The Seduction of Phaeton Black (12 page)

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Authors: Jillian Stone

BOOK: The Seduction of Phaeton Black
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Her female parts ached for his touch. She thrust her pelvis against him. Her desire, a heat wave of primal demands, danced along an invisible edge of pleasure. When her breath became rapid and shallow, Mr. Black ceased his ministrations and embraced her.
“Not yet.” Holding on while her belly quivered, he stroked the small of her back, easing her sudden, ferocious arousal.
He swept loose curls away from her cheek. “You are a very responsive young woman.”
Another shiver ravaged her body. “I have been debauched by you, Mr. Black, and all those wicked illustrations.”
“Would it surprise you to know that I believe it is I who has been seduced?” His eyes crinkled as his attention turned to her mouth. “Place your lips here.” He touched his mouth as she leaned closer. With her eyes barely open, she pressed lightly, but did not open her mouth.
“That is called the ‘nominal kiss.’ ” His usual teasing grin softened. Even his ebony gaze, filled with hunger, seemed different. The reference book had slipped into a deep crack of the sofa cushion. She hardly gave a care as she continued her kisses.
 
America Síne Jones just might succeed with her enchantment.
When had this happened, exactly? Phaeton’s memory poured over her initial week of employment and then dug further back. From their first encounter, she had captured him with more than a blade. Her delectable charms had woven a spell of some kind. Something he was unfamiliar with and shy of fighting.
“When I kissed you in your room the other night, I used my tongue.” With his thumb, he brushed over her lips, parting them. Olive-toned cheeks, flushed with arousal, turned a pale rose. “Do your best, my dear.”
Her tongue licked the inside edge of his upper lip and pushed inside. He answered her by surrounding her with his arms and pressing her body against his. When he finished, they both lay gasping for air. His rock hard cock throbbed against her belly.
A wild, prurient desire came close to overwhelming his manners. He wanted to do unspeakable things to her. Using his tongue, he would delve into the nest of curls between her thighs. Or perhaps redden her derriere with the flat of his hand and then enter and ride her like the beast he undoubtedly was.
At the very least, he wished to kiss each breast and suckle those pretty tips until they grew hard and pointed. But that would certainly lead to intercourse. With enormous difficulty, he shifted away and sat up. The act of coitus must be her idea this time.
For a moment, he thought to take her and be done with it, but that would mean risking ... What would that signify exactly? He paused. Might her respect and affection be in jeopardy? Odd, that he would entertain such a concern.
If he made her his concubine, her resentment would grow even as his appetite for her mounted. Once he bedded her in earnest, he might never be able to stop. He wished her to experience every position in the
Kama Sutra
as well as
The Garden of Pleasure
.
That could take months—years.
“Enough lessons for one evening.” Gingerly, he rose from the chaise, his erection painful and obvious. “Good night, Miss Jones.”
She raised herself onto elbows and stared, openmouthed. “Good night, Mr. Black.”
The soft timbre of her answer caused him to glance back at those exotic golden eyes and rounded breasts. Somehow he made his way to his room, closed the door, and undressed in darkness.
As bewitched as he was by her sensuous body and those amazing lips, his need for her stemmed from something deeper. Yes, her bold as brass, strong-willed personality captivated, but she was also a supernatural force to be reckoned with. Somehow this essence of hers heightened his own arousal. Did he have a similar affect upon her? He wondered.
On rare occasions he engaged in self-gratification. And this night, with his cock threatening to burst on its own, he thought it best to give it a whack.
The door creaked open. “I’ve nearly decided. It’s between two positions.”
Chapter Twelve
“D
O NOT COME IN HERE
, Miss Jones, unless you desire me inside you.”
The lamp she held high illuminated one side of her shapely figure. The rest of her form disappeared into velvet blackness. Her thin wrapper, open in the front, revealed tantalizing details of her nude figure.
Placing one bare foot in front of the other, her strides were slow, erotic, mesmerizing. He could not take his eyes away.
“Either page twenty-eight or fifty-five, Mr. Black.” The slightest pique in her voice enhanced her sensuous, provocative movements. She set the lamp down on the bed stand and turned the wick low.
Phaeton craved her.
His balls, a right pretty shade of blue, ached as her gaze roamed over his torso. His cock danced in anticipation of her nearness, her touch.
“You are naked and ...” In the dim light her eyes widened. “The duke is quite large, isn’t he?”
“I was just in the process of providing him some relief.” He followed the narrow opening of her robe and lingered a moment on the dimple her navel made on a smooth belly. He then lowered his gaze to a shadow of triangle. “And you will be ready for him, when the time comes.”
She slipped out of her robe and placed a knee on the bed. “How could you leave me in such a state?” On all fours, she drew closer.
Until this moment, he had never seen her hair down. A thick, soft halo of waves fell past her shoulders. His fingers tangled in the mass of curls as he pulled her down for a kiss.
He grinned. “What kind of state? Describe it to me.”
Brows drawn and lips pouted, she growled. “Squirmy and, and ...”
“Frustrated?”
She nodded. “Exactly.”
The aggressive little minx climbed on top and straddled him. He stroked nicely rounded hips and worked his way up to a dainty waist. His phallus smacked against a plump cheek of her buttocks.
Wheels turned behind sultry, almond-shaped eyes. She smiled. “Page twenty-eight. The position is called the woman acting the part of the man.”
He cupped her breasts and rubbed thumbs over taut peaks. The wide spread of her legs beckoned, and he delved into her
mystères femme
until his fingers were soaked with arousal. “You are more than welcome to ride me, or enjoy being ridden like this—”
He lifted her up off his body, and encouraged her to support herself on hands and knees. “Page fifty-five. The jump of the tiger.” He pressed up behind her and used his fingers to prepare her opening.
“The congress of the elephant.” She groaned as he pushed into her.
“I shall go slowly.” He nuzzled the nape of her neck and kissed the wings of her shoulder blades.
She took his hand and moved it back to her small spot of intense pleasure. “Already so demanding.” He snorted a chuckle and used two fingers to tickle and swirl.
On his knees, he pumped into her, inching deeper. He was dangerously close. On the edge of his own climax, he rubbed her plump derriere, and experienced a sudden desire to smack both firm round globes. She cried out in surprise at the unexpected slap, but a flood of wetness gave her away. He massaged away the sting.
“Please.” Her breath was soft and rapid.
“Please yes, or please no?”
“Please again,” she gasped, and he paddled her ass and rubbed her arousal spot until she shuddered and moaned her release.
He soothed her with soft strokes over her female parts until she bucked and pushed his hand away. Her shattering climax had surged through him, rocketing his own arousal near to the precipice. He removed his cock and leaned over the mattress, opening a drawer of the bed stand.
“We’re not done yet?” Her brows converged and her lips pursed.
He tucked her into his arms and opened a tin box.
“Condoms?”
“I beg your pardon, miss, these are called French letters.” He kissed the side of her cheek. “And very expensive ones, I might add.”
“Must we?”
“Unless you desire to bear my children, I recommend their use.”
He lifted himself up and positioned himself above her. “You, my beauty, are assuaged, for the moment.” He straddled her pelvis and stroked his long thickness, which remained large and threatening.
“I, on the other hand, will be coming along shortly.” He smiled down at her. “So to speak.”
He showed her how to roll on the thin, rubber prophylactic.
“Like hard velvet.” She stroked his shaft and he sucked air through his teeth.
He took a turn with each of her breasts. He suckled and bit and laved each nipple until she spoke through a sigh and a whimper. “Perhaps I am not finished, yet.”
He spread her legs, grabbed her by the waist, and pressed into her. Easier this time. She hooked a leg over his arm, and he raised it to his shoulder. Slanting her pelvis upward, she lifted her other leg to his shoulder.
“Yawning position,” he groaned. His hands slipped under her buttocks to help support her back. He increased his thrusts, careful not to plunge too deeply. At this angle, he might hurt her.
“Cup your breasts, for me.” His eyes were intense, like his demands.
“Like this?” She teased. “Or perhaps something more like this?” She twisted the tips and he begged for more of her erotic play.
“Wonderful, desirable, wanton female.”
His member, nicely thick and well lubricated, rubbed into places that were meant to pleasure them both. Her sheath became increasingly receptive, and she pushed up to meet him as he increased the speed and force of his thrusts.
He gripped her buttocks as his body shuddered from chest to throbbing shaft. One last drive. “Yes.” He exhaled the growl of a predatory beast and collapsed onto the bed.
Awestruck or dumbfounded, he pulled her against him and exhaled. Never had he experienced such intensity of pleasure. His heart pounded inside his chest, pushing blood to every tingling fingertip. He jerked and shuddered a second time when she turned around and wrapped a leg around him.
“The duke was very deep inside.”
“My penis has been called many things, Miss Jones, but never by his rightful title.”
“I shall call him
le duc du plaisir
.”
He angled his chin and lowered a kiss to her temple. “Always glad to pleasure you.”
“And what do you call him?”
With the back of a knuckle, he scratched an itchy eye. “Which body part of mine might you be referring to, Miss?”
“Perched on the side chair,” she whispered. “He’s been watching us, since—well I suppose we put on quite a show.”
He lifted his head, brows drawn together in a squint. The familiar grim-faced elfish gargoyle crouched in the deep shadows of his usual corner. “Edvar The Sneaky.”
She dissolved into snorts of soft laughter.
“I was only four or five when I named him.” Phaeton balled up a pillow and fired it across the room. The creature faded with the exception of pale yellow eyes that blinked in the darkness.
“Annoying little fiend follows me around. Pay him no mind, or he’ll pester you into Bedlam.”
“I don’t believe he wishes you any harm.” She swept a thick bunch of curls behind her shoulder. “In fact”—she peered into the black corner—“I sense protectiveness. Perhaps he is your guardian.”
He propped himself up on an elbow and blinked, wide-eyed. “No one has ever seen Edvar, until now. Mother may have glimpsed his tail slither under my bed once.”
“So your abilities come from your
maman
, as well.”
Phaeton tugged her down beside him and kissed her several times. Soft, sensuous nibbles along her throat and over her chin. He pushed his leg between her thighs.
“Síne?”
“Yes, Mr. Black.”
 
America’s nose awoke to the savory aroma of bangers in the skillet. Another whiff confirmed sausage and a bit of scrambled egg. Mr. Black was making breakfast. Her stomach rumbled.
Something moved under the sheets and nearly caused her to jump off the mattress. A deeply satisfied groan came from beneath a pillow. A hand reached around her waist and pulled her against a hard shaft and warm body.
The man was ready again? She took a moment to admire his stamina. They’d had a go with nearly a half dozen positions last night. She sighed.
But if her employer snoozed beside her, who was cooking breakfast? “Mr. Black?”
“Mmm, what is it my dove?”
She quite liked the croak in his morning voice. “It’s about breakfast.”
He raised the pillow and sniffed. “Miss Jones, you are a marvel. Shall we eat in bed and have seconds? Or would that be thirds or fourths for us? I’ve lost count.” He traveled a hand up her belly to cradle a breast.
“I awoke to the scent of sausage and egg, same as you. The point is—who is in your pantry?”
He shot upright and cocked his head.
“Perhaps one of the ladies from above stairs?” A disturbing thought. She did not relish the idea of anyone, other than herself, fixing breakfast for him.
He shook his head. “Late workers those girls. I’d wager most of them have yet to kick the last john out of bed.” He slipped out from under the covers and grabbed his trousers.
“Do you suppose Edvar has taken a turn in the kitchen?”
“Wouldn’t that be a score. No, if that was possible, I’d have turned the little monster into my valet years ago.”
She wasn’t about to argue with the man first thing in the morning. But she very distinctly remembered his clothing strewn about the floor last night. This morning, his pants were folded neatly and hung over the foot rails.
Finished buttoning his pants, he opened the door and peered down the hall. He swung back into the room. “I believe our phantom cook is Doctor Exeter.”
America jumped out of bed and grabbed her wrapper. “What is he doing here?”
He took another peek. “Perhaps, he is about to be arrested.”
She slipped into her room across the hall, hoping not to miss the excitement of an arrest or a bite of egg and sausage. She washed up quickly, tied her hair back in a ribbon, and dressed.
An elegantly attired, handsome man noted her entrance with a great deal of interest. “You have a guest, Mr. Black?”
“Doctor Jason Exeter, please meet America Jones.”
She dipped a curtsy and lifted her arm.
“Delighted.” He kissed the back of her hand.
“Doctor Exeter has been so kind as to prepare a breakfast. Please join us.” While her employer returned to his room to finish dressing, America set about helping the doctor ready the table and fill three plates.
“Tea or coffee, Mr. Black?”
“We have coffee?”
The tall man took a seat at the table holding a carafe of aromatic, dark brown liquid. “Seems I can’t start the day without it. Stopped by Mason and Fortnum on my way here.”
Phaeton scratched his head. “How late is it?”
Exeter sipped and swallowed. “After ten in the morning.”
Mr. Black scooped up a forkful of egg and changed the subject. “Have you an alibi or a confession for me, doctor?”
The gentleman glanced at her and raised a brow.
“Feel free to speak in front of Miss Jones. It was she who identified that spying little orb as Egyptian. She is a kind of... assistant to me.” He winked at her.
Narrowly avoiding an ogle, the doctor returned his gaze to Mr. Black. “I have an offer.”
“You don’t believe I’ll negotiate.” Her employer sliced through a plump sausage. “Do you?”
“You are invited for a weekend in Twickenham, the family’s estate. It is time you were introduced to my father, Mr. Black. If you are to understand what has happened here in London these past few months, it is imperative you hear the truth from him.”
“So, the elusive Baron de Roos is alive.”
Exeter’s unflappable demeanor chilled. “No doubt Scotland Yard would like to know one way or the other.”
Mr. Black chewed on a last bit of sausage. “Scotland Yard is curious.”
Exeter sighed. “My father is perhaps days away from his grave. If you would make your way to Roos House on the Thames you will learn the truth of the matter. Then, in due course, you can decide whether you want to have me arrested or not.”
“Truth is a very good start.” Over the edge of a coffee cup, his eyes narrowed on the doctor. “Answers, better.”
“You will have both, Mr. Black.” The dark, reserved man rose to leave. “I shall accompany Mia and Mr. Tandi. We leave this afternoon by ferry.” He nodded to her. “Miss Jones is welcome to join.”
POST OFFICE INLAND TELEGRAM
28 FEBRUARY 1889 9:00 AM
TO: AMERICA JONES
 
IN RECEIPT OF SHIPS REGISTRIES STOP
PREPARE TO LEAVE FOR PORTSMOUTH
AGENT MOORE

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