Page 26 of His Brazen Tart
Piers staunchly reminded himself they had an arrangement based on a mutual understanding. It was exactly what he had wanted.
Except, Piers was no longer satisfied with his previous wants. Joan made him want things he had convinced himself he didn’t need—like companionship and affection.
Love.
Piers gave his head a fierce shake, like a dog drying itself, trying desperately to dislodge the treacherous thought that had just taken hold. But it was too late. Now that he’d thought it, he couldn’t escape the fact that it would be quite easy to allow himself to fall in love with Joan Durbin.
Of course, Lysandra’s words hadn’t completely cleared his mind, and they combined with his own foolish musings to create a toxic mixture. He felt sick with it, pulled in separate directions. His heart told him that he’d already fallen for his little tart of a lover, while his rational thoughts reminded him how dangerous it was to give in to such emotions.
Lysandra might be a vain, manipulative bitch, but she was also right. Joan’s place in his life was temporary, and if he didn’t squelch these ridiculous feelings, he’d find himself abandoned and hurt all over again. Only, this time he might not survive it.
Piers took in deep inhales of the cold night air. It stung his chest and burned in his throat, but worked to clear his head. He had looked forward to this evening with Joan, and there was no reason it couldn’t still be salvaged. Lysandra had done this—setting him off balance and piercing her way into the pieces of himself he’d closed off from the world years ago.
He straightened his shoulders and quickened his pace, suddenly anxious to get to Olympus and Joan. He needed to see her. Spending this night with her as they had many others would steady him. It would serve as a reminder of his place in Joan’s life, and the only intimacy he could ever have with her. Stepping back into the role of courtesan would set the world right again.
Relief loosened the knot in his middle when the looming edifice of the club came into view. He suffered through the pleasantries of being greeted by the women in the antechamber and provided with his mask, though he shunned their offer of the customary champagne. He didn’t want wine or spirits or food, and was relieved to learn that what he had come for was already here. A footman met him just before he entered the club to inform him that his guest awaited him in his preferred room. The chamber in which he had first tied her to the bed and spanked her lush buttocks.
His breeches grew tight across his groin as he skirted the perimeter of the room, keeping his head down and his steps quick. There was no time to greet acquaintances or engage in idle chatter. He increased his pace once he reached the corridor, and practically ripped the door to the appointed room off its hinges.
The world ground to a halt and his limbs failed him once he stood within the fire-lit space. Sprawled across the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of white silk stockings was Joan. She lay propped against a mound of pillows, her legs spread to reveal her inky black curls and the tantalizing burst of pink flesh. His breath caught and held as he allowed himself a long, slow perusal of her from head to toe.
Her hair was unbound and spilling over her shoulders, framing the mounds of her breasts. Those enchanting eyes of hers were fixed on him, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling with strained breaths. He followed the movement of her graceful hands, one of them cupping a breast and the other slowly creeping down the expanse of her belly.
“What the devil are you doing, minx?” he rasped, his throat burning from lack of air.
“You are late,” she purred, combing her fingers through the hairs at her center and parting her lips to reveal the hidden treasure inside. “I decided to begin without you.”
God, this woman was perfect. The defiance in her voice and the challenge in her gaze beckoned to the part of Piers that wanted to turn her onto her belly and heat her backside for daring to pleasure herself without his permission. However, there was another, deeper, aspect of Piers that longed for something else. Something meaningful and personal that he could only share with her.
That part of him won out, and he found a steady calm wash through him as he began shedding his garments. He remained riveted to the sight of Joan petting herself, her legs falling wider and the juices of her arousal glistening on the tips of her fingers.
“If you don’t hurry, I’ll be forced to finish without you,” she teased, using her other hand to squeeze and toy with her nipple. “It would serve you right for keeping me waiting.”
She was baiting him, as she always did, but Piers didn’t react. He tossed aside each layer of his clothes until he was as naked as Joan, the protrusion of his aching erection arcing up toward his navel. She moaned, dipping two fingers into her sheath. Her eyes fluttered closed as Piers climbed onto the bed, crawling toward the offering she presented.
Joan gasped, her eyes flying open to meet his as he gripped the insides of her thighs and shoved them wider. She held his gaze while he went to his belly between them and took firm hold of the hand pressed to her center. There was no resistance when he pulled her gleaming fingers free of her sheath and brought them to his mouth. She whimpered as he sucked them clean, savoring the taste of her. Then, he pressed his lips to the inside of one thigh and began kissing his way upward. She squirmed, but Piers held her thighs and pressed them to the mattress, keeping her open and at his mercy.
His eyes locked with hers as he darted his tongue at her opening. Her hips bucked when he circled the rim of her sheath, then lapped his way up her folds to the nub of her clitoris in one slow stroke.
“Piers,” she whispered hoarsely. “What are you doing?”
He could feign ignorance at her question, but he couldn’t be so dishonest with her. She could sense the tension radiating from him, the shift on the air signaling that this night wouldn’t be like the others.
“No games tonight,” he whispered, giving her another teasing lick. “Just this. Just … us.”
Her only response was a hoarse moan as he latched onto her clit and sucked, rolling his tongue against the swollen bundle of nerves. She was aroused, wet, and ready for his cock, but Piers wanted to make this encounter last. He might never have another chance like this, with Joan pliant and receptive in his arms. She sighed and thrust against his lips, seeking her own pleasure and grinding against his tongue. Her wetness coated his lips, the proof of her desire for him ramping up his own arousal. He wanted her so badly it hurt, but he wanted this more—the luxury of taking his time, so that he could pretend they never had to part ways. She wasn’t his, at least not in a permanent way. But for now she could be, and Piers would be satisfied with that. He had no other choice.
“Oh, God!” she cried, when he angled two fingers into her opening.
He stroked the velvety walls of her core while never letting up his persistent sucking at her clit. Her hips rose off the bed as her insides pulsed and clenched around him, her moans growing higher and louder as he stroked her toward climax. Joan’s thighs trembled and her fingers tangled in the bedclothes, her back arching as he increased his pace, pushing his fingers as deep as they would reach.
Tearing his lips away from her cunny, he kissed his way up her body though his fingers never left her. She ground against his hand and grasped his shoulders, her fingernails scoring his skin as he sought her lips. With his other hand he grasped the delicate pillar of her throat, just tight enough to keep her where he wanted her—prostrate and spread wide and at his mercy. She mewled against his mouth as he took her mouth in a ravaging kiss, his tongue plunging into her depths and sharing the heady taste of her juices. Joan bit and sucked at his lips, returning his kiss with a ferocity that left him breathless.
She bucked and pushed against his knuckles, urging him on harder and faster. He fucked her relentlessly with his fingers, using his thumb to press against the pulsing bud of her clit. Her shocked cry was muffled by the press of his lips, the sounds of her ecstasy echoing through the cavern of his mouth. Her sheath contracted around him, and another flood of juices soaked his fingers, easing the way for each of the battering thrusts of his hand. He didn’t stop until she had gone limp beneath him, panting and writhing in the final throes of her orgasm.
Piers withdrew his fingers and lay between her legs, his cock nestled between her lower lips. He groaned at the feel of her, searing hot and wet and beckoning.
He cupped one of her breasts and stroked his fingertips—still wet with her spend—over one rosy nipple. Her eyes widened and she watched as he took that nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tight nub. Joan’s fingers tangled in his hair and she held him tight against her, soft moans and whispered encouragements falling from her lips. Piers rolled his hips, finding friction and heat where his turgid flesh was pressed against her, coating his shaft in her honey.
