The Damsel: A Villain Duology Sequel

by Victoria Vale

  There was no room inside her for anything but vengeance and justice, her heart pounding out a cadence of bloodlust that thrummed through her body in a continual drumbeat. She’d spent the past two nights lurking outside Downing’s home in Berkeley Square, watching for any sign of movement from within. His wife had been dead for over a week now, but aside from his all-black attire the man showed no signs he mourned her.

  The house proved silent and still in the daylight hours, but the moment the sun went down, he would emerge, intent upon celebrating the loss of his leg shackle. He’d frequented an opium den the first evening, smoking the potent substance before falling into a wide-eyed stupor.

  He’d been easy pickings then, but the sheer number of people inside the place had stayed her hand. She could not risk anyone bearing witness to what she would do once she got her hands on him. The second and third nights had seen him ensconced in a brothel in Soho Square, where he’d spent hours indulging in orgies, sharing an abundance of whores with his drunken friends. Red-faced from drink and glassy-eyed from overindulging, he’d stumble out onto the street as dawn broke the horizon and make his way home on unsteady legs.

  After a third night of following him through the same series of actions, she now returned to her hotel for a few hours of rest. She would make her move on Downing tonight, putting an end to this once and for all. Her fingers had itched for the hilt of her dagger or the butt of her pistol, but she’d stayed her hand and waited for the opportune moment. Patience proved difficult, because she was as desperate to be away from London as ever.

  She missed the solitude of her home in Suffolk, the quiet and peace she had found there.

  She missed Robert.

  Gritting her teeth, she shook her head with a swift, jerky movement as if to knock him loose from her thoughts. But, he seemed permanently latched onto her mind, and other parts of her she’d rather not examine too closely. The trouble was, she didn’t want him trying to expose her soft, vulnerable parts. She could not afford to let him get any closer, to give him access to the things she’d locked away within herself. Letting someone get so close once had almost been the death of her, and she barely survived day to day as it was.

  She would get through this. She would finish her business with Downing, then find some way to remove Robert from her thoughts for good. Perhaps taking a new bedmate would do the trick—it had certainly helped her move past the terror and fear Bertram had subjected her to. There must be someone else who could speak to her darker urges, who would enjoy playing the submissive role and turning complete control over to her. While a part of her felt no man would do it as well as Robert, she told herself it couldn’t be true. In a world overrun with men, Robert couldn’t be the only one she could find satisfaction with.

  Letting him go had been the right thing to do. She was entrenched in darkness, awash in the sort of pain she feared might never go away. Despite her earlier doubts, she’d come to see that he was truly a man above reproach. She would tear him to shreds. Good, pure, honest … he deserved better than a woman like her.

  Approaching The Pulteney Hotel, she pushed down the hood of her cloak as the heavy black of night gave way to the morning. Exhaustion sapped the strength from her limbs, and made her eyelids heavy. She’d come without any servants, which meant she’d be free from Lila’s fussing or Randall’s questioning. She couldn’t tell her driver and accomplice what she’d been up to, even though he’d had her back through it all without question. This had felt like something she ought to do alone.

  Sweeping through the vestibule, she made her way up the stairs and to her suite of rooms with trudging steps. Her sleeplessness had grown worse than ever since leaving Suffolk, and she refused to acknowledge that it might be due to the absence of a certain man in her bed.

  Pushing open the door to her suite, she faltered on the threshold. She blinked and squinted to make certain she wasn’t seeing things— that thinking of Robert so much for the past few days hadn’t conjured illusions of him. But, as she came into the room and closed the door, it became clear that what she saw was real.

  He’d gotten into her rooms somehow and now sat on the bed, elbows resting on his knees as he gazed down at an object in his hands. Her throat constricted as she realized it was her mask … the one she wore while acting as the Menace. The contents of the sack she’d brought from Easton Park had been strewn over the floor, rifled through by the man who now gazed up at her with steely determination flashing in his eyes.

  She clenched her teeth until her entire face began to ache, a whirl of conflicting emotions brewing deep inside her. Most acute among them, though, was anger. How dare he break into her private suite and go through her things? How dare he seek to expose the very thing she’d worked to keep a secret from the ton, but from him most of all.

  A muscle in his jaw ticked as he came to his feet, his intense gaze still fixed upon her.

  “And here I thought the greatest of my worries would be stopping you from murdering Sir Downing.”

  “How the hell did you get into my rooms?” she growled, reaching up to begin unfastening the cloak.

  “Are you the Masked Menace?” he countered.

  He did not seem intimidated by her anger or the threat of her stare as she tossed the cloak and her pistol aside before reaching for the dagger in her boot.

  “Answer me,” she demanded. “How did you get in here?”

  She approached him, her gaze fixated on his hands holding the mask. He had no business here, no right digging up her secrets.

  He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You know as well as I do that enough coin placed into the hands of the right person can earn a man quite a lot. I have roamed all over London looking for you, only to follow your trail here. As I’ve resolved not to return to Suffolk without you, there seemed no need to rent my own suite. I am not leaving, not until you tell me what is going on, not until you agree to come home with me.”

  Her patience with him came to an end, and she closed the distance between them with a few quick strides. He dropped the mask when her knife came up against his throat, hands falling limp at his sides.

  “I thought I’d made myself clear,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “You meant nothing to me aside from what I could gain from using your body. You have no right to make demands of me when you are nothing more to me than a hard, warm prick.”

  Despite the press of her blade against the vital arteries in his throat, he met her challenge head on. “You may lie to yourself as much as you please, but you cannot fool me, Cass.”

  She stepped closer, until the heat of his body seeped beneath her skin, sending a flare of potent desire through her in a heady rush. The sight of him on the end of her knife stoked something dark and primal within her, making her want to hear him beg and plead before unleashing every ounce of her pent up rage onto him.

  “I will hear none of your sentimental drivel,” she snapped, trailing her knife down his chest.

  She paused just over the top button of his waistcoat. He’d removed his coat and left it slung over a chair, so the brocade garment and shirt were the only things separating the tip of her blade from his vulnerable flesh. He stiffened when she cut away the button with a flick of her wrist, sending it flying across the room where it clattered to the floor.

  “Cassandra—”

  “Your cock is the only thing I hold any interest in,” she interjected, meeting his gaze as she lowered her dagger to the second button. “So, if you aren’t here to fuck, then you ought to leave. Now is the only chance you will have to escape before I’ve taken what I want from you.”

  Flick. Another button gone, skittering across the floor to join the other. He raised his chin and met her stare with an unflinching resolve.

  “I told you … I am not leaving. Do what you please to me, but know that it will not be enough to chase me away.”

  She gave him a hard, humorless smile while cutting away his third button, then his fourth. “We’ll see about
that.”

  Tearing his waistcoat open she sliced his shirt down the front. She parted the mangled garment to reveal the expanse of his chest, her mouth watering at the smooth, unblemished skin just waiting to be tortured. He drew in a sharp breath as she skimmed the tip of her knife from the point of his pulse, over his collarbone and across one of his pectorals. His stomach clenched, his gaze growing unfocused and heavy-lidded, his breath racing as she circled the point around his nipple before teasing the nub with light flicks of her blade. It hardened against the sharp edge and he whimpered, though did not dare move as she continued tracing the weapon down his body, tickling the soft, curling blond hairs running down into his breeches. The outline of his erection showed through the fabric, and she detected the heavy thump of his pulse in the hollow of his collarbone.

  He trembled as she tore at his fall, yanking his breeches down until they met the resistance of his boots. His cock jutted out from his body, hard and straining toward her. She took it in her fist and squeezed until his knees buckled and he had to lean against one of the bed’s four posters for balance. He gritted his teeth to hold in a scream, bending at the waist and panting for air. His cock remained hard, pulsing with want and need as she eased her grip.

  She released it and then took hold of his chin, forcing him upright so she looked him in the eye. His head fell back against the post, chest heaving as his breath rushed through parted lips.

  “You have forgotten your place,” she declared while yanking his waistcoat off and tossing it aside. “I supposed you need reminding. As I’ve told you countless times, I am not yours to save. I am not some helpless damsel who does not know what she is doing or what she wants.”

  “You do need saving,” he argued as she peeled his shirt off his shoulders and used it to entrap his wrists. “From yourself.”

  He grunted when she used the garment to tether him to the bedpost by his hands.

  Taking up the cravat that had fluttered to the floor, she balled it up into a wad and forced it into his mouth. He offered no protest, but glared at her while clenching his teeth around the fabric. He presented the perfect offering for her—body bared, hands and feet trapped in the strategic snare of his clothing, cock arching toward her from the nest of hair between his thighs. Strands of hair fell into his eyes, shadowing the brilliant blue orbs.

  Leaving him bound to the bed, she strode over to the mess he’d made of her belongings, the tip of her riding crop peeking out from within the sack. She took it up and turned to face him, her pulse racing as he contemplated using the crop on him the way she might a beast. What better way to remind him he was nothing more than flesh to her?

  His eyes widened as she approached, stroking her fingers over the shaft of the crop. The fear and uncertainty she found in his eyes only added fuel to her growing anger and arousal. As always, the need to hurt and derive her pleasure from him overwhelmed her all at once, making her head spin. She settled on punishment first, his recent behavior demanding that she put him back in his place—the place she needed him to remain in if she were going to keep a tight hold on her sanity.

  “You do not question me,” she ground out while pressing the tongue of the crop beneath his chin. “You do not come barging into my private rooms and ransack my things, then think to demand answers from me.”

  She punctuated her words with the flick of her crop, landing the tongue against his left nipple. He squirmed and growled, the skin around his nipple flushing pink. He arched his back when she did it again, his eyes squeezing shut and his breath huffing through his nose. She swung the crop three more times in rapid succession, alternating nipples and making him dance, his feet shuffling as he tried to angle himself away from her blows. The red blush spread over his chest, making her want to lave his abused skin with her tongue, bite him and push his pain toward a crescendo until he’d gone hoarse from screaming.

  But, not yet. Wielding the crop gave her such a heady rush of satisfaction, she could hardly stop now. There was so much of him to torment, so much perfect, smooth skin to mark.

  He trembled as she smoothed the tongue of the crop down the center of his chest and stomach, ending right at his groin.

  “I warned you” she purred, letting the crop trail up his cock to the tip, then back down to caress his balls. “But, this was what you wanted, wasn’t it? To push and push and push until I broke. Do you see what pushing earns you, Robert?”

  He flinched when she lifted the crop and brought it down on the inside of one thigh. He groaned when she hit him again on the opposite leg, then jolted when she returned to abuse the brilliant red stain from her first strike. All the while, his cock stood high and proud, thick and seeping with his seed.

  He mumbled something around the cravat, his eyes glassy and unfocused now, his head sagging until his chin touched his chest. Forcing him back up by his chin, she snatched the cravat free of his mouth and tossed it aside.

  “What was that?” she taunted.

  He met her gaze and leaned forward as much as his shirt would allow. They were nearly nose to nose now, his breath racing against her cheek as his gaze dropped to her lips.

  “More,” he rasped.

  A slow, aching throb began between her legs, her breasts growing heavy as her nipples tightened to an almost painful degree. She’d been all but torturing him, and the fool could only beg her for more?

  “Haven’t you ever wondered why no other man will do when it comes to your needs?” he said when she did not respond, his voice strained by his shallow breaths. “Why you’ve allowed me into your bed time and time again? It is the same reason I am ruined for all other women. I am your match, Cass … and you are mine. We are two sides of the same coin, and no amount of denial on your part will change that. So, do your worst. I want it all … your anger, your pain, your sadness. I can take it.”

  So, she gave it to him, not bothering to push the cravat back into his mouth as she went back to punishing him, using the crop against his chest, his nipples, his thighs, even the backs of his knees when he twisted in an instinctive move to avoid the blows. Then, she aimed the crop between his legs with a lighter hand, landing it against the low hanging target of his bollocks. His face reddened from the roar he held in, his head falling back against the post as she followed it with another tap against the reddened head of his cock. She leaned in to clap a hand over his mouth just before he screamed, the sound muffled by her palm. His eyes began to water as he met her gaze, the depths awash in both agony and ecstasy. Her hands shook from the force of this thing pulsing between them, raw and elemental and undeniable. She wanted him now more than ever, and the erection leaking droplets of his mettle onto her hand as she touched him proved he wanted her, too … despite the pain, or even because of it.

  He moaned against her hand, his skin hot to the touch from the fire she’d lit in him with her crop. He thrust into the circling sheath of the fingers, leaning forward so that his forehead rested against hers. She removed her hand from his mouth and used it to tease one of his reddened nipples, wrenching a strangled cry from deep within him.

  She released his cock and played her fingers over his skin, finding the places on his chest and thighs that had been marked and pressing down on them. He squirmed against her, groaning and sighing as she alternated between stroking his inflamed skin to offer relief, and agitating it with slight pressure here and there.

  Cassandra could have toyed with him this way for hours, watching the part of his plush lips as he drew in a sharp breath, seeing the glimmer in his eyes as she touched and explore him in a way she never had. But, after a while it was no longer enough. She needed more from him—his mouth, his hands, his cock inside her. She’d worked herself into a frenzy beating him with her crop, and now nothing could bring her satisfaction other than claiming and owning him in the most primitive of ways.

  She untied his hands from the post, giving him only a moment to shake off the shirt and work the feeling back into his fingers. Taking him by the shoulder, she du
g her fingers in and forced him down to his knees. Then, she motioned for him to unlace her boots. While he got to work, she began unbuttoning her own clothing. She removed the waistcoat she’d donned over her shirt, then opened her fall.

  “Here is where you belong,” she said while stepping out of her loosened boots. “On your knees.”

  He kept his rapt gaze upon the opening of her breeches, hands freezing in the midst of removing her stockings. He released a deep sigh at the sight of her cunt, now exposed by the open flap. Leaning forward with one hand still wrapped around her calf, he nuzzled her mound, flicking his tongue at the inner flesh. She shuddered at the heat that tongue stroke sent suffusing through her body.

  He pulled away and glanced up at her, his fingers caressing down her leg as he pulled her stocking down. “Yes, but only for you. Always for you.”

  The impact of his words was immediate, quickening her pulse and making the need to possess him all the more acute. He was hers, even when she chased him away, even when she tried to convince herself she neither wanted nor needed him.

  But, he’d been right; no one else would do, and there could be no resisting with him here, staring up at her with his bright blue eyes so filled with earnestness and desperate need. As much as he craved her cruel depravity, she craved his exquisite submission. Denying it had been futile, as here she stood giving in to the desires and sadistic impulses she inspired in him.

  Letting him help her out of the breeches, she then made quick of removing her shirt, standing naked before him. He traced his gaze over her with reverence and awe, as if kneeling before the altar of a goddess. She accepted her tribute, taking a fistful of his golden curls and urging him between her legs. He came to her eagerly, crawling closer on his knees and burying his face in her cunt with muffled moan. His tongue slipped between her lower lips, pressing against her clit with stunning accuracy. She threw her head back, tightening her hold on his hair and undulated against his mouth. The wet heat and rough rasp of his licks sent ripples of pleasure through her body.