Wicked Desires (Wicked Affairs, Book One) (11 page)

He also tried not to think about Clarissa and the lies he’d have to tell in an attempt to hide his deception.

Chapter Six

Clarissa hadn’t slept a bit.

She’d arrived home about thirty minutes before Michael. They’d had an incredible evening of sexual play at the bordello, but it still rang hollow without the affection she’d had from her husband in the past.

And their bitter argument.

Contemplation of his decisions only made her more confused. Why did he continually reject her, but find pleasure with those kinds of women?

Could she keep up the deception until they returned to York? Did she want to?

Panic lodged in her chest. Had she started something that had no good end?

Her maid twittered around the room, plucked up discarded clothing and prepared Clarissa’s bath. She threw aside her covers, determined to face the day.

Afterward, she went to breakfast and found Michael sitting in his chair, his meal untouched. She dropped a kiss to his forehead and took a seat beside him. A hearty plate of food was placed in front of her, without the nasty kippers that her whole family loved.

Michael remained absorbed in his thoughts and absent from breakfast. She placed her hand over his. He clasped her fingers and turned to her with a weak smile.

“You’re up early.”

“And you? You have plans?” she asked.

“No. Must be a touch of ennui. Perhaps I’ll ride later.”

“About the other night. The words I said. I’m sorry.”

Now that she’d found a way back to his bed, she found she had less to say. Her guilt bit at her. If she confessed everything now, before something disastrous happened, perhaps they could return to their course, deep in the amiable civility of an aristocratic marriage.

Maybe that’s all marriage was meant to be—a well-trod, straight road to senility.

“Michael, we need to talk.”

Suspicion lurked behind his eyes. Talk? She sensed his withdrawal from the conversation before it ever started. He pushed back his chair.

“Not about that,” she said quickly.

A jack-in-the-box could not have been more tightly wound. He pulled away from her, sat back in his chair with his arms across his chest.

“I’ve a confession to make,” she said.

The double door to the breakfast room burst open. Their son, William, walked in. His hat sat at a jaunty angle. “Mother. Father. Good morning.”

Clarissa had seen her son’s arrogant posture before. He’d done something wrong and was already on the defensive.

“Your hat, William,” Michael said, irritation dripping off each word.

As her son removed the impolite accoutrement, Clarissa jumped into the conversation with motherly concern. “Why aren’t you at school?”

“I need to speak with Father. Alone.”

“Not until you answer my question.”

“I’ve been sent down.”

“Expelled? For what reason?” she asked. She clenched her teeth, suppressing the immediate response to chasten.

“Clarissa, I’ll handle this,” Michael said with a voice the brooked no interference.

She turned to Michael. “Whatever he has to say, he can say in front of his mother.”

“Sir?”

His appeal to his father left her steaming. Did all men have secrets? “Tell me why?”

His overconfident attitude was unbecoming of a gentleman, let alone
her son
, and the son of an earl.

“It had to do with a woman. Please, Mother, don’t ask any questions I can’t answer.”

Michael stood. “In the library. Now.”

“Please tell me you haven’t impregnated some tavern wench?” she accused.

William turned scarlet.

“Clarissa, you’re not helping,” Michael said.

Michael grasped his son’s elbow and hauled him out of the room.

Clarissa dropped her head in her hands. Another part of her world seemed to be collapsing.

* * * * *

“Well, has your mother guessed correctly?” Lud, the boy was only sixteen. Memories of his first woman at the same age seemed to be irrelevant. William was
his son
, and was certainly too young to be experiencing pleasure reserved for older men, not children barely out of knee breeches.

William flopped down in one of the chairs on the fidget-side of the desk. Michael stood beside his chair with his hands behind his back, waiting for the bad news.

“No sir. Not exactly.”

“Explain yourself.”

“It was a bet. I lost. It involved the dean’s daughter.”

“How much do you owe and does recompense involve marriage?” The boy was too young to be using his wag for anything other than basic bodily functions, and certainly not attempting to bed an ineligible girl with a powerful father. As if Michael didn’t have enough of his own issues to worry over.

“It was nothing like that, except for the money part. I bet one hundred pounds that I could convince Rebecca to fuck me. The dean found out.”

“So you lost the bet and the dean will see to it you never set foot at the college again?”

“It’s worse than that.”

Michael sighed, almost wishing Clarissa had handled the situation. She’d take no nonsense from the boy and have him straightened out by afternoon tea.

“The bet involved the loss of…” William lowered his eyes, color pinkening his cheeks.

“Yes, I know. One hundred pounds. Which, by the way, you will be working off this summer.”

“No. It’s not that.”

“Then what? Speak up, boy.”

“The bet involved the loss of
my
virginity.”

Michael fought back a smile. No wonder William didn’t want his mother to know about the goings-on. He relaxed a bit as he realized the damage was more toward his son’s pride than actual harm to an innocent. Had he been the dean, Michael might have punished the offender with physical damage.

“I’ll take care of the wager. Time will cure everything else that ails you.”

“I want you to take me to a whore. I’m tired of this damned curse and jealous of every boy my age who’s been shagged.”

Michael stiffened, a bit fearful, a bit worried as they trod along dangerous but familiar ground. Was this his punishment for cheating? To be so soon accosted with the hypocritical nature of his being? He’d made vows he hadn’t kept. He’d promised his wife fidelity. Not only did he rebuff the woman, he’d pleasured himself in ways unheard of for her.

Now he would advise his son of the folly of that vice. The temptations were beyond a young man’s ability to resist. Even old men succumbed to the intoxication of the new and untamed and debauched. Even men who knew better.

William wouldn’t stand a chance if he started down that path now.

“No.”

“No? I’m sixteen. I’m a man now.”

“Son, there’s more than one kind of man. You need to be the kind of man who controls his passions until the right situation comes along.” Michael glanced outside. The sun was still shining. No imminent threat of lightning bolts.

“I’ll be the only virgin in my class.”

“Knowing how boys boast, I doubt that, but since you won’t be returning to class anytime soon, I don’t see that will be a problem.”

“So you want me to wait until I’m married?”

“What can it hurt?”

“Did you?”

“We’re not talking about me. Nor will we be talking about your mother and me. Besides, whores costs money and as I recall, you don’t have any.”

“So what am I to do now?”

“You’ll be going to York early. Once Dudley receives my note, he will put you to work on the estate.”

“Work?”

“Oh, and I’ll hire a tutor to fill up the rest of your time while you contemplate the pure state of virginity. You’ll be leaving in a few days.”

“I should have talked to Mother.”

Michael chuckled. “Your mother would have had you on the next coach to York with a new governess and instructions for servitude until you were twenty-one. Be thankful you’re getting off so easy.”

“You’ll talk to the dean though?”

“I’ll have a word, yes.”

* * * * *

Tonight Michael felt near to bursting with unrestrained urges as he waited for the French whore.

Clarissa had departed with Anne VanLandingham after breakfast. He missed her comings and goings the rest of the day. He had wanted to finish their conversation from yesterday while he was calm and thinking more clearly.

And, after dispensing the parental guidance for William, he wanted to discuss it with his wife, decide if he’d done the right thing. He had no doubt she’d squeezed in time to visit with their son and pronounced her own judgments.

He missed her. She’d always been wise, and in spite of—or because of—her femininity, she was as strong a woman as he knew. She’d said once that he was the only person who could ever hurt her.

And now he was. Or would be as soon as she found out.

Eventually, he’d confess his failing. That conversation would be a further blow to his masculinity. Confessing his infidelity at the same time confessing his inability to have a reliable erection when thinking of sex with his wife.

The door squeaked open and the masked whore strode in wearing leather as he’d requested. Even the mask was black leather. Shiny black strips were twined around her body. Her bare breasts were exposed and pressed into a pleasing, thrusting display. The bands around her upper arms were enticing.

Perfect for what he had in mind.

He’d hoped a mindless fuck would erase some of the guilt, though the one inevitably rose in equal proportions to the other.

His
chérie
wasn’t a big talker. She asked very little and obeyed very much. Madame knew the value of her whores.

He felt rough and aching. His shirt, he’d discarded as soon as he arrived. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into an embrace, her breasts squeezed into his chest. The smooth feel of her skin against his chest made a sharp contrast to the slick cool of the leather.

“
Chérie
, forgive me if I am rough. I will try not to hurt you tonight.”

She stiffened, her fear palpable and sadly, addicting to a man who liked his sex dark and edgy.

He did not want soft kisses. He did not come here for warmth or affection or adulation. He came because a whore would not question his need.

With Clarissa, there would first be the
whys
. Then there would be her visceral reaction to his rejection of her. She could not love him that much.

He clasped the whore’s hand and led her to the chair where he sat and ripped at the flap of his fall. She knew what he wanted and knelt before him, between his legs. Her fingers gripped his thighs and she bent forward, her mouth already open as she devoured the length of his cock.

He surged backward, his hips bucking, filling her mouth with his straining member. The rasp of her teeth sent a singular shock until her tongue bathed his length, licking and torturing as she circled in long, delicious swipes.

He stroked his hands down her back and then gripped both cheeks of her ass. With one hand he separated her, exposing the tempting crevice. His fingers slid downward. One finger worked at the rim. Her back arched, both taking more of him in her mouth and allowing his finger to slide inside.

“Slowly,
chérie
. I’m not ready.” She sucked on him like a newborn calf at the teat.

He reached toward the table beside him and plucked up the dildo, prepared with the scented oil. At her anus, he removed his finger and then probed with the thick phallus. His own cock bucked as she hummed and moaned, anticipating what he was about to do.

He nearly closed his eyes at the astounding pleasure ripping through him. He stared as he pushed the indefatigable penis inside her, inching closer to filling her, his own prick nearly bursting as he watched.

He gritted his teeth as the whore worked for his release—somehow his climax seemed tied to hers. While she sucked on him, her tight little anus gripped at the brass shaft stuffed inside her. Michael let her propel it outward and then he filled her again.

When his balls drew up and the tingling in his thighs began, he started the rhythmic strokes that caused her to moan, and those very vibrations caressed every nerve ending of his cock.

At some point, there was nothing left to control. His body tensed, his hand pushed the dildo into her and he slipped his fingers into the hair at the back of her neck. There he held her while he surged and spilled. She lapped at him, her throat convulsing along with her own body.

“Oh, shit! Yes. That’s it. Swallow all of me.” One final surge and he relaxed backward into the chair, his cock slipping from her mouth, the dildo extracted and dropped to the floor beside them.

He felt momentary relief. His cock still ached as he pushed her away. She reclined on her haunches, where she swiped her tongue across her lower lip. A goddess. A sexual feast he could devour every day of his life.