“Well, I’m off, old chap.” Griff started through the doorway, leaving a warning over his shoulder as he said, “What ho! If you see me, it could be the wicked countess hanging on my arm at one fancy do or another. Cut me dead if you like, Rand. If I am denounced as her male whore, I’ll understand.”
* * * *
It was a short cab ride to Eberley House in Portman Square. It would have been enough time to change Griff’s mind and back out if he were so inclined.
Returned to England from his disgrace on the Continent, Griff had made up his mind to seek out and court a rich wife, young or old, it didn’t make a difference. Of course, it would have been nice if he could wrap a naive, young chit with a good-sized dowry around his pinky. It had surprised the devil out of him when the hot-eyed countess made her salacious suggestion.
Overnight he had considered several ideas. One of the problems he couldn’t quite solve was the countess herself. Would she lower herself to marry an untitled cicisbeo? He didn’t think so, but he would work on the problem. If he played his cards well, he might be out of the suds—no longer plagued with monetary worries.
The countess was waiting for him when he arrived that morning. He was ushered into a large, elaborate drawing room on the second storey of the town house. No hesitation or embarrassment crossed the woman’s expression when she gave orders to a footman to put Griff’s battered portmanteau in the bedchamber next to hers. Something shriveled inside him, shrinking the masculine core of his psyche although he was fully aware of what his sexual duties were to be during a foreseeable future.
When the countess spoke, Griff hesitated inside the doorway.
“Close the door behind you,” she said, a crisp, autocratic demand tightening her lips. The tone she used with him today was quite different from her coquettishness of last evening.
Did she think I was bought and paid for already?
Nevertheless, Griff did what she asked.
Quite slowly, with complete assurance that he wouldn’t protest, the countess approached Griff, reached out a hand, slid her jeweled fingers beneath a lapel of his military tunic, and caressed the hard muscles of his chest and torso through layers of heavy fabric. She roved his physique as if he were a new, expensive toy. She continued, lowering her hands to the jacket’s edge, before tucking her fingertips under the snug waistband of his breeches.
“Hmm,” she murmured, sounding pleased. Looking up, she met his gaze.
Goddamn her.
Reading her eyes, Griff already knew what she was thinking. He jerked, however, when she suddenly cupped his ballocks between his legs and squeezed them, not so gently. He sucked in a surprised breath but stood unmoving, rigid, not spreading his legs farther to give her better access to his privates.
There was a sudden rush of blood to his penis, however, that he couldn’t deny. Smiling wickedly, she stroked her palm along his lengthing cock. “Good. I like a man who knows what is expected of him.”
She let go and left him abruptly, seating herself on a cushioned settee. “Come here and sit beside me. I have questions that need answers.”
She leaned back, quite businesslike, and began to interrogate him.
“Since you decided to agree—which was quite wise of you—I learned you were quite destitute when you arrived in London. I also heard there was a scandal of sorts having something to do with your return to civilian life. Do you wish to tell me about it?”
Griff would tell her only what she needed to know. “I purchased my colors four years ago. The war has gone on too long for my taste. I wanted out and was given the opportunity to do so.”
“Why are you in London now?”
“I was contemplating a suitable liaison when you approached me. Is that sufficient information for your interrogation?’
“Not quite. No.” She stopped, her blue eyes sharper and more piercing than he thought they would be. This was no softhearted woman looking to cuddle a lover. There was a hard edge to her aristocratic demeanor. For some reason, he was uneasy, as if he had inadvertently assigned his manhood into her keeping.
“Never mind that,” she continued. “I know about your father’s scandal. I … er … read it in the Times. Did you ever find out why he took his own life?”
“No. I wasn’t in touch with my father during several years while I was in the army. Not until, you see, I read of his demise when I was on the Continent. We were not on speaking terms at the time of his death. That much I can tell you.”
“Your father dribbled away your inheritance to nothing with his lifestyle, Spencer. Or, shall we say, his many libertine indulgences. It was rumored you were of the same destructive disposition as was your late sire. Is that true?”
Griff had tried to rescue his father’s plunge into the bottle without success after his mother passed on. Unable to do anything about it, it seemed easier to join him rather undo the wicked reputation his father’s demons had spread about London connecting both son and father.
“Yes, I expect so. I was as much of a rake and caddish libertine as my father until I joined the army. I hadn’t the guts to do away with myself the way he did, however.” His answer sounded grim. “I was of the opinion Bonaparte would take care of it for me.”
Griff shrugged noncommittally. “When fighting the French didn’t do the trick, I mustered out.” His brow wrinkled, but he met the countess’s gaze without flinching.
“Countess Eberley, I agreed to do what you want. What difference does it make if my blackened reputation is known as long as I keep you happy? That’s all you need to know about me.” He wasn’t going to let her badger him for further intimate details.
She stared back at him after hearing his reply. “Well, then,” she said, pausing. Her rosebud lips again snapped into a tight line. When she finally did crack a smile, she continued. “I expect callers for tea later this afternoon, Spencer. You need make only a brief, initial appearance. Don’t stay too long; don’t say too much. And whatever you do, don’t explain. I’ll introduce you as my long-lost nephew. It may start some tongues wagging, but we will be on the Town this evening, and I will see to it that you are presented to my closest acquaintances. They will spread the word, nothing but only that you are visiting with me.”
She looked him more closely in his uniform. “I will see to it you have credit to purchase proper attire for the Season’s festivities. Meanwhile, you are to wear your uniform. It will enhance your heroic appeal.”
“That won’t be difficult since…”
She interrupted him, pressing an index finger against her lips. “I accepted several invitations for this evening. One is to the Pillington’s rout. You will escort me. Do try to be as convincing as my nephew as possible. I do not out-and-out explain my young cicisbeos. Besides, I have something else in mind for you. Meanwhile, I shall enjoy promenading your gorgeous face and enticing body in front of my jealous friends. We’ll stay for an hour and then go on to the Dilworth’s ball. That will be enough exposure for you today.”
What else did she have in store for him? Griff wondered. Then he remembered the avid gleam in her eyes when she stroked his crotch. His sizeable cock had always satisfied any woman, even if she weren’t paying for his services. He swallowed hard and forced himself not to think about what would probably occur later.
Rising from the settee, he nodded his understanding. “Now, if I may, I’d like to see where I am to be billeted.”
Chapter Four
The connecting door between the countess’s and his bedchamber was unlocked when Griff surreptitiously turned the knob. His meager belongings had been unpacked and hung up by an unknown servant in the adjacent dressing room. He realized he had been given the former earl’s bedroom. Most aristocratic married couples rarely slept in the same bed other than to copulate. Griff wished more space separated him from his employer. But then, she would want him handy to fulfill her carnal demands. He had always slept nude until he was in the army and kept on his linen. Now he wished he owned a nigh
tshirt.
It was after midnight when he and the countess had returned. The house was quiet. He expected a service call from the countess, so he fortified himself with a generous tot of brandy. He removed his military tunic, but nothing else. When a tap came on the door to his dressing room, he allowed a silent groan to invade his mind. He went to the connecting door and pulled it open.
Agina stood inside the doorway wearing filmy nightclothes that were definitely not designed for warmth. She had taken the pins out of her lustrous hair and let it drape over her shoulders. He noticed that the extravagant rings she wore on several fingers of one hand had not been removed. They flashed in the single flame of the candle holder she held.
He knew he should be more attracted to her, even lust for her, seeing her en dishabille. But for some unusual reason, she did nothing to ignite his senses or melt his bones.
“Follow me,” the countess said, crooking a manicured index finger at him. She pivoted, the sheer fabric swishing around her ankles as she strode through both dressing rooms. “It’s time we got to know one another better.”
Griff followed her into her bedchamber. She placed the candle holder on a tabletop and turned to face him. He had paused in the doorway. Now she glided slowly toward him and walked her fingertips over his shirt and chest, teasing him until palms gripped his shoulders. Finally, she clamped her fingers around his nape. “I believe the first thing you should do is to kiss me.”
Bloody hell, this is going to be harder than I thought, he thought. I’d rather get her into the bed, fuck her, and be done with it.
He kissed her more or less absently. However, the taste of her mouth lingered. “Kissing is for amateurs, countess,” Griff said, adroitly maneuvering her toward the frilly bedstead piled high with plump, goose-down pillows. There he hoped to hide his distaste for what he was being forced to do. “Why don’t we get to what you really want, Countess?” he asked. He stopped her beside the bed and brought his hands up briefly to fondle her breasts.
She tilted her head backward, her eyes closed and leaned slightly away from him. “Umm, that feels nice, but I want more from you than that. Why else would I pay so generously for your services?”
His groin muscles tensed, his body taking possession of his mind. He knew what he was supposed to do, but it was damn difficult to fake mind-blowing passion in order to fuck the countess. He was in total disgrace and drummed out of the King’s service, wasn’t that ignominious enough? Did he really have to play prostitute in the countess’s bed?
Griff’s nasty memories caught up with him. His brain sketched in vivid detail of what he recalled of his last days on the Peninsula. The memory rankled deep in his gut and diminished what was almost left of his once proud ego.
“Do you like what you see, my gallant hero?” she asked.
Oh God, I was no hero on that infamous day.
The countess’s coquetting had snapped him back to reality. She looked up at him and undid her night robe, letting it puddle at her feet.
“Well?” She ran palms over her sides outside the matching gown, filling her hands with her breasts, offering the plump mounds to him like succulent fruit. The dark pink nipples were easily visible through the transparent fabric. When he simply stared down at them without saying a word, the countess snapped, “Have you nothing to say?”
Coming out of his haze, Griff slid the lace trim of her night rail off of her shoulders. The fabric caught on the prominent tips of her breasts. He tweaked the nipples with his fingertips.
She released a husky groan from deep in her throat. Reaching out, she yanked his shirt out of his breeches, exploring the warm, smooth skin of his muscular torso.
Griff knew he wasn’t hard enough yet. Damnation, what if he couldn’t perform?
She moved questing fingers down and over the front of his breeches, unfastening the flap. “I do believe you are nervous, Griff. Don’t worry, darling, I know how to make you hard as stone.” She laughed wickedly and grabbed his partially flaccid cock. She squeezed, caressing it until it finally stiffened and lengthened.
Thank God, he thought, as his penis reacted, his mind wiping droplets of invisible sweat from his brow.
“Ah,” she said, “I do admire sizeable, ever-so-long-lasting cocks. See? You’re bigger and rounder already. Were you funning me, Griff, or do you really need a woman’s touch to fuck like a randy stallion?”
“No! Of course not,” he snapped angrily when she demeaned his manhood.
God help me! I did need help…with her, at least.
The countess gripped his dick a little tighter. The breeches’ flap had exposed his pubic hair and his balls. She bent to lick the velvet, plum-shaped head of his penis. “Young cocks are so tasty,” she muttered. She opened her lips to suck him into her mouth, pulling on him like a hungry babe. He blessed the increasing size and hardness of his rod while groaning silently, hating it was her touch that worked the magic on him and caused the powerful erection. He concentrated on what he had to do, not his wounded self-esteem in order to earn his livelihood.
The countess played with his body, his cock large and pulsing in her hand as if he were a sex toy—bought and paid for her amusement. In one sense, he was just that.
Griff managed to remove his shirt and pried her mouth and fingers off of his pecker. She straightened. Not seeming angry that it took him a while to grow hard, she crawled her hands over his ribs, moving higher to tantalize his coin-shaped nipples. Her eyelids drooped, and he watched the sultry expression on her face change.
“Umm. Nice. I want to play some more.” She smiled, leaned close, and licked his warm skin until the brown nipples rose into hard little knobs. Then she bit him, harder than he expected.
“Yow!” he yelped, and she chuckled wickedly. “Do remember that you are mine to do with whatever I want. Don’t think you can forget your obligations, or I’ll have your lovely piece of manhood sawed off and put on display in a window on Regent Street.”
Griff’s cock jumped, reacting to her threat. He almost believed the witch would do it.
He ground his back teeth together. He never thought it would be this difficult to fuck a woman, any woman. But obviously, the damn countess upset his composure. If he didn’t watch his step, she’d turn him into a tame, willing plaything. He was determined not to allow her to dominate him. Not only because of her exalted station or wealth, but because she was a female. He would take a firm grip on his manhood before the night elapsed and show her who was in charge of this unholy liaison.
In answer to her threat, Griff roughly forced the countess backward onto the big bed. She stayed there immobile, a surprised look on her face. He quickly yanked off his boots and let them drop next to the bed. His half open breeches he left on. His penis was hot, hard, and ready, throbbing against his lean groin. He pounced onto the mattress, covering Agina’s supine body in one smooth movement. Straddling her thighs, he pushed up her night rail. With one finger, he stroked her slick clit.
“Oh, yeesss! Rub my pussy harder,” Agina exclaimed, twisting beneath him. “Ahh, again. Again. Tame me, damn you. Make me surrender. Do it over and over until I come!” Agina loosed a low, growling moan, gripping his big wrist and holding his hand against her pussy until she oozed female juices.
Griff pulled his hand away briefly and added two rough, blunt fingers into her waiting opening, stroking her hard and fast.
She writhed in ecstacy against the down-filled mattress. “Arghh, yes! More. Do it some more! Another finger! Add it now!” She grabbed his arm.
“Beg me, countess,” Griff commanded. He’d get some satisfaction by making her beg him to finger fuck her. “Ask me nicely what you want, or…”
Her blue eyes flew wide, her face grimaced with unsated lust, awaiting completion. “I’ve paid for you, damn you! Don’t leave me like this!”
“You won’t get what you want until you say please, countess.” His voice rasped, harsh and uncompromising. A wicked smile hovered around his lips as he remo
ved his fingers.
She reached for his cock, but he held it away from her.
He hadn’t yet jammed his massive, rigid penis into her slick, willing vagina.
“Is this what you want?” He gripped his cock with his own hand and masturbated, watching as her avid gaze fixed on what he was doing.
She was panting, breathing fast.
“Look at it, countess. It’s damn big now. Smooth, hot, and rock hard. I can shove my friend here so far inside you, you’ll wail like a stuck pig when you finally come. Look again,” he taunted viciously. He rubbed the velvet tip gently where a drop of fluid oozed onto his fingertip. “It’s long and big around—ready to pleasure you. I’ll let you have it, but only if you beg me for it. Better do it now, Aunt Agina.”
“Oh, God, yes, yes, please. I can’t wait. I want it inside me. I need the pleasure. Do it now,” she pleaded, reaching for his magnificent body part.
Finally, Griff gave in and guided his engorged cock into her often-visited pleasure garden. He entered the countess in one thrust and pounded hard and fast inside until her fingernails scraped the skin of his ribs raw, leaving red welts. Degraded and angry about what he had to do, he screwed her with all of his strength, his body taking charge over his mind. His powerful thrusts pushed her toward the headboard.
“Yes! Fuck me! Fuck me, dammit, until I tell you stop!” she roared. “Arggh! You’re bigger and better than any stallion I’ve ever had in my bed! I want more!” She screamed, loud and repeatedly, when she climaxed.
Griff was out of breath. That wasn’t lovemaking. It was damn hard work.
At first Griff panicked when he couldn’t raise the flag. But puffing hard, he managed to finish the job. He quickly pulled out of the countess’s convulsing vagina and spilled his creamy semen in the bedclothes. God forbid his life source should take root in the countess. It was demeaning enough that he had to fuck her to get paid.
Her carnal urge sated for the time being, Agina seemed relaxed as she turned back to business. “I almost gave up on you, dear boy,” she said, adding a sly innuendo. “I’m sure you can do better and more ways you can pleasure me, eh? You must earn your wages.”
Carnal Pleasures Page 3
