“Ladies and gentlemen, it appears we have performers in the glass cage tonight!” a voice boomed.
A cheer exploded from the other side of the glass, and the curtains began to part.
“What the devil?” Wick ground out.
He pushed her behind him, standing protectively between her and the exposed windows, but she peered over his shoulder in shock. The large panes of glass gave an unimpeded view into the sultan’s seraglio that they’d passed by earlier. Men and women lounged upon bright silk pillows, sipping flutes of champagne. Their masked faces were turned to Wick and Beatrice, as if they were expecting…a performance?
“Christ,” Wick said softly.
“Don’t just stand there,” someone yelled. “Get on with it and fuck!”
31
Damnation…theywere trapped.
As the crowd began to chant “Fuck! Fuck!,” Wick’s mind worked furiously, trying to find a way out. He was acutely aware of the book in the inner pocket of his jacket—the key that would lead them to Beatrice’s enemy. They werethisclose to solving the mystery; all he had to do was get them out of there without revealing their purpose.
But how? The longer he and Beatrice remained paralyzed in the “glass cage,” the greater the chances were that someone would realize that they were not Hellfire Club members. Their charade would be exposed. Throughout the evening, he’d seen guards posted throughout the rooms and knew he couldn’t fight an army of burly brutes and protect Beatrice at the same time.
Think, man. Don’t fail now. Don’t fail Beatrice…
Beatrice moved from behind him, and he turned, intending to keep her back. To shield her from the leering crowd. Yet she evaded him, lowering herself gracefully to her knees in front of him. Startled, he stared at her upturned face, hidden by her white mask, which left only her shimmering eyes and lush mouth bared.
“Angel…?”
“Trust me,” she whispered.
While his brain couldn’t seem to keep up as she placed a palm on the placket of his trousers, his body responded as ever to her touch. He grew hard in an instant. As she slipped her fingers into his waistband, working on the fasteners, a hush fell over the crowd, their chanting replaced by humming lust. Hot, pulsing energy swirled around and inside the glass room.
Wick couldn’t believe that Beatrice was doing this. Perhaps the anonymity offered by their disguises emboldened her. Whatever the cause, her brazen stratagem set fire to his blood and, rationally, he couldn’t deny that it might be the one way out of their predicament.
She managed to free him, his stiff cock falling into her gloved hands.
She gently caressed his rigid length, her silk-covered fingers stroking him as a roomful of strangers watched. The hunger in her eyes told him that she wanted to do this, that it aroused her to serve him in this public way…and, bloody hell, that made him turn to steel beneath her touch. He didn’t mind putting on a show as long assheremained dressed and protected from the rapacious gazes.
Having his lover kneeling so sweetly before him brought out his dominant instincts. Since their arrival in London, he’d sensed her building walls between them. She’d dug in her heels at the slightest provocation, sometimes for no reason at all. At times, it had felt like she was deliberately goading him and testing the limits of his patience. His annoyance had been tempered by his understanding of her and her need for independence.
In life, Beatrice was his equal. He respected that fact. He also had the desire to assert his own will. And what better way, he thought with dark hunger, than to push the boundaries of her sexual surrender? In bed, he enjoyed taking the reins as much as she enjoyed relinquishing them. She might have initiated this scene, but he knew how to draw the utmost pleasure from it for them both.
He curled a finger under her chin, deliberately deepening his voice to avoid recognition.
“Keep your eyes on mine. At all times.”
Her consent was in her shiver of excitement, the yielding softness in her eyes.
“Now frig my cock with both hands. Firmly, if you please.”
She obeyed, using both fists to pump his rod, her gaze connected to his. He imagined what it must look like to their audience: the beautiful masked woman, kneeling before a man, frigging his veined stalk with such sweet alacrity. The thought aroused him almost as much as her soft touch…and also ignited his darker desires.
“I’d like to sample your mouth next,” he said. “Tongue out, pet.”
“Pet” wasn’t his usual endearment for her, but it suited the occasion.
He took her hands from his cock, placing them on his thighs. “Keep them there.”
“Yes, sir.”
Her use of “sir” had a cheeky edge that was pure Beatrice. As much as she liked surrendering to him, she was also used to being in control. Used to doing as she pleased. He knew she wanted to suck his cock, and he would give her what she wanted…but he’d do it in his own fashion.
