Chapter Fourteen
Cordon’s legs were wobbly, and there were dry leaves stuck in his jacket. It took a moment to pluck them all free—not that anyone would notice, or care. At this event, evidence of being properly tupped was a badge of honor.
“That’s three items complete,” Cordon said. “Attend a scandalous masquerade, observe a couple engaging in amorous congress in a hedge maze, and watch two ladies pleasure each other.”
“What else is on that list of yours?” Kitty asked.
He chuckled. “Greedy, are you?”
She grinned. “As greedy for money as you are for excitement.”
Well, that was true. He mentally ran through his list. There were still seventeen experiences he wished to have before his death. What Kitty had done with her mouth hadn’t been part of his plans for the night but had come as a welcome surprise.
Then he recalled an item on his list that was easy enough to complete and would be less dangerous at this venue than any other. “There is one more: steal a pair of lady’s bloomers.”
Kitty laughed. “How did you come up with that?”
He couldn’t actually remember. He had compiled most of his list during the days after he’d abandoned his search and returned to London. Those nights had been black with despair, so much so that only Seraphina’s intervention had prevented him from walking into the sun and ending his suffering.
“It is the perfect chance,” he said, pulling her out of the maze and toward the house. “We are disguised, and everyone in the party is out here. All we must do is find a bedchamber, rifle through a wardrobe, and we’ll be done.”
She groaned. “Why did I ever agree to this?” But she didn’t resist as they scurried toward the towering stone structure.
Thankfully, their costumes were light enough that they moved without attracting attention.
Or, at least, that was what he assumed, when no one looked their way or whispered as they passed.
But when they entered the house through the doors to the conservatory, he realized there was another reason.
“Is that what I think it is?” Kitty asked in a strangled voice.
There was a table set up by the French doors that provided a collection of items for the benefit of guests.
Kitty picked up a rather impressive ivory phallus. “Do they truly come in such a size?” She grasped it in both hands and pressed it to her torso. “I cannot believe this would fit.”
He choked as he imagined thrusting it—or himself—in and out of her body.
“It would fit,” he said. He took the phallus, shoved it into his pocket, then grasped her hand and dragged her along.
The gaslights burned merrily, and several of the doors they encountered were closed.
Kitty tried one, turning the knob gently.
When it didn’t open, she pressed her head to the door and opened her mouth. “Oh.”
He couldn’t hear anything but had a good idea of what was going on inside. He led her to the end of the hall and up the stairs. They ascended in silence and came to a second set of rooms.
“Check the drawers.” He approached a walnut armoire, but as he rifled inside, the thrill faded. He had expected to feel like a thief, a criminal. Instead, there was no tension, no fear of being caught.
“Found one,” Kitty said.
He turned. She was holding a pair of bloomers so the legs were floating in the air. They were simple white cotton without lacing or other embellishments.
“Hm, I suppose that will do.”
Task complete.
How boring.
“What now?” she asked.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, he wasn’t sure how to answer. The night was still young. They had plenty of time to indulge before he’d have to take her home.
His gaze landed on a tall mirror across from the armoire, and a wicked idea formed in his mind. He removed the phallus from his pocket and used it to gesture toward the bed. “What do you think? It’s not as exciting as a hedge maze.”
She reached behind her head and removed her mask. Even with the red welts on her cheekbones and nose from where the mask had pressed into her flesh, she was beautiful.
He tossed the phallus onto the bed and met her in a kiss.
“Turn around,” he whispered against her lips. When she did so, he quickly loosened her bodice and lifted it over her head. Her gloves and corset cover were next. Then he tugged the bottom of her corset out from beneath her skirt and unhooked the front, peeling the item away.
“Why not remove the skirt first?” she asked. She shimmied her hips, making the fabric swish.
He grasped her chemise-clad breasts in her hands. “Because I wanted to do this.”
She tilted her head back. “Oh, yes. That is nice.”
He pressed his lips to her nipple, suckling until she moaned and threaded her fingers into her hair. She untied his mask fully, then threw it aside.
He moved his mouth to her other breast. The temptation to pierce her soft flesh was strong, but he hadn’t survived over a hundred and fifty years by being impatient.
He withdrew her head from her chest and reached around her to undo the buttons that would release her skirt. Three petticoats were next, followed by the hoop skirt. Then, at last, she was garbed only in her underthings: chemise, bloomers, stockings, and slippers.
He clasped her hands and drew her over to the mirror, then turned her so faced him. “Undress me?”
She peeled each layer from him with agonizing slowness.
“Why did I design these things to be so difficult to open?” she grumbled as she removed his shirt.
“It extends the pleasure,” he said. As he’d expected, watching her was far better than removing his clothes himself. He drank in Kitty’s expression as each article of clothing came off, hastily thrown into a corner.
Finally, they were both clad only in undergarments, although he kept his gloves. She reached for her stockings. He grasped her hips and shook his head. “Not like that.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind, then walked backward until he fell onto his rear on the bed with her on his lap.
“May I touch you?” he asked.
“Yes!”
He clasped her thighs and spread them apart until all of her was visible in the mirror for him to see through her split drawers. This was a dangerous maneuver because if he weren’t careful, she might see disembodied clothing floating behind her.
“I want you to show me how you pleasure yourself,” he said.
“Here?” She gestured at the mirror. “Like this?”
“Yes.” He smoothed his palms along her legs until his hands were on her inner thighs, bordering her mons pubis. Only his gloves kept him visible in the mirror. He gently spread her outer lips with his index fingers, revealing her entrance and engorged clitoris perched above her inner lips.
“Oh, God, Cordon,” she whispered, but she obligingly placed two fingers on her clitoris, then rubbed in a back-and-forth motion.
His gaze was trapped on that spot, but he kept his hands still on her thighs. His enjoyment came from restraint.
She started off awkward and halting but eventually increased her pace and thrashed against him.
“I… I don’t know if I can do it in this position,” she said. She winced. “I’m usually on my back. Can you… help?”
It was a plea he was helpless to resist.
He lifted one hand to her breast and kneaded.
“Yes, just like that,” she said. She flexed her hips. “More, please.”
He reached behind her, grasped the phallus, then presented it for her to inspect. “Shall I try this?”
Her eyes widened. “Well, I suppose. Yes. Let’s do it.” She continued her motion along her clitoris but tilted her hips.
“Slowly,” he said. He notched the phallus at her entrance, then slid it inside. She was so slick that it went easily. When she was full, panting, rubbing herself with increasing speed, he inched the phallus out, then pushed it back in. “A tight fit, but you are taking it very well.”
“I’m close,” she whispered. “Keep doing that.”
He repeated the motion in long strokes. Not the frantic thrusting of an untried youth, but the controlled movement of a man who knew exactly what kind of pressure and tempo would achieve the best result.
When she cried out and spasmed, he plunged his teeth into her neck.
The moment her blood touched his tongue, he came powerfully, spilling himself like he hadn’t since he’d been a boy.
She tasted like sunlight and fresh honey.
He drank as much as he dared before drawing back, gently removing the phallus, and tossing it on the floor.
Watching her was worth any price. The gentle rise and fall of her chest. Her legs splayed and liquid dripping from her vulva.
Then he spotted a bright-red splotch on his bare thigh. He stiffened and had to stop himself from throwing her off his lap to inspect the rash closer.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He clamored away before she saw him in the mirror. “It’s nothing.”
A heaviness settled in his chest. He coughed, and when that didn’t dislodge it, coughed again into his fist until the rattling eased. When he moved his hand away, his skin was flecked with black blood.