Chapter Fourteen
Come, my lord,” Sir Robert chided him. “Surely one of these two lovely ladies will satisfy you as much as your mystery lady, your Amphitrite.”
The room smelled of sex and if Oakley turned his head in any one direction, he could see any number of interesting sexual combinations.
Oakley didn’t bother to look at the two women in their diaphanous Grecian robes that revealed more of the rounded globes of their breasts than it concealed. Just as the other night, they didn’t interest him.
He knew exactly what he wanted. Entirely his luck that this was the night that she did not work. Perhaps it was a sign. Divine intervention.
“No, I’ll leave you to your pleasures, George,”—Oakley frowned in regret—“and I’ll seek mine elsewhere.”
As he walked home, he ripped the slim mask from his eyes irritably and stuffed it in his pocket. He knew very well that the only pleasures awaiting him this night were a stiff drink and a volume of Donne’s poetry. Perhaps later, he might even have the feeble company of his imagination and his own hand.
Chapter Fifteen
Maggie studied the Etruscan vase. She had never seen so many interesting antiquities. Well, she amended silently, the statues and urns at Harridan House were extremely interesting, but they could hardly be shown in a public venue such as the British Museum. Then she and many mothers like her would be unable to bring their children.
A few steps ahead, little Emma examined a pottery fragment with great curiosity.
“Good, she’s finally occupied.” Diana slid her arm through Maggie’s and drew her close. “I’ve been wanting to tell you this the last hour, but the little darling has always been in earshot.”
Maggie laughed. “She does have very big ears.”
“Then I’ll say this quietly and quickly. He was looking for you,” Diana revealed, with her amused smile. “Your Poseidon. Lucy saw him and he asked after you, after the fair Amphitrite.”
“Hmphh,” Maggie sniffed, trying to keep her overactive imagination at bay.
“She also said he left immediately upon hearing you were not there, nor planned to be,” Diana pressed on.
“Oh.”
He had come back for her. For her alone. Somehow that made all the difference, and from Diana’s sly grin, she knew her friend understood.
“What do I do?” She dropped Diana’s arm and turned to face her.
“Well, you could make him your lover in truth,” Diana suggested. “You did mention you were interested in acquiring one…”
“But then he would see me as I am.” As plain as I am, Maggie amended silently, rejecting the idea.
“You’re lovely, darling.”
Diana’s rolling her eyes and being kind would never change the truth.
“What I mean is, perhaps, in the way we women look at such things, you are not…the most classically beautiful, but men view these things differently. He will be unable to resist you.”
“Men are no different than we.” Maggie shook her head. “They are human creatures.”
Despite her best intentions, the thought of him looking for her, wanting only her, intrigued her. She thought about meeting him again. She considered the idea for three long days and three overheated nights.
With Olivia leaving for her aunt’s, Maggie’s evenings would be more at her disposal. Surely, if she was responsible this time, if she warned Emma that she would not be back until late, she could be discreet and no one the wiser, no one adversely affected.
On the fourth day, Maggie sent Diana a note: Let the games begin.
Chapter Sixteen
So silly to be nervous, Maggie thought as she waited in Diana’s room for her masked lover, her mysterious Poseidon, to arrive. Once more, she dressed as Amphitrite, adorning her hair with seashells and pearls and her body with the blue silks. Once more, she tied a mask around her eyes.
She’d already seen every inch of his body…
There was no clock in this room, indeed in any of the rooms of Harridan House, as the intent was to have members lose themselves in the sensuality, but she guessed the hour to be near midnight.
Soon, soon.
How would she greet him? Elegantly? As if they were in a stately drawing room? Seductively, as if she were a courtesan only wishing to please her lover?
That brought a wide catlike smile to her face. She did want to please him. She wanted to hear him cry out his pleasure uncontrollably, to feel his responsive body beneath her hands and mouth. Inside her already wet, pulsing flesh.
“Ma’am.” Diana’s maid interrupted her thoughts, approaching with a small bowl. The scent of vinegar wafted through the air, wrinkling Maggie’s nose.
Maggie sighed. It was hardly romantic to have to insert the damned thing so high within herself. But then again, she knew it would be even less romantic to have a child of a man she knew only as Poseidon.
“Thank you, Lucy,” Maggie said, and plucked the sponge from the liquid.
When the maid had retreated from the room, back to wherever it was she spent her time eavesdropping, Maggie stretched one leg out on the bed and lifted the hem of her dress.
With one hand she touched the folds of her cleft experimentally. Her hot cream was already seeping between the tight lips. She ran the back of her finger across the surface, savoring the light touch, the first physical hints of pleasure.
She remembered the way his long fingers had felt, slipping inside of her, pushing up. Desire had stabbed into the very center of her at the touch, to her nipples, to the tips of her own fingers.
She pushed up deeper, as he had, her thumb flicking the hard nub of her clitoris. Her breath came out in a fast rush of air. She stayed there, making little thrusts upward, her thumb circling.
Too good.
She slid her fingers out and then readjusted her position, both feet flat on the floor, leaning against the bed, arching her head back.
She cupped her own breasts in her hands, marveling at the extra sensation the thin layer of silk offered.
She slid a hand back down, back to her pussy, to play in the hot, wet slit.
She imagined him kissing her there, his mouth closing over the sensitive flesh, teeth grazing, bringing her to her peak. His thick, hard cock would fill her up, even as he still touched her.
She moaned, feeling the first tremors of an orgasm build. Her fingers moved with urgency now, pulling the building climax. Her breaths grew more labored, her moans more fervent. Then, the crest came, before she was ready, washing over her, bucking her hips up and then back against the bed.
Her cries subsided and as she quieted, the room sounded different. With effort, Maggie opened her eyes, lifted her head.
He stood by the rear door of the room. He’d come from home or some other place of casual entertainment, wearing trousers instead of the more formal breeches.
Why had Lucy led him to that entrance? Let him sneak up on her…
He watched her through the slits in his black silk mask, his eyes heavy lidded with desire.
How long had he stood there watching her?
Long enough.
Languorously, she lifted her right arm, fingers still damp with her juices, and beckoned to him. Then, she ran that same hand up her thigh, up her hip, pulling the silk of her costume with it, all the way up to her breasts.
He was at the bed in an instant, his coat shed, his cravat untied and discarded.
He gathered her to him, half lifting her up from the bed. He dragged her mouth to his and she lost herself in his heat.
The hard ridge of his erection pressed between her thighs, heat radiating through his trousers.
Hungrily, her fingers worked the ties of his waistcoat, stripping him layer by layer of each cloth barrier. His hands moved swiftly as well, running over her body, slipping the straps from her shoulders and the fabric down her body to pool on the floor.
A moment later, she pressed her naked body against his and reveled in the contact. To feel
another human’s bare skin against hers was heaven. Heaven, comfort and all the delights of the world.
He stepped back. Her eyes raked over him. He was a beautiful mixture of young, lean maleness and strength. His broad chest tapered down to slim hips. His muscular thighs were those of a sportsman, an equestrian. Even his feet were well formed and beautiful. Her gaze returned to his cock, which jutted out from him, straight and erect, the rounded head gleaming with its first pearly drops.
The desire to taste him was overwhelming.
“I’ve thought of nothing but you for these last eight days. I can’t get you out of my thoughts, my dreams,” he murmured, and she realized he had been perusing her body with as much detail as she studied his. “I even see your legs spread open before me—open, wet, pulsing—when I sit in Lords.”
She laughed. “Well, sir, my sweet Poseidon, I’ve thought of you endlessly as well.”
Maggie pressed her naked body against his and then slid down to the floor. She caressed his cock with her cheek. His low groan pleased her. She wanted to hear those sounds from him all night.
“I was so pleased that you’d asked after me.”
She couldn’t be as pleased as he was, Oakley thought as Amphitrite ran her clever tongue up the length of his cock. He had been delightfully surprised when Sir Robert had sent him a note indicating that if Oakley accompanied him this night, the woman would be waiting.
Her tongue swirled around the head of his cock, teasing the sensitive area just before the hot, wet cavern of her mouth closed around him.
She had been worth the wait. Worth the wait and worth risking his reputation. The angels themselves could hardly resist that tongue of hers, he thought, moaning. He gripped a bedpost for support.
His other hand tangled in her hair. His thumb found the cool, smooth surface of a pearl, his index finger, the rougher edge of a seashell, and all around was the silken mass of curls. There were so many sensations, melding and separating, coming and going, even as her mouth slid down further, taking in more of him, inch by blessed inch.
Her soft hands ran up his thighs, his buttocks, and she pulled him toward her so that he felt her lips against his groin, and his cock fully engulfed in her. She lessened the pressure, pulling off of him. A sweet breeze tickled his cock as she moved back till only the tip of him was in her. He wanted to bring her back but he kept the touch of his hand on her head light and waited with held breath for her next move.
She swirled her tongue over him again and then slid back down, tantalizingly slowly.
He didn’t want to come this way, but she gripped his buttocks, cupped his balls and took him in fully, smoothly, her lips tight around his cock. The touch undid him.
His hips jerked against her mouth as his semen spurt from him, into her, again and again. When he thought he had no more to give, she swirled her tongue around him and he twitched again.
Slowly, she released her hold, easing off of him. She pressed her check against his now soft penis. In the quiet of their ragged, calming breaths, he played idly with her hair.
“Welcome back,” she whispered, glancing up at him through the slits of her blue mask, a devilish little smile on her lips.
Welcome, indeed.
Chapter Seventeen
Hours later, Oakley slid from the nestled heat of her body. It was leave now or risk sleeping late into the morning, missing the 11 A.M. Committee meeting and breaking the fragile pact that he had made with himself. He could have this pleasure as long as he kept it in its place.
“I want to see you again,” he stated, pulling up his trousers. He had known from the moment he’d walked in this room again and seen her pleasuring herself, that he wouldn’t be satisfied with just one more night. This was a phase he needed to pass through. There seemed no sense in fighting his inclinations.
“Then we are in agreement.” She stretched like a cat on the bed, still gloriously naked, her back arching, pushing her breasts out to attention. “I wish to see you.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Yes,” she agreed, sliding off the bed. She padded toward him and wrapped herself around his body, arms about his neck, lips meeting his.
Chapter Eighteen
When he arrived the next evening, earlier than their arranged time, Amphitrite did not await him in Madame Rouge’s suite. Rather, the maid explained that she had decided to take a stroll through the house.
He found her on the third floor, leaning against the frame of one of the many bedroom doors kept open with sculpted bronze doorstops depicting different sexual positions.
She shimmered in the dimly lit corridor, drawing him in more powerfully than any siren song. He came behind her and pulled her against him, his hand resting over her flat belly, his lips finding the bare skin of her shoulder.
“My lord, Poseidon,” she breathed, resting her head against his chest. “It has been an age waiting for you.”
“And how have you kept yourself entertained?” He dragged his gaze away from her and into the room. So intent and attuned he was to Amphitrite—her heat, her scent, the way her perfect derriere fit against him—that he was almost stunned to see and hear that anything other than her existed in this house.
A woman, nude, her hands tied with silk rope that was fastened to a hook in the wall, writhed on the bed. Her legs were spread, revealing every inch of her lovely pink flesh, which grew pinker under the lash. She was moaning. And the moans were tinged with the sound of pleasure, not pain.
“Ask for more,” demanded the masked man who, fully dressed, administered the whipping to such tender flesh.
Oakley didn’t recognize him. He wanted to pull Amphitrite away, to take her somewhere private and do all the things he had imagined doing to her all day, but she was watching the scene before them intently.
“No.” The woman on the bed shook her head. Her companion looked briefly at Oakley, his expression fierce, almost challenging, then he turned his attention fully back to the woman on the bed. The whip slid across her cunt, the length of it teasing her flesh till just the tip of the harsh device still stroked the swollen lips.
“No,” the woman said again, but this time, it sounded different.
“Ask.”
The tension in the room was high. This was a play of power between these two. Who would hold out longer? Who would get their way?
“D…Rouge…mentioned that people enjoy such a thing, but I’ve never seen it before,” Amphitrite whispered, her hands reaching back to run down Oakley’s thighs. She pressed herself tight against him, wakening his cock to instant hardness.
He found it hard to think about what she had said when her soft, silk-clad buttocks formed such a nice pillow for his now erect length.
But Oakley had never seen such an exhibition before either, and he found it vaguely appalling; a man should never raise a hand to a woman. He found it hard to believe that working in such a house, this was the first time Amphitrite had witnessed such actions. Perhaps she was a different level of courtesan here. He should ask at some point, but he couldn’t think of how to phrase such a thing. Perhaps he would ask Sir Robert.
“Is this…” he hesitated, doubt flooding him, unsure that he could fulfill her desires, “something that would please you?”
Even as he spoke, the woman on the bed cried out, begging, pleading for anything the man would give, and the whip descended again.
Amphitrite inhaled sharply. Then the sound relaxed into a laugh, nervous to his ears. Or was he attributing his own thoughts to her?
“I think that to let myself be bound in such a way…would require enormous trust,” she said. “And even then, I don’t believe I would ever like, or find it pleasurable, to be struck.”
Oakley relaxed. He wanted to give her pleasure. He needed to give them both pleasure.
“But watching,” she continued, “is terribly arousing.”
He stepped away from the room, pulling her with him.
“You are arousing, my little goddess,” he w
hispered, bending down to kiss her.
The man could kiss. The first teasing feather of his lips brought all the heavy heat that had settled in her pussy swirling up around her dizzyingly. His arms held her up; she could feel their strength across her back.
Then the wall was behind her and she was pinned between this man, his burning, open, searching mouth, and the cool plaster. Now the wall kept her steady so his hands could move: his fingers on the bare flesh of her arm, then bunching up the silk of her dress to touch the flesh of her inner thigh. There was nothing for her in the world but his lips, his breath, his touch—his heat.
The world swirled around her once more, his arms replacing the wall again, lifting her up like she was a bride, like they were crossing the threshold.
And she was—she was Amphitrite, Poseidon’s bride, entering the depths of their underwater retreat, where passion colored everything: red, scarlet, burgundy, indigo.
He’d brought her to Rouge’s room and locked the door behind them.
In the center of the bed, she watched him undress: yank off his boots, shrug out of his jacket, undo his waistcoat, loosen his cravat. He stopped then, holding the wrinkled length of fabric in his hand.
He looked up and his blue eyes shocked her, reached her deep inside. Somehow she knew exactly what he was thinking.
She shook her head slowly, thinking of the woman upstairs, her body bound and straining, her breasts raised, round and lovely.
“Do you trust me?” he asked, coming closer.
Did she? She didn’t know this man but she’d already entrusted him twice with her body. Well, more times than that if one counted effusions rather than nights…What would he do if she let him, if she gave him this power over her?
“I don’t know,” she said, but she knelt on the bed and let her dress slide from her shoulders.
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