Saffina's Season (8 page)

I nipped his earlobe as I slid down his magnificent body and fell to my knees. “But if you muzzle me, my lord, how can I do
this
?”

I kissed the glossy head of his crown, letting the soft inner parts of my mouth caress it for a moment to signal my need, then took him deep. For long seconds he sat very still, then he pulled away with a groan.

“Come back up here. You looked so ravishing tonight that I owe you a treat.”

I threw my head back and laughed for pure joy. “Indeed, sir? And how will you manage that, sitting so deeply in an armchair?”

The twist at the corner of his lip should have warned me, but I sensed his purpose a second too late to wriggle out of reach. As I tried to slip playfully off his lap, he grabbed my wrist.

“Going somewhere, ma’am? I think not,” he growled. “Climb back and sit up here. Hold the chair-back to balance.”

With a grunt he hoisted me up to his shoulders and pushed his body downward a little so he half lay in the chair. He heaved my thighs up to either side of his head and buried his head in the twitching, burning place where my thighs parted over his face.

I shrieked in delight as he fastened his mouth on my needy, swelling folds and plundered my most sensitive places with his tongue, teasing with its tip, sweeping with its length until I thought I should faint with pleasure. Time and again I juddered to within a whisker of climax, only for him to ease away, laughing, reach up to knead and pinch my breasts, then pull me back onto him with a snarl and start over.

Soon I was laughing and weeping both together, clutching onto the chair for dear life, desperate for release and endlessly denied, longing to come but at the same time happy to perch there for hours. At last he pulled away for the last time, as my pleasure rippled closer than ever to my peak and ebbed way again.

I writhed in frustration, clutching at his hair.

“Finish me, sir, I beg you. This is torture.”

“
Finish
you? Deuce no. We’ve hardly started. Get back on your knees. My turn now.”

This time I set to with a will. Soon he filled my mouth with his hot, hard cock, the silky skin sliding easily through my willing lips, its hard length filling my lusty throat far sooner than I’d have wished. His tool was so proud and tight now that I found it harder than ever to reach his root, missing time and again as I strained to please.

He ran his fingers along my tense, bulging cheek. His tenderness, and the flames raging in my now agonized little bud, threatened to flip my mood into weepy distress.

“Saffina?” His soft whisper was all it took.

With a sob I surged back up his body and buried my face in his neck. “You are too cruel, sir. Let me come. I beg you. Your monster is too large for me to swallow.”

His laugh filled me with joy as he took my chin in his hand and kissed me softly on the lips.

“You just paid me the finest compliment a female can bestow,” he murmured fondly. “I find your soft, moist lips irresistible. I insist you finish me later. For now, I’ll grant your wish. Sit.”

With a flutter of joy I sensed his meaning in an instant. Rising over his lap again, I felt his hand brush my dripping, softened parts as he steadied his cock. He pushed up inside me, with a grunt, filling me like I wanted to be filled, battering hard against the particular place I wanted struck.

I rose and sank again, over and over, every descent a plunge into wicked, tingling pleasure as my eager, pulsing little center responded with excitement all its own. Soon, far sooner than I wished, the climax I longed for erupted inside me in waves of rippling gold, like dawn rising in my belly.

I collapsed onto his chest, spent and weepy. Laughing softly, he stroked my hair.

“You enjoyed that, my love, even more than I did, I’ll wager. But it changes nothing.”

The sudden bitterness in his words sent a shiver through me. I jerked upright, newly alarmed.

“What, sir? Still sad?”

His smile had faded. With a sigh he straightened in the chair and reached for his brandy on the small table beside him.

“Did you really mean to arrange a surprise for my birthday? Or are you trying to remind me how much older I am?”

Still bleary with orgasm, I stared at him in shock. “What are you talking about? It never once occurred to me. Apart from—” I stopped myself, biting my lip.

He took a swig of his drink. “Apart from what?”

I swallowed, uneasy now.

“Apart from thinking, the first moment I saw you, how handsome you were and how distinguished.”

His small, sad smile sent daggers through my heart. Uncertain how to console him, I nestled in his arms and stared into the fire, letting him stroke my hair until I grew sleepy.

At least he’ll love his surprise.

I vowed to get my portrait done in as raunchy a pose as I could. It would be for his eyes alone. I’d seen many shocking portraits in the great houses, apparently considered high art. Why not join them? I could look just as alluring, I felt sure, as any louche goddess or lustful nymph by a Botticelli or a Caravaggio.

It would be sure to cheer him up—or at least make him laugh.

All it needed was a bold manner and absolute secrecy. And tomorrow I’d take the carriage and drive openly out to Bond Street, full of costly wares, fancy boutiques and fine ladies out shopping. It gave me the perfect excuse for an outing, and it was an ideal setting to meet up with Martin’s flamboyant friend. I would be in full public gaze, and no one would be any the wiser.

This is going to be fun.

Chapter Eight

My first sitting went surprisingly well. Slipping out was easy. Jacquard’s session with his tailor would take most of the morning. To free up some of my own time, I willingly cut some visits, including a call to vile Lady Hornsea. Others I put off with a note via the footman.

To avoid the Endale crest giving me away, I made the coachman set me down in leafy Oxford Street. With my bonnet brim pulled down to hide my face, I made my way around the corner and along fashionable Bond Street.

Clearly, Martin’s star was on the rise. His shared studio was a far cry from his squalid lodgings. Bowls of flowers, gilded mirrors and fine draperies set off flattering tributes from clients, including many famous names.

Relieved, I smiled graciously on his friend. The man introduced himself as Signor Canelli. Once more he bowed low.

Briskly I ran through my requirements.

“And remind the artist he’s to work behind a screen,” I added firmly. “In case we meet later.”

He looked taken aback. “I— Of course, Your ladyship. I—that is, the artist—will be very discreet. As to the number of sittings—”

“Four at the most.” I gave him a winning look. “My husband must know nothing about this, you understand.”

Signor Canelli looked startled for a moment, then downright scared. “Yes, yes, Your Ladyship. But we must allow time for the pigments to dry—”

“Good. Then that’s settled. Can we make a start
now
? I see the milliner at noon.”

If Martin’s friend was surprised that I planned to pose fully naked, he hid it well. After his first shock, he grew thoughtful, even suggesting a ruffle of drapery
here
, or a wisp of lace
there
, to spare my blushes and enhance the effect.

I’d also brought my grandmother’s diamonds, to make sure I looked recognizable. In Martin’s loose, flowing style, his subjects were hard to make out.

Interplays of light and dark in the new Italian fashion looked all very fine in a grand modern salon, no doubt, but from what I’d seen of his work, my face might be hard to recognize. My lavish diamonds, by contrast, were very distinctive. I wore them often, to great acclaim.

I undressed behind a screen in the far corner, arranging my hair and my jewels to best advantage. Then I lay back with a sigh on a vast pile of cushions in the middle of the room.

Signor Canelli had already placed another, larger screen opposite, pierced with oriental carvings to let light through. It covered a doorway leading to workshops beyond and hid the artist and most of the easel.

Martin, I noticed, kept very quiet and well out of sight, no doubt mindful of his commission.

For the next hour, I simply relaxed. To take my mind off the raw studio smells of paint, linseed oil and turpentine, I thought about Jacquard. Soon I could almost feel my heart beat faster and my skin glow. It made posing all too easy. I had merely to think of him sternly watching, directing me to keep still.

From behind the screen came much heavy breathing and the scratch of chalks on paper during the first stage, a set of rapid pastel studies outlining my pose and capturing light and shade. At last Signor Canelli called out from behind the screen.

“Now a color test, Your Ladyship. A small sketch in oils to catch your range of skin tones. After that, the sittings will be plain sailing, merely to confirm tints and highlights. The bulk of the rest can be done in the workshop.”

Now the smells grew stronger. I heard the clatter of brushes and the whisper of rag, and finally my first sitting was done. I struggled back into my things, hard to do neatly without my maid. I finished just as Signor Canelli stepped out from behind the screen.

“Thank you so much,” I gushed. “I hope the artist was pleased. He was so quiet that I’d hardly have known he was there.”

Signor Canelli looked bewildered. “Ah…yes, Your Ladyship. Indeed, the artist is quite overcome by your beauty and the boldness of your—”

“Oh, good. Then I look forward to our next session, sir.” I hurried to the door. “Must dash. My milliner awaits.”

So far, so good.

* * * *

To my relief, Jacquard seemed almost cheerful over luncheon. “You enjoyed your errands this morning? You’ve barely stopped smiling since you sat down.”

“I had a most successful morning, sir. You?”

“Not as thrilling as yours, I’ll wager.” His mouth twisted at the corner. “If my tailor put a sparkle like that in my eye, I’d punch his jaw. So, did you make up with Lady Hornsea? And how was the gossip? Tell me all, in case I’ve missed some.”

Drat.
I’d forgotten Jacquard knew all my engagements. His secretary kept a list.

“I-I cut some of my visits. The milliner took longer than I thought.” I felt myself go pink.

Jacquard’s hand paused as he reached for his glass. He eyed me in silence for a moment, then drained his wine.

For a dizzying second, I thought he would press the point. Mercifully, he let it pass.

Later I was changing into an afternoon gown and clinging to the bedpost for my maid to lace me up when I heard a knock at the door. I called over my shoulder. “Annie? Where are you? Hurry. His Lordship’s waiting.”

All I heard was the door open and softly close.

“Annie?”

“I dismissed your maid.”
Jacquard.
He put his hands around my waist and dropped a soft, hot kiss on my shoulder. “Keep hold of the post.”

The sharp edge to his voice made me tremble. He ran his fingers slowly over my shoulders, loosening my gown and pushing it back along my arms. Gripping me firmly at the front of my waist, he pulled up my skirts with his other hand, searching deep between my legs.

“Where did you go this morning?”

I felt a chill, quickly followed by a shaft of raw heat as he buried his face at the side of my throat and kissed me hard. I leaned back into his kiss, arousal burning under his questing fingers as he pulled me hard against him. Excitement flared at the feel of his powerful body at my spine, his growing arousal already stirring to fullness.

“I told you, sir, I had to see about a new bonnet—
Oh
.”

Holding my hands fast with one of his, he looped braid from the bed drapes twice around my wrists and pulled it tight with a slipknot, securing me to the post.

“What are you doing?” I sounded husky. “I thought we were going to Vauxhall?”

“We are.”

He buried his face once more in my neck, closer to my ear this time. He folded his hands around my breasts, kneading and pinching my nubs into sharp, jutting points. “But first we must do this.”

“We must?” Hot arousal scorched through me at his touch. I felt my sensitive breasts tremble in his hands, almost seeming to swell.

He probed between my legs while he pressed my thighs apart with his knee.

“Open. Or I’ll tie your ankles apart to secure them.”

Sliding my looped hands down the post a little way, he made me bend over, then hoisted my skirts to fondle my bare ass, his touch firm and strong.

“Your visit to the milliner took twenty minutes at most. So I’m curious about the rest of your morning. And if you won’t say, I must remind you where your duties lie. Maybe this will help.”

To my horror I realized he’d brought something in with him. I felt him draw the hard, flat leather tawse across my quivering rump. I stiffened, expecting blows. Instead he continued to feel me, exploring me fully with his warm hand and disturbing, merciless fingers. Arousal burned at his touch as he kept his hand in place, knowing just how and where to press, how often and how fast to circle or to tease. I breathed deeply as my climax loomed, the pressure in my softest folds swelling them to numbness.

“But first,” he whispered, his lips soft on my skin, “a few trial slaps, just to warm you up.”

“You are too harsh, sir,” I cried. “I told you. I’m planning a surprise for your birthday. Revealing any more will spoil it.”

He laughed softly. “Will it? Too bad. You still need a spanking. Take the tawse in your teeth. We’ll spare the servants your squeals.”

With the unforgiving leather clamped in my mouth, I felt his hand full force. At the blows I bucked and jerked, desperate to yell. At the same moment arousal pounded, hot and fierce.

Soon I was weeping with need as his hand fell again and again, the harsh slaps making my eyes smart, the blows jolting my fiery, cruelly exposed places nearly numb with want.

Just when I thought I should bite clean through the leather in sheer frustration, he paused and removed it. I panted, limp in my bonds, as the sting of his punishment flowered and glowed.