Beneath her dress, she wore the black leather corset.
His heart nearly stopped beating. Either she had intended to come here and seek him out—him, the masked stranger—or she had worn it for his enjoyment at the party. Perhaps it was not for you at all, you dolt, he scolded himself. Of course, she might have worn it for some other reason, unrelated to him. But she might not have, and that possibility sent the blood rushing straight to his cock.
“Do you like it?” she asked, pushing the skirt and bustle down from her hips. The long black bow unfurled as it was freed from her skirt. With her hair carefully fixed and her costume ingeniously revealed, she looked like a dancing girl.
He swallowed hard. “You look even lovelier than last time. Although, might I make a suggestion?”
She looked down, checking all over to make sure everything was in place. He reached up, halting her examination, and pulled a few pins from her hair. When she did not object, he removed another, and another, until her shining black ringlets were freed, tousled from their confines.
“There.” He lifted a curl to his mask, as if in a kiss. “I like you better wild.”
A visible shiver ran through her, and he smoothed his hands over the gooseflesh on her bare shoulders. She leaned her face against his hand, her eyes fluttering closed. Suddenly, a wholly different imagining filled his brain. He saw her in their wedding night bed, all properly shrouded in a filmy nightdress, pressing her cheek to his palm and surrendering to him completely.
Which would not happen, unless he somehow discerned what it was she wanted in Wallace that her stranger could provide.
I’ve been a fool, he realized. What Permilia wanted was not the polite courting that society dictated. She wanted passion.
He slid one hand to her waist, then buried the other in her hair, pulling her against him. Though he could not claim her mouth the way he ached to, he nuzzled against her ear, her neck, letting the smooth leather of his mask brush over her heated skin. With a low growl, he lifted one of her legs to hook around his waist.
Permilia gasped, her head falling back as he ground against her core. Her leg tightened around him, and she arched up on tip toe to bring their bodies into closer contact.
“What do you want, sweet Ophelia?” He splayed his hand on her chest, inching upward over her throat until he cradled her upturned chin in his hand. “Say the words for me.”
“I want you to make me come.” She was no longer the shy girl afraid to ask for what she wanted, and her boldness was so natural that it only inflamed him further.
He dropped his hand to cup her mound, finding her already hot and open for him. “Beg me.”
“Please,” she cooed, grinding against his hand. “Please make me come.”
His head reeled at the intoxicating feel of her against him, and he shucked his leather gloves, needing to feel her wet folds against his hand. Slicking his fingers with her juices, he found her pearl and rubbed over it in tight circles with his fingertips. She gasped, and nearly lost her balance, but he supported her with a hand at her back. Her hips bucked, seeking out more, and he obliged her, sliding a finger deep into her channel as he rubbed her with his thumb. Her breath hitched, her body tightened as she panted, “Oh yes, yes.”
“I think that’s enough, then,” he said, pulling his hand free and setting her on her feet.
“You’re very cruel, you know,” she groaned, pressing her thighs together.
He smiled behind his mask and set to assembling the machine.
Permilia watched with impatience as the stranger prepared the machine for her. Very slowly, if her opinion counted for anything. Her body ached where he’d left her trembling on the verge of release. Just a touch would send her over the edge, but she willed her body back from the precipice. She wanted to prolong every sensation, to draw the encounter out until it was no longer possible to deny herself.
He rolled a male shield over the machine’s protruding phallus and patted the saddle. “Come up, then.”
“Right now?” She squeezed her thighs together, almost moaning with the sweet shock to her core. She’d fantasized about the machine since she’d seen Molly astride it, but now that she was to experience it for herself, she hesitated. Surely, the reality of it could not live up to her expectations.
The stranger lifted his hand and crooked his finger at her. “While we do have all night, I would prefer we spend it doing other, more inventive things.”
She went to him and gave him her hand to steady herself as she climbed atop the machine. It seemed much bigger and higher when one was actually astride it, and she wobbled a bit. That was decidedly not the alluring grace she wanted to impress him with.
“Slide yourself onto the machine,” he ordered, sounding almost bored. The thick column of his erection pressing against his thin trousers told another side of the story. He lifted two fingers and slid them between her thighs and the machine’s saddle, rubbing them against her wet folds. She squirmed on his fingers, letting the delicious lightning in his touch ignite her further. He pulled his hand away and smoothed her glistening wetness over the machine’s phallus. “Come now, no need to be timid.”
Her body quaking with need, she slid her feet into the stirrups on either side and used them as leverage to raise herself over the hard shaft. The tip of it brushed her delicate curls, and she shivered, slowly easing herself down. The phallus was not quite so large as the stranger’s own magnificent cock, but it was harder and felt slightly alien inside of her body. Still, her channel clenched down, grateful to be filled, and she rolled her hips with a moan.
“I’ll just add the fuel now,” the stranger said calmly, and a loud clank startled Permilia. Almost at once, the machine shuddered, and the phallus gave a little jerk inside of her.
“It takes it a moment to achieve full power, of course,” the stranger continued. He slipped a hand over her thigh to position the steam nozzle, which already emitted a pleasantly warm stream. The moisture collected in the coiled hair over her center, adding to her own slick wetness. The false cock began to slowly piston up and down, and she wriggled, trying to adjust to the strange feeling.
“Relax,” he urged her, leaning close to her ear. “You might need to get used to the feeling.”
Permilia rather doubted she could get used to the feeling. The machine tirelessly pumped into her, but it was the not the same as her stranger’s impressive fortitude. He was warm and alive. This was a cold machine, not acting out any desire for her, but because that was its function. She bit her lip. “I don’t know…it wasn’t what I thought it would be.”
He stepped behind the machine and, to her surprise, climbed onto it behind her. His hard, hot body pressed against her back, he slid his hands around her waist. She shuddered at his touch and leaned into him, letting him support her. “Is it the cold, impersonal nature of the device that leaves you uncertain? I find that sometimes that is the case. No matter how skillfully crafted the machine, the lack of personal touch leaves something to be desired.”
As he spoke, one hand glided up her ribcage to cup her breast, the thumb rolling over her nipple. His other hand dove between her legs, cupping her mound and kneading the plump flesh there as the machine pounded into her.
She gasped as he released her, and a leather mask slipped over her eyes. Totally blinded now, she gripped his naked thighs where they bracketed hers. “Don’t let me fall!”
“You won’t fall.” His mouth slid down her neck, over her shoulder, his tongue laving her heated skin. His hands returned to her body, both cupping her breasts and holding her back to his chest and he nibbled the skin of her throat. The frantic pumping of the machine between her thighs urged her to rock with the motion.
“When you come, I’m going to pull you down from here and fuck you myself,” he whispered, then curled his tongue over the shell of her ear.
Her channel clenched on the phallus driving inside of her. The thought of his cock, his body beneath her, pulled a whispered “oh yes�
� of agreement from her lips. She knew he would make good on his promise, knew he would force her back to the precipice of her crisis before she had even fully come down.
Those phantom hands grasped hers, guiding them to the apex of her thighs to press them against the dripping column of the phallus where it entered her. Without her eyesight, she used her fingers to see the machine pumping in and out of her folds, and even dared to curl a fingertip alongside it, entering herself and adding to the almost unbearable fullness.
His hands abruptly left hers, and she jumped in surprise. If she had not felt him at her back, she would have thought he abandoned her. As suddenly as he’d stopped touching her, his hands returned to cover her breasts, kneading them as his hips rocked against hers in time with the machine.
Then, lips touched her ear. He had taken off his mask.
“A machine can’t touch you like this.” His breath cascaded over her ear, sending shivers down her arms. She fumbled with the mask, twisting to see his face, but he turned her shoulders firmly forward.
“No peeking. Leave the blindfold on.”
Her frustration was quickly subdued at the touch of his lips on her throat and the silky swirl of his tongue over her leaping pulse. She’d though nothing would spur her to greater heights than experiencing the club’s machines. Now, she knew the real draw of the club was its patrons.
He lifted her arms above her head, kissing a line down her back from her shoulder to her waist, then curled his body around hers like a serpent and laved at one hard nipple. Coupled with the machine’s relentless assault, it was too much to resist. She screamed, shuddering as every muscle in her body tightened and twisted then simultaneously released in a burst of pleasure so keen she thought she would surely die from it. A sudden weightlessness alerted her that he had pulled her down, and her cunt spasmed, reaching for the machine’s phallus that had stretched her. He bent her over roughly, one hand tangled in the hair at her nape, and entered her with a forceful thrust, driving the breath from her lungs.
Just as he had promised.
“Tell me,” he growled, leaning over her and grinding his cock deeper inside of her, “is this as good as the machine?”
She wished she could see him, could look him in the eyes when she purred, “Better.”
He reached between her and the machine she bent over, sliding his fingers over her bud in a maddening, teasing dance while staying still inside of her. She rocked her hips, trying to gain the delicious friction of his cock in her swollen flesh, but his grip on her neck warned her to stay still. For what seemed like ages he tormented her, never consistent in speed or pressure, driving her aching body toward crisis and pulling her back before she could obtain it. Finally, she felt the telltale speed building toward her unavoidable release. She sobbed aloud with relief and tightened around him. That was the moment he began to move again, in smooth, swift strokes that seemed to touch her most sensitive spot from the inside while his fingers whirled over it on the outside. She bucked beneath him and let out a long, tight wail.
Before they could cross the barrier from pleasure to nuisance, he pulled his fingers away from her and released her neck, choosing instead to seize her hips and drive ruthlessly into her. Even with all of his control, he could not hide the approach of his own climax, and when it arrived and his cock twitched inside of her, another, smaller crisis claimed her.
For a long while, they both slumped against the machine, gasping. When he withdrew from her, he removed her blindfold. “Do be considerate and face away while you dress.”
She couldn’t help but smile at that. He trusted her. It shouldn’t matter. He was a total stranger. Well, not total, but very nearly. Still, it did touch her, to think that he didn’t fear she would break the rules.
“So, when shall I see you again?” he asked, and Permilia’s heart dropped to her stomach.
Her wedding was fast approaching. Everyone had seen her run out of the party…if someone had followed her, she would have been ruined. Her reckless disregard for physical pleasure and comfort had led her to possibly disastrous choices. She couldn’t return. No, she wouldn’t return, even if she found a spare moment or some guarantee that she would not be spotted. Who knew the people lurking behind the goggles in the main room.
“I don’t think you will.” It almost hurt to say it, and she imagined that the words wounded him.
He was silent for a short time, then, in a subdued voice, he said, “Oh, I wouldn’t make promises that you cannot keep.”
“I assure you, I can keep this one. I am about to be a married woman. I can hardly keep coming here.”
“Yes, I’m sure tea with the in-laws will keep you much occupied.” There was a false cheerfulness to his words, and she wished she could see his face. But she’d given him her word.
They dressed in silence. She waited until he had replaced his mask and goggles, and when he permitted, she turned. “Thank you for a wonderful evening. And acquaintance.”
“The pleasure was…not all mine, but certainly a large portion of it was.” Behind the green lenses, one eye winked.
As Permilia left the club, she refused to ruminate on maudlin thoughts of love lost. It was not love. It was desire. There was a substantial difference.
Wasn’t there?
Chapter Ten
“Mister Wallace Sterling.”
Permilia looked up from her book of dull poetry to face her dull fiancé. She’d feigned a headache to be left at home while the family attended Sunday services, knowing that Wallace would also be in attendance. Her week-long avoidance of him had only put her into a more delicate situation, for now they would be alone together.
He came into the room briskly, like a man about to do business with a feared competitor.
“Wallace.” She held out her hand to him, but he did not take it and kiss it.
“We must speak about a matter of great importance, Permilia.” He stood stiffly, just beside the armchair, and he did not sit.
Permilia smoothed her hands over her skirt as she took her seat. She cleared her throat. “Of course.”
“Our wedding is but days away,” he began. “And you have not spoken to me since the night of the party. Either you are angry with me for my impropriety that night, or you are embarrassed at the fact that you are not outraged.”
The silence hung between them, inviting Permilia to speak out, to tell him the truth. But she didn’t know what the truth was. Did she want to scream that she was sexually infatuated with another man? Or did she want to confess that she didn’t wish to marry him? The practical part of her brain reminded her of the quiet man who’d come to call on her but five months previously. She’d though him so interesting then, and imagined the depths which she would uncover when they lived together day after day. It had seemed certain to her then that she would come to love him, but his constant coldness had delayed that love from blossoming. If only he would touch her, or…
She wet her lips. “I am outraged that you did not try the like sooner.”
“I had considered that, too,” he admitted quietly.
Another horrible silence bound them together in unbearable awkwardness, until finally Permilia could bear it no longer. It had become terribly clear that Wallace did not know how to rectify the situation. Permilia did. “Please, sit down.”
He did as he was told, and Permilia was certain she caught a flash of something like amusement on his features before he carefully composed his cold fish mask once more. Well, she would like to see how he kept his calm demeanor when she…well, she wasn’t certain exactly what she would do. But it started with seating herself in his lap. “Wallace, I do not wish to wait any longer. Make love to me. I know you must have some passion for me, you proved that the night of the party. I don’t want to wait another week. I want to be with you now.”
“Permilia…” he began, and for a moment she feared he would reject her. Then he swallowed, his throat flexing beneath his collar. “Do those doors lock?”
She sprang from his lap and made for the doors, but Wallace had the same notion and longer strides. He reached the doors and clicked the lock, then rattled the handles. “How long will your mother and father be at church?”
“An hour more, at least,” she breathed, already working at the buttons of her dress that she could reach. “Wallace, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was trying to do things properly. I’ve been trying to do things properly my whole damned life.” He tugged at his collar, and his shirt came open with a few buttons falling casualty. “Come here, my Ophelia.”
The strangest feeling, as though she had stepped out of her physical body, came over her. Wallace unfastened his trousers and pushed them over his hips, where a mark that could not be missed stood out in stark black from his pale skin.
“You’re…” She took a step backward. “You’re him!”
“Yes?” he said, uncertainty in his affirmative answer. “That was what we were discussing, was it not?”
“No!” She turned sharply away from him. She would faint. She would faint dead away and the servants would break down the door and find her unconscious and him without trousers. “I think you should leave, Mister Sterling.”
There was a sound of rustling, as he pulled on his trousers, she presumed. “You want me to leave? A moment ago you were ready to give yourself to me entirely, and now, because you found out our common passion, you want me to leave?”
“How dare you!” She whirled on him, stomping across the distance between them. “You should have told me! You should have told me the moment you saw me standing outside of the club.”
“I thought you were playing a game! I thought you had uncovered my secret and you’d come to surprise me. You certainly spent enough of your time trying to find out about the club!” He angrily buttoned the few buttons left on his shirt and bent to scoop his coat off the floor.
Infernal Devices (All Steamed Up) Page 7
