The Scoundrel's Lover (16 page)

Without thinking, she reached for him, wrapping her hand around him in a tight fist and stroking over him once, then twice.

He growled low in his throat, and without warning he pounced on her. He grasped her waist, tossing her on the bed and then braced himself over her, his breath on her neck, stirring her tangled locks.

She arched beneath him, rubbing her body against his in a desperate bid for control, but he shook his head. “You are mine right now, Annabelle. Don’t forget that.”

His mouth crushed hers before she could respond, but he didn’t stay like that for long. He nipped her bottom lip with his teeth lightly and then dragged his mouth down her naked body. He suckled back and forth between her breasts and then slid to her stomach, tonguing her navel.

Her body was on fire with sensation, but he never settled in any one spot on her body, leaving her discombobulated and moaning with the pleasure he taunted her with. Finally, his mouth glided over her hip and he pushed her legs open, revealing her sex.

She recalled his mouth against her before and blushed, but she also lifted toward him, aching for the relief he could bring with his wicked mouth.

He chuckled. “So eager. But I think we should try something different.”

He stroked his fingers over her sex, opening her lips gently. She couldn’t help but cry out as he touched her, playing her like a virtuoso with an instrument. He leaned in, still stroking his fingers against her gently. She waited for the brush of his tongue against her, but it didn’t come.

“Marcus?” she whispered.

He smiled up at her. “You want my mouth?”

She nodded, not caring how desperate she appeared.

“Not today.” He rose up, positioning himself between her legs. She watched, awestruck, as he lowered his cock toward her.

“No, we said—” she began, a weak protest when his body inside of hers was exactly what she wanted.

He shook his head. “I will not breach you.”

She had no response for that. If he didn’t intend to fill her, she didn’t know what else he could do. Until he nestled his cock within her outer folds and stroked along just the outside of her sex.

“My God, Annabelle,” he groaned, stroking along her again. “You are so wet.”

She gasped at the slide of him along her sex. He was so hard against her softness, and the head of his cock pressed her clitoris perfectly. He gently increased his rhythm, taking his time, being careful not to let his member dip into her sex and break the promise he had made.

She felt her orgasm growing as his speed increased. It blossomed from where their bodies ground against each other, tingles spreading through her legs, her stomach, her arms, until in a starburst explosion of light and pleasure, it erupted.

She cried out, flexing against him, but also reaching for more. She shook and he stroked on until she finally collapsed, weak on his pillows.

She expected him to pull away, perhaps to ask her to pleasure him with her mouth, but instead, he glided his fingers along her opening once more and then began to stroke his cock, lubricated with her juices.

She sat up on her elbows, unable to look away as he jerked his hand over his hard flesh. His eyes fluttered shut, his neck strained and with a massive shout, his seed spurted free.

Marcus panted, struggling to recover his breath and opened his eyes. He found Annabelle still splayed across his bed, watching him, her eyes wide and filled with renewed desire. He wrinkled his brow in confusion.

“Why look at me that way?”

She smiled. “I liked watching you lose control,” she explained. “Almost as much as I like when you take mine.”

He shook his head. She had no idea how powerful her desires were. How her words moved him body and soul.

“And yet you see what we do here as dark and twisted, don’t you?” he asked.

She frowned. “When we are together, there is nothing dark or twisted about how I feel. But a lady isn’t supposed—”

He rolled onto his back with a huff of breath, cutting her off. “I’m sorry, but what you are about to say is pure foolishness. A lady isn’t supposed… You have been downstairs, Annabelle, you’ve seen ladies, powerful ladies, doing exactly what you crave and even far more!”

She worried her lip. “I know. I know that they are here and that they are engaging in such activities. But tell me something—not everyone in your club wears a mask, do they?”

Marcus turned his face to look at her. “No. It is not mandatory, but encouraged. Most do.”

“And those who do not, are any of them women?
Ladies
?”

He hesitated, not wanting to give the answer she sought as proof that what she felt was wrong. Worse, that what they shared was wrong.

“No,” he finally admitted. “I’ve only ever seen the gentlemen forgo their masks.”

She nodded. “And if someone were to storm into this place and uncover those engaged in certain activities…ones like those we observed from the peepholes in the hall, for instance…who do you think would be more damaged?”

“It would depend upon rank, who managed to push past my guards, what they were looking for,” he said.

She shook her head. “The men or the women.”

“Annabelle.”

“You and I both know that the stories of the men might hurt them, yes, but you’re right that it would depend upon the circumstance. Most of them would walk away embarrassed, perhaps, but not materially damaged. I can tell you, even after a short time in the
ton
, the women would be destroyed. Hell, even in the far less stringent company I kept before, the discovery that a lady was engaging in activities in a sex club would have meant social death.”

“There are widows who flaunt their behavior more openly,” he offered, but the tone was not convincing. How could it be when he knew she was right?

“Widows,” she repeated. “And usually those with money and some power thanks to the ranks or reputations of their husbands. Women who have no need to ever marry again and don’t care about Society. I am not married. If I do not marry, I wouldn’t be thrown into the street, of course, but I would have no chance at a respectable life.”

He flopped on his side. “You keep saying a respectable life, but how in the world can you say you are not respectable? You are a lady in every sense of the world and those around you know it.”

She reached up to gently cup his face, and Marcus almost purred into the warmth of her hands, despite the frustrating nature of this relationship. “I am naked in the bed of a man who owns a popular but incredibly notorious club. How could anyone call me a lady if they knew that I had done this? That I craved it?”

“That you craved
me
, you mean?” he pressed, a sting working through him at the words.

She was rejecting him, as much as her family’s reputation or the life she feared she would lose if she gave in to her true nature. Her true nature wasn’t good enough.

And neither was he.

“
You
are why this is so difficult,” she said with a shake of her head. “You are…incredible.”

“But beneath you.” He began to push out of the bed. “And not just because you will not let me take you.”

She grasped his arm. “Not in my estimation. Marcus—”

Whatever she might have said was interrupted by a sudden pounding on the door to his office. Marcus shot a glare through the adjoining room.

“Marcus, let’s finish this,” she said, sitting up and wrapping the sheet around her.

“I can’t ignore it,” he snapped, grabbing his trousers and shoving them on as he walked through the office to the door. He yanked it open. “What?” he shouted at whoever had interrupted him.

He was surprised to find Abbot standing on the other side of the barrier. And judging from the way his friend’s gaze flitted over Marcus’s half-dressed frame, the surprise was mutual.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your…” Abbot shook his head. “…your work, Rivers, but we have a situation. With Crispin Flynn.”

Marcus squeezed his eyes shut and waited for Annabelle’s reaction. Just as he had suspected, she let out a pained cry and rushed from his bedroom with only a sheet wrapped around her lithe body.

“My brother?” she burst out as she skidded to a halt beside him.

Abbot shifted, moving his stare to a fixed point far behind Annabelle. "Er, yes, Miss Flynn. He is making huge bets, Rivers.”

“How huge?” Marcus asked.

“Ten thousand pounds.”

Annabelle lifted a hand to her lips. “My God, he’ll be bankrupt if he continues this way.”

“See if you can distract him. I’ll come down straight away, I need to dress.”

Abbot nodded and left the room with an expression no one couldn’t read as relief. He clearly didn’t want to be standing in the room with Marcus and his apparent lover. Marcus was not looking forward to what would surely be a pointed conversation with Abbot later.

“Marcus,” Annabelle breathed as he closed the door behind his friend. She clutched his arm and her sheet slipped slightly, revealing a tantalizing curve of her breast.

He pushed aside his wicked thoughts. “I’ll go down, Annabelle.”

“I’m coming with you,” she insisted.

He shook his head. “No, you aren’t. I can handle—”

“I’m coming with you!” she repeated, this time shouting.

He stared at her. In this moment, she was as wild as either of her brothers had ever been. And determined. If he argued with her, it would only mean more time lost.

“Fine. Get dressed and make sure you wear your mask,” he snapped as he moved toward the bedroom with her at his heels. “And you will listen to everything I say, Annabelle.”

She nodded, but as they entered his chamber to dress, he had a sneaking suspicion that she was lying. And there was very little he could do about it.

For the first time since she came to the club, as she followed Marcus through the crowd, Annabelle wasn’t looking at the couples engaging in erotic play. Her mind was too occupied with thoughts of her brother.

Marcus walked with purpose and it was difficult to keep up with him as he maneuvered with ease through the people. His mouth was set in a grim line, though he still acknowledged patrons at the tables and nodded to those who said his name.

He was at home here.

He made a sharp turn, and she found herself in the same hallway where they had spied before. She blushed as Marcus led her into the dark corridor.

“Marcus,” she began. “I don’t want to—”

“Your brother is in the gambling room here,” he said, sliding open the barrier to look inside. “We’ve been ensuring he was in a room where we could watch him.”

Her lips parted. “You have been keeping an eye on him?”

Marcus nodded. “I told you and Rafe that I would. I keep my word, despite what you may believe.”

She reached out to take his hand. “I believe you to be honorable.”

He said nothing, but continued to look into the peephole. He blocked her view, so she stood, not exactly patient, but waiting as he observed whatever was going on inside.

Suddenly there was a crash from inside the chamber where Marcus observed her brother. He jolted and shook her hand away. “Wait here,” he barked as he began to race back down the corridor. “Don’t you dare move!”

Her breath coming short, Annabelle hurtled herself into position so she could see inside the chamber. Her brother had flipped the gambling table. Money and cards were scattered around the room. And now Crispin staggered, taking wild swings at the very large, very serious-looking man he had been playing against.

And the man did not look happy or forgiving.

“Cheat!” Crispin roared, just barely staggering out of the way of the man’s meaty fist.

Before he could swing again, the door flew open and Marcus and several of his staff ran in. Three of them restrained Crispin’s gambling partner even as Marcus moved toward her brother.

“Cris,” he said, his soothing tone unlike anything she had ever heard. It actually reminded her of Rafe talking to Crispin. Marcus even used his long-abandoned shortening of his name. “Cris, listen to me.”

“You let a bunch of fucking cheats into your club, Rivers,” Crispin slurred.

Annabelle tensed at the ugly language, but leaned closer to watch Marcus’s reaction. He could have become angry, but instead he laughed. “Whoever pays, you know.”

Crispin’s gambling partner reared. “I’m no damn cheat, Rivers.”

Marcus glared at him. “Do calm down, Porter. Take him out, get him a drink, men.”

The servants complied, half-escorting, half-dragging Crispin’s partner away. That left Crispin, Marcus and Abbot in the room together.

“What is the cause of all this, Crispin?” Marcus asked softly.

“She’s gone, my brother is gone,” Crispin slurred.

Annabelle blinked.
She
?

“I don’t know who
she
is,” Marcus said softly. “But your brother is perfectly fine. I had supper with him not three days ago.”

Her brother snorted. “You had supper with the fucking duke.”

Annabelle turned her head as pain slashed through her. Crispin had never accepted Rafe’s inheritance of their cousin’s title. It seemed to break him to know Rafe had to change to fit his new future. Even though Crispin had actually
helped
their brother when his life with Serafina wasn’t certain.

“The duke and your brother are the same,” Marcus reassured him.

“No, they are not. Rafe cannot be who he once was.”

“He seems much the same to me,” Marcus said.

“
You
are not his brother.”

“No,” Marcus agreed. “I do not have that privilege, you are correct. But I have known you two a very long time. I owe you both a great deal. And I want to help you.”

Crispin looked at him, and Annabelle could see his misery. “How can you help me?” he grunted.

“Let me get you sober and we can talk about it,” Marcus offered. “You and me, no one else. You
know
I am on your side.”

Annabelle held her breath as she waited for her brother’s response. She watched Crispin’s face, and for a heartbeat she thought he might accept Marcus’s offer. And then he pulled away from the man who was apparently a much closer friend than she had imagined and barked, “Just get me a drink, Rivers. That’s how you can help me.”