The Wife #4
Between my thighs, my core dripped arousal, and I squeezed them together as I lifted my chin and pulled my sleeping gown over my head.
The valet’s voice was a velvet command, rich and dark, and it sent a shiver down my spine. “Climb up on the bed, milady. Kneel over your husband’s mouth.”
I froze. My body trembled, my mind racing. Kneel over his mouth? The words echoed in my skull, but they didn’t make sense. Robert’s mouth had never been there before. He had kissed me, yes, and touched me, but there? With his tongue?
Bramstock’s dark eyes flicked to mine, then down to Robert, who was still lost in his own pleasure, his cock hard in his fist. “Has he never done this for you, milady?”
My face burned. I shook my head, mute.
A tsk of disapproval. The sound was soft, but it cut through me like a blade. “I’m disappointed in you, milord.”
Robert’s eyes snapped open, his gaze unfocused but hungry. He blinked up at me, his lips parted, his breath ragged. The valet’s fingers tightened around his wrist, pulling his hand away from his cock. “You’ve been neglecting your wife.”
Robert groaned, his hips twitching as Bramstock’s cock remained buried inside him. “I—”
“No excuses.” The valet’s voice was sharp, his grip unyielding. “Pick up the book, milady, and turn to page seventy-nine.”
My fingers fumbled as I bent to retrieve A Harlot’s Guide to the Forbidden and Delightful Arts from where it had fallen. The pages rustled as I flipped through them, my pulse pounding in my ears. I could feel both men’s eyes on me—Robert’s glazed with desire, Bramstock’s dark and commanding.
“Now,” the valet ordered, “read aloud what you find.”
I swallowed, my throat dry. The words on the page blurred for a moment before snapping into focus.
“The Invasion of B-Brussels,” I began, my voice unsteady. “In this most intimate of acts, the gentleman—”
“Louder,” Bramstock interrupted, his tone brooking no argument.
I cleared my throat, my cheeks flaming. “The gentleman, or lady, may employ the tongue to great effect upon the lady’s—”
My voice faltered. I couldn’t say it. Not here. Not with Robert staring up at me, his breath coming in hot pants, his wrist still in another man’s hold as his cock twitched with need.
Bramstock’s voice was steel. “Keep reading, milady.”
I forced myself to continue, the words stumbling from my lips. “The lady’s cunny, her delicate lower lips. The tongue may trace the petals, the folds, the very entrance itself, and—”
I trailed off again, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The image was too vivid—Robert’s mouth on me, his tongue doing those things, his fingers—
“Continue,” the valet snapped.
I jumped, my fingers tightening around the book. “And the gentleman may find great pleasure in the lady’s taste, her scent, the way her body responds to such attentions. A lady may be well-pleasured in this manner several times before or after intercourse, depending on her lover.”
“Yes.” Bramstock’s voice cut through my stumbling recitation. He released Robert’s wrist with a dismissive flick, his dark eyes burning into mine as he spoke to my husband. “Your wife has never experienced cunnilingus, milord. You’re going to make her come before I allow you to come again.”
Robert moaned, his body arching beneath Bramstock’s. “Yes—right away!”
The valet’s lips curled in something almost like a smile.
“Climb up here, Louisa,” Robert panted, his hands reaching for me, his fingers digging into my thighs. “Let me taste you.”
I hesitated. My body trembled. This was too much. Too intimate, too filthy.
But then Bramstock’s voice, low and commanding, cut through my hesitation. “Do as your husband says, milady.”
It was the way he sneered my title, as if everything I’d worked for—marriage to an earl, mistress of this fine estate—meant nothing to him. I found myself suddenly willing to do anything he commanded, to earn his regard, and that of my husband.
And I was moving, my knees sinking into the mattress as I crawled over Robert’s body. My arse was pointing at his face, but his hands guided me, urging me backward until I was straddling him, my thighs spread wide, my most private place exposed to his mouth.
The position was awkward, my weight balanced on my knees, my hands flapping about uselessly. I could feel the heat of his breath against my flesh, the tickle of his whiskers against my inner thighs.
My core was throbbing, slick with arousal, and I knew he could see it, could smell it.
“Mmm,” Robert groaned, his breath hot against me. “You’re so wet for me.”
I gasped as his tongue slid along my cleft, slow and deliberate. The sensation was obscene—his mouth on me, his tongue parting my folds, tasting me. I swayed, my body already trembling.
“Touch yourself,” Bramstock commanded, and blindly, I did. I lifted my hands to cup my breasts, to heft them. When I caught my nipples between my thumb and forefingers and gave them a little tug, I saw the valet’s eyes darken with desire as he reached for the small bottle of oil.
Robert licked my—my cunny as his valet poured oil over his cock and slid deep into his arsehole once more.
It was depraved. It was delicious.
I could feel every touch of his tongue, every stroke, every flick. Robert was lapping at me like I was the finest delicacy, his hands gripping my thighs, holding me open for him. I could feel his breath, hot and ragged, as he devoured me.
And through it all, Bramstock held my gaze, refusing to allow me to look away.
“Oh—God—” I gasped, my hips jerking against his mouth. His tongue flicked my clitoris, fast and relentless, and I cried out, tugging on my own nipples. “Robert—!”
He groaned against me, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through my body. His fingers slid lower, one pressing into my entrance, curling just right, while his tongue lashed my clit.
I was going to come. It was what I’d been chasing since the moment I’d sat in his chair in his library and read his dirty little secret.
“Don’t stop,” Bramstock growled, his hips snapping forward, his cock pounding into Robert. “Make her scream.”
Robert’s tongue flattened, dragging through my folds before circling my clit again. His fingers pumped inside me, his thumb pressing against that sensitive spot inside my channel. I could feel my orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter, my body trembling with the effort of holding back.
“Louisa—” Robert’s voice was muffled against my flesh, his breath hot. “Come for me.”
And I did.
My back arched, my cry tearing from my throat as my climax crashed over me. My thighs clenched around Robert’s head, my hips grinding against his mouth as wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through me. I could feel his tongue, still working me, drawing out every last shuddering pulse.
I was still coming when I lost my balance, my body too overwhelmed to stay upright. My palms hit the mattress, my fingers curling into the sheets as I tried to catch myself. Robert’s cock was right there, inches from my face, hard and leaking, his body trembling beneath me.
I ground my cunny against his mouth, feeling him gasp as he reached for his cock, his fingers closing around it. Instead of watching him stroke himself to the climax he desperately yearned for, I tipped my head back to meet his valet’s eyes.
Bramstock’s gaze was approving, which made me grind against my husband’s tongue even harder, my orgasm still stretching—
And then, with a gasp, Robert was coming again, his release spilling across his stomach with a broken groan, his hips jerking as Bramstock fucked him through it.
I stayed there, panting, my body still throbbing with aftershocks, watching the face of the man who now commanded me.
Bramstock’s lips curled and his voice was a dark purr. “Good girl.”
And something inside me soared.
Without warning, he pulled away from Robert with a slick, wet sound, and my husband whimpered at the loss. The valet’s chest was still heaving, a sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. He gave a short, sharp nod of approval, his dark eyes meeting mine.
“Lie beside your husband, milady.”
The command was curt, brooking no argument.
I obeyed, my limbs still trembling with the aftershocks of my climax.
I crawled off Robert’s face and rolled, settling onto the mattress beside him, my body sinking into the rumpled sheets.
Robert turned to face me, his hand immediately finding my arm, stroking the sensitive skin there with featherlight touches.
He hummed, a low, contented sound, and sighed against my shoulder.
He didn’t speak. I could feel his breath, warm and ragged, against my skin.
Was he embarrassed I’d seen him like that?
Ashamed to include me? Or simply too lost in the haze of pleasure to form words?
I did not know. I could not bring myself to care.
My husband had just performed The Invasion of Brussels on me. His mouth had been on my cunny, his tongue inside me, and it had been magnificent. The most exquisite pleasure I had ever known.
But he had only done it because Bramstock had told him to. That thought should have disturbed me, but instead, I felt a heady sort of power.
I told myself that even though Bramstock had been in command, it had still been my husband who’d touched me, brought me pleasure. I hadn’t done anything too wicked, because the law and the church said I was supposed to sleep with Robert.
Yes, I told myself that, and I ignored the part of me which was disappointed in the realization.
Robert’s hand moved down my arm, his fingers tracing the curve of my waist, my hip. His touch was gentle, reverent almost, and it made my body tingle. But my eyes were not on him. They were fixed on the valet.
Bramstock had moved to the basin on Robert’s dressing table. He poured water from a ewer into the bowl, then picked up a cloth and a bar of soap. He lathered the cloth, the scent of sandalwood and something else—something clean and sharp—filling the air.
Then, with quick, efficient movements, he began to wash his cock.
I watched, transfixed.