by Eliza Lloyd
He could hear her movements around the room, but she said nothing. He had nothing to offer but an apology, which he would invariably say incorrectly.
Finally, her hand touched the back of his head, followed by a kiss near his forehead.
“I know you were teasing, but I do not like to think of you with other men.” He barely got the words past the clench of his teeth.
“Mark, someday we will part. You will marry and I will return to Russia with my sons. Who knows what will happen after? This is all temporary, but it is glorious and fun and fulfilling. Let us enjoy each other until then. Know that my loyalty is with you. Know that I wish to be free with you, mocking that which is held dear by the ton. Searching for what is forbidden and delectable. Looking for the last crumb of delight, even if it’s just imagining something so sinful as another lover.
“I also need you to know my husband was similarly jealous, so it is no surprise you would be affected. But it is unfair to be punished because you misunderstood me.”
“I am not jealous. Not really. I am a fool, though.” He gripped her hand, turned it and kissed her palm. “Forgive me.”
He wasn’t jealous, he was temporarily insane, driven there by an insatiable need to possess Katrina. And a bit of regret that what she said was true—there would come a day when she would belong to someone else—some cold Russian merchant who would use her…just as he had.
He tugged and pulled her to his lap. Her robe was silky, and he caressed the skin beneath the sheer covering and he felt the warmth of her hip.
“He was a good man, but I could never speak to or flirt with other men. I learned early on what upset him, and after that I behaved with frigid decorum. Let me rejoice in this with you. Let me be me. I would so enjoy that.”
“I don’t want you to change,” he said.
Katrina cupped his face, her thumb brushing softly over his lips. “But I am changing. I am free for the first time. Yes, this is all new to me. Geral wasn’t my lover. You are my first, and I don’t want to be burdened by guilt or fear. Put your confidence in me that I am your mistress. No one else tempts me.”
In the society they lived, he understood why a widow looked to powerful men for protection. And for all accounts, the Duke of Melrose was respectable; a fine man to offer friendship to Katrina. “So, I should apologize a second time?”
“Grovel this time. Along with anything else I might require. On your knees, sir.”
“You are a demanding mistress.”
“But one who can be very generous in return.”
“I am sorry.” He brushed his lips against hers. My God, she was sweet. “While I have you, God help me, I want you all to myself.”
“Are we not at least friends after these past weeks? And cannot friends tease each other?”
“Imagining you with other men is not a teasing matter, friend.”
She smiled at his word choice. The idea of maintaining a friendship with a mistress was humorous. He paid her money—that made it a business relationship only.
But he had told her, in tentative forays, some very private things. Yes, they were becoming friends.
“Put it from your mind.” She ran her hands through his hair and held his face steady while she gazed into his eyes. “Let us finish our supper and see where the night takes us.”
She squirmed from his lap, but he gripped her wrist and held her. He dared look up at her then, feeling the need to confess.
“I am not a completely honorable man.”
“We make mistakes. We change. I do not find you dishonorable.”
“We don’t really change, Katrina. Did he mistreat you?”
“Did you mistreat me?” Her statement was bayonet-sharp.
“I meant Samuel.”
“I know. You aren’t like him.”
He toyed with her fingers. “Tell me.” His mind rejected things like her being with other men. Like other men mistreating her. Yet she was his mistress and he was doing those same things that caused his stomach to revolt in the thinking of such an atrocity.
“Another night perhaps.”
Mark pushed to his feet and wrapped his arms about her waist. “Forget about supper. Lay with me.”
She shrugged, the silken rail slid down her arms, then she turned toward the bed. Seeing her bare flesh was a special agony, as though he was made to view her perfection in only this way and to cover even an inch of her flesh was criminal. He watched as she drew back the covers and lay in the middle. She patted the pillow in invitation.
He undressed, staring at her as he worked from his cravat down to his boots. He lay beside her, his trousers still on.
“I expected ravishment, not a baring of our souls,” she said.
“My soul isn’t worth seeing.”
She curled next to him, her face against his chest, her favorite resting place when they were not engaged.
“Have you forgiven me?”
“If I held an unforgiveness in my heart each time I was wronged, I would be a bitter, cold hag. We are each given a certain number of years. I cannot see wasting my time feeling anything less than contentment,” she said.
Her teasing could stir raging turmoil in him, and then with a few words, calm the raging beast. He stroked his fingers through her hair. Contentment might be found with a good book on a rainy day, but delectable Katrina satisfied in ways he’d never dreamed.
Chapter Six
The place between sleep and awake was just dreamy enough to feel as if it would go on forever, and just real enough for Katrina to know that when Mark Turnbow was between her legs, pleasuring her, she needed to be awake for every moment.
Her knees were bent. She could see Mark’s dark hair and feel the gentle lap of his tongue over the tingling bud between her thighs.
Sleepy bonelessness prevented her from doing anything but spreading her legs farther and moaning with each tender caress.
This was reason enough to want to wake up with a man each morning for the rest of her life. A man just like Mark.
She opened her eyes as the thought doused her into alertness. She had no aspirations about her place in Mark’s life. None. And she would keep it that way. When a man made it clear he wanted a mistress, he was also giving notice he did not want a wife, emotional attachments or attendant responsibilities.
Only a grey area existed between—that of friendship.
It was all she could offer. She wasn’t sure he wanted even that.
His hands were gentle, pressing at her thighs and opening the pink folds. Each clutch of her legs brought equal force from Mark, keeping her exposed and vulnerable. If it was a battle of pleasure, she would allow him to win. To hurry was to deprive herself.
But to wait was an indescribable torment, one Mark had perfected as his meticulous attention made her shudder. When he sucked the swollen bud between her legs, Katrina moaned, but found no relief even as his tongue rasped over and over the sensitive tip.
She ran her fingers through his hair and held his head, keeping him close, encouraging him to continue.
Release was never sweet, the yearning never easily satisfied. Only the contentment afterward was.
Release was a high mountain and a dangerous cliff. A soaring hawk and a burst of wind beneath its wings. The gentleness gave way to desperate need and the desire to lose herself.
She gasped, the final ascent unbearable with sharp pleasure. Her body writhed at the torment, arching while her legs clasped together.
When she opened her eyes, Mark stared down at her.
“Is it wanton of me to want everything you can give? And I never want you to stop,” she said, breathless from the effort.
“Misdirected, maybe, but not wanton. I doubt I even know all of those mysteries to which you allude. But I know who does know. Come.” He was mostly dressed; she was not, but she reached for his hand. “Lord Le Carre has a library I think you might enjoy.”
She reached for her rail. He stayed her hand. “As you are.”
“But—”
“The staff is used to Lord Le Carre’s activities. A naked woman is not going to shock them. And if it is as you say, we’ll just let this be part of your learning.”
“I can’t do that.” She reached again for her rail.
He faced her, his expression blank. “Since you are my mistress, how would you feel if I commanded you to remain naked? For the remainder of our time together?”
She felt a hard knot in her throat, and a decided excitement between her legs. “I don’t know. Would you want such a thing?”
“I’m asking you.”
“I think I would feel uncomfortable around other people, especially servants.”
“But with me?”
“If it is what you wanted.”
“But how does it make you feel? For me to command it?”
“Scared.”
“Nothing else?” He touched her forehead. “What about here?”
“Angry you would present it as an order.”
He touched her heart. “And here?”
“Intrigued you would want it. Curious as to why it would make you happy. And wondering what else you might wish from me.”
“And here.” He touched her mons, lightly and unthreateningly.
“Excited. Aroused. And still scared it would be so. Is it what you want?”
“You were curious. I was merely presenting a way for you to experience your curiosity.” He reached for her rail and held it while she slipped her arms in the silky sleeves.
Now she was curious. He opened the door for her while she still tied her belt and pushed her feet into her slippers. “People enjoy that? Being commanded?”
“Some.”
“And you?”
“I’ve never practiced it, per se,” he said.
“Oh, you have my attention, Lord Compton. What else have you practiced?”
He chuckled. “I don’t believe I am prepared to tell you of my past sexual exploits.”
“Would I be shocked?”
“A picture is worth a thousand words, Baroness.”
He held her hand in an unconventional way, his fingers entwined with hers, as he led her down the stairs. When they walked into the room, Katrina was disappointed. It really was a library.
“Have you ever met Lord Le Carre?” Mark asked.
“Yes, but he never seemed interested in discourse. He seemed to live in another realm.”
“Soon you’ll understand why.”
“Now I am curiouser.” she said.
“Did you know he is an artist? Acclaimed might be an exaggeration, only because it is so specific, but what he does is excellent. He’s currently in Brussels painting nudes for the monarchs.”
“Really?”
“But he has another specialty.” He walked to the shelf and pulled away a large book bound in red leather, opening it and glancing through the pages. “He brings stories to life.”
She reached for the book. “I don’t understand. He works in the theatre?”
“A private theatre, yes. With special entertainments.”
“I think what you are about to tell me isn’t fit for a lady’s ears. Or her eyes.”
“A lady, no. My mistress? She might be shocked, but she seems like an inquisitive woman who might be motivated by such sights.”
She gripped her robe tightly about her, fortifying herself. “I am ready.”
“Are you?” He handed her the well-worn book, the leather smooth to the touch. She accepted it and found a chair. Mark leaned against the bookshelf, his shoulder braced against a wooden bracket.
“I’m not going to be shocked,” she said.
“Yes, you will,” he said, holding back a wicked smile. She settled, tucking her legs beneath her, and held the book in her lap.
“I should tell you the stories are played out in real life first and then Le Carre sets them to paper for the participants.”
“Anything else?”
“Would you like a drink?” His brows winged up in a curious but knowing expression.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“And he enjoys adapting fairy tales.”
She was still looking at him when she opened the book. He shrugged. “I’ve warned you. Don’t blame me when your tail is singed, kitten.”
Her first look took her breath away.
She wouldn’t acknowledge her astonishment, but she suspected the red heat that suffused her face would give her away. Each page brought a new breathlessness.
“A fairy tale,” she muttered.
“Snow White, I think. One of his favorite themes. Damsels in distress. Well, his second favorite theme, after poking fun at the Beau Monde and the political set.”
“She appears to be in more distress than the original tale. The lyrics are entertaining. And an interesting concept. But what are these? Not, dwarves surely. They are…using her?”
“I’m sure it is with her consent.” Mark came behind her and stood, observing, probably curious about her reaction. “But look at them. Do they not remind you of certain important political figures?”
She gasped at the recognition. “The King? With those appendages and feet? Almost like an ogre. If I had that sort of man pawing at me, I believe I would eat the apple. Happily.”
“What troubles you?”
“It all looks rather uncaring.”
She turned back a few pages. “So, these were drawn from real people?”
“Look again, you might recognize a few more of them. Believe it or not, there are those who enjoy such escapades. And probably have some version of the story in their possession.”
“Does Le Carre do it to mock? If he did this in Russia, he would enjoy a very short life.” She hmpfed and turned another page. “Three men? I’m having trouble entertaining one.”
“What about the bindings? Or the lash?”
She shrugged, unable or unwilling to answer. “There are more of these books?”
“The themes are much the same. Bondage. Titillation. Submission. Ménage.”
She glanced at him. He seemed unmoved and unaffected as he talked of things well beyond her experience. He watched her closely, as if he could discern her desire and need.
“That this activity even has a name…” Katrina closed the book. “May I see another?”
He pulled the next from the shelf, a tome in much the same style. “Robin Hood,” he said.
She couldn’t help but laugh as she flipped through the pages. “Now I know why they were called the Merry Men, but Maid Marian seems anything but. ‘Robin, your arrow doth pierceth the smallest cleft.’ And this one, ‘Cupid’s arrow must always fly to Venus’s mark.’ As a literary work, it leaves much to be desired.”
After a few more pages, she closed the book. He still hadn’t moved.
“You wanted me to see these. Why?”
“There are things I can’t explain.”
“But you could have shown me.”
“Would you like a demonstration?”
She laughed nervously and set the book aside. What she felt had no words. There was an intellectual demand that reasoned it was all unnecessary. And wrong. “If you are doing the demonstrating.”
“It would be more of a joint effort.”
“Mark.” Just his name. She trembled at the thought of such deviations. Could she? Did she really want to?
“It’s only entertainment,” he said, though his voice was husky with need.
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Or not.”
She swallowed back her initial reaction to say no. This was Mark asking. Her lover. Hadn’t she said she wanted to learn everything? But more than that she wanted to please him. “Where do we start?”
* * * * *
They barely spoke as they’d walked back to their shared room. She still carried the Robin Hood book with its awful narrative and peculiar drawings. Once inside, she set the book aside, intending to read it later.
The smell of lavender was sweet
in the air, carried on the wings of the light wind entering the room through the open windows. Or was it the leftover scent from their lovemaking? Katrina focused on the sound of chirping birds flitting outdoors from one branch to another and waited for Mark’s instructions.
Something had changed between her and Mark. They were no longer enjoying just a few pleasurable interludes when they had time.
Their exploration had turned from happy lightness to disturbing darkness. Their curiosity was no longer playful, but serious. They’d had silently agreed to pursue this strange quest for sexual gratification—together.
Katrina wasn’t sure this was what she wanted from Mark, but she was just inquisitive enough to explore the possibilities. The shift was palpable, even her heart had taken to thumping as if it wished to escape her body.
Mark walked to a locked cabinet and twisted the key. He collected a few implements and dropped them in the mess of coverings on the bed.
He swept her rail away, allowing it to fall to the floor. His nostrils flared as he grabbed her and pulled her hard against him. “You’ll do as I say.”
She felt a violent reaction to his demand. It was a command, not a request.
“On the bed,” he demanded.
The bed was still unmade, the covers heaped in messy lumps. She found her place and pulled a light cover over her body.
“No.” He tore it back, exposing her fully. He lifted one of her legs, bending it, and opening her wide. There was a certain thrill, she couldn’t deny it. There was also a distaste that surprised her. And a fear that speared through her chest as if she walked alone on a dark night.
The toys were nearby and Mark lifted one, thick and dangerous looking.
When he pushed a slickened diletto into her body, she clamped down, tightening over the invading phallus. Longing surged through her. She wanted his hands and mouth everywhere, especially at her breasts. Achy tightness spread across her chest. Her sheath and womb throbbed where the thick phallus filled her.
She let go of her worries when Mark bent over her and set his mouth to sucking and licking between her legs. His mouth and tongue worked in conjunction with the hard invader. Long, slow pulses built deep inside. Each stroke was a sweet reminder of the pleasure he could so generously give.
