Chapter 4 #3
Setting the rum bottle down on the floor at the end of the sofa, I recline with my brow furrowed.
Is Beresford coming back? Did I anger him by touching the other man’s hair?
Or did he notice the expression on my face when I saw the couples fucking?
Does he think I’m too much of a dainty little prude for his lascivious party?
After all the time he spent exchanging glances with me and playing that piano the way he did, is he out there kissing and touching someone else?
The more I think about it, the angrier I get, until I push myself off the sofa and pull my dress over my head. I stand there in my panties and corset, my breasts nearly surging over the corset’s edge with each furious inhale.
He invited me tonight. Focused solely on me. Talked about my soul, for gods’ sake. Made me feel special, only to tote me back here and deposit me like a toy he was finished playing with.
Fuck that.
I whip the curtain outside and stalk out. I see him immediately, leaning against a post about a dozen steps away, with a drink in his hand. A slim young man and a plump woman are cooing over him, touching his chest.
Part of me wants to shrink back behind the curtain. I fear the unknown. I fear him and myself, and I’m half-inclined to yield to all that terrifying uncertainty. But the fire in my heart matches the heat in my body. It’s too intense to allow me to back down.
I stride up to Beresford, waving aside his companions with an imperious certainty I’ve never felt before in my life.
“Go,” I snap at them, and by some miracle, they obey.
I poke Beresford in the chest. “You. How dare you invite me here and then abandon me? Were you tired of me? Or were you upset that I touched someone else? Because I’ll have you know, I didn’t come here for any of these people.
I don’t want to fuck them. I want to fuck you. Just you.”
He lifts his glass casually to his lips. “You made up your mind then. I thought a few moments of solitude might help you figure out what you need. Seems I was right.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Fury or fear can cloud the mind, but they are excellent weapons against each other. Fury tends to cancel out fear and provide a unique kind of clarity.”
“You made me angry on purpose.”
“It was a gamble. You might have remained hidden like a shy flower. But my money was on you blossoming like a fiery rose.”
My cheeks are burning. I gather a fistful of his shirt. “Come with me. Right now.”
“As my lady desires.”
He lets me tow him behind the curtain. I nearly panic, unsure what move to make next, but I decide to lean into the anger and let it be my guide.
Instinct drives me to shove him down on the sofa—though in truth, I wouldn’t be able to budge him at all without his cooperation.
I seat myself on his lap, astride his thighs.
“What now?” he asks.
I bite my lip, uncertain, yet unwilling to admit my inexperience.
“You want this, but you haven’t been with a man before,” he says. “You’re a virgin.”
I avoid his gaze, embarrassment twining with my anger.
“Ignorance is nothing to be ashamed of.” Beresford’s voice is deeper than ever.
“It is merely an opportunity for instruction. All of us were once innocent to the pleasures of the flesh. There is no disgrace in naivete. I am a devourer of knowledge, but I also happen to love teaching. Would you like a lesson?”
Unable to speak, I nod.
He sweeps his fingers through my hair, then cups the side of my neck. A starved delight glows in his blue eyes. “Look at you,” he whispers. “I’ve never had a more beautiful girl on my lap… or a more dangerous one.”
My gaze flicks up to his, my body tightening with caution. “Dangerous?”
He hesitates, as if he’s waiting for me to say more. When I don’t, something shutters in his expression, but he only says, “A gorgeous woman is the most dangerous thing in the world.”
Why do I feel as if that isn’t what he really meant, that he’s only saying it to cover his true meaning?
I don’t have time to ponder it, because both his huge hands have traveled to my waist, and he’s kissing me.
His beard is softer than I expected, framing broad, smooth lips that meet mine with a warm, intimate pressure.
It’s a brief kiss, a test, but the moment it ends, he kisses me again, and this time lightning ignites between our mouths, a bolt snaking down the artery of my throat straight to my heart, bringing it to life in a blinding flash.
I hear the demon appear above us—scrabbling claws and a confused squeak. I don’t look up. I hold Beresford’s head between my hands and keep his lips locked with mine, because at this moment, nothing matters except kissing him.
My skin erupts into crackles of white-hot energy.
I press my body against his massive torso, overcome by the size difference between us and loving it.
He is powerful, and I have power over him.
I sense the control I wield in the desperate clutch of his fingers on my waist, the way his hands start to rove up my back and down to my rear as we keep kissing.
My body wants to melt into him, merge with him, feel his strength in every pore. When he tears his mouth away from mine, I vent a faint, frustrated little scream and try to close the gap again.
“Hungry little beauty,” he rasps, brushing my hair back from my face. “I want you to tell me how you feel right now.”
I hesitate, swallowing. “I’m supposed to restrain myself. I shouldn’t ever let myself get like this—feel like this.”
“Fucking nonsense.” He looks angry for a moment. “Who told you that?”
“Everyone. My family. People I love, who love me. They mean well.”
“They defeat you,” he snarls. “They tame you. You should be forever wild, forever open, like this.”
“What if… things happen,” I gasp, as he begins kissing my throat. “What if bad things… oh gods… fuck…”
“How do you feel?” he growls against my skin. “Tell me.”
“I want you,” I say breathlessly. “You, part of me, underneath me and inside me, crushing me and filling me, holding me together, tearing me apart… you, everywhere.”
“Fuck yes,” he groans. “And here…” His fingers plunge suddenly to the apex of my thighs. “How do you feel here?”
I whimper, humping against his hand.
“Words, baby, words.”
“Hot,” I manage to say. “Wet, and there’s a sort of buzzing, fluttering… please, please don’t stop touching me. Please, please.”
His bearded grin is feral. “Look how you’ve soaked these panties, naughty girl.”
“What about you?” I retort, my cheeks flaming. “How do you feel?”
He releases a raw, shaken laugh. “My cock is aching to be inside that sopping wet cunt of yours. Here.” He takes my hand and presses it over the huge, hard lump between his legs. I can feel the heat of it right through his pants.
I stare into his blue eyes, both of us raw and exposed in our need. “I think we should take our clothes off now.”
“A fantastic idea.”
Clothes are an inconvenience, an irritation, but fortunately he knows his way around a corset and the laces are soon loosened. He pulls it off me. I stand up, ready to shimmy out of the drenched panties, but he stops me.
“Wait,” he says. “I want to enjoy this.”
He kneels in front of me, directing me to set my feet slightly wider apart.
Then he eases the panties down slowly, so slowly that I can feel the soaked fabric gradually peeling away from my wet pussy lips, bit by tiny bit.
The material clings to me, arousal stretching in liquid strings between skin and fabric as he moves the panties down.
“Beautiful,” he whispers. “That’s what I wanted to see.” He puts two fingers against the lips of my cunt and strokes me. “You shaved yourself today.”
I wince, self-conscious about the little bumps the shaving process left behind. “I heard that men like it bare.”
“I would like your pussy any way it was given to me.” He ducks down and licks swiftly between my legs.
A faint scream leaves my lips and I clutch instinctively for his hair, his shoulder, anything to steady myself. “What are you doing?”
“Eating you. Sit down so I can do this properly. Legs wide open.”
“I’ll get the sofa wet,” I protest.
“Good. I hope you soak it in your scent. Sit.”
I obey, sitting down on the sofa and letting my legs fall open. His beard grazes my tender skin and tantalizes my pussy as his tongue travels the length of my cunt. He devours me sloppily, urgently, both hands braced on my thighs.
Then he lifts his head and looks me in the eyes. “Watch my tongue, and imagine how this motion will feel against your clit.”
He waggles his tongue at me lewdly, a darkly wicked look in his eyes. My jaw drops involuntarily as I imagine that motion happening between my legs.
Grinning, he dives down again. For a moment he only breathes against my wet center, making me wait, chuckling when I squirm. “Look at this eager little virgin pussy,” he croons. “It’s gushing, quivering for cock.”
“You’re making fun of me,” I whimper.
“Never.” He presses one finger to my clit as if he’s shushing me. “You’re going to come for me like this first, and then you’ll come again with your cunt wrapped around my cock. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Say, ‘yes, my lord.’”
At this moment, I would say anything he wanted me to. I would kill for him, if only he would move that broad fingertip, wiggle it just a little, and bring me to the peak. “Yes, my lord.”
He grabs my thighs again, buries his bearded face in my pussy, and lashes his tongue back and forth across my clit.
A burst of ecstasy cracks through my body, sending shining ribbons of bliss all the way to the ends of my fingers and the tips of my toes. I choke on a shriek, twisting, hips bucking. He holds me in place, coaxing and caressing, eating me through the orgasm.