Regency Rogues Omnibus

by Shirl Anders

  Kit remembered briefly that he’d mentioned it last evening, blood and wildness was to be their fetish. Then, she saw the small glass amulet hanging from his neck, overlaid in places with gold leaves, but not obscuring something dark red caught within. Her fingers caught the amulet from where it lay in the muscular concave of Brynmore’s chest. She lifted it and saw the red move. It was liquid.

  “Blood?”

  “Aye, my sanguinary pet. I have one for you also.”

  Kit let go of the amulet and raised her palm to Brynmore’s cheek, which was shadowed now, only with dark bristle. His beard was gone, but he’d left enough for a lean and dangerous look. Brynmore without a beard was perhaps the one thing that astonished her the most. Lord, she’d not known it was possible, yet he was more handsome. Brynmore must have been drawn to the purely sexual appreciation she had in her gaze, because he leaned forward, until his lips touched hers. They kissed passionately, until he left her lips wet and panting. Then he pulled away with his mouth hovering just above hers.

  “Are you hot, pet?”

  “Yes,” she panted lightly.

  “Good, Kit. That is the way you need to be tonight, the way we need to keep you continually aroused so you show it. I want you to be a cat, purring, biting, nipping, and intertwining yourself against me.”

  The heat of Brynmore’s mouth left its hovering presence over her lips as he sat back on his heels once again, while his hands on her thighs slowly pushed away the silk of her robe on either side. She felt the cool air touching her naked flesh as he lifted her robe open, until only the belt at her waist stopped his progress. She watched his eyes lower as her slit ached. “We need to shave you too, lass, but we’ll leave a trim little patch.”

  Oh my lord, Kit thought. Just Brynmore’s words alone spilled an answer into her sex and she wondered how she was going to keep her thoughts together throughout the evening. “What is my part, Bry? I need to know what I’m supposed to do. What is our goal?” His gaze returned to hers as her hand curled inward with her fingers nearly digging into the back of his neck, as she whispered, “I do not know if I can do this. I cannot think straight.”

  Brynmore turned his roughened cheek into her palm, nuzzling it. “Kit Montoya, you lass, can do anything.”

  She nearly gasped again in surprise as her heartbeat thumped in her chest. No one. Ever. Had stated their complete confidence in her or her ability. Something hot spread inside her chest, while she tried to get words past the sudden dryness in her throat. “You ... you will help me?”

  “Aye, Kit, I’m here to lean on as you will be there for me to lean on.”

  She nodded, then she leaped the distance for a tight embrace, taking Brynmore, she knew, a bit by surprise as he chuckled deeply and wound his strong arms around her. When he’d thoroughly hugged her, until the air barely escaped, he let her go and dropped his head to kiss the side of her neck, talking between each kiss.

  “I know that.” His lips warmed her collarbone. “As aroused as I intend to keep you tonight, sanguinary pet.” Kit felt the shoulder of her robe pulling away as Brynmore kissed down the top slope of her breast. “You are going to have a hard time thinking of anything, but how your hot little muff throbs.” His lips touched her nipple, and she moaned. “And, sweet pet, all that sexual hunger we are building and you feel, you will let free tonight all over me and I’ll do the thinking for both of us.” Brynmore heated and dampened the taut point of her nipple thoroughly before he pulled away, leaving tingles trickling from her nipples to her saturating slit. “Now let’s shave you, pet. You need to come lay on the bed.”

  Kit tried to not think about the reason for shaving her pubic hair was for other people that were going to see it that night. And Brynmore had her so keenly aroused that any sharpness in her anxiousness was dulled, for all intents and purposes, by the sexual vigor steadily building in her body. Abruptly, she realized that Brynmore was an incredibly clever man. What better way to overcome any hesitation and unsure feelings she had, than by overriding them with stronger and more powerful ones.

  “Wyndham and Orelan followed at least two members of The Order to a place in the underbelly of London called The Satyr Whip Club,” Brynmore said, as Kit moved to take her robe off and lay down on the bed. Brynmore veered in another direction and Kit turned her head, watching him taking a small leather satchel off the top of the armoire, next to the door of the bedchamber. “That was two nights ago and two from The Order went into the club, but unfortunately, robed as they were, we could not identify them.” He returned with the satchel and sat beside her. “We will call this our cult-catching fetish kit,” he quipped, winking at her once as he patted the side of the satchel.

  Kit was amazed at the giggle that bubbled up inside her. Brynmore, it seemed, could make her laugh even at the most intense times and she felt some of her bottled anxieties ease with the humor. Then, he began to open the satchel as he continued to talk, leaving her extremely curious as to what was inside that satchel. “We are in bonny luck tonight though. They saw the carriage again tonight and followed it to the club, but this time, three robed people got out and one of our watchers caught sight of a woman’s skirts or gown beneath the robe.

  “Dame Baset?” Kit asked, watching Brynmore take a razor and small amber bottle out of the satchel.

  “Aye, we think so. We are not taking the chance to put anyone inside the club yet. It is rather exclusive as only perverts can be.” Her lips lifted in a slight smile as he held up the small amber bottle to her. “I have it on Gabriella and Drummond’s authority that this oil is the best to use when shaving a fair lass’s muff.”

  She blushed as he wiggled the bottle between his fingers and winked yet again at her. That meant the intimacy of her mon’s and its appearance or decoration had been discussed by several people. Without realizing it, her hands rose to cover her breasts as she felt her blush deepen and move down her neck.

  “Shy?” Brynmore asked, setting the razor and bottle aside.

  Kit shook her head vehemently, “no,” even if it were obvious that she was. She could not allow herself to be. She had to be tougher and more ... more, hmm, just brazen and experienced, she thought. She gathered her resolve and dropped her hands back to the bed. Then she bent her knees and let her legs flop open widely, only showing her dread in curling her fingers inward against each palm. Cool air instantly splashed the clinging dew on her sex making her feel how really wet she was.

  “Och, lass.” Brynmore looked stricken, but with the look of burning lust simmering in his irises as he used his free hand to adjust his tight britches over the place she knew his male shaft would lay, but she couldn’t see because of the darkness of the material. His exclamation and tugging gesture were all combined to say, he thought it was unfair that she affected him so, and that he was overly affected. She was amazed. It was a unique reaction for her, and then she realized that for the first time she was tasting the richness of lovers who truly desired each other. There was no need to flinch at callous remarks made at displaying herself. It was never going to happen. Ever. That feeling could be laid to rest, in the past.

  Only male appreciation and it seemed hardening reaction. Mm, and she knew that hardness. Kit licked her lips, centering her attention in on that craving, promoting her vagina to pick up renewed aching. She might be infatuated with Brynmore, but she was wholly smitten with the ramrod of his male organ. “It’s going to be pure hell, keeping my cock out of you.”

  Kit lifted her hands to rub her belly near her shiny golden pubic hair. “Why do you have to?” she asked, with a low drop of huskiness in her voice.

  “We need to save it for the right moment,” he huffed tightly. She nodded slightly. She did understand, even as she tried not to envision the future of this night too closely. One thing seemed slightly certain, she might get through the evening with only having intercourse with Brynmore. Somehow she thought if she, if they, could manage that, then she could handle anything else.

  Brynmore�
��s palm suddenly slapped against her buttock for a light smack that was louder than anything else, as she jerked. “Now quit tempting me, pet.”

  “Me?” Kit asked, on a high squeak. “I only lay here in obedience to you, umm, what do I call you?”

  Then she winked at him, to his returning quick smile, as he tilted his head a bit. “Hmm. We’ll be using our real names, but I’ll be calling you pet or the like. My thought is that Hellion sees all types of sexual perversion. I want to try something new that might catch his attention quickly. So, I thought we’d enact some style of blood mating, where we fuck in a frenzy and draw a little blood through a small cut to suck on near or at climax. Ye’ll want to throw your head back with blood on your lips and make certain Hellion or one of them . . . Dame Baset would be our luckiest next choice, clearly sees you.”

  It was really brilliant, blood for Hellion. Kit thought that would certainly intrigue him. She knew Brynmore’s nickname would have to be quite unusual, however she really was not sure. “Blood Master?” she asked him as he raised the opened amber bottle of oil over her pubic hair and he tilted it forward.

  The oil drizzled on her at the same moment, he said, “Exactly. That is what we will use, pet.”

  “Mm.” She rolled her hips. The oil dripping over her sex through her hair was so erotic. Brynmore’s fingers followed, rubbing the oil through her soft thatch of hair. Her slit wanted the attention so badly her hips undulated.

  “Lass,” he murmured deeply. Then his fingers lowered to smear the lips of her sex.

  Kit hissed lightly in reaction, with her eyelids lowering. She wanted to climax now. She wanted to build it, until she erupted with Brynmore’s ramrod embedded to her womb. Abruptly, she felt one of Brynmore’s oily fingers pierce her. She panted, digging in her heels, looking at him sharply, with pleasure radiating in the depths of her sheath.

  His fierce gaze was all for her sex as she felt his finger curl upward and he tugged. “Oh.”

  “Move closer, pet.”

  She moved, following his finger pulling in her vagina lightly as she scooted her buttocks and her inner thighs stretched open wider. Once she’d settled near the end of the bed with her heels barely hanging on the edge and her knees had fallen open to nearly the top of the bed, Brynmore’s finger began a different movement.

  It was a soft curl in and out of her vagina. It raised her sex lips, plumping them for the pressure of the razor. That and his finger’s motion stroked the escalating unique pleasure in her sheath that she only felt with him before. He raised the razor and moved it toward her pubic hair as he continued the languid curling stroke of his finger.

  “You are going to shave me now?” she panted lightly with her nipple points tight and jutting, while her belly and inner thighs flexed.

  “Aye,” he responded with a devilish and carnal twinkle in his green eyes that she was beginning to recognize as pure Duneagan barbarian.

  The first stroke of the razor was pure blissful torture as Brynmore’s finger enticed the intensifying aches inside her sex, but at the same time she struggled to keep her aroused movements still. “Bry. Oh lord,” she gasped. Brynmore merely grinned wickedly at her as he continued to shave her thatch. “Please,” she found herself begging as the traction of pleasure raised sharply.

  “You are so orgasmic, sweet Kit.”

  Orgasmic? My lord, she’d never been before, however with Brynmore she was continually in that state and it certainly seemed to intrigue and satisfy him immensely. “I have never been sweet,” she retorted, through clamped teeth, because of the pangs he abraded in that stretch of her sheath that he fondled repeatedly.

  “You taste sweet,” he said, with low intensity.

  Kit’s inner thighs and buttock cheeks began jumping and quivering as she struggled with the intense urge to lift her knees toward her shoulders, but the moans she could not control tunneled out of her throat and her gaze sharpened with desperation. Oh lord, she wanted to climax. It was consuming her. “I have to climax,” she pleaded, with overriding need squeezing the words from her clenched mouth.

  Suddenly, two of Brynmore’s fingers filled her and she felt the razor shaving closer to the lips of her slit. “Oh, Bry,” she cried, shuddering to remain still. If he stopped now and did not let her climax she would die. Oh blast, she thought fiercely, she would do it herself.

  “It’s come, sexy hot pet, not climax, and you’ll come and gush hot all over me. Raise your knees to your chest,” he commanded, in a rough bass voice.

  Kit’s knees leaped eagerly as if propelled by an outer force. The movement brought intense reaction inside her sheath that catapulted her past being able to stop. “I cannot hold back!” she cried sharply, with her body arching upward.

  “Then do not, Kit. Come for me, lass. Let me see you come.”

  At the same moment Brynmore spoke he plunged his fingers vigorously now and repeatedly into her sheath. “Oh, Bry! Oh, Bry! Bry! Bry!”

  Kit tensed as an orgasm recoiled inside her sex, mushrooming toward the highest point as she drew breath, filling her lungs, to peak with the height of her surging climax. Then, reaching to the top, her mind seemed to ignite a passionate storm, and then rapture hurling upward, bursting finally deep within her womb.

  Brynmore quickly grabbed the second cloth he’d set beside the one he used to wipe the razor clean after each swipe. He used the clean cloth to swiftly wipe any errant hair from Kit’s muff as the tunnel of her sex contracted wildly over his two fingers. The demand was to have Kit’s orgasmic cunty in his mouth. The urge was voracious and nothing less would be able to satisfy. He threw the cloth aside and pulled his fingers free as his mouth descended.

  Kit’s cunty was hot; it felt like bubbling syrup filled his mouth as more of her climaxing juices sopped his lips, mouth, and chin. He growled like a primal male animal as he pushed on the back of Kit’s thighs rolling her ass upward, pressing her knees to her shoulders, exposing her sex completely to his mouth as he smeared his lips and tongue all over her cleft and deeper. He played like it was a deep thorough and passionate kiss, taking her mouth with no mercy, only this was her cunty. She mewled high sounds, then calming and calming more, as he licked and lapped, going ever slower, until the last quivers of her climax fled and her cunty lips lay like hot butter beneath his tongue.

  His prick hammered within his tight britches like the war call of clan drums. He fought his prick’s urge. He had to save it. He knew keeping himself on the edge was going to be necessary tonight as he wrestled with it. Barely winning. His mouth hovered over Kit’s sex as he looked up between her thighs, to her face, flushed and awash with the pink tones of glowing aftermath.

  One demand would not allow him respite, as he said in a rough and earthy rumble. “This cunt is mine.”

  Kit curled her fingers in his hair, tugging. “Yes, Bry,” she exclaimed. “Yes!”

  Just that covenant between them gave him the strength to ease his prick down from its thumping edge, as he caught a hard breath. His nostrils filled with hot musky scents as he kissed Kit’s cunt once, then he moved to stiffly stand, easing and adjusting his clothing around the board of his prick.

  “A few more razor strokes — lower on the lips here and you’ll be ready to oil and powder with the gold dust,” he said. His voice tight as he began the strident process of regaining his thoughts.

  Brynmore knew the reasons that he’d succumbed into driving Kit into an orgasm. Right or wrong, he knew that he’d to give Kit pleasure before what would happen later, when he envisioned having to fuck her as roughly as he could make himself and in public. Aye, he knew why he’d yielded, when he said he should be thinking of nothing but stopping evil people. He’d done it so that they both would have the poignant memory of what really mattered, before he gambled his lady to the devil.

  Chapter Eleven

  An hour later, holding Kit’s hand, Brynmore helped her ascend into the waiting carriage, as soon as she settled, he quickly followed her. Kit wore a long dark clo
ak and once they’d entered The Satyr Whip Club that would be shed. What she wore beneath to his private eyes was thrilling. Bloody hell, he had to admit it was pagan and more sexually lustful than anything he was accustomed to.

  Brynmore gritted his teeth. It was one thing being thrilled in private and quite another to display it for all to see. He knew that Kit fought her own embarrassment and after he’d gathered his thoughts ... and hell, his own control, he would help her with that. He intended to arouse her and keep her there. A mind set to go with the scantily clad body she would display.

  Scanty, hell. She wore only a strip of black satin as a loincloth and some high-heeled slippers. Kit had bravely pushed for it, once he’d oiled her body sufficiently for the gold powder to adhere, and then he dusted her with it. She had applied dusky black to her nipples and lips and over her eyes.

  With her sleekly rounded body glimmering in gold, and a skimpy loincloth barely covering her sex in front and her supple ass behind, she looked stunning. They had added a waist leash fashioned out of thin gold chain, with a five-foot lead that he carried tautly, keeping her close to him. Her cunty had been trimmed to one small finger-thin strip of yellow curls left down the center. The blood amulet, on another gold chain around her neck rested between her breasts. He’d used black leather to strap the twin to his own dagger to Kit’s inner left arm. They’d talked over whether to wear masks or not. Masks in a fetish club like The Satyr Whip Club would be common. Brynmore realized it would help Kit bare her breasts and more in public if she had the buffer of a mask. However, she’d not pressed for it, knowing the better tactic to gain Hellion’s notice was not to be clandestine in any way.