Wicked Desires (Wicked Affairs, Book One) (20 page)

Once the tea was gone, he said sardonically, “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind. Can we just get on with it?”

She laughed, scooted from the bed and removed the tray. She came back with the honey pot. Yanking the blanket off his body, she exposed every inch of him and then sat beside him again.

“I’m still hungry,” she said.

In the light of day, he felt vulnerable and out of control. Naturally, his body would respond. He sported an erection worthy of his best efforts thanks to his usual morning wood and his wife’s subtle threats of humiliation looming over him.

She lifted the wooden honey stick and drizzled the sticky mess over his cock.

“There. You don’t mind if I have a bite, do you?” The honey pot went on the nightstand beside his bed.

She turned, her skirts all entwined in her legs. She sighed. “Such a nuisance. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Clarissa disappeared into her room again, leaving him tortured and excited. The honey slowly trailed downward, leaving a path of itching, tickling, burning want.

He gritted his teeth, trying for patience. She’d do what she needed to do and that would be that. How many things could she do to him before she ran out of ideas?

He heard her before he saw her. Clarissa sauntered into the room wearing the red and black bustier from the first night at Madame DuPuis’, only she wasn’t wearing a mask.

Breasts and naked ass were all he could see and his erection surged, his skin tight and aching. He saw a mask in her hand. She leaned over him. He licked his lips.

With a quick move, she had the mask over his face. Only the eye patches were closed and his world went dark.

“No, Clarissa. I want to see what you’re doing. Clarissa. Please.”

Already his chest heaved.

“My game,” she whispered next to his ear.

She trailed a finger down his body, along his shoulder, his nipple, his stomach, his leg, right to the tip of his toe. He listened, his senses heightened. His need to know what she was doing made him a little desperate. He struggled, but as strong as he was, he couldn’t relieve the growing pressure nor was Clarissa giving him what he wanted.

The bed squeaked. Then movement between his legs. Clarissa dropped her hands to his knees and caressed upward, stopping at his groin and massaging the sensitive, soft area where his legs and hips met his body.

Her warm breath caressed his cock. It bucked, bouncing against his belly. Anticipation kept him tense. He nearly begged.

“Mmm. This looks good. I’m not sure I can eat all of this. What do you think,
Martin
? Are you as big and luscious as my husband?”

He fought against the bindings. “Clarissa!”

“For the last year, I’ve been desperate for cock and now, here you are, offering me everything my husband wouldn’t.”

He groaned. He gritted his teeth.

Her tongue scorched a path along the ridge of his organ. He arched into it. “Oh, hell. Take it in your mouth.”

A sharp sting lashed across his outer thigh. He gasped in shock and surprise. His cock bucked and his arms tensed as he yanked in an attempt to be free.

She’d whipped him!

“Patience,
Martin
. You know I don’t want to get caught. And I don’t think I can put such a large penis in my mouth.”

His back arched in anticipation. He bit at his lower lip.

Without sight, all he had was his imagination and his lust to fuel the sharp desire that pounded at his nerves and caused his muscles to tremble.

Warm heat settled over his cock. Her mouth!

Her lips circled most of the tip. She didn’t use her hands at all to lift him to her mouth. Damn, he wanted to see it all. See her breasts hanging like melons, feel them against his thighs, watch her mouth as he shoved himself to the back of her throat.

Her lips and tongue sucked off the sticky honey, every lick torture for him. Her mewls and moans made her sound like a kitten.

She stopped abruptly, the bed bounced again and silence ensued.

“Dammit, at least finish the job.”

“No. I’m done. You should rest. We have a long day and night ahead.” He heard the rattle of the tray, but all he could think about was how long she’d be gone and how long she was going to leave him like this. Naked. Hard as hell with no way to relieve himself. “Clarissa?”

“Yes.”

“I need the bedpan.”

She giggled. “I’ll be right back.”

He started to comprehend her humiliation as she slid the cold pan under his backside. Oh, yes, she happily touched his penis now, to point him in the right direction. The mask went a long way to soothe some of his ire. At least he didn’t have to see a silly grin on her face or watch her minutest pleasure as she brought him low.

When the easy part was done, she excused herself and with a cheery voice said, “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Is that long enough?”

He gritted his teeth to prevent his terse reply.

When she returned at the allotted time, he nearly ground his teeth to powder as she washed him with water like a newborn babe and took the bedpan away like a servant.

She was going to make him sorry indeed. Sorry that he hadn’t confessed in detail that his slumberous cock was a figment of his own imagination.

And that pride truly does come before the fall.

* * * * *

“Will Papa go fishing with us?” Harry asked, while scampering out of the way of the cleaning maid.

“Not today, sweet. Andrew’s promised to take you. And I need you to be very quiet as your father isn’t feeling well,” Clarissa said.

“Yes, Mama.”

She visited with each of the boys before they went off into the wild world to explore and, in William’s case, to complete his chores.

Clarissa couldn’t decide how far to push Michael. Already his temper soared. She saw the red burns on his wrist. Games that only involved one player weren’t as rewarding, but in the end she’d see that he experienced all that he longed for.

She just had to remain determined and focused on the goal.

Underneath her thick house robe, she still wore the obscene corset that Madame DuPuis had sent to her. The woman had gone to an inordinate amount of trouble to locate her in York. Clarissa had reacted instinctively to the purported gift, ready to burn the revealing pieces, not sure when she’d ever have an opportunity to wear them. And would she want to, for all the heartache and pleasure the costumes brought about? She’d tucked them away in her armoire. One never knew.

“Clarissa? I’m cold,” came the lament from the far bedroom. He’d heard her the moment she returned to her room.

“I’ll be right there.” With his limited senses, he probably heard every sound in the house about now.

She plucked a bottle of rose oil from a warming pan near the fireplace. After she collected the warm towels, she returned to Michael’s bedroom. He looked in her direction, but he cocked his head in such a manner she thought he listened to her movements more than anything.

At the end of the bed, she dropped her velvety, warm robe and crawled in between his legs. The stopper on the bottle twisted off easily. She poured oil into her hand. The bottle she propped between his bare legs, near his scrotum. He didn’t jerk so much as react to the warmth of the bottle. She knew he tried to guess what it was.

“Did you miss me?”

He ignored her question.

At his toes, she gently massaged the rose oil across his skin. They curled at her touch. She watched as his nostrils flared, taking in the scent. Her hands and fingers trailed slow, sensual touches over his foot and calf. At the back of his knee, he tensed. It was one spot where he’d always been ticklish, but she moved on, unwilling to break the spell she weaved.

Once she reached his groin, she reached for a still warm towel and covered his oily leg. The back of her hand brushed his burgeoning erection.

She turned her attention to his other foot, dancing with slow hypnotic swirls and deep massage. Once the second leg was covered, she skipped over his groin, straddled him with her legs high around his chest, intending to work his arms. His cock bobbed behind her, occasionally bouncing against her bottom.

“Clarissa, please. Take off the mask.” His appeal was well-phrased and polite, but she felt the tension in his body.

She leaned forward, her breasts grazing along his chest and whispered in his ear, “Since you asked so nice.” Then she bit his earlobe.

She slipped it off.

He blinked a few times and his gaze went right to the display of her breasts.

A look of anger and lust covered his features. “When you untie me, I’m going to fuck you until you scream.”

The satiny whip lay near his side. She said nothing but picked the cord up and snapped backward, hitting his thigh. He gritted his teeth. His eyes shimmered with renewed emotion, but he held back whatever words churned in his head.

“Careful, I might have to find a gag. And maybe I’ll leave you tied up longer than I had planned.” She poured more oil into her palm and worked from his fingers to his shoulders.

“No. I didn’t mean that,” he said, with true repentance ringing in his voice.

“Of course, you didn’t.
Slave
. Do you know that some women like to beat their slaves? I wonder how long it would take you to ejaculate if I were beating your backside?”

He groaned and arched upward, seemingly willing to find out.

She wrapped both hands at the base of his neck and massaged the tense muscles and spine, sliding her fingers into his hair. He panted, all the while gazing at her breasts dangling in front of him.

He moaned. “Whatever you want, Clarissa.”

“Slaves don’t get to call their masters by name.”

Clarissa lowered her mouth to his. He responded with an urgent demand to take her mouth but she pulled back. “I am kissing you, not the other way around.”

Every muscle in his body spoke of frustration, but he had no choice, Clarissa was going to wring every bit of pride from him. He lowered his head to the pillow and she resumed the gentle massage. Again, she pressed her lips to his, placing gentle bee-like kisses against his mouth. His arms flexed against the bindings, bulging at his biceps.

“Is it so difficult to let me be in control?” she asked.

“No,” he whined.

She’d gone nearly a year without intimate kissing. Even the trysts at Madame DuPuis’ involved multiple intimate activities besides kissing. She licked along the seam of his lips. She slid her finger upward along his scratchy jaw, usually shaven to perfection. “Open your mouth, slave.”

“I will, if you sit on my cock.”

The whip slapped his leg again. His body tensed but his cock jumped in defiance of the subtle pain. Definitely lust, she thought.

“Some penitent you are.” She clutched a handful of hair. “Your impertinence has just added a full night to your captivity. And you are definitely not demonstrating remorse.”

She rolled from him and strolled to his bedroom door. She unlocked it and swung the door wide, the hinges silent and well oiled.

Michael lifted his head, his brow wrinkled in wonder. His eyes burned with hot desire and smoldering anger.

Clarissa wiggled her way toward her husband. “You’ve given me so many ideas. Do you think the footmen will hear me, if I pleasure myself? Or do you think they will hear you because you’ll wish you were the one doing the deed? Or will they hear you when I finally allow you to climax? Or will they hear you scream if I use the whip again?” She’d whispered the words near his ear. She felt like she’d shouted them.

Her imagination had taken flight in the weeks since the whorehouse. She’d still not grown accustomed to the odd thoughts and tangled positions that she entertained. Clarissa found her toys and selected the large dildo that had become her favorite. The slimmer one she set on the nightstand.

It was a risk, but one she was willing to take to show Michael she had every bit as much of a desire for pleasure as he did.

Michael’s neck twisted, gazing after her every move. He pressed his lips together. The bindings at his arm were still flexed and taut. With a low, threatening voice, he asked, “What are you going to do with that?”

As much as she wanted Michael to feel the thrill of being caught, she was deathly afraid of it, but she wanted to prove to him she wasn’t a prude. That she was every bit as exciting as the entertainment at Madame DuPuis’. “What would you like me to do?”

“Untie me and I’ll show you.”

His erection, impossibly long and hard and always a temptation, now looked as if he’d explode with need. The pink skin stretched in vein-riddled hardness.

She straddled him again across his upper thighs but lowered the dildo to the bed, not ready. “We have plenty of time for that,” she whispered.

His head fell back on the pillows, his eyes closed. She observed every reaction she caused in him. She watched as he licked his lips and he swallowed hard. His arms hadn’t relaxed and still he appeared as if he would break the bedposts with the constant strain.