Page 10 of A Lady, Her Lord, & Their Duke

Oh God. They were both exceedingly handsome, but one man brimming with charm and confidence, the other a society iceberg melting in the warmth of sexual attention and choice, was like being presented with an entire dessert buffet. She wanted everything. Immediately. Which was rather unnerving for a woman who prided herself on control.

Being at Sanctuary always made her feel dangerously wild and wanton—perhaps another reason why she restricted their visits. Yet tonight, her fierce lust seemed limitless. There was no way even darling Neville and his magnificent tongue could calm such a tempest by himself; he would need the help of their nervous novice who was clearly aching to begin.

A fact that only made her wetter.

In truth, Arabella needed a moment to regather her thoughts, to be the stern and calm mistress they both needed, not a giddy girl.

“Stand together in front of the fireplace,” she said abruptly. “Do not move. And do not dare touch yourselves. I am going to check everything is in place for our play.”

Nev looked slightly startled at that; he knew as well as she that Sanctuary’s preparation was always impeccable—extremely well-heeled patrons would accept nothing less. But she regally ignored him and instead strolled over to examine a neat row of trestle tables against one wall. Each table was covered in a crisp white linen cloth and illuminated by a single diamond-studded candelabra.

The first offered bottles of brandy, champagne, whisky, port, fruit punch, and lemonade, plus crystal tumblers and glasses. The second presented an array of the most exquisite sweets imaginable: pastries, cakes, fruit tarts, meringues, syllabub with whipped cream, chilled buckets of pineapple, chocolate cream, and brown bread ices from Gunter’s, and various dishes of lemon drops, marzipan, caramels, and peppermint sticks. But the third table made her smile the most: a generous selection of new sexual accessories including dildos of various sizes, cock rings, nipple clamps, a riding crop, a flogger, a long, tapered feather, satin-lined shackles, silk scarves, and a full glass bottle of pale gold oil.

Superb, of course. Everything required for a wonderful night’s play, with no expense spared. As Nev very disobediently restricted the gifts she could buy him to small items like dildos or perhaps new shoes or decent brandy, she was forced to be more creative—some might say cunning—in her spending. Hiring Sanctuary’s very best room was one way of expressing love, just as she donated lavishly to his favorite causes.

But she couldn’t delay their play for a moment longer, no matter what wild lusts or unprecedented emotions were swirling in her mind.

Arabella turned around and smiled at her husband and prospective lover. “Why don’t you both come over here? Nev, darling, would you undress me? Slowly now, so Stanforth gets a premium view.”

Nev near-flew across the chamber to assist. The gold tunics had been specially designed not to disturb masks or hair covering, so fastened with cords at the shoulder and waist. As soon as her husband loosened the ties, the satin garment fell to the floor and she stepped delicately out of it. Immediately, two sets of eyes seared her flesh, and she allowed herself the vanity of a full body stretch, lifting her arms above her head and arching her back as she performed a slow turn, before strolling over to the bed in a way that made her ebony hair float around her shoulders, her wide hips sway, and breasts gently bounce.

“Christ,” breathed Stanforth.

“I know,” said Nev reverently. “Hands down the most beautiful woman in England. Probably Europe as well.”

Her lips twitching at the lavish compliments, Arabella caressed her dimpled backside, briefly parting her nether cheeks to tease them with a glimpse of her anus.

Both men groaned.

Satisfied she was driving them quite mad, Arabella then climbed up onto the end of the enormous bed and kneeled, putting her hands on her hips so they had an unobstructed view of her jewel-hard, dark pink nipples ready to be sucked, and her wet, musky-scented pussy.

God, the hunger in their gazes. The sheer, blatant need.

And she owned them both.

But with great power came great responsibility; a skilled and experienced dominant woman always ensured her submissives were as fulfilled as she was.

“Nev,” said Arabella, beckoning him over. “Come closer.”

With the bed beneath her knees, they were almost the same height, and she cupped her husband’s face and kissed him deeply, before running greedy hands over his shoulders, his back and hips. Then, she dragged her fingernails over the flesh of his delectable arse, making Nev moan.

“I love you, Ara,” he gasped. “Please. More.”

Arabella glanced at Stanforth. Once again, the duke was standing with his hands rigidly at his sides, as though he was afraid of what they might do. And his eyes. Twin pools of hazel yearning. “I see you appreciate my husband’s perfect arse as much as I do, Your Grace. But what do you see on that creamy canvas?”

Stanforth swallowed hard. “You made the letter A.”

“Yes I did,” purred Arabella. “Because Neville Carlisle is mine. My cherished pet…my goodness, do you know how hard Nev gets when I claim him so? Turn around, darling. Show Stanforth how close you are to coming.”

Nev made a guttural sound as he obediently turned, his seed-damp cock bobbing against his abdomen. “So close,” he whispered.

Arabella wrapped her arms around him from behind, threading her fingers through his chest hair, lightly scratching him before pinching his nipples. Nev shuddered, but he was far too experienced to buck. She rewarded his forbearance with kisses to his shoulder and a sharp nip to the neck, right where he liked it. “I enjoy teasing my husband. And marking him, as you can probably tell,” she laughed. “Would you like to be marked, Stanforth?”

“Please,” the duke said hoarsely.

After kissing Nev again, a rough, raw kiss that bruised his lips and left them a little swollen, she directed her husband to stand to one side, and beckoned Stanforth toward her. The duke was trembling slightly, but it was hard to know whether it was anxiety or arousal. Perhaps it was both, for his cock was so swollen, the head was a reddish-purple color. Poor man. Perhaps she should show mercy. It was his first time after all.

Cupping Stanforth’s face, Arabella lightly massaged his temples and ran her fingers through his hair. Almost instantly, the duke closed his eyes and sighed softly. Damnation. The man might even be more touch-starved than Nev, and that was saying something.