Taking his erection in hand, he placed just the head of it on the pink shelf of her tongue. He rested it there, not moving, relishing the velvety softness. Savoring her obedience which was all the sweeter for its rarity. He heard murmurs from the crowd as she continued to look up at him, with an adoring lust that could not be missed. Knowing the strength of the woman who so prettily cradled his prick betwixt her lips for all to see gave the act a special meaning that warmed his heart and brought a raging fire to his loins.
“Very nice,” he allowed. “Now keep this pretty mouth open for me while I fuck it.”
He slid a hand into the brunette curls of her wig, holding her head still, and entered her mouth in a deep thrust. He grunted as slick, wet heat enveloped his cock. Since he’d introduced her to the art of fellatio, she’d come a long way, and he knew exactly how much she could take. Knew how to bring forth her moans with the demanding drives of his shaft, knew that his rough use of her mouth was making her pussy wetter and wetter.
He plunged all the way in, butting the back of her throat, groaning as he felt its exquisite clench. The small gurgling sound she made inflamed his lewdest impulses. He withdrew, letting her draw a breath through her nose, then he did it again and again, deeper with each pass. Until, finally, his balls rested upon her delicate chin.
He traced the stretched, quivering outline of her lips.
“Do you like having me buried in your throat, pet?” he inquired silkily.
Her eyes were lambent with desire even as diamonds glimmered on her lashes. She nodded, and he eased his prick from her, giving her a moment to recover before he skewered her throat again. He was close: the silken submission of her mouth and the lustful sounds of the crowd were bringing him rapidly to the edge. A dark, animalistic edge that, in all his sexual adventures prior to Beatrice, he’d never reached before.
It was one thing to fuck with abandon. Another entirely to fuck the woman you cared about in such a fashion. To know that you could share your ugliest failures, your darkest lusts, your tenderest dreams…and she could take it all.
Because she was that strong.
Because you trusted her…loved her.
The recognition blazed through him. His chest heaving, he pulled out.
“Keep your mouth open, pet,” he gritted out. “Hold it nice and wide for me.”
She parted her lips, red and swollen from the pleasure he’d taken between them. Fisting his cock, he aimed, jerking rapidly. His orgasm blew through him like a storm, jolts of sizzling bliss that forced his seed from his cock and into her keeping. Shuddering, he watched as she held his pleasure, proudly displaying what she’d drawn from him, her eyes radiant with emotion.
Applause exploded from their audience…the audience that had faded from his consciousness in the heat of his coupling with his lass. He saw her start, as if she, too, had lost herself in the bond between them, forgetting the world beyond. A droplet of his seed clung to her chin, and he thumbed it away, feeling her erotic shiver. He saw the need in her gorgeous eyes—and damn if it didn’t send a fresh wave of heat to his loins.
“I’ll take care of you soon, angel,” he murmured as he helped her to her feet. “For now, take your bow, and let’s get out of here.”
* * *
In the carriage, Wick tucked Beatrice into his side. She trembled with unassuaged desire, her hand stroking his thigh in a delightfully needy manner, but there were guards riding atop the carriage. He would wait until he got her home, then he would make love to her until dawn.
In the meantime, he took out the black book. In the wavering lamplight, they began reading through the names. The members were listed in alphabetical order by surname, with columns showing date of acceptance and membership status in the Hellfire Club.
Many names were familiar to Wick: aristocrats, industrialists, more than a few politicians.
As he turned the page to the surnames starting with “G,” he heard Beatrice’s sharp intake of breath. Her face drained of color.
“What is it, angel?” he asked. “Recognize someone?”
“T. Edgar Grigg.” Her hand fluttered to her marked cheek. “The man who caused my scar…he was a founding member.”
32
“Beatrice, love, wake up.”
She opened her eyes to a feeling of disorientation. She saw Wick drawing open the curtains, recognized that she was in his room. After they returned from the Hellfire Club, he’d made love to her until the early hours. It was as if their time in the glass cage had unlocked a new level of intimacy, nothing forbidden between them. He’d shown incredible stamina and virtuosity, taking her in positions that made her blush to think of them now.
At one point, he’d arranged her on her hands and knees, her cheek pressed against the mattress and her bottom raised. Gripping her hips, he’d hammered into her from behind, the heavy siege of his bollocks against her tender entrance a jarring bliss. He’d breached another place too, his thumb pressing deep into territory so shocking and wicked that she’d climaxed on the spot. He’d wrung countless releases from her, her throat raw from her sobs of pleasure.
After that, she’d fallen asleep. But her slumber had not been restful. It had been plagued by images and memories that not even Wick’s lovemaking could keep at bay.
Grigg, the man who’d played such a pivotal role in her past, had made his way into her present. In her dreams, he’d been a looming ghost, a specter out for blood…something she could never escape. She’d run and run, at times believing she’d finally left heartbreak behind, but it always caught up with her in the end.
Her temples throbbed. She knew she wasn’t thinking clearly, knew it was the lack of sleep and traumatic revelations of just hours ago that had sent her into this strange spiral. She tried to tell herself that everything would be all right: she and Wick had a plan.
Today, they would seek out Mr. Lugo, the investigator Harry Kent had recommended. They would ask Mr. Lugo to look into the family Grigg had left behind, to see who might have inherited the watch…and who might wish to gain revenge against Beatrice for the death of their kin.
