His Valet (Victorian Decadence Book 2), page 12
Gillian lowered her head, her long blond hair sliding to one side and giving him a perfect view of her raised bottom. When her mouth lowered Josephine caught her lower lip in her teeth and arched her back with pleasure, her heavy-lidded eyes never leaving his face.
Stephen suspected this was going to be yet another evening when he would not last long without shaming himself.
***
Jo thought nothing could be more decadent and divine than last night.
She’d been wrong.
Oh, it had been delicious to have him inside her body after all these long, lonely months, but tonight was not only physical, it was mental, and she was enjoying herself far more than a decent, moral woman should. Luckily she’d given up striving for decency a very long time ago. She wanted to do every single thing she’d been forced to watch him enjoy with others. She knew that would be impossible in the few nights they had left, but this was certainly one of the fantasies right at the top of her list.
It was difficult to say what was more arousing: Gillian’s soft, hot mouth on her sex or Stephen watching while the beautiful woman serviced her. She decided this might well be the culmination of all her fantasies.
Jo shuddered under Gillian’s skilled mouth; her talents were superlative and she worked Jo’s body the way only another woman could. Jo could already tell it would be an evening of orgasms.
Stephen’s normally cool, impassive face was almost crazed as he watched. His eyes flickered and bounced wildly from the beautiful woman between her thighs, to Jo’s face, and all points in between.
Jo shifted in a way she knew would display her body in a way that would stoke the flames of his lust even further, spreading her thighs as wide as she could and lazily stroking from her belly to her breasts, pinching and pulling on her aching nipples in a way he’d ordered whores to do for him in the past.
“Bloody hell, Josephine.”
She looked up from beneath her lashes, gave him a smile she hoped showed every wicked thought she was feeling, and then slid a hand into Gillian’s hair and pulsed her hips the way he had last night.
An agonized moan escaped his tightly clenched jaws and he looked so beautiful in his suffering that her cunt convulsed as Gillian teased out her first orgasm. She was breathing like a lathered horse as she rode out her pleasure, her gaze fastened to his big hand, which circled the base of his cock.
She could see he was squeezing himself, hard enough to hurt and certainly hard enough to control his erection
“Does it hurt?” she asked, her voice a harsh gasp as she arched her back, yet another wave of pleasure rippling through her.
His eyes glinted dangerously and he did not answer her question.
Oh, he was going to make her pay for this—and she could hardly wait.
Jo stared at him and deliberately slid her second hand into Gillian’s hair and pushed her head down, grinding into the blond woman’s mouth with increasingly savage thrusts.
His expression was one of disbelief and lust. It was beyond delicious to watch him want and suffer . . . but it would be even more delicious to get what she’d been fantasizing about.
“Take her, Stephen,” she said. “Take her while I watch.”
He blinked hard and she knew his passion-addled brain was struggling to translate.
Without ceasing her expert sucking, Gillian spread her knees to the edge of the chase and canted her bottom in clear invitation.
Stephen muttered something incomprehensible as he surged to his feet, his hands tearing at the buttons of his coat and waistcoat. He fumbled with his cuffs, cursed, and then tore the shirt open, sending buttons flying. His chest was moving like a bellows as he slid a hand between Gillian’s thighs.
His eyelashes fluttered and his expression was euphoric. “She’s so wet, Josephine—she enjoys her job a great deal.” He fixed her with his black gaze. “And who could blame her.” His arm began to move and Gillian’s reaction was immediate: her breathing quickening, her tongue penetrating Jo’s entrance in rhythmic thrusts while her relentless thumb caressed her. Yes, Gillian was very, very good.
Jo’s eyes locked with Stephen’s as he fingered the woman to pleasure and Gillian brought Jo’s body arching and shuddering right along with her.
Stephen stroked himself with hard, slow motions, his prick so slick she wondered if he’d climaxed.
“Almost,” he said with a smile, and added when her eyes widened. “No, you didn’t say that out loud, but I can read your wicked intentions in those eyes of yours.” He grabbed his shaft, stroking all the way down to the base while thrusting, the action making his already big cock look twice as long. He crouched low, fit his cock between Gillian’s thighs, and slammed into her in one long thrust. His hands looked huge on the girl’s delicate shoulders and Jo knew Gillian would be struggling to accommodate his length.
He stared down at her, his face ruthless as he began to thrust. “Gillian is going to suck you to the brink of climax, Josephine. But you’ll not take your pleasure until I tell you to do so. Understood?” he punctuated his question with a brutal thrust, his lips curling at whatever he saw on Jo’s face.
“Josephine?” he repeated, his thrusts coming faster, his jaw clenching. “Understood?”
“Yes, Stephen. Yes, I understand.”
The sight of him using Gillian’s body for his pleasure while his eyes were on Jo was far more arousing than the woman’s skillful mouth. The chiseled muscles of his stomach and chest bunched with each thrust; he looked like some barbaric conquering king as he towered over her and the familiar ecstasy began to build.
“Not yet,” he hissed between clenched teeth, his hips pounding without mercy. “Not yet, not yet, not—fuck!” He threw back his head and roared, driving into Gillian so hard that her head bumped Jo’s belly.
“Now,” he ordered, hilted in the other woman. “Come now.”
Jo’s back spasmed and arched, until it felt like it would snap, and she hurtled over the edge into oblivion.
***
Stephen knew he was behaving in a disturbing fashion watching her so closely, but he couldn’t resist.
He’d returned from his little death—one of the most powerful orgasms of his life—to find her sleeping so deeply that she looked unconscious.
Stephen was stunned to discover he was still kneeling and buried inside Gillian.
He stood with a groan and then helped her to her feet before picking up her robe and holding it out while she slipped into it.
Her lips and jaw were bright red from her labors, making him realize just how hard both he and Josephine had used the poor woman.
While she tied her sash, Stephen found his wallet and removed two very large bills.
When he turned back to her, her eyes—which he only then noticed were blue—widened.
He escorted her to the door. “Stay close by. She might wake and want you again,” he ordered in a low voice.
She bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, sir, of course. Thank you so much, sir.”
He opened the door and then latched it behind her before returning to where Jo lie spread and wanton. She didn’t even stir when he carefully lifted her legs and laid them side-by-side on the chaise. Nor did she move when he took one of the blankets off the unused bed and covered her almost naked body from her chin to her toes. He then stoked the fire to a blaze, poured himself a drink, and resumed his seat.
Only now—alone and with a spent cock—did he consider what had just happened.
Stephen only knew of one other ‘respectable’ woman who considered such deviant activities enjoyable: Nora Fanshawe. Nora’s behavior was more understandable because she’d once been a prostitute.
But Josephine? He studied what little he could of her face, wishing he could take off her damned mask—no matter how adorable she might look—and see her. She was unlike any woman he’d ever been with.
He sipped his drink unable to keep the question from his mind: why was she marrying this old man?
That is none of your affair.
He tried to force his mind along other avenues—such as tomorrow and how much he would enjoy thinking of her wearing his plug during the day. And then how much he would enjoy removing the plug and fucking her virgin ass.
But the subject of her marriage was insidious.
Why was she marrying this man? Was it money? Could everything she told him about her experience and past possibly be true? But why would she lie? It wasn’t as if she were trying to trap him into marriage. Quite the opposite. She must simply be what she claimed—a sensual woman who’d ignored her body’s needs for too long.
He thought about her black shoes and gloves, both of which she’d worn twice. He did not believe she was wealthy. Was that why she was marrying?
Stephen frowned. What did it matter? He had three more days with her and then she would be gone from his life forever.
He sipped his drink and studied the little he could see of face. Stephen suspected he’d not be able to read this mysterious woman any better with or without a mask.
Chapter Ten
Night Three
Jo waited until she’d shaved and dressed Mr. Chatham and sent him off for the day before locking herself in her cupboard of a room and reading the note yet again.
“Dear Josephine,
I couldn’t bring myself to wake you, either. You must have had a busy day to sleep so soundly—and then we had such a very busy evening.
I wanted to give you this bracelet while we were both conscious, but we don’t have enough time remaining to be overly choosy about such niceties. It’s a small token of my admiration for you and I hope you will wear it for me tonight. As I mentioned earlier in the evening, I’ve also left another item for you to wear for me.
With warm regards, Stephen.
Jo clutched the sheet of paper against her bosom, not caring how stupid it might appear that a dull-looking manservant was behaving so dramatically.
She’d woken at a quarter past three last night, terrified, and had sprinted from the brothel with her veil down, clutching her dress in her arms, her cloak wrapped tightly around her naked body.
The servant she’d bribed to let her in had gone, but he’d left a rolled up newspaper wedged between the door and frame.
Jo reminded herself to seek him out and give him a gratuity to reward such behavior.
There’d been no light beneath the adjoining door when she tip-toed into her room and he’d said nothing this morning about her locked door, so he mustn’t have needed her last night.
He’d been strangely quiet, wearing a bemused half-smile on his face while she got him ready for the day.
Jo knew the feeling. But she couldn’t spend the day standing around with a stupid look on her face—there were things to be done, not the least of which was returning the women’s clothing to The Royal Scotsman.
It had been reckless and foolish to come back here dressed as a woman. If the man she’d paid to keep the door open had seen her dressed this way it would be most difficult to explain.
Her hands once again went to the box with the bracelet and she opened it, unable to get enough of looking at this gift from him. It wasn’t the high value of the item that pleased her, but the fact that he’d chosen it for her. She’d never had a gift from a lover. In truth, she’d never had a lover, just the employees she paid at Bernina’s. And while she’d become friendly with some of the whores, they were not lovers.
Jo placed the box and note in her case and locked it, pocketing the key before returning the case to the small cupboard. She paused before opening the door to shift her hips. She was wearing the plug he’d left for her. It was only slightly bigger, but it seemed far more noticeable as she went about her daily chores. It was also keeping her in a painful state of arousal and her drawers were soaked and chafing her sensitive clitoris. All in all, it was delicious.
There was a chambermaid stripping Mr. Chatham’s bedding and Jo gave her a brisk nod as she thought about what he might have planned for this evening. She ran through the fantasies she’d yet to act out with him; there were far more than the few nights that remained to her.
Jo hoped it would just be the two of them tonight—at least for part of the evening—but she also knew she wanted something more . . . taboo, especially after Stephen’s words last night: just wait until I fuck you in tandem with another man.
Jo groaned as the words stoked the already roaring fire that seemed to burn in her belly at all times. She knew she loved to watch because she’d been watching him for months and found it beyond stimulating. In the past, Jo had enjoyed herself with more than one woman at Cecile’s. But she’d never been with two men.
Although Jo had told Stephen plenty of lies, she’d not been lying when it came to her experience with men. She never thought about that part of her past in the general course of her life and she didn’t want to think of it now. What had happened to her all those years ago had been bad enough, letting it infect this once-in-a-lifetime experience would only give him more power over her.
So, Jo pushed the ugly memory from her mind and tried to put her mind on her work rather than dreaming and wondering about tonight.
***
Stephen forced himself to stay at the shipyard until five-thirty. He refused to let the fact that he would be engaging in satisfying sexual relations turn him into a spoilt child.
But staying at the shipyard hadn’t meant he’d actually worked the entire time, although he’d plowed through two of the ship prospects and could move to the next yard, McCoy’s, where he would spend at least four days.
When he reached his hotel room he strode directly to the table where he kept the brandy, poured himself three fingers and drank it in two gulps.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
Stephen turned at the sound of Leather’s voice. It wasn’t until his valet came toward him that Stephen realized he’d not even taken off his coat and hat he was so distracted.
Bloody hell.
He tossed his hat onto the table, unbuttoned his overcoat, and allowed Leather to remove it.
“I’m hungry,” he growled, aware that he sounded like a sulking tosser.
“Shall I order dinner up or would you like to go down, sir?”
Stephen stared down at the empty glass on the table, so bloody restless in his own skin he wanted to tear his head off. How could he allow a woman to turn his brain to mush and plunge his life into chaos? Was he so susceptible to female attention that he became pathetic even after just a few days?
What I should do is not even go to Frau Meisen’s tonight.
That’s precisely what he would do—stay here and go through the notes he’d collected and draft his initial findings in a letter he could send back to his partners. That’s something he should have been working on already as they’d need that information from him. He’d been remiss and he should work, which is what he’d come here to do.
“I’ll take my dinner up here. Roast beef and a bottle of something red.”
“Very good, sir.”
Leather disappeared with his coats and hat and Stephen slumped into the chair, pouring another drink—ill-advised if he planned to work, but necessary to clear his thoughts.
And just what are your thoughts? Can two nights of sex with a stranger really unman you so easily?
He was behaving as if he’d been unmanned. Puling like a cowardly little boy.
Stephen bristled. He would go tonight and prove to himself that it was just like any other night he’d gone to a brothel, the only difference being that the woman he was paying to be with was not a whore.
Stephen knew this was a mistake—this is what happened when you blended the physical with emotional. He should refrain from going tonight. It was too late to abide by his one-night rule, but he could salvage it.
Yes, he should not go tonight. It was time to put an end to this.
“Dammit,” he muttered, ashamed and annoyed at his idiotic dithering. If this is what just thinking about the bloody woman did to him then he definitely should stay.
Some other man will go to her tonight if you do not.
His hand poured himself another glass before Stephen ordered it to do so. He put the drink aside. He would not allow this woman to drive him to drink along with everything else.
Remember Louise.
A shiver went through him and it wasn’t only because he was always bloody cold in this godforsaken city, either. Thinking of Louise always left him chilled; she was the perfect example of what happened when a man let a woman inside his head and gave her free rein. Louise was the reason he imposed such rigid restrictions on his whoring and had done for fifteen years.
Stephen picked up the glass and drank deeply.
Living through those weeks after Louise had been like surviving a violent storm, or a volcanic eruption that smothered entire villages.
Josephine is nothing like Louise, the lustful, wheedling voice in his head pointed out. You were going to marry Louise and give her everything. You’re only sharing five nights of sex with Josephine—or just two if you don’t go tonight.
Stephen chewed the inside of his mouth so hard it bled. The little voice was correct—she would take somebody else tonight and tomorrow night.
And then he recalled she would be arriving at Frau Meisen’s with his plug in her arse.
Stephen shoved aside the glass and stood. Very well, then, he would go tonight.
***
Stephen was as nervous as a cat and he’d arrived at Frau Meisen’s ten minutes early tonight.
After he’d made his decision to come the evening had seemed to drag.
He’d eaten—although not a lot—bathed, had Leather shave him, and then enjoyed yet another embarrassingly invigorating massage, after which he’d fisted himself.
He’d decided to tell Leather he was increasing his wages. After all, Stephen could only imagine what such a massage would cost at a bathhouse. And he much preferred to enjoy such services in the comfort of his own hotel room or home. And he wanted to enjoy it often, so he would compensate him generously for possessing such a skill.
