Magnate

by Joanna Shupe

  The position allowed her to focus on the most perfect male backside ever created. With not an inch of fat or extra skin, he was a marble statue come to life. She slid her hands along his back, over the rough scars, to cup the high, tight mounds. She was still squeezing and enjoying the shift of muscle beneath the skin when he opened the door to the steam chamber.

  A moist cloud of hot air enveloped them instantly. “My drawers! Emmett, they’ll be ruined.”

  He slapped her behind playfully. “Not to worry, I’ll peel them off in good time.”

  Without setting her down, Emmett lowered onto the tiled bench, settling her in his lap. The lush sultriness of the room wrapped around her like a blanket.

  “What do you think?” he murmured, leaning in to nuzzle her throat. The heat of him rested under her cloth-covered buttocks, his erection growing by the second.

  “I think you like it,” she teased, running her palms over the contours of his broad shoulders.

  “I certainly do.” His palm caressed her bare breast. “You, warm, naked, and slippery, is indeed high on the list of things I like.”

  He kissed her, his tongue swiftly invading, and he placed her thighs on either side of his hips. Beads of moisture pooled on the surface of their skin, slickening where their bodies made contact. Her breasts met his chest, rough, wet skin and crisp hair teasing the taut points of her nipples while he explored her mouth with exquisite thoroughness.

  Gently, he arched her back and dropped his head to her breast, sliding a peak between his lips. He sucked hard, eliciting a gasp from her, the draw of his mouth sending shocks through her core. He laved the puckered bud with his tongue, scraped with his teeth, and allowed no escape from the blissful torment. Her ragged breathing echoed around them, a desperate fever making her writhe in a silent plea, but he continued to torture her with deep pulls and long licks until her insides quivered. Her body tensed, climbing, straining, and she craved more of his touch, wanted him everywhere all at once.

  “Emmett, please,” she murmured, the sound muffled to her ears as her hips rocked into his groin, seeking relief.

  Kisses trailed along the side of her breast, then toward her collarbone. “Yes?”

  “I need you. Please, hurry.”

  His teeth nipped her jaw, and she shivered despite the scorching heat surrounding them. “Where?”

  “Everywhere,” she rasped, both hating and loving that he was teasing her.

  “I’ll need specifics, Mrs. Cavanaugh. I’m a man who prefers details.”

  She knew that to be true. The more direct and bawdy her talk, she’d learned, the more he responded. And since she loved to see him undone, she had become quite brave over the past few days. “Inside me.”

  “Here?” he asked, his finger tracing her lips, which she parted in order to slide her tongue around the digit. His eyes glazed over, breath expelling in a rush as she tasted him.

  “Perhaps later.” Her gaze locked with his. “Right now, I want you between my legs.”

  His chest heaved, and the lines of his face grew taut. Impatient. He guided her over him, her entrance poised directly above his hard length. He reached between them to grip the base of his erection. “Are you wet for me?” he asked, slowly dragging the tip of his penis along her cleft. She threw her head back, biting her lip to keep from crying out. To keep from demanding that he take her.

  “Oh, yes, right there,” he murmured, and the broad, smooth crown breached her channel slowly, pushing her open and tunneling inside, and she relished the stretch that bordered on pain. Inch by delectable inch, she lowered until her hips met rugged male skin.

  His fingers dug into her thighs as she paused to savor the joining, the overwhelmingly full sensation. “Now ride me. Hard.”

  She obeyed, wasting no time, rising and lowering again and again, her pelvis churning to create the exquisite friction they both needed. Emmett’s lids fell, his head propped on the tile as he let her control the pace. The divot in his chin beckoned, so she bent forward to nip it with her teeth. His swift intake of breath caused her to smile.

  “The Devil’s mark,” she whispered, referring to the name he’d once used for the slight imperfection.

  “And yet you love it.”

  “Indeed, I do.” As I love you. But she held back those final words, kept them close to her heart, and clamped her inner walls around his erection instead.

  He growled in response. “God, I love when you do that.” She squeezed him once more, and he dragged her close for a long, drugging kiss. “Will you let me try something?”

  Her breath stuttered. Thus far, he’d shown her plenty, with each experience better than the last. She had no reason to doubt this would be equally pleasurable, so she nodded.

  “Stand up.” He helped her off his lap and placed her feet on the tiled floor. He untied her drawers and slid the thin cotton down her legs, lifting one foot and then the other. After folding them, he placed the wet fabric on the tile. “For your knees. I want to take you from behind.”

  Excitement rushed through her even as she said, “Are you certain?”

  “Oh, indeed, I am.” Strong hands helped her into position, the tile slick and unforgiving beneath her palms as she bent on hands and knees. She felt exposed in this position, but all complaints flew from her mind when Emmett began working into her passage. “Christ, you are beautiful,” he gasped, driving farther inside. He clutched her hips, pulling their bodies together, until he slid home. Lizzie cried out at the fullness, his penetration much deeper this way.

  A gentle touch circled her back. “Are you all right?”

  She could only nod, the euphoria having stolen her speech. He withdrew, only to return, stroking, pumping, until he hit a spot that made her toes curl. “Oh, my,” she exclaimed, and he did it again. “Emmett!”

  His thrusts sped up, and her shouts grew louder, until he reached to find the hard nub at the apex of her cleft. The touch pushed her over the peak, her limbs nearly giving out as she convulsed. He soon followed, his hoarse yell bouncing off the tiled walls.

  After a moment, he dropped onto the bench, pulling her close. “My God, Elizabeth,” he wheezed. “What you do to me . . .”

  “I hope it’s good,” she said, panting into his shoulder.

  “So good it scares me.” He kissed the top of her head.

  Chapter Sixteen

  One thing is indispensable to the happiness of married life, and that is confidence in each other.

  —American Etiquette and Rules of Politeness, 1883

  Lizzie knew something was amiss the moment she stepped into the breakfast room.

  With Emmett still dressing upstairs, she had come down alone to breakfast, eager to get a start on her day. She hoped to travel downtown to her office, provided that the streets were finally sufficiently cleared of snow.

  Katie, Claire, and Brendan were already seated at the long table, their voices murmuring in hushed conversation.

  “Good morning, all,” she cheerfully called.

  A blur of movement caught her eye before her brother-in-law hastily rose. “Morning, Lizzie.”

  Katie and Claire tracked her as she approached, their eyes wide and wary. “Good morning, Lizzie,” the girls said together.

  The footman held out a chair, and Lizzie sat. A strange silence descended as she poured her coffee. “Did I interrupt something?”

  “No,” Brendan answered instantly. “We were just discussing our day, weren’t we, girls?”

  “Yes,” Katie said. “That’s all we were doing. Right, Claire?”

  “Yep!” the younger girl said. “We were not looking at the newspaper.”

  Brendan groaned, and Katie covered her mouth in horror. Before Lizzie could address their curious reactions, there was something far more important requiring her attention. “Claire, where did you hear that word?”

  “Newspaper?” the girl asked around a mouth full of pastry.

  “No. The one I’m referring to is ‘yep.’”
>
  “Oh, Kelly says that word. It means yes.”

  Lizzie made a mental note to discuss the language Kelly used around the girls at her first opportunity. “Claire, a lady should never use coarse language or jargon. She must say what she means, purposely and clearly, in order to be understood. How you speak is a reflection on how you will be perceived by others.”

  The girl’s brows lowered, as she seemed to intently absorb this advice. “Yes, Lizzie.”

  “Good. Now what was so interesting in the newspaper this morning?”

  “Nothing,” Brendan answered, with pointed glances at his half sisters. “Same old boring stories.”

  Lizzie hummed and held out her hand. “Excellent. I love boring old stories. May I?”

  Brendan stared at her a moment, and she could see the wheels turning in his brain. Even though they’d only been acquainted a short time, he should have known by now that she would never back down.

  Sighing, he withdrew a section of the New York World from under the table. “For the record, no one at this table believes a word of it.” He placed the paper in her hand.

  Stomach heavy with dread, Lizzie discovered a large cartoon on the page, complete with two unnamed figures she instantly recognized.

  A bride stood at the altar, marrying a very Emmett-looking Satan, while the hem of her wedding gown was raised lewdly, well past her ankle. A row of Wall Street bankers lined the wall, their eyes fixed dramatically on the sight of her bare leg. Open for Business, the caption read.

  Lizzie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Dear heavens.” How had the papers even learned of her firm? Before she knew what she was about, she ripped the page out of the paper and crumpled it in her hand. “Emmett mustn’t see this,” she told Brendan. “And we mustn’t tell him, either.”

  “Emmett mustn’t see what?” her husband asked as he strolled into the breakfast room.

  Lizzie swiftly put the cartoonless paper on the table, the cartoon itself under her chair. No plausible lie came to her lips, so she glanced at Brendan, pleading with her eyes.

  “Oh, nothing,” Brendan answered. “Just a news report on the union troubles in Ohio.”

  “There are no union troubles in Ohio,” Emmett remarked, pouring himself coffee. Freshly shaved and dressed in a dark brown morning suit, he was delectable. Lizzie could have eaten him for breakfast. She watched his large hands perform the mundane task of preparing his coffee, and she recalled how those hands had made her feel earlier this morning. A low hum of arousal thrummed through her veins. Perhaps she could convince him to revisit the Turkish bath this evening.

  “There aren’t? Perhaps it wasn’t Ohio, then. Regardless, we didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Bren, you’re a terrible liar. Girls, go and find Mrs. Thomas. It’s time to start your lessons.” For once, the girls did not argue, silently standing and quitting the room. Emmett tapped his fingers on the table, a sign Lizzie recognized as barely controlled impatience. “Now, which one of you wants to give me the truth?”

  Lizzie did not want to lie . . . yet the truth was so much worse. Perhaps a slight evasion would pacify him. “It’s a silly cartoon. Nothing, really.”

  Dark eyes pinned her to the spot, and she shivered, thinking about the fierce drive and insatiable will inside her husband. When he focused that same intensity on her in bed, she hadn’t a chance of resisting him. In a flash, he could turn her into a begging, quivering pile of lust.

  His lips quirked, as if sensing the direction of her thoughts. “Elizabeth?”

  She sighed and cleared the prurient thoughts from her brain. “No, Emmett. You do not need to see it.”

  “I don’t?”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I agree, Em. This is one cartoon you don’t need to see.” Brendan cleared his throat. “For at least a few years.”

  Emmett plunked his elbow on the table, palm out, and kept his calm gaze on Lizzie, waiting.

  “Perhaps we should go swimming first—”

  “Now,” he growled, and Lizzie withdrew the ball of newsprint from under her chair and dropped it into his palm.

  Long fingers smoothed out the paper. He studied the cartoon, then swung around to the footman standing near the door. “Find Kelly. Immediately.”

  The footman took off at a dead run, and Lizzie said, “Emmett, no. Whatever you’re planning—”

  “Is my business. I’ll handle this my way.”

  “Oh, God,” Brendan murmured, rubbing his brow. “I’m a doctor. You’re not supposed to talk about killing people in front of me.”

  “Yeah, Bish?” Kelly, slightly out of breath, hurried into the breakfast room. “You needed me?”

  Emmett held out the newspaper. Kelly came over and let out a long whistle when he saw the cartoon. He exchanged a knowing glance with Emmett. “I’ll see to it.” He spun around and disappeared.

  Calm as could be, Emmett requested poached eggs and sausage from the footman. He reached for the rest of the newspaper and began flipping through it, the pages crackling in the sudden quiet.

  Lizzie wanted to strangle him. “Tell me what you are planning.”

  “Brendan, will you excuse my wife and me for a moment?”

  “Of course.” Brendan rose and gripped his cane. “I have rounds to make anyway. See you both at dinner.”

  With a jerk of his chin, Emmett also excused the footman, leaving Lizzie alone with her husband. All sorts of thoughts began swirling in her head. Emmett was incredibly protective, and she could only imagine how angry he was over this. Goodness, he’d nearly choked her brother the night at Sherry’s. “What will you do? Are you planning to hurt that cartoonist?”

  “Is that what you think I do, go around hurting people if they offend me?”

  The innocent tone did not fool her. “Semantics, Emmett. Are you going to have Kelly hurt that cartoonist?”

  “Possibly. Would that bother you?”

  “Yes!” she exclaimed. “I don’t want anyone hurt, even if I’m equally angry. I cannot understand how he even learned of my firm.”

  “I might have had something to do with that. Calvin Cabot is the publisher of the New York Mercury and a few other papers. As you know, he is a friend. I contacted him to propose an interview.” He relaxed in his chair, porcelain cup cradled in his hands. “I thought you might want to create a splash in the press for the opening, the way Woodhull and her sister did a few years back.”

  “You did that without speaking to me first? We decided to keep my involvement a secret, or did you forget?”

  “I would have told you when the paper agreed to the story.”

  “Oh, how reassuring,” she drawled. “So Mr. Cabot told someone at a rival paper?”

  “Not a chance. He guards secrets better than anyone, a necessity in his business. My guess is that he discussed the idea with a member of the Mercury staff, and that person told someone at the World. Regardless, everyone involved will pay dearly for the slight, including that cartoonist.”

  She nearly rolled her eyes. “Emmett, you cannot take on everyone who dares to mock or speak ill of me.”

  He took a long sip, then replaced the cup in its saucer. “Elizabeth, that is precisely what I swore to do. I promised before God to honor you, and if I have to buy that goddamn newspaper merely to fire this cartoonist, I will. I’ll ensure he never picks up another pencil in his life if it makes you rest easier.” Leaning in, he drove a finger into the table for emphasis. “I’ll gladly take on every paper, every cartoonist— every single person in this godforsaken city—in order to uphold that promise. Do you understand?”

  Her jaw fell open, the breath leaving her lungs in a whoosh. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think after a declaration such as that, her heart pounding. How was she to react? Her husband was promising retribution, likely physical, and she found it . . . arousing. What was wrong with her?

  He hadn’t said the words yet, but that certainly sounded like a declaration of love. Still, she was angry
he’d revealed details of her firm without telling her first. Had Emmett told Will of her firm as well?

  “I understand, but please do not make decisions for me in the future without asking. I was not ready to have this revealed so publicly. This ensures I’ll fail before I even get under way.”

  His expression softened as he regarded her. “My dear, the one thing New York loves more than anything else is a spectacle, so open with as much fanfare as you can stand. You’re no coward, and you possess two things society will never comprehend: intelligence and talent. So don’t bother hiding. Besides, no one can hurt you—I’ll go to any lengths to protect you if they dare try.”

  Warmth filled her, sank deep into her bones. She loved this man so much that it made her dizzy. Placing her napkin on the table, she rose and took the few steps to his side. She slid her palms over his broad, strong shoulders, the fabric of his frock coat soft and smooth along her skin. She bent until her lips brushed the shell of his ear. “And I promised before God to love and cherish my husband. Would you care to follow me to our bedroom so that I may demonstrate?”

  Emmett gained his feet so quickly that his chair teetered. He clasped her hand and began tugging her toward the hall. “If you insist.”

  * * *

  The corner of John Street and Broadway bustled later that brisk March afternoon. Lizzie held the satchel close to her chest as she waited in her coupé, attempting to stay warm while watching the traders hurry in and out of the ground-floor restaurant.

  What must it feel like, to stand on the trading floor, power and money flowing through your very hands? Fortunes gained, fortunes lost. It must be a heady rush, indeed. Yet thanks to the men-only policy at the exchange, Lizzie would never know.

  Robbie, the man she employed, finally emerged from the building’s front door. They hadn’t seen each other since before the storm. Instead, she’d cabled him instructions, intimating they were from her brother, but she no doubt owed him an explanation after today’s cartoon.

  Hurrying along the walk, she raced to catch up with him. “Robbie,” she called to his back. “Robbie, please wait!”