He winced as Minshom grabbed the back of his head and drew him close, kissed him hard on the mouth.

“I’m not giving you up. And when you do crawl back to me, I’ll make you pay for your disobedience.”

A shiver of anticipation coiled through Anthony’s gut, and he pushed it away, hoping Minshom hadn’t seen the flare of excitement in his eyes.

Laughing softly, Minshom stepped back. “You can’t hide your true nature, Sokorvsky. You need the pain to find the pleasure. That’s just the way you are made. Have a good evening.”

Anthony leaned against the wall until Minshom disappeared and then found his way back into the theater. God, his legs were shaking and his cock throbbed with every labored breath he took. He’d seen men who couldn’t do without alcohol or opium continue to feed their cravings even though they knew it would kill them. Was he doomed to crave sexual domination for the rest of his life?

He paused at the bottom of the stairs. How the hell could he go back to Marguerite in this state? He licked his lips and tasted a hint of his own pre-cum and Lord Minshom’s spicy cologne. He couldn’t help but contrast it to the softness of Marguerite’s response to him, the warm welcome of her mouth.

He remembered to check that Mrs. Jones had departed, tip the footman stationed in the anteroom and retrieve their cloaks before he had to face Marguerite. To his relief, she sat patiently in her chair, her elbow propped on the edge of the box, hand under her chin. Her smile was full of welcome and made him feel even worse.

“Are you all right, my lord?” Her gaze fell to his legs. “Did you fall? Your pantaloons are dirty.”

He managed a nod as he handed her into her cloak. “In my eagerness to get back to you, I slipped on the steps.”

“You didn’t need to worry. I knew you’d come back.” She chuckled. “I hardly think you’re the kind of man who would leave a lady stranded.”

God, he couldn’t even smile at that. He’d been so close to following Lord Minshom farther into the shadows behind the theater and giving him what he’d wanted.

Marguerite’s amusement faded, and she touched his arm. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m sure.” He kept his cloak draped over his arm, hoping it concealed the bulge of his still-hard cock, and offered her his hand. “Shall we go? The carriage should be there by now.”

He opened the door and led her into the anteroom just as the large party from the box beside them decided to exit too. Overwhelmed by their numbers, he was pushed back against Marguerite, his large body pressing her into the wall. He almost came as his shaft jerked against her stomach and pulled away as quickly as he could. He didn’t dare apologize in case she hadn’t noticed, and he hardly wanted to draw attention to his cock.

She was quiet on the way down the stairs, even quieter as he settled her in the carriage. He glanced at her closed expression. Damnation, had he offended her? And how on earth was he going to explain such a lapse of good manners?

The carriage moved off, and he braced himself against the side, keeping his cloak draped over the lower half of his body, although it might well be too late for such modesty.

Marguerite met his gaze, her blue eyes clear. “It’s all right. I have been married, you know.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She flicked a gaze down at his groin. “I understand how men can become inconveniently aroused.”

“You do?”

“And as I caused this, when we kissed, perhaps I should be the one to do something about it.”

Anthony sat forward just as she sank to her knees in front of him. “Marguerite, you didn’t . . . God, what are you doing?”

Her hands worked at the straining buttons of his pantaloons until his cock was revealed in all its thick, heated glory. She looked up at him, the slight color on her cheeks the only sign of any lack of composure.

“I’m going to suck your cock.”

“What?”

“Surely you’ve had that done to you before?”

“Yes, but . . .” not by a woman.

“My husband showed me how to do it. He assured me that most men like it. Is that not true?”

“Yes, but . . .” Her hand slid lower and cupped his balls and the base of his shaft. His cock jerked as if seeking her mouth. “God . . .”

She leaned closer, her breath warm on his flesh, and her tongue flicked out to catch a drop of pre-cum. He groaned and angled his hips toward her. She licked him again, the whole juicy wet purple crown this time, and he sighed.

“You do like it, then.”

He opened his eyes to stare down at her. “Yes.”

“No ‘but’ this time?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll keep going.”

She opened her mouth and allowed the first four or five inches of his cock inside her. The sensitive head caught at the back of her throat, and he tried to pull back, but her grip was too strong. He groaned again as she took him even deeper, sucking him while her fingers stroked and shaped his balls.

“Harder.”

He couldn’t stop the harsh command, needed more, needed something to stop him from worrying about how fast he was going to come down her throat. He brought his hand down to cradle the back of her head, to hold her exactly where he wanted her, not that she seemed to want to stop or leave him unsatisfied.

Pressure built in his balls and at the base of his spine. His hips rolled with each tug on his flesh, pushing his shaft deeper, fucking her mouth with an eagerness he couldn’t believe.

He managed to mutter, “If you don’t want my cum in your mouth, I’ll pull out.” But she didn’t ease up, just kept her lips tightly around him and sucked hard. He began to groan with every stroke, tried to shove himself deeper with every grind of his hips until he finally exploded, leaving him breathless and frozen on the edge of the seat, his shaft still buried in her throat.

Anthony carefully pulled out and tucked his now limp cock back into his underclothes, buttoning his placket. While he adjusted his clothing, Marguerite wiped her mouth and resumed her seat opposite him.

“Marguerite . . .”

“Oui?”

“That was . . . very nice.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

To his annoyance the carriage stopped and his driver knocked on the door.

“My lord, we’re at my lady’s house.”

Marguerite stood and smoothed down her skirts. “Don’t worry about getting out. Dawson can escort me to the door. Thank you for a lovely evening. Good night.”

She descended from the carriage so fast that Anthony had barely registered her request before the door was shut in his face. He stared down at his groin. A woman had just sucked him off and he’d enjoyed every damned agonizing second of it.


Marguerite ran up the front steps and then the stairs to her bedroom as if pursued by the furies. She allowed her maid to loosen her gown and corset and then dismissed her. Finally alone, she sat at her dressing table, pulled out the pins from her hair and stared at her wild reflection. Touching Anthony had aroused her, had made her want a man inside her again. Shocked by the eagerness in her eyes, she covered her face with her hands and took several long breaths.

Despite his initial surprise, Anthony had liked her sucking him. And she had enjoyed it too, had almost wished that he’d picked her up and shoved his cock deep inside her until she shuddered and shook along with him. Heat pooled low in her belly, and she was aware that her breasts ached.

She slipped her arms out of her dress and studied her breasts, sliding her fingers inside her corset to squeeze and pinch her already hard nipples. Would Anthony be gentle with her? His kiss had been more self-assured this evening, and his demands for her to suck him harder indicated that he wasn’t averse to a little rough play.

With a silent curse, Marguerite stood up and let her dress and loosened corset fall to the floor. How was she ever going to sleep, her body waking from its long slumber of sexual deprivation, her blood warm and flowing wantonly? And how was she ever going to survive in a society that expected her to deny her needs and wait on a man’s lust or interest?

She took off her shift and crawled into bed naked, enjoyed the coolness of the satin cover and the rougher caress of the linen sheets. Under the covers, she allowed one hand to fondle her breasts while the other slid down over her stomach to touch her already wet and ready sex.

Would Anthony like her body? Would he enjoy placing his mouth over her sex, licking at her swollen clit and sliding his fingers and tongue inside her? She moaned as she worked her clit with her thumb until she was gasping and sobbing and . . . God, wanting so badly her climax made her cry.

Would Anthony enjoy that too? Marguerite rolled over onto her stomach and opened her eyes. She was probably far too inexperienced to interest him anyway. Just because he liked her touching him didn’t mean he wanted to touch her back. Men were often selfish. And did she truly want to court such scandal by sleeping with him? He was hardly the conventional man she had imagined, the man she would eventually marry and live with in peaceful harmony for the rest of her life.

She smiled into the darkness. But she wasn’t planning on finding that particular man for years. She simply needed to restore her confidence and slake that part of her nature that missed the physical side of marriage. There were ways to remedy her lack of experience, and she had entrée into the most unique pleasure house in England. If she truly decided to follow her body’s desires and enjoy sex, she was determined to be good at it.

Her gaze caught Justin’s portrait, and she suddenly felt guilty. Here she was, plotting to seduce another man without a thought for her dead husband. Would he hate her? Or would he be generous enough to forgive her for all her sins? At least this time, she was going into the relationship with her eyes open, with no uncomfortable emotions such as love to consider. This was not about marriage—it was about rediscovering her sexual self. Surely Justin of all people would approve of that?


“Brody. Now you’ve assured yourself that I have returned without harm, go away. I’m quite capable of putting myself to bed.”

“All right, sir, good night.”

Anthony waited until the door shut with a definite bang behind his offended valet and then sank down onto the side of the bed. Marguerite had sucked his cock, and he’d simply sat there like an idiot and let her . . . He groaned as his shaft jerked and began to fill out again.

He’d wanted to pull her onto his lap, open her legs and fill her with his cock until she screamed. Yet he’d done nothing but take what she’d offered and given nothing in return. He stripped off his clothes and blew out all the candles except the one next to his bed.

But what could he give her? What did a woman like Marguerite want? He palmed his shaft, felt it thicken and lengthen, and sighed. One release was never enough, and, as returning to the pleasure house and Lord Minshom was not an option, his hand and his assortment of toys would have to suffice.

He rummaged in the drawer next to his bed and pulled out a thick leather cock ring, which had three circles to slide over his cock and balls with buckles to draw the straps tight until he achieved the satisfaction he needed. He was deliberately rough with himself as he encircled his balls with the leather and pulled the straps as tight as he could.

He was even rougher with his cock, sliding the thick leather strap home through the buckle until his shaft throbbed along with his heartbeat and pre-cum coated his fingers. The blood trapped in his shaft made the crown of his cock exquisitely sensitive. Groaning, he reached into the drawer again, found a flower-shaped pin with a short silver-wired stem and coiled it around the tip of his cock. As he worked his cock between his hands, the flower wedged against the wet opening and slid in and out, adding to the exquisite sensitivity.

He worked his shaft harder, kneeling on the bed and rested his forehead against the headboard so he could watch his flesh strain against the leather. He caught the glint of the silver pin and coiled wire gripping his crown, the heavy weight of his constrained balls aching and screaming with the need to defy the tight bindings and come. An image of Marguerite sucking his bound cock while Lord Minshom fucked his arse blazed through his brain, and he climaxed, forcing the thick jets of seed through the pain and into blessed release.

He fell forward, panting as if he’d run a mile, his cock still twitching and coming into the smooth white sheets. With a groan he rolled onto his back and carefully unbuckled the leather ties and removed the silver pin. His heartbeat was so loud he couldn’t hear the ticking clock.