Fascinated

by Bertrice Small

  Her chin went up. "I'm fascinated. Especially since you brought it up. And they know so much about love and men. I've been thinking that I would be one."

  "WHAT?"

  His anger was something to behold. This was a good tactic, an excellent ploy. "I… would… be… one," she repeated succinctly.

  "God in heaven… what is this new thing?"

  "I want you to teach me."

  "I'm teaching you." God help him, he hoped no one was listening. What was he doing arguing such a thing with her here in public where every comma was food for gossip by morning. "And I won't talk about this nonsensical idea of yours here. You don't know what you're saying. You don't know what you want. First it's Raulton, then it's this…"

  "Well, I reconsidered that. I think it would be much more interesting to be his mistress than his wife. He'd be generous and kind… and he's so experienced. A woman really must prefer a man with experience… and so, by the same token, ought not a man? Prefer a woman with experience, I mean."

  Jeremy blanched. "I'm getting you out of here. You have lost your mind or you have a fever. Stay here until I inform Reginald…"

  She felt a bubble of triumph well up. She had totally confounded him, and the more agitated he got, the more enamored she became with the idea of him teaching her the erotic arts of a mistress.

  Now, if she could only find a way to have that moment with Raulton, it would just set the cake.

  She couldn't believe that it turned out to be a simple matter of following him discreetly and seizing the moment. She slipped into the crowd and edged her way around the room, nodding to acquaintances, and feeling a spurt of resentment when she was detained to listen to a morsel of gossip or a tidbit of news. It was a chore just keeping track of Raulton, with all the distractions around him.

  Ah, there he was, presenting another of his limp young things with some lemonade. Nasty stuff, but the girl didn't know it. She looked awestruck; this was probably her first go-round at Almack's.

  And Raulton had had obviously enough of her, too. He excused himself quickly thereafter, heaving a thankful sigh as he withdrew and headed for the refreshment room.

  She scanned the crowd for Jeremy, caught his eye as he searched for her and, quick as a cat, went after Raulton.

  Nothing could be better. She could make up any story about her supposed assignation with Raulton. But Jeremy's speculations would be a lot more pungent. Well, so it should be, blast him. He deserved to suffer.

  He wasn't that far behind her, and he didn't scruple to grab her and haul her back from whatever folly she was about to commit. "Damn it. Damn you. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  Raulton suddenly appeared as if by magic, a glass of ratafia in hand, and Regina almost fainted at the sight of him. Now what? She was cooked; her deceit was about to be exposed.

  But she should have known: Raulton of all people was not behindhand about anything to do with subterfuge. He took in the scene with one lightning look, and then he held

  Regina's eyes meaningfully, handed her the drink, and murmured, "There, my dear Regina. A reward for your forebear-ance. I trust you will be all right?"

  He was saying, I'// play. You play. It was so perfect. She bent her body toward him. "Quite, Marcus."

  "I wish there were more time." He took her hand, he kissed her palm. Her breath caught as his tongue swiped her palm. "There's never enough time."

  "Marcus…" Who was a better actress than she? "Can't we…?"

  "This is the only way," he murmured, and then he was gone.

  "Jesus," Jeremy muttered. "You are a menace." He took her arm, as she stared after Raulton, barely able to contain her glee at the scene he had just wittingly played out with her. "Tell me you didn't breathe whisper of that bird-brained scheme of yours to him."

  "What scheme is that, Jeremy dear?"

  "To become his mistress."

  She looked horrified. "Never yet, Jeremy. I'm not nearly skilled enough. But you're going to remedy that, aren't you- and soon."

  There was that word again: remedy. As though he were castor oil or something. "I'm taking you home."

  "There's nowhere I'd rather go with you."

  And that tone-he did not like that tone of voice. It was too reasonable. Too rational. So he kept silent during the ride back to Green Street and said not a word as they entered the house.

  Here was the moment he ought to leave. He knew it. He felt trouble brewing in his bones if he took one step farther into that house with her.

  "Would you like a brandy?" Regina asked.

  "I would like an explanation."

  "Well, it's all your fault. You're the one who started gabbling about mistresses and how you hate to coddle and coax reluctant virgins. And frankly, any woman who thought about it would much rather know about those things than not."

  "Get in the library. We're not going to discuss this where your servants can overhear."

  "I should think not. The brandy's in there; that should calm you down." She waited until he had entered the library and closed the door before she rang for the butler. "Ah, Bertram. That will be all tonight. My father will see to himself when he returns."

  "Very good, my lady."

  Better than good, dear Bertram. Jeremy is all in a twist over this mistress business. Nothing could be better.

  But still, she paused a moment before she entered the library and latched the door behind her. This was the biggest step, the place where she must be willing to relinquish every inhibition, every stricture she had believed her whole life. She had to give herself over to him, no matter how scared she was, no matter what he demanded of her.

  This was nothing romantical. And now that she was on the cusp of carrying through, she had to be certain she wanted to cross this threshold. If she entered that room and offered herself, she could never come back again whole and intact. But who would know?

  Who would know?

  Indeed, who would know?

  I would know. I'd know everything, every mystery, every question answered, every feminine secret revealed.

  And she could still live her life, and no one would ever have to know.

  So how serious was she? Blast it. This was no turn of the cards, and ace takes the trick. This was no small thing: she would become no better than a queen of hearts, and in the end, she might wind up the fool.

  No one has to know.

  No one would look. How would anyone know?

  It was the most tantalizing thing. Beyond that door, she would enter the alluring world of the forbidden, the world he had described to her so seductively she hungered for the experience of being a kept woman. And it was Jeremy, not a stranger. For all her fear, she trusted him. And at the very least, he did seem to care about her.

  And no one would ever know.

  The thought made her breathless. She girded herself and swung open the library door.

  He was sitting in the wing chair, staring moodily into his brandy snifter, immovable as a king, and she wanted to play.

  "Now we are alone. So tell me, Jeremy, if you were with your mistress tonight, what would you do now?"

  "I'd tell her she's a damned fool," he said roughly, "and that she's as green as glass and twice as fragile, and a man would crush her to pieces just with his hands, she's so breakable."

  "Well, we keep coming back to the main purpose: teach me."

  "You don't know what you ask."

  "Then tell me. Hold nothing back."

  "And how honest shall I be?" he demanded violently. "Where they list you in Whoremonger's Guide depends on who is paying how much to fuck you. And for all that money, you have no life. You belong to your lord every minute of the day, even if he never comes to you. You must be willing to spread your legs at his will and whim, and he'll fuck you every which way he can think of, and ten more ways besides. He owns your naked body, every inch of it, and he's paying for what's between your legs. He'll make sure no one else can have you, and you hope to hell he never tires of yo
u. That is the life of a mistress, my lady who has never been touched, barely been kissed, and knows nothing about anything. And there is nothing romantic about it in the least."

  But there was, there was. Every word made her body twinge; every image made her shake with excitement.

  "But you will show me how to please a man," she whispered, and his eyes darkened as his mouth thinned. She licked her lips, and the movement arrested his attention. She saw then the endgame was here. He was wavering-he wanted to, he didn't, he couldn't, how could he not-and she shrugged and turned away. "Or someone else will."

  He jacked himself out of the chair in one explosive motion and grabbed her shoulders. "You do love using that threat, my lady. You'd come crawling home in a day, your innocence pounded to a pulp and so sore between your legs, you'd never want to leave your father's house in this lifetime."

  "Then you do it. You. Teach me everything I need to know."

  "Goddamnit…!"

  She squared her shoulders and thrust out her breasts. And where did that come from? "Pretend, then. Pretend I'm your mistress. Do to me what you do to her."

  He slammed his hand down on the nearby table. "I want you to do everything to me that you do to her." "You don't know what you mean," he growled. "I do know. I understand perfectly." She did, she did, and here was the moment she must make a commitment and back up her bold taunting words. "I'm saying I will be naked for you. Willing. Welcoming. You will own my body, every inch, to do with what you want. And all you have to do is show me everything you do with a mistress and everything a mistress knows."

  Oh, God, she had said it, she wanted it, and she was stunned at her audacity and that her own words aroused her to such a fever pitch.

  She wanted him to stop talking and start doing and bury his conscience when he knew he wanted to do to her all that he had described.

  And that she wanted him to.

  "You-or another man," she whispered, her body taut with her burgeoning desire.

  "Goddamn hell…"

  "Another man touching my naked body, another man between my legs…" Oh, this was so dangerous, and that insinuating voice she used was like setting a match to tinder. He was morally so much stronger than she ever imagined, but she had set the stage, she couldn't go back, and she needed him.

  Now.

  She waited, shivering with excitement.

  Nothing.

  "Fine," she whispered, turning away.

  Two steps, and he had her, pulling her up rough and hard against his chest. "It is not fine, do you hear? It is not fine, but if you're aching to be fucked, then goddamn, I will fuck you to a faretheewell. I'm not a patient man in this arena, my fancy lady, and you'd better learn to please me quickly, because as of this moment, I hold you to every promise you made to me in this room."

  "Yes," she whispered, her body shaking uncontrollably. "Yes."

  He pushed her away. "Until then, well-I can handle two of you."

  She stiffened. "Two of us?"

  "Two."

  Her excitement escalated again. "One, Jeremy. Just one."

  "You don't know enough yet," he said harshly.

  "So I practice with you and you spend yourself on her? No."

  "I have enough juice, if that's what you're worried about."

  "I have yet to find that out. So, one only."

  "I'm hard, hot and juicy right now." He waited a long moment to see what she would do. "That was your first test, fancy lady. You failed. You don't know anything about a man's need. But you can be sure my mistress knows exactly what to do about it. So…" He turned toward the door. "I'll be back…"

  Lesson one: he is in control and can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants anytime anywhere.

  Lesson two: I must be willing to do anything he wants, anywhere, anytime even if I don't know what it is I'm supposed to do.

  "If you leave, you will still have a mistress, but you will never have me." Bold brassy words. Some women didn't have that choice. It was implicit in all he had told her: never challenge the lord who paid for your body. She knew it. And by those words, she was testing him.

  But it stopped him, and he turned, bracing himself against the door.

  "Oh, the fancy piece thinks she's a lady, making threats like that. It's fortunate I haven't fucked you yet, because I would own you, and if you spoke to me like that even once, I would never fuck you again."

  "Then we are at an impasse."

  "There is no impasse. I have the length, strength and juice for two. Make up your mind if you want it." He turned away, and she heard him unlatch the door.

  Bluff called. "I want it."

  "Tell me again?" He latched the door.

  "I.,.want… it."

  He turned to face her again. "And again?" He began to pace toward her.

  She started shaking again. "I want it." The length and strength and juice-I want it. Whatever it means, whatever it entails, I want it.

  Juice enough for two…

  "A lesson well learned, fancy-piece."

  Goddamn, nothing scared her. He cupped her chin, and then slid his hot hand down her neck to rest on her heaving breast. Not even that. "I won't make many demands tonight, tempted though I am." He slipped his arm around her and slowly moved her to the wing chair and onto his lap.

  She felt it tight against her bottom, huge, hot, hard, flexing and nudging her. It was so big. As though she were sitting on a bar of iron.

  And every mistress knew what it looked like and exactly what to do with it.

  Why didn't she?

  What could she tell from how it felt against her buttocks? That it was long and thick and it moved of its own volition. And it elongated with his escalating male need. She could feel every little spurt beneath her thin dress.

  Length and strength and juice.

  I want it.

  His one hand still spanned her breasts, and he studied her face with the intensity of a scientist before he lowered his head and captured her mouth.

  Here was a kiss, dominating, sensual and conquering. And then there was the sensation of his fingers playing across her breast, sliding into her dress and seeking her bare hot skin and one taut pointed nipple.

  She almost bolted at the contact where no one… no man… had ever touched her before.

  I asked for this. I want whatever he will do to me, no matter what it is, no matter where it leads.

  And she ached for that kiss-first and all, that kiss. And anything he could think to do to her after.

  Deep in the kiss, she felt a jolt of streaming pleasure as he squeezed the very tip of her nipple, gently at first and then more firmly. It was the most exquisite sensation, spiraling right down between her legs, molten, wet, wondrous, endless. Unspeakable.

  Shamelessly in thrall to the feeling, she mutely begged for more, and he gave it to her. She squirmed, she writhed almost as if she were trying to get away from it, and all the while she arched herself into him so that he did not relinquish the pressure of his fingers on her nipple.

  Instead, he broke the kiss, and with his free hand, he tore away the bodice of her dress to bare her breasts altogether.

  "Luscious nipples." He cupped her other breast and slid his thumb back and forth across the taut nub. "Nipples made to be naked, made to entice a man." He lifted her breast, bent his head and closed his lips around just the hot, tight thrust of it and sucked the pointed nub hard into his mouth.

  Her body jolted at the gush of sensation that engulfed her. The pleasure and the heat were unremitting, one long slippery silvery flow that pooled deep in her vitals. She couldn't get enough of his avid sucking. She arched against him, seeking and trying to separate the sensations: his steady pressure on the one nipple, and his firm, rhythmic sucking of the other- too much, too much, too much… not enough, not enough, not enough-

  She felt his mouth disengage from her nipple and his hot tongue trace circles of wet heat all over the swell of her breast, all the while he kept up that erotic pressure of his fingers o
n the other nipple.

  Her body swooned with a hot yearning. He came back to her lips again and again, grazing them with hot, hard kisses. She couldn't keep still; the feeling of those fingers squeezing her nipple was so voluptuous, so sumptuous, her body began to swell, to reach, to unfurl.

  "Maybe you're right," he whispered, lapping at her lips. "Maybe you were born for this. I can't get enough of this nipple." His mouth closed over hers, rough, hard, demanding, devouring. His fingers flexed, compressing it harder. "I'm going to make sure you never forget this sensation," he growled into her mouth. "When I'm not here, I want you to feel my fingers fondling your teat, squeezing it, rolling it, making it…" He ground down into her mouth. "… hot for me…" Another rough kiss. "… hard for me…" Deeper into her mouth he went, bruising her, crushing her lips, grinding into her wildly with his tongue.

  Dear God, there was nothing like an untried virgin. You could stoke them and they heated up like a blast furnace. Once you primed them for pleasure, they begged you for it every hour of the day, and they were adoring and uncritical to boot.

  And you couldn't scare them off with a goddamn jackham-mer. No wonder men paid astronomical sums for them.

  He had one in his hands if he wanted it. If... hell, he needed it. He was ready to explode all over her and drown her in the backwash of his thick boiling cream. He wanted to spread it all over the hot thrusting nipple between his fingers and then make her suck the residue off of his rampaging penis.

  And that was just the beginning. She couldn't pump the half of all his cream. He had plenty to go around, plenty to ram between her legs and spill into that hot, tight hole.

  Goddamn, goddamn hell. I am goddamn crazy for letting things get this far… she makes me crazy with all her brazen talk. Who wouldn't want to fuck her? She's so goddamned determined, who knows what the hell she'll do-or who with.

  He wrenched away from her mouth suddenly, his fingers still holding her nipple with that same erotic pressure.

  The air was tight with tension. Damn damn and hell. He was in control, not his unruly manhood. Not her, with her hard responsive nipples, her lush virgin's body, and her wild untutored mouth.