Lady of Pleasure

by Delilah Marvelle

  She swallowed.

  He leaned in closer, the heavy scent of champagne floating from his breath. “Lift your veil one last time. ’Tis customary to let the owner of the house suckle your tongue before the revelry begins.”

  She scrambled back. “Parlay.”

  He stared. “I will try not to be offended.” He sensuously tapped at his full lips. “Silence from this moment on. Or I will find your voice and parlay be damned.” He pointed at her in warning, turned and strode down the corridor with lethal ease.

  She didn’t even want to know who that mad man was.

  11:20 P.M.

  Ronan had attended his fair share of bizarre and lawless parties throughout the past fifteen years of his life, but he’d never done so under the influence of this much champagne. He must have finished at least two bottles since arriving at eight that evening and couldn’t even remember if he had snuck in a Havana cigar somewhere during the course of the night.

  Ronan side-glanced the line of gentlemen standing beside him and fuzzily counted out fourteen...no...seventeen men set shoulder to shoulder across the length of a candlelit ballroom.

  Strips of black velvet had been draped upon every left shoulder of every man’s evening coat.

  Even his own.

  Last he knew.

  Through a floating haze, he stared down some of the men beside him. Most of them Ronan superficially knew from formal gatherings. And it never ceased to amaze him as to the randy sort that always showed up at these events to engage in unusual sexual activities outside societal constraints.

  Some of these men were titled. Some of them wanted to be. Some of them were as young and robust as twenty. And some of them were older than London itself, but by bloody God, age wasn’t going to keep them from enjoying what was left of their shriveled cocks.

  What was perhaps the most tragic of all, was that many of these men were married. With several children. Many of them were widowed. With several children. Many of them were not married at all, but still had several children. Such bastards agitated him to no end. For a man with children ought to at least try to set a good example by staying home.

  Ronan couldn’t help but feel pathetic standing amongst them. But at least he knew who he was fucking, unlike most of these bastards who stuck their cocks out to the wind.

  His uncle stepped toward the first gentleman at the far end, snatched up the strip of black velvet draped over the man’s broad shoulder and proceeded to tug, knot and fit it firmly into place over his eyes.

  In a rowdy, full-bodied voice, his uncle called out, “Welcome to my infamous annual champagne revelry, gentlemen. I originally started this event to honor those in our little circle. I appreciate your patronage and donations to Mrs. Berkley’s Whipping Society. It allows Mrs. Berkley to continue educating those who wish to pray to the whip. If you are here, it is because you have a reputation for being the epitome of everything society abhors. And to that I say: bravo and bravo. I hope your paramours brought your whips and paddles.”

  Men chuckled.

  Ronan knew he was about the only one in the house who wasn’t going to get whipped or birched or paddled tonight. Which he was incredibly thankful for. It wasn’t his thing. He had attended several champagne parties throughout the years because it was the only place a man could engage certain women without society knowing about it.

  Hughes moved on to the next man and blindfolded him. “Once all the blindfolds have been administered, you will be formally claimed and led to the room your paramour decides on. Only she can exchange you throughout the night for another. Not the other way around.”

  There were a few rumblings.

  “Yes, yes, I know, gentlemen, but the women are the ones who own us tonight. Simply take heart knowing both sexes will be properly whipped.” His uncle strode down the line toward him, swiped the blindfold from Ronan’s own shoulder, snapped the material taut between his hands and announced to the men around him, “Never remove your blindfolds, and as is tradition, all conversation is strictly forbidden. Your methods of communication happen through touch and only touch. Lest you forget, a lady depends upon her good name in this society and its destruction will not be tolerated by allowing words to be exchanged. Is that understood?”

  Every man in the room replied, “Understood.”

  His uncle extended the blindfold. “Lean down.”

  To accommodate the height difference between them, Ronan quickly leaned forward. The room swayed. Ronan caught hold of his uncle’s shoulder with his one hand and steadied himself.

  His uncle tsked. “You shouldn’t have drunk so much.”

  He knew he wouldn’t have stayed if he hadn’t. Ronan removed his hand, regaining his own sense of balance. He sometimes understood all too well why his father drank. “I see the world better when I’m drunk.”

  “Don’t we all.” His uncle placed the thick, double-folded soft velvet against the bridge of Ronan’s nose and eyes. “I hope you know what you’re doing, boy. Because you’re about to get yourself into a lot of trouble if you don’t follow through.”

  That sounded rather cryptic.

  Darkness flooded his vision as his uncle secured the blindfold firmly into place against his head. Shuffles, movements and stifled coughs floated around him in the fuzzy darkness. Ronan silently continued to wait for his uncle to finish tying blindfolds on the rest of the men. The growing silence around him led him to believe that nearly all the cloths had been administered.

  Eventually, there was a movement of what he knew to be his uncle’s booted feet. The set of doors behind them banged open and his uncle called out, “Let the beautiful silence begin.”

  The men around him turned toward the doors behind them, bumping him hard in the process. The rustling and bustling of skirts filled the room.

  A pair of firm, female hands grabbed hold of his forearm and waist and guided him forcefully forward. In a direction that was anything but straight.

  He scrambled forward, trying to stay upright and steady.

  Fortunately, Theodosia eased her pace.

  She tucked her curvaceous body against his side, but stumbled against him and his boots in doing so.

  He jerked her rigidly toward himself to keep her from falling.

  And he thought he was drunk.

  The alluring scent of soft powder and jasmine drifted up toward him as she leaned heavily against him. His brows came together against the blindfold. It wasn’t a scent Theodosia usually wore. But then again, that woman was always buying new perfume. Since he’d known her, she had gone through fourteen different bottles, none of which had ever pleased her.

  He adjusted his right arm around her slim shoulders.

  Soft, abundant curls grazed the bottom of his shaven chin as she continued to slowly lead him forward. He tightened his hold around her to keep himself steady.

  Soon, the noise around them entirely disappeared and the rustling of her skirts, which brushed up against his trouser-clad legs, was all that met his ears.

  They stumbled up stairs and eventually made their way off to the side.

  She guided him through what he sensed was a doorway. Her other hand came up and took hold of his arm, positioning him to stay where he was, before releasing him.

  The door thudded shut, and there was a click that announced it had been locked.

  Warm hands eventually smoothed their way in beneath his coat and slid against his waist. She led him across the room, and with both hands guided him down onto a…bed.

  A soft hand slipped into his hand. She hesitated and slowly brought it upward and kissed his knuckles. Tenderly. Ardently.

  He swallowed, sensing she was mourning their end. It made him feel like a petticoat pensioner. He hated it. Dragging his hand away from hers, he knew it was best to get to it. Stumbling up to his feet, he removed everything from his body except his boots and trousers and fell back onto the bed.

  Silence floated in the fuzzy darkness that held his vision hostage.

&
nbsp; The bed shifted and he knew he was no longer alone.

  He reached out. Finding her warm hands he dragged them over to his bare chest and edged them to wherever she wanted them to go. Her weight shifted on top of him as she straddled his waist. Her silk gown splayed onto his chest.

  A soft, port-ridden sigh escaped her. She leaned down toward him and nuzzled his throat with her nose, her soft, abundant curls grazing the bottom of his shaven chin. He tightened his hold on her waist.

  This was different. He usually didn’t get nuzzles from Theodosia.

  But then again, she was never predictable when she drank. In fact, the last time she was in her cups, before he had left for Paris, she had perched herself completely naked on the open window of her bedchamber facing her walled garden. With bare feet dangling out, she had kept patting the ledge and asking him to join her. As if hanging out a window naked were normal.

  He wished she hadn’t been drinking. Because he wasn’t interested in falling out a window or doing anything wild. He was actually rather predictable in nature when it came to sex. He didn’t like or want or need whips, paddles, or anything of that sort, and much preferred traditional methods of either facing forward or back. The positions were less complicated, and it ended well every time.

  He wet his lips, his pulse drumming as a mass of soap-scented tresses grazed his chin again. The heat of her skin pulsed against him. He slid his hands down the smooth fabric of her gown, brushing the sides of her full breasts, down to her firm, corseted waist. He paused. That corset appeared tighter against her body. He lowered his chin in an effort to peer past the blindfold to see her. Yet nothing but darkness continued to perch itself against his eyes.

  A hush met his ears. In the distance, muted moans and occasional sharp cracks against flesh drifted from beyond the walls of the room they were enclosed in.

  Sloppy, port-tinted kisses covered his forehead and cheeks.

  His mouth went dry, that familiar crawling sensation choking him as she tried to kiss his lips. He jerked his head aside, ensuring she missed.

  The woman was definitely drunk. She knew better.

  He staggered up, grabbed Theodosia and gripping the material of her gown hard, ripping the back of it, behind her slim shoulders hook by hook. He shoved the material away from her corset.

  Everything turned into a blur as he pushed her down against the mattress, pressing his body on top of hers. He shoved up those skirts, spread her stockinged legs wide and lowered himself down the length of her body. Holding onto her smooth thighs, he slowly tongued her nub and wetness, mentally giving into what he was doing.

  Though she stiffened against him, after a few more licks, her thighs eased and she was his. Quickening his tongue, he pleasured her until she was biting back low, hazed moans and kept pushing her hips up against his mouth.

  Using his forefinger, he circled her wet entrance teasingly while still tonguing her and, brushing the side of his busy mouth, inserted his finger deep into her, noting how tight she felt. She grabbed at him, but he gently moved his finger to loosen her, knowing it had been a year since he had entered her. He slowly inserted two fingers, moving in and out of her while sucking her nub until she moaned and bucked against him. He kept tonguing her and fingering her until she finally choked out a moan in climax and he knew he could mount her.

  Dragging his way back up her body with ragged breaths, he unbuttoned his trousers and freed himself.

  She let out a shaky breath and placed her hands against the sides of his face, her fingers grazing his blindfold and his lips.

  Gritting his teeth, he slowly pushed his rigid length deep into that wet opening.

  She gasped and jerked against him as he slipped fully into her.

  He hissed out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, lowering himself completely onto her and rolled in and out of her, giving into the feel of that unexpected tightness and letting them both adjust. It had been a little over a year since he’d penetrated her, and it was rather obvious by that tightness she had waited for him.

  In that moment, Caroline’s bright green-blue eyes and full smiling mouth appeared. The vision wouldn’t let him go.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  Because he damn well knew who he wanted in that moment: Caroline.

  Caroline. His Caroline.

  He slowly pushed more and more into that wetness, eliciting harsh gasps from Theodosia and from himself. Her fingernails dug harder and harder into his back, making his jaw tighten against the pinch.

  He took pleasure in that pain, burying his face against the curved softness of her shoulder in the way he had buried his face into Caroline’s softness that night in the alcove. With the darkness that continued to press against his blindfold, he was able to envision Caroline naked with unbound golden chestnut hair cascading down toward her waist. He envisioned her writhing beneath him in the alcove, her full breasts on display.

  Sex was all about a good fantasy, and Caroline, his luscious Caroline, was the fantasy he was seizing for himself tonight to get him through his last night with Theodosia.

  He imagined he and Caroline were back in the silence of that alcove. He imagined nudging her against that wall beside the curtain, putting both of her hands above her head, dragging her skirts up and touching her between the thighs until she moaned.

  He imagined fucking. Slow at first and then hard once she was used to it.

  Ronan almost burst at the thought. He jerked out of Theodosia’s wetness entirely. Knowing he was about to spill seed, he used his hand to finish himself fast. He threw back his head, envisioning Caroline crying out against him as he spilled seed into her and let out a guttural moan of pleasure that reverberated throughout his entire body. Seed spilled from him onto Theodosia’s thighs as he moaned again in utter disbelief and almost choked out Caroline’s name in a haze.

  Rolling onto the bed, he drifted, not wanting to think about what he had just done or why. All he knew was that he had about four more hours of this to go and he was done. Finally done.

  Caroline swallowed, her heart still thumping wildly against her ears. Her mother had told her of the pain she would encounter at the hands of a man, but she hadn’t realized it would hurt that much. She had almost sobbed once against it, but managed to bite down her pain by holding onto him. Fortunately, Ronan’s tongue and his fingers had earlier made it all gloriously worthwhile. So worthwhile, in fact, she would do it again.

  She tried to breathe her way through the burning sensation between her thighs, still in disbelief of what had just happened between them.

  Of what she had allowed to happen.

  The clock chimed on the mantelpiece of the hearth on the side of the small room. It chimed a total of twelve times and clicked back into place. Fortunately, the room was no longer swaying and time had lulled her senses.

  She blinked, noticing that several candles had flickered out of existence and that shadows were beginning to creep toward where they still lay on the bed. Ever so slowly, she lifted a heavy, port-hazy head up from off the pillow and stared blissfully toward his blindfolded rugged face. He was hers. She still couldn’t believe it. She trailed a shaky forefinger across his soft sunlit hair, down to his full lips, wishing he had allowed for kissing. For some reason, he hadn’t. Kissing, in her mind, denoted more than passion. It denoted love. But surely, he loved her. Surely he did. They had shared in so much. Even well before this.

  His long muscled arms shifted as he shoved himself up into a seated position. He cleared his throat, as if now awkwardly aware that they had been intimate.

  She awkwardly stumbled up and off the bed and onto her slippered feet, fumbling with the upper section of her gown, trying to shove her bare arms back into the hanging sleeves. She swallowed, trying not to look at his still exposed nether region.

  Even though she knew they weren’t supposed to talk, she had never been one to abide by too many rules. She had to say something after what had just happened between them. Glancing toward the
closed door, she leaned in and whispered barely loud enough for him to hear, “So when do we tell Alex about us? And more importantly, how do we go about telling him? I have no doubt it will be awkward, but if we enlist my mother’s assistance, after what happened between us tonight, he won’t be able to say no.”

  He snapped his head in her direction, his blindfold still in place.

  She nervously added, “I love you.”

  He froze. “Caroline?”

  She blinked. He said it as if he didn’t know it was her. “Yes?”

  “Holy fuck, what—” He frantically tugged at the blindfold.

  His reaction was far from the one she anticipated.

  Feeling as though her legs wouldn’t hold her up for much longer, she sank onto the bed beside him wanting to understand what was happening and dreading she was not about to hear the words she had hoped for.

  The moment Ronan ripped the blindfold off and whipped it aside as if it were strangling him, his eyes were flooded with candlelight. Everything snapped his fuzzy, hazed brain and body into focus. He sat up and stared at the woman seated on the bed beside him. His pulse hitched as he wordlessly gaped at the same stunning face he had only moments ago imagined fucking.

  Only...he hadn’t imagined it.

  He had.

  She intently held his gaze with soft blue-green eyes and lowered her chin as if she were assuring him that she was more than fine with what had just happened.

  Countless frayed golden chestnut curls, which had fallen from their pinned places atop her head, lay scattered around her bare, ivory slim shoulders. Shoulders that had not been properly covered by the lopsided crooked sleeves of her rose-colored evening gown.

  A gown he had ripped and stripped. He choked, feeling the blood rush to his head. The room momentarily wavered and tipped to the side as he glanced down at his unbuttoned trousers, knowing he was still on display. His eyes widened. For there, right at root of his cock were bright wet streaks of blood. Virgin blood.