by Lavinia Kent
She loved it when he told her what to do, when he commanded her not to move, when he tied her so that she had no choice but to obey him. And she loved it when he used sensual torture on her, pushing her further and further until the intense pleasure become almost unbearable.
Once, early in their marriage, he’d held her on the edge of orgasm for almost an hour. Oh, she’d begged that time, begged and pleaded. Never had she felt such relief—and such desire to try it again.
And they had tried it again, if not in such a spectacular fashion.
So what was he doing now? She heard the click of a door latch. Opening? Closing? It was hard to tell. And then the sound of rain? And then it stopped.
And nothing.
The butterflies in her belly were taking flight—and if Geoffrey didn’t do something soon they would be flying into a typhoon.
Was that a footstep? Was he coming back?
A hand landed on her shoulder, causing her to startle. “Let me help you to your feet.”
Reaching up, she took the familiar hand and let Geoffrey steady her as he assisted her to standing. Her knees wobbled slightly. The unknown had always had that effect on her, making her nervous and at the same time heightening her every sense.
Once standing, she followed the pull of his hands, trying to judge where they were heading. Her assumption had been the grand bed, but clearly that was not the case. One of the chairs? No. Not the right direction. What else was in the room? The screen that granted privacy when one had to…? No. Definitely not. She’d heard whispers of men with such tastes, but thankfully Geoffrey was not one of them.
It was a large bedchamber, but not truly huge. They must be nearly across it. He wouldn’t take her into the hallway in only her chemise with her hair a billowing mess, would he? Her heart sped and then calmed. No—or if he did, he would have arranged with Ruby to make sure it was empty first.
Only, judging by the hazy light of the fire, they weren’t headed in the right direction. She tried to picture the other wall of the room. What was there? Did he intend to press her up against the wall? She’d certainly enjoyed the occasions when that had happened, but those occasions tended to be of a spontaneous nature. Was there a door? An adjoining chamber?
“Step carefully,” Geoffrey said. “There’s a bit of a rise right at the door. Good. Now, in a few more steps there will be a short flight of stairs. Good. Very good.”
As she reached the bottom of the steps, the floor was suddenly cold beneath her feet. Stone? A basement? No, the stone was too smooth for that. Marble or granite.
The aroma of lemons. Lemons and vanilla. The air heavy with moisture. A conservatory or greenhouse? She’d never seen a sign of such a thing at Madame Rouge’s, and surely that would require glass walls, not something desirable in a brothel, and even with lit lamps it would be chilly at this hour of the evening—and if anything this room, except for the chill of the floor, was warm, far warmer than the bedroom.
What was happening? Where was she?
“Now you’re going to have step up and over. Step into the tub.”
Tub? It was a high step, although not as high as stepping into her copper bathing tub at home. Something hard brushed against one arm. What?
“Now turn back around and face me.” Derek hands helped guide her, his thumbs stroking over her skin as he assisted.
Her whole body was aware, seeking every sensation to let her know what was happening.
The floor beneath her feet was metal now, very like her own tub at home, but there was no water, or very little. The surface did seem to retain a slight dampness, like a floor right after the maid had mopped it.
Was he going to bathe her? That certainly had an appeal.
His fingers slid down her arms until he could take her hands in his own. He squeezed the tips gently and then lifted them high, setting each one against a slightly slanted wooden pole.
That must have been what she brushed.
Now she was completely confused. A tub? Poles?
“Hold tight,” he said, and stepped back, releasing her hands. “You are so beautiful. I don’t think I could have created a more perfect woman if I tried.”
She felt a flush rise up her cheeks. It was always strange to know one was being examined. Though she couldn’t see him, his gaze felt almost like a physical touch, brushing over her breasts and thighs. Even in the warmth of the chamber she could feel her nipples tighten and peak.
Geoffrey let out the slightest breath. He was definitely staring at her breasts through the thin linen.
She shivered slightly.
There was the softest metallic sound—and then the water hit, pouring about her in a warm rain. A thousand droplets of delight hitting her sensitized skin.
She could feel the linen of her chemise grow wet, feel it cling to her body. It was probably sheer, almost completely translucent. Was he still staring at her breasts? At her hard, peaked nipples? Did he like the way the fabric both revealed and hid?
She wanted to cup her breasts, to hold them out to him in offering. Her nipples felt so tight, bursting. If only he would close his lips about them, grant her some relief.
He made no noise, no movement.
The water continued to rain down upon her, each drop teasing her with unfulfilled promise. God, she wanted more, needed more.
Still no movement.
Her head fell forward.
He was watching her. She knew it.
Should she move?
No, not unless he told her to.
The sudden screech of metal sounded from the floor.
She heard him sit in front of her, imagined his legs splayed, his eager cock rising between them.
A soft sigh.
She knew that sound. He was stroking himself. She wanted to protest but instead bit down on her lower lip. If he was going to orgasm, she wanted to be the one to bring him to it.
She bit down harder, waited.
Another sigh. This one harder, faster.
He was growing close.
Patience. She must have patience.
Metal scraped again. The air shifted.
Fingers landed on her right nipple. A quick tug.
She gasped, pain and pleasure filling her.
He squeezed slightly tighter, and her body spasmed in reaction.
A hand settled upon her other breast, cupping about it, lifting it high. Warm lips surrounded it, sucking hard. A moan escaped her. His tongue pushed hard on the underside of her nipple, rubbing back and forth. Her knees almost gave way. The fingers of his other hand continued to pluck and play.
Her body curved toward him. His jutting cock pressed against her damp belly. She rose on her toes, trying to bring it where she needed it. Swanston kept suckling, but his other hand dropped lower, raising the wet linen of her chemise, moving to the warmth between her legs, inching toward that spot that cried with need.
His fingers found their home, stroking, pressing, squeezing. She cried out. Her legs parted farther, sliding slightly on the wet metal floor. He rubbed her hard. She thrust her hips forward. More. She wanted more and was not too proud to show him.
He moved his fingers through the slick folds, pressing against her clit and then back to her entrance. He slipped them forward, running them over her clit again. Her every muscle tightened. It was too much, simply too much. She couldn’t take any more.
She pressed farther toward him, straining.
His head pulled away, his lips leaving her breast. She moaned quietly.
His hands grabbed her arms, taking her hands from the posts, and as he did he turned her, pushing her back half a step. She felt his body behind her. He placed her hands on the two poles again and then he was pressed tight against her ass. A moment of perfection and then the need was unstoppable. She pushed her hips back, demanding more. He yanked up the chemise, bunching it at her waist, pulled her ass toward him, separating the cheeks, and pressed forward into the warmth of her cunny. One deep stroke filled her and she was in
heaven.
All was sensation: the feeling of the droplets hitting her, the drag of wet linen on delicate skin, the gentle abrasion of Geoffrey’s hands, rough from riding, and him—oh God, him. All of him. He surged up into her, pushing through slick tissue wet from passion, filling her completely.
She braced herself more firmly on the wooden poles, hoping they were strong enough. They gave slightly under the pressure but held firm.
He pulled back. She gripped tighter. He pushed forward, hard. Her head fell back, resting against the top of his shoulder. One of his hands slipped about her hips, steadying her, as he pulled away and pounded forward again. Her muscles clenched about him, even before his fingers slipped through her wet curls, finding that spot, her clit. He stroked hard against it as he pulled back once more and then surged forward. Back. Forth. Again. Again.
Now she was on her toes, every muscle tight, straining, straining, reaching, and needing.
She was close, so close.
Her whole body was ready, wanting. She felt like a watch spring coiled so tight it would break—and then she did. He pinched her clit, pressed even farther than before—and she let herself go.
His name echoed about the room. Her body clenched and spasmed, the pleasure so great it was unimaginable, filling her in wave after wave.
His fingers eased back, grabbing her hip bones, and then one more surge and it was her name filling the room. His fingers dug into her hips. She would have bruises on the morrow. But she didn’t care.
Another great wave crested and broke.
He bit down on her shoulder, his thighs straining against hers.
It was over. She felt her body relax, all tightness gone. He caught her against him, hard.
She felt the final pulse deep within, and then his body melted while remaining upright.
The shower of water slowed and then stopped, only the barest dribbles still falling from above.
He turned her in his arms, pressed kiss after kiss down upon her hair, her forehead—and then her lips. Soft, then deepening. His tongue sweeping in to claim hers. She gave herself up to it, to him.
He pulled back. One more delicate kiss.
His fingers slid up her slick body, cradling her breast for a moment before rising to her hair. She felt his fingers work at the wet silk of the tie, and then she could see. Her eyes blinked at the light. The room was dim, but her eyes still required adjustment after the blindfold. She turned her head against his chest and then stared about her.
It was marble, soft gleaming white marble, walls and floor. A large copper bathing tub stood to one side, filled with fragrant water; a light dappling of bubbles marked the surface.
She looked down; she stood in another tub, also copper, this one round and little bigger than a tin washing tub. Water filled it to a height of about a foot. Four wooden posts, two of which she had gripped, rose at equidistant points from the rim. An open curtain hung partway about the circle. And above—above was a metal plate with holes. She turned, trying to see what was above her.
Geoffrey held her still. “It’s called a shower bath or a rain bath. Ruby told me about it, and I could not resist. There’s a foot pedal if I wish to pump the water back to the bucket—although I gather it would not be as warm the second time.”
“Mmmm.” She cuddled closer, rubbing her cheek across the sparse hair on his chest. “I don’t want to move.”
“We should probably get you out of these wet things.” He stepped away, staring down at the chemise. Her nipples, which had softened in the aftermath, pebbled up at his appraisal.
“You are right,” she answered. Reaching down, she grabbed the chemise, then lifted it over her head in a single smooth motion.
He leaned forward and gave her one more soft kiss. Grabbing a couple of linen towels from a nearby stack, he suddenly lifted her, carrying her back toward the stairs and the bedchamber.
“But I wanted to—”
“I know what you want, but now it is time for what I want.” He entered the bedchamber and tossed her gently on the bed.
She rolled across it, settling in the middle.
“Look up,” he said.
She stared up at the canopy, her eyes boggled by the frolicking nymphs and satyrs that met her gaze and then by something else, something that was tucked there at the edge. Before she could fully comprehend what it was, Geoffrey was on her again, his weight pinning her to the bed, his lips finding hers and keeping them in a single endless kiss.
The kiss deepened and grew, more than lips and tongues, more than two mouths pressed together. In that kiss she could feel his love, his caring, his protection. She could feel everything that he offered to her and everything he wanted from her. And still it went on, nibbling one moment and full of passion the next.
When finally they stopped, she was sure her lips were as swollen as if she’d been stung by a bumblebee, and her hair—she did not want to think about her hair, first wet and now rubbed back and forth across the sheets. Her fingers worked through it, trying to comb it into some type of order.
“It’s hopeless, you know,” Geoffrey said.
“What?”
“I will always love you and love your hair loose and all a-tumble.”
“Oh. Your words do wrap about my heart until I think I will never be free of you.”
“Perhaps it’s the mistletoe.”
“What?” His words made no sense.
“I tucked it above the bed. It’s magical mistletoe.”
“Magical?” Her mind was still fogged from their lovemaking and the kiss. None of this was quite making sense.
“Sarah Perry sent it to Ruby. She’s up north with her husband, and a wise woman there showed her a tree that had a very old mistletoe vine growing on it. She insisted that any who kiss under it will strengthen their bond and love forever.”
Magical mistletoe? It was so unlike him—and yet completely like him. He always had been a secret romantic. “You didn’t need mistletoe for that,” she answered. “I’ve loved you almost since the beginning, since well before even I knew it.”
“The same is true for me, but a little insurance never hurts.”
“True.”
He rolled onto his back. “I was going to wait until the end for our mistletoe kiss, but I found I could not wait. You mean more to me each day, Louisa.”
She turned to face him, rising on one arm. “I feel the same, and I thank you for saying it. A woman needs reassurance sometimes.”
He turned to her. “I love you more than I had ever thought possible. I am more satisfied with you than I have ever been, ever dreamed of being, with every level of our relationship.” And then he smiled. “However, I do admit I am planning to relive my own fantasy of that first night.”
“Oh?”
“I loved how obedient you were, how you stayed as still as if you were tied, but I’ve longed to see how you’d look actually bound to this bed.”
A moment ago she’d felt completely satisfied, but at his words the fire in her belly began to rekindle. She’d always enjoyed it when…With her own grin, she stretched. “I hate to leave you wondering.”
Chapter 11
What had that been? Ruby turned over in the bed, lifting her head from the pillows. Something had awakened her. She turned to Derek, who lay beside her. No, he was slumbering peacefully, no snoring, no restless movements. So what had awakened her?
A scream echoed faintly through the wall. A woman’s scream.
She closed her eyes, listening. A scream in this house could mean so many things—and very few of them were something to be concerned about. She rolled onto her side.
All was quiet.
And then the scream came again. She sat up. That was pain. Deep pain.
She slipped out of the bed, trying to think who was in the house. There was nobody she could think of who should be making a sound like that. Had somebody come in after she had gone to bed? She did tend to retire early when Derek was here.
Grabb
ing her robe, she searched for her slippers.
Another scream.
Where were Simms and the footmen? They should have responded to the first scream.
Just as she slid her foot into the first slipper, there was a tap at the door. She hurried to it, half-hopping as she tried to get her other foot in its slipper.
Turning the key, she unlocked the door and opened it. Simms stood there, his face quite pale, tired circles under his eyes.
“What?” she asked. “Has somebody locked themselves into one of the rooms? Why have you not stopped whoever is screaming?” She had not said that right—clearly she meant stop the person causing the screaming. She needed a few more moments of being awake before her thoughts would fully make sense.
Simms blinked, clearly having trouble understanding her words. “Stop the screaming? Cook gave her a piece of leather to bite on, but that didn’t help much. She just keeps yelling whenever the pain hits. It’s lucky we don’t have more patrons in the house.”
Now it was Ruby’s turn to be confused. “She?” Rubbing her temple, she tried to clear her mind, still not sure why whoever was actually causing the problem was not being dealt with. Her staff was good at handling problems—normally before they even became problems.
“Jasmine. The young lady who—”
Now, that made her focus. “Jasmine? Who has attacked—”
“Oh no, you misunderstand, Madame. It’s the baby. The baby is coming.”
The baby? And in an instant Ruby understood. “Surely it is too early?”
“I don’t know, Madame. All I know is that it’s coming and apparently has been for some time. It seems the girl was trying to hold it back—not that such a thing is possible.”
“Give me a minute to pull on a dress and I will be right there.”
“Certainly, Madame. I need to collect some clean linens and be sure there is plenty of hot water. Mrs. Hudson always insists that everything be clean and warm, and I am not one to argue with her.”
Mrs. Hudson was the midwife Ruby employed to check her girls every month to be sure they were disease-free and in general good health. “Is she here?” Ruby felt some of her unease dissolve. If Mrs. Hudson was here, surely everything would be fine.
