Page 79 of Making of a Scandal
“I won’t be the villain here. Tell me to stop, right now, Callie … or tell me you want me and I’m yours, I don’t give a bloody fuck abouthim.”
His eyes snapped open and he waited, watching her lips as if listening for the right words to fall from her lips.
“I want you,” she whispered, too far gone to feel shame or regret. It was the truth, and it felt right to admit it to him, in this small space where there was only the two of them.
He lunged for her again, spinning her around and hurriedly lifting her skirts. She was thrown off balance as he pushed against one shoulder, bending her at the waist. Grappling at the shelves for purchase, she steadied herself just in time, because then he was kicking her legs wide, spreading her for his use. She ought to be shocked, having never realized people could couple this way and feeling as if there must be something degrading in it. But, she could only raise her hips and wait for him, willing to take whatever he gave, needing it with an intensity that left her breathless.
The press of the blunt crown of his cock nudged her opening, but he simply pressed against her without entering. He gripped her shoulder and his mouth came against her ear, his tongue teasing the lobe.
“Fuck me, Nick,” he prompted. “Say it.”
She swayed against him, trying to coax him in deeper, but he remained just within her opening. A sharp sting erupted along one of her buttocks—Nick’s palm cracking against her in a light slap. Her sheath contracted, heat blossoming where his hand had struck and heightening her desire.
“I’m waiting.”
Bowing her head, she gave over the last shred of her dignity, not caring how licentious it made her to respond to him this way.
Her cheeks warmed as she repeated his words, her lips struggling to form the epithet she’d never used in her life. “Fuck me, Nick.”
He surged into her with one swift stroke, his hand leaving her shoulder to clap over her mouth and muffle her sharp cry. Their position allowed him deep into her, and her sheath stretched and throbbed, her wetness making it easy to accommodate him. She breathed through her nose, her moans muffled by his hand as he began to move, his pelvis pushing against her rear, his other hand gripping her hip to pull her back into each thrust. His cock drilled into her, unrelenting and thick, pressing against places within her that made her eyes roll back into her head.
He wasn’t the man who had so sweetly initiated her that night in her bed. There were no tender words or soft caresses. This was exactly what he’d promised her the first time they’d met; a good hard fuck—filthy and raw and breathtaking. She wasn’t the same woman she’d been that night, either. She was free, more herself than she’d allowed herself to be in weeks, and she took hold of that with both hands and clung to it. For the first time since she’d accepted the proposal of a man she did not love, she felt alive.
Nick’s forehead dropped to her shoulder, his body curling around her as he took her with savage ruthlessness, his breaths rough and harsh in her ear.
“You’re such a little wanton, letting me take you like this. You like me sweet and gentle, but I think you like me this way, too—hard and rough and fucking you senseless. Don’t you, goddess?”
She brought her hands up to clutch at his neck, holding him and rocking back to match his rhythm, her insides clenching and quivering with impending climax.
“Yes … yes!”
He pounded into her harder, muffling his groans against her shoulder, the hand at her hip shifting to cup between her legs. The press of his fingers against her clit set her off, and she bucked and writhed against him, her nails digging into the back of his neck as she splintered. He kept up his pace through her orgasm, drawing it out and making it last as she screamed against his palm. Only when she went limp against him did he follow on her heels. Except, this time he pulled away instead of pushing deeper, grunting and muttering oaths under his breath. Calliope glanced over her shoulder to find him slumped against the opposite shelves, using a handkerchief to clean the milky streams of his seed from the back of one hand and the tip of his cock.
His head remained lowered as he tucked his shirt and buttoned his fall, his handkerchief disappearing into his coat pocket. Calliope lowered her skirts with shaking hands, feeling somehow bereft as he withdrew from her—not just physically, but in every other way that mattered. She’d reveled in every moment of their coupling up until the second he’d pulled away, robbing her of the deep intimacy of sharing in the moment of his release, of the blissful haven of his arms once they were finished. Tears stung her eyes as she realized she had no right to want those things from him. That he still desired her at all was nothing short of a miracle. Or, as he had so deftly shown her the day of their first kiss, a matter of simple biology.
By the time he straightened and met her gaze again, he was composed, cold and hard as he reached out to tuck a loose pin back into her hair.
“I would have been anything you wanted me to be,” he said, his tone clipped. “But you made it clear that you see nothing more in me than what I first presented to you. I can hardly blame you for that.”
She reached for his hand, but he snatched it back with a dire warning flaring in his eyes.
“It was a mistake for me to come here … it won’t happen again. Should we encounter one another again, have a care. If you value your betrothal, your reputation … you’ll keep your distance. You’ve never seen a scandal like the one I will incite if you get too close again, and next time I won’t care who sees or what they say.”
He left without a glance back, stepping into the corridor and slamming the door behind him. Calliope sank to her knees, hands clutching at her throat as she fought to breathe and put herself back together. She was torn apart again, aching and yearning as if all the emotion she’d tamped down had come spiraling up once more. She took great gulps of air and lowered her head until she calmed.
Diana and the other patronesses were waiting, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t go to them until she had erased every trace of Dominick’s effect on her. Only then could she face a world in which her heart belonged to one man, while another owned everything else.
Dominick staredinto the depths of his tumbler, his untouched brandy gleaming red in the firelight. The silence in his flat was deafening, despite it being filled with people. His fellow courtesans sat around him, trying to hide their pitying glances. Benedict had come after word reached him of Paul’s death that morning. When Nick had told him to go away, the man had obeyed—but only for as long as it took him to gather the others and return. They wouldn’t leave, and he didn’t want to disturb the other residents of Albany, so he’d let them in.
Benedict had arrived with brandy, and the others had simply come with their condolences.
Hugh had returned weeks ago from his wedding trip, but Dominick seldom saw him, which was for the best. He didn’t want to be faced with seeing how things had worked out for Hugh while they’d all gone to hell for him. Adding insult to injury was the news of Aubrey’s engagement. Ironically, he’d fallen in love with his own client and was set to marry her on the same day Calliope was to wed Martin Lewes.
Surprisingly, Benedict had taken this news all in stride, and Nick suspected it was because they’d all known Aubrey wouldn’t last as a courtesan. If anything, Nick was shocked he hadn’t been the first to step away.
He forced himself to raise the glass and take a slow sip, the brandy tasteless on his tongue, but still spreading warmth on its way down.
Hugh was the first to break the silence as he reached for the bottle. Filling his glass, he raised it and smiled.
