by Sharon Page
She tapped the crop against her hand.
“To dominate or to be dominated?” she asked.
“That is the question,” Will replied, grinning. “He’s new. Looking at him, I can’t tell which he’d prefer. But tonight we’ll start where he’s in charge. Have Mistress Bellows find him a pretty slave. He’s got a ten-inch prick. He’ll make any sweet, submissive whore very happy.”
Sin began to drunkenly protest. For a start, he didn’t like having his physical attributes discussed. And he had no intention of doing anything with any prostitute. He was about to get married. To the woman he loved.
The hell with what his cousin, the duchess said. But in his soul, he knew his parents had been warped and he feared he was too.
“What about you?” The girl eyed Willoughby. She took her riding crop and ran it up the inside of her naked thigh. Then stroked it between the lips of her cunny.
The long black rod slid in and out. Drunk as he was, Sin could smell her arousal as she sawed faster.
Willoughby grabbed the crop out of her hand. Abruptly, he replaced it with his fingers and he slid them deep in her pussy. The woman moaned and moved her hips, rocking herself on his fingers.
Sin felt his cheeks heat up. He was likely blushing. He wasn’t innocent, but he’d never had sex in front of someone. Neither Will nor the woman appeared to care he was there.
Will took the riding crop and pressed it between the woman’s naked arse cheeks.
“Are you going to thrust it up my bum?” she gasped.
“I’ve got something longer and thicker in mind for that. Take my friend to Mistress Bellows, then come back, and I’ll fuck you hard up the arse and make you scream the house down when you come.”
The woman trembled. She was pink with desire. She curtsied, which looked strange with her naked lower body, and she held the bottom of her corset to make the motion. “Yes, Master. At once, Master.”
Breathlessly, she turned to him. “Come this way, my lord.”
“Your Grace,” Will corrected.
“Oh heavens. A duke,” the woman whispered. “Mistress Bellows will be most happy to please you.”
“Look, I’m not interested in this—”
Will moved close. “Go with her. Get a few drinks. There’s gaming in the back room. Have some fun and give me some time to fuck the pretty wench.”
“I’m not bedding any whores.”
“No, you’re going to be a staid married man instead.”
“A happy married man,” Sin corrected. He walked away, staggering slightly. He didn’t want to look openly drunk—he’d look vulnerable to any thief who might be lurking. One thing he’d learned about London: some of the seedier brothels were filled with men and women who would steal a man’s belongings, get him royally drunk, and chuck him out on the street.
“Look, I don’t want to see Mistress Bellows. Take me to the door. I’ll hire a hackney to take me—”
“Oh, Your Grace. If the mistress were to know I had not introduced her to a handsome young duke I would be punished. Would you please just greet her? For me?”
His brain function was not at its best. He didn’t want the pretty girl to get punished. Some madams were so harsh and abusive, they made army generals look like cuddly kittens. “All right.”
Hell, if anything, he felt like he was getting drunker. But he didn’t have a glass in his hand.
The woman reached a door, curtsied again by holding the edges of her corset and dipping her legs and naked pussy in front of him. Then she left. She must be returning to Will.
Sin pushed open the door.
In front of him, a tall woman with silver hair piled on her head was tying a younger woman to a strange metal rack. He watched, heart slamming, as the woman looped thick black rope around the delicate wrists.
Suddenly it was like he was eleven years old. It had been eight years, but he could still hear her voice in his ear. Sinfully silky even as she made demands. I want you to tie me up. Wouldn’t you like that? To dominate me? And if you don’t do as I ask, I’ll see that you are taken away. You’ll find yourself in a brothel of boys who service old men. Or slaving away on a sailing ship, far away from home.
Christ, he had shoved his memories as far down in his soul as he could. But being here, he was remembering—
“Come forward!” The silver-haired woman snapped her fingers and cracked a whip and two other women scurried forward. They were naked except for high boots with leather turndowns, black masks, and heavy diamond necklaces. Those women crouched and he saw they had sex toys sticking out of their bottoms. Long, white ivory dildos.
His cock bucked in his linens.
No, he was supposed to become a married man.
But this was like nothing he’d ever seen before. A crowd of people all engaged in this scene of sex. The room was filled with gentlemen, all dressed in the latest fashions—all obviously rich. And there were courtesans of every size and shape imaginable, most half-naked. The smell of arousal was drugging.
He knew he should leave. But he was drawn to this, even though he knew it was wrong.
The silver-haired woman walked slowly around a circle of gentlemen, wearing a triumphant smile and cracking the whip against the floor. The sound reverberated through the room. She handed the whip, handle first, to one of the men.
The man leered. He approached the bound woman, spread his legs as if he needed to secure his balance.
He raised the whip.
The lash slapped her bottom with a soft thwack.
The leather slid off her delicate skin. A long red line was left, where the tail of the whip had hit.
Sin’s cock throbbed. He almost staggered with the sudden jolt of lust that hit him. Ever since he’d been introduced to the wildest, wickedest erotic games, he found he wanted them.
Getting married was his way of taming those needs. Of leaving the past behind. But he was feeling a powerful surge of lust.
Two women ran up to him. The two women with dildos up their arses. Each woman took his hand and placed his palms against the ends of their thick sex toys.
“Pleasure us, please, my lord. Thrust them in our bums.”
His cock was pulsing like it was ready to burst. He should refuse. But he was so aroused he felt like he wanted to holler in pain.
They wriggled, using his hands to brace the sex toys and push them deeper in their curvaceous arses. One woman squealed with pure pleasure.
“Please play with us. You are so very handsome,” the other begged.
Around him, he saw other people had joined into groups. Threesomes of two men and one woman. One group of five women and one man. Cocks were freed. Pretty hands stroked men’s shafts. Mouths happily sucked cockheads. Breasts were bared, bouncing through the room.
Everyone around him was fucking. It was staggering to stand in the middle of so much sex.
“Please play with us,” one of the girls cooed. “We like to watch, and then we get so hot, we need relief.”
He didn’t know what came over him. He started thrusting, just as they wanted. The girls braced themselves against the wall as he drove the fake cocks into their tight butts. They played with each other’s pussy. Pinched each other’s nipples.
He’d never seen anything so erotic.
His cock damn well hurt, it was so rigid, so engorged, so eager to fuck. He’d never done anything with two women at once. One set of lovely breasts, one rounded ass always seemed like enough. What would it be like to suck both sets of tits? One set was large and tubular shaped, with dark brown nipples. The other was smaller, with little dainty pink nipples.
Would their pussies feel different? What would it be like to dip his cock in one, fuck her a while, then do the other?
What was it like to bed two women?
“You want to bed both of them? Ever done that before? You can’t do that when you’re married, Sin. Not with a gentle and sweet wife.”
Sin let go of the pair of dildos and swung around.
Wi
lloughby stood there, holding an ornate pipe. He drew on it, closing his eyes. Will had a babyish face—a small nose, full lips, deep violet eyes. He had stripped to just his trousers, revealing a muscular bare chest, rock-hard abdomen. Will exhaled sweet-scented smoke, then handed the pipe to Sin.
“Opium. It expands your mind. Takes away all pain. If you’re meant to marry, you’ll know it once you’ve let the opium free your mind.”
Sin took it, but frowned with suspicion at the beautiful pipe, with its squat bowl and carving of a dragon with coiling tail. He’d never smoked opium.
“Smoke some. I do this all the time. Helps you forget.”
Sin jerked his head up. Could Will know he had a hell of a lot he wanted to forget? But Will just grinned and motioned, taking a drag of smoke from the pipe. Sin tried it. Drew in a few puffs; then he began to feel intensely relaxed.
A voluptuous woman in a shift suddenly gripped his arm. “Is this ’im? Ooh, ’e’s lovely.”
Sin found he was being dragged away. Will followed. Giggling, the prostitute pulled him into a bedroom, gave him the pipe. He had to admit he liked the feeling. He didn’t give a damn about anything. He laughed.
Next thing he knew, they were all on top of the bed. Naked. He must have passed out for a few minutes, because he saw Willoughby holding a thick dildo.
“I’m going to stuff you more than you’ve ever imagined, love,” Will said, and opened the woman’s plump, pretty legs. He shoved it deep inside her, right to the hilt in one stroke. She squealed and Sin thought she was hurt. Until she winked at them. “I love when you do that, milord.”
Willoughby sat on the edge of the bed. “Now, come sit astride me and let me stuff my hard cock up your arse, sweetheart.”
“Ooh yes. With this in my cunny, I’ll be lovely and full.”
“Not yet, my dear. Not yet.”
Sin watched her stand and walk, holding the false cock inside. The jewels winked through her blond pubic curls. She got astride Willoughby, with her enormous bare breasts facing him. He gripped his cock, she held the cheeks of her ass apart and she slowly took him inside. Sin heard her moans and Willoughby’s grunt, and a spasm of agony shot through his legs.
Sin could see just a couple of inches of Willoughby’s long cock, where it was revealed by her parted cheeks.
“Now you get in her, Sin. We’re going to fuck her arse together.”
God, his brain was fogged. What in Hades was Will saying? “How—?”
“She can take us both. Rub some of the oil on your big prick and get over here.”
God, he was so aroused his legs were shaking. Join Willoughby in her ass? It was forbidden. Wicked.
He was going to drown in wickedness.
He grabbed the vial, slicked up his cock. The woman—he didn’t know her name—watched him rubbing his shaft with bright eyes. “Oh, you’re huge,” she gasped. “I don’t know if I can take that monster inside as well.”
“You can,” Willoughby said gruffly.
With his cock slick and leaking fluid out of its tip, Sin got beside her voluptuous ass. Willoughby rocked back, lifting her. Sin pressed his cock in the valley of her rump. He slid, hitting Willoughby’s cock. Buried inside her, his friend’s cock was completely rigid. He tried to force his way into her snug hole.
“It won’t go in.”
“Keep working.” Willoughby grabbed her full ass cheeks and pulled them wide. Sin held his cock hard and pushed it. Then he felt the pop and the sudden hot, tight grip.
She squealed. “Oh! Oh! It’s too much.”
“I’ll take it out.”
“Don’t. Let her get used to it.”
She was gasping and sobbing, but suddenly she stopped and she wriggled again. “Oh yes. Two enormous pricks in my ass. I never dreamed of such a thing.”
“Slide in, Sin. Go in her to the hilt.”
He realized his cock was nosing in beside Willoughby’s. He was being caressed by the hot walls of her ass and by his friend’s shaft. God, he was being squeezed tight. He fought the almost instant desire to come.
He managed to fuck her for five minutes before he exploded in orgasm. The orgasm seared him. Burst inside him. The opium in his system made coming feel like he’d glimpsed heaven.
The instant his climax finished, guilt crushed him. He had to wait for Will to withdraw as well. Will grinned, looking like a naughty boy. “All this can be yours whenever you want. In London, you can experience any sexual adventure that money can buy. Anything you can dream of. Any number of whores. Any type of orgy.”
Any sexual experience. Anything he could imagine. Two women and him. Four women. A dozen women.
Sin threw on a robe and got the hell out of the room.
He’d given in to lust, when he was supposed to be in love. But the experience—it had been beyond anything he could imagine.
Downstairs in one of the drawing rooms, he commanded brandy. He flopped into a seat. Drank and kept drinking.
He’d been driven to come here by his cousin, the duchess. Today, she told him she knew everything about his past. When she’d learned he was going to inherit, she had hired investigators and she had bribed the past servants of his parents’ house. She had even found the lady’s maid who had served his brother’s wife, and for a small fortune, the maid had revealed everything. Things he had no idea anyone else knew.
The duchess had called him a monster. Told him she was repulsed by him. Insisted he must marry well—marry the daughter of a duke or an earl—to ensure he had an heir with good bloodlines.
He’d told the old hag she was insane and stormed out.
But damn it, he was beginning to think she was right. He was a monster. . . .
He had given into lust. And he wanted more. He wanted to go to a damn orgy. He wanted to do the wildest, kinkiest things....
Sin didn’t know what in hell happened to Will—when Will left the brothel or where he went. Sin was still there when the sun came up. Sitting in a chair, his head hung down, empty brandy bottle dangling from his fingers.
He knew he was going to come back to this world. He knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.
Some “gentlemen” would still marry Portia, and leave her at night to fulfill their sexual cravings. Easy to justify—a gently bred girl shouldn’t know anything about these things. She shouldn’t be putting her mouth on a man’s cock, or letting him tie her up and fuck her in the ass. A man was supposed to get that elsewhere.
But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave Portia at night to give his body to other women. Nor could he change—he’d wanted to stop his sinful sexual lusts, but he hadn’t been able to do it. It was as if he was addicted to sex.
And because he couldn’t change, he couldn’t marry Portia.
4
Serenity Island
June 1821
The red ropes were soft, silky, and didn’t hurt, but the knots were secure and as much as Portia had struggled, she hadn’t been able to get free. It was infuriating.
Now the tall, broad-shouldered, dark-eyed Duke of Sinclair—the man who had ordered her kidnapping—stood at the foot of the enormous bed, staring at her.
Portia knew she should quake in fear. But this man had broken her heart and she wouldn’t break down in front of him. Fury commanded her as much as fear.
“God in heaven,” he muttered, in his husky baritone voice. “What happened to you?”
At once, he stalked to her right hand, drawing a knife out of the leather turndown of his boot. A knife with a long, thin blade and silver handle. He came to the bed, over six feet in height and muscular, leaning over her. She squeaked in alarm. In real fear, so sudden and shocking, it left her horribly immobile. She was utterly vulnerable, but somehow she was going to fight him if he tried to hurt her—
With one swipe, he slashed through the rope.
He was letting her go?
The duke moved to the rope that bound her right ankle before Portia remembered to breathe again. She’d read M
inerva Press novels—stories of innocent girls kidnapped by deformed monks and taken to gloomy castles to satisfy the cravings of strange, wicked gentlemen. The girls in her family’s home devoured those stories and she always laughed at how ludicrous they were.
But now that she was living this, she knew the authors had never adequately described how it really felt to be confused, exhausted, scared, and angry all at once.
She met the duke’s brown eyes—dark, mysterious eyes the color of melted chocolate, surrounded by long, long lashes—and tried to see if there was anything in there of the sweet, wonderful man she had once agreed to marry.
His eyes looked at her with such tenderness, her throat went dry.
Ten years had changed the Duke of Sinclair. The years had broadened his shoulders, widened his chest. The youthful beauty of his face had hardened into grizzled handsomeness. Wicked handsomeness. It seemed to cast a spell. Otherwise, why would she be studying his wretched looks when he’d broken her heart ten years ago and right now she had no idea whether he was the villain or not?
His gloved hand touched hers after he cut the rope away from her left wrist. Slowly his long fingers traced her palm through her thin gloves. Sensations tumbled. The pressure of his fingers, light and gentle, made her hot—
Really, what was she thinking? “How could you do this to me?” she cried.
The Duke of Sinclair moved to her foot. He freed her ankle, then frowned. His dark brown hair fell over his brow. Ten years ago she used to love to watch the way his thick, silky hair fell over his brow. Her heart would almost explode for he looked so handsome that way.
That scared her more than anything. That right now, when she should be like Merry, reacting in fear with the desire to run, she was remembering this man when he’d been young and sweet. When she had called him by his Christian name, Julian.
This wasn’t like her. She was the girl who carried a pistol and who had men believing she was willing to use it.
The Duke of Sinclair had broken her heart once, and she was never going to let him think she felt anything for him but utter disdain.
He held out his hand to help her sit up, but she ignored it and struggled up herself, thankful she wore only light stays instead of a tightly laced corset. Another sign of her practicality.
