2Rakehell

by Debra Glass

  A fortune? No wonder Primrose had been adamant about having a child. The voice of old memories taunted him. She was just using you all along. Women are not to be trusted. All she wanted was the money.

  He shook his head as if he could wrest free of his demons.

  “Son.” Thorley’s voice brought him back to the present. “Once you produce an heir, you’ll never have to worry about Scarborough Hall again.”

  Adam sat speechless.

  The earl’s eyes softened. “I should have told you. But I wanted more for you than what I had. Call me an old softhearted dolt but I’d hoped you’d find love with her.”

  The memory of Primrose begging him to sire a child in her haunted Adam.

  Thorley’s smile faded. “I know that your mother told you.”

  Adam’s gaze shot to Thorley’s. Waves of heat rolled up his spine. “I don’t want—”

  “Let me explain…while I have the presence of mind to do so.”

  Dread filled Adam as he leaned back in his chair.

  Thorley cleared his throat and reached a trembling hand toward a glass of water on a tray next to his bed. He drank clumsily and then wiped what he’d spilled from his chin with his fingers. “Your mother and I were married many years before you were conceived. She too had been given such a stipulation. An inheritance for a male heir.”

  Adam didn’t want to hear this. He shook his head.

  “We were desperate you see. The estate was at risk. Our home. Our way of life…” Thorley’s eyes misted as he dredged up the long-buried details.

  Adam averted his gaze, recalling scenes from his childhood. Happier, carefree times filled with laughter and sunshine. With wonder and innocence. He swallowed against the lump in his throat.

  “We wanted a child so desperately but in my youth I’d suffered a fever and it was thought that I might not…that I couldn’t…” Thorley was silent for so long that Adam looked up to see if the man was still breathing. “I gave her to another. God forgive me. I asked another man to sire my heir.”

  Adam didn’t wipe away the lone tear that trailed down his cheek. He bit his trembling lips and sucked in a ragged breath.

  “I never meant for you to know,” Thorley admitted. “But her last days were terrible. Terrible. She talked out of her head.” He paused. “I loved you as my own from the first time I held you in my arms. You have to know that.”

  Adam’s forehead furrowed as he battled giving in to tears. “That was the problem. I knew you loved me. I thought you didn’t know. I thought it would destroy you to find out. I thought…”

  “Son…” Thorley opened his arms and without thinking Adam moved into them and embraced the man who’d raised him as his own. The only man he’d ever known as a father.

  Chapter Nine

  Primrose quailed when Adam removed her cloak. Her nipples tightened. Her thighs warmed. Her bottom clenched around the invasion of the crystal plug secreted inside it.

  Why had she agreed to come here?

  In theory she had imagined something…well…more anonymous. In her fantasies onlookers had been faceless, nonthreatening beings. The reality was altogether different.

  Without the shelter of her cloak she had but a flimsy leather mask that only hid the top part of her face from view. Adam wore one as well—as did the other members of the club.

  She had assumed she would delight in being nude, collared and plugged in front of an audience and as Adam had explained given over to a masked dungeon Master for public punishment. Now that she was here, however, she felt exposed. Resisting the urge to cover herself, she stepped closer to Adam.

  He removed his own cloak and passed it to a leather-clad attendant. Her breath caught at the sight of her husband dressed in black from head to toe, looking more like a dandy highwayman than the heir apparent. His boots gleamed in the low light. His silk shirt was open to the waist, revealing his sculpted chest and taut stomach.

  She wet her dry lips with her tongue. Every inch of her ached to disappear into one of the many dim alcoves where she could surrender to his every illicit whim in private. The looming knowledge that another would lay a hand on her had become unimaginable. She only wanted pleasure and pain from Adam.

  She dared not voice her desires however. He’d been in a black, brooding mood ever since she’d agreed to come here tonight.

  Her mouth went dry as both intrigued and intimidated, she glanced into the dungeon-like room, recognizing half the barely disguised ton in this shadowy underground chamber.

  There was Lady Beckham naked and bent over some sort of crude table. She moaned in ecstasy as another masked woman delivered hard whacks to her already rosy bum with a leather paddle.

  And others she knew from the season’s parties.

  A woman sailed past, leading a man who crawled behind her on all fours. Primrose’s gaze narrowed in recognition. “Is that—”

  Adam quietly shushed her. “Here you will see all sorts. Commoners, peers of the realm…and the occasional princess.” At that he grinned, confirming Primrose’s suspicions. He leaned close to whisper in her ear. “But never acknowledge them either by name or title. In this place a certain anonymity is respected.”

  She nodded but couldn’t quite get over the shock of seeing those she knew either submitting or meting out punishments.

  Everywhere Primrose looked, Masters tortured or pleasured their slaves in myriad ways, some that captivated her, others that made her turn away.

  Relief washed through her when Adam’s hands cupped her shoulders. “The rules we set up still stand here. You are mine. No one else, save the dungeon Master during your initiation, can touch you unless I say.”

  His words inspired a little confidence. “In what instance would you give another permission?”

  She gasped when he gave her nipple a firm tweak. “Master,” she added.

  “That’s better,” he purred in her ear. “If you need a particular punishment at which one of the members excels, then I might entrust you to him. Or her.”

  Primrose shivered as a tendril of dread snaked through her.

  Her gaze slid once more to Lady Beckham whose punisher had moved on to more intimate things. Primrose cleared her throat as Lady Beckham enthusiastically burrowed her face against her Mistress’s abdomen.

  She’d never imagined such a sordid den of iniquity.

  Some part of her clung to propriety and yet the piece of her that belonged body and soul to Adam sang at the thought of surrendering completely to this experience. Here, even collared or bound, she could be free. Truly free.

  Once the initiation is over…

  Her mind could go quiet and give her body the permission it needed to slip past old and ingrained teachings, to submit to pure physical sensation. No desire too dark. No desire denied.

  “Come,” Adam said, tugging gently on the delicate leash he’d attached to her collar.

  As they threaded through the crowd Primrose absorbed the variety of sights. Dark and mysterious rooms winged off the main room. She caught glimpses of lovers, of Masters and slaves all engaged in erotic play. Moisture flooded her center and oozed onto her inner thighs.

  A dais with a crimson velvet backdrop had been positioned at the head of the room. Chairs and settees dotted the surrounding space where only Masters and Mistresses sat, watching a man receiving a sound spanking from his Mistress. Slaves kneeled on the plush rugs next to their Dominants.

  Some had positioned themselves to be spanked or touched, depending on their Dominants’ whims.

  Was that woman the dungeon Master who would deliver her punishment? Perhaps this wouldn’t be the ordeal she’d imagined. After all, a woman’s touch didn’t seem as threatening as a man’s. She could endure this.

  Adam dropped into a chair and gestured for Primrose to kneel on the floor beside him. “I want you to watch,” he told her. “As you will be in line when the initiations begin.”

  This Mistress wasn’t the dungeon Master? Primrose’s gaze shot to A
dam’s. She swallowed thickly as he reached to stroke his hand down the back of her hair. A tendril of erotic fear rippled through her at the thought of being spanked on that dais.

  “Watch,” he repeated, his gaze moving to the couple on the stage.

  The submissive male’s white-skinned bottom was already scarlet with angry, red stripes. Adam had never spanked Primrose that hard. Would the dungeon Master do so tonight?

  After three more licks that made Primrose cringe, the male’s Mistress bent and as she kissed each welt, the man sighed his pleasure. Primrose averted her gaze as the Mistress reached between her submissive’s legs to give him release.

  Once he’d spilled his seed his Mistress led him away and naked servants rushed in to clean the area.

  “Let the initiations begin!” a hooded Master of ceremonies cried to much applause. “Dungeon Master, bring forth the first supplicant!”

  This was happening too fast! Primrose’s stomach tightened in fear that she’d be wrested from the safety of Adam’s side but instead a masked male led a lovely female slave onto the dais. There was something familiar about the man’s height and posture and when he turned to leer at Primrose through the eye openings of his mask, she gasped.

  Benedict! No…

  He was the dungeon Master?

  She shouldn’t have been so shocked to find him in this place. Again she glanced at her husband but he didn’t seem at all surprised. His fingers gripped the carved ends of his armrests and for a fleeting moment, hope flared in Primrose’s breast that he’d refuse to allow Benedict to touch her.

  Benedict’s charge enthusiastically positioned herself over the padded table designed to both restrain and display and gripped the handholds. She spread her legs and flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder as she looked up at him. “I’ve been such a naughty girl.”

  His lips pulled into a rakish smile. “No doubt.”

  Watching them reminded Primrose of her interactions with Adam though she was far less bold than the blonde Benedict was securing to the table.

  He nudged her bare feet with his boot toe, compelling her to spread her legs even wider. Primrose had never before laid eyes on a woman’s nether regions so openly. Her sex looked like a piece of ripe fruit, luscious and juicy. She imagined herself so exposed for all to see.

  Benedict didn’t use a paddle or strap. He wound one hand firmly into the blonde’s tresses, anchoring her head at a high tilt that made her lift her bottom in response and then he smacked the perfectly round cheeks soundly and in rapid succession. Head down, an errant lock of wavy hair stealing across his forehead, he seemed fixed on her punishment. Each sharp, expertly delivered swat elicited hisses of ecstasy from the woman. Her flesh shivered as bright-pink handprints appeared wherever he struck her.

  She writhed against his handhold and the soft wool-lined cuffs restraining her wrists to the table.

  Primrose’s thighs tightened and her own backside burned in trepidation of the punishment Benedict would soon deliver her.

  And when Benedict pushed the woman’s head down to the table and slid two fingers deep inside her channel, Primrose squeezed her legs together to assuage the throbbing between them.

  Why couldn’t Adam be slated to deliver her punishment? She would never be able to find release through Benedict’s touch. Conflicting emotions rampaged within her. Allowing another to touch her clashed with her loyalty to her husband. And yet as his submissive the thought of disappointing Adam made her sick inside.

  The woman’s fervent keening dragged Primrose back to the moment. Already the blonde’s fists balled and her toes curled as she strained against her bonds in the throes of her ecstasy.

  Benedict tangled his fingers into her hair and lifted her head again before plunging the two fingers that had pleasured her into her mouth.

  Primrose watched in awe as the blonde gratefully sucked her own juices from Benedict’s fingers.

  Part of Primrose envied the woman’s ability to surrender so easily. Even with Adam, to whom she trusted her body implicitly, she inexplicably held something back.

  After Benedict released the blonde she dropped down on all fours and kissed the tops of his boots before rising to scamper joyfully away to her Master.

  Benedict turned to Adam. “And now I have the pleasure of initiating your submissive.”

  Primrose’s heart stopped beating. Adam would never—

  Oh but he would. He was nodding. She bit her bottom lip, begging him with her eyes not to allow this.

  A dark reminder played through her head. She could have refused. He’d told her as much. But the moment he’d collared her she’d descended deep into submission. She gave herself little other choice than complete obedience. Trembling, she stood and took Benedict’s extended hand, all the while waiting for Adam to reconsider.

  He did not.

  Her heart sank as she stepped onto the dais. Pulse pounding, she bent over the padded bench.

  “Lovely,” Benedict murmured silkily, his fingertips grazing the exposed tip of her plug.

  Primrose held her breath as he fastened the cuffs around each of her wrists. Even with the tenets of the club in place, how could Adam have just given her to Benedict? Publicly? Tears welled in her eyes.

  Benedict skirted the table and squatted so that he was eye level with her. His fingertips whispering across her jawline, he tilted her chin up so that their gazes met. She expected to find triumph. Instead she discovered a softness that stunned her.

  “You are so incredibly exquisite,” he said, his eyes seeming to take in her whole face at once. “My cousin is a very lucky man to possess your love.”

  She couldn’t form words.

  His thumb swept away one of her tears and his brows knitted together. “Do you truly want this?”

  No… She gulped.

  “For this moment I am your Master,” he said softly but sternly. “Answer me honestly. Do you want this?”

  “No.” She mouthed the word.

  “Then I will tell you a secret.” His voice was so low she could barely make out the words she realized he meant only for her ears. “You do not have to endure this. At any time utter the word he gave you and it will end.”

  “I don’t want to disappoint him,” she squeaked.

  Benedict’s lips formed a tiny smile. “I have a feeling he would be far more disappointed if you don’t end it, sweet Primrose.”

  She swallowed. Hard. Debating.

  “Trust me on this,” Benedict added and then stood.

  Out of the corner of her eye she watched him choose a flogger from an array of instruments on the shelf. He lifted one eyebrow. Waiting.

  Her heart pounded so hard she could scarcely think.

  Trust Benedict? Primrose had never trusted him. Why should she believe him now?

  She was torn. Torn between wanting to please her Master and deciding her own fate. She didn’t want to be touched by anyone but her husband. How could he ever be disappointed in her for that?

  Perhaps Benedict’s advice was good.

  She inhaled as he took his position behind her and trailed the soft tails of the flogger down her spine. Every nerve in her body fired. Indecision gnawed at her.

  She didn’t want this.

  She wanted Adam. She wanted what they’d had earlier.

  Intimacy.

  Honesty.

  Love.

  “Love.” She said it aloud.

  Benedict brushed her hair back from her cheeks and shoulder, exposing her face to Adam. “What did you say, slave?”

  Her gaze found Adam’s. He’d leaned forward in his chair, his expression expectant. “Love,” she said, her hoarse voice pleading and rough with emotion.

  At once he bolted out of the chair and onto the dais. He hastily released her from the bonds before gathering her in his arms and whisking her away from the main chamber.

  Primrose wept against his chest. “I only want you. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

  “Hush,” he
cooed against her hair. “Hush, sweeting.”

  She didn’t raise her head as her cloak was thrown around her nor as he carried her outside to the coach. Cradling her close, he climbed inside and sat, drawing her into his lap.

  As the coach lurched forward she looked up at him through the murky darkness. She had to risk it. She had to make her feelings known no matter the consequences. “I love you,” she whispered, barely able to form the words. “God help me, Adam, I love you.”

  His response was to lift her and cover her mouth with his own. As he kissed her he gently removed the plug from her bottom. His lips left hers only long enough for him to reach behind her neck to unfasten her collar. As the jewels clattered to the coach floor he captured her mouth again.

  His hands moved all over her at once, knocking her cloak away, exposing her in the cool darkness. His hand caught hers and guided it to his erection. “I want you,” he growled against her mouth.

  As she blindly fought with the laces of his breeches he eased one of her legs over his lap so that she straddled him. He tore her mask away and flung it across the small space. He raked his own back on his head, revealing eyes that smoldered even in the dim light of the coach.

  “I couldn’t do it, Adam. I couldn’t go through with it,” she blurted. “I couldn’t imagine anyone’s touch but yours. Are you disappointed in me?”

  “Disappointed?” he asked as if she’d lost her wits. “No, darling. No.” His fingers plundered through her folds with impatient haste and finding her wet, he lifted her and impaled her on his cock.

  She cried out as he filled her, not caring if the driver or footmen heard. All that mattered was taking the edge off this desperate, scorching need. His own lust seemed to match hers as he gripped her hips and worked her body up and down.

  Clinging to his shoulders, she dropped her head back. Her hair swept across her back. His fingers pressed into her flesh. She’d be bruised but she didn’t care. Joy and physical bliss swirled, stemming from where they were connected.