Darker Than Love (15 page)

‘Good,’ drawled Marldon, watching her keenly. ‘Good, Clarissa. Give in to it.’

The ropes about her wrists chafed as she drove herself into his hand, her feeble curses lost in her urgent gasps. She craved wider, deeper penetration. She wanted him, yearned for him with an all-consuming hunger.

His finger plunged on with infernal sweetness while his thumb pressed and rolled her clitoris. Her groin tightened in a soaring flurry of bliss, and she wailed, her body hurtling towards its peak.

He slid out of her vagina and ploughed upwards, through her aching wet seam to the simmering knot of her pleasure bud. He smeared her creamy juices there and stimulated the engorged tissue, fretting it with quick shifting pressures. Clarissa felt her crisis rush, and immediately his caress slowed. He held her there, tarrying on the threshold, tormenting her with nudges that were never enough, never enough to send her spiralling into ecstasy.

Then he pulled away.

Clarissa gave a howl of disappointment. ‘No,’ she cried. ‘No.’ She wriggled frantically, struggling to right herself in senseless pursuit of him. ‘You cannot deny me so. Please, my lord, I’ll do anything.’

Her tethered hands unbalanced her and she tumbled from the ottoman, falling to her knees as if in supplication.

‘Anything?’ he enquired derisively. ‘Do you mean to say I have the future Countess of Marldon at my feet?’

Clarissa stayed as she was, hunched forward, shoulders heaving. Her dark hair hung in a tangled curtain of curls and pins, shielding her face.

‘No,’ she managed to sob. ‘You do not.’

Then she tossed her head back and looked up at
Marldon, breathless and wild, her face glowing with passion.

‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘That’s exactly how I want you.’

With a start of recognition Clarissa recalled her surroundings.

The circle of spectators had broken up. They were strewn about the salon, draped on couches or sprawled across divans. Some watched her avidly, while others partook of their own lewd pleasures. Some did both. A woman with clothing crumpled high toyed with the wet pink folds between her spread legs. She grinned obscenely at Clarissa. Another lay bent over a huge malachite table, her body jolting with the lunges of the rangy creature behind her. Subdued gasps whispered on the air.

Clarissa averted her gaze. ‘Take me away from here,’ she pleaded softly, hoping her voice would not carry to any ears but his.

‘Away?’ he scoffed. ‘But, Clarissa, I fear you are not quite ready for me.’

Clarissa whimpered. She could not fight both herself and him. ‘My lord, I am,’ she said humbly.

The earl gave a wry smile. He pulled an object from his pocket, a handle of tortoiseshell, and flicked it open. It was a shaving blade. He turned it ponderously, finding angles where its sharp steel edge caught glancing stars of candlelight.

‘You misunderstand me,’ he said, moving to stand behind her.

Dryness choked Clarissa’s throat and she swallowed hard, her heart drumming furiously. Was her surrender insufficient? Did he intend forcing her into wickedness and depravity? Relief sank into her when she realised he was merely cutting the ropes from her. He had seen the truth of her desire; he knew she would not retaliate. Perhaps now he would take her elsewhere.

‘Truly, I do not doubt your willingness to offer me your body,’ he said smoothly. ‘I expected nothing less.
But it does not follow, Clarissa, that you are now ready. You must understand, I require more than a mere orifice for my pleasure.’

He signalled across the room. The valet sauntered over, a leering curl on his thin lips, and stood before Clarissa. His crotch, level with her face, bulged against pearl-grey trousers. Clarissa turned away, rubbing at her sore, reddened wrists.

‘No, no,’ said Marldon, lowering himself to one knee. He squeezed a hand to Clarissa’s jaw and twisted her head, forcing her to confront the valet’s swollen groin.

‘At your service, my lord,’ said Brinley, opening the buttons of his fly.

Clarissa squealed in horror and Marldon’s grip tightened. The valet reached into the vent of fabric and withdrew his penis. Stiff and unfurled, it jerked from his clasp and its thick purplish head brushed over Clarissa’s lips. She pulled back, pressing her lips together and murmuring fervent protests in her throat.

‘I cannot abide an untutored mouth on my cock,’ said Marldon. ‘Yet this is a skill you must acquire for me. Shall we see how quickly you learn, Clarissa? There are, let’s see, thirteen men in this room – excluding myself, of course. Do you think that will be sufficient practice? Or will I be rousing the grooms and bootboys at dawn?’

His merciless fingers dug into her face, but Clarissa fought the pain and kept her mouth resolutely shut.

‘Stubborn, eh?’ he said. ‘There are two ways to do this.’ He sank his teeth into her neck, a long, hard bite, until she yelped in pain.

‘Force,’ he declared, ‘is one. And that was but a kiss when compared to other methods I could use. Persuasion is the second.’

His hand fluffed her skirts wide and stole beneath them to find her moist, pulsing flesh. Her need for him flared. She moaned repeatedly while his slender
fingers worked, teasing out the urgency he had not satisfied.

‘Which one do you prefer?’ he whispered gently, his caress slipping down to massage a thigh.

Clarissa did not reply.

Marldon’s teeth grazed over the stinging skin on her neck, then pinched hard and strong. He churned a finger within the humid well of her vagina.

‘Which one?’ he repeated, scuffing her clitoris before removing both the pleasure and the pain.

Clarissa closed her eyes. ‘The latter,’ she said in a tired, beaten voice.

‘I thought as much,’ he said crisply. ‘Now take him.’

She parted her lips a fraction and the valet’s cock at once pushed beyond them. His stout, quivering stem filled her mouth and began slowly to drive back and forth. Lord Marldon’s fingers slithered along the furrow of Clarissa’s aching sex. He murmured instructions in her ear: flutter your tongue about his shaft, Clarissa, lash at the tip, breathe now, yes, and suck, make your lips firm, clasp him, good, now sheathe him, take him deep, Clarissa, relax.

His finger rimmed the entrance to her molten tunnel then he penetrated her, thrusting into her slippery hunger.

‘Keep time,’ he said, and he plunged upward with a quickening rhythm.

Clarissa took the valet’s prick deep and fast, willing Lord Alec to match her tempo. Brinley grunted like a beast, ramming vigorously. His cock’s head banged ceaselessly against her throat, and she struggled for ease of breath. But she was so near to her peak, so frantically near, that she could not draw back from him. Marldon’s finger, driving relentlessly, urged her ever closer. Then with a long rumbling groan the valet climaxed. His loins tensed and shuddered and the bitter liquid jetted over Clarissa’s tongue.

Marldon shoved his finger. ‘Swallow,’ he snapped, and she did.

He stopped his stimulation of her and the valet snatched his phallus from her mouth.

Clarissa coughed and dashed her hand across her lips.

‘Well?’ enquired Lord Marldon, wiping his hand on Clarissa’s skirt. ‘How was she?’

Clarissa trembled with ill-disguised rage, hot tears welling in her eyes.

‘Hmm,’ said Brinley with a sneer in his voice. ‘Satisfactory, my lord.’

‘Then send Rupert over,’ replied Lord Marldon. ‘Satisfactory isn’t quite to my taste.’

It was too much. Clarissa turned on him with a cry of anguish, battering her fists furiously against his solid chest. She hated him, she hated him from the depths of her being. He was a wretch, a despicable, heartless fiend. May Satan take him and may he burn in hell.

Marldon laughed wildly, deflecting her flailing blows. Then he caught her wrists in a harsh grip and, with a twist, pinned her to the ground. Her skirts frothed about her knees. He lay over her, supporting himself on arms which held hers down. His thick black hair hung about his face as he gazed at her, breathing quickly, his jet eyes flashing with pleasure.

‘Hell could be closer than you think, Clarissa,’ he taunted. ‘But, when the flames lick, I won’t be alone.’

She cursed him virulently, writhing and bucking in a bid to unbalance him.

‘Good,’ he said. He lowered his tumescent groin to press between her thighs and rubbed himself hard against her thrashing body. ‘It seems you’re a natural. Go on, thrust up to me again. What? Tiring so soon?’

Clarissa fell slack beneath him, sobbing in frustration.

‘What is it that offends you so?’ he enquired. ‘Are you particular about the cocks you taste? Do you prefer those attached to gypsy artists? Perhaps you do. Because something tells me this mouth isn’t as chaste as I’d
imagined.’ He lunged to press a forceful kiss to her lips. ‘You took to Brinley like an old whore. What would your lover say to that?’

Clarissa’s mind reeled to imagine Gabriel seeing her like this.

‘Why do you torture me in this manner?’ she cried, choking back her tears.

Lord Marldon affected surprise. ‘Because I enjoy it,’ he said. ‘Hadn’t you realised?’ His hips dropped and once more he ground the powerful ridge of his trapped cock into her parted thighs. ‘What would soothe you? Is it me? Do you want me inside you?’

‘No,’ lied Clarissa.

‘Are you sure?’ he teased, still sliding his erection into her bunched silks.

Clarissa felt her petticoat, sodden with arousal, clinging to her pounding sex. She wanted him and she loathed him. But with so many people about – watching now, delighted by the fuss – she could admit to only one emotion. She turned her head aside and clamped her teeth on to the flesh of his forearm, a bite so long and vicious that her jaw trembled.

With a hiss, Marldon wrenched his arm away. Crimson beads of blood oozed through the punctured skin, and she tasted its copperiness in her mouth.

‘Termagant,’ he snarled, rising swiftly to his feet.

He tugged roughly at Clarissa’s arm and she scrambled to stand up, her heart thudding in terror.

‘You set my temper on edge, Miss Longleigh,’ he breathed, his eyes flinty, his lips tight. ‘May I recommend that you tread more cautiously in future.’

He stalked away from her. ‘Get rid of her, Brinley,’ he said, flicking his hand towards the door. ‘I’m not in much of a mood for rape.’

Alec watched as the squirming girl was escorted out.

She was proving harder to break than he’d anticipated. Most women would have crumbled and begged
for mercy by now. Oh, she’d been close, very close. Yet, in the end, she’d still managed to hold out. It could only be a good sign.

He rubbed at his throbbing forearm, idly smearing the warm blood over his pale skin. Yes, there was no pleasure in dominating women who yielded too quickly. While eagerness and surrender had their place, it was not at the beginning. Marldon liked to see eyes full of rancour, not assent. Clarissa’s determination was perfect.

He caught the gaze of one of the housemaids observing him with sly expectancy.

‘What the hell are you looking at?’ he growled. ‘If you’ve nothing better to do, then get out of here.’

The woman shrugged indifferently and wandered away. Doubtless she thought he’d have use of her now Clarissa had gone. Another time he might have done. But why bother with sluts when there was a supremely beautiful and deliciously stubborn virgin on offer?

What a joy it had been to see Clarissa’s elegance fracturing. Her frenzied attack, her dishevelled hair and unfettered emotion – oh, the girl had no idea how that roused him. There was nothing more exquisite than abasing someone of refinement, someone who valued their dignity. They had so much further to fall.

It had taken him a great deal of self-control to dismiss her like that. Her sex was weeping for him and his cock was ferociously hard.

But it would be far better when they were alone. Spectators worked well enough to humiliate her, but she seemed almost to be growing used to them. And she was too bold.

A little intimacy was required to bring the fear back into her eyes.

Absently, Lord Marldon snuffed a candle flame between thumb and forefinger. He’d given the maid ten minutes to disrobe her. He glanced at the clock and smiled. She would be almost ready.

Chapter Seven

THE ROOM SELECTED
for Clarissa was on the second floor, with windows that did not open and a door with bolts on its corridor-side.

Old Spanish leather lined the walls, and the furnishings were of oak and ebony. The heavily carved tester bed, curtained in fiery-red damask, was softly lit by the feeble white glow of an oil lamp. On the embroidered coverlet lay Clarissa, naked, half in shadow. Her loose hair fanned midnight-black waves on the lace pillow. Her hand moved between her spread thighs, driving into that sweet little slit. Near-ecstasy racked her face.

Opposite her was a tiny hole bored into the wall, a mere speck in the worn leather hangings.

Alec stood in the long passageway, a hand holding back a heavy tapestry, an eye pressed to the aperture. The girl’s rounded breasts were tipped with hard beads of lust. He smiled to see her massaging them with an urgently roving caress. She was greedy for fulfilment, beyond the subtleties of a light, teasing touch.

Her mouth fell open and she raised her hips, unwittingly offering more of herself to his stolen observations. Her splayed vulva gleamed like the pulp of a split juicy
fig, and a slender finger slipped rapidly into the tight, scarlet hole of her vagina.

Lord Marldon moistened his lips. True virgins, women who were untouched and reluctant, held no appeal. But a virgin roused to heights of grasping appetite was a rare and splendid treat. Her untried sex, once he’d torn its resistance, would be deliciously snug around his prick, sheathing him with wet, clinging heat. And she’d respond to him with the zeal of a debauchee.

But he would allow her to climax first. His desire was already too strong, and he did not want the girl’s orgasm to push him to quick release. He wanted to prolong the pleasure he would take inside her, savour every moment. And she would still be eager. A single masturbatory peak was hardly going to slake her thirst for him. He had roused her to a passion which required far more than that.