...and secure them tightly so that they protruded for me to feed upon.”
Her bosom swelled. The thought aroused her, eh? As he suspected, Lady Athena was no pure mistress.
“And?”
“What would you have me do, Countess?”
She thought for a moment and he wondered if he had pushed too far.
“Tie my limbs to the corners of the bed?” she suggested.
“And should I bind your mouth to prevent you from speaking or crying for help?”
She nodded. He cupped a hand about one butt cheek.
“And should I use your body to mine content? And punish you an’ you did not do as I commend?”
He slapped her derriere. She yelped in surprise, then reached for his cock. It, too, was beginning to respond to their musings.
“Before I reward you with what you desire,” he began, leading her to the bed, “you will take me into your mouth. Lie upon your back that I may have full access to your breasts.”
She did as he instructed. With her head hanging slightly off the edge of the bed, she guided his cock into her mouth. The member was still partially soft but became rigid quickly inside her mouth. She lapped at it greedily.
“Pleasure yourself,” he directed, “but do not spend without my permission.”
He could hardly believe that he stood with the Countess of Lowry sucking his cock while she fondled herself. It was but yesterday that he thought Gertie would despise him for all eternity. He caressed her breasts, running his thumbs over her nipples, pinching them. She let out a muffled cry into his groin and gagged upon his cock. He slapped a breast. She resumed her fellatio. He slapped at the inside of her thigh. She jumped, but her fingers commenced a more furious caress upon herself.
The vision of her body sprawled upon the bed, her luscious lips locked about his cock was enough to make him want to spend in an instant. He pulled himself out of her mouth before he sprayed his seed down her throat.
“On your hands and knees,” he directed as he walked to the other side of the bed.
She obeyed without hesitation, presenting him with her arse. He caressed the soft surface of her derriere, then gave it a sharp slap. The flesh quivered. He smacked the cheek again and watched as it began to blush. He reached between her thighs to fondle her clitoris.
“There are places in London where men and women can indulge their most secret fetishes,” he said.
She only moaned to his ministrations.
“Do you know of such places?”
When she did not answer, he pinched a labia. She yelped.
“Yes—I have heard of such places.”
He resumed his caresses. She ground herself into his hand.
“Have you had a desire to visit one of them?”
She could have simply lied, but she chose to stall. He slapped her arse to prompt her.
“Y-Yes.”
“What would you do there?”
“Beg you to fuck me.”
He felt a surge of warmth. His cock could no longer resist. He shoved himself into her. She cried out in satisfaction. Grabbing her hips, he plumbed the depths of her womb with his cock. Her arse flesh trembled every time it slapped against his pelvis.
“Yes! Yes!” she cried as she slammed into him.
She spent quickly, her arms buckling beneath her. He continued to pummel her until his own climax rushed through him. His cock throbbed as the warm liquid of his desire poured forth into her. How marvelous she felt. How marvelous he felt inside of her. Gently, he disengaged himself and lay down beside where she had collapsed. He reached for her and she nestled herself into his arms.
“These places that you speak of,” she murmured, the glow of her climax still upon her face, “do you frequent them, Lord Barclay?”
“On occasion.”
He considered reve
aling that he had been to Madame Botreaux’s, but he knew not if it would upset her. He was sure that she found safety in her anonymity. Better to wait to see if she spoke of it first.
“Do you take your lovers there?”
“If they are partial to such...activities.” He kissed the tips of her fingers. “I would take you there, Countess.”
She took a sharp breath and changed the subject. “They must think us a pair of rabbits at this inn.”
“Do you always consider what others are thinking?”
“Do you never consider what others are thinking?” she retorted.
“Seldom.”
She shook her head, then turned to look at him. He cradled one side of her head in his hand and allowed her to study him. He brushed a thumb across her cheeks. He knew of no one who wore a natural blush as well as she.
“I cannot fathom why I do not completely detest you,” she remarked.
“Only half detest.”
“Yes, well, you are an unabashed debaucher and a...”
“I believe the word you ascribed to me is ‘murderer.’”
“I take it you did not mean to kill Jonathan Weston? That must be why his seconds bear you no ill will? They understood it to be an accident.”
His jaw tightened. He had not had to fully recall that event in recent years. He looked into her earnest patient eyes. She wanted to know. And for the first time, he wanted someone else to know.
“I had no intention of killing Jonathan,” he admitted. “I agreed to the duel knowing that I could draw first blood. I had but to prick his arm and it would all be over within minutes and no one the wiser. It had rained the night before, much like the rains now. The grounds at Putney Common were like mush beneath our feet.
“As expected, I drew blood. I grazed his shoulder with my sword. The seconds proclaimed an end to the duel. I turned away from Jonathan to hand my sword to my friend Lord Bertram. I heard one of the other seconds call my name in alarm. Turning, I saw Jonathan come at me with sword still in hand. I saw the rage in his eyes, and I knew he meant to kill me. I fended off his initial attack. Our seconds attempted to reason with him, but I knew he would not rest until I lay dead. Though the better swordsman was I, Jonathan had a crazed ardor. My heel slipped on a sodden patch, and I went down. Jonathan charged. I parried and thrust my sword at him. It went through his heart.”
Gertie had covered her mouth. He wondered if he had worsened matters by telling her. He waited tensely for her to speak.
“Why have you not spoken of this?” she asked. “Why did your seconds not explain? Had it been known that you were only defending yourself, surely you would not have had to live in exile?”
The wrenching emotions from five years ago threatened to wash over him as if it had been but yesterday.
“I killed a man, Gertie.”
“Yes, but he should not have tried to kill you—and with your back turned!”
She grabbed his hand between her own, and that alone gave him the strength to resist the pain of the past. He took a breath of relief. She did not condemn him. But there was one last truth to be told...
“Everyone should know what occurred!” she insisted.
“It would not change the outcome.”
“But—but I was convinced you were in the wrong. I thought you a horrible monster.”
Her eyes glistened with tears of remorse.
“You were not wrong to think it,” he comforted.
“All this time I had pitied Jonathan Weston! I can understand his anger over being made a cuckold, I can understand his wanting satisfaction, but to try to kill you...”
A new pressure built in his chest. He would risk losing the tenderness he had just earned—a painful prospect—but a part of him wanted her of all people to know the complete truth.
“Jonathan wished to kill me because he was in pain,” he explained. “Not because of my affair with his wife. What prompted the duel was that I had told him that I wished an end to my affair with her—and him.”
A quixotic expression came over her.
“They were both my lovers. In the course of the affair, I believe Jonathan to have fallen in love with me.”
She lowered her gaze pensively. He tried not to startle her with any movement, though it tore at him not to know how she felt.
“Thus, you must not judge Jonathan too harshly,” he added.
Strange, but it felt like tears pressing against his eyes. He could not remember when he had last cried. She looked up at the instant when he struggled the most against the tide of his emotions.
“You have a rare charity, Phineas,” she said softly.
This time he could not help himself. He wrapped his arms about her, pulling her tightly to him, feeling as if holding her could right the world. He blinked away the tears and felt the pressure unravel from his chest.
“Do you still think me a monster?”
“You are monstrous at times but no monster. Indeed, I am now convinced your bosom harbors redeeming qualities—at least one worth counting.”
“Impudent minx.”
He tilted her chin up towards him and kissed her. They made love sweetly and tenderly to the sound of rain pattering against the window. It was not enough for him to caress her and bring her pleasure. It was not enough to feel himself deep inside her. The wealth of emotion that consumed him needed an outlet through her. It seemed as if he would have to make love to her the rest of his life to feel satiated.
And for a moment he longed for nothing more than just such an opportunity.
Chapter Thirteen
“THE RAINS HAVE STOPPED,” Gertie noted the following morning with a sense of disappointment. She nestled her naked body closer to Phineas as they lay in bed.
“It will still take some time for the roads to dry,” he said as he wrapped an arm about her shoulder.
“Ah, then you may not rid yourself of my company so easily,” she teased.
“My dear, I have not the slightest wish to do as you claim.”
“Surely you have another conquest lying in wait—this ‘friend’ you are visiting?”
He paused. “She can wait.”
The displeasure in his voice made her wonder if she had asked an invasive question, but then he had seemed a man who was comfortable speaking about anything. She found herself wondering who this lady friend of his was.
“And now, Lady Lowry,” he said, “there is the matter of the wager that you lost.”
Her eyes widened. “I thought we had settled the matter of our wager?”
“Did I actually bind you?”
She thought through what had transpired the day before. She had lost at vingt-et-un, she had performed fellatio upon him, they had had dinner together and enjoyed a relaxing afternoon reading by the fire. After a light supper, they had retired to his room, he had pinned her against the wall and fucked her there. She shivered at the memory.
“I suppose not,” she answered.
He got out of bed and went to retrieve his cravat, the sash from his banyan, and two of her stockings. She felt her skin tingle in anticipation. Returning to the bed, he took one of her ankles, wrapped the stocking about it, and tied it to a corner bedpost. He did the same to her other ankle. The rigging forced her legs apart, exposing her quim. He admired the view for a moment before moving to her wrists, binding each to a post until she was stretched to all fours corners of the bed.
“Lovely,” he murmured as he stood back to observe his work.
She noticed his cock was as stiff as one of the bedposts she was bound to. She admired his body—the ridges of his chest and abdomen, the tight curve of his arse, the swell of the muscles in his upper arms and legs. She was reminded of Hephaestus, whose body had also made her salivate. She had not thought much of the male form until her patronage at Madame Botreaux’s. With Phineas Barclay, she longed to caress all parts of him. How beautiful he would have looked bound to Lady Athena’s whipping post...A strange sense of familiarity overcame her. Ha
d she dreamed just such a thing for the vision flashing before her felt so vivid.
A slap on her inner thigh snapped her attention back to Phineas.
He ran a knuckle along the arch of her foot. “Your body is at my complete mercy, Countess, to use as I will.”
Her cunnie throbbed. She tested her bonds. Well tied. It was quite obvious he was no novice at this. But the experience of being tied instead of the one in command was new for her. A part of her found the deprivation of freedom thrilling. Another part became wary of it. She knew not what he would do.
Obtaining another linen, he wound part of it around one hand, took the end with his other hand, then backhanded it against her quim. The linen slapped sharply against her. She gasped and strained against her bonds. He slapped her quim again. The attention to her most private part made her feel incredibly vulnerable. She wondered if she should be enjoying it. Would Lady Athena be aghast if she did?
“Perhaps if you are good,” he said, “I will allow you to rig me to the bed.”
The thought perked her.
Phineas stroked her clitoris and soon had her panting and writhing. He dipped two fingers into her sodden cunnie. She flexed against him to indicate her desire. He pulled out of her and walking to the head of the bed, he pushed his digits into her mouth.
“Suck,” he instructed.
The musky, slightly salty flavor did not agree with her, but she did as he bade, licking his fingers clean of her juices.
He straddled her across the ribs. She saw the head of his cock glistening with the first drops of his semen. Reaching back, he covered his fingers once more with her wetness and rubbed it onto his cock. He pushed her breasts together and slid his cock between them.
“There are so many ways to derive pleasure from a woman’s body,” he commented.
She wanted to tell him to take his pleasure in all the ways, but she was half mesmerized by his thrusting. The head of his cock would peer in and out from between her two orbs. She wondered how it felt for him. How did the flesh of her breasts compare to her cunnie? He pinched and twisted her nipples as he continued to mash her breasts about his cock. Her cunnie ached with want of attention.
