Portia Da Costa (15 page)

So, much as she refused to admit that she enjoyed the fierce kiss, and wanted more and more and more, Adela redoubled her efforts. And this time, she grabbed at Wilson’s shaggy hair, tugging it until he yelped and let her loose.

“Ooh, you’re a vicious witch, Della. You always fought unfairly.”

“As do you, you towering hypocrite!”

His eyes were still wild, their centers black, pupils dilated. Pulling his hair had only incited him further. He gasped, and shook his head when she released him. “You’ll not do that next time. I’ll shave my head.”

I should be terrified. He’s bigger than me, wiry and athletic and strong, and he doesn’t care about anything.

But it wasn’t fear she felt now. Just a chaotic mix of anger and sudden, overpowering lust. Her body was on fire, every bit of it sensitized, every square inch of skin ready and demanding to be touched. By Wilson. Her breasts ached like fury, and in the pit of her belly, desire ground, a relentless mill wheel, inexorable. The division of her sex was molten, running with the silk that welcomed a man.

“No, you won’t.... Now leave me alone, Wilson. Go away.”

He laughed again, the sound lighter this time, like music in the night air.

“Now who’s the hypocrite?” He reached for her again, with a softer touch, cradling her chin, but delicately. The hold secured her as surely as his fierce grip a moment or two ago had. “You don’t want me to go away. You want me to stay and make love to you. Don’t deny it. I can see it in everything about you. You’re panting for me, cousin.” He paused and licked his plush lower lip in a slow, lascivious stroke. “You’re dying for it...ready for it.” His eyes narrowed. “Is this how you feel when you haven’t visited one of your gentlemen for a while? When your body is racked with lust? You claim that you’re entitled to feel desire just like a man.... Well, if you are, why try to hide what it does to your body?”

Without warning, he plunged forward again. He didn’t grab for her head, or tighten his grip. Adela could have broken free easily. But she didn’t.

She yielded her mouth to his ferocity, let him plunder and taste, batter her tongue and make her jaw ache. All the while drinking in his darkness like the sweetest wine of life.

When he set her lips free again, she could have sworn she’d just swigged down a pint of brandy, soaring on a wave of delirious intoxication, but without the faintest hint of the less pleasant aspects of the grape.

And now she was literally panting. If not for him, from the force of his kiss.

“Do they kiss you like that, your gentlemen? Are they as good as me? Are you thinking about them, and their cocks, when I touch you?” His voice was hard, rough. A trial to answer.

The strange thing was, she’d barely thought about any of them at all while in the vicinity of Wilson. Yuri, Clarence and Lionel, the men who’d answered her needs, were all handsome, accomplished and finely versed in every erotic skill...but none of their caresses, nor their polished techniques, meant anything in the face of Wilson’s raw, primitive force. They didn’t actually kiss much on the lips, but it was difficult to remember any of their accomplishments when her cousin was raging around her like a physical storm and blotting out all thoughts of any other man on earth.

“Do they kiss you?” he demanded, making Adela realize she’d been drifting.

“Yes, they do, of course,” she lied. “And they’re all very good at it.”

“Not as good as me, admit it.... You can’t lie. I can tell.”

He was right, and he knew she knew it. But she wasn’t going to yield quite so easily, even if she wanted to.

“But you’ve barely done anything, Wilson. A little dalliance, a few rather rural kisses... Heavens, you haven’t even fucked me in seven years, and that’s a long, long time.”

He gave her that slow, calculating, almost vulpine smile again, and through the satin of her glove, his fingertip slowly stroked the skin of her wrist. “Ah, but I will fuck you, Della, and I’ll fuck you soon, mark my words.” The finger moved, circling now, and Adela’s clitoris leaped as if he were at work between the lips of her sex. “Maybe not tonight, or tomorrow, but soon...and you’ll be hot and wet and begging for it when I do.”

She was almost on the point of begging for it now.

“No, you won’t, and no, I won’t be.” She wanted to curse because her voice shook a little bit, betraying her lie.

“Why do you talk such nonsense, cousin?” He seemed calmer now, not so wild and out of control. Adela shuddered, recognizing even greater danger. She knew she should rise from the bench, walk away, not look back. She knew Wilson wouldn’t stop her.

But she still couldn’t move, much less leave.

“What does it take to prove to you that you want me? Even if I am just a substitute for your precious gigolos.”

Never that, never that...
they
were the substitutes.

“Let’s get things out in the open, reveal your readiness....” Moving quickly, he plucked at the hem of her gown, and in a panic, Adela grabbed a hank of his hair again as he bent down.

“No, no, no...” Without any effort at all, he prized her fingers from his hair and quickly grasped both her hands in one of his. With his free hand, he deftly loosened his soft tie and flicked it from around his neck, then in a heartbeat, he had her two hands secured, the foulard fastened around her wrists.

“Wilson! You devil!” she cried. “What are you doing?” She flexed against the silk but it wouldn’t yield.

His grin was more playful now, but still dark. Not friendly. “Hush! Do you want me to push my handkerchief into your mouth to shut you up?” He winked. “I have another one handy and I can assure you it’s perfectly clean and fresh from the laundry.”

“No! Don’t do that!” The idea was appalling, and all the more so for the way it excited her. People played such games—binding, gagging...blindfolding—along with the spanking. Activities like that were among the most popular of all at Sofia’s pleasure house, and Adela had sampled from the menu on occasion. But somehow, wearing a silk mask and receiving a few light and playful slaps on the rump from Clarence were a world away from this dangerous dance with Wilson.

Clarence and the other lads were there to serve only her wishes. But Wilson was here to serve Wilson. With a force of will that made even the simplest of games a thousand times more perilous.

“You’ll have to keep quiet on your own, then...or risk summoning an audience when I make you scream with pleasure.”

“Who says you can do that?” she said, knowing that he almost certainly could and would. She was so roused already that her vagina rippled; she could almost feel that long, elegant finger of his inside her again, adamantine while she clamped down upon it.

He gave her a narrow, superior look. “Do you think your paid men are the only ones who know a few tricks? You know what I’m capable of. Didn’t I make you moan this afternoon? And I was barely even trying then.” He held her bound hands in one of his, and cupped the swell of her breast, squeezing the gentle curve that rose from the edge of her corset. “Damned frock...I can’t get to your tits in this. Unless I take my penknife to it. Shall I do that? Carve open your pretty dress and your stupid corset so I can suck your nipples until you can’t sit still anymore?”

Adela shuddered. Her face was hot, despite the cool evening air, and there was sweat trickling in her armpits and between her constrained breasts. Oh, Lord, she wanted him to do exactly what he’d threatened. She wanted him to slice her clothes from her body and kiss her all over. Maybe spank her again, and do it hard, until her bottom was steaming and she was weeping, not from pain but from the gouging need to have his cock inside her. She could see the picture now, just as she might draw it, and how it might be engraved. Her naked white body, stripped, apart from her stockings and shoes. She was kneeling on the dark-painted bench, offering up her rosy rump and her juicy puss to Wilson, and he had his marvelous cock out and was presenting it to her entrance.

“Oh...”

“Do you really want that?” Abandoning her breast, Wilson fished one-handed into his pocket, and brought out the slender knife in its gleaming silver jacket. The blade was completely enclosed, safe in its mechanism, but inside it would be sharp as sharp could be. Wilson was a craftsman in all things and even as a youth had taken pride in having the finest of tools.

“No! This is my best gown...and I don’t have all that many good ones.”

Coward.

“I’ll buy you a dozen gowns, Della. I’ve got plenty of money. Hell, I’ll buy you a thousand dresses. I’ll keep Monsieur Worth busy for a year just for you!” He let go of her hands and toyed with the knife, running his fingers along the casing. It had a fine silver chain and fob, attached to the base, as if it might be worn in the manner of a pocket watch.

“I don’t want anything from you. Leave me alone.”

“You don’t mean that.” He moved close, and even though she tried to push at him with her tied hands, he was unstoppable. “And you do want something from me, at least right now. You want release, Della...you want to spend. And you can’t diddle yourself when your hands are tied, can you?” Slowly, he dangled the penknife between her breasts, in the dip of her dress, and let it slide in while he plunged his face into her décolletage and licked the trembling skin of first one upper slope, then the other.

The sensations were so unusual she gasped aloud. Wilson’s hot tongue, wet against her skin; the silver coldness of the encased knife, dangling between her breasts, its menace resting on the upper edge of her corset where the garment hooked together. His mouth roved, kissing and licking every part of her bosom that was accessible to him. Laughing low in his throat, he bared his teeth, not biting, but drawing their sharp edges over her slight curves.

“You’re aching to spend already, aren’t you?” he whispered, then opened his mouth against a patch of skin just beneath her collarbone, and began to suck, suck hard, pulling, pulling, pulling....

Adela let her head fall back, so weak with lust she could hardly support it. Her body was betraying her completely. Her sex
was
aching. A heavy, grinding ache. Without thinking what she was doing, she sat down hard, pressing herself against the firm wood of the seat, trying to get some ease through the multiple layers of skirt and petticoats and drawers.

“Tut tut tut...not until I grant you pleasure,” murmured Wilson, kissing where he’d sucked, gentling where he’d hurt.

Pitching forward, Adela struggled to see where he’d love-nibbled her. Damn him, there was a purple mark already. She’d have to cover it up with Mama’s shawl.

She glared at Wilson, holding his gaze defiantly and surging against the seat, rocking her hips. It probably wasn’t possible to get any kind of ease that way, but she wasn’t going to stay still just because Wilson told her to.

“I never realized you were such a trollop, cousin. So carnal.... It’s no wonder you need to seek out and pay men to service you, if you have an itch like that in your drawers all the time.” Toying with the silver chain of his knife, which still dangled over the black taffeta of her bodice, he leaned forward and kissed her neck, right beneath her ear. “You don’t need to sell your drawings to earn money for yourself, Della. If you sold your hot, lubricious puss, you’d be the one patronizing Worth. You’d make a fortune.”

“You are despicable and disgusting.” She spat out the words, but what Wilson had said almost made her swoon. Why did the idea of being insatiable make her...
more
insatiable? Being helpless with lust ought to be a shaming experience, but she adored it, and became all the more lubricious at the thought.

Inside her drawers her sex was running like a river. And when Wilson gripped her crotch, pressing on her neediest zone through all the layers of her clothing, she moaned out loud, and knew beyond doubt he comprehended her condition.

“Oh, yes, I’ve got to see the thing.”
Squeeze.
“I’ve got to touch it.”
Squeeze.
“I’ve got to taste it.”

Adela whimpered, hovering at the very point of losing her senses.

“Yes, that’s it, that’s it.” Wilson grinned like Satan himself. “Come on, let’s get this confounded nonsense of petticoats out of the way.”

Taking hold of her by the arm, he urged her up off the seat, then grabbed at the mass of her skirts, behind her, and began hauling them up. Stunned, half out of her mind with desire, Adela let him—even while a reasoned observer somewhere within her seemed to take note that beyond this moment, and ones like it, submission was not in her nature.

Wilson gathered the material of her skirts and petticoats in an almighty bundle at the small of her back. For someone simply gowned and unbustled like Adela, the process was far easier than for a fashionable lady, but it still seemed a strange, dark pantomime. Especially when Wilson wrenched at her drawers, parting the vent at the back and baring her bottom to the night air and the moonlight.

Almost beside herself, Adela buried her blushing face in his shoulder while he fondled her buttocks, one hand still holding her linen, the other roving free, fingering, touching, squeezing. She gulped when he dipped into her puss from behind, paddling in the heavy flow of moisture.

“So wanton,” he purred in her ear. “So uncontrolled...so licentious...” His fingertips palpated her soft inner lips from the rear. “Did you know there are still some reactionary members of the medical profession who think this is an illness in women? A dangerous degeneration?” Wilson touched her entrance, and without any conscious thought, Adela pushed against his hand, her body trying to invite his digit back into her, into the hot channel it had entered earlier in the day.

But he didn’t oblige her. The finger skirted around, not pushing in, not sliding farther. Denying contact with her clitoris. Adela moved again, trying to knock him toward the tiny aching organ, but he said, “No, no, not until I say so, wicked minx.”

Dying of frustration, she thumped him with her bound hands.

“Now, now...don’t be naughty,” he chided. “You’re out of control, Della...what these doctors would call a hysterical woman. Do you know what the fashionable treatment is for this supposed malady?” He flicked at her inner lips again, making her almost want to scream.