The Ruthless Knight
Jeana E. Mann
Contents
1. Nicky
2. Calliope
3. Nicky
4. Calliope
5. Calliope
6. Nicky
7. Calliope
8. Calliope
9. Calliope
10. Calliope
11. Nicky
12. Calliope
13. Calliope
14. Nicky
15. Calliope
16. Calliope
17. Nicky
18. Nicky
19. Calliope
20. Calliope
21. Nicky
22. Calliope
23. Nicky
24. Calliope
25. Calliope
26. Calliope
Also by Jeana E. Mann
Before You Go
About the Author
One
Nicky
Two women glide across the ballroom, demanding my attention. The first woman, the one in a tight leopard print gown, stops near the champagne fountain. Females like her make my mouth water—giant tits, a tiny waist, and an ass that jiggles with each precarious step on her towering sandals. The sides of her gown are held together by silk laces, revealing a strip of bare flesh from armpit to knee. There’s no question that she’s naked beneath. She pauses to dip a strawberry into her champagne glass then sucks on the ripe red fruit with lips that are equally juicy.
“Put your tongue back in your mouth.” The second woman comes to a stop at my side. Like everyone here, her face is hidden by a mask, but I know who she is. Unfortunately for me, our lives are tangled together for the foreseeable future. The corners of her mouth dip toward the floor. Which is nothing new. She hates me.
“What I do with my tongue is none of your business. I’ll put it anywhere I want.” My phone vibrates. A glance at the screen makes me groan. Valentina. Again. She’s been reaching out for days. I send the call to voicemail and stuff the phone back into my pocket. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see if that lovely leopard will let me put my tongue in her—for starters.”
“Was that Valentina calling?” The mask can’t hide the disapproval in my sister-in-law’s gaze. Part of me enjoys her irritation. Serves her right for marrying Roman instead of me. “Won’t your girlfriend be pissed that you’re cheating?”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” The very thought turns my stomach. I tug down the cuffs beneath my black tuxedo jacket and try to pretend that her insults don’t wound my pride, because I deserve her hatred.
“Really?” Rourke’s eyebrows arch toward her blonde hairline. “She’s the only woman you’ve ever dated for more than a few weeks. If she looks like a girlfriend and acts like a girlfriend…”
“We aren’t dating. We’re—business associates.” Just standing next to Rourke evokes a sensation similar to rubbing sandpaper over raw skin. The wound left by her rejection never heals. “If you don’t like my company, Mrs. Menshikov, then leave.”
Rourke lifts her chin in a gesture of pure defiance. Light from the massive crystal chandeliers bounces off the diamond necklace around her slim throat, probably a gift from my richer-than-God adopted brother. “In case you’ve forgotten, Nicky, this is my event. Maybe you’re the one who should leave.”
“Roman and I were doing this long before you blundered into the picture.” In fact, this is where the three of us met for the first time. Here. On this dance floor. The flutter of her pulse above her collarbone causes a knot to tighten in my chest. Every minute in her presence is pure torture because I can never have her. “Without me, there wouldn’t be a masquerade ball.”
“And what, exactly, did you do?” From behind the lace of her disguise, her blue eyes flash. “Maybe you helped come up with the concept years ago, but I chose tonight’s theme, hired the orchestra and performers, interviewed every single employee. I cultivated the guest list. All you did was screw the party planner.”
“You know what I think? All this hostility is a lame attempt to repress your intense desire for my massive cock.” I chuckle at her annoyed growl. “Don’t deny it. We both know you want it.” My gaze returns to the luscious leopard slinking toward the terrace. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going on safari.”
“Roman wants to see you.” When her hand rests on my forearm, her touch burns through the velvet of my jacket. I close my eyes to savor the contact. Tonight, when I’m fucking someone else, I’ll draw on this moment, pretending it’s her beneath me and not some random stranger.
“Have your tits gotten bigger?” I let my gaze drop to where her breasts peek above the top of her strapless gown. “They’re enormous.”
“They never recovered from breastfeeding.” She tugs up the sides of her gown.
“And how is Satan’s baby?”
“That’s a terrible way to talk about your nephew.” Anger flames in her cheeks. I’m getting to her, but the knowledge does little to heal my broken heart.
“My apologies.” Shame intensifies the ache in my chest. What’s wrong with me? I give her a stiff bow, preparing to leave.
“Roman’s in his study.” For the second time, she halts my escape by touching me. I stare at her hand until she drops it to her side.
“Doesn’t he ever take a day off?” It’s my turn to groan. My workaholic sibling and his wife love to ruin my fun. But not this time. Not tonight. Tonight, I’m going to dance a little, drink too much, and rut like a stag. I’m horny as hell. Being around her and her magic boobs doesn’t help. “I’ll find him later.”
“He said it was urgent.” The scent of citrus and honey hovers around her. My blood buzzes like a bee.
“Everything is urgent to him. Just because he used to be a prince and owns half the world doesn’t mean everyone should bow at his feet.” Beneath my calm façade, resentment simmers in my veins. If I don’t get away from her, I’m going to shatter. “Catch you later.”
I stride toward the terrace doors where my leopard girl has disappeared. Rourke’s gaze weighs heavily on my backside. On impulse, I spin around, hold my hands apart in the approximation of ten inches, lift an eyebrow, and nod. Amusement flickers across her lips. Deep down, she likes me. If I’d been a better man, she’d be mine right now. The truth is I don’t deserve her. Never will. With a sigh of resignation, I square my shoulders. The animosity between us is a necessary evil. It’s the only way I can save my pride.
On my way past the bar, I grab a bottle of Macallan and two glasses. The orchestra begins a lively waltz. A sea of women in colorful gowns floats over the marble floor, held fast by their partners. I skirt the edge of the orchestra. The musicians, like everyone else at this party, wear masks to conceal their identities. No names. No faces. At the Masquerade de Marquis, celebrities and royalty rub shoulders with everyday people. Invitations are exclusive. And nothing is off limits. A flutter of excitement lifts my spirits. Behind a mask, I can be anyone I want. And tonight, I’m a big game hunter in search of a leopard.
The air on the terrace is fresh and a welcome change from the crowded ballroom. I pause at the top of the steps leading down into the garden to watch the breeze toss the fountain spray. Overhead, stars sprinkle the night sky. From this vantage point, I have a clear view of the torchlit pathways. Performers dressed like fairies and sprites tumble and leap among the foliage and flickering lights. In the distance, the stone tower of a castle rises above the treetops. My leopard is nowhere to be found.
No matter. The night is young, and there are plenty of other women at the ball. After a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle, I weave my way down the path from the manor house to the castle keep. The five-story tower is all that’s left of the medieval fortress that used to
sit on this site. I withdraw the all-access keycard from the inside pocket of my jacket and swipe it through the electronic reader. The locks on the enormous wooden door click.
My footsteps tap on the flagstones as I wander the labyrinth of corridors until I reach the great hall. Once this room housed knights and kings. The echoes of their chainmail and ancient revelry still reverberate from the rafters. On this April evening, noises of a different kind fill the room. Filthy, decadent, naughty noises. Skin slapping on skin. Moans of ecstasy. The scent of sex hangs in the smoky air. In the dim light, flashes of naked bodies peek out from the shadowy corners.
“Hello, handsome.” A woman wraps her fingers around my bicep.
“Hello.” When I turn to see who is touching me, I’m met by a svelte dishwater blonde. She’s completely nude except for a tiny red thong. Small, firm breasts jut between us. I can’t help staring. “And hello to you, too.”
“Want to play?” The red plume on her mask soars into the sky, jerking with her head movements.
“Always.” Just what the doctor ordered. A pretty girl has always been able to solve my problems—or at least provide a temporary distraction.
“I want you to meet my friends.” She threads her fingers through mine, pulling me up a narrow spiral staircase into a small side room.
I blink. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Sitting in a high-back leather chair are two women. The brunette in front grinds her ass into the woman seated behind her—my leopard girl. The leopard glides her hands along the brunette’s breasts, over her ribs, to slide between her legs. I’m instantly hard. The blonde releases my fingers, leaving me in the center of the room, and kneels between the brunette’s open thighs.
“Don’t be shy. Come on in.” The leopard’s voice is husky, sultry. Without ceremony, she dumps the brunette to the side and offers her seat to me. “I’m glad you found us.”
Three women. What have I gotten myself into? Heaven, that’s what. I shrug out of my tuxedo jacket, throw it aside, then lower myself into the chair. The brunette sits at my feet. The blonde perches on the armrest. And the leopard—she circles to the back of the chair where I can’t see her. Once there, she leans down to whisper in my ear. The locks of her platinum wig brush my jaw. “This is your lucky night, big boy.”
Don’t I know it. The blonde tugs the knot from my bowtie. The leopard unbuttons my shirt before dipping her hand inside to caress my pecs. Her touch is warm and confident, just the way I like. Rourke, the tension with my brother, the fucked-up mess of my life—they’re all forgotten as this beauty toys with the hair on my chest.
“What do you like?” The leopard is obviously the leader of this threesome. Confidence drips from her sultry voice. Her fingers strip away my shirt while the other girls kiss each other. “Do you like watching them? Is that your thing? Watching?”
“Yes.” The declaration rasps from my dry throat. “I like watching and being watched.” I’ve built an empire on the fantasy of voyeurism. First, with this medieval tower in Sussex. Then with satellite clubs in New York City, Chicago, Los Angeles, and a dozen more locations around the world. Membership to the Devil’s Playground is curated, exclusive, and very expensive. If these girls have a keycard to the castle, they’ve been vetted by my staff.
“We’ll do anything you want. Please you any way you desire.” The leopard’s full lips brush mine. She drags my lower lip between her teeth and tugs until it stings. I hiss in pleasure. “Tell me what you want, handsome.”
“I want you on your knees, sucking my cock.” I grip the back of her neck, careful not to disturb her wig, tight enough to let her know I prefer to be the dominant one.
A smirk twists one corner of her luscious mouth. “I like a man who knows what he wants.” She jerks away from my grasp. In one smooth motion, she twists onto my lap, her back to my chest. The thin fabric of her gown leaves little to the imagination. I can feel the seams of the cloth, the round softness of her bottom, and the heat of her body. The scents of fresh linen and soap cling to her movements. She circles her bottom over my groin. Her movements are slow, controlled, teeming with wantonness.
“I saw you in the ballroom. You’re stunning.” I run my hands over her full breasts, enjoying their weight in my palms.
“I saw you, too.” She reclines completely. The back of her head rests on my shoulder. This position aligns her face with mine. “I was hoping you’d find me.”
Our mouths touch in the briefest of kisses. Her lips are softer than I expected. Hunger builds inside me. I haven’t had a good blowjob in forever. Work has kept me too busy. Running multiple businesses, catering to Roman, and commuting between continents leaves little time for anything but sleep.
“Do you belong to the club? I haven’t seen you before.”
She ignores the question. Her hips make slow, leisurely circles, grinding on my cock. One of her hands smooths up her thigh, over her ribs, to join my hand in cupping a breast. The slow sensual movement creates an ache in my balls.
“No more talking. Just sit back. Let me pleasure you.” Words every man loves to hear from a beautiful woman. Her request brings joy to my soul and blood to my dick. Especially when she slides to the floor, opens the fly of my trousers, and frees my straining erection from its prison.
The sight of this beautiful creature between my spread knees is enough to obliterate my bad mood. The tip of her tongue glides over her full bottom lip, drawing my attention to the mole at the left corner. The mask can’t hide the dimple in her chin or the golden hue of her skin. Temptation nags my common sense. One tug of the silk bow at the back of her head would drop the barrier between us and show me who she is. I won’t do it. First, because it’s against the rules of the club, and second, because I don’t want to know. It’s so much hotter this way, knowing I can fuck her mouth then walk away without hurt feelings. But if she asks for my name, I’ll give it to her.
“Magnificent.” The unfamiliar, male voice in the shadows reminds me that we’re not alone. Club members can spy on any scene at any moment through the numerous peepholes in the castle. Sparks ignite and catch fire in my veins. Nothing turns me on more than the taboo act of being watched.
“You’re a big boy.” The leopard encircles her thumb and forefinger around the base of my erection and slides them to the crown with the perfect amount of force to elicit a hiss from me. She teases the head with her tongue. Her next words make my heart leap. “I can’t wait to have you in my mouth.”
My heart kicks against my ribs. I tilt her chin up so I can look into her eyes. I can’t tell what color they are, only that they’re dark. With the pad of my thumb, I trace the swell of her lips. She’s luscious. Tempting. I want to do all sorts of unchivalrous things to her full curves, but she’s in control of this scene.
While the blonde and brunette make out, the leopard wraps her lips around my head. I dig my fingers into the arms of the chair at the drag of her teeth over my shaft. She’s gentle, practiced, applying the right amount of pressure in the correct places. My crown hits the back of her mouth. The muscles of her throat contract as she swallows. I groan. “You’re good. Really good.”
I’ve had lots of blowjobs from lots of women. None of them compare to this. The scope of my world drills down to her and her mouth. Within minutes, I’m coming. She remains between my open knees, her hands resting on my thighs, watching me, waiting. I close my eyes, lean my head back against the chair, and enjoy the flood of endorphins.
A swathe of light cuts across the room as the door opens. “Playtime is over, ladies.” The deep voice of my brother ruins my bliss. The two girls stop fondling each other and blink up at Roman. The leopard casts a startled glance over her shoulder.
“It’s okay.” I raise a hand, bringing everyone in the room to a halt. “He’s leaving.”
“Everyone out.” Roman snatches the brunette’s dress from the floor and tosses it toward her. “We have business to take care of.”
A bubble of anger swe
lls in my chest, threatening to burst. The leopard slinks back onto her heels, still crouching between my legs. With an exasperated sigh, I shove my cock into my pants and lift the zipper. She gives me a resigned smile. “Too bad. I was just getting warmed up.”
“Don’t make me ask again.” Roman’s eyes glitter from behind his plain black mask. The girls scramble for their clothes at the command in his voice. He’s the picture of darkness. Black tuxedo. Unruly black hair. Black shirt and tie. His heart isn’t visible, but I know from experience that it’s black, too. Like a lump of coal at midnight.
“You’re a real cockblocker,” I snap to Roman. The leopard rises to her feet. I grab her wrist, halting her exit. “You and me. Later. Where can I meet you to finish this?”
“I’ll find you.” She kisses the tip of her index finger then presses it to my lips. I watch her backside swing on the way to the door. Halfway there, she casts a glance over her shoulder. Her demeanor reeks of satisfaction and mischief. I’m intrigued. For the first time in too long, hope blossoms inside me. Maybe this is the woman to fill the gaping wound in my chest left by Rourke.
“Get dressed.” Roman snatches my jacket from the chair and shoves it into my chest.
“This had better be good.” I shove my arms into the Armani suit and stuff my bowtie into the breast pocket.
Roman pivots on a heel, striding toward the door, confident that I’ll follow. And I do. Not because I want to, but because I swore an oath to protect and serve the heirs to the Menshikov dynasty. I’m his knight, and he’s my sovereign. We walk in silence down the corridor to a hidden door, take the winding spiral staircase to the storage vault, and use the secret tunnel connecting to the manor house for our escape. When we’re back in his study, I head straight for the bar.
The Ruthless Knight Page 1
