Earlier that evening, they had found a quiet corner in the cavernous old pub, the Cheshire Cheese. She had matched him swallow for swallow, devouring a dozen oysters each, before supping on seafood chowder and fresh baked bread.
He had sprinkled cayenne pepper and lemon juice over the plump, succulent meat before holding the knobby half shell to her mouth. She had swallowed the oyster in one gulp and licked her lips. Mmm. Underneath the table, he took her hand and placed it on his crotch. “You see what you do to me, Miss Jones?”
She had yanked her hand back and shot the rake a withering glare. He had chuckled over her indignation and prepared another oyster in apology.
A scurry of footsteps and a peel of high-pitched laughter filtered down from the brothel upstairs. The house was often raucous in the evenings. A comfort to her when Mr. Black so often worked late hours.
The clock on the mantel chimed a single stroke. Where was he? America yawned.
Sprawled out over the chaise, chin cupped in the palm of her hand, she turned the book upside down to view a difficult new pose. She could not fathom how the act of love could be accomplished in this tangle of limbs.
She absently twined and untwined her legs. “ ‘When a man, during congress, turns round, and enjoys the woman without leaving her, while all the while, she embraces him round the back, it is called the ‘turning position,’ and is learnt only by practice.’ ”
She snorted. “Impossible.”
“Nothing is out of the question, Miss Jones, with enough discipline and rehearsal.”
So, her employer was home.
To hide a smile, she didn’t look up. “Perhaps not impossible but rather strenuous, if you ask me.” She propped herself upright, leaving the illustrated volume open to the pose in question.
He tilted his head. “Ah yes, the turning position. Tricky, but I would be delighted to work on it with you.” His gaze moved off the drawing to her. “Is this your choice?”
She puffed herself up with a huff. “Absolutely not, and I am quite sure there will never be a choice.”
He turned away and hung up his coat and hat. “Has the book not provided you with a wonderful selection of pleasures?” He then removed his jacket and unbuttoned his waistcoat.
She cleared her throat. “What are you doing, Mr. Black?”
“Undressing.” He lifted the kettle from the stove and poured warm water into a basin. He shrugged out of the vest and unbuttoned his shirt to the waist. With a soap cake in hand, he began to wash up.
“Please do pick a position of some difficulty. After a bit of scrubbing, I shall be ready to perform my duties.”
He wet a dishcloth with water and rubbed it over his chest and underarms.
She snickered. “Difficult for which one of us? As far as I can see, the women in these illustrations do the lion’s share of work.”
He grinned that wolfish fornicator grin. Drat the man. Water glistened over his torso as he took a clean towel and dried off his very appealing ruff of chest hair. There it was again, the tingly sensation. The same one she had experienced when Mr. Black stood very close. Or took her hand. Or kissed her.
She whisked the erotic tome out from under him as he took a seat. “If I am not mistaken, you and I have already completed two of these positions.” He tugged at the picture book. “May I?”
A half naked man pressed up beside her was most distracting. His upper body hard and masculine and—
“Do you recall our first time, Miss Jones?”
Leafing through the volume, he stopped at a page depicting a man standing upright lifting a woman onto his member by cupping her buttocks.
America glanced at the drawing and gulped. “Of course I remember.”
The ends of his mouth quirked up. “The night you forced yourself upon me.”
“I didn’t—exactly ...” She bit back a frown. Intolerable man!
His smile widened as he continued shuffling pages. “I’m looking for ... ah, here we are. ‘When she raises her thighs and keeps them apart and engages in congress, it is called the ‘widely open position.’ ” He glanced across the sitting room at the overstuffed chair. “Right over there, wasn’t it?”
Her bottom lip slipped out from under her teeth.
“Your inaugural zenith of pleasure.”
“Hmm-ph, I’m not entirely sure about that zenith bit.” The prickly, quivering sensation was back as she recalled his fingers swirling over her hidden female parts and his large phallus driving into her. She chanced to look at Mr. Black directly and found him studying her expression.
Warmth flooded her cheeks. All right, she had not been entirely honest with him. America relented with a sigh. “I do remember it being very agreeable.”
“Would you like to feel agreeable again?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Brilliant. We shall start at the front and work our way back through page ...” He flipped to the back of the book. “One hundred and nineteen.”
“All of them, tonight?” Her eyes bugged out.
He chuckled. “Not unless you plan on throwing my back out.” With his index finger holding place, he closed the tome and reclined against the sloping arm of the chaise. He patted the space beside him.
Without much hesitation, she reclined.
“Are we a bit starchy tonight, Miss Jones?” He nestled close and turned her onto her side. “Put your arm around me.” She rather enjoyed the sensation of his damp skin and the clean scent of soap. His upper arms were strong and muscled, and she liked holding onto them. He turned to an early chapter of the text.
“For the duration of this exercise, I shall call you Sín-nay.” He pronounced her middle name with an emphasis on the first syllable. He held up the book somewhere behind her head.
He shifted his body and moved his upper leg against hers. “This is called the embrace of the thighs.” He turned her belly toward his and pressed his hips to hers.
Her belly trembled as he shifted his weight against her. His face, close to hers, reminded her of the first night she had laid eyes on him. She suddenly couldn’t help herself, and before she could gain any control over her hand, she had reached out and stroked the dark temptation of unshaven whisker hairs. She traced a faint, nearly invisible scar that ran along the edge of a firm jawline.
Her gesture stopped his recitation midsentence.
She withdrew and managed an uneasy laugh but he caught her hand in his, and returned her fingers to his stubbly cheek and handsomely formed mouth. Gently, he turned her hand palm up and brushed his lips down to the faint pulse on the inside of her wrist.
He said nothing, but his sable eyes darkened into pools of desire.
After a lengthy perusal of her lips, he cleared his throat. “Navels.” Arousal surged through her body as, one at a time, from forehead to shin bone, he pressed parts of his anatomy to hers. Sometimes rubbing, other times barely touching her.
He flipped the page. “ ‘Pressing, marking, or scratching with the nails’—some of my favorites.”
Two of her fingers were selected. “Scratching.” He placed her fingertips on his chest. “Press lightly.” She ran her nails over the hard curve of his breast and followed a thin trail of hair past his navel.
“Again. Harder this time.”
She pressed into taught flesh as he groaned. “Ah yes, Síne.”
He unbuttoned his trousers, and placed one of her fingers on his groin. His voice grew husky. “Now, mark me.”
His stomach muscles shuddered as her nail nicked into his flesh. A rose-colored slash emerged across his lower belly. His belly trembled
Her fascination began at the edge of his dark man curls and moved from his lower abdomen along a sinuous torso. She could not resist spreading her fingers through his chest hair. When her gaze met his, she caught her breath.
“Have a care, my temptress, or you will turn me into Wagner the Wehr-Wolf.” He placed a kiss on each one of her fingertips, and then removed her blouse and camisole. Even
as his body temperature warmed her flesh, the air chilled her breasts and hardened the tips. He ran his nails over each mound until her arousal became so great, she moaned and demanded more. Only then did he scrape harder over her nipples.
With his thumb, he marked her with a curved line. “A Tiger’s nail.”
Her female parts ached for his touch. She thrust her pelvis against him. Her desire, a heat wave of primal demands, danced along an invisible edge of pleasure. When her breath became rapid and shallow, Mr. Black ceased his ministrations and embraced her.
“Not yet.” Holding on while her belly quivered, he stroked the small of her back, easing her sudden, ferocious arousal.
He swept loose curls away from her cheek. “You are a very responsive young woman.”
Another shiver ravaged her body. “I have been debauched by you, Mr. Black, and all those wicked illustrations.”
“Would it surprise you to know that I believe it is I who has been seduced?” His eyes crinkled as his attention turned to her mouth. “Place your lips here.” He touched his mouth as she leaned closer. With her eyes barely open, she pressed lightly, but did not open her mouth.
“That is called the ‘nominal kiss.’ ” His usual teasing grin softened. Even his ebony gaze, filled with hunger, seemed different. The reference book had slipped into a deep crack of the sofa cushion. She hardly gave a care as she continued her kisses.
America Síne Jones just might succeed with her enchantment.
When had this happened, exactly? Phaeton’s memory poured over her initial week of employment and then dug further back. From their first encounter, she had captured him with more than a blade. Her delectable charms had woven a spell of some kind. Something he was unfamiliar with and shy of fighting.
“When I kissed you in your room the other night, I used my tongue.” With his thumb, he brushed over her lips, parting them. Olive-toned cheeks, flushed with arousal, turned a pale rose. “Do your best, my dear.”
Her tongue licked the inside edge of his upper lip and pushed inside. He answered her by surrounding her with his arms and pressing her body against his. When he finished, they both lay gasping for air. His rock hard cock throbbed against her belly.
A wild, prurient desire came close to overwhelming his manners. He wanted to do unspeakable things to her. Using his tongue, he would delve into the nest of curls between her thighs. Or perhaps redden her derriere with the flat of his hand and then enter and ride her like the beast he undoubtedly was.
At the very least, he wished to kiss each breast and suckle those pretty tips until they grew hard and pointed. But that would certainly lead to intercourse. With enormous difficulty, he shifted away and sat up. The act of coitus must be her idea this time.
For a moment, he thought to take her and be done with it, but that would mean risking ... What would that signify exactly? He paused. Might her respect and affection be in jeopardy? Odd, that he would entertain such a concern.
If he made her his concubine, her resentment would grow even as his appetite for her mounted. Once he bedded her in earnest, he might never be able to stop. He wished her to experience every position in the Kama Sutra as well as The Garden of Pleasure.
That could take months—years.
“Enough lessons for one evening.” Gingerly, he rose from the chaise, his erection painful and obvious. “Good night, Miss Jones.”
She raised herself onto elbows and stared, openmouthed. “Good night, Mr. Black.”
The soft timbre of her answer caused him to glance back at those exotic golden eyes and rounded breasts. Somehow he made his way to his room, closed the door, and undressed in darkness.
As bewitched as he was by her sensuous body and those amazing lips, his need for her stemmed from something deeper. Yes, her bold as brass, strong-willed personality captivated, but she was also a supernatural force to be reckoned with. Somehow this essence of hers heightened his own arousal. Did he have a similar affect upon her? He wondered.
On rare occasions he engaged in self-gratification. And this night, with his cock threatening to burst on its own, he thought it best to give it a whack.
The door creaked open. “I’ve nearly decided. It’s between two positions.”
Chapter Twelve
“DO NOT COME IN HERE, Miss Jones, unless you desire me inside you.”
The lamp she held high illuminated one side of her shapely figure. The rest of her form disappeared into velvet blackness. Her thin wrapper, open in the front, revealed tantalizing details of her nude figure.
Placing one bare foot in front of the other, her strides were slow, erotic, mesmerizing. He could not take his eyes away.
“Either page twenty-eight or fifty-five, Mr. Black.” The slightest pique in her voice enhanced her sensuous, provocative movements. She set the lamp down on the bed stand and turned the wick low.
Phaeton craved her.
His balls, a right pretty shade of blue, ached as her gaze roamed over his torso. His cock danced in anticipation of her nearness, her touch.
“You are naked and ...” In the dim light her eyes widened. “The duke is quite large, isn’t he?”
“I was just in the process of providing him some relief.” He followed the narrow opening of her robe and lingered a moment on the dimple her navel made on a smooth belly. He then lowered his gaze to a shadow of triangle. “And you will be ready for him, when the time comes.”
She slipped out of her robe and placed a knee on the bed. “How could you leave me in such a state?” On all fours, she drew closer.
Until this moment, he had never seen her hair down. A thick, soft halo of waves fell past her shoulders. His fingers tangled in the mass of curls as he pulled her down for a kiss.
He grinned. “What kind of state? Describe it to me.”
Brows drawn and lips pouted, she growled. “Squirmy and, and ...”
“Frustrated?”
She nodded. “Exactly.”
The aggressive little minx climbed on top and straddled him. He stroked nicely rounded hips and worked his way up to a dainty waist. His phallus smacked against a plump cheek of her buttocks.
Wheels turned behind sultry, almond-shaped eyes. She smiled. “Page twenty-eight. The position is called the woman acting the part of the man.”
He cupped her breasts and rubbed thumbs over taut peaks. The wide spread of her legs beckoned, and he delved into her mystères femme until his fingers were soaked with arousal. “You are more than welcome to ride me, or enjoy being ridden like this—”
He lifted her up off his body, and encouraged her to support herself on hands and knees. “Page fifty-five. The jump of the tiger.” He pressed up behind her and used his fingers to prepare her opening.
“The congress of the elephant.” She groaned as he pushed into her.
“I shall go slowly.” He nuzzled the nape of her neck and kissed the wings of her shoulder blades.
She took his hand and moved it back to her small spot of intense pleasure. “Already so demanding.” He snorted a chuckle and used two fingers to tickle and swirl.
On his knees, he pumped into her, inching deeper. He was dangerously close. On the edge of his own climax, he rubbed her plump derriere, and experienced a sudden desire to smack both firm round globes. She cried out in surprise at the unexpected slap, but a flood of wetness gave her away. He massaged away the sting.
“Please.” Her breath was soft and rapid.
“Please yes, or please no?”
“Please again,” she gasped, and he paddled her ass and rubbed her arousal spot until she shuddered and moaned her release.
He soothed her with soft strokes over her female parts until she bucked and pushed his hand away. Her shattering climax had surged through him, rocketing his own arousal near to the precipice. He removed his cock and leaned over the mattress, opening a drawer of the bed stand.
“We’re not done yet?” Her brows converged and her lips pursed.
He tucked her into his arms and
opened a tin box.
“Condoms?”
“I beg your pardon, miss, these are called French letters.” He kissed the side of her cheek. “And very expensive ones, I might add.”
“Must we?”
“Unless you desire to bear my children, I recommend their use.”
He lifted himself up and positioned himself above her. “You, my beauty, are assuaged, for the moment.” He straddled her pelvis and stroked his long thickness, which remained large and threatening.
“I, on the other hand, will be coming along shortly.” He smiled down at her. “So to speak.”
He showed her how to roll on the thin, rubber prophylactic.
“Like hard velvet.” She stroked his shaft and he sucked air through his teeth.
He took a turn with each of her breasts. He suckled and bit and laved each nipple until she spoke through a sigh and a whimper. “Perhaps I am not finished, yet.”
He spread her legs, grabbed her by the waist, and pressed into her. Easier this time. She hooked a leg over his arm, and he raised it to his shoulder. Slanting her pelvis upward, she lifted her other leg to his shoulder.
“Yawning position,” he groaned. His hands slipped under her buttocks to help support her back. He increased his thrusts, careful not to plunge too deeply. At this angle, he might hurt her.
“Cup your breasts, for me.” His eyes were intense, like his demands.
“Like this?” She teased. “Or perhaps something more like this?” She twisted the tips and he begged for more of her erotic play.
“Wonderful, desirable, wanton female.”
His member, nicely thick and well lubricated, rubbed into places that were meant to pleasure them both. Her sheath became increasingly receptive, and she pushed up to meet him as he increased the speed and force of his thrusts.
He gripped her buttocks as his body shuddered from chest to throbbing shaft. One last drive. “Yes.” He exhaled the growl of a predatory beast and collapsed onto the bed.
Awestruck or dumbfounded, he pulled her against him and exhaled. Never had he experienced such intensity of pleasure. His heart pounded inside his chest, pushing blood to every tingling fingertip. He jerked and shuddered a second time when she turned around and wrapped a leg around him.
The Seduction of Phaeton Black Page 11
