A Marriage Most Scandalous (Scandalous Ballroom Encounters Book 2) (4 page)

Moisture seeped from her core, soaking the soft thatch between her thighs. She brought her hands up to Petra’s head, her fingers threading through strands of thick, wavy hair. She tilted Petra’s head back, lowering her own for a taste of her tits. The feel of the other woman’s tongue on her breast had left her curious as to how a feminine nipple would feel in her mouth, how it would taste.

Petra gave a low purr, arching her back and reaching down to cup Cecily’s buttocks. Their mounds touched, downy blonde curls caressing dark ones. Petra rotated her hips, grinding against her and groaning low in her throat as Cecily’s tongue strokes grew bolder.

“Bloody hell,” Sheridan rasped from the other side of the curtain, his voice dripping with arousal and heavy with breathlessness.

The nipple in her mouth drew away, and Petra knelt in front of her, her mysterious gaze burning into Cecily’s. A smirk curved the corner of her lush mouth as her fingers delved into the damp curls covering Cecily’s mons. She gasped when slender fingers slid between the lower lips, encountering the velvety folds.

“My friend here is so wet, my lord,” Petra called out, so that Sheridan could hear from his side of the curtain. She leaned forward and parted Cecily’s curls, exposing her swollen clitoris. Swirling her tongue around the little bud, she made a low sound, as if tasting something heavenly. The heat and friction of her tongue caused Cecily’s knees to buckle. “Mmm, she tastes even better than she feels.”

Sheridan didn’t speak, but his sharp intake of breath gave voice to his state of arousal.

Petra licked her again, running her tongue from Cecily’s opening, up over the sensitive pink folds, circling around the throbbing, hidden bud. Another moan tore from Cecily’s throat, and her hips moved toward Petra, a silent plea for more. No one had ever told her such an intimate thing were possible. It felt better than anything she’d ever experienced. She wanted to feel Sheridan’s searching mouth there, his hot tongue going where Petra’s had been and beyond.

“Would you fancy a taste, my lord?” Petra asked, as if having read her mind.

She could practically hear his indecision—the pause in his breathing, the break in the sound of his hand stroking his own cock.

“No,” he said.

Yet, his voice held a note of uncertainty, a huskiness that belied his refusal.

“Pity,” Petra murmured. Her breath tickled Cecily’s sensitive mound, sending a tremor down her spine. One of her fingers probed inside, invading her slick sheath. “So tight, too, my lord. Tight as a virgin. So sweet. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

He grunted in frustration. “I can’t.”

“Of course you can,” Petra replied, her finger continuing to wreak havoc on her insides. “My friend wants a man’s touch …
your
touch. Don’t you, my love?”

“Yes,” she rasped, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears. It came out deeper, throatier, a purr of desire.

Petra stood, breaking contact. Cecily bit back a groan of disappointment. The game they played had come to a crucial point. Time to move on to the next phase of it, and if Petra had been right, it would prove even more exciting than the first.

On the other side of the curtain, Sheridan wrestled with indecision. Through the sheer veil, he could see two silhouettes and just enough detail to make out what they did to each other. In the back of his mind, he knew this must be wrong. He should have gone home to his wife. Instead, he found himself drunk, trapped in a room with two panting, groaning females, and a cock that had gone hard as stone. No amount of stroking with his own hand could tame it now. It had taken on a life of its own, craving the wetness and heat of a woman’s cunt.

Cecily’s cunt.

But if he went home now, he would surely stumble into her room and fuck her in a mindless fit of drunken lust, likely frightening her to death in the process. His need had grown to a level of ravenousness that defied all reason. He craved something—anything—to squelch it. His wife never had to know. In fact, she’d probably be grateful that her animal of a husband had slaked his lust elsewhere.

“There is a blindfold beneath your chair, my lord,” said the Madame’s deep, smoky voice. “Put it on.”

Brandy had weakened his will, and his cock had taken over the thinking for him. He obeyed her. The black fabric darkened his vision, heightening his other senses. The curtain whispered open and soft footsteps padded across the carpet toward him. A pair of hands came down on his shoulders, caressing downward toward his chest. His cravat fell away and cool air whispered across his skin as his shirt came apart, button by button.

“You are so tense, my lord,” Petra murmured.

Those must be her hands touching him, the slender fingers undressing him.

“Let my friend take care of you. You may pretend she is your wife, if that is what you need. She can be anything you wish her to be.”

The scent of feminine arousal clogged the air around him, causing a fresh surge of blood to his cock. A pair of feminine legs straddled his and the weight of a second person came down on his lap. He bit back a string of curses as a woman’s thighs met his and a hot, weeping pussy came to rest against his cock. The woman sighed softly, moving her hips so that her wet folds glided over his shaft, soaking him in her juices. She was so damned wet, just as Petra had said.

“Fuck,” he growled, his chest heaving with the effort it took to hold himself in check.

“Yes, my lord,” Petra whispered with a throaty laugh. “Fuck her. She is ready for you.”

He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to thrust upward into the inviting little sheath teasing him with its nearness and wetness.

“I was promised a taste,” he said.

The scent of this woman had intoxicated him. His mouth watered to have that sweet cunt in his mouth.

“You heard him,” Petra said, her voice a gentle command. “If it’s a taste he wants, then you will give him one.”

Silently, the woman in his lap stood. Her fingers stroked his hair, tilting his head back. The touch caused his scalp to tingle. The scent of her arousal grew stronger, and her leg came up over his shoulder, coming to rest over the back of the chair.

Sheridan opened his mouth and his palate became flooded with the taste of woman. He groaned, suckling hungrily, letting his tongue roam at will over the wet, silky flesh. The woman moaned, one hand gripping his shoulder for balance. Her curls tickled his lips, soft and downy. Her scent and taste invaded his senses, sweet and floral.

He brought his hands up to her hips, allowing his fingertips to sink into the soft flesh of her buttocks. She felt buxom, with hips that overflowed in his hands. It seemed easy to pretend this woman and Cecily were the same, when they possessed similar body types. He urged her to ride his tongue, coaxing movement from her hips while he lapped and sucked like a starving man. She shuddered, following his lead and rotating her hips in tandem with his tongue strokes. Her moans rose to screams, and he recognized the signs of a woman close to completion. He increased his efforts, latching onto her clit and drawing on it mercilessly.

One of his hands moved back between her cheeks, then delved forward, finding her opening. He thrust two fingers into her, pushing another cry from her lips. He imagined Cecily straddling his face, her cheeks flushed with passion as she rode him to her climax.

His cock pulsed, and he nearly came then and there. Instead, he intensified the pressure of his tongue and increased the rhythm of his strokes inside of the tight little sheath gripping his fingers.

The woman splintered, crying out one last time and trembling against him. Her channel tightened around him, pulsing and contracting. She went limp against him, sinking back down into his lap.

But Sheridan wasn’t finished with her yet. He lowered his head, searching for breasts he knew would match the hips in ampleness. His open mouth caressed a collarbone, and the soft curve of one shoulder, then made its way lower. When the tight bud of one nipple brushed his lips, he opened and consumed it. A soft whimper became his reward, and the woman’s hands tangled in his hair again, pulling, caressing, encouraging him to take his fill.

“Ah, Cecily, you taste so good,” he murmured. Behind the darkness of the blindfold, he imagined it was her he touched in the way he’d always wanted to, unrestrained and without fear that she wouldn’t like it.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he grunted, deciding he couldn’t take anymore. He needed release, and he needed it now. “I want to fuck you from behind.”

Her weight left his lap, and he stood. “Madame, I know you’re still in here.”

“I am, my lord,” came Petra’s voice from somewhere behind him.

“A sheath, if you please,” he said curtly. If we was going to fuck someone other than his wife, he’d be damned if he sired a bastard on her.

“Right away, my lord.”

He went to his knees on the carpet, reaching out and finding the woman right where she should be—in front of him and on her knees, her arse lifted and tilted upward in invitation.  A few seconds later, Petra’s hands found his waist, then slid forward, gripping his cock. He hissed, thrusting into her hand. She gave him a light stroke, then sheathed him with the condom. After tying it off, she reached down and gave his bollocks a little squeeze. Sheridan cried out, his gut contracting in response to the bold caress.

Then, she was gone again, retreating silently, leaving him alone with his mystery woman.

Sheridan wasted no time. Taking her hips in his hands, he pulled her back onto his erection. She gasped, and he let out the breath he’d been holding. Her cunt gripped him tightly, creating the friction he craved as he pulled out and slammed into her again.

She screamed when his pelvis pounded against her buttocks, causing the soft flesh to quiver in his hands. He repeated the motion again and again, slamming into her with brute force that surprised even him. Gritting his teeth, he rode her mercilessly, undoubtedly leaving fingerprints in her flesh as he held her at the angle he desired. She didn’t seem to mind his rough treatment. In fact, the harder he pounded her, the louder she cried, until her hips swayed back against him, urging him on harder and faster.

“Cecily,” he groaned, thrusting even faster and harder, causing his bollocks to slap against her mons. “Christ, you feel so good.”

“Sheridan,” she whimpered, swaying back into him one last time and quivering in release.

In the back of his mind, he latched onto the sound of his name falling from this whore’s lips. For that moment, he conjured Cecily’s voice. It seemed so vivid. It almost felt real, as if she were truly present.

With one last groan, he fell against her, his release causing his stomach to clench and his lungs to burn with the effort it took to breathe. He sucked in a ragged breath, trying to calm his racing pulse.

After a moment, he pulled away, sinking back onto his heels and resting his hands on his thighs. He heard movement in the room, and realized he didn’t want to lose the secrecy of anonymity. He didn’t want to have to look at the woman he’d just had sex with and shatter the mystery and illusion. It seemed easier not to face what he’d done now that it was over. But Petra’s hands were on the back of the blindfold, and soon, it would all end.

“Wait,” he said, too late.

He closed his eyes, almost tempted to keep them closed. He could feel their gazes on him, two pairs—Petra’s and the whore he’d fucked in a mindless stupor.

“It’s all right,” a voice called out to him. Sweet, gentle, soft. All too familiar. “Look at me, Sherry.”

His eyes flew open, and a fist of anxiety rose up in his throat. Trying to swallow past it, he grasped for something to say—anything—but no words came forth.

The blue eyes boring into his appeared full of compassion and tenderness, and … and something else. Satisfaction?

It had been her the whole time. He could hardly believe what he saw. Had he wished for this so fervently that he’d conjured her doppelganger?

There could be no other explanation for this.

Or, it really was her. His wife. Here, in a whorehouse.

When he forced his tongue to come unglued from the roof of his mouth, he could only managed one word in a hoarse, ragged whisper.

“Cecily?”

Cecily paced, her eyes watching the progress of her bare feet over the soft carpet. Hands clasped tight before her, she worried her gold wedding band between two fingers. Pausing, she craned her neck, hoping to catch hold of some sound that would tell her Sheridan had arrived home. Breath held, she dared not even swallow lest she miss the open and closing of the front door, or the sound of his footsteps on the stairs.

After the blindfold had been removed to reveal her, his expression had been nothing short of flabbergasted. He’d gaped, eyes wide and mouth ajar for a full minute before he recovered. He’d glanced from her to Petra, who stood nearby, still nude. She hadn’t missed the spark of attraction between the Madame and her husband, or the resentment that followed when he realized he’d been tricked. Then, perhaps, had been a bit of relief. She’d known he hadn’t wanted to sleep with a whore—or what he thought to be a whore. He hadn’t wanted to dishonor their vows; that much had been obvious.

She could certainly understand the combination of confusion, guilt, relief, and satisfaction he must have been feeling in that moment.

“It’s all right,” she’d said, reaching out to cup his face. “I planned the whole thing. I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well,” he’d said, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he paused to swallow. “You have certainly succeeded.”

He’d stood, refastening his breeches.

Cecily had followed his lead, accepting the dressing gown Petra extended to her. She’d pulled it on and tied the belt.

“Well? Won’t you say something?”

He’d given her a blank stare, his expression betraying nothing. “Did you hire a hack to bring you here?”

She’d blinked, taken aback. “Yes.”

“Did you tell it to wait?”

She’d nodded.

“Good. Go home.”

Her fingers had found the sleeve of his shirt. “Won’t you come with me?”

“My companions will wonder what’s become of me. Under no circumstances can I allow them to know you’ve been here. I will return home shortly.”

He’d been right, of course. She would leave as discreetly as she’d arrived, and when he came home, they would speak of what had happened. She could only hope he’d understand why she’d acted as she had.

‘Shortly’, as it turned out, proved far longer than two hours. That’s how long she’d been waiting for him. The hour neared five o’clock in the morning, and she had yet to sleep a wink. Wringing her hands, she repressed the nausea burning in her stomach. Had she, in an attempt to fix a problem, only exacerbated it? Perhaps enlisting the help of a brothel Madame had not been the best idea.

She started when the noises she expected finally came, heralding Sheridan’s arrival. Fighting the urge to run to him, she stayed rooted to the spot, facing the door separating their suites. She counted the seconds as he ascended the stairs, then entered his chamber. She could hear his deep voice, mingled with that of his valet, who he dismissed.

After a long while, she decided she’d delayed long enough. She’d spent far more time than she ought waiting for something to happen. She’d taken matters into her own hands tonight; there seemed no reason she couldn’t not continue to do so.

She found her husband seated in a high-backed chair near his fireplace, the orange glow of flames playing over his patrician features. He wore only a pair of snug breeches, and smelled faintly of soap.

For a long while, he said nothing, nor did he so much as acknowledge her presence in the room. She stood just in front of him, so close the tips of her toes almost touched his.

At last, his gaze shifted to her.

“I owe you an apology,” he began, his voice hoarse and thick.

She frowned. “You do?”

He nodded. “You must have found out, somehow, that I would go to that brothel tonight. Such knowledge hurt you, and you came after me, didn’t you? What did Madame Petra do, what did she say, to convince you to go along with that … that …” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. I should never have gone there, and I most certainly should not have been so indiscreet to allow you find out. And, it’s the damndest thing, Cecily. If my father, or my uncles, or any other man of my acquaintance knew his wife had discovered his intention to go to a house of ill repute, he would not care about her feelings. He wouldn’t give a damn if she were hurt, or angry. He would expect her to remain silent about it and go on performing her duties as his wife and blast all else. But, you see, I love you. I
care
about what you think of me. I would never want to do anything to cause you pain.”

When he glanced up at her again, she could see he meant every word. His wounded expression caused pity to stab through her chest. Sinking down onto his knee, she took his head in her hands and lowered it to her breast. He rested there with a sigh, wrapping his arms around her and holding tight.

“You’re right,” she murmured, running a hand through his mussed hair. “I don’t want you going back there.”

He nodded, the stubble on his jaw rasping against the fabric of her dressing gown. “I won’t, Cecily. I promise you.”

Turning his face up, she gazed down into his eyes. “I want you to fulfill your every need and desire with me.”

His fingers clenched the fabric of her robe. “You don’t know how much I want to. I have fantasies, thoughts about the sort of things … but, those things—”

“Made me feel alive,” she interjected. “Tonight, you made love to me like I was a different woman.”

“I thought you were a whore.”

She smiled. “If that is what it is like, I think I would very much like for you to treat me like a whore.”

He drew a sharp breath, starting as he glanced up at her. “You don’t know what you’re saying!”

Grasping his hands, she placed them flat on her body, covering them with her own and sliding them up over her breasts. His breath hitched, and his fingers curled around them. She arched her back and pushed them more fully into his palms.

“Did you like what you saw from the other side of that curtain, my love? Petra … she is a beautiful woman.”

His breath grew ragged as she sank onto his lap, straddling his thighs.

“Yes. She’s almost as beautiful as you.”

“I felt so wanton, knowing you sat on the other side of that veil, watching her do those wicked things to me. Do you know what would have made it even better?”

He lowered his head into the valley between her breasts, nudging the sides of her dressing gown apart as his fingers deftly untied the sash. “What?”

“To have your hands on me, too … your mouth … to feel you both at the same time, tasting me, touching me.” She shivered when his fingers tweaked her nipples, applying gentle pressure. One of his thumbnails rasped the taut peak, drawing a gasp. “I saw how you looked at her. You want her, too.”

He gripped her thighs, mouth latched onto one nipple as he grasped the hem of her nightgown and lifted it. “I had no idea you fancied other women.”

Cecily’s head fell back while his lips found her neck, his tongue rasping along the vital vein thrumming with her pulse. “I did not, either. When I asked for her help, and she suggested that we perform those acts to arouse you, I was shocked, to say the least. I had no idea such things were done.”

One of his hands brushed the damp curls of her mons, and he reached between them, unfastening his breeches. He rested against her, powerful and thick, throbbing with arousal. She groaned and ground against it, pressing her wet inner folds against his cock.

“No more reticence,” she whispered. He lifted her, then eased her down onto his erection, impaling her inch by slow inch. “I want you to feel free to do what you want with me, Sherry.”

His hands trembled when they found her hips, taking them in a bruising grip.

“I want to,” he murmured. “God, you don’t know how hard it’s been. I look at you and I see a sweet innocent, a lady …
my
lady.”

“Then close your eyes,” she whispered, “and pretend I’m her.”

He shook his head, refusing to break her gaze.

Pressing her hand over his eyes, she pushed his head back, forcing it to rest on the back of the chair.

“Cecily, stop this.”

She moved against him, forcing a low moan from his throat. Smiling in satisfaction, she did it again, careful to keep her hand in place.

“Your cock feels so good inside me, my lord,” she purred, imitating Petra’s faint accent. “You want to fuck me, don’t you? You want to take me from behind while I taste your wife’s cunt.”

He grunted, the muscles in his chest and abdomen tightening and contracting as she slid up and down the length of his rod.

“Hmmm, maybe I’ll kiss you and give you a taste. You’d like that, too, wouldn’t you, my lord? To taste your wife’s sweet little quim on my lips.”

Sheridan groaned, his hands palming her hips again and forcing her up and down harder, faster.

“Yes,” he hissed from between gritted teeth.

Her head fell back again, and she allowed her hand to fall from over his eyes, satisfied that they would remained closed. She obeyed his silent command to go faster, gripping the back of his neck and hanging on as he bucked upward to meet her. She reveled in the power she’d discovered in her body, in her own womanhood. Never had she thought she could be so bold, so daring. The encounter at Madame Petra’s had awakened her desires, as well as her curiosity. She wanted to discover all that could be learned about the bedroom arts.

Before this night, they’d only made love in one manner—with Sheridan on top of her, in the dark. This way, with him beneath her, her pleasure increased tenfold; each stroke of his cock inside her caressed a sensitive place deep within, one that brought on the telltale spasms she’d learned signaled her release.

She shattered, screaming so loud it was a wonder the servants didn’t come running to ensure that someone wasn’t killing her. His hand clapped over her mouth, but his assault on her body never ceased. His hips pumped upward, his breaths growing shorter and more ragged, until he groaned his own release, filling her with the hot gush of his seed.

He collapsed against the chair, sweat glistening on his bare skin, chest heaving from the exertion. She fell against him, cheek resting against his shoulder.

Now came the part she’d always enjoyed—the closeness she always felt with him when their lovemaking had ended. Instead, now, even that felt better because they were both more satisfied than they’d ever been.

Before she knew it, her eyelids drooped and she had drifted off to sleep. She didn’t know how long they dozed, but when she came to, he was carrying her to the bed. The sun had long since risen, but with strict orders from the servants that they were not to be disturbed, Sheridan joined her in her bed, and they slept.