Simply Wicked

18

“Ah, there you are, Lady Justin. Or may I call you Marguerite? We are practically related.”

Marguerite halted at the entrance to the snug kitchen. Lord Minshom sat by the open fireplace, an earthenware mug cradled in his hands, one booted foot propped up on the scrubbed pine table. There was no sign of the real occupants of the lodge, although a fire burned in the hearth and a kettle steamed on the stove as if waiting for their return.

“Where is Sir Harry?”

“Oh, he’s not here yet. He’s supposed to arrive tomorrow evening on his way back to the coast.”

“Then why did you ask me to meet you here?”

Lord Minshom leaned back in his chair and stared up at her. The smile in his eyes died. “To see if you were capable of obeying orders. Many women promise much and fail to deliver.”

Marguerite fingered the knife in her pocket, trying to remember all the places she might wound an unsuspecting man and render him helpless.

“Well, I’ve proved I’m punctual, so I’ll bid you good night.”

Minshom slowly shook his head as if admonishing a child. “There’s no need to be so abrupt. Don’t you want to share some of this excellent coffee with me? I’m sure you’re chilled from your walk.”

“Not really.”

“You don’t like me, do you?”

“I don’t trust you, sir.”

“Fair enough.”

Marguerite tensed as Lord Minshom got to his feet. Even though he wasn’t a particularly big man, the small kitchen seemed to shrink around her.

“Isn’t there anything you’d like to ask me about, say Anthony Sokorvsky, for example?”

“Any explanations I need can come from him.”

“So he hadn’t told you much about our relationship then?”

“He’s told me everything I need to know. That it is in the past.”

“And you believe him?”

“Yes.”

He chuckled. “And if I tell you that as far as I am concerned, I still own him, will that change your opinion?”

“You cannot ‘own’ another person, sir.”

“Really? Not even if they offer themselves to you, body and soul?”

Marguerite took a step back and came up against the door frame. “No, sir.”

“We’ll have to see about that, won’t we?” Lord Minshom observed her through narrowed eyes, and she tensed for flight. “Perhaps you and I can sit down and work out a more civilized arrangement. It’s not as though Sokorvsky would mind being shared, is it?”

“Good night, Lord Minshom.”

He blew her a kiss. “Good night, Marguerite. I’ll expect you tomorrow at the same time.”

“And will Sir Harry be here?”

Minshom shrugged. “You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”

Marguerite turned on her heel and left with as much dignity and speed as she could muster. Fear trickled an icy path down her spine as if she feared a knife or a shot in the back. Minshom was indeed a devil. She hardly knew him, and yet she was slightly afraid of him. If Anthony had really been in his clutches, how had he survived?

She slowed to a walk as the sturdy walls of the main house came into view. She needed Anthony to help her deal with Lord Minshom, but after her earlier panicked dismissal, did she still have the right to ask for his aid? If she went to him now, explained herself and told him the truth, would he turn from her in disgust?

She twisted her hands together. Why was it so hard to make up her mind? She really needed to stop vacillating. It wasn’t surprising that no one took her seriously.

Marguerite took a deep breath and stared up at the outline of her bedroom window. For the first time in her life, she didn’t want to wait to confront Anthony; she was tired of waiting for people to acknowledge her. She opened the back door into the house and headed straight up the servants’ stairs. Despite the relatively short time since her departure, the house was quieter and more settled.

A faint light flickered under Anthony’s door. Marguerite whispered a prayer of thanks. She’d go into her own room, change into her night things and risk Anthony’s wrath by invading his room through the connecting door between them. At least she wouldn’t have to stand out in the hallway knocking and quietly begging to be let in.

She undressed quickly, warmth stealing over her as her body adjusted to the temperature of the room and shook off the coldness of the night. Should she take her hair down? She glanced at her pale reflection. Of course she should. If she was pretending she’d woken up and come to Anthony’s room in a sudden fit of remorse, she’d better look as if she had been sleeping.

Her fingers closed around the handle of the door that separated their suites. To her surprise, the latch clicked open before she could even insert the key. Had she forgotten to lock it after all, or had someone been into her room? She pushed the door until she could see into Anthony’s room, relieved that it didn’t creak.

Only one candle illuminated the space. Anthony sat by the fire, his face in profile. His white cravat and coat hung over the back of the chair and his boots had been kicked off. Gathering all her courage, Marguerite stepped into the room, the wooden floor cold on her bare feet until she reached the comfort of the fireside rug.

“Anthony?”

He didn’t look up, just continued to stare into the fire, one hand moving rhythmically in the shadows of his groin. Marguerite moved closer until she faced him and could see exactly what he was doing. His fingers were wrapped around his erect cock, which was itself wrapped tightly in leather straps.

“What are you doing?”

“You informed me that you were unavailable so I decided to pleasure myself.”

Marguerite bit her lip at his flat tone. “You do not seem to be enjoying it.”

His smile wasn’t reassuring. “Trust me, I am.”

She gestured at the tight binding around his cock. “It looks painful.”

“It is.”

“Is this for my benefit? Who exactly are you punishing? Am I supposed to feel guilty because I wouldn’t let you into my bed?”

He shrugged. “If you like. It’s as good a reason as any to excuse my perversions.”

“I wanted to talk to you, but perhaps I should wait until the morning.”

“Perhaps you should.”

The anger and frustration she hadn’t dared to show Minshom coalesced like a fist in her chest. There was obviously no other way to get his attention than to finish this. She stepped between his open thighs and grabbed his wrist, stilling his movements.

“Unless you’d rather I helped you ‘enjoy’ yourself?”

He raised his head and looked at her for the first time. Lust and anger swirled in his blue gaze, held her prisoner and made her swallow hard. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because I’m sorry for walking away from you this evening? Because I want to see how you taste?”

He shuddered so violently she felt it through her fingers on his wrist.

“Do what you want.”

Marguerite sank to her knees and stared at his straining leather-clad shaft and balls. Pre-cum seeped through the strips, darkening the leather, especially at the crown. She touched the strap that curved under his balls.

“Where did you find the leather?”

“In my luggage.”

“You brought the straps with you for this purpose?”

“No. It’s simply a spare strap used to secure luggage in the curricle. It just happened to suit my needs.”

“Ah.” Marguerite leaned closer, inhaling Anthony’s scent and the muskier tones of the leather. His politeness ignited something fierce inside her. She was tired of being ignored, of being overlooked. Whatever was going on, she was determined to get his full attention.

With deliberate slowness, she licked a path from his balls up his shaft and circled his crown. His breath hissed out as she nibbled on the leather. She took her time then, investigated every gap in the leather with the tip of her tongue, sucked on the ties at the base of his cock, tugged at them until his hips lifted off the chair toward her mouth. His hand fisted in her hair.

“God, Marguerite.”

“Don’t touch me.”

She waited until he subsided back into the chair, until his hands returned to grip the arm rests. She had his attention now in every quivering inch of his cock. And, mon Dieu, she liked it, she liked ordering him around. Could she make him beg?

Anthony gripped the arms of the chair until his fingers hurt. Marguerite’s tongue flicked out again, and he tensed and then groaned as she licked a lascivious trail around his balls. She inserted a finger behind the constraining leather strap, tightening it further, adding more strain to his desperately aroused cock.

It wasn’t supposed to have happened this way. He’d fully intended to wait until morning and confront her when he was calmer, when his completely foreign wave of anger and possessiveness had died down. But she’d come to him, caught him at his most vulnerable and totally surprised him.

She tightened her fingers on the leather around his balls, bringing his shaft away from his belly, causing his blood to pump so hard he felt it in every tortured breath. Not that he should be surprised. She’d constantly proved that there was far more to her than superficial beauty. Wasn’t that exactly why he liked her so much? Would she like it if he begged? He swallowed a moan. He was about to find out.

“Please, Marguerite.”

She didn’t stop the torment, took the first inch of his tortured cock inside her mouth and sucked. He couldn’t help the surge of his hips, the instinctive urge to thrust deeper, for her to take all of him.

“Please . . .”

She folded her fingers around the base of his shaft and swallowed the rest of him. Heat seared through his cock, his groaning echoed every pull of her mouth as she forced his cum up his shaft to explode into her mouth.

“God . . .”

He shuddered and writhed as his pumping cock fought the conflicts of the binding to completion, to satisfaction, to utter bliss. He collapsed back into his chair, his breathing ragged, his heart thumping so hard it threatened to burst from his chest.

Marguerite sat back and wiped her hand over her mouth. He didn’t dare look at her, concentrated on untying the leather strap and using his handkerchief to clean himself off.

“Should I go back to bed now?”

He stopped. He knew he had to look at her and confront her with his painfully acquired knowledge. “Back to bed?”

Her eyes widened. “You unlocked the door, didn’t you? Were you spying on me?”

“Actually I was trying to help your maid. You locked her out. She had a key to the internal door, which I allowed her to use.”

He was proud of the calmness of his voice after such erotic intimacy, after she’d lied to him.

“So which one was it? Charles or Minshom?”

Marguerite got to her feet and retreated behind the chair opposite his, one hand clenched on the top of the delicately carved frame.

“Minshom.”

Fury shot through him. “Really? Did he teach you how to do that?”

“Suck a man’s cock?” Marguerite raised her chin. “I already knew how to do that, and you know it.”

Anthony managed a dismissive smile. “Was he any good?”

“At what?”

“Fucking.”

She glared at him for so long he thought he’d go blind. “Do you really think I’d sleep with him?”

“Why not? You sleep with me.” God, had he really said that? Was he comparing himself to Minshom, competing with him?

Marguerite briefly closed her eyes as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. But he wasn’t ready to apologize to her yet. She was the one who’d lied to him, had consorted with his worst enemy.

“I didn’t touch him. I’m afraid of him.”

Anthony went still. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I’m afraid of him. I was hoping you’d be able to help me.”

“That’s why you asked me to accompany you down here, to help you with Minshom?” He laughed. “Then why lie to me and go off and meet him by yourself?”

She met his dismissive gaze, her eyes desperate. “Because I didn’t realize he would actually be a guest at this house and that he would try to create discord between us. I thought to meet him privately. And I hoped I wouldn’t have to ask for your help.”

While he thought about her words, Anthony took a moment to tuck his cock away and button his breeches. “Is he your lover?”

“Of course not! Didn’t you hear what I said?”

“I’m afraid of him, and he’s fucked me.” She didn’t look surprised by that revelation. God knows what else Minshom had said about him. But she was here, wasn’t she? She’d come to him despite everything.

“Is Minshom blackmailing you?”

“Not really.”

He gestured at the chair opposite him. She sighed and came around to sit in it, drew her knees up and encircled them with her arms.

“Then why did you meet with him?”

“He knew Justin.”

“So?”

“He also knew Sir Harry Jones. Apparently, Harry is back in the country.”

“And Minshom claims to know where he is.”

She half-smiled. “Exactly, and he said he would arrange for me to speak to Harry.”

“Ah . . .” Anthony stared down at his clasped hands and addressed them rather than Marguerite. “And why is it so important for you to speak to Sir Harry?”

“Because he was there when Justin died.”

“Do you think he has the answers you seek?”

“I don’t know, but I have to talk to him, have to try . . .”

He looked up again, heard the strain in her voice, the misery that the years had failed to extinguish. Despite all his reservations about her consorting with Minshom, he could understand that need. God knows he’d lived every agonizing empty minute of it with his father after Valentin’s kidnap and his eventual return.

“Do you trust Minshom?”

“Non. That’s why I asked you to come with me.”

“But as I’m sure Minshom has already pointed out to you, I am not exactly a hero.”

“Do you think I would believe anything Minshom said to me?”

He smiled at her indignant expression and reached across to take her hand. “I’ll help you.”

“Thank you. I know after the way I treated you at dinner I don’t deserve it.”

“I’m beginning to understand that having me in your bed when you were attempting to meet Minshom might have been a little inconvenient.”

Her answering laughter was almost a sob. “Oh God, Anthony, I was so frightened . . .”

He stood up and pulled her into his arms, bringing her back to sit on his lap. “I assume, since you are still asking for my help, that he didn’t produce Sir Harry?”

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “He didn’t. I wasn’t even surprised. I’m not sure if he intends me to meet with Harry at all.” She shivered. “It’s as if he likes to play with people, to watch them suffer like a cat with a mouse.”

Anthony stroked her hair and drew her even closer. “I’ll be with you next time, I promise, whether Sir Harry turns up or not.”

She sighed and cuddled close. “Thank you.”

He kissed the top of her head. He should be thanking her. She’d given him an opportunity not only to help her come to terms with her past, but to finally show Minshom he was a lot stronger than he looked.

“Will you come to bed with me now, Marguerite?”

She touched his cheek. “I’d like that.”

He smiled into the darkness as warmth coalesced around his heart. “I’d like that too.” He slid a hand around her neck and tilted her face up to meet his. When he kissed her, he caught a hint of leather and his own cum on her lips and was instantly hard.

Marguerite sighed and kissed him back, her tongue tangling with his, her fingers settling into his hair. He picked her up, walked across to the big four-poster bed and placed her gently in the center. She watched him pull off his shirt and step out of his breeches. After the strain of the leather binding, his cock was overly sensitive, but he didn’t care. This was about Marguerite’s pleasure, not his own. This was about learning what pleased her.

“I want you, Marguerite.”

He knelt on the bed and simply stared down at her. Her long hair was spread out around her, and her dark eyelashes were lowered to conceal her expression. Anthony brushed his fingertip over the curve of her cheek and traced the edge of her mouth. Went lower to her throat and then circled her nipple through the thin muslin of her nightgown.

She sighed as he increased the pressure of his fingertips, drew the small nub tight before sucking it into his mouth. She liked that, her body arching into him. In truth, so did he. Not all men were so responsive. His fingers found her other nipple, worked that to a hard pulsing tip too, before he used his mouth to make it even harder.

He raised his head, saw that she was watching him and returned to kiss her mouth. Her tight nipples grazed the hair on his chest as she moved in rhythm with him. He pushed his knee between her thighs, pressed it to the intimate flesh he intended to arouse to the point of ecstasy. Soon her sex softened and creamed for him, the damp fabric of her nightdress riding up on his knee.

“Can I take this off you?”

In answer she sat forward, allowed him to pull the voluminous garment over her head and toss it to the floor. Even in the dim candlelight, her body looked magnificent, her breasts high, her waist small enough to encompass with his hands, her sex . . . His throat dried as he contemplated that neat triangle of hair. Such delights she concealed, such softness and strength, such feminine weapons to make a man scream and beg for release.

He kissed her flat stomach, nuzzled her belly button and moved lower, using the tip of his tongue to lick at her already exposed clit. She didn’t stop him when he crawled between her legs and spread them wide enough to accommodate his shoulders. He kissed her sex again, his lips meeting hers, his tongue spreading them to sample the delights of her wet and welcoming channel.

He drew back to look at her, saw her fierce concentration on what he was doing, the way her hands clutched at the bedclothes, the shallowness of her breathing. Perhaps it was time to push her a little, to discover the extent of her sexual curiosity, to allow her the freedom to express what she needed from him—things he suddenly realized he’d never been allowed to do, his sexual tastes dictated and forced by the demands of others.

“You enjoyed sucking my cock, didn’t you?”

“Of course.” Her voice was so soft, her smile so intimate, that his cock jerked and filled out even more.

“You enjoyed seeing me bound as well, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” She licked her lips as his fingers traced a lazy path around her clit, stroking and petting it, making it swell even more.

“It’s a shame you don’t have a cock. I think I’d enjoy tying it up.” He slid one finger inside her and withdrew it, repeated the slow penetration as he talked. “Watching you come against your bindings, watching you beg me to give you release.”

She shuddered as his thumb covered her clit, joined the slow rhythm of his lone finger.

“I’ve seen something you might enjoy though.” He flicked her swollen clit, pinching it between his finger and thumb until she moaned. “Perhaps you’ve already tried it at the pleasure house.”

“Tried what?” She gasped as he added another finger, her body stretching to accommodate him, to draw him deeper.

“A clamp here.” He touched her pussy lips. “Or here.” He circled the fingers already working her clit. “I understand that it has a similar effect to the leather straps. It keeps you stimulated and aroused. Perhaps we should try that when we next visit the pleasure house. I like the thought of you decorated like that.”

She came hard against his two embedded fingers, grabbed at his arm, dug her nails deep as she cried out. He didn’t stop working her, added a third finger and lengthened the stroke of his movements until the palm of his hand met her pussy with every stroke.

“I’d like to see you come for me like that. Even better, I’d like you to wear the clamps for me all evening so that I could touch them whenever I wanted and drive you wild. I’d make you wait until I had my mouth and fingers on you, make you beg before I’d take them off and fuck you.”

He glanced up at her, saw her eyes were closed, her mouth a tight line as a second climax approached. He drew his fingers out until they were barely inside her, bent his head to suck her clit into his mouth and heard her scream as she came again, her thighs clamping around his head while she bucked against him.

He struggled free and stroked his cock, brought it close to her wet sex and rubbed the crown against her clit.

“Do you want me?”

“Yes.” Her terse response aroused him almost as much as the cream pouring from her sex. He placed his aching cock at the entrance to her channel, pushed in a half inch and held still. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

He smiled down at her. “Touch your breasts for me, make your nipples hard.” Her hands cupped her breasts, her thumbs settling over her rosy nipples. She sighed as she touched herself, making Anthony’s cock twitch and jerk, to demand completion inside her. He wanted to flood her sex with his seed, make her his, show her that no other man would love her the way he did.

Despite his possessive thoughts, or perhaps because of them, a drop of common sense forced its way to the surface of his fevered mind.

“Do I need to pull out?”

“Non.” She opened her eyes to stare at him, her hands stilling on her breasts. “Are you making love to me or not?”

Some perverse demon made him continue. “You came prepared to seduce me, then.” He held still, his cock barely inside her. “Did you think it was the only way to persuade me to help you?”

He flinched as she shoved at his chest and rolled away from him in a flurry of bedclothes.

“Yes, of course, that’s exactly what I did. How could you doubt it?” She grabbed the sheet, clutched it to her breasts. “Do you really think that’s all I came for? Do you really believe that’s all you are to me?” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, tugged at the sheet until it followed her and wrapped it around her body.

Anthony sighed and stood up too, spreading his hands wide. “Marguerite, don’t do this, don’t . . .”

“Don’t what? Leave?” She looked magnificent in her rage, hair tumbling down her back, blue eyes flashing, cheeks flushed with arousal. “As I’m only interested in fucking you to get what I want, and I’ve done that, why shouldn’t I leave?”

His temper stirred and rose to meet hers. He blocked her exit, put his hands on her shoulders and made her face him. She made him angrier than any woman he’d ever met, but she wasn’t afraid of him. What the hell could he say to stop her walking out? He took a deep shuddering breath.

“I’m not used to trusting anyone.”

“So?”

“I’m used to being fucked and forgotten.”

Marguerite continued to stare at Anthony, one hand wedged between them, gripping the sheet, her knuckles jammed against his chest. He took another breath, lowered his head until his forehead rested on the top of her head.

“I’m not used to someone . . . to anyone, wanting to be with me without expecting something in return.”

Now she felt guilty, because in a way, he was right. She’d come into his room quite prepared to do anything to make him help her again, not thinking that he might view her panicked response in a more cynical, yet so vulnerable, light.

“You’re right. I did want something from you.” He stiffened and made as if to step back. She brought her hand around the back of his neck to keep him close. “But it wasn’t just about the sex. I simply wanted to be with you.”

He sighed. “God, I’m sorry. I’m woefully inadequate at this. I’m used to dealing with men who simply want to fuck me and walk away.”

Marguerite closed her eyes at the bleakness of his tone. How horrible to see making love in terms of being forced, not considered or cared about. It sounded as if he was talking about little more than prostitution.

She pushed at his chest until his head came up, and then stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “I don’t really want to leave. Perhaps you can persuade me to stay?”

His arms locked around her, and he deepened the kiss, picked her up until her sex was crushed against the hardness of his shaft and held her there. She squirmed against him, her recently doused passion quickly reignited as his kisses became rougher, his thick cock slippery and wet with pre-cum.

She wrenched her mouth away from his. “Please, don’t fuck me; make love to me.”

In answer, he backed her up against the wall and slid his cock inside her, began moving hard and fast. She grabbed onto his shoulders, anchored her feet on his hips and held on, allowing him to dictate the pace, the urgency, the frantic drive for completion.

As she climaxed, she hoped he knew that this was nothing to do with commerce and everything to do with emotion. She hoped he knew that she wanted him too so badly . . .