Читать книгу Sexual Secrets - Melissa MacNeal - Страница 14

Colette prickled with her twin’s indignation. Yet despite her irritation, the flesh between her thighs throbbed as Heath’s hands spanned her waist.

“We must take up where we left off when we were interrupted, minx,” he breathed against her ear. “The sight of your sister’s reddened backside whets a whole new appetite for—”

“If you so much as try to bare my ass in front of the servants, I’ll nail your nuts with my knee,” she muttered. “I’m going to tend Camille’s backside, so forget about your appetites. The poor girl didn’t deserve such humiliation! Such—”

“Had I found you alone in the darkened shop with Palladino, sweet Colette, I’d have made him watch while I took out my frustrations on you right then and there!”

She looked Heath in the eye. Passion had flared again in his dark, probing orbs, but it had nothing to do with her—how she attracted him or appealed to him or satisfied him. The younger Bentley had been born with needs she couldn’t satisfy even if she never again put on clothes or left his bed. And as she glanced toward his father, she noted the same proprietary arch to the older man’s brow…a precursor to the base, self-serving curmudgeon his son would become. Rutledge had punished her sister for his own titillation…more for the fueling of his servants’ perversions than for Camille’s correction. And what had her twin done that was so terrible?

Lifting an eyebrow, Colette waited for those watching her to step back. Then she marched from the music room, her back straight and her head held high. Her footfalls reverberated down the marble hallway toward the staircase, and she didn’t miss a beat when her father-in-law called her back. Heath tailed her at a distance, but she didn’t spare him the turn of her head.

Men! So arrogant and crude! No doubt her husband and Rutledge would be whispering about tonight’s incident with Manfred, and Richard Tetley, the butler, recounting the number of smacks and her poor sister’s reactions to them. While the sexual display had held her interest more than she cared to admit, the reason for it—the demeaning spectacle of it—disgusted her. She and Camille might have married into the upper echelons of London society, but the Bentley men’s ideas of respect and proper behavior toward their wives appalled her.

“Oh, Co-lehhhhtte!” a voice hailed her from behind.

She topped the stairway, turned left at the landing, and kept walking.

“Co-lehhhhtte!” came the sinuous whisper again. “I can help you, my darling, if you’ll only allow me. I agree completely that Father was heavy-handed. Improper and indiscreet.”

Colette rolled her eyes. Past the locked double doors she walked, and then continued down the corridor, which served as a gallery for Bentley family portraits. Why on God’s earth had Rutledge constructed his home with its main wings so damned far apart? And why did he insist on keeping the central wing sealed, forbidding anyone to enter it? Secrets! Probably more than she really wanted to know about. Across the Aubusson carpet runners Colette strode, past elegant tables polished to a gloss.

But it was all just a surface sheen in this household, wasn’t it? And while it might appear to those on the outside that the Bentley wives led privileged lives, the veneer was wearing thin. With her sister’s doorway in sight at last, Colette sped up—only to be accosted by a husband who’d shed his trousers along the way. Heath raced ahead and then whirled to a halt in front of her, his face alight with playful intent. His unbuttoned white shirt fluttered around his firm torso while his manhood pointed at her, accusing her of being far too serious about this evening’s events.

“How much do you want me?” he teased with a quick tickling of his cock.

Colette stopped, crossing her arms. “Heath, I told you I was tending my sister’s blistered backside—”

“And even with her reddened, spanked skin she’s only half as rosy and heated as you, my love.” Heath braced his legs to rock his slender hips toward her in blatant invitation. “I’ll let you go to her after I’ve wet my wand. Why are you ladies so offended by a display of discipline? The sound of skin smacking skin—the crackling of anticipation between strikes—why, it sets any red-blooded man’s blood a-boil! And you were watching, too, Colette! Don’t tell me the sight of your sister, bent over Father’s knee with her twat exposed, didn’t excite you!”

Colette paused. She had watched…more in fascination than horror. Her twin seldom succumbed to advances she didn’t want—which might explain why Rutledge took his pleasure now rather than being polite about it for three years. Camille had sighed long and loud about how her husband wasn’t interested in her female attributes, but her dramatic twin played the tortured queen to a tee. And she couldn’t deny Heath’s excitement as he stood behind her, rubbing himself against her backside while Rutledge slapped her sister’s bare behind.

Heath raked a hand through his dark, disheveled hair, challenging her with his cocky gaze. He was a damn sight more fabulous than his father.

“We’ll make it easy,” he crooned as he fingered the head of his shaft. Like a brilliant purple mushroom it teased at her. A single droplet of moisture seeped from its tip.

Colette licked her lips.

“Yes, he would love to be in your mouth, sweet lady,” Heath murmured, “but he saw your sister’s hot little hole…the honey running from it…and he wants his honey, too. I can smell your heat from here, Colette. You can’t deny your excitement—your inner quivering at the naughty thought of fucking your husband in the hallway where someone might happen by.”

Damn him! The man had no scruples, no decency! It was a sure bet Daisy and Mrs. Douthit had left the music room by now, and the maids would soon come to their chambers to freshen and turn down their beds for the night. Her insides tightened while in her vivid imagination, she pictured Heath bending her forward so he could plunder her with the surge of heat that marked all of his sexual escapades. While it sometimes irritated her that he became so rapidly aroused and just as fast shot his wad, such capabilities had their advantages…

He stepped toward her, his eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you want your bottom smacked. I’m just the man to do it, too!”

“Take it and be done, then!” she spat as she whirled on her heel. Colette yanked her skirts to her waist, thrusting her ass at him. They’d hastily pulled on their clothes when Manfred had summoned them downstairs, so her underthings were still in a heap on the bedroom floor. On his bedroom floor.

Heath’s victorious snicker preceded the grasp of his hot, strong hands. He pulled her back from the waist, stroking her wet lips with his long cock. “Thank God you’re not a prude like your sister!” he grunted.

She reached between her legs to align his thrust. “Camille’s no prude. She has her sensibilities—”

“Father spread her on the table after dinner and devoured her. To hear Richard tell it, she squealed like a little piggie—”

Colette’s squeal escaped before she could catch it. Heath entered her quickly and sheathed his full length, then pulled out and thrust roughly again.

“But she wasn’t exactly fighting him off,” Heath continued in a voice thick with passion. “She writhed and knocked plates to the floor while he stuck his tongue up her cunt—”

Colette clenched at the thought, at the sight in her mind. Then she blinked. Were those footsteps on the stairs? “Someone’s coming!” she grunted.

Without pulling away, Heath urged her forward by walking with his legs flanking hers. Outside his father’s suite of rooms, a tall cabinet held bedding, towels, soaps, and lotions on shelves to the left, with a tall storage compartment for mops and a bucket alongside the linens. When her husband whipped open the door, Colette quickly removed the cleaning supplies. Without a word they slipped inside and Heath pulled the door shut after them.

For long moments they held their breath, listening. The aromas of lemon wax and fresh linens and lavender bath salts filled the airless, confining space, while, with his subtle strength, Heath slowly eased her higher against the cabinet’s wall.

“Grab the rod above you,” he whispered. The warmth of his breath raised the hairs on her nape, and when she’d grasped the horizontal wooden pole he sought his satisfaction again.

Colette nipped her lip to keep from gasping. His long, thick cock slid up and down with maddening slowness, teasing her toward release, even as Daisy’s unmistakable humming announced her approach.

Why was her own maid coming to Camille’s quarters? And what if Daisy opened the cabinet to fetch fresh towels so her twin could soak in the tub? Or liniment to sooth the red cheeks of her ass? Rutledge’s handprints were as visible in her mind as they were on her sister, and the thought…the heat of that teasing, titillating discipline…those smacks and the anticipation between them…worked their fervent magic on her. Leave it to Heath to find a new place, an untried position, which reminded her how very potent and powerful he was as a lover. What woman wouldn’t relish a man who constantly sought novelty in his lovemaking?

Heath thrust high and hard inside her, and Colette gripped the pole to keep from crying out. From the depth of the bedroom came subdued voices…Daisy’s and Camille’s…and didn’t they just wish they could be witnessing this closet rendezvous? Again her husband plumbed upward, until she wondered how much farther inside her he could really go.

“I can’t last much longer, love,” he rasped. “Squeeze me now! Milk the honey from my shaft with your hot, tight cunt until I—”

“Jesus God!” From deep within, the spasms grabbed her. Colette suddenly had to thrust downward to meet his accelerating assault, mindless of the way her feverish hips thumped against the cabinet wall. The confining closeness only made her inner explosion more intense and impossible to restrain.

“Yes! Yes, my love!” Heath murmured raggedly. “Take it, now! I’m going to shoot you full of my juice, until—”

The first spurt sent her into a silent scream. With her eyes clenched and her mouth open wide, Colette answered him thrust for thrust until he’d spent himself. It was over too soon, but that didn’t really matter, did it?

As she blinked in the dimness, bringing herself back into focus, she congratulated herself: she would never surrender the way her sister had, in front of the servants while Lord Bentley wielded her shoe. She would have taken off her pump and then smacked his hand with it, had he tried to spank her! It meant she could maintain a modicum of control while caught in a tight situation. And that might come in handy if she and Camille went through with the swap they’d talked about.

Heath panted into the fabric between her shoulder blades. His body thrummed against hers until he finally slid out of her. Light kisses fanned her sweaty neck, signs of his gratitude, but Colette was already thinking ahead to how they’d avoid detection when stepping from the cabinet. Was that Daisy’s voice, echoing in the tiled bathroom as she tended Camille in the tub?

“Let me out. You’re smothering me!” she rasped.

Heath fumbled in the darkness. At long last he found the latch and the door popped open. Colette stepped out ahead of him—

And there stood Daisy, grinning. Her hands were clasped as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. “I come out to be sure you was all right, missus,” her maid said slyly. “Tight quarters in there, what with you and Master Heath and that big piggin’ cock of his.”

“That will be all, Daisy. You may return to your quarters and I’ll see to my sister, thank you,” Colette stated. “And you’ll do well to avoid my husband’s—appendages, and to keep this little rendezvous to yourself. The help will all be trying it in the closets, so nothing else will get done, you see.”

Daisy’s eyes widened warily, yet Colette saw the maid cataloguing this idea for future use. Did these inquisitive servants have nothing better to do than peep and spy and eavesdrop? She’d be damned if a lady’s maid would best her in the bedroom! Or outside the linen cabinet.

Colette entered her sister’s suite, smoothing her rumpled skirt and hair. As she stepped into the bathroom, Camille was rising from the bubbles in the tub with her backside to the door. Distinct red handprints branded her backside, and for a moment Colette felt dismay and disdain for the man who’d spanked her twin.

Who am I kidding? I watched the whole sordid display…and I felt a new fever. A new need.

She blinked. “Let—let me soothe your skin with lotion, sister. And you can tell me why you went to the shop tonight, and what happened there. And how all this humiliation and—and spanking came to pass!”

Camille peeked up from the fluffy pink towel, her face resembling the center of an open rose among its folds. “Rubio was right,” she said with a sigh. “Rutledge spread my legs on the table, after you left, and it’s been a hurricane—a volcano—of emotion and passion ever since. I can’t imagine how all of this will play out when our mystery man returns for the veiled gown he ordered. I’m beginning to believe—”

“That our swapping of husbands…of lovers…is as much our destiny as whatever changes Hadrian Swann will put into play?”

Camille nodded, her eyes wide. “I feel a storm of legendary proportion blowing in. Let’s hope we land in a safe harbor—together—as it wreaks its havoc.”