by Eliza Lloyd
“Should we discuss your requirements?” He waved a hand toward the open sitting room door, but she remained in the foyer.
She handed over a piece of paper. “This is what I will require monthly.”
He read the note without thought for etiquette. The number was reasonable and in the range for which he had planned.
“It is acceptable.”
“This agreement is also with the understanding I will not be available during the day and only on certain nights. I was thinking Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. Evenings only, and only when there is a ball since I will require a suitable reason to be away from the house. And I must be home well before dawn unless there is an appropriate and reasonable explanation for me to be late. I do wish to protect my reputation as much as possible.”
“Of course.”
He had hoped for more time, but if she was available for bedding four days a week, who was he to complain, considering his lack of sexual congress while married? And she had left open the door for other opportunities. Perhaps a weekend in the country?
“I find I am of an age where I must speak directly or forever be reminded that months and years can pass before I acknowledge something is missing,” she said.
He nodded, intrigued by her statement and willing to explore the boundaries of her pleasure and comfort.
“And lastly, I can end our agreement at any time.”
“I would expect no less. And while we are here, you may address me by my given name.”
“Mark.” Her lips turned upward then. Her half smile reminding him of her sensuality. “Shall we get down to our real business?”
“My heart’s desire.”
“A mistress’s aim is to please, is it not?” She smiled cheekily, seemingly comfortable with him already. As he was with her.
“So far I am not disappointed. You look lovely tonight.” She had donned a silvery-grey dress with white pelt about the sleeves and neck and pleats at her waist. He thought about Siberian winters and the need to stay warm.
“And the dress goes so well with my new bracelet.” She displayed the rich bauble with some pride. “I was seriously considering your offer, but I must say, this significantly tipped the scales in your favor. I did not own any of the family jewelry, so I thank you.”
He nodded, glad he had listened to his instinct to do something unusual to pique her interest.
What reserve she had, or that he thought she had, seemed to melt beneath the heat of their pending adventure. What remained was not ice, but fire, which danced in her gaze and warmed him from chest to groin.
He reached for her, holding her delicate fingers in his palm. He brushed back her sleeve to see the bracelet fit perfectly around her delicate wrist. He ran his thumb through the silky fringe of the fur. When he lifted her hand, she watched with a certain anticipation he interpreted as enthusiasm. He pressed his lips to her dainty, slim fingers.
He slipped his other hand about her waist and pulled her close, closer than their waltz together. “If reality is even half as good as my expectation, I will be extremely pleased come the morrow.”
He tilted his head and leaned in. She licked at her lips and closed her eyes. Mark inhaled the scent of her—chamomile or jasmine?—before they touched. Boyish excitement welled within. It was good to feel something other than hurt.
Exotic flavors assailed his tongue. Cinnamon, something else tangy and lemony along with sweet taste of honey. He groaned under the weight of his need.
She touched her tongue to his lips, swiping along his lower one. There was nothing tentative about her kiss. She was comfortably aggressive, taking what she wanted and giving him the new experience of enthusiastic willingness.
Katrina cupped his face. He answered, opening his mouth, matching her pace. She curled her tongue about his, while he thrust deep into her mouth. He felt and tasted her moan. His erection grew uncomfortable. Heat wrapped about them, a cocoon of sensual pleasure, reminding him of one of the greatest joys of a physical union—the intimacy of touch, naked skin to naked skin. How he had missed it. And wanted it so desperately again.
Money did not evoke such enthusiasm, he knew. There was more than just obligation in her caress. The Baroness was not the cool, reserved woman of the ballroom. She was fire, waiting to be stirred and stoked.
It would have been enough to give him a meal—she was handing him a feast.
When she pulled away, she traced her hands down his chest, still leaning into him. “If you don’t mind, I would like the first time to be in a bed. The stairs do not appear terribly comfortable.”
“But once we get to know each other?” He raised his brows.
“You will have to persuade me some more. But perhaps if the steps were carpeted.”
Mark wanted to dip inside her sheath now and confirm all he had suspected about Lady Klee. He reeled from her delicious taste, her natural seductive charms, her subtle humor and who knew what else.
He was going to find out.
If she offered to suck his cock tonight, he might offer her his fortune, modest as it currently was.
Once in the bedroom, she accepted a glass of chilled wine. She paced around the room, running her fingers over the silken bed covers, the polished wood and the mantel. “Will I have a key?”
“Anything you wish.”
“Is this where you hide away all your mistresses?”
“No. I…I would prefer you thought of this as a new experience for me.”
She squinted and swirled the wine in her glass. “The first time you’ve had a mistress?”
He nodded and watched as she thought about it. “Yes.”
“That’s a little difficult to believe,” she said.
“I was married.”
She set the wine aside and reached for the top button of her dress. He sipped at his drink while she slowly slipped the decorative beads from the security of their loops. The tight-waisted jacket was soon off. She tossed it across a chair.
“So was I.”
Mark enjoyed the display, enjoying that he didn’t have to lift a finger or encourage her in any way. Katrina might be reserved, but she understood the role of lover.
There would be no pleading, no ineffectual denials, just a direct approach to mutual pleasure.
Behind her back, she worked to remove her skirts. They fell to the floor in a billowy whoosh. She bent, displaying a lush expanse of breasts. The skirts were tossed to the chair as well. The hooks on her stays parted quickly, revealing a luminescent chemise, with thin straps at her shoulders.
“Allow me,” Mark said, swallowing the last of his wine. At her waist, he lightly gripped the thin material and worked it up slowly. When the cloth was bunched, she lifted her arms and he eased it over her head.
He allowed his gaze to rake her body. She was fine, from the perfectly proportioned breasts, flowing down to a slim waist and curvy hips. The bracelet was an elegant addition to the faultlessness of her body.
He waited to see what she would do. Upon the bed, she presented him her shod foot, expecting him to assist. Shrugging, he worked to remove his jacket before kneeling in front of her, placing his hand at her heel. There was no need to conceal what he was doing, so he stared at her naked beauty. She had leaned back, braced by her arms.
Aside from ogling her breasts, his gaze tracked down her stomach to the thatch of golden hair tufting on her mons. The spread of her legs was dangerously appealing. Getting one shoe off was more difficult than he had planned.
Her stockings were another matter. He placed both hands high on her thigh and loosened the tie, peeling back the sheer, sexy stocking. He set her bare foot against his thigh. She moved her toes over his crotch and pressed against his erection.
“Baroness, you are driving this carriage faster than it was meant to go.”
“We haven’t much time. I only wish to take advantage.”
He dispatched her other shoe and stocking with less introspection. “Don’t move,” he commanded. H
e pushed to his feet and began to shuck his clothing. Exposing his cock, falling on her, ravishing her would not have been difficult to imagine.
She watched him disrobe with as much interest, or so it seemed to him in his heightened state.
Evidently, her curiosity was piqued. She sat up, but instead of going for the obvious prize, she gripped his hand and caressed up his arm, exploring the contours of his muscles and pressing her lips against is skin in a very nonsexual way.
He’d never been with a woman so intent on examining him. Those in the past seemed to be more interested in cock, but even that enthusiasm was tempered. Perhaps her eagerness was due to the gift.
Reflection was really for a rainy afternoon and several drinks. He firmly put his thoughts aside and determined her reasons didn’t matter.
She was his as long as he paid her.
He placed one hand on her shoulder and nudged her backward. He knelt once again, but this time with clear purpose.
He kissed along her inner thigh. She arched and groaned at the simple contact. With practiced ease, she opened her legs for him, bracing one heel against the bed. The leg he kissed, she left hanging over the bed.
Her scent was stronger, but clean, womanly and slightly musky.
Mark wasn’t interested in delicate touch. He lowered his mouth and devoured her, as he had wanted. Quickly, he pushed his tongue into her.
She let out a throaty little scream, then panted as if she’d run up the stairs, her chest heaving with want of air.
There were no sweet, gentle kisses. He mouthed and tongued every bit of the pearly wet flesh between her legs before he descended over the swollen button of her sex. He sucked the nub into his mouth and used the tip of his tongue, swirling over it.
From between her legs, he glanced up to see her poise had dissolved. With each exhalation, she groaned and mewled as if she would escape her own skin.
When, at last, he plunged two fingers deep into her sheath, she screamed while clenching her thighs tightly against his shoulders. When her breathing returned to normal and her thighs eased against his body, he asked, “Would you like another?”
“Oh God, yes.”
* * * * *
Katrina whimpered, stranded in another world, while she enjoyed the crashing waves, the thrilling currents that signaled the end of a richly deserved release, delivered by the sweet mouth and fingers of her new lover. Had she known, she would have had no second thoughts about being his mistress.
Would she like another? Oh God, would I.
She might give up her title for a month of such cataclysmic releases. She had no idea she could be brought to such quick arousal; certainly she had not been able to do it for herself. Currents still pulsed through her and washed her limp body upon the shores of Mark’s bed, there to perish from her little death.
Should she have been shocked? No. Lovers gave their bodies to one another willingly.
She was shocked by the intensity of the feeling. The tension. The radiating warm. The searching.
And she wanted more.
“Kneel on the bed, away from the headboard,” he said. He opened his hand. At his touch, strange frissons went through her fingers.
She would have frowned at his demand, but she was very curious to see where the earl would lead. Wasn’t a mistress supposed to be compliant and willing? Or was that part of the game? Being submissive to a lover who wished to take charge? He did not seem like such a man, but then, he also believed she was Geral’s mistress.
Mayhap she should have admitted to him that she had never taken a lover. Would his treatment be more gentlemanly if he knew? Would he mount her in the dark of night, thrust until he found relief and then leave her to her aching, unfulfilled dreams?
No. She preferred his true nature—nothing withheld—so she might experience her true nature. Discovery of her assertive character was nothing less than an astonishment for her. A gate had been opened. Thoughts and desires she held closely to her heart had been given flight with his proposal.
She had hurried to his carriage, anxious and fevered; she’d stepped from it, chiding herself for being such a desperate fool. She had dressed with care and undressed with no thought for propriety. She’d been dutiful during her marriage. But for once, she’d cast duty aside in a rare fit of selfishness.
For now, she obeyed him, captivated by his commands and distracted by the delicious slide of moisture down her thighs. There were so many wonderful, intriguing improprieties.
She knelt, leaving her hands at her sides, nothing covered, not even a loose hair to hide her nakedness. Her breath spilled in hot gasps.
The strange thing was that Mark, a man she only knew as an acquaintance, was cast in the role of her lover. Strange tides, indeed.
He rolled onto the bed with her. She was allowing him intimacies she’d given to no other. Not even her husband had been so bold, or inventive enough, to touch her in such a way.
How would she look at Mark the next time she saw him, away from their love nest? Would she have to turn her face away, lest she betray their secret? Or with just a look, would she know he thought of bedding her? Would he plan a liaison in a hidden alcove? A library? Or take her back into a garden walk, exposing them to discovery?
Mark sprawled beside her, his head near her knee. “You know what to do,” he said.
She didn’t. When he reached back and around, clutching her bottom, nudging her, she lifted one leg over him. A surge of desire swept through her. He scooted a little, placing himself square between her legs, her knees bracketing his shoulders. His face was no longer visible.
She braced her hands against his stomach, then slid them slowly down to his hips. He jerked at her touch.
He cupped her, forcing her lower, until her womanly center was over his mouth. No amount of creativity on her part could have envisioned this. Throbbing began the moment he stroked his tongue across her soft folds.
His hands caressed up her back and lightly pressed her forward.
How delicious!
There was a purpose, she saw now. Her position placed her squarely over his cock if she but bent lower.
She enjoyed the pulsing between her legs and the lapping of his tongue, as if each lick opened her to all the pleasures she had instinctively known existed. As she lowered herself over him, she bit back the smile that threatened to lead to laughter. Here in this room, with this man, she would finally find and fulfill those urges that had tickled her imagination.
She licked her lips and gobbled him up.
The first taste of him was an aphrodisiac. She showed no prudishness, as she felt none. Each lick of his tongue earned an equally enthusiastic swipe from hers. Was prostituting herself the great sexual equalizer? Did a man expect more from his mistress? Did he give more?
His tongue flicked over her throbbing nub. His fingers dug deep into the fleshy globes of her ass, forcing her closer to his face.
The tides of mutual pleasure changed as Mark became the aggressor and Katrina could only moan while offering token swipes. She undulated, then cried out before the sharp ascent of release claimed her.
His hands soothed over her thighs and bottom as the last of the contractions slowed, leaving her feeling well–used and content.
“Mmm,” she said, since words were unnecessary.
Weak, she lowered herself to his body, taking his long, hard cock deeply into her mouth. It was the closing scene of this act.
His erection was smooth and hot. She used her lips to encase him and then slid upward, pressing him firmly. At the tip of his cock, she swiped the flanged cap and touched her tongue through the slitted, weeping eye.
Mark’s hips thrust beneath her in slow undulations. His hands still soothed up and down her thighs. His short moans turned into longer growls. She tried to read his reactions and apply her limited, but blooming talents where he seemed to find them most enjoyable.
Beneath her fingertips, his testes grew firm. He took several short gasps. Katrina took his
length, as much as she could. She sucked, tugging at the hard, long flesh.
The first splash of semen hit the back of her throat. She swallowed, surprised at her boldness. Again and yet again, he spilled, his hips jerking and filling her tongue with the tangy taste of him.
His great heaving sigh signaled his happy finish. She rolled to the bed beside him, his arm draped over her thighs.
Katrina was inordinately pleased. She’d made the right decision accepting his proposal. She’d always known there was more depth to the physical encounters between men and women, and how sweet the discovery.
“Are you sure I shouldn’t be paying you?” she asked absently, her fingers rubbing the satiny material lining the edge of a pillow that had found its way to the end of the bed.
Mark laughed, reached for the bunched up coverlet and drew it partially over her. Neither of them seemed interested in moving, and Katrina was feeling languidly drowsy. She turned to her side, her face near his hip.
His chest still heaved, but he reclined with his eyes closed.
Seeing him naked and relaxed was a strange sensation, having last seen him at the ball. Many men looked smart in their trousers and perfectly cut jackets. She wondered how many of them looked as good naked as Mark Turnbow.
She ran her fingers across his ribs, and he flinched. “I’m ticklish.”
She hummed an acknowledgement but laid her hand flat instead, unwilling to break contact with his warm, furred flesh. She liked men—this one was especially appealing to her, from the dark shadow on his jaw to the trail of hair on his lower belly.
She heard the sound of his sleep, soft snoring, so she pushed up, leaning on her hip and bracing herself with one hand. As gratifying as this new sexual experience was, she could not be lulled into a false sense of security.
This was temporary. Fleeting.
She repositioned herself beside him, tucking neatly under his arm where she could rest her head on his shoulder and lift her leg over his groin. However temporary, she would enjoy every moment of his warmth.
When she woke, still in the sleepy in-between place of reality and fantasy, she enjoyed Mark at her breast, applying gentle suction, while between her legs, his fingers worked in magical, slow circles. He nibbled and sucked, inducing a perfect, delightful arousal.
