18. Chapter 18 #2
Christ, that marriage was going to follow him everywhere. “I did.” He sighed.
“Is all not well?” She surveyed him through clever eyes. “I knew I’d see you again, but I thought it would take much longer. Has Lady David…?”
“We’ve agreed to a modern marriage.”
A single brow arched. “Modern? I see. The rumors that she returned to Paris are true?”
He wasn’t surprised that everyone knew, but he was slightly perturbed. He gave a brisk nod and took another swallow. He didn’t know why he was annoyed. He’d agreed to this, after all.
“Then you are free to…indulge tonight?” she asked hopefully .
He gave a jerky nod because his throat felt too tight for words.
“Of course,” he finally managed. It felt strange to be here.
He didn’t like the unease that crept up his spine and tightened his shoulders.
He reached up to loosen his tie, but Florence caught his arm and unexpectedly kissed him full on the mouth.
She pushed her eager tongue between his lips, then pulled away just as quickly.
“Good, then you must come with me. Things are already getting underway and you nearly made me choose someone else.”
She took hold of his arm, and he followed as she led him to the back rooms of the house.
She had tasted of brandy and there was nothing wrong with that, but he suddenly didn’t want the taste of that in his mouth.
It tasted…wrong. He took another deep swallow of whisky and made a concerted effort to pay attention.
These rooms were meant to be receiving rooms but she’d had them done up in Turkish couches and ottomans nearly wall to wall so there was always a ready and cushioned surface.
Indeed, the rooms were filled with people…
couples, groups of three and four, men and women, men and men, women and women.
There were no archaic social rules here except for consent.
No one batted an eye at any grouping or position.
They made a turn about the rooms which opened one onto the other.
Florence greeted everyone they passed and made certain he had the chance to say hello.
He recognized many people, though others were foreign to him.
Not everyone was engaged in sexual activity yet, but the several that were had a ready audience.
A couple fucked on a long ottoman as he greeted a Spanish ambassador sitting near them, the woman’s cries of pleasure mingling with the music that filtered from the front rooms. Past them, an eager man gave an excellent demonstration of oral copulation on a ready prick as Florence introduced David to those who had gathered to watch .
In the last room, a woman cried out in pleasure as a line of several men took turns servicing her.
David had never been one for sharing, not with a line of other men, but she was brunette and her plump breasts and figure bounced with each thrust and he felt a stirring of interest. He knew it was because she reminded him of Jenny, and he told himself that was normal.
He’d loved fucking her. It only stood to reason that his body would remember and want to recreate that experience in any way that it could.
Edward found them at the foot of the stairs; he was holding the hands of two lovely women.
He introduced them but David forgot their names immediately.
Florence took his hand and led him up the steps to the bedrooms. Edward and his women fell in line behind them.
One room was so full, several people spilled out into the hall to watch whatever was happening inside.
Two men had given into their lust and found the padded bench in the hallway to be sufficient for their needs.
Florence patted a naked buttock as they walked past and complimented the two of them.
It had long been established that sex in thoroughfares meant the attending parties were open to collaborators.
She led their small group into her bedroom, a familiar space with a small sitting room and larger bedroom beyond. It was decorated in various shades of pinks and reds in dramatic fashion, much like the woman who lived here.
“Shall we close the door or leave it open?” she asked David as Edward led his friends to the bed. Guests could find privacy in the rooms up here by closing the door or they could leave it open for voyeurs.
Suddenly the idea of performing sounded exhausting.
Edward and the women giggled and kissed in the background, their slurping noises more annoying than alluring.
Usually after a turn through the house, David was ready to fuck without undressing.
He’d taken Florence on the settee once, breaking it in his haste to find release.
Another time, he’d taken her on the bed, only to have to replace her with another because she’d reached her release when he’d still been going strong.
These parties were the ultimate aphrodisiac.
There was something about watching so many others revel in their pleasure that made him ache.
Now, however, faint and nagging nausea pulled at him. He didn’t feel like being watched tonight. Strangely, he didn’t much feel like sex at all. His earlier interest downstairs had already abated.
“Close it,” he said and tipped the last of his drink into his mouth.
The bed squeaked as Edward and his companions climbed on. Florence took David’s hand and led him to the sofa, where she invited him to sit beside her. He did, but he noted his own reluctance.
She smiled as she leaned over him and set the glass on the table behind the maroon sofa. “I’ve missed you, David.” Her lips were brilliant with red rouge, usually a look that set him off, but dread and not desire coiled in his stomach.
She didn’t seem to notice as she ran her hands over his shoulders and down his chest. Determined to get through this, he helped her push his coat off and pulled his arms from the sleeves.
An eager hand found its way down to his crotch and he nearly jumped out of his skin at the feel of her cupping him.
“What’s wrong?” Her brow furrowed at the unresponsive state of his cock.
He was only barely rigid—a natural response to all that he’d seen tonight and the automatic memory of the last time he was in this room—but he wasn’t getting any harder, no matter how she attempted to stimulate him.
“Are you well?” She gave him a tender look.
He nodded. “Of course. ”
Apparently, he wasn’t very convincing. “Poor David. I know how to take care of you.”
She slid to her knees on the floor and worked the fastenings on his trousers while she nudged at him with her mouth through the thick fabric.
In past encounters, he very much enjoyed her mouth.
She’d taken him that way many times and it was always delightful.
Now, however, his stomach churned and sweat broke out on his brow.
He glanced to the bed, where one of the women had Edward similarly engaged while the other nearly smothered him with her skirts as she sat on his face.
They were all three making sounds of pleasure.
He should be, too. He should have his hands in Florence’s hair, guiding her up and down his rigid length by now as he ground his teeth so he wouldn’t come as fast as he wanted.
But he wasn’t. In fact, he wasn’t even close to that.
When her bare hand reached inside his trousers, he wasn’t hard at all anymore.
There was no excitement, no tingle in his bollocks, no shivering pleasure racing up his spine.
All he felt was nausea and a sickening heat that had him pulling away from her.
He rose to his feet, and she looked on in confusion as he stepped past her to right his trousers.
“My apologies,” he said. “I’m not feeling well. Fish…at dinner…”
“David—”
He couldn’t manage anymore. He yanked the sleeve of his coat, dragging the garment behind him as he fled the room.
He stumbled down the stairs, nearly tripping over his own feet, and out into the cool night air, where he sucked in great gulps.
It proved too thick for his lungs, and he had to try several times before they inflated properly.
His feet didn’t stop until he was so far away he couldn’t hear the music anymore.
Then he hailed a hansom cab, giving the driver his address as he flung himself inside .
His head lolled back against the sticky seat, and he fought against the roiling of his stomach, which had mercifully begun to subside.
He’d have to send Florence a written apology first thing tomorrow.
Perhaps he’d send flowers, too. He’d have a footman deliver them and retrieve his hat and gloves, since he hadn’t bothered to retrieve them.
Under the amber light of the carriage lamp, he glared down at his groin.
Still unresponsive. What in the bloody hell had happened back there?
He’d never been unable to perform. Even when he’d been sick with scarlet fever, he’d been quite anxious to return to his typical activities, though he’d had to wait out his quarantine.
He was feeling better by the time he put his key in the lock.
The house was mercifully quiet since he’d warned the servants against waiting up for him.
Now that the crisis had passed, he briefly debated going back but discarded the idea quickly.
Deep down, he knew his spoiled fish theory wasn’t the reason for his reaction.
Somehow, this tracked back to his wife.
He’d had a general disinterest in sex since her. Well, disinterest wasn’t particularly correct. Disinterest in other partners was more apt. He wanted her again. That was the problem. He needed more time with her to truly eradicate her from his system.
The single wall sconce lit in the front hall illuminated the marble-topped table below it. His gaze caught on the parcel Snowden had attempted to present him. Perhaps working for a couple hours tonight would help settle him. God knows he wouldn’t be able to sleep now.
Picking up the brown paper-wrapped documents, he frowned at the elegant and looping handwriting.
A feminine hand. He didn’t recognize the return address but it was in Paris.
It had been addressed to Lord David Felding at Heathercote and from there another hand directed it to here. A thrill lurched through his stomach .
He yanked off the string in harsh, indelicate motions, and tore the brown paper. He immediately recognized a contract, which he dropped to the table in favor of the smaller parchment that matched the handwriting on the envelope.
Dear Lord David,
Since we are wed, your signature is required on my performance contract. Please sign and return at your earliest convenience. It is due a week hence.
Yours truly,
Jenny Dove
Lord David. She addressed him as if they were mere acquaintances, as if he hadn’t spent an entire night inside her. A pulse of blood darted straight to his cock, lengthening it. He glanced down in annoyance as if he needed to visually confirm the bulge in his trousers.
“That would’ve been convenient a half hour ago, old chap,” he muttered. “You’ve missed your chance.”
His gaze darted back to her letter. He stifled his slight irritation at the use of her maiden name and focused on the due date.
A week hence? That meant the contract was already late.
He’d have to look it over and arrange to have it sent in the morning.
No, he could take it himself. He’d make sure to talk to the production company or solicitor or whomever so she wouldn’t be given trouble for the late delivery.
Maybe, if he were very lucky, she’d missed him as much as he’d missed her and they could reunite for another evening.
The very idea of being with her again made him painfully hard.
Perhaps it was that combined with the earlier stimulation this evening.
He barely stifled a groan as he gripped himself through his trousers and made his way awkwardly upstairs, praying he didn’t pass a servant on the way to his room .
The bedroom door had barely closed behind him before he freed his length and leaned back against it.
Eyes closed, he imagined Jenny’s hand on him, her lips parting for him—Christ, he wanted to devour her mouth—her cunt squeezing him as she came on his cock.
After only a few pumps, he let out a roar as he spent all over his hand, soiling his shirt and trousers.