“Congratulations. That’s quite a conquest.”
“It was unexpected, to say the least. I plan on asking her to return. Or to stay.” He looked over at Ivy, who was now panting. “May I?” he asked.
“Be my guest.”
He smiled at the irony and walked over to the table. Ivy seemed to sense there was something different about his touch, because she froze as he moved a wide hand from her neck, down between her breasts, to her cunt, which he cupped hard.
She wriggled, trying to get closer, and he gave a small smirk. “She’s greedy,” he told me.
“Don’t I know it.”
He pushed a finger inside of her and then another. She jolted at the contact and then moaned as he started in earnest. I knew from many years of playing side by side with him that this was something he excelled at. I knew that in only a few moments, she’d be shaking and screaming.
And after she was finished, I was taking her upstairs. And making her mine once more.
“Do you feel that, wildcat? You have a peer of the realm touching you right now. He’s going to make you come with the same hand that has written to princes and kings. He’s going to fuck your hole with his fingers, and everybody is going to watch him do it.”
Julian’s voice was low in my ear, and his words were like a stimulant to my already over-stimulated body. There were mouths on my breasts, on my fingers and stomach, and then the hand that was on my pussy. It was the hottest, wickedest hand I’d ever felt, because it carried none of the tenderness or regard that always resonated in Julian’s touch. It was selfish and demanding and I knew without a doubt that I was being touched only because it pleased this person to do so, not because he particularly cared about pleasing me.
And it was relentless, the pleasure it brought with it sharp and sudden and almost uncomfortable. I tried to move away, but the bindings on my hands and feet made it impossible. The fingers slid in and then slid back out, the palm grinding against my clit as they did, in and out, in and out, over and over again until there was nothing but slickness and fire between my legs.
I could feel it building and building, and I began not to care how I looked or what I sounded like or what the people around me thought. I was caught up in the tide of pleasure, that peculiar release that only comes with surging past the waterline of humiliation. I was now shamelessly trying to grind my pussy into the man’s hand, trying to arch my back to get even closer to the mouths on my breasts.
“That’s it,” Julian said. “Let them make you come. Let them see how sweet that body looks when it’s coming.”
“I’m—I’m going to,” I managed, feeling the muscles in the soles of my feet cramp as my body twined tighter and tighter. “I’m going to come, oh God—”
And then I did, surging against my bonds as my core collapsed and exploded outward, mercilessly provoked by those demanding fingers between my legs, provoked into coming harder and longer and more fiercely than I thought my body could stand. And the people around me kept going, drawing still more waves and tremors from me, until finally I stopped struggling, unable to do anything but lay back and feel.
“Good girl,” said Julian. “Very good.”
And indeed
, my pussy was given a rewarding stroke, much in the way one would affectionately caress a well-behaved animal.
“Now, another one.”
“No,” I said, trying pointlessly to roll away. “I can’t, I can’t—”
“I told you that we would get that cunt ready for me. Now because I’m nice, I’ll make sure they use their mouths and not their hands. I can’t have you too sore to come on my cock later.”
Someone was climbing onto the table with me. “But—”
I stopped as I felt a warm mouth seal over my clitoris. The sensation right after orgasming was too much, too overwhelming, and I kept trying to squirm away, even though I knew I couldn’t. And then, impossibly, there were two mouths, licking and licking and licking, moving in tandem so that there was never a pause, never a reprieve, and even though their tongues were soft, their mouths were hot and their fingers dug into the soft flesh of my ass. The overwhelming sensitivity was swallowed up by the new tide rushing through me, all the faster and stronger for the orgasm that came before it. Now I pulled at my bonds not to escape but to get closer. I didn’t want to come on someone’s tongue, I wanted to come on their cock. Whoever was between my legs now, I wanted them to fuck me. I was beyond caring who did it now, but the thought of a rigid length of maleness driving into me, the thought of a stranger or Silas or the Baron fucking me right in front of Julian—and his ensuing jealousy and the punishment that would follow as he fucked away every trace of any other man—it sent me over the edge and I released again, crying out now, crying out for Julian and imagining his green eyes the entire time I came.
It was only as I floated back down that I realized the room was filled with noise. The normal sounds of a party—music and laughter and clinking glasses—and the sounds that were unique to Gravendon Manor. The low moans of a man being fucked, the sounds of clothes being shucked to the floor.
I was untied and then my blindfold was removed. I blinked at the sudden light, my pupils contracting painfully, and I was still blinking as Mr. Markham helped me sit up and then gathered me in his arms. His face was the first thing that came into focus, his bright eyes and his hungry mouth, and he looked all sorts of dangerous—angry even.
“What next?” I whispered, trying not to look at the people around us. I only wanted to see him now, I only wanted to feel him, and as I did with him, I only felt hungry for more, not sated in the least.
“Now we go upstairs.”
And without so much as a word to those around us, he picked me up and carried me away. I was still completely naked and he was still completely clothed, save for his cravat, which now lay crumpled on the floor, ignored. He carried me effortlessly, without strain, and I rested against him, wrapping my arms around his neck. As aroused as I still was, I could also rest like this forever, snuggled against the warm, strong chest of the man I loved.
I sighed happily.
He looked down at my head resting on his shoulder. I felt him swallow. “You’re going to be the death of me, Ivy Leavold,” he said, voice serious.
