Page 13 of His Brazen Tart
“Are you bored?”
Her pulse fluttered like mad in reaction to his sudden nearness, but she straightened her back and kept her composure. “Of course not,” she whispered, though they were in her private box and not likely to be overheard. “I love the opera.”
“Hmm,” he rumbled, the vibrations of the low sound rippling through Joan as if he had physically touched her. “You seem … distracted.”
Her lips trembled around a response that never came forth as the tip of his finger stroked down the back of her arm. The touch would have been innocuous if not for the fact that Piers had removed his glove and was purposely fondling the line of bared flesh between the edge of her glove and her sleeve.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “As long as you are very still and quiet, no one will notice. Now … are you going to be a good girl? Or will you make me punish you later?”
Joan’s entire body came alive, quaking like a stalk of grass in the wind. The tips of her breasts tightened and pulsed, and her thighs drew tight together, producing tiny flutters of longing. She felt torn between disobeying and earning herself more of what she had experienced the other night, or succumbing to him and learning how it felt to be rewarded for obedience.
In the end, it was her sense of adventure that won out. She had never been with a man who was daring enough to attempt intimacies in a public place. The very idea left her mute, and Joan could only give a slow nod of acquiescence.
“Spread your legs and point your toes. The bottom of each foot should rest against a chair leg. Slowly …”
Joan’s breath hitched and then accelerated as she obeyed. With her short stature, her feet barely touched the floor as it was, making it easy to press her toes into the plush rug and slowly swing her knees outward. Her fingers clenched in her skirts when the air around her shifted and Piers disappeared from her side. Nerves made her heart pound as she realized he was now behind her.
“Don’t,” he commanded when she turned to search for him and found nothing but shadows. “Eyes forward. Now … raise your skirts to your knees.”
Legs quivering, Joan obeyed, inching her gown and petticoats upward until the bows of her garters appeared. Her chest heaved with labored breath as she scanned the crowd below. The rim of the balcony kept her lower half out of sight, and pillars on either side obstructed the view of her box from those to the left and right. As long as she didn’t make any sudden or obvious movements, even those occasionally glancing up from the pit wouldn’t know what was happening in her box.
Joan rested her head against the back of her chair. Clenching her fingers around the fabric bunched at her thighs, she held her breath and waited for Piers to make his next move. There was only the slight touch of his hand on her shoulder before all went still and silent behind her.
She nearly leaped from her chair when a hand fell onto her ankle. Gripping the arms of her chair, she stole a glance downward to find Piers crouching between her spread legs. The hand on her ankle began a slow trek upward.
“Eyes forward,” Piers reminded Joan, giving the inside of one thigh a sharp pinch.
“Bloody hell,” she hissed under her breath. But she did as he commanded, though she barely saw the stage, the singers on it, nor would she have registered her very hand before her face. Piers’ warm breath wafted against the tuft of curls at her center, sending a shiver up her spine. Strong hands clutched the insides of her thighs, pushing them wider. Piers’ nose slid along the sensitive skin at the top of her garter as he nuzzled his way toward the aching, pulsing heart of Joan’s cunny. Her back arched and her hold on the chair arms tightened until she feared they might splinter. Piers’ lips stroked along her seam, tickling through her curls. His thumbs circled the delicate flesh just on the edges of her groin, sending tiny frissons of awareness to the far reaches of Joan’s body.
Her back arched, and she had to fight to remain in her chair when the first stroke of his tongue came. It slid through her slit, wet and rasping, teasing the folds of her inner flesh and then flicking at the throbbing bud of her clitoris.
“Christ,” she ground out from between clenched teeth, though she followed his orders to remain still.
However, she couldn’t resist stealing another look. The sight that met Joan took her breath away. Her thighs were exposed, the splash of her pink garters bright against them before the snowy hue of her stockings took over. Piers had thrust her skirts even higher so that Joan could see everything he was doing. His lips were latched onto her cunt, his cheeks caved inward as he sucked. Joan’s eyelids grew heavy, but she fought the urge to close her eyes, not wanting to miss a single moment.
She’d had this act performed on her before, but Joan now realized that none of her former lovers had known what they were doing. Either that, or Piers Lovelace was a special breed of man altogether—one with a tongue blessed by God himself. The things he was doing with it … oh, God, she was going to climax in the middle of a crowded theater.
Joan squirmed, but Piers hooked his arms beneath her knees, holding her legs open and pinned. She was left with no choice but to accept every tantalizing swirl of his tongue, every strong pull of his lips around her most sensitive of places. Her legs trembled as he intensified his efforts, and Joan bit the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning her pleasure.
A tiny squeal escaped her when Piers tickled Joan’s entrance with the tip of one finger. Then, she was being filled, his tongue circling swiftly against her clit while his finger stroked inside her in a ‘come-hither’ motion. Her hips bucked, but another pinch from Piers reminded her that if they were seen, it would be her fault. There was nothing left to do but surrender, which she did with a sigh and a thump of her head against the cushioned back of her chair.
Her body jolted and shook in his hold, back arching away from the upholstery as she came apart, liquid heat spreading throughout her core. Her belly quaked, and her chest burned from the effort it took to keep quiet as he kept up his erotic ministrations until she went completely still, and the tension leeched away from her joints.
Panting and fighting to keep her eyes open, Joan allowed Piers to manipulate her like a rag doll. He pushed her legs together and then lowered her skirts. He smoothed his hands over the fabric and then placed her hands neatly in her lap, one on top of the other.
With a few swift, covert movements, Piers was back in place at her side, appearing as cool and unruffled as before. Joan felt certain that anyone who looked at her would be able to clearly see what she had just done.
Another shiver raced through her as Piers leaned close, the scent of Joan still clinging to his clothes.
“Good girl.”
Piers spentwhat was left of their evening at the opera fighting down a persistent erection and reminding himself he had already been reckless enough. He hadn’t planned to go to go his knees in Joan’s private box and pleasure her within view of the entire theater. However, he had been unable to resist the urge to toy with her as she sat looking so alluring, giving off an icy aura of inviolability. Piers suspected it was this presentation of Joan that had so many men clamoring after her. She offered only enough warmth to make a man assume he stood a chance with her. However, once he drew close enough, said man would encounter an outer layer of ice that must be chipped away before reaching a hot, inviting center.
And oh, how that center had tasted. As they descended the stairs from her box and made their way toward the entrance hall of the theater, Piers ran his tongue along the seam of his lips. There was something thrilling about making her squirm and arch with pleasure, while his heart pounded at the mere thought of being caught. Joan had performed beautifully, following his instructions without hesitation or the expected mouthiness. Of course, he knew not to expect such obedience from her for long. She would defy him at the first opportunity made his cock swell, the constriction of his breeches downright uncomfortable.
The dim lighting of the corridor dissipated under the glitter of chandeliers. They were suddenly surrounded by babbling voices and the stifling heat of too many bodies crowded into one place. Everyone surged toward the doors, and Piers placed a hand atop the one that Joan rested on his forearm and relied on his size to clear a path for them. He was practically vibrating with need, and wasn’t certain he could remain civilized long enough to take Joan back to his townhouse so they could finish what had been started in that theater box. It had been his intention to tease Joan until she was begging for his cock, holding back on fully consummating their bond as courtesan and keeper until he felt the anticipation had been properly built.
Hang anticipation. The perfect client had been dropped into his lap, and he didn’t intend to squander the opportunity. As a courtesan, it was his job to tease and tempt, but dash it all, Joan was too alluring for the sake of good sense. He wanted her, and it couldn’t wait.
