Empty! Very, very empty. His manipulations were too much for her. After a moment of hesitation, she slowly nodded.
“Does your flesh throb?”
Aflame with desire! She wanted to scream. Her blood boiled, her heart raced. Weakened beyond reason, she was on fire, hot and intense, drenching his hand with liquid lust. She tightened her inner muscles, attempting to curb the wanton craving for his hand, his rod, anything to soothe the heat dissolving her insides.
Her eyes fluttered opened. She stared down the length of her body to find his gaze focused intently between her thighs. His smoldering eyes met hers, and in that instant, it was as if they both knew it was just a matter of time before his jutting serpent gained entry into her anxious cave. “Oh, yes,” she moaned.
“Flushing of the skin, pelvic edema, excessive lubrication, and that heated sensation are common signs of a condition known as hysteria. There is a simple cure, Katherine. A treatment referred to as hysterical paroxysm that provides relief,” he offered, his voice a tantalizing caress across her naked skin.
Surely, death would defeat her if the ache deep in the pit of her stomach didn’t end soon. Her hips rose off the table toward the insistent finger steadily plunging inside her, driving her need higher. She wanted him to touch her, cure her. Pleasure her. She shut her eyes to all but her desperation. “Please hurry. I can’t take it anymore.” She latched on to the edge of the table, digging her nails into worn leather. “The pressure…”
“Relax,” he encouraged quietly when her thighs clasped his hand tightly. He placed his hands over her belly to lower her hips back down on the table. Then he pressed his palms into the smooth skin of her upper thighs, spreading them even farther apart than before. “Remain still. We can’t have you falling off the table.”
She was panting, gasping for breath, consumed beyond belief as the longed-for digit penetrated her body. “Oh, my,” she cried out the instant she felt his thumb flick her clitoris, sending a sharp current of pleasure skating across her skin.
“Allow your body to respond naturally.” His voice was low and strangely seductive. His fingers began a steady torment upon her achy flesh.
Eager to keep her eyes open, she saw him standing between the fleshy tops of her wide-open thighs, his hands working their way into her body, as if working his erection into her wet heat. Her lust suddenly flared higher. Just thinking of him taking her that way made her womb contract in unimaginable ecstasy.
“That’s it, Katherine. Feel it build deep inside.” His voice was rough, dark, sounded more and more like a doctor of sin.
Cassie stared into the darkened depths of his focused gaze. His entire went body rigid. His expression looked agonized as though he was in some sort of pain. On some level, she knew he felt it, too, the burning need to thrust his cock inside her, fill her like only a man could fill a woman. The thought sent an exquisite rush of red-hot arousal spasming through her. “Yes…yes.”
“Let it rage out of control…” He stroked her clit faster. Somewhere in the haze of wondrous sensations, he forced in a second finger, stuffing her, allowing her no time to adjust. The double thickness rammed into her cunt, twisting and churning at a frenzied rate.
“Something is happening?” She cried out at the shocking rapture. Body damp with sweat, consumed with need, she was on fire, blazing with a pleasure unlike anything she had ever known.
“Don’t fight it,” he breathed roughly, thrusting the double thickness inside her, causing her to groan and writhe uncontrollably. Again and again, he inflicted sweet torment, pulling out almost completely then piercing the sensitive depths of her cunt. All the while, he watched her, his expression taut with carnal longing.
“Oh, yes, yes…” Shamelessly, she pushed her hips at him, grinding her throbbing flesh against his hand. Her inner walls clutched at him, sucked him in greedily. Each time his thumb stroked her clit, she fought the urge to scream. All she could think of was her raw, animalistic needs, the way her body tightened, reaching for the relief he promised.
“That’s it. Let it take over your body.” With one hand, he thrust harder, faster while his other hand steadily stroked her clit, flaming the fires raging in her.
It happened! Heavenly ecstasy surged through her veins like sparkling fireworks filling the night sky. Her body convulsed, nearly lost consciousness at the intensity of her climax. Her insides melted as fiery waves erupted from her clit to every nerve in her body. Bursts of liquid passion gushed around his impaled fingers. A boneless heap, she collapsed back to Earth. Her body hummed with pleasure as her breath came in sharp pants.
“You may get dressed now, Miss McKinley.”
Chapter 5
Stench of cheap liquor and cheap cigars and cheaper women wafted from the Blow-n-Go Tavern, smothered Randolph’s senses. He crossed the cobbled street strewn with litter, consciously aware of each polluted breath filling his lungs. His analysis turned inward while he took a long, discouraging glance at the peeling sign hanging above the tavern door.
Dingy rooms let by the hour above a whore-laden tavern were a far cry from the seaside inn Megan imagined. Before him stood a squalid hellhole frequented by lewd men with dubious reputations and money to spend on immoral vices. On this side of town, across the seedy docks, the price of bodily pleasure was beggarly.
If Katherine intended to escape her past, this was definitely the place. An ideal setting to start anew, launch a career in licentiousness if her intent was to begin at the bottom and remain at the underbelly of corruption and filth.
True, his triumph in the bedchamber constantly fed polite society’s voracious appetite for scandalous gossip. His reputation was already tarnished beyond repair. To be seen in this part of town would only add to his notoriety. Even so, he paused at the tavern’s entry to consider his mother.
Unlike ten years ago, when he had assisted an overly eager young girl in her frantic need to do away with her virginity, he had ruined her standing. It was a short-lived pleasure for which his father paid a tidy sum. The memory of his mother shamed to show her face in public for months lingered. If tongues wagged of his slumming, no doubt Mother would barricade in the house for well over a year after sanitizing the entire estate.
He had no qualms what other people thought of him. But a feeder from the bottom rung of a ladder he most certainly was not. Likely, in this dreadful section of town, the inhabitants never picked up a newspaper, much less took the time to read one. Thus, recognition was highly doubtful. He deemed pursing the impetuously spirited Katherine McKinley risk-free, save for possible medical intervention afterward.
When she had stepped from behind the screen completely naked, his loins had ordered his wits to take leave. Common sense bombarded, he had grown hard instantly. Personally and professionally, hundreds if not thousands of women paraded naked in front of him, though none was as lovely, well proportioned, and desirable as the virginal Miss Katherine McKinley.
Never had a woman’s beauty struck him so strongly. All it took was one look at her and he fell in lust instantly. Numerous women tried to tempt him on a daily basis at work. Not one to risk the only love in his life outside of his family— medicine—he ignored temptation.
When it came to Katherine, professionalism be damned. He wanted her. He had been on the verge of taking her, possessing her. If she had not spoken, stopped him when she did, he would have forgone restraint. Taken her into his arms and shown her the meaning of undying passion.
Since the moment he left her to get dressed, she invaded his every thought. All night, he speculated on her lover. Was the mystery man worthy of such curvaceous splendor? It wasn’t unheard of, young girls lured away from the security of their homes by smooth-talking men. After years of practice, he knew all too well how easily honeyed words loosened the tightest of legs.
To house her at the worst tavern in town, her mystery beau’s intentions seemed dishonorable at best. Her situation could hardly be dire enough to warrant a tawdry haven of iniquity.
With a final glance at the second-story row of windows, he decided the time had come to take a mistress. At twenty-six, he had reached a milestone. Women rarely held his attention longer than a weekend. Miss McKinley seemed worthy of the challenge.
If her response to his touch was indication, Miss Katherine McKinley was a highly sensitive, extremely passionate woman. She just didn’t know it yet.
A lavish home of her own, generous monthly allowance, servants, clothes, jewels, travel expenses, and personal carriage—how could she resist such an offer? Far superior to future prospects if she remained at the tawdry Blow-n-Go Tavern.
Confident, he pushed open the rickety door. The atmosphere instantly inundated his senses. The stale, smoke-filled air was ten times worse than outside. Once his eyes accustomed to the thick haze, he noticed the patrons were either drunk or nearing capacity. Women who hadn’t seen a bar of soap in weeks, if not months, plied their sweaty wares blatantly.
Randolph’s life consisted of scantily clad beauties of easy virtue, public displays of affection, excessive revelry, quality cigars, and fine spirits. However, this was vastly different, a world unto itself. Both men and women were of the absolute lowest class, shady characters who appeared capable of easily offering to fuck a fellow as they would easily stab a fellow in the back. Stupefied, he wondered how Miss McKinley could dare ride past the tavern let alone procure a room.
A rather rotund woman at a nearby table smiled at him in a grotesque version of what he gathered was supposed to be a come-hither look. Randolph turned away and spied the bar against the back wall. He maneuvered through the empty chairs and greasy tables haphazardly strewn in the dimly lit room.
An elderly man with a rolled-up newspaper stood behind the counter swatting at a fly whizzing about. At least someone derived use from the printed word in this part of the world, Randolph thought to himself.
Smack! The elderly man slammed the paper against the counter. “Fixed your flint,” bellowed the man triumphantly once he looked under the paper.
“Pardon me, sir, but if you would be so kind as to direct me to Miss McKinley’s room.”
The man laughed to himself, swiping splattered bug remains from the counter with his wrinkled hand. He wiped his palm on his grungy shirt before he finally looked up. “Who’d you say you is lookin’ fer?”
“Miss McKinley. I believe she occupies a room at this establishment.”
The bartender’s eyes narrowed with renewed interest.
Randolph watched the man eye him as though estimating the value of everything he wore from his silk top hat to his flawlessly tailored waistcoat. His inquisitive gaze paused at the hump underneath the cape Randolph carried over his left arm. The man had to have come to some sort of conclusion because his crooked leer broadened markedly.
“Gretchen, get out here,” the elderly man hollered toward a side door. “Be quick about it.”
“Quit yer hollerin’, old man.” A thin, shabbily dressed woman passed through the door carrying a tray. “I’s ain’t deaf.”
“Just a pain in thar arse,” the man volunteered. He gestured with a nod toward Randolph. “This here gent is wanting the missy.”
“Ya don’t say?” The woman’s tired, brown eyes immediately lit up. She slid the tray on the counter and wiped her hands on the front of her stained dress. She pushed past the old man to stand directly in front of Randolph. Her calculating gaze repeated the path the old man’s eyes traveled.
Inwardly, Randolph seethed. Politely, he inquired, “I am here to pay Miss Katherine McKinley a visit. You do you have a guest by that name, do you not?”
Yesterday, after he returned from emergency surgery and found her gone, he had searched every upscale hotel in town. Then he had gone to every nice hotel, and finally, he had went to the smaller, more modest inns and boardinghouses that catered to single women who traveled alone. His search had come up empty. Not one to concede defeat, he had turned to the only option left, Megan. Luckily for him, she had remembered the name of the “inn” from when she met Katherine at the dressmaker’s. Ecstatic, he had kissed Megan on the cheek. Her sudden blush and slight quiver had made him recall their dance that now seemed so long ago. It was then he had realized how much his chance encounter with Katherine truly affected him.
Now that he actually stood inside the inn, he wished Megan was wrong. If that were the case, though, he would never find Katherine. He prayed Megan’s memory served correct.
“You’s a paying caller?”
For some odd reason, Randolph took offense to her inference. He replied smoothly, “We have a personal matter to discuss.”
“I betcha do!” The old man snickered.
“That girl told me she wasn’t gonna be takin’ no men callers. If she’s changed her mind, there’s gonna be trouble. The other ladies won’t be takin’ too kindly to pomp, if you know whatta mean.”
At the reference to ladies, Randolph wanted to laugh. “I assure you, ma’am, my visit is entirely professional.”
“Ain’t they all?” piped the man.
Randolph held his tongue. Why he was there wasn’t their damned business. The upper hand was theirs, and they knew it. He could kick in every door, but gossip reporters were known to have spies behind every nook and cranny within the city. To risk a scene would prove damaging to his poor mother, whose only great misfortune in forty-three years was giving birth to him.
“Lil’ missy said she don’t know no one in town. How’s I know she wants to see ya?” Gretchen tilted her head, eyeing his diamond cuff links.
“My visit will be well received.” Well-versed in subtlety, Randolph picked up the hint and withdrew his breast wallet from his coat. Without counting, he removed the notes inside. For a moment, he feared the old woman’s heart had stopped beating with the way her eyes stuck out of their sockets garishly. No sooner did the notes hit the counter, she snatched them up. He thanked his lucky stars he didn’t have to perform a medical piety to revive her.
She flipped through the currency, calculating quickly, and then stuffed it in her pocket. A grand fortune relative to her standard, enough to ease her remaining years, but only a day’s spending to Randolph. Her eyes flittered about the room nervously, as if making sure no one saw what transpired. “I was ’bout to take up supper,” she said, a new respect in her tone. She grabbed the tray and motioned for him to follow. “Come.”
“I prefer to go alone.”
The old man winked at the woman, elbowing her in the ribs. “Man’s be wanting privacy.”
Randolph ignored the old man’s snide remark and took the tray from her. “Allow me.”
“Second door on your right, be sure and tell her iffin she’s changed her mind ’bout ’cepting trade, I’s be expecting me cut.”
He walked away without acknowledging the woman’s comment. At least he was assured no other men had come to call.
On the second floor, the air was no less thick with smoke, infused with odors he didn’t want to distinguish, much less inhale.
Before he knocked, he skimmed over the tray’s contents, consisting of a small pot of tea, a dull-white ceramic cup, a plate of dried biscuits, and a bowl of overripe green grapes. Surely, the fare was not what any sensible person considered supper or even edible?
“Come in,” beckoned the delicate, feminine voice from the other side of the door in reply to his tap.
Randolph entered and at once found the little room dreary in its emptiness. A pair of old, wooden chairs seemed ready to collapse. There was a solitary bedside table that leaned perilously to one side. The floor was bare of adornment as were the windows. A small bed with a cavernous slump in the center had seen better days long ago. The only item remotely decent was the ceramic washbasin. Despite the cracks and faded flowers painted along the edge, the stoneware appeared freshly scrubbed.
His gaze settled on the curve of Katherine’s back, remarkably graceful in the well-tailored, gray day dress. What a shame, he thought, for such a deli
cate creature to yield to such a mundane task as scrubbing stoneware needlessly when he could lay riches at her fingertips.
In silence, he watched her remove what appeared to be a sleeping gown from a trunk pushed against the wall between two windows. From what he could tell, the gown appeared exquisitely sewn and quite sexy. He tried to imagine her generous curves in the fragile gown made entirely of white lace.
“Thank you, Gretchen. If you’d be so kind to leave it on the table,” she muttered while still rummaging through the trunk.
Steadily placing the tray on the bedside table, he took care not to unhinge anything. “No gratuity. What atrocious manners.”
* * * *
Cassie’s heart stopped at the sound of the male voice coming from within her room. She whirled around to find Doctor Randolph Sinclair standing by her bed. Speechless, she watched him remove his hat. His gaze lowered to her hand. He smiled, a gorgeous smile that sent her stomach fluttering.
She followed his gaze down to the finery clenched in her grasp. It was beyond the realm of the working class, a member of which she was trying to portray. She stuffed the handmade gown back in the trunk and slammed the top down, silently praying she didn’t tear the delicate threads in the process.
“How did you find me?” she snapped nervously, flicking her gaze about for any sign that would belie her feigned humble status. She had been searching for the gold wedding band but came up empty. Its mysterious disappearance was no surprise considering her locale. With no other telling signs visible, she began to expel a sigh of relief until she noticed he made himself comfortable, placing his belongings on the solitary chair in the room that was semi-functional.
“Pleasure to see you, too, Miss McKinley. I’m doing well. Thank you for inquiring.” He sat at the head of the bed, leaning casually against the headboard.
“Excuse my ill manners.” Cassie moved from where she stood near the window on the opposite side of the bed to the other side of the room, putting as much distance between them as the small room allowed. His hands on her breasts, fingers inside her body, touching her, caressing her—it was too fresh in her memory. To mask her rising agitation, she straightened the small mirror hanging above the basin.
Cruise, Samantha - Devil's Promise: The Garden [The Devil's Playground 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 10
