Page 1 of Pride: The Rogue
Chapter 1
Seated at a table in the far-left corner of The Devil’s Den, Mr. Lachlan Latimer took in the salacious scene before him: a titillating,flexible, ballet dancer who removed the filmy layers of her costume as she performed. A masked woman in black leather cleverly wielded a crop on avirginalbeauty in white.
The once great gaming hell, built by London’s most lethal gangster, Mac Diggory, had since passed hands from the man’s bastard daughters and adopted son, Broderick Killoran, to now, Stephen, the Earl of Dynevor.
The tinkling of crystal touching crystal as glasses were poured and the ribald laughter filled the hall as it would any gaming establishment. But upon quick glance, the card tables were shy of full, and the patrons were few, the tables were scratched and stained in places. The flicker of candlelight danced on the unpolished surfaces; illuminating imperfections.
Seated here as he’d been the better part of six hours, Latimer had a fuller understanding as to the health of The Devil’s Den.
Since Diggory’s death—or, based on underground whispers, defection—and Broderick Killoran’s marriage some years ago, The Devil’s Den had begun a slow descent into neglect. At least, when compared to newer, loftier, rival clubs, like Forbidden Pleasures and Lucifer’s Lair.
Here, the faro, hazard, andvignt et untables never reached capacity. Lords played yet checked their timepieces as if eager to leave.
The one thing to recommend The Devil’s Den? The otherworldly beauty of the Cyprians engaged in wicked acts with the patrons throughout. There were not, however, enough of those lush lovelies to provide services to even half of the already small membership.
Latimer’s nape prickled with a sensation from his time on the streets.
A delicate, perfectly manicured hand slid over his shoulders. Soft, plump lips touched his ear in a delicate kiss. “You are lonely, sir. Let me fix that.”
As the bastard of some unknown whore and her unknown client, Latimer had been born alone and preferred that solitary existence. But neither was he a man who didn’t have a need to slake his lust—or hesitated to do so.
That, however, wasn’t what brought him here this night.
“I’ve had my eye on you all night,” the Cyprian whispered. The earthy, musky, spicy scent of saffron hung in the air as she spoke.
“Have you, sweet?” he asked non-committal, while she massaged his pectoral muscles.
Taking his question as an invitation, the woman slipped around and availed herself to a place on his lap. With her gleaming strands of fiery-red curls, big breasts, big hips, and even bigger lips, the Devil’s Den Cyprian was for certain a woman of great beauty who could—and surely did—fetch a fine price.
She nuzzled his neck. “It’s hard not to notice such a big, muscular man like you,” she whispered throatily, between sucking and kissing his flesh.
“And yet, I’ve been here four hours and haven’t had the pleasure of your company once,” he drawled.
Lust burned in the beauty’s eyes. “Ariel has been a bad girl.”
“I take it you’re, Ariel?” he asked dryly.
She pushed her lower lip out in a very deliberate pout. “I’ve upset you.”
“Impossible, sweet.”
In matters of lust and sex and self-gratification, Latimer remained emotionally detached. Matters of business, however?A muscle jumped in his jaw. That was an altogether different story—and the most important one.
“You must punish me.” Ariel caught Latimer by his lapels and with impressive force, drew him close so their lips nearly touched. “Iwantto be punished.”
In one quick move, she straddled him, dangling her voluptuous legs on either side of his hips so his cock was pressed against her cunny. The flimsy wisp of gossamer fabric she wore and the fine wool of Latimer’s trousers marked a small barrier between them.
The sultry beauty began to rock herself into him. “I neglected you for too long,” she rasped. “I must rectify that for the both of us.”
Before Latimer could politely decline, the skilled beauty already slipped deft fingers between his legs and gripped his cock.
Her skilled touch got its expected result as blood surged to that randy organ.
“You’re hardallover,” she whispered excitedly, like one speaking to herself. “Let Ariel help you.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Help me or yourself?”
The eager Cyprian moaned. “Both.”
