Wicked Desires (Wicked Affairs, Book One) (19 page)

Michael leaned back in feigned consideration. “Well, we leave for Edinburgh in ten days.”

“Will, Mama’s going with us!” Harry exclaimed.

“Now, Harry, I haven’t said I’m going yet,” Clarissa said.

Michael leaned toward his son, “You’ll have to help me convince her.” He winked at his younger son and then returned his attention to William.

Clarissa touched his leg underneath the table and with her gaze, pled for mercy for their son, who according to Dudley, had worked hard to complete his laborious sentence.

“So, because we do not wish to travel with the stench of the barn all the way to Scotland, your labor will cease seven days before we leave.”

Cheers rose from the table. Andrew elbowed Will.

“Only three more days?” William asked just to make sure.

“Only three.”

He smiled. “Thank you, Father.”

Michael then faced Clarissa. Her face heated under his gaze. “And what must we do to convince you to come along, dear?”

“Really, I’ll be in the way, and you’ll be out all day skinning bears and tracking deer, all sorts of whatnot that doesn’t interest me in the least.”

“Bears! Mama, we aren’t going to Canada.”

“And I don’t like the smell of fresh fish,” Clarissa added, wrinkling her nose. “Enough of this. You’ve an hour of reading before bedtime. Off with you.”

Clarissa waited dutifully for the pecks to her cheek as they all kissed her good night and bowed to their father.

“Shall we retire to the library?” Michael asked as he assisted her to her feet.

“Certainly.”

The footmen were already clearing the table by the time they left the room. In the library, Clarissa scooped up the novel she’d been reading and Michael sat across from her.

His stare had her hot from her ankles to her bosom. She peeked up at him. He sat slouched, one ankle propped against a knee, his elbows on the arm of the chair, his fingers steepled, contemplating some deep problem.

“Clarissa, after you bathe, but before you’re ready to sleep, see me in my room please.” His words startled her and his gaze nearly burned a hole into her being.

With that, he surged from his chair and left the library.

She read and reread the same page as she considered his odd behavior. Setting aside the book, she gave up, not wanting to sit alone in the empty hours of the evening. Invariably, her alone thoughts turned to naughty wishes and how she could fulfill them without being a hypocrite.

Her maid assisted with the undressing and after she poured another steaming bucket of water into the tub, Clarissa dismissed her. She sank in the water up to her neck. Reaching for her favorite apple blossom-scented soaped, she scrubbed and cleansed until she was pink and the water was cold.

The hour wasn’t horribly late and she enjoyed just lazing in the bath water, so she got up and, with water streaming from her, padded across the floor to the fireplace. She lifted the hot pad and reached for the handle, carrying it awkwardly to the tub and then emptying the bucket.

Clarissa glanced toward Michael’s door, biting at her lip as she did so.

She had time.

She dashed across the room to her bed and pulled out the bag Madame DuPuis had given to her. The thick, shiny brass phallus lay on top. She plucked it up and hurried back to the tub. While Michael remained in London, she’d enjoyed pleasuring herself and found that at odd moments, she liked slipping away to enjoy the pleasures of the body.

What had she turned into? An insatiable slattern? Or worse? Whores did it for the money, some even to provide for their families.

She, on the other hand, had been driven by needs her husband had inspired and encouraged. And now she didn’t know how to fully control the lusts that consumed her.

Sinking into the hot water a second time, she quickly brought the dildo between her legs, spreading them wide as she stroked and roused herself before she thrust it into her waiting body. She wished for a thicker, longer dildo but there was no one to ask for such a device. Even Michael would be shocked at her request.

The normally cool dildo had warmed from her bathwater. Her breathing had turned labored, her body readied. She poised the hand-crafted cock and stuffed herself full.

Clarissa leaned her head against the rim of the tub and enjoyed a few moments of pleasurable pressure before she started the push-pull rhythm she particularly enjoyed.

The door between their rooms opened and Michael stuck his head through.

Clarissa clamped her legs together and turned to look at him.

“Oh, I wondered what was taking so long.”

“I’ll be another few minutes,” she said, trying to sound relaxed and unhurried though she was on the verge of an orgasm.

“Don’t rush.” He walked toward her, clad in a green velvet robe she’d given him for Christmas last year.

He reached for the stool holding the towels and brushed them aside. He faced her. “You always liked your baths.”

“It’s a wonderful treat.” Her legs remained clasped together. Enough soap bubbles remained on the surface of the water to hide her activities.

Michael rolled up the sleeve of his robe. He dipped his finger in the water and traced the path of her skin at the water’s edge, running along the contours of her breasts.

She gasped. Her hands gripped the edge of the tub. “Michael, I don’t—”

“I know. I’ve been insatiable with you. I’ll try to control myself, but you are so beautiful.”

His palm covered her nipple and breast before he squeezed and kneaded. Her chest heaved as she fought against the rising tide.

“I’ve always loved your breasts.” He reached across the tub and pinched at the other nipple. “Perfect. Overabundant.” He cupped her again, soothing the fleshy spheres in a slow, circular motion. He knelt, his head bending over the tub as he sucked the protruding nipple into his mouth.

Clarissa jerked. Pleasure sparked from the tips of her nipples right to the swollen nub between her legs. She clenched, fighting back the sweeping rise.

But it was too late. Michael suckled greedily with his mouth, his hand and fingers working her other breast.

A breathy scream escaped her mouth. Her body arched and then jerked, the dildo expunged in one harsh contraction. She felt the vibration as it landed at the bottom of the tub.

“Hurry, I need to talk to you,” he said.

Talk? He left her gasping and trembling.

Embroidery and reading had lost all appeal. How would she ever survive in polite company again?

Chapter Eleven

“My God, Michael, what are you doing?”

“Time for my penance.”

He’d shucked his robe and lay sprawled naked on the bed with both ankles and one arm tied to the bedpost. Clarissa would have to tie his other hand.

He’d locked both of their bedroom doors while she bathed and instructed his valet and her maid not to come near their rooms unless specifically beckoned. He stationed two footmen at the end of the hallway, forbidding entrance to any coming this way, most especially their sons, who seemed unaware that privacy with parents meant privacy.

Clarissa hurried to his side. “Have you lost your mind?”

“You don’t like it?” He thought it was a suitable penance.

She tugged at the knots binding his wrist, but he’d made sure they were tight. That she couldn’t accuse him of cheating by coming loose during his subjugation.

“This is the only chance you’ll get to punish me for my behavior. If you’d like you can even invite the household maids to watch.”

He chuckled at his humor. Clarissa frowned in annoyance.

She hadn’t even glanced at the hard erection bobbing against his groin. Since he’d thought of the idea, he’d been aroused and ready, anticipating sensual delights at her womanly hands. He’d had to control his own wayward thoughts about what he liked, instead encouraging her to find what interested and excited her.

In the end, he would come out ahead. Whatever she did to please herself would be a useful tool for their future.

“What?” She backed away and put her hand to her chest. “You want me to subject you to—?”

“Any pleasure you can imagine.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“So that I understand how you felt. Tie my other hand.”

Her nostrils flared. Michael couldn’t tell if she truly abhorred the idea or she was shocked by her sharp reaction and desire to participate in his turn-the-tables game.

“I might hurt you.”

He laughed. “You would never do that.”

Clarissa sat on the bed. “Michael, this can’t be a good idea.”

“But you want to?”

She bit her lip and nodded, not looking at him.

He rolled toward her, his free arm still allowing some movement. He touched her face. “You’ve seen me at my worst, enjoying pleasures to which I had no right. Tonight, you have every right. You’ve my permission. Show me what you like. Take what you want.”

Her feet hit the floor, one hand gripped the bedpost and she swung around until she reached his free hand. One of his long white cravats lay handy for her.

“You’ll tell me if it’s too tight?”

He held back a smile.

She tugged at the knot a few times to make sure it was secure. “Are you comfortable?”

“Quite.”

“Cold?”

“No.”

“Well, I need to think for a few minutes. I’m not sure what I should do.”

With that she left the room, leaving him spread-eagled and naked. He frowned, watching the last of her sheer dressing gown disappear through their adjoining door.

When he woke, the sharp sunrise peeked through his windows. Normally, his valet had them closed tight against any intruding light. He reached to block his eyes with his arm, but a tie at his wrist prevented any movement.

He jerked the binding. “Clarissa?”

What had happened? She’d left the room to “think” and hadn’t come back, while he’d fallen asleep waiting for her return? “Clarissa?” he called a little louder.

The door between the rooms was open. He glanced down to see she’d thrown a single blanket over him. His bladder felt close to exploding.

He heard the open and close of her doors. Light footsteps and a gentle hum grew closer to his door.

“Clarissa?”

She peeked in, all smiles and morning sunshine. “Oh, I didn’t know you were awake. I’ll get some food.”

“Untie me.” He quickly added a “Please,” his gut telling him something had gone terribly wrong.

“Oh, no, not yet.”

“I need to relieve myself.”

She practically danced into the room. “I thought of that.” She reached the side of the bed, bent and extricated a bedpan. “Here you go. I’ll hold your pizzle.”

“I’m not a damned invalid, now untie me.” Anger burned through him. He’d made a monumental mistake in thinking she’d be reluctant. She appeared to have latched on with relish, like a babe at the breast.

“You have a couple of choices. Last night was your game, but then I realized you meant it to be my game, and I can’t do that under your rules. I’ve made up my own rules. And if it means you take a shit in front of your wife, then so be it. Or I can assist you with this bedpan and leave you in peace for a few minutes while you take care of your business privately.”

“I don’t have to go that bad.”

“Then I’ll get us some breakfast.”

He caught a glimpse of her smile before she turned in a swirl of skirts.

As soon as she was out of the room, he jerked at the bindings, praying they would give way or that he could snap the damn head-post in two.

Neither budged, and he only succeeded in causing light chafing around his wrists. She’d tied her knot as tightly as he had.

Several long, torturous minutes later she returned, carrying an oval tray laden with a teapot which she placed near his side but under his arm. She fluffed his pillows before she climbed in bed in her stockinged feet and sat cross-legged beside him.

He watched as she buttered a croissant for which he’d have forfeited his pinkie finger. She drizzled honey over the top and then took a bite. “Oh,” she said in ecstatic wonder. “We need to take Cook to London with us next year. Every year I vow to do it, but for sure, next year.”

He licked at his lip, but damned if he was going to ask.

In three bites, the croissant was gone. She plucked up another slice of bread and laid out a thinly sliced piece of cheese and a hunk of ham. After it too had disappeared, he broke down.

Through gritted teeth, he asked, “May I have a croissant?”

“Certainly. I wasn’t sure you were hungry.” She lavished the croissant with honey and butter.

“Dudley and I have an appointment with the farmers at Bannister. I’ll need to leave by noon.” He sounded logical and authoritative.

“I’ve sent him a note telling him you’re all tied up.” She beamed, but didn’t dare look him in the eye. She lovingly placed the croissant near his mouth and he bite off half of it, chewing vigorously before swallowing and then wolfing down the second piece. After that, she offered him anything she ate, including the ham and cheese, a fresh plate of scrambled eggs toasty from sitting on the hot plate and then a delicious cup of tea. She held it and a napkin under his chin as he sipped.