Simply Wicked

14

“Marguerite, what is the matter?”

Anthony stopped walking and stared down at his companion. They were supposed to be enjoying a companionable stroll through the park. He’d already made remarks about the mildness of the weather, the scenery, the ducks on the pond, and received hardly a word in reply.

“Will you at least look at me?”

She turned her face up toward his, and he registered the worry in her blue eyes, the dark shadows beneath.

“Are you still unwell?”

“No.” She sighed. “I’m just trying to think what to say.”

“To me?”

“Yes.” Her quick smile was strained. “Four days ago my mother came to see me.”

“And?”

“She knows about us.”

Anthony grimaced. “I told the twins it would be impossible to keep that news a secret.” He took her hand, placed it firmly on his sleeve and resumed walking. The park was still bare of foliage, no sign yet of the spring bulbs or the blossom. “And what did your mother have to say for herself?”

“That you were not a good choice for a lover.”

He stopped again as an all-too familiar sense of inadequacy laced with frustration rolled through him. “Does anyone in this damned world think I’m capable of anything?”

Marguerite tugged at his arm. “There’s no need to shout; everyone is looking at us.”

“Let them look, or do you want me to leave? I’d hate to spoil your afternoon with my loathsome presence.”

“Now you are overreacting.”

Was he? Briefly he closed his eyes and then fixed them on the elaborate park gates. He hadn’t been home or gone to the shipping office for three days. David had given him a key to his lodgings and left Anthony there to wallow in his own misery while his friend was away on naval business.

He grabbed Marguerite’s hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere we can be private, or don’t you trust me enough to be alone with you?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Marguerite picked up her skirts in her free hand and hurried along by his side. They reached David’s building, which faced onto the park, and Anthony pulled out his key. She said nothing until he closed the door behind them.

“Where exactly are we?”

“Does it matter? It belongs to a friend of mine. We are safe here.”

She slowly took off her gloves and considered him. He tried not to shift around as her sharp gaze took in his disordered linen and badly shaved chin. He realized he wasn’t prepared to be examined, dissected, found wanting—not by Marguerite, not by a woman he desired. He scowled down at her.

“So what exactly did your mother say to make you so worried about being my lover?”

Her eyebrows rose. “There’s no need to be so defensive. I didn’t say I was worried.”

“You didn’t have to. It’s obvious from the way you are behaving.”

“You are impossible.” Marguerite yanked at the cream ribbons of her bonnet until they loosened and threw the contraption on a chair. She stormed across to him and poked him in the chest. “Why did I bother to defend you to my mother when you have obviously given up on yourself?”

He caught her wrist, retaining his grip even when she tried to pull away. “What the hell does that mean?”

“My mother tried to tell me that your sexual needs were too extreme for me to imagine, let alone satisfy.”

Abruptly his antagonism disappeared beneath his apprehension. “What exactly did she say?”

She looked up at him. “That you like men.”

“You already knew that.”

“I know, but she insisted you needed to tell me the rest.”

Anthony found it much easier to watch her luscious mouth rather than react to her cutting words. He bent his head, captured her lips and kissed her as hard as he could. She made an exasperated sound and kissed him back, her teeth nipping at his already bruised lower lip, which made him instantly hard. He wrenched his mouth away, hissing as her teeth gouged his lip.

“Can we talk about this afterward?” Anthony said.

“After what?”

“After I’ve had you.”

“Why would you think I’d agree to that?”

“Because you want me, and I’m offering you the perfect opportunity to use my body to release all your tension and anger.” He shoved his hand under her skirts, cupped her sex, and felt her moist core settle over the palm of his hand. “You want me.”

He backed her toward the wall, kissed her mouth with a savagery he hadn’t known was in him. She slid her hand into his hair, held him close, her fingers between them wrenching at the buttons of his breeches. He groaned and thrust his cock into her hand.

“Please . . .”

She guided him downward, and the dripping crown of his shaft bumped against the softness of her stomach, the hair beneath it, her clit and finally the welcoming opening below. He grasped her around the waist and lifted her onto him. He gasped at the tightness and fierceness of her grip on his shaft. Hard and fast this time, to slake the need and to forget himself in the welcome of her body.

Even as he pumped into her, he remembered to thumb her clit, to bring her with him to a crashing conclusion. He even remembered to pull out, to let his seed release on her belly rather than where he really wanted it, deep inside her.

“Hold on to me,” he murmured, as he carried her into David’s bedroom, her legs wrapped around him, their bodies still close and connected. He placed her carefully on the bed. She immediately rolled away from him.

“That wasn’t fair.”

“You didn’t enjoy it?”

“Of course I enjoyed it, but sex is not a substitute for a serious conversation.”

He came up on one elbow over her, smiled at her indignant expression. “Are you sure about that?”

With one deft motion, he threw her skirts over her head, exposing her sex, and licked his way through the wetness he’d helped create. She bucked against him, grabbed hold of his hair and pulled hard. He winced at the pain but didn’t stop, driving his tongue deep, sucking her clit into his mouth until she whimpered and shuddered with release.

He moved off her and allowed her to sit up, trying not to smile as she fought her petticoats and patterned muslin skirts to reveal her flushed face. “Anthony Sokorvsky!”

He deliberately licked his lips, watched her eyes widen in response.

“Anthony . . .”

“What?” He sighed and flung himself down on his back, savored her taste in his mouth even as he braced himself for her next remark.

“My mother wouldn’t say what else you liked in bed. Will you tell me?”

He’d known the question would come, but he still balked at answering it. How honest could he be, especially when he wasn’t sure what he really did like? He stared up at the cracked ceiling.

“The thing is . . . I’ve changed.”

Marguerite sighed. “You don’t have to say that.”

He rolled over to look at her. “But I have, you have no idea how much . . .” Dammit, the fact that he was lying there next to her having the conversation was astounding by itself, but he could hardly tell her that.

“Then tell me. You promised to be honest.”

He stared at her. What did he like? He’d never been given the opportunity to form his own tastes, only accepted those that were forced on him. He looked over her shoulder at David’s oriental cabinet. “Sometimes, I . . . like to be tied up.”

She nodded, her expression as serious as he suspected his own was. “And what else?”

Oh God. “I also liked it when you pulled my hair hard, when you dug your nails in my back, made me hurt.”

He held his breath, would that be enough? The rest of it he was too confused to even consider. She looked away from him, down at her hands, and he swallowed hard.

“Why?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why do you like these things?”

Now he was the one to look away. There was no chance of him sharing that part of his life with her. “I don’t know, and as I said, I’m trying to change.” He hated the uncertainty in his voice. He sounded so pathetic, so needy and so defensive about the indefensible.

“And do you only like it when a man does these things to you?”

“I’ve never tried them with a woman.” He forced a laugh. “Not that any woman would want to do such things.”

“My mother obviously thinks I wouldn’t.”

He glanced up at her sharp tone, recognized the anger in her face. It seemed he wasn’t the only one frustrated by his parents.

“She has no idea what I am really like. Why should she decide such matters for me?”

“Well, she does have a lot of experience.”

She glared at him, hands on her hips. “So you agree with her? You think I’m too weak to deal with your needs?”

He sat up against the headboard, held up his hands. “I didn’t say that.”

She turned her back on him, and he flinched.

“Help me take this damned dress off.”

“Marguerite?”

She glared over her shoulder at him. “Help me!”

He complied, undoing the ties and loosening her corset. He resumed his position cross-legged at the top of the bed as she struggled out of her clothes down to her shift. When the outline of her body was revealed in all its lush, flushed glory, his cock thickened and pressed against his untucked shirt. She gave him an impatient glance.

“Take off your clothes too. Do I have to do everything?”

He stripped, his excitement rising as she glared at him, his heart thudding in time to the pulse in his cock. He hadn’t realized she had such a temper and was surprised at his eagerness to see where her anger took them.

“Now what are you going to do?”

Marguerite scanned the small bedroom, returning her gaze to Anthony. “This friend of yours, does he like to be tied up too?”

“Yes, he does, but . . .”

She jumped off the bed, “Then he must have something here to secure you with, yes?”

“You’re going to tie me up?”

“Yes, why shouldn’t I? I’m fed up with being treated like a porcelain figurine, protected and alone inside the china cabinet.” She glared at him, dared him to challenge her, to tell her not to be silly, to laugh. He did none of those things and the understanding in his gaze almost made her forget her anger.

He shrugged. “I’m tired of people underestimating me too. I’m not going to stop you.”

She headed for the chest of drawers and hesitated at the thought of invading another person’s privacy.

“May I help you, ma’am?”

Marguerite gasped and spun around to stare at the man who leaned against the bedroom door. He was dressed in naval uniform, his hat in his hand, his long blond hair disheveled from the wind. He was also distinctly familiar.

“Captain David Gray, at your service, ma’am. We met at Madame Helene’s.” He nodded at Anthony. “I can only apologize for the interruption. I’ll get what I need and I’ll be off.”

Anthony looked appalled as he scrambled to the side of the bed. “God, David, I’m so sorry. We’ll leave immediately.”

Marguerite’s fingers curled into her palm until they bit into her flesh. He was probably mortified at being caught naked in his lover’s bed with a woman.

But Captain Gray didn’t look angry. If she remembered correctly, he was a friend of her mother’s and Lisette’s and therefore unlikely to betray them. She curtsied, difficult to do well when wearing only one’s shift.

“Perhaps I should go and leave Captain Gray to satisfy your needs.”

“Marguerite . . .”

Captain Gray smiled. “Please, both of you, stay here. I am the one who is de trop.”

“And what if I asked you to stay?” Marguerite couldn’t quite believe the bold words emerging from her own mouth.

Captain Gray hesitated. “Ma’am?”

“I want to tie Anthony up. Can you show me how to do it?”

The captain exchanged another longer glance at Anthony. “Sokorvsky?”

“I’m quite happy to be tied up, David. If Marguerite wants your help, I’m not going to stop her.”

“Then I’d be delighted.”

David put down his tricorn hat, took off his gloves and shut the bedroom door firmly behind him. Marguerite tried to breathe normally. He seemed to accept her seminakedness as nothing out of the ordinary and showed no tendency to salivate over her. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been naked in front of two men before.

“You need something strong but supple enough to tie well, if that makes sense.” He stepped past her and opened the second drawer of the red lacquered tallboy. “I find long silk scarves work very well. Which color would you like?”

Marguerite peered into the drawer and saw a rainbow of colors. “Black, I think, do you have that?”

“Indeed I do.” He extracted four scarves and handed them to her. “I suggest you tie a scarf around each wrist and ankle first and then attach him to the bed.”

Marguerite almost wanted to laugh at his quiet, businesslike tone, but she didn’t want to lose the anger inside her either. She turned toward Anthony on the bed, noted his barely concealed excitement, the heaviness of his straining cock quivering against his belly.

David bowed to Anthony, “I do apologize for coming back. I assumed my work would keep me out until the end of the week, but the ship I expected didn’t arrive.”

Anthony sighed. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. This is your home.” He glanced at Marguerite. “This wasn’t planned.”

“These things rarely are.” David’s smile seemed genuine, his interest in the situation obvious even to Marguerite. “Shall we proceed?”

Marguerite climbed onto the bed and awaited further instructions.

“Loop the scarf around his wrist, tie a loose knot and then tie both ends to the bed frame.”

“How tight should it be?”

David came up behind her and tugged at the scarf. “It depends on how much you want to mark him.”

Anthony cleared his throat. “Tie it as tight as you want, Marguerite; I’ll probably enjoy it.”

She stared hard at the black silk scarf. Could she do this? Did she really want to? Perhaps her mother was right and she was too afraid. She tied the knot, heard Anthony’s stifled gasp as she tightened it. Despite the fact that she was anxious, she was the one with the power this time, not a naïve young wife who didn’t understand what was expected of her.

“Would you like me to help you?”

She blinked up at David who had come around to inspect her work, his expression carefully blank.

“No, I’d prefer to do it myself.”

He nodded as if he perfectly understood. “Do you wish me to leave then?”

She studied him for a long moment, recognized the rising arousal in his sea blue eyes, the quickness of his breathing, the already prominent bulge in his breeches.

“I’d like you to stay. Perhaps you can check my work when I’ve finished.”

“I’d be delighted; as Anthony already knows, I like to watch.”

She continued tying Anthony up, avoided touching his erect cock as she moved around the bed. Soon he lay spread eagled on the covers, each limb attached to a bed post by a scarf. Marguerite knelt between his muscled thighs and simply looked at him, noting the slight red marks on his wrists and ankles, the tautness of the black silk, the play of his muscles under his skin.

“Do you like me like this, Marguerite?”

She looked up at Anthony’s quiet question.

“Yes.”

She felt a slight movement behind her and turned her head to stare at David. She’d almost forgotten he was there. His gaze was fixed on Anthony too, but she saw no sign of passion, just the experienced eye of a detached observer.

“Captain Gray?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“If you were alone with Anthony, what would you do next?”

He shrugged. “It’s up to him. I don’t believe in forcing a man to accept whatever I feel like giving him, although there are some men who do.”

“And some men who like being forced, no doubt,” Anthony murmured. “What would you like to do to me, Marguerite, now that you have me at your mercy?”

She shivered. This was bizarre; this whole situation was unusual. “Not hurt you, not force you.”

“You could oil his skin, he’d probably like that.”

Marguerite eyed Anthony’s long powerful body, now displayed for her enjoyment, constrained by her hands. How would his skin feel straining and slick as she massaged oil into his quivering flesh?

“Do you oil him, Captain Gray?”

“Yes, I do, and please call me David. I also use oil for other reasons.”

“When you fuck him, you mean?”

Surprise flickered in David’s eyes followed by wry amusement and respect. “Yes, my lady, for when I fuck him.”

Anthony groaned. “Marguerite, for a well-brought-up young lady, your language is appalling.”

“I told you, I’m tired of being treated like an innocent. I’m a widow, not a shy debutante.”

David handed her a vial of oil, and she turned back to Anthony. He flinched as she coated her fingers with oil and started to massage it into his chest.

“Dammit, you could’ve warmed it first.”

She flicked his nipple. “I thought you liked it to hurt?”

His skin felt burning hot beneath her hands. She shaped his ribcage, the hollows of his stomach and the slight flare of his hips. He started to move under her, the slight undulation pulling on his bonds, making him strain toward her touch. His cock brushed against her arms as she worked, leaving streaks of precum on her skin, on the fine lawn of her shift. She could smell his desire all around her.

“What about my cock?” he demanded hoarsely as she started to rub oil into his thigh.

“What about it?”

“Aren’t you going to massage me there?”

“Not yet.”

David’s chuckle reminded Marguerite of his presence. He sat in a chair, one leg crossed over the other as he watched the action on the bed. He raised his eyebrows at her. “Do you still want me here?”

She smiled at him. “Do you always put your cock in him or do you sometimes use something else?”

“Marguerite!”

She ignored Anthony’s strangled exclamation and kept her gaze on David.

“We could gag him, you know. That would keep him quiet.” David smiled. “To answer your question, sometimes I use a carved phallus or short jade plug instead. Why do you ask?”

She shrugged. “I just wondered.”

David stood up. “If such things interest you, take a look in the third drawer down in the tallboy. I’m something of a collector of the unusual and erotic.” He bowed. “Now I really must leave you—I have arranged a luncheon engagement with your sister Lisette, and she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“You won’t mention me, will you?”

“Of course not. I’ll be the soul of discretion.” He winked at her, stroked a lingering path up Anthony’s leg to his hip and then left, shutting the door behind him.

Marguerite returned her attention to Anthony, who was gazing helplessly at the door. She stripped off her shift. Anthony’s eyes widened and he licked his lips.

“Come here and let me kiss you.”

“Non, I haven’t finished with you yet.” She knelt between his legs and took the heavy crown of his shaft into her mouth and sucked hard, used her teeth to draw him deep down her throat.

“Oh God,” he moaned and thrashed under her, his hips trying to lift, his heartbeat pounding loud enough to hear. “Yes, just like that, make me come, make me come hard for you.”

She cupped a hand under his balls and squeezed, brought them tight against the root of his shaft until he started to groan with every pull of her mouth. He climaxed, his cock so far down her throat that she barely had to swallow to take all his cum.

While he recovered, she set about untying him, rubbed at the red spots on his wrists and kissing the soreness away.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

She dropped the last of the scarves onto the bed. “Yes.”

His smile was slow and lascivious. “So did I.” He continued to watch her as she vainly tried to smooth out the wrinkles in the silk. “I certainly don’t see you as a shy retiring debutante anymore.”

She sniffed. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Perhaps your mother can be wrong. And if she can be wrong about her own daughter, perhaps she can be wrong about our relationship as well.”

She met his gaze. Why had he mentioned her mother? Suddenly she didn’t feel brave and daring anymore. Had she truly wanted to give Anthony what he craved or was she simply trying to prove a point to Helene?

“I never said I was prepared to give you up.”

“But you thought about it, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. She is my mother; we normally agree on most things.”

He sighed, shoving a hand through his already disordered hair. “I don’t want to come between you and your mother, but . . .”

She moved closer to him, kissed his stubbled cheek and then his lips with a confidence she was far from feeling. “You won’t.”

He cupped her chin and waited until her eyes met his. “I haven’t shocked you then?”

“Not yet.”

“You have certainly shocked me. I didn’t realize you had such a temper, but I’m not complaining.”

Conscious now of the coldness of the room and her naked state, Marguerite slipped off the bed and picked up her corset and petticoats. Despite what he said, she knew she’d behaved appallingly, had lost her temper, allowed two men to see her naked and—even worse—enjoyed every moment of it.

“Let me help you.”

She stood still as Anthony patiently laced her corset and tied the strings at her waist. He dropped her dress over her head, settled it around her and did up the fastenings.

“There, you look beautiful again.”

“Scarcely that.”

He chuckled. “God forbid I offend you. I meant you look presentable.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “What are you going to do about your hair? It looks like a bird’s nest.”

In answer she hunted up some hair pins from the floor and the bed, gave the ends of her hair a quick practiced twist and pinned the mass on the top of her head. She quickly added her bonnet and tied the cream ribbons, then curtsied to Anthony as he stared at her.

“Well, will I do?”

His smile was warm and full of admiration. “Perfectly.” He hesitated, rubbing a hand over his naked chest. “Give me a moment to dress and I’ll escort you home.”

“I think I’d like to go by myself.” She tried to hold his gaze and failed. “Do you mind?”

He stepped back, the laughter dying from his eyes. “Of course not. Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Marguerite picked up her gloves and reticule. “That would be lovely.” Why had this suddenly become so difficult? She nodded awkwardly. “Good-bye then.”

He didn’t reply, and she almost tripped in her haste to get to the door and leave. Unexpected sunlight on her face made her pause at the main door. She’d forgotten it was still afternoon. How long had she allowed herself to be with Anthony and forget the outside world? She needed to get home, take a deep breath and think.