Pleasuring the Lady (The Pleasure Wars) (20 page)

And he would never love her.
 

Worse, although she might not be able to fully read his emotions in every situation, she could plainly see that if she ever said anything to imply that she was capable of loving him…he might very well run.

So she found herself nodding.
 

“Y-Yes,” she whispered. “I suppose I have always thought myself in love with him.”

His gaze held hers for a beat too long and then he nodded.
 

“Good.” He cleared his throat. “Then we shall not be fools, either of us, when it comes to matters of the heart. Though I would ask you to keep your feelings for him discreet.”

“Of course,” Portia croaked out, and her voice sounded very small and faraway over the rush of blood through her ears. “Despite the behavior somehow brought out by you, I would never do anything to embarrass you. Not—not again.”

His expression softened. “I am anything but embarrassed, Portia. If you would allow me, I will take you somewhere tonight to prove it. And perhaps to press those boundaries you claim you are willing to allow me to test.”

Portia swallowed. “Tonight?”

He nodded. “I promise you, if you agree, it will be very much worth your while.”

Portia bit her lip as nervousness swamped her, erasing the pleasure which lingered in her limbs after his recent touch. But a bargain was a bargain, wasn’t it? And she wasn’t about to renege as she had seen her father and brother do over the years. She owed Miles that, she owed her mother that…she owed herself that.

“Very well,” she whispered. “I will go where you take me, my lord.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice suddenly rougher. “Then if you will excuse me, I will ready myself and I hope you will do the same.”

She nodded once as he slid from her bed and pulled his trousers up to refasten them. He tossed a quick, wicked grin in her direction as he moved to the door that connected their chambers by way of the sitting room.

“Portia,” he said as he opened it.

She nodded.

“No chemise, please,” he said, arching a brow before he disappeared into the other room.

Portia stared at the door, at the place where he had stood. Now that he was gone, she couldn’t help but relive his comments about love. About the fact he would never feel that for her. And now her face fell as she hadn’t allowed it to when he watched her so closely.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she muttered as she got up to ring for Bridget’s assistance. “Love would be a ridiculous notion to pursue with this man and his reputation.”

But even as she busied herself with wrapping a dressing gown around herself, her very reasonable words did little to comfort her. And little to ease the sting that still existed deep within her at her husband’s dismissal of all matters of the heart.

Miles sent a side-glance toward Portia as they stepped up to the entrance of a pretty little middle-class home on the edge of London. A man stood there, dressed in a fine livery with a podium before him and a quill in his hand.

“Ah, Lord Weatherfield,” the man said without prompting and quietly checked his name off a list. “And guest.”

Miles nodded. “Good evening, Stenson. Nice to see you.”

“It has been a while. Please do go in and have a refreshment.”

Portia seemed confused as they entered the foyer, but she retained her composure, just as she always seemed to do. Until the first moan echoed from one of the several open doors that led into a parlor or other chamber.

She looked at him, eyes wide and bright with both interest and fear.
 

“Where are we?” she whispered.

He smiled. “A very fine establishment that caters to exactly the interest we both share in watching and being watched during certain acts.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed hard. “Something like the Donville Masquerade?”

“Better,” he assured her. “Far more selective and private.”

She glanced back at the now-shut front door. “That was why he ticked your name off a list.”

Miles nodded. “I am a member of this club and have been for years.”

Her lips parted as she wet them and his groin clenched with desire.
 

“Miles, I wear no mask, people will see me, people will—”

“Never speak of anything, even if they do recognize us. Their membership in the club depends upon it, as do their own reputations in Society. Trust me, Portia. I do not throw you to the wolves by bringing you here tonight. I want to give you pleasure, not pain.”

She seemed to consider that for a long moment as her gaze continued to dart around the staid foyer as if looking for more proof that this house of sin existed. When a second moan of pleasure echoed, this time from another room, her eyes fluttered shut on what was a sigh of desire so clear that it hardened him fully in a second.

“I trust you,” she whispered. “And I surrender myself to your care.”

“Excellent,” he said, placing a hand on her back to guide her into the first room to their right.
 

She caught her breath and he looked around, trying to see the chamber through her innocent eyes. It was painted in a dark, sensual blue and the walls were scattered with expensive, erotic art depicting nudes reclining as they played with each other. Darker curtains had been drawn across the windows tonight for privacy from outside. Of course, some nights, when there were masquerades, they were opened exactly for the titillation of knowing prying eyes were on the guests.

Seats had been scattered about the room, all facing the small stage that had been erected along the long, back wall. Curtains were drawn there and already a few patrons had gathered for the show.
 

He steered her to a seat in the back, where they still had a clear view, but wouldn’t be the center of attention. Perhaps one day she would be ready for that, but not yet.

“What is this?” she asked as she settled her shaking hands in her lap and cast a wary side-glance at the stage.

Before he could answer, the last few patrons rushed in to take their seats, the door to the parlor closed and the curtain swept open to reveal Madame Larouche, the owner of the home and club they now sat in. She wore a short, black, see-through skirt and a complex top that supported the bounty of her breasts but left them exposed for the pleasure of her audience. By the hardness of her nipples and the wet sheen of them, she had already engaged in some sexual play backstage.

Portia shifted beside him in both discomfort and interest.

“She—she is almost naked,” she whispered.
 

He remained silent, allowing Portia her own reactions as music rose from an unseen pianoforte. It was a driving, passionate rhythm, and Madame Larouche began to move in time to it, using the entire stage as she arched her back, thrust her hips, created both delicate and lewd movements to simulate sex play.
 

As Miles watched her, Portia stared at the other woman. Her lips were slightly parted and her breath was shorter. He could tell from the high color on her cheeks that she was both embarrassed and titillated. He could only imagine how she would react when the next part of the dance began.

He smiled as he reached out to take her hand just as Madame Larouche’s partner entered the stage.
 

The woman lived with three men, all her lovers both individually and as a group. At least one of them joined her onstage during her performances. Tonight it was the tallest of the three, a dark-haired man Miles thought was called Rowland.
 

He was utterly naked, his cock already hard as he moved over to Madame Larouche. He tapped her shoulder, then spun her around by the waist and drew her against him. Their lips nearly touched but never met as he moved against her, lifting her effortlessly to slide up and down his body.

Portia jolted, her gaze sweeping over to Miles. “I—” she whispered. “I don’t—”

“Of course, it is shocking,” he murmured, turning toward her and sliding her chair closer so that he could whisper against her ear. “But look at how confident she is, how passionate. Does it not arouse you to see how he wants her? To see her body ripen and change as he glides her over his skin or lowers his lips to her throat?”

After he had asked the question, he brought his own mouth to the side of Portia’s neck and began to suck there, gently.

She stiffened but leaned closer, her breath coming in faster gasps now.

Onstage, Madame Larouche and her lover continued to move to the music, but the dance was over. She dropped to her knees, positioning him so the crowd would have best advantage, and then sucked his cock between her lips. She laved her tongue over him as she looked up the length of his body to watch him.

Her lover thrust in time to the continuing music, tangling one hand in her thick hair to guide her movements for his pleasure.

Portia snuck another glance his way, first at his face, then a swift peek down his body to the hard cock that pressed against his trouser front. She licked her lips and then returned her attention to the couple onstage.

Desire lurched through Miles, almost out of control in its power. He put an arm around Portia and began to lightly strum one nipple through her thin, silky gown. She gasped but didn’t pull away, arching against him as he plucked her sensitive flesh.

Onstage, Rowland dragged Madame Larouche to her feet, lifting her to wrap her legs around him as he carried her to a small settee on one side of the stage. He set her down, turned her and smiled at the audience before he speared her pussy with one long thrust.

Immediately she mewled in pleasure, arching back against him. Miles shifted, not thinking of the two fucking before him, but of taking Portia in much the same way just before they came here. He glanced at her. Her breath was coming in deep pants now and her nipple was hard as a diamond beneath her gown. How he wanted to suckle her, to glide beneath her skirts and pleasure her with his mouth as she watched.

Not today, though, not today. Not yet.

Instead, he leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “Don’t just watch them—look at the others.”

She jolted at the feel of his mouth on her skin but did as she had been told. She looked around the room with another catch of her breath. Some of the men had their members out, stroking them as they watched. A few couples were there in the room and one woman had her skirts lifted as her lover stroked her with his fingers and they moaned in time with Larouche and Rowland.
 

“Oh my God,” Portia whispered.

He leaned in, kissing her neck. “Shhh,” he murmured against her smooth skin. “Don’t let your fear take over. Enjoy what you see. Imagine what will come from it later. Think of what it would be like to be that woman onstage, being taken for all to see as she cries out in ultimate pleasure.”

She looked at Larouche. Her lover was driving into her hard now as she played with herself in earnest. Her orgasm was obvious as her head dipped back and she keened out a cry of pure pleasure, her hips thrusting back in demand of her lover’s release. He obliged, coming almost immediately as the crowd applauded and moaned in time.

The curtain fell as the couple onstage finally indulged in a long, passionate kiss. Immediately the room began to clear, leaving Miles and Portia sitting alone.

She stared at him. “Why did they all depart so swiftly?” she whispered, her voice rough and soft.

He cleared his throat, taken aback by his own pulsing desire. “They moved to other rooms where they could take their pleasures.”

“There is more?” Portia asked, eyes wide.

He nodded. “But not for us tonight. Right now I want you without prying eyes.” He stood and offered a hand. “But we will come back here, Portia.”

She seemed to consider that for a moment, but then nodded. “I-I want to see what else this place has to offer.”

He swallowed hard. A woman raised with such limits, told she was not wanted, and yet her erotic nature survived and even thrived with only a little tending. How would she be in a month? A year? Five years?

He couldn’t wait to see. But for now…

He pulled her to her feet and tugged so that she fell against his chest. He lowered his mouth to hers, burning his desire into her lips as he kissed her with all the passion the scene before them, and her reactions to it, had inspired.

“Come to my carriage. I cannot wait to get you home.”

“Then don’t,” Portia whispered, giving him a look so filled with desire and passion that his cock actually twitched. She moved toward the door. “Your carriage door has a lock—why not have me right now?”

Portia couldn’t believe her boldness, even as the carriage pulled up to the door and Miles hustled her inside without even waiting for help. She had never thought she would say something so out of character, but something in her had shifted as she watched that woman onstage with her lover. She had wanted to be so confident, so desirable.

And the words of lust had fallen from her lips without hesitation. But now the carriage door was closed, Miles was turning the lock and staring at her with undeniable desire in his eyes. She would have to follow through with her wicked suggestion.