Saffina's Season Read online

  “Lick it first. All along. I want it to slide in without a snag when you take it deeper.”

  His simple command, the husky note in his voice, both signs of his urgency, fused into a message of love. As I glanced up at his face, I saw sudden new warmth, fond and full of longing. As I licked and suckled, he ran a hand down the side of my face to feel along my neck.

  The tenderness in his fingertips almost sent me over the edge.

  “Now the crown. Suck for a while before you begin your stroke.”

  His soft commands directed my eager mouth and soothed my fears, at the same time fanning my flames. Still tearful but eager now, heady from my punishment, I drove myself onto his length, forcing my throat open to reach deeper and deeper along it as my punished breasts smarted and prickled against the fabric of his trousers. Somehow their tiny extra sting heightened things. When he finally stilled and came, his creamy essence trickled into my throat like a soothing balm.

  Inspired, I spat some onto my hand and wiped it over my hot breasts, trembling at the sudden coolness on my fiery skin. Now my globes glistened with his juices, the sting easing a little but another starting up as the tingling fired up anew, this time from his cream, as thick on my breasts as on my tongue.

  He looked on with delighted amusement.

  “Dash it, Saffina. You still surprise.” With a shout of laughter, he raised me to my feet, kissed my tormented breasts with his eager mouth and pulled me close. And when his mouth finally found mine, and our tongues lovingly mingled, I knew that once more we’d come back from some brink.

  But why was he so angry?

  What on earth does he think I’ve been doing?

  Chapter Six

  We lingered over luncheon. After our morning encounter, I felt elated, like I always did after discipline. I chatted brightly, increasingly alarmed at Jacquard’s gloom but keen to find out his movements.

  “So, what will you do for the rest of this week, sir? Take some hits in the fencing rooms? Place a bet on the fight at Gentleman Jackson’s?”

  The second I said it, I bit back my tongue. His look turned instantly stormy.

  That’s it. He’s lost a wager.

  “I see no reason to share my weekly rota with you, if you refuse to share yours.”

  Oh no. This bit deep, clearly. As I finished my meal, I turned to lighter matters.

  “What of the opera this evening? Are we to go? Will everyone be there?”

  Soon he started to relax as my eager inquiries made him smile. I’d asked him before but never tired of him telling me.

  A visit to the opera was a long-promised high point of our stay in town. He’d assured me I’d find it dazzling.

  “And are we to visit Vauxhall, sir?”

  “Tomorrow, perhaps.” His smile faded. “This afternoon you should rest. We’ll be making a night of it. And right now I have business to see to.”

  Excitement tingled in my groin. In our private code, essential in a place so full of watchful servants, rest meant something very different—far more vigorous and usually immensely satisfying. In the peace and quiet of my rooms later this afternoon, he’d expect my detailed and energetic attention.

  I smiled demurely while the footmen cleared our plates and placed a dish of tiny biscuits and a bowl of cherries between us.

  I dangled a loop of cherries over my lips and teased them with the tip of my tongue, eyeing him from under my lashes.

  “And at what hour can I expect you, sir?”

  He watched my antics in silence, his dark look sending new shivers through me. My punished breasts tingled anew, smarting afresh under his steady gaze. I thrust forward their swollen fullness, hoping it showed under the muslin of my modest fichu.

  I guessed right. He gazed at them, his expression thoughtful.

  “Around two, shall we say? For a couple of hours?”

  His low murmur sent a ripple of excitement all the way to my belly. I felt my nipples stiffen against the fabric.

  “Long enough to tot up your losses, my lord?”

  His smile vanished.

  Oh no, I was right. How much has he lost?

  “I’ll leave around four. That should give us time to dress. I’ll order the carriage for seven.” He flung down his napkin, pushed back his chair then strode from the room before the startled footman could dart forward.

  What have I said? Dismay crept through me.

  * * * *

  After lunch, I took extra care over my toilette, dismissing my maid as soon as I could. Some preparations would be needed before Jacquard’s arrival, and I’d no wish to reveal the marks on my breasts to my servant.

  My regular maids knew me well. I cared little what they thought. But Annie was young, new and easily shocked.

  By the time I dismissed her, I was seething with impatience.

  Will he still be angry? Will he forbid me to go out?

  Until now our marriage had been idyllic, our union all I could wish. Now he was treating me to my first ever Season here in the capital and all felt sour.

  I lay back on the silk-draped daybed to wait, artfully tweaking my lace to form a saucy tableau. I thought about Jacquard, the dark look in his eyes whenever he caught my eye with some wicked new plan of his own.

  Slowly I slipped my hand down to my thighs…

  “Wake up.”

  I snapped my eyes open. Inches from my face, I saw a pair of man’s breeches. Below, a pair of powerful legs, proudly astride. Above, a naked chest sprinkled with dark, curling hair.

  Jacquard.

  “You pleasure yourself so soon, milady? Without me?”

  The twinkle in his eyes hinted he was funning. The bulge in his breeches, so close to my face, hinted his impatience.

  “Your pleasures come before mine?”

  He sat beside me, running his hand along my throat and farther down, tracing the swell of my breasts, still rosy with punishment.

  “You never objected before,” I giggled. “You like to see me come. You…oh.”

  With a lunge, he rolled me over, bent me down and had me over his lap. Pinning my legs with one of his, he slipped his hand into my skirts and inched the fine linen ruffles up my thighs to where my quivering ass now curved over his knees.

  Laughing, I wriggled to try to work free, all in vain. I felt his arm press on my back as he leaned down to kiss my nape. I felt a shimmer of warm breath on my skin as he murmured softly between kisses.

  “I’m going to give you a hiding. You’ve no right to pleasure yourself without me to watch. And you’re going to have one very sore ass unless you tell me where you went today.”

  “Loose me, sir, I beg you. Let me pleasure myself in peace. And I go where I please. Oh.”

  His hand landed with a crash on my bare backside, the sting of the blow stopping my breath. I felt his lips on my neck again, this time in a hot, lingering kiss.

  “Where did you go? Tell me.”

  “No.”

  Now I felt him slide his hand deep between my legs, where signs of my shame were pooling already.

  “Outrageous. My wife sees to herself while I’m forced to wait?”

  His hand fell again.

  “And she seeks the company of others without telling me why?”

  The laugh in his voice made me giggle again, elated now that his game was well underway. Beneath me I felt his breeches swell further, his cockstand jutting painfully, dangerously close to my pulsing center and likely to bring me off if he did this much longer.

  “You’ve every right to ask, sir, and I’ve every right to stay silent,” I announced primly.

  His hand landed again, harder this time. My loud squeal brought on a barrage of blows on my burning backside that left me weeping and joyful at the same time.

  “Kneel.”

  His command filled me with dread. As I slid to my knees between his thighs, I glanced up, nervous now. Usually this was a high point in our game, when we shared a moment so intimate I wondered how I could ever be so happ
y.

  Now his tone surprised me. He sounded truly angry.

  “Seriously, you refuse to tell me, Saffina?”

  I pouted, playful but firm. “Yes, my lord. I refuse to tell you.”

  For a second, I thought I’d gone too far. The flicker of pain in his eyes was a shock.

  Whatever ails him?

  But the pain lasted barely a second. It quickly turned to ice. As he freed himself, he thrust his twitching monster into my face with none of his usual caresses, no loving murmur.

  “Suck.”

  It was not an invitation, but a command. His edgy manner made me tremble.

  “Jacquard?” My soft whisper seemed muffled down here in the warmth of his crotch.

  Above me his gaze stayed cold, the glint in his eyes harder now.

  “I’m waiting.”

  I rarely needed a prompt. Now I leaned up and took his cock deeply into my mouth, working it with generous sweeps of my tongue, tasting hungrily to get it wet then pushing low along it to get it even stiffer. Normally this came so easily that he joked I’d finish him in half the time it took him to free it.

  But today my throat felt tight. I found it an effort to swallow. He stroked my face for a few moments as I struggled to reach his root. Then he pushed me away.

  Horrified, I gazed up at him with tears in my eyes.

  “Forgive me, my lord,” I whispered. “I seem to have— I mean, I find it hard to—”

  “So I see. Come up here.” With a frown, he lifted me onto his lap and clasped his hands loosely behind my waist. “You seem anxious. You feel guilty, perhaps? You’re so primed with your own pleasure you’ve lost interest in mine? For the last time, tell me where you went today. Your maid and your coachman were frantic. Pérot, your bodyguard, was distraught.” His eyes glittered, his jaw set and grim. “You plan to make a habit of this?”

  Still jittery from my spanking, I bit back dismay. My plans for his gift were barely begun and the secret was almost out? I decided on a partial confession.

  “Do I have to answer, Jacquard? You think me so very wicked, then?” I ran my hand down his face, hoping my light touch might soften his heart. But he held firm.

  “You’re hiding something. I’ve no wish to make trouble between us, my love, but I have to know.”

  I swallowed, infuriated deep down but desperate not to show it. “Then I’ll tell you, since I must. I’m trying to arrange a surprise for your birthday. And that’s all I’m saying, Leather Room or no.” I kissed him lightly, running my tongue along his lower lip. “And you’ve no right to ask any more, sir. I may have to go out several times to complete the arrangement.”

  I expected him to throw back his head and laugh, or at least arch a cynical eyebrow at this intriguing news and pump me for more. To my dismay he did neither. His frown deepened as a strange look crossed his face.

  “My birthday? Why?”

  I laughed, not from mirth but to cover my confusion. “Surely you don’t have to ask, my lord? Everybody has a birthday. And most people have gifts from loved ones, so you’ll have a gift from me. And now no more on the matter. You came here for something. And it’s my solemn duty to provide it.”

  I laid my cheek against his, feeling between us to seize hold of his cock, lying still while we talked but twitching anew as I fondled it. And before he could protest, I leaned up over his lap and pushed down onto it, winding my arms around his neck as I plunged.

  I felt his chest stiffen against me, his muscles rippling in reflex as I rose again and sank back down, throwing my head back with a sigh as his hot manhood filled my belly.

  Something flickered in his eyes, then to my joy he clasped me around the waist and jerked me bodily onto my back, taking possession with his cock still inside me. At the same moment he plundered my mouth with his hungry tongue.

  As he pulled away, his voice was hoarse. “You torment me past bearing. That was no kind of answer, ma’am.”

  His breath rasped on my neck as he buried his head briefly on my shoulder and steadied himself over me, his arms rigid and his hips pounding into me full force.

  Breathless, I stared up at him in amazement at the force of his thrusts, my head rammed back onto the tight, satin cushions, my body crushed under his weight.

  “It’s all the answer you’ll get, sir,” I panted, startled at his vigor but managing a playful smile. “I demand the right to arrange your gift in peace.”

  To my dismay he withdrew, irritation glittering in his narrowed eyes.

  “In that case”—he wrenched my lace lower to expose my breasts—“I demand the right to full use of these.” Towering over me, he straddled my rib cage and thrust his glossy, juice-slick cock between my breasts.

  “Hold them firm for me.” His look was so intense that his command made me laugh. With a giggle I did it, plumping them up into tight, bulging balloons to squeeze his cock to fruition. But the cynical twist at one corner of his sculpted lips warned me he had another plan.

  Before I could shift to finish him, he eased forward and pushed it full into my open, hungry mouth.

  “Part payment, my love. Every time you refuse to answer me, I’ll keep a tally. If your pretty mouth won’t satisfy me in one way, it will have to satisfy in another.”

  I stared in astonishment as the justice of this flared in my groin, fanning my flames into white-hot arousal.

  We were to make a contest out of this? How like him. With my mouth filled to bursting, my juices down below pooling at his wicked imposition, I sucked and lunged with a will, finding the angle easier now that he thrust from above. In no time his power and his weight brought him completion. But to my dismay he did not return the compliment. And when I teased him about it afterward, he grew quiet, then soon left.

  What have I done?

  * * * *

  The opera was all I’d hoped—sparkling, stylish and crammed with the ton. The crush of carriages made it look like a ball—the ladies afire with jewels, their bosoms aglow, their hair dressed in the latest fashion. Many sported ostrich plumes to honor the Prince Regent, who was to attend with his party.

  Jacquard had secured a large private box, which we shared with a duke, his mistress, his wife and half-a-dozen nobles. We had a full view of both the portly prince and the stage.

  To my surprise we caused quite a stir. I knew Jacquard had a reputation and his stunning looks and vast wealth always drew envious stares, but tonight the crowd seemed all agog at me.

  As we took our seats I leaned close to whisper, “Do they always stare like this at newcomers, sir?”

  I had no fears about my appearance. With my grandmother’s diamonds on ravishing display and wearing my finest and newest gown, I felt the equal of anyone here. But I’d rarely faced such open stares.

  Jacquard’s brief grin teased me, the fire in his look sending a shaft of heat through me at the same time. “Our marriage is still the talk of the town. They’re curious to see if my new countess lives up to their idea of her.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “And what idea would that be, sir?”

  He lowered his eyelids with a cynical look. “That you’re beautiful beyond belief and fresh as a daisy. Now hush. The curtain rises. Keep your eyes on the stage.”

  Pleased, but sure he was funning, I glared at him. He leaned back into the shadows, his expression unreadable.

  Quizzing glasses flashed as heads turned toward me. Then I spotted Lady Hornsea over in the regent’s party. Insolently, I fluttered my fingers at her. She tried to look haughty, so I did it again.

  Soon my antics drew the prince’s attention. He fixed me with his glass and stared our way for most of the last act.

  I smiled serenely and ignored them both.

  On the way out, there was quite a crush. Jacquard kept hold of my arm. As we waited for our carriage, he was distracted by some remark from the duke. I stood back to let people pass and we became separated.

  All at once something crunched under my slipper. I picked it up and turned it
over in my hands. It was a gaudy scarlet fan, lacquered in the newest Chinese style and heavily daubed with gold. It had a gold tassel shaped like feathers.

  I flicked it open and fluttered it a few times.

  As I snapped it shut and scanned the crowd for its likely owner, a stout gentleman stepped in front of me and bowed low.

  “Your Ladyship? Delighted to find you here. A few moments of your time? This way, quickly. Before anyone sees.”

  Chapter Seven

  Startled, I followed the mysterious stranger away from the glittering crowd into the shadow of a doorway. He looked middle-aged and well heeled. This was no struggling young artist and certainly no footpad.

  “Your Ladyship? A word, I beseech you. Just while the carriages line up.” He bowed, removing his hat with a flourish. His coat flashed with fine gold stitching. His wig, silk stockings and buckled shoes seemed old-fashioned but clean.

  “What can you want with me, sir?” I smiled vaguely. We were in a reputable district, a far cry from the back alleys of Chelsea. Even a well-dressed footpad could hardly molest me in a crowd this size.

  The stranger shielded his mouth with his hand. “Concerning the—ah—portrait, Your Ladyship?”

  “La, sir, you gave me such a fright. Yes, indeed. How soon can we arrange things? I’m keen to begin.”

  “Of course, of course. As soon as you wish.” He was sweating now. “Suppose you call tomorrow morning for our first sitting?”

  “Perfect.” I felt a wave of relief. Jacquard would be at his tailor’s. I had calls to make but could easily cry off. “Tomorrow then. And the address?”

  He gave me an oily smile. “Surely my studio is well known, milady, even to Your Ladyship. Why, all London knows of it. Ladies and gentlemen of the ton call by at all hours. I keep open house.”