Page 14 of A Lady, Her Lord, & Their Duke

“Use your fingers,” said Arabella breathlessly as she nodded. “Show Stanforth what I like.”

Slowly, reverently, Carlisle removed the dildo before pushing his middle finger inside her slick heat then withdrawing and lapping away the wetness with a guttural groan. Next, he sank two fingers in. “My wife has a greedy pussy. See how it grips my fingers, demanding another orgasm? Here. Taste heaven.”

Confused, Edmund stared at Carlisle’s honey-covered fingers.

“Lick them clean,” said Madam Arabella. “Immediately.”

At the stern command, Edmund’s lips just parted and the baron smeared them with pearly wetness. The flavor exploded on Edmund’s tongue, sweet and musky and instantly addictive. “More?”

Carlisle chuckled as he re-coated four fingers in nectar. “Here you go.”

“Wait,” said Madam Arabella harshly. “Fuck his mouth with your fingers. Like a cock.”

Edmund hesitated. Could he take another man’s fingers into his mouth? It was so intimate, so much more than merely watching a naked man. And yet when Carlisle waved his wet fingers under Edmund’s nose, he craved that honey intensely.

Moaning, Edmund opened his mouth and received Carlisle’s forceful fingers, all thoughts, all reason departing as his world reduced to pure instinct. No decision-making, just one task: sucking. But now his thirst had become unquenchable. “Please,” he gasped hoarsely, unsure what he was even asking for.

Madam Arabella moved closer and put her hand on his shoulder, the touch both inflaming and supportive. “Stanforth needs your cock, Nev. Be the first to spill down his throat.”

Carlisle groaned. “Kneel, love. You’re going to suck me dry.”

Gloriously humbled once more, Edmund accepted the baron’s shaft into his mouth. Carlisle was careful and gentle to start, but soon thrust increasingly deeper and rougher, and the combined taste of earthy seed and musky pussy was delicious. But although Edmund’s jaw ached and his eyes watered, it still wasn’t enough. He wanted every inch of Carlisle’s cock.

Mindless in his lust haze, Edmund gripped Carlisle’s thighs and swallowed more cock, choking a little but continuing his frenzied sucking until he heard the most heavenly sound: the baron’s orgasmic roar. Carlisle's seed gushing down Edmund’s throat set off his own release and he reached down to grip his spurting cock, rubbing and squeezing to prolong the shockingly intense pleasure until he sagged against the end of the bed.

“Magnificent, Your Grace,” said Madam Arabella as she smoothed his hair. “Simply magnificent. How far you’ve come!”

Edmund froze as reality hit like an anvil.

He’d gone too far. Being pleasured by a married woman was one thing, but he’d sucked another man’s cock. And without the protection of a mask and hair cover, the couple knew exactly who he was. While he might know them intimately, he didn’t know them. And now, like the worst of fools, he’d granted Neville and Arabella Carlisle the power to ruin him.

Lust fled as absolute panic consumed him. Staggering to his feet, Edmund dashed around the room to snatch up his discarded mask and put on a complimentary quilted robe. Then he stumbled toward the door.

“Wait!” called Madam Arabella. “Please…”

Ignoring her concern, his skin icy, his vision blurring and teeth chattering at yet another terrible mistake entirely of his own making, Edmund fled the room.

Last time his punishment had been a loveless marriage.

To which fresh hell would this lead?

CHAPTER 4

For two full days, Edmund had remained in his bedchamber claiming illness. Unfortunately, such uncharacteristic behavior provoked his longtime and exceedingly loyal valet, Rivers, to summon a physician. After a comprehensive examination, the experienced physician had phrased his words carefully about mystery fevers coming and going just as swiftly, but they both knew there had been no such malaise. No doubt the man believed his ducal patient had weaved a tale to disguise the effects of too much brandy or perhaps even a brawl, and would play along for continued favor.

The truth was far more humiliating.

The almighty Duke of Stanforth—like his father and grandfather before him, the very portrait of decorum, authority and rigid control—had unraveled. How could he ever reconcile this figure with the reckless, greedy chameleon who not only sexually submitted to a woman but had also been intimate with a man? Far worse, he was at the mercy of a couple who could at any time hurl him to the wolves printing scandal rags in the bowels of Fleet Street, or extort him privately for favors. While he was confident money wouldn’t sway the Carlisles—they had far more than most—position and introductions and public support was another matter entirely. They moved in very different circles. He had a great deal of influence, the Carlisles did not.

But quite aside from a crisis of character and very real blackmail fear, had come the utterly unwanted awakening of his sexually neglected body. A night at Sanctuary had changed everything. Instead of quiet slumber he dreamed of Madam Arabella: her ruthlessly skilled hands draining his cock, him sucking pineapple ice from her taut nipples, learning the exquisite taste of her pussy. Equally, he dreamed of Carlisle. The other man calling him “love” the way it felt to have his mouth filled by a large cock, to swallow seed.

Now Edmund was hard all the damned time, his cock refusing to be ignored or cold-bathed again. Although he’d silently, miserably handled himself twice to obtain relief, it wasn’t working. His body cared not a whit about the significant risks and foibles of bedding a married couple; it yearned for another night of being the Carlisles’ playfellow. To go even further and learn of sexual discipline and riding crops. Anything to hear Madam Arabella’s governess tone, and yes, be crushed between her thighs as he drowned in the succulent haven of her feminine core. Anything to once again enter that wonderfully serene place where his only responsibility was sucking Carlisle’s cock.

But he couldn’t. Madam Arabella’s rule had been quite clear: one night only. And after the debacle of his undignified exit, he couldn’t return to Sanctuary or go, hat in hand, to the Carlisle townhouse to plead his case. That would be far too mortifying, not to mention the gossip that would start. Trying to be free and enjoy himself at the age of twenty-one had nearly disgraced the hallowed Vane name. He simply couldn’t do so again.

“Your Grace?”

Edmund blinked and rubbed a hand across his jaw. The silver-haired physician was now studying him like a jar of unruly tropical insects as he repacked his brown leather satchel. “Yes?”