Page 40 of Making of a Scandal
“You’ll be certain to let me know how I measure up against the seraphic Martin, won’t you?”
When she merely gaped at him, unable to speak, he smiled and ran his thumb over her lips. Planting a short, swift kiss against her forehead, he then brushed past her and headed toward the door.
Glancing down, she found his coin lying at her feet, forgotten. Crouching to pick it up, she turned it over and scowled at what she found.
“You … you vilecheat!” she spat, whirling to find him lingering in the doorway, shoulders shaking with laughter. “You tricked me with a double-headed coin!”
With an indolent shrug, he reached up to catch the coin when she hurled it at him.
“Something else you’ve now learned about me, goddess. I’m a betting man, but there are some wagers I’d never leave up to chance.”
Chapter 7
“That most disreputable gentleman, The Hon. Mr. S, has been seen about town yet again with the dowager countess he’s been keeping in grand style for the past few years. They are quite shameless in flaunting theirarrangement—though it does make one wonder. The dowager has no need to act as some man’schère-amie, as rumor has it she received quite the jointure upon the death of the earl. But then, one must account for the salacious influence of Mr. S, who—when he is not battering some poor fellow in the pugilists ring—is known as a rake of the worst order.”
The London Gossip, September 4, 1819
He was an idiot. No, idiot seemed too mild a word, but Nick’s mind was so muddled, exacerbated by the state of his treacherous body, he couldn’t think of another.
Of course, self-castigation did not help matters, because two days after he had succumbed to the mad urge to pull Calliope into his arms and taste her, he had not stopped reliving the moment over and over in his mind. He had kissed her for two reasons.
First, it annoyed Nick to no end that she seemed to hold Martin Lewes up as some paragon of manhood and honor without even knowing him. It never seemed to have occurred to her that he was not the be all end all, or that she would be utterly wasted on a man like that. What sort of man had a willing, eager woman like Calliope Barrington setting her cap for him and failed to take notice?
Secondly, he’d done it because he bloody well wanted to. It had been all he could think about during the meeting of the patronesses of the foundling home. Watching her lead the proceedings with such command and poise had done something to him. It had been the first time he’d witnessed her allowing herself to be seen and heard, as opposed to becoming as small and innocuous as possible. As well, he’d discovered something he realized very few people were privileged to know.
The woman was brilliant. Not just smart or witty, but also driven and full of conviction. She truly cared about the children relying on her, and unlike many of her peers was not content to throw her money at a cause and leave the work up to someone else. She’d been magnificent and he had been utterly captivated by her.
So, he’d stolen a kiss like a slippery pickpocket, knowing the coin flip would turn out in his favor and savoring his little victory. Only, in hindsight, Nick wasn’t certain he’d been the true winner. Certainly, he had affected her with his kiss—quite thoroughly if her response was any indication—but she’d affected him right back, and in the most perplexing of ways.
He’d been let off outside his lodgings with a wandering mind and lips that still tingled from the pressure of hers. His clothes smelled of her sweet, floral scent. He had spent last night and a good portion of this day trying to banish her from his mind. But the haunting memory of her clung fiercely to the edges of his consciousness, and he’d walked about distracted and as hard as a brick as a result.
Tonight, he had shunned an outing with his courtesan friends and the promise of a good meal at a dinner party with his sister. Solitude had seemed like the best course of action when he could hardly see straight from the discomfort of the erection plaguing him, or string sentences together when his mind wouldn’t function properly.
After trying to find some way to amuse himself, he’d decided going to bed at a decent hour for a change might clear his mind. Gambling was a bad idea, and not only because he was trying to curb his destructive habit. In his current state he was certain to piss away everything he had.
Sleep had eluded him for near an hour already, with no relief in sight.
He stared up at the ceiling, the fire in the hearth casting oblong shadows. As it turned out, silence and stillness were not what he needed, for they made it impossible to escape the plaguing memories of that kiss.
His cock stirred beneath the bedclothes as he recalled the feel of her against him, all untouched stretches of supple curves. Her mouth, that plump upper lip, the sweet, tentative tongue, the mewling sounds emitting from her throat as she wrestled with her desires as well as her trepidation. He’d felt the moment her resistance crumbled, and she stopped thinking of another man, and surrendered to surrender to Nick, instead.
“Fuck,” he muttered, shifting beneath the sheet and trying his best to ignore his throbbing nuisance of an cockstand.
He needed release. He needed hot, panting, writhing, wild escape into a tight, wet cunt. But, he didn’t want it from just any woman, and therein lay the problem.
He wanted Calliope.
Closing his eyes, he surrendered to his imagination. As he palmed his aching prick, he let himself think of that kiss turning into something more. This was the only way, he told himself. In the morning, he could think of her as belonging to Lewes, even if no promises had yet been made. Tonight, in the dark and with no one here to tell him otherwise, Calliope was his.
She was spread across his bed, nude and waiting and wanting, a temptation comprised of slender limbs, flaring hips, and soft breasts. He clenched his teeth around a desperate sound as he gave his cock a long, slow stroke, his belly clenching. His breaths came harsh and low, his entire body thrumming and tense.
He wasn’t gentle with her—but then, tonight he didn’t have to be. Tonight, she wasn’t a priggish maid afraid to let herself experience the heady bliss of succumbing to her own need. The woman lying on the bed before him was a temptress, a siren who welcomed him with parted legs and a flash of rose petal pink flesh from within silken black curls. She arched to welcome him, moaning and sighing as he licked his way up her belly to her breasts. She held him to her as he teased her nipples, her fingers threaded through his hair.
He stroked faster, tightening his grip as he longed for climax while still wanting to linger over his tawdry thoughts. He was drunk on a moment of his own making, one that felt all-too real as he imagined surging inside of her, being clutched in her welcoming body. Her hips would fill his hands so perfectly, flaring and soft and easing open to accommodate him. He bit his lip until it stung as he fucked his fist and imagined her screaming, wild and wanton and free, her breasts bouncing as he pounded into her, her chin tipped up to offer her neck as she moaned her pleasure. He licked and bit the slender throat like a raving beast, delighting in her shocked cries and soft sighs of bliss.
The entire scene changed with nothing more than a shift in his thoughts. He might want her that way, but there was something he’d enjoy more, so he allowed himself to experience it within the safety of his own mind. She was above him now, hands braced on his chest, his cock buried deep inside her. Her waist and hips undulated in the most enticing rhythm as she rode him for her own delight, her fingernails digging into his skin and producing pinpricks of pain along with the pleasure.
Yes.
