Any Wicked Thing (11 page)

Speaking of which . . . He abandoned the ropes and went instead to her beautiful bare mound. “Lift up for me.”

“What now? I can barely move, Sebastian.”

She had been more than ready for his entry. He'd seen to that. She'd been so wet and hot and tight, so very fuckable. But she seemed to have forgotten her part in their play and now looked daggers at him.

“Are you comfortable, then?”

“Oh, certainly. I love being tied up like a rabid animal.”

“I'm not talking about the bonds, Freddie, but the dildo.”

“The what?” Her color darkened with realization.

“You don't mind it, do you? I know for a fact that it feels rather good. Perhaps we'll leave it in, then.”

“No! T-take it out. It's horrid.” Her hips canted as she lifted her bottom an inch off the bed. The base of the thin marble cylinder was visible and he turned it ever so gently.

“Ah! Sebastian, stop! You are—you are despicable to use me this way.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You'd best get used to it, Freddie. I plan to put my cock there when you're ready.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “I'll never be ready for such a thing! Never!”

“No?” He pulled the dildo out a little way, watching the tension on her face fade, then embedded it back slowly. He repeated this several times while Freddie cursed him to Hell. Yes, she was a Valkyrie, minus the helmet and wings. Her full breasts rose and fell, her nipples dark and hard. His hands may have been unsteady before, but they were sure now, sliding the toy back and forth until Freddie became silent and pale, her blue eyes clouded, her breaths coming in short gasps. He touched the tender flesh above her swollen bud with seven hard strokes, pressing his fingertips into her pubic bones as he drove the object languidly in and out of her lovely arse. On the eighth, she cried out, straining her bonds as she rocketed off the bed.

“See? I was right.” He was as hard as he'd ever been in his life. The night was proving too much for both of them, but he wanted to see it all, do it all. He was botching her initiation, but he couldn't hold himself back. He turned from her weeping for the razor, then cut the cords. Damn the expense. He had to have her again, right now.

She scrambled off the bed, tripping on the dangling ropes, the blindfold and gag still tangled in her hair. She rushed to the tub, fished the sponge out of the scummy water and scrubbed her belly of his seed.

“Freddie.”

“Don't you touch me. Don't you talk to me. Our bargain is at an end.”

“Freddie.”

She turned angrily toward him, her eyes blazing.

“Do you know why you're upset, Freddie?”

“Why?” Her voice pitched into a shriek. “Because you are a perverted degenerate—that's why!” She aimed the sponge at him in fury. He caught it in one hand and casually wiped his erect shaft and balls.

“And you loved it,” he said quietly.

“In your dreams! I hate you, Sebastian Goddard. I've never hated anyone so much in my life.”

“Then why did you call out my name over and over? Beg me to fuck you? By my count, you've just come four times. Maybe five. You are delightfully responsive when you are helpless, you know.”

Her cheeks were flushed with color. The evidence of his domination—the frayed ropes, the silken strips, the love marks on her magnificent little body—stirred his rod.

“And a woman must be helpless—and an idiot to boot—for you to perform, isn't that right, Sebastian?”

It was his turn to flush in anger. For a short while, that had been true. He had needed to ensure that he was in control at all times. That his plans took precedence. That women were at
his
mercy, not he at theirs. “Don't be ridiculous. We all have preferences. I assure you I'm perfectly capable in any situation.”

“Well, I'll never know, will I? Keep the bloody castle. I'll begin my search for some long-lost relative I can live with until I turn thirty. And then I'll have my fortune and you won't be able to touch me or it.”

“I'll make a new bargain with you, Freddie.” He really had to. The thought of being deprived of her body now that he'd begun to explore it was almost painful. There was a way he could appease her independence and her volatile temper. It might be diverting to see what his little mistress was capable of.

And to test himself to see how far he would let her go.

She shook her head stubbornly and pulled at the fabric around her neck as though it choked her.

He took three long strides across the stone floor. “Here. Let me. Hold still.”

“Get away from me!”

“I'm only going to untie it.”

She held herself in rigid control, her back straight, her lovely bottom curving. He concentrated on the knot instead of the tempting creamy globes. He'd gotten too proficient in his knots, but managed to relieve her of the gag. The blindfold was simpler to pull over her golden brown hair, although he snagged a strand.

“Ow!”

“Sorry. There. You're almost back to rights. Sit down and I'll work on the ropes. Then we'll have our late supper and talk.”

“I am not hungry.” Her own right hand worked furiously on her left wrist and he stilled it.

“Freddie, I said I'd take care of it.”

“I don't want any help from you.”

“But you're going to get it.” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to a plush velvet chair by the fireplace, one of the few seats in the castle that didn't have stuffing spilling out of it. A tray with covered dishes had been placed on the table beside it. He settled her onto his lap, his stiff cock seeking the slippery crease of her arse. She tried to pull away, elbowing him in the process.

“I'm only going to talk to you now, although I admit you distract me.” She flinched as he picked up the tiny silver fruit knife from the tray, but quieted when he began to patiently saw through the give on the rope.

“Here's our new plan, Freddie. As you pointed out, I do enjoy dominating women in bed. But I'm never cruel, and it's always mutual. It has nothing to do with my ability to fuck you senseless. I believe I could do that even if you tied
me
up.”

“That might be diverting,” she grumbled.

“Indeed it might, and should you choose to do that, I will cooperate in every way.” He was fairly sure he would respond to her. His cock twitched at the mental image of Freddie riding him to oblivion. She jerked against him as his words sunk in, the honey from her cunt dripping down.

“You are truly insane.”

“I beg to differ. It's not insane to want to experience every sexual pleasure imaginable, Freddie. You might say I've devoted my life to it.”

“God of Sin.” She snorted. She was full of scorn and snorts and sniffs. That didn't say much for his earlier performance, but he knew down to his toes she was putting up a front. The shrew that Warfield had complained of had returned. No longer was she liquid in his lap, but stiff and prideful. No doubt she was embarrassed by her behavior in the throes of passion. And she
had
been passionate. Wild. Wanton. If she hadn't been tethered to the bed, he was sure she would have bitten and scratched him like a little hellcat in heat. It would be delicious to tame her and introduce her to every wicked thing he could think of.

“Indeed. I understand that's what some call me. I find it a bit blasphemous, don't you? I'm in enough trouble with the Lord without adding to it.”

“You are a devil!”

He bent her leg and held her heel in the palm of his hand. “Such a dainty foot. You're a lovely little package, Freddie.”

“Stop trying to cozen me! Your words mean nothing. You've probably got the usual lines of dialogue folded in your back pocket.”

“Has it escaped your notice that I'm not wearing breeches?” He managed to slip the rope from its knot and massaged her foot, tracing the faint pink line that now graced her ankle. Beautiful to see his marks upon her. The scents of citrus cream and sex invaded his senses. He breathed deeply.

“Stop sniffing me like a dog. Although you are one. A cur.”

“A devil. A dog. And despicable. ‘Who often, but without success, have prayed for apt Alliteration's artful aid.' ”

“Never tell me you were paying attention in poetry class.”

“They didn't teach Charles Churchill where I went to school. I read him on my own.”

Freddie turned to him, her profile visible. Her nose was straight and freckled and utterly delightful. “You are not stupid.”

“Of course I am. Hasn't my father always said so? ‘With various readings stored his empty skull, / Learn'd without sense, and venerably dull,'” Sebastian said, quoting Churchill again. Really, why was he trying to impress her? He attacked her other ankle.

“Your father
did
love you.”

“He had a peculiar way of showing it. I don't wish to talk about the pater. It's simply too banal to have had an uncaring father whose secret life caused me to hide my pain by drinking and drugging and fucking everything in sight. Until, of course, I come under the influence of a good woman, who reforms the rake right out of me. I suppose you think that could be you.” He laughed at her look of loathing. “Why, I understand it all now! You were only trying to save me from myself all those years ago, isn't that right? My God, our lives are worthy of a bad gothic romance novel. Here we are, in a crumbling castle, the wind whipping outside. There are ghosts. Goblins. The fair damsel is about to save my spotted soul for the second time. Horrors.”

He gave a mock shudder. He'd made partial peace with his father's indifference and sexuality long ago, seeing and doing a great many things since he stormed off in the middle of the night as a hurt young cub. Nothing could shock him anymore. The truth was, it felt damned good to be bad, and he saw no earthly reason to change his ways for the foreseeable future.

“Stop speaking nonsense. We are done.” She made no effort to hop off his lap, though. He took the opportunity to brush his fingertips against her nipples. Her breasts were full, more than a handful, and he had big hands, as he supposed he was big all over. Certainly he gave ladies no cause to complain about the size and thickness of his cock or the breadth of his shoulders or the length of his talented—if he did say so himself—fingers. He'd not feasted on her breasts enough tonight and would make up for it later. They were not done by a long shot.

She was as tempting as Eve. He held a slice of apple to her lips in a role reversal, but she shook her head. He ate it himself, savoring last fall's harvest, and supplemented it with a piece of sharp cheese. Had Freddie made it? Picked the apples as well and stored them in a barrel in a cool dark place? She was a model chatelaine.

“Now,” he said mildly, “hear me out. Remember, I said I had a proposal for you. You want this wretched castle, although I cannot see why. You agreed to let me use you in any way I wished for a month. But you seem to have some objection to my methods now, although it did seem to me that you were enjoying yourself very recently.” His hand inched down the velvet of her belly.

She slapped him away. “You are insufferable.”

“What if we take turns, Freddie? You follow my orders one day; I follow yours the next? That way there will be parity. Equality. You will obey me tomorrow. Without question or objection. But,” he said, squinting across the room at the clock on the bedside table, “for the rest of today, I am yours to command.”

Freddie was very still in his arms. He could almost hear the wheels whirring in her head.

“You can't mean that.”

“Oh, but I do.” He took another bite of apple. Why not? He had confidence he'd get his way in the end. She had been a revelation, all heat and silk and artless innocence, with a touch of tigress thrown in for good measure. He could not remember the last time he'd enjoyed himself so thoroughly. He could not with honesty admit that his current vices bored him, for what red-blooded man could spurn the kind of life he'd led? He was the envy of his peers and the scourge of the peerage. Wives, daughters, Cyprians and milkmaids fell to his feet with alarming abandon, provoking his friends' admiration, unless said ladies were their relations.

Ah, milkmaids. The last time he'd seen so many freckles was that hellish night with her.

Sebastian swallowed back his inexplicable panic, nearly choking on a bit of apple that had lodged in his throat. He washed it down with a slug of red wine. Would she want revenge? Why should she, when
she
had seduced
him
? He'd been her ticket out of Goddard Castle, and he'd ruined her in the ruins, then abandoned her. When he had tried to do the honorable thing, he had been rebuffed. Totally, completely, repletely rebuffed. “So you agree?”

Frederica stood, dusting off her pert backside. “Yes. Why should I not? I believe our agreement was for ‘any wicked thing.' I presume you'll honor that on
my
days.”

He'd just given her a perfect opportunity to carry out the most diabolical depredations on his person. She probably had devoted the past ten years of her life to waiting to weasel him into this corner, thinking if she got her claws into him this time, he'd ask her to marry him again. That was not about to happen.

Had she expected sex to end in marriage all those years ago when she came to him in the dark? Why, yes, she probably had. Her head was likely filled with all sorts of romantic drivel. She had been what—seventeen? Eighteen? But then the pater had hypocritically talked of duty to the dukedom, bloodline, dowry. After that little lecture, Sebastian had wanted to stuff his ears with cotton and fuck everything in sight, and had done so. For years he'd thought Freddie had opened her palm and waited to be bought off. Whatever she had felt for him disappeared like the smoke from his opium pipe. He'd flown the coop in the dark, shutting out the hellion who bucked over him in the milkmaid's costume. He pictured Freddie waiting patiently for him at the breakfast table, to talk, to explain. She might have collected dust by the time she realized he was long gone.