Chapter Two #2
Simon mumbled beneath his breath, his head turning toward the lamp light. Penelope froze, her hand still holding the edge of the coverlet. If he should open his eyes…she would most certainly faint right there on the spot.
Then the unthinkable happened. Simon’s lashes fluttered, and his unfocused, velvety blue eyes fixed on Penelope with unnerving intensity. He looked a bit dazed as he regarded her before speaking in a husky voice that made her knees nearly buckle with fright.
“I haven’t had you before, have I?”
Penelope’s brow furrowed. What on earth did that mean?
She did not respond, deciding it was best to say as little as possible.
Tugging on the blanket, she succeeded in covering his lower extremities, which allowed her to take a proper breath once more.
When she went to step away from the bed, Simon clumsily grabbed her wrist, preventing her escape.
“Did Madam Brussard send you?” Simon’s words were slurred, a frown, his firm lips curving downward in confusion. “What is the extra cost for such service?”
Penelope tingled all over. The way his thumb rubbed the thin skin on the inside of her wrist was intoxicating. Dangerous. Yet she could not find the strength to pull away from him.
Then, dear God, his free hand slipped down to the space between his thighs.
He pushed the coverlet away and, with a low groan, his fingers closed about his shaft.
Eyes slitting with lust, he pumped with lazy intent as he stared at her as though trying to place who she was.
Penelope’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head as that part of him grew and throbbed in the circle of his hand.
Her mouth was so dry it might as well have been stuffed with cotton.
Apparently emboldened by her silence, Simon tugged her closer, his hand around her wrist like an iron manacle.
He might be drunk, but still, he was so much stronger than she.
Pulling until her body blocked the light, his gaze roamed over her features.
No flicker of recognition blazed in the dark-blue depths.
He did not know it was Penelope tending him, and for that small blessing, she was beyond grateful.
His eyes flickered downward to her bosom as he continued pumping his shaft.
That part of him was so much larger now than it was just moments before, and Penelope wondered why that was.
None of the books she’d read over the years, none of the illustrations, could explain the current state of Simon’s body.
Did such things happen to all men? Was this how they managed to procreate?
A shudder rippled through Penelope. She could not imagine how on earth something so enormous could fit anywhere inside a woman, and yet, somehow, it must. How else did women get pregnant?
How exactly did the man contribute to that?
The details of the act itself were still very much a mystery, and she found herself cursing her ignorance on the matter.
“I prefer my women to wear nothing at all when they occupy my bed,” Simon muttered while still working his member. His breath quickened even as his voice grew husky with unspoken frustration.
“You must let me go, my lord,” Penelope whispered. “Please.”
“But why?” Simon yanked her again, and Penelope tumbled on top of him with a whimper. “Have I not already paid good coin for your attention?”
Their faces were now so close that mere inches separated their mouths.
Exhilarated fear pierced Penelope’s heart.
She’d never been so close to him before…
indeed, she’d never been this close to any man.
Her breasts were crushed against his bare chest. God.
He was so hot. Heat rolled off him in waves.
She wanted to snuggle into him, her senses dulled with something insidious and foreign.
How she wished to know the taste and feel of his lips as they moved over hers.
Would they be soft and sweet? Or hard and rough, steeped in bitter alcohol?
The path of her thoughts left her trembling.
Simon’s grip loosened slightly, a smile now lifting the corners of his mouth as he relaxed against the pillows.
“You mustn’t be frightened,” he mumbled, his words softening as the liquor took a greater hold of his senses.
His hand slid away from his engorged flesh, seemingly unaware that it now jutted up from the tangle of the coverlet.
“Unimaginable pleasure will balance any pain I might inflict when I first take you. Remove your gown and join me in this bed…”
As the words trailed off, Penelope’s gaze jerked away from his shaft and settled on his face instead.
He released her completely then, his head lolling back, his eyes closing as unconsciousness overtook him.
Penelope choked on her relief, pulling free of his now slack grip but remaining draped across his body.
She should run from the room. Escape before he awoke once more and took from her what he believed to have been purchased for his pleasure.
But she could not…something made her stay where she was. A whirlwind of madness. Of yearning and undeniable want.
She would never have such an opportunity again.
She was shaking as her mouth brushed his, her lips quivering as they learned the shape and feel of Simon’s.
He tasted of sweet brandy and something much sharper.
The whiskey from the decanter, no doubt.
It was a flavor both contradictory and addictive.
She wanted more, God help her. When her hip brushed his groin, she felt his shaft twitch in response.
Simon murmured sleepily, one hand creeping up to mesh in the hair at the nape of her neck.
Penelope tore herself away, scrambling off his body in a frantic rush that sent her tumbling to the floor. For a second, she sat there on the hard floor, stunned by the fall. Then lurching upright, she pushed to her feet and bolted from the room as though Lucifer himself nipped at her heels.
It wasn’t until she was safe in her room that the truth struck with brutal clarity.
The true devil slept in the master’s bedchamber at that very moment, wrapped in a down coverlet, his head cushioned on the softest of pillows.
His lips were soft as velvet, his body hard as steel, and his voice possessed the seductive allure of a fallen angel.
The Devil’s name was Simon Blackthorne—temptation incarnate and a danger Penelope now realized she could not resist.