Master of Pleasure

by Delilah Marvelle

  “No.”

  “Aren’t you going to let me take off your clothes?”

  “No. Not tonight.”

  “But I wanted to—”

  “Not tonight.” He fell back onto the pillows, and in the darkness, dragged his nightshirt up to expose his cock. He tugged her leg up and over his hips, positioning her carefully so the wound remained untouched. “For your sake, don’t rile me anymore than I already am,” he finally said, his tone raw. “We’re doing this your way tonight. Because I’m a gentleman like that. All right? No tugging, no biting, no pinching, and no touching of my wound. Keep your hands to my arms or my chest at all times. That will ensure this doesn’t get out of hand.”

  She walked her fingers up his still robed chest. “Since when does the virgin instruct the rake?”

  He grabbed her fingers and stilled them. “I may be a virgin, pigeon, but that doesn’t make me any less dangerous. Keep it civil. Or I promise I’ll end up spanking you.”

  She paused. “Spanking me—”

  “Raw. We’ll talk about the possibility of it later.” He reached down between them in the darkness and rigidly holding his cock, found her opening. Setting it against her wetness, he grabbed her hips, taking full command, and yanked her fully down onto himself hard.

  They both gasped and stilled.

  She could feel the restraint coiled in his body as she slowly rode his length in an effort to give them both pleasure. She closed her eyes in complete disbelief as magnificent sensations gripped more than her body. It gripped her soul. He was hers and she was his. This moment marked it.

  Her grabbed both her hands in the darkness and entwined his large fingers between hers, holding them tight. “In this moment, I thee wed,” he said in a choked tone.

  She had never felt more cherished. He might as well have confessed that he was madly in love with her. “In this moment,” she choked back, “I accept being yours.”

  He rolled his hips into her, holding her upright with his hands. “Mine.”

  “Yours.” She rolled her own hips against his, gripping his hands harder in an effort to keep her rhythm slow. She wanted the core tightening sensations to last. She wanted this to last. Because it was more than pleasure. She could feel it in his body and in his breaths. They were making love.

  “Too slow, Leona,” he seethed out, his chest heaving beneath her. “Move that body faster before I split open the threads holding me together, dig my teeth into your shoulder without mercy and take over. Is that what you want?”

  She tsked, but entertained his request all the same. She broke her hold on their hands and caressing the strong tendons of his exposed throat, slowly set each hand against his shoulders. Capturing his lips with her own and tonguing him deeply until they were both frantic, she pumped her wetness harder and harder against his rigid length, angling herself to ensure his cock hit her nub. She gave in to ecstasy, riding him faster. She trembled from the realization that the glorious release awaiting her was just the beginning. He. This. It was just the beginning.

  He groaned against her mouth, his large fingers digging viciously into her hips. He nipped her lower lip. Hard.

  She winced against him and the pain, momentarily drawn out of pleasure, and tapped at his rough hands that kept digging far too deeply into her skin. “Malcolm,” she managed against his mouth. She paused, realizing the acrid tinge of blood streaked her tongue. Her lip. It was bleeding. “Aside from my lip, which is damn well bleeding, can you try not to—”

  He licked her lip as if to remedy it and choked out, “I’m trying. Believe me. It’s not easy. It’s not—” He thrust frantically up into her, his breaths puffing out. “I didn’t bite your lip that hard. You said you gave birth standing. Now take it.”

  Her body gave into those deep thrusts that hit her nub so perfectly. She no longer could focus on her lower lip. There was something erotic about mixing the pleasure with a bit of pain. It made the pleasure all the more perfect. Her core tightened against the rapid sensations, and she cried out, her body trembling in response to the sweeping bloom.

  He thrust up into her one last time and yelled out in the darkness of the room, stilling beneath her as his cock pulsed its seed into her. He shuddered and yanked her down onto his heaving chest, squeezing the very breath out of her as he tightened his hold beyond crushing.

  “I would curse, but it wouldn’t be right,” he said in between pants. “Leona, that was…everything. And more.”

  She flinched against the crushing grip, no longer enjoying the bloom or the glow. “Too tight,” she managed, her face mashed against his chest. “I can’t— I can’t breathe.”

  He loosened his hold but didn’t let go. “I can’t breathe, either. So we’re even. How is that lip of yours?”

  She slid her tongue over her bottom lip, which was now only a touch sore. “It’s no longer bleeding, if that is what you’re asking.”

  “Good.” He sounded pleased. He nestled his chin against her head and was quiet for a long moment. “Leona?”

  She sighed and nestled against his sizable chest, reveling in it and smoothed her entire hand against his wool robe. “Yes?”

  He hesitated. “I’ll get you that ring we earlier spoke of. We’ll get married at a Christian church here in London before we go to Persia. It’ll take us about two months to get there. But once we do—”

  She groaned against him, wishing he wouldn’t insist on dragging her onto a boat. “Malcolm. I already told you how I feel about going anywhere near water.”

  “You have nothing to fear. I’ll be with you.”

  “That won’t change the depth or the temperature of the water. I’m not going to Persia.”

  He peered down at her in the darkness that was dulled by the light of the moon outside the window. “It’s where my entire life is. It’s where—”

  “Can’t we stay here?” She softened her voice in an effort to beguile him. “Can’t you find another position outside of being an admiral to a bunch of Persians?”

  He stiffened beneath her. “Leona, I have to go back. Aside from the fact that those ‘Persians’ are my family, admiral is who I am. An entire country, and its leaders, depend on my return. Does that mean nothing to you?”

  A soft breath escaped her. “I didn’t say it meant nothing to me. It does. I simply…a boat…” Her throat tightened at the thought of being surrounded by water. “I’ve tried more than a few times, Malcolm. Even as recent as a year ago when Jacob wanted to paddle in a small boat across the Thames. The Thames. That isn’t even a sliver of the size of the ocean and I was heaving until I almost lost consciousness. I can’t do it. I can’t.”

  His voice hardened. “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Can’t and won’t.” She almost shook him. “My fear is real, Malcolm. Real. Do you honestly think I would counterfeit such a thing? Do you honestly think—”

  “What if I teach you how to swim?”

  “That isn’t the problem. Can you teach a boat how to float when it hits the rocks?”

  “Leona, the danger is well worth the reward.”

  “Is it? My father died somewhere out there. His bones are still in that water. A water I have no intention on going near. Ever. Not ever. I’m not—”

  He gripped her shoulders hard. “Leona. I’m facing my fears in your name. I expect you to do the same for me.”

  She glared. “I don’t know what sort of fears you’re talking about, but—”

  “Don’t chastise me. Don’t.” His chest rose and fell unevenly. “What the hell is this? Are you really mine? Or is this a ploy to be rid of me?”

  She groaned again. “Malcolm, I am yours. I wouldn’t have crawled into your bed if I wasn’t. But I— A boat isn’t safe! A boat isn’t—”

  “I’ll tell you what isn’t safe,” he bit out. “Your damn association with me.” He lifted her up and off himself, and unceremoniously tossed her onto the mattress. “You’re getting on that damn boat or we’re done. Is that what you wan
t?”

  She popped out a hand and caught herself from rolling naked off the end of the mattress. She glanced toward him in the shadows, her heart pounding. “I’m confessing my greatest fear to you and you’re setting ultimatums?”

  He dragged his nightshirt and robe over himself, shifting away from her. “Damn right I am.” He hunkered back against the pillows, staring out into the darkness before him. “We can’t be together, Leona, unless you get on that boat. And let me tell you why. I’d be willing to give up my position as admiral for you and stay here in England until we both grow old and die, but the reality is, if you can’t face your worst fear by getting on that damn boat, you’re not ready to face me. You’re not ready to face what I really am and will always be. You’re not. You’re fucking not. Getting on a boat is nothing compared to what I am.”

  Her breath burned in her throat. She grew numb from the reality that he was setting ultimatums not only with her own fears but her heart. Her nostrils flared as she snatched up her chemise and yanked it over her nude body. “It appears the real Lord Brayton has finally made a bow and introduced himself.”

  He continued to stare out. “I can say the same about you,” he replied in a low tone, taut with anger. “How is it you’re willing to take on a cart full of men for a toy bear but can’t get on a boat for me? Can you explain that to me, Leona? Because the woman I thought I knew is fearless. The woman I want and need in my life should be fearless. It’s the only way you and I can be together. Be the damn leopard I need you to be. Because if I had wanted a mere kitten, I would have settled down years ago.”

  She narrowed her gaze and snatched up her gown that was bundled on the bed. “Oh, yes. It must be so nice being all manly and burly and not knowing anything about real fear. It must be nice flexing a muscle at even the sea and watching the whole world bow.”

  He was quiet.

  She stalked over to the other side of the room, snatching up her mangled corset. “Setting ultimatums and belittling my fears in order to get what you want isn’t love, Malcolm. It’s blackmail. I hope you know the difference.” She refrained from stomping over to the door that was barely outlined in the darkness.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded.

  Yanking open the door, she glanced back. “To bed.”

  He was now watching her. Not even the shadows could hide it. “I didn’t ask you to leave.”

  She swallowed. “I didn’t need permission to. In fact, I may not be around come morning. I thought I’d just say that.”

  “I see.” He stared her down. “I received word not even an hour ago that no court in England will entertain your Mr. Blake or whatever lawyer he hires. He is being barred from every last bench in not only London but England. Which means your son will remain in your arms thanks to me. Thanks. To. Me. And this is how you reward me, Leona? By threatening to leave after I just gave you my body and my heart? Is this the sort of woman you are?”

  Anguish seized her. He had just confessed his…love. His heart. He was giving it to her. As if she were worthy of it.

  He shifted his jaw and averted his gaze again. He said nothing more.

  A shaky breath escaped her. “Malcolm, I…” Another shaky breath escaped her. “Thank you. Thank you for letting me keep what I cherish most: my boy. As for your heart, I wish to assure you with all of my heart that I—”

  “Don’t.” He adjusted the linens over himself. “Don’t you dare. I would rather you not say words that can never be erased from my mind only to find I’m going to Persia without you. Because I am getting on that boat, Leona. I have to. An entire nation depends on it.”

  She wanted to be angry with him, but given what he did to keep her son in her hands, she owed him just enough not to be bitter. She owed him just enough to face the one fear she hadn’t been able to face since she was twelve years old. Water.

  Tears burned her eyes. More than a nation was depending on her getting on the boat. Their relationship depended on it. And she knew enough about herself to say she did agree with him. The danger was well worth the reward. She was tired of living on an island. She needed to swim for what she wanted. And she wanted this. She wanted him and that beautiful strength. She needed it and wanted him to teach it to her son.

  She dug her nails into her palm and choked out, “I’ll get on that boat. Given what you did for Jacob and me, I’ll—”

  “How kind of you, Miss Webster. I appreciate that.” His tone indicated otherwise. “What made you change your mind? Have you decided you’re in love with me? Or have you decided no one else will pay your bills?”

  She attempted to throttle her confused emotions into order. “You’re being cruel.”

  He slowly shook his head. “No. If a bleeding lip and a boat on water offends you so easily, I really don’t stand a chance. You’ll never love me. Not in the way I need you to.”

  She dragged in uneven breaths. “You aren’t making any sense. You aren’t—”

  “Nothing about me makes sense, Leona. No one knows that more than I.” He let out a harsh breath. “Go to bed. Don’t…don’t let our argument taint what we shared tonight. When I’m ready, we’ll talk another time. Because I can’t do this right now.”

  “But—”

  “Go,” he insisted. “I need the rest.”

  Knowing he was pushing her out, she tried to steady her voice and keep it from cracking. “Are you certain you don’t need any laudanum?”

  “Quite.”

  She felt herself inwardly breaking. Even if she did face her fears and get on that ship, whatever did he mean she wouldn’t be able to face him? She was so confused.

  Unable and no longer wanting to even think, she choked out, “I do love you. You’ve been close to perfect up until now. To not only me but Jacob. I only wish you’d trust me more. Despite what you think, there is really only one thing keeping us apart: you. Whatever you’re not telling me, whatever it is you’re hiding, please know I’m strong enough to take it. Trust that. But I can’t hold a weight you plan on carrying all on your own. You have to trust me, Malcolm, if we are ever going to push past this. If you feel anything for me, and I know you do, I’m asking you to trust me.”

  He said nothing.

  She dragged in a breath, knowing he was pushing her away. “I wish you a good night.”

  His voice softened by more than a touch. “Good night…pigeon.”

  The raw softening of that voice and endearment wasn’t enough to kill all doubts or the fact that he still had told her nothing. She hesitated, waiting for him to say something. Anything. When he didn’t, she turned and quietly closed the door, feeling as if she were closing it on her heart.

  Days later, early morning

  On the doorstep of James Zachery Thayer

  Malcolm wanted to go in, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t. By going in, and seeing his brother, he would be changing the one thing he had always fought to be: his own man. A normal man. A man who didn’t share the same face or the same desires with…another.

  After countless minutes ticked by, Malcolm finally turned away from the door. He hobbled against the tightly bundled cloth that bound his healing wound in place beneath his trousers and sat with a wince on the top stone step facing out toward the street of a quiet neighborhood in London belonging to the middle classes.

  Much like him, James had learned to live in modesty. Their father had instilled it into them.

  Leaning forward and fully stretching his one leg for comfort, Malcolm propped up the collar of his morning coat, pulled out his prayer book from his pocket and let out a breath, paging through Latin words that in that moment made no sense. His faith wasn’t what it needed to be. He couldn’t keep pushing the entire world away. It was going to kill him.

  The door behind him creaked open, making him pause.

  He didn’t have to glance back to know who it was.

  Malcolm’s chest tightened as the door closed and the towering figure of his brother casually hunkered
down beside him, bumping his large shoulder into his.

  “Dorothea told me you were in London,” James said. “I was hoping you would come by.”

  Malcolm closed his prayer book, tightening his hold on it to inwardly draw strength from it, and veered his gaze to his twin.

  Ice blue eyes with piercing concern and gruff features that mirrored his own right down to everything but the scar, angled closer. “I’m sorry about the way we parted,” James admitted.

  Malcolm shrugged, trying to pretend it was nothing. Even though it was everything.

  James grabbed Malcolm’s face and shook it. “I know why you did what you did, damn you. Dorothea told me everything. And you’re a better brother than I. And I…I appreciate it. I was far too young to be responsible with what I wanted to share with her. Dorothea and I have always been close. Almost closer than you and I, which is unacceptable. I’ve pushed boundaries I shouldn’t have touched and I’m admitting it. I’m more responsible with what I am. You’d be proud.”

  Malcolm tugged him close and tightened his hold, letting out the breath he felt he’d been holding since he was eighteen. “I thought about you so damn often.”

  “I thought about you every single day. Your voice was the one that always pulled me away from doing things I knew you would have never approved of. You were always the better half of us. And I thank you for that. I’m not doing half of what I used to. I found my level of…normal. And I’m happy with it.”

  Dragging himself away, Malcolm sighed. It would seem thirteen years had finally knocked some sense into his brother. “What about the pistols you and she play with?”

  James smirked. “Were you spying on us?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Your version of maybe is always yes.”

  “Maybe.”

  James rammed his elbow into Malcolm, making Malcolm wince. “Someone over on Charlotte Street told me you’re going to that school everyone is talking about. The one Madame de Maitenon is opening. Are you?”

  Malcolm groaned and tapped the closed prayer book against his forehead. “I’m supposed to be starting in a few days thanks to a Persian prince who thinks he owns more than Persia. How did you— Are you telling me people know?”