Blood Wicked (10 page)

“No, my lord.”

As he led her away, Vivienne turned on him. “You’re questioning them to find out if I’ve ever been here?”

“I have to, though I don’t believe you lied about it. You seemed too genuinely surprised by the place when we first came in.”

She shuddered. “And Cavendish died in here.”

“Don’t think about that right now. I will do more questioning later. Right now there is a room I want to show you. And I assume, by this time of the night, the particular act you should see will be in progress.”

A few minutes later, Vivienne found herself standing in front of large double doors painted dark burgundy. She didn’t know what he was trying to prove, but she was nervous.

“This is a scene I think you’ll enjoy, love. A woman in command of several men who will do anything to please her.”

Vivienne frowned at his twinkling, reflective eyes. “A woman in command? It may look like that, but I very much doubt it’s true.”

Heath pointed to the curtain. “Feel free to peep there, where the curtains join.”

His arrogance annoyed her. She knew he was daring her, so she stalked forward and looked. It took her several moments of blinking to really see it….

A naked couple were making love on an oval-shaped bed in the center of the room. The woman, a redhead with enormous breasts, was on top. But they weren’t alone. A man with chocolate-brown hair knelt behind her, his hand wrapped firmly around his erect shaft. The man could barely fit his hand around his cock, and she knew how big a man’s hand was. He was even more generously endowed than Heath.

The man tipped a vial over the woman’s rump and a stream of golden fluid slowly flowed out. It was viscous and lazy, like oil. It struck the top of her derriere and slid between the cheeks.

The brown-haired man inched forward, then stroked the tip of his enormous appendage in the golden oil. He massaged the girl’s bottom with his penis. Then he began to slide his erection inside her arse.

Vivienne caught her breath. She had heard of …
this
. Of a man going inside a woman’s bottom. She had never done it. The
woman, trapped between two men, moaned loudly. Given she was already riding one man, how could another one fit, even in her bottom?

Another inch went inside the woman. The second man lifted both his hands and used the rocking of his hips to direct his cock inside her. A little more. And more. And more.

The woman cried out as he gave one last thrust. His groin pressed tight against her plump bottom. “Ooh, that feels so wonderfully full,” she cried.

The man with the chocolate waves laughed. “We’ve only just begun.” He bent forward and lifted an ivory rod from the surface of the bed. Such wands were intended for a woman to insert inside herself—for her own pleasure, or to stimulate a man who wished to watch.

It glistened in the light. Obviously it had been oiled already.

The man withdrew a few inches, so his engorged shaft could be seen until it disappeared between ivory cheeks. Vivienne could barely breathe. It looked so erotic.

The man pressed the tip of the wand to her stretched opening, beside his aroused cock.

“Ooh, my lord,” the woman cried. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you what full really means, my dear.”

Like an obedient servant, the girl nodded. But she screamed as he eased it in. Her hands became claws on the chest of the first man, who had coal-black hair. He smiled up at her. “Too much?”

Her face was scarlet. “No. No, not too much. I
want
this.”

The second man’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. As Vivienne watched with wide eyes, the wand slid into the girl, past its thickest circumference.

The girl gasped. “Oh, I did feel the pop.”

“So did I,” he murmured.

“Dear heaven,” she whimpered. “I am crammed. You are both enormous to begin with.”

“But you aren’t completely stuffed, are you, love?” He thrust forward.

The girl shook her head.

Vivienne gasped. His flat abdomen collided with the end of the wand. His cock and the slim rod of ivory slid up the girl’s rump. Withdrew. Slid again.

Vivienne knew her hands were in fists, like the girl’s. Her head buzzed with heat. Her cunny throbbed. Even her derriere tingled at the thought of being so filled….

The first man laughingly called, “Come out, Bedowin. We need a cock for her mouth. And bring the clamps for her nipples.”

It all happened so swiftly. A third man—a blond—strode out from behind a curtain. He was aroused, a silvery stream of fluid already leaking from the engorged, purplish head of his cock. He carried small clasps attached to leather straps. Swiftly he fixed those to the girl’s thick brown nipples and handed the straps to the other two men. Then he straddled the head of the man on the bottom and thrust his erection into the girl’s eager mouth.

The three men thrust wildly, but the girl writhed and thrust and pounded as though possessed by demons. Her cries were muffled by the blond man’s erection. But the girl suddenly arched her back and clutched the arse of the blond. She clung to him, his thick cock still buried in her mouth as she jerked helplessly between the other two men.

Those men laughed with delight and thrust hard, ruthlessly fucking her. The girl came again and again, and Vivienne’s chest was tight with the building tension filling the room.

She realized what the men were doing: desperately hanging on. No one wanted to be the man who came first. The one with the least stamina.

Finally the one with the dark brown hair shouted, “Hades, I can hang on no longer.” He shoved his hips forward, slamming
everything he had into the climaxing girl’s bottom, and he roared, “Oh God,” at the top of his lungs. Vivienne was taken aback. Men usually grunted. Or panted. Orgasm often proved to be the one time they
were
silent.

Not this man. His head jerked forward and back as he came. He growled, roared, smacked his groin hard against the redheaded girl’s rump. The other two men surrendered to pleasure rapidly, but neither were as thrilling to watch in climax. They grunted a bit, tensed, and relaxed.

“Ah, Molly, but you are the most spectacular lass in England,” groaned the brown-haired man. Gently, he withdrew the wand, then himself.

He clapped his hands. A footman hastened forward, holding a basin of water and with cloths draped over his arm—warmed ones of rich, white linen. Steam rose from the basin and the linen.

The man cleaned himself swiftly with a towel. He selected another, dipped it in water, and gently cleaned Molly. The other men withdrew from her, then left the bed without a word. They vanished behind the curtain.

Vivienne’s heart beat erratically as she watched a man she did not know clean his lover so tenderly. It was thoroughly astonishing. And Molly giggled throughout.

This certainly was not what she had expected.

“Did you find it arousing?” Heath closed his hands on her shoulders.

Vivienne jumped. He had not touched her—not at all—as they watched. He had stood in the shadows behind her and made no sound. And now, with his hands on her, she was almost ready to purr beneath his touch—

No, she wasn’t. She was ready to spin around, claw his clothes off, and attack him sexually like a tigress.

“There’s more.” He smiled wickedly. “Your night is only beginning.”

She sputtered. “If you want to arouse me, your job is done. But I was willing to bed you yesterday, without all—all this.”

“You were willing to
sacrifice
yourself by bedding me to satisfy the crone in the apothecary’s shop.”

She whirled on him. “What is all this for? Did she arrange for you to do this?”

“I don’t take orders, love. Not even from men who would happily stake my heart if I didn’t.”

To discover if Miss Dare was actually a succubus, Heath knew he had to ignite her. He had to give her enough carnal temptation to have her climbing the walls.

“Come, Miss Dare. Your night of sensual education is only beginning.”

Darkness. It was so dark around her.

Vivienne opened her eyes wide. But she was plunged in blackness and she couldn’t see. She wasn’t in the brothel anymore. She had seen scandalous things. Mad, arousing things where groups of people made love, with men sticking their erections in every orifice imaginable—

Suddenly, her heart screamed in her chest. She sucked in deep breaths. She started to panic, but she couldn’t slow down her breathing. Pain pounded in her head, wrapped around her heart, lanced her sides. She was cold, like she had fallen into the Thames on a winter’s night.

She tumbled out of the bed. She was breathing so fast. Too fast. And even though she was gasping for air, she couldn’t take any in. What was wrong? Why wouldn’t it stop? She must be—

Strong arms lifted her and she was swept off her feet and pressed tightly against a warm, naked male chest.

Heath.

She struggled to look up at him. But she was seeing him through a crimson haze. A blurry veil the color of blood …

“What’s wrong, love?”

She fought to speak. Her chest was getting tighter and tighter, like an iron band was being cinched around it. “I—”

His hand suddenly cupped below her left breast. He must be able to feel her heart gallop through her nightdress.

“I—can’t breathe.” She flinched as another jolt of pain sliced through her head. “You—you’ve turned red.” Shivers wracked her. Vivienne no longer felt the heat of his body, even though his massive arms were wrapped around her, pinning her to the powerful muscles of his warm chest. But she was getting so cold she could no longer move.

“Sarah,” she croaked through numb, frosty lips. Was she going to die and leave Sarah alone?

“Christ,” Heath growled. “What have I done?”

And next thing she knew, her bed canopy was above her, she was flat on her back, and Heath had shoved up her nightdress. His hands parted her freezing legs. His breath flowed over her bared abdomen. So hot. She needed more—needed to fight the cold. She tried to grasp his shoulders and hold him close, but her arms wouldn’t move.

Then he bent his head and his tongue, hot and wet, slicked over her cunny.

H
is plan had been damn idiocy.

Heath pressed his mouth to the soft curls between Vivienne’s legs. She lay limply upon her enormous bed, and his heart, his long-dead heart, lurched at the sight. Whimpers of pain escaped from her trembling lips. Shivers wracked her ashen-white, voluptuous form. She looked so vulnerable. So weak and hollow and terrified.

He knew what death looked like. And she was on the brink of it.

It was his damn fault.

For being arrogant again. For thinking he was right.

He’d thought denying her would make her desire explosive. He’d never expected she would be in pain. That she would grow so cold. It was like her life force was flowing out of her. He could almost see it in the gloom of the ill-lit bedchamber, hovering like golden faery dust around her.

He had to stop it. Had to save her.

He slicked his tongue over her quivering cunny. Her taste—salty, rich, earthy, ripe—exploded on his tongue. Her nether
lips felt like silk coated with cream. But even here, in her most intimate place, she was turning cold.

He didn’t have time for finesse. Or for a long, slow session where he took his time devouring her and made her scream.

He gently licked her clitoris. Her shocked, thrilled cry echoed in the room, and her little nub plumped and hardened in his mouth. But she was afraid, too. He could sense that with her every heartbeat. She had no idea what was happening to her.

He flicked his tongue hard and fast across her, and she arched up on the bed. A wash of her juices flowed from her, drenching his mouth.

God, she tasted so sweet. He ran his tongue over his lower lip to savor the essence of her. For just a fraction of a second, before sweeping his tongue over her blushing, erect clit once more.
Her
taste could addict him.

He knew it, knew he had no choice but to risk the temptation. Risk craving something he could never have again.

Placing his lips around her clit, he suckled. Her hips launched off the bed. Color flooded her skin as she grew warmer. Her flesh was losing the terrifying whitish-blue cast.

His mouth tingled, heated, and he backed away as his fangs exploded forward.

He had to control himself. He couldn’t bite her.

He had to pleasure her.

It had never been like this.

Vivienne clutched the crumpled bedsheet beside her. Once, when she’d been very young, she’d tried to fly by jumping out of the window of the flashhouse she lived in. She’d soared for mere seconds, then had fallen like a stone—fortunately into a cart of rags.

She was soaring now. Whirling through pleasure and delight. Heat flooded her cold body. Her skin felt alive, aware,
aroused
. Where the hem of her nightgown brushed against her belly. Where the lace around her bodice tickled. And especially when she stroked her fingers over her breasts.

Then a bolt of pain lanced her, and her hands froze on top of her bosom.

Heath suddenly gripped her hips. He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him, so her quim landed upon his mouth. She squeaked with shock. “What are you doing? I shall squash you being on top of you like this.”

His tongue slid over her clit again, lavishly, thoroughly, and she had to shut her eyes.

“Love, you don’t need to worry about me. Now quiet, my dear, and let me make you come. Let me begin my onslaught.”

The words made her quiver.

Another playful lick of his tongue made her moan. She swiftly understood what he meant by “onslaught.” He splayed his hands on her bare derriere and lifted her. Lifted her to open her nether lips to him so he could suckle her clit. Each gentle pull and tug flooded her mind with pleasure and pushed away every other thought.

Heavens, he stroked between the cheeks of her bottom. He touched her tight entrance, and sensation, dazzling sensation, rushed through her. She gasped. In shock. In astonishment at the pleasure. He didn’t try to penetrate, he just stroked her.