Tempted By Fire

by Thea Devine

  She swayed toward him, her luscious naked breasts inviting his caresses.

  He moved in front of her so that her pebble hard nipples just grazed the matted hair on his chest, so close that his jutting manhood pushed gently at the vee between her legs that was covered by the veil of her dress. So close that his mouth covered hers roughly, unwillingly, in torment and enslaved by the sheer naked femininity of her body.

  She straddled the hard hot length of him, the sheer muslin of

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  her dress draping over him like a curtain obscuring the backdrop of a play.

  Who would know if he possessed her under the shroud of muslin?

  And who would know that she had mounted him like a steed, her hips seeking the cradle of his and the fountain of his male root.

  But he wanted her otherwise, under him, writhing and pleading for his tumultuous strength to take her, to ride her and pump every last ounce of his potent manhood deep and deeper still. . .

  She clung to him, demanding his kisses, seeking the heat of his body. His hands tore at the skirt of her gown, grasping the hem and tearing it apart, bottom to bosom, and then he encircled her bottom and lifted her and carried her to the bed.

  She heard the tear somewhere deep in her mind, and she felt him embrace her buttocks and heave her up off of the floor. He was so strong; her fingers dug into the inflexible muscle of his back and gave in to the implacable strength of him as he moved her to the soft cradle of the mattress and laid her down.

  But he did not lay down with her; instead he pushed away the torn edges of her dress, and positioned her so that her buttocks were aligned with the edge of the bed and her legs dangled free.

  He stood over her, male triumphant, his manhood thrusting at exactly the right angle to possess her just where she lay; it was perfect, it was the height of the bed combined with his fulminating need to see her, to watch her, to take the power back from her.

  And somehow she knew it; her whole body was tense with wanting him, her eyes and mind filled with the arousing sight of him naked and poised to possess her. "Oh please . . ." she moaned; she knew somehow he needed to hear it. She needed not to command but to beseech.

  He lifted her legs and braced them against his chest. Now her

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  body was pitched perfectly to the angle of his first probing thrust.

  "Oh please . . ." She loved watching him: his large hot hands holding tightly to her bare legs as if they were handrails and he was holding on for dear life; his face, streaming with the moisture of his intensity; the coiled strength of his body ready to unleash its power in the most primal way possible.

  "Oh, yes ..." as she felt the first firm thrusts of his maleness seeking her. Oh yes ... as he suddenly reared back and drove himself deep within her; his hands slid hotly down her legs to cradle her buttocks and lift her tautly against his hips as he began the long fertile quest for her pleasure.

  The play of the firelight cast his shadow as long and powerful as a god; but by this act, they were equal, and it mattered not that his was the power. His power was nothing without her pleasure.

  And she did not withhold it from him. It glimmered in her face and skimmed a riotous course all over her body as he thrust and pushed and teased and lost himself in her. And she could see it in his eyes, and in the intensity of his expression and in his volatile possession of her: he watched her. He had the whole long exhilarating view of her body as she undulated against him. He could feel her response to his mastery in her complete surrender to his potency.

  Her senses tingled with recognition in that one sumptuous moment when the thrust of his desire connected with the pure ravishing explosion of her need.

  There, there—the voluptuous sweet spot deep within her ripe femininity, there—his rampant thrusts sending little spirals of feeling darting through the center of her being, little curlicues swirling downward and downward to the source of all pleasure, there—the gossamer ripple of something coming, swelling, welling tendrils of incandescent feeling expanding and billowing and coalescing into a fierce streaming spasm of culmination, fathomless, unquenchable, a torrent in her, a cascade of sensation in her: she couldn't stop, it was a fury in her, and he pur-

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  sued it, relentlessly, forcefully, wringing it from her, demanding it, taking it with each savage thrust of his ramrod manhood until the last jolting spasm eddied away.

  In that moment, he was nestled deep within her velvet heat and he felt the first coiling spurt of his own rampaging need.

  She felt it too, and slowly, she raised herself up on her elbows so she could watch his inexorable drive to culmination.

  It was the most mesmerizing vision: the goddess, her body half clothed, her breasts bared, her hair in disarray, her eyes glittering with the smoldering aftermath of her climax, her luscious body fused with his and that hot, knowing cat smile playing on her willful mouth ... he clamped down on his unruly urge to spend his climax. He wanted to pump it for all it was worth, and he wanted her to watch him drain himself of every last drop.

  The power of the mind and the draw of a woman's eyes . . . he saw her before him, naked and dressed, taunting and submitting, surrendering and triumphing; his blood throbbed with the lust of wanting her and his body responded in kind.

  He became a piston of carnal motion, hot short blasting thrusts that shook him to his very marrow, focusing his force, tunneling it, through the tunnel, through the tunnel, into the light, into the bright white hot light, into the volcanic friction of the final convulsive release, and the final surrender to her elusive smile.

  ******************

  The party went on until the wee hours, and when most of the guests had departed, Annesley, Coxe and Dunstan still remained in the sanctum, playing cards and other more carnal games with the three self-designated ladies of the evening.

  Three was the perfect number, Annesley thought: three vestals and three libertines; nothing could be better. And three eager and willing vessels of virtue who only wanted to be filled with the liquid of lust, and who plainly didn't care who was spewing into her at any given time.

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  It had been better than usual, an absolute round-about of satiation, with the prime surprise the knowledgeable and hungry hands of the newly retooled Charlotte Emerlin. She had been so furious with Southam, she had stormed into the room and taken on the first man she could get her hands on.

  How delicious that it had been Dunstan Carradine who had been ready and willing to accommodate her right on his lap; and didn't they all avidly watch as she lifted her dress and straddled his naked member and bared her breasts in a frenzy and rode him remorselessly all the way to climax. And she wasn’t done then —she wanted them all, and it was the wonder of a woman that while Dunstan was spent and needed a respite, she was able to come to Annesley next.

  And what did that do to the other girls, who looked on in envy at first and then in anger that the Emerlin was sapping all the juice of their lovers. Ah, what a contest it became then between the three of them to arouse each spent and drooping member to new heights and new ecstasy.

  And when they were exhausted, he and his friends played a desultory hand of something or other—he couldn't remember what for all the poet and burgundy he had consumed, and within the hour, they were all ready for more licentious games in dark corners.

  The clock had struck twice, three times, and sometime during this hedonistic night of pleasure, it occurred to Annesley that Nicholas ought to have been with them.

  "Ain't that so, Dunstan?" he demanded, nudging Dunstan who had laid his head on the card table and was enjoying the ministrations of one or maybe even two of their willing partners beneath the table.

  "Didn't it seem the game went all awry after Nick left? I mean, it's no fun at all to lose to your friends. What you need is someone who is your friend and a good loser and who has the money to pay his vowels. Someone like Prinny, or Nick . . ."

  "Good man, Nick," Coxe agreed,
his voice slightly wobbly

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  from excesses of drink and prurience. "Took that bet last night at White's, never blinked. Just handed over a fistful of blunt. Not like Prinny; doesn't hoard a thing, generous to his friends . . . good man, ain't he, Carradine?"

  "The best," Dunstan concurred, picking up someone's half-empty glass and sipping it down. "Best boy . . . open-handed to a fault. Ah, Charlotte my dear, come sit here and let us talk about Nick. Tell us how much you love our Nick."

  Charlotte wriggled her bottom to find the best position on his lap and felt his gratifying instant response. "Nick's a dear," she cooed, running her fingers through Dunstan's hair and slipping her tongue neatly into his drink-scented mouth. "I just love Nick," she added huskily, fitting her mouth to Dunstan's and demanding his kisses.

  "Trouble was," Dunstan added when he came up for air, "Nick didn't love her—oh, but my beauty, we do, indeed we do," and he captured her hovering mouth this time and set her more firmly against his lap.

  "Well, this is what I think," Annesley said with all the seriousness of someone about to make a portentous announcement. "I think . . . ohhhhh, I think Emma had better stop doing that ... oh, don't stop doing that . . . Yes, well, this is what I think. I think ... I can't think—oh, that's lovely ... I think we ought to go and get ... Nick. That's it—go get Nick."

  "Nice idea," Coxe concurred, lifting his head from Sophia's breast. "Go get Nick . . ."

  "Game's not the same without 'em," Annesley muttered, "Game's not the—same . . . go get 'im . . ."

  "Don't wanna get 'im," Dunstan Carradine said, moving Emma's delightfully proficient hand where it could do the most good.

  "Well get 'im, soon we'll get 'im," Annesley promised. "Can't have a card game without Nick . . ."

  Charlotte slid off Dunstan's lap and pulled down the hem of her dress, smoothing it over her knees. "It's a perfect idea," she

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  murmured, straightening her dress and patting her hair. And then she planted a thick arousing kiss on Annesley's mouth. "Do that for me, Max. Do it tonight. Let's go get Nick and bring him back—tonight."

  ******************

  They were a merry group, all except Dunstan who groused about leaving their sanctum of gratification for some harum-scarum idea, and what if Nick were asleep or with some doxy and didn't want to play cards anyway?

  The clock struck four as their carriage rumbled down the empty and echoing streets to Berkeley Square.

  But they didn't notice; they were too busy stealing kisses from whoever was closest.

  Black shadows moved beneath the grey-black dawn, and nobody noticed; they were too busy sliding their hands up the nearest knee and feeling for their partner's bushy mound of Venus.

  And the carriage drew to a halt and they never noticed; they were all in the throes of evanescent pleasure.

  Annesley awoke to the fact they had arrived first.

  "Here we are—go get Nick . . . Gotta summon Trenholm. Trenholm will let us in and well just go on up to Nick's room and make sure he can't say no."

  He clambered unsteadily out of the carriage and weaved his way up the steps, leaving his companions to find their way as they could. There was a bell which had a clang he could hear even on the street when he pulled on it, and he was satisfied that Trenholm at least would not leave them standing outside.

  Everyone crowded around him, waiting for the acknowledgement, and it took a good five minutes before the door finally opened.

  "Mr. Annesley," Trenholm said, his voice betraying not a shade of shock to find him standing on Nicholas' doorstep.

  "GottagetNick," Annesley said by way of explanation.

  " 'Scuse me, Trenholm old fellow, but we need Nick. Game

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  aint been the same without 'im. We all came to get 'im. I‘ll just make my own way up the stairs."

  And up he went before Trenholm could protest or even try to reason with him, which would have been an utter waste of time given how foxed he was—they all were—Trenholm thought dourly, and he watched them ascend with no little certainty as to how Mr. Nicholas was going to contend with six sodden nobles bursting into his room.

  But Mr. Nicholas was used to Mr. Annesley's excesses. It wouldn't be the first time he had done something so outrageous . . .

  They paused at the bedroom door, all six of them, bobbing and weaving to varying degrees as they tried to get their balance after climbing the steep staircase, and tried very hard not to look down over the railing of the balcony.

  And then Annesley pounded on the door and shouted: "Nick, Nick, we've come to get you. We need you, old boy. The game ain't the same without you. We need your money, old man. Open the door and come out. We'll have a game down in the parlor; you don't even have to leave the house. Nick — Nick-"

  Nicholas yanked open the door. "Annesley! What the hell — "

  “Came to get you old man; sorry for barging in like this. Need your fine tuned hand, Nick. Game wasn't any fun without you. We'll just set up in your room . . ." And he pushed his way past Nicholas, with the five others following, like an inexorable wave about to crash on the shore.

  And he stopped. And he sobered up very rapidly. "Well, damn, Nick old boy: you bedded Lady Desire."

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  Chapter Eighteen

  The ramifications were appalling: and they all got a quick lecherous look at Jainee's bare breasts before she snatched up the bedclothes and burrowed under them.

  "I told you he was with a high-priced harlot," Dunstan said, his voice hard and rather menacing as his glittering eyes met Jainee's without a trace of feeling.

  "But God, she is beautiful," Annesley breathed. "Tell you what, Nick old boy. Dress her up and bring her back to the sanctum and we can all have at her."

  "Wish we'd known," Coxe said mournfully. "A waste not to share those bosoms, Nick. You are not a good friend."

  "Of course we could remedy that here," Annesley went on hopefully. "I mean—four hot mares and three lusty stallions— what an equation, eh, Nick? What do you say? Take Charlotte, you would not believe the change in her. Or Emma—wonderful hands, wonderful. And Sophia—twice as large as Miss Bowman on top. And always ready to offer her wares. God, Nick, you wouldn't have believed it: Coxe on one side and—"

  "I will kill you if one word of this gets around," Nicholas said, his voice dangerous, deadly.

  Annesley stopped in mid-sentence. "Nick—never."

  "Not a word," Coxe swore solemnly, transfixed by the sight of Jainee, wrapped in sheets and coverlets, her hair tumbling down her white shoulders, sitting cross-legged in the center of the bed. "On my honor, old man."

  Charlotte swept to the forefront, her eyes blazing, her body shaking with anger at Annesley's betrayal and offering them all

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  up for Miss Bowman's entertainment. "I will tell everyone," she said viciously. "This bitch has had it all her own way since the minute she came to London. It's fitting that Miss Bowsprit got caught in the bed that she made: now I'm going to make her lay in it. I'm going to rub her nose in it, and no one can stop me."

  And she wheeled around and stalked out of the room, her blazing pale eyes daring the other two women to stay with their lust-fogged lovers.

  They didn't know the difference anyway, she thought. They were mindless animals, grabbing for any pleasure they could get, now they were considered on the shelf. But not her, not her. That should have been her laying languidly in Nicholas' bed, sated in the aftermath of carnality. Dunstan Carradine was no substitute: he was only the closest relative available on the spur of the moment.

  Had she known that Nicholas was going to fornicate with that whore, she would have followed him home and pulled him away from her bodily.

  Well, now he must pay. Now he had gone too far in the year and a half with which she had been involved with him, either directly or peripherally. Heretofore, there had never been any gossip attached to his name, save his reckless attitude at the card
table.

  And she hadn't cared, after she had jilted him, what he had done or who he had done it with. But now she was experienced, now she knew what she really wanted, and when she had just decided to go after Nicholas and win him again, he did this to her. Now she was going to make him sorry for everything he had done to her.

  She was going to make him beg.

  "Tell everyone you know," she instructed Emma and Sophia, having commandeered Annesley's carriage to take them to their respective homes. "Everyone. It's time that virtuous whore got what's coming to her. Ha! Lady Desire. Whoever bestowed that name knew what he was talking about. I just wonder how other many men she's lured into her bed. Damn her, damn her. Stupid, gullible Nicholas—I will make him pay—I will. . ."

  And Emma and Sophia patiently listened and then Sophia said

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  plaintively, "But why did we have to leave? I thought we could stay and have some more fun."

  "Oh, we're going to have fun," Charlotte said viciously. "Lots and lots of fun watching Nicholas Carradine squirm and twist and finally crawl on his knees to me and beg for mercy."

  ******************

  "God, Nick—just look at her sizing us up. I mean to tell you, my sizer is about ready to explode. She wants us, old man. Why don't you stop talking for her and let her give the word."

  Nicholas turned and looked at Jainee, and she thought she would never want to see such a look again.

  "You are a pig, Mr. Annesley," she said succinctly.

  "God, what fire," Annesley breathed. "Let me show you what a pig ruts with, my imperious darling."

  “Get him out of here," Jainee exploded. He was unbelievable, with all his talk of mares and pigs and having at her. And Dunstan, just standing there looking evil and daring her to spit out one word. And Coxe, half falling down from drink and who knew what else.

  Damn Nicholas for just standing there and literally saying and doing nothing when the milkmaid was about to pump her udders and spray the whole city with the tale of them barging in on Nicholas and guess what delicious morsel they had found him nibbling on.