Master of Pleasure

by Delilah Marvelle

  Both men froze.

  Malcolm eyed Leona and cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, it’s going to get worse. You may want to take the boy inside. We’re a little rough with each other.”

  If it hadn’t been for Malcolm’s brother, her son would have been…taken. She edged forward. “Thank you, James.”

  James wrestled out of Malcolm’s grasp and shoved him, making Malcolm stumble. James straightened, adjusting his wet clothes and inclined his head. “A pleasure.”

  The door from behind them swung open in the darkness, spilling out light. Andrew squinted out toward them, fastening his robe. “Why the hell is everyone outside? It’s two in the morning and it’s raining. Even I’m not that stupid.”

  Leona dragged Jacob closer to herself and smiled. Kissing his soaked head several times, she smoothed that small, wet face that was too chilled for her liking. “We should get you warm. Come along. It’s time for bed.” She pushed him past and around Malcolm’s large frame, hurrying them to the stairs of the house.

  “But I’m not cold or tired,” Jacob whined. “I’m not.”

  “You’re completely soaked and were almost kidnapped. And you’re not cold, scared or tired?”

  “Most certainly not!” Jacob tossed back. “One day, Mama, I plan to not only take a blade to my thigh without crying like Malcolm did, but I plan to take a villain’s head, like James did, and bash it into—”

  Egad. “Nooo. No blades in thighs and no bashing. No, no, no.” Whilst she was relieved that Jacob didn’t seem in the least bit rattled by his experience of being taken it was obvious Malcolm’s company over these past few weeks had overly inspired him.

  “But, Mama, can’t I stay outside a few minutes longer and—”

  “No.” Leona turned her son toward the house, marching him forward and up the stairs to Andrew. She pushed her son through the door past Andrew and into the warmth of the house. “Go in. I’ll be right there.”

  Jacob trailed water across the tile floor of the house, and hugged his dripping bear against his chest. He turned toward her. “Can Andrew read me a story?”

  Leona pointed toward the staircase. “Go upstairs and start stripping those wet clothes. I’ll be right up and read you that story myself. Andrew needs to sleep.”

  Her son scowled. “But I want Andrew to read me a story. He does all the voices. And you…you don’t.” He sighed as if the thought of it depressed him. He then hitched up the wet bear he held and turned on his wet heel, tracking more water up the stairs.

  Andrew eyed Leona and then veered his gaze back to Malcolm and James. “One was bad enough. Two is like inviting Satan over for tea.” He puffed out a breath. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of Jacob and put him in some dry clothes. I’ll even read him the newspaper. That always puts him to sleep.”

  Leona smiled, leaned in and kissed Andrew on the cheek in gratitude. “Thank you. You know how he adores you.”

  “What isn’t there to adore?” Andrew wrapped his arm around her, growing overly cocky. “Seeing you and Brayton are no longer…you know…maybe you and I could—”

  Malcolm rigidly pointed at them and boomed, “Ey! What the hell is going on over there? Get your hands off my woman before I tie your damn cock around your throat.”

  Andrew snorted and called back, “I appreciate you thinking it’s that long.”

  Malcolm swung fully toward Andrew and hardened his tone. “Get inside, you damn rake. I mean it.”

  Andrew cringed, ducked and darted out of sight.

  Leona sighed and swiped a hand over her wet face, edging back toward the warmth of the house and out of the rain. She wished she could say she was flattered by Malcolm’s territorial behavior, but neither of them had really tried to progress their relationship beyond their last conversation regarding his penchant for…crops.

  She was still debating.

  James jogged backward, putting up a large gloved hand. “I still have that bastard tied to the railing. After a few more punches, I’ll be delivering him to Scotland Yard with a few orders. You two have a good night. I’ll be in touch. Oh and…Malcolm?”

  Malcolm paused.

  James smirked. “If you ever get bored of that dinky little School of Gallantry you attend every day in the name of impressing a woman you still haven’t impressed, head on over to where you really belong: Charlotte Street.” He swung away and strode out into the night that was beginning to slowly clear from all the rain.

  Leona blinked. And then blinked again. “What on earth is he talking about?”

  Malcolm lingered in the street for a moment, looking after his brother. He then heaved out a breath and swiveled toward her. Shifting his jaw, he jogged up the stairs and past her.

  For some reason, he didn’t answer her question.

  “Malcolm?” She turned toward him.

  He said nothing.

  “I’m the one who should be agitated,” she pointed out.

  “I thought you were.” He nudged her into the house and slammed the door. Stalking into the adjoining parlor, he hefted up a trunk, came back and set it against the door with a thud. “We’ll get the latch fixed in the morning. It’s late.”

  A cold stream of water trickled down the length of her and pooled around her bare feet, sending a shiver through her. Feeling rather sorry for herself, she muttered, “We can’t keep ignoring each other. You leave in four days.”

  Malcolm stepped toward her, blocking her view of the staircase with his body. “Are you saying you have an answer for me?”

  Veering her gaze up to his, she cringed at the possibility that maybe, just maybe, because he clearly, clearly wanted it, she could…?

  She watched a large drop of water drip from a strand of his dark hair. It slowly traced his temple, then slid down his cheek and disappeared off the end of his chin. She envied the very water that clung to him so naturally, so provocatively. “I do miss you,” she gushed, not knowing what else to say. “I miss everything about us. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that I have to take a crop to you to be able to show my love. Who does that? I’m not…you’re ridiculously large in size. Ridiculously. My arm would grow tired if I tried to—” She puffed out a breath and eyed him.

  He said nothing.

  “I don’t want you to leave without me or Jacob,” she grouched. “I don’t.”

  He searched her face. “What are you saying?”

  It was pointless. She couldn’t do it. Leona moved around him, the cold settling in on her body like a winter storm. Every inch of her shook.

  He grabbed her arm and yanked her back toward himself. “Leona.”

  She swallowed but didn’t meet his gaze. “What?”

  He brought her hands to his cool lips and kissed them. Twice. He lowered himself to his knee, not breaking their gaze. “I love you. No matter what you decide.”

  Her hands stilled against his. He was on one knee and begging. Begging. “I…”

  Obnoxious, lip-smacking kissing sounds echoed around them, making them both pause.

  Malcolm released her hand, jumping up to both feet and glanced up the stairwell, calling out, “That will come later, I assure you. Now take your little noises elsewhere. Leona and I need some privacy, if you please.”

  Leona swung toward the stairwell.

  Jacob giggled.

  Andrew smirked, snatched up Jacob with one arm and yelled back, “I’ll keep him upstairs for the rest of the night if you both promise to keep the noise down!” Andrew pointed at them, then jogged out of sight, flipping Jacob over and up on his shoulder, making Jacob giggle even more.

  Everything grew quiet again.

  Malcolm grabbed Leona by the waist hard, startling her, and tossing her up into his muscled arms, he proceeded to stalk them down the corridor into the kitchen, trailing water from their drenched clothes across the floor. “Do you trust me?”

  She eyed him awkwardly as he continued stalking them into the kitchen. “Yeeees.”

  He gave her a hard pointed
look. “Sound a little more confident about it, Leona. Or I’ll damn well walk you back.” He tightened his hold, shaking her to emphasize it. “Do you trust me?”

  She eyed him again, their wet clinging clothes practically pasted against each other. “Yes, of course. You know I do.”

  “Good.” He angled them into the narrow doorway of the kitchen, slamming the door behind them with his leather boot and crossed them over to the table in two long-legged steps. He sat her down on it, letting her bare and muddy feet dangle as her heavy skirts dripped water onto the floor.

  He stepped back and holding her gaze in the candlelight of the kitchen, unbuttoned his waistcoat. “I leave in four days.” He shrugged off the wet waistcoat and let it drop to the floor. “It’s important you see my body. It might help you make a decision.”

  She snorted and gripped the edge of the table she sat on, her pulse roaring. “A touch of an ego, have we?”

  “I’m being damn serious.” He unraveled his sagging cravat, unwound it from around his neck and tossed it, his features gruff but calm. He undid the top two buttons at his throat with the lift of his shaven chin and opened the wide slit of the linen shirt. He turned away from her, purposefully giving her his broad back, and yanked the wet linen off, exposing the shifting muscle beneath.

  Her eyes widened as her heart almost stopped in disbelief. He had so many thick scars fingering the expanse of his back that the patches of his skin didn’t even look like skin. “Malcolm,” she rasped. “Oh God. Did you do all of this to yourself?”

  “No.” He dropped his wet trousers around his muscled legs, which were also heavily scarred. He shoved his soaked undergarments down and stepped out of them, leaving himself completely and gloriously naked. He turned back toward her, not even bothering to cover his cock, and revealed a massive, almost overly muscled body that was covered from abdomen to arms to chest with similar thick, slash-like gashes.

  It didn’t even include the still healing wound on his sculpted thigh.

  He met her gaze. “I was punished quite a bit at the monastery when I was younger. Unlike most of the boys there, however, I was a creature they really weren’t familiar with. I wasn’t scared of getting whipped as much as I was scared of…enjoying it. Had God not made me like this, I honestly don’t think I would have survived at the hands of the monastery. Every scar you see, I didn’t mind getting. I stand here before you, Leona, with nothing to hide. This and my heart is yours if you will take it.”

  Only the support of the table beneath her kept her from staggering. Although she wanted to bury her face into her hands so she wouldn’t have to look at the extent of the pain his body had been through, she couldn’t move nor allow herself to blink.

  There was, however, something utterly magnificent in the way he humbly stood before her, asking her to accept every last scar. Some laid out their hearts with words. This man laid out his heart with scars.

  Every inch of that marred, massive body was actually beautiful, rigid, muscular and tight. She felt tense looking at him.

  As he slowly drew closer, his leg muscles moved like rippling satin. His chest and those broad shoulders and long arms had more bulk than she had originally imagined through his clothes.

  She swallowed again, her skin burning as if it were on fire.

  Silence filled the room, deafening her.

  “You’re not saying anything.” His voice was thick with concern. “Why? Do you detest what you see? Be honest.”

  She tensed, her fingers digging into the wet material of her wool gown. There was no sense in lying to him or herself. “No. You’re annoyingly beautiful.”

  He stopped and his features brightened. His mouth quirked. “I knew you’d like it.”

  And the ego was back.

  Moving toward her again, his eyes flickered over her wet gown as a cocky smile cracked the surface of his harsh features. He paused before her and widened his stance as if fully clothed. He held her gaze. “So why do you think I picked the kitchen to do this? Do you know?”

  She swallowed hard, lifted her chin and boldly met his blue eyes. She knew.

  He leaned in, blocking all view. “Start with a wooden spoon if you have to. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

  A warning whispered in her head, telling her it was wrong, but her heart chanted it would be all right because it was what he wanted. Trying to focus, she blurted, “Do you want me to get it out of the cupboard now?”

  He grazed his lips across hers.

  Her eyes fluttered closed as she let the heat of his mouth penetrate her own.

  His tongue slid between her lips as he angled his head to penetrate deeper, dragging his tongue across the inside of her teeth. He broke away.

  She swayed against the empty space and opened her eyes.

  Malcolm hovered menacingly over her, stepping in between her legs, which he yanked apart against the table, his rough fingers pinching the skin beneath her wet clothing. He watched his own hands skim up her thighs and waist and further up past her breasts.

  Her lips parted, unable to believe he was touching her again. Like she wanted.

  He slowly hooked his large hands into the opening of her nightdress that was held together by hooks and gripped and twisted the material hard enough to cause the water to stream down his bare hands. The muscles in his arms and chest visibly tensed, bunched and corded as he rigidly held the material bound around his fists.

  Every inch of her skin seemed to sizzle from his heat as she unevenly breathed in and out, trying to steady the frantic beat of her heart. Lips still parted, she waited for him to unleash the savage power he dominantly displayed.

  Holding her gaze, his jaw shifted. “When I rip this, it’s up to you to punish me. The more force you use, the more I’ll reward you. Do you understand?”

  Leona half-nodded and tried to breathe without gasping. “Yes.”

  With the violent jerk of both hands, she winced as he ripped open her nightgown with enough force to split it straight down to her thighs, exposing the clinging, thin chemise beneath. He shoved the wet gown down her arms and yanked it out from under her, causing the table to jump as she almost stumbled off the table with a yelp.

  He whipped the torn nightgown to the floor, his cock growing visibly hard. His broad chest heaved upward and down as he stared her down, silently waiting for what they agreed on.

  Her body trembled as she scrambled off the table. Pulse roaring, she yanked down her clinging chemise to cover her exposed thighs, but realized it was rather pointless given the material was sheer. She gestured toward the nearest cupboard. “I’ll…go get a spoon.”

  He lowered his chin. “You do that,” he said softly, mockingly.

  She was rather surprised to find this felt more like a game. It made it a touch…palatable. Even fun. “Shall I get the largest one there is?” she offered.

  Amusement flashed in those eyes. “You do that.”

  She turned and knowing he was intently watching her, and that her chemise was sheer and clinging, she did her best to provocatively sashay across the kitchen for him. Her bare, wet feet squeak-squeak-squeaked on the wooden floorboards, making her cringe with each sashaying step. So much for provocative.

  Arriving before the cupboard she organized with all the utensils weeks earlier, she daintily opened it and peered in. Her fingers grazed an array of fourteen wooden spoons she had arranged by size. She tapped her way through them, wondering which one would cause the most harm. Which was ridiculous, really, because she knew she had never even been able to kill a roach with a good swat of any of them.

  “Any spoon,” he chided. “Wood is wood.”

  Right. She snatched the largest one, turned and as calmly and as regally as she knew how she squeak-squeak-squeaked her way back. Although she exuded poise, inside, her heart continued to thump out of control knowing what she was about to do.

  She edged in as close to him as possible trying not to get distracted by his well-erected, large cock pointing straight at
her. She pinched her lips, held up the wooden spoon and wagged it toward his chest in an effort to aim, determined to prove she was a very capable lover intent on delivering him what he wanted. She tightened her hold on the spoon and rigidly tapped the flat end against his bare chest. “There.”

  He gave her a pointed stare. “Did you even try?” he drawled. “A fish could swing harder.”

  She returned his pointed look. “Fish don’t have arms.”

  “Exactly.”

  She huffed out a breath and positioned the spoon again. Swiping away frigid water from her face and neck that continued to trickle from her wet hair, she flung it off to the side. “I’m too wet. I can’t focus.”

  He quirked a brow, brought both hands down to the root of his cock and aimed it at her. “Can you focus now, pigeon?”

  He was making fun of her. Even though she was trying.

  Exasperated by everything he had put her through, and for even making her sob over him weeks earlier, she gritted her teeth and wacked him hard in the one place he didn’t expect. The cock he was holding out.

  He choked, jerking far forward to protect it with both hands and hissed out a long breath. His chest rose and fell as if stunned. He eventually glanced up at her, his features playfully darkening. “Well done. She can be trained.”

  She triumphantly tapped the spoon against the palm of her hand, rather liking the power a mere spoon bestowed. “Don’t ever rip my nightgown again,” she played along. “Or I’ll render that cock useless.”

  Letting out a low growl, he grabbed her, yanked her chemise up to her waist, startling her, and shoved her against the nearest wall, causing them both to stumble. The spoon clattered out of her hand as he stripped off her chemise and whipped it aside.

  Panting against each other, they scrambled to make their naked bodies align.

  He jerked her up onto his hips by hoisting her up with open thighs and slammed the length of his cock into her wetness, making her gasp as her back hit the wall. Covering her mouth with his own, to quiet her, he pumped her relentlessly, guiding one of her hands to a place beneath his arm and toward his back.

  Against her mouth, which he kept jerking into with his tongue between each full measured thrust, he said tersely, “Dig your fingers together like a pinch and we’re done. We’ll keep our first try at this simple. I promise.”