Chapter Fifteen

B elle knew he needed her to form words, but they were beyond her. She needed a minute to process. Having a man solely focused on her pleasure rather than his own had been rare in her role. Rarer still were men interested in putting his mouth where Luke’s was. For a time early on, she’d been known as a dominant lover, willing and able to direct men to worship her at a whim. However, she’d done that because men were willing to pay surprising amounts to be debased. She’d discovered to her disappointment that they’d rather kiss her shoe than her quim.

For a man to choose this of his own volition was unheard of in her circles, and in fact only her favorite client, North, had enjoyed the act. This—Luke requesting it as his reward—was a whole new level of interest.

She flinched at yet another disconcerting similarity between Luke and the client she’d loved most.

Until now. She shook off the thought, replacing it with a better one. If she was going to be hurt, why not enjoy the time she had with him? He had succeeded in eschewing temptation even sitting in a pub with two friends who were drinking. She no longer needed to oversee his recovery. They were equals, or as equal as they’d ever be.

Running one last gaze down his gorgeous, lettered chest, she dropped her head back and said, “You’ll have to work hard to do better than the foot rub.”

“Feel free to direct me if my performance is not up to your expectations.” With that, he half-stood, leaned over, and brushed his lips over hers. Once, twice, then he nibbled on her upper lip.

Her hands came to his furred chest, scrabbling for purchase. Before she could gather her wits to return the kiss, he was back on his knees, his breath wafting over her inner thighs. She’d never been so passive a recipient of a kiss in her entire career. He did not seem to care about her response, however; that wasn’t part of his reward.

He licked up her center and blew a breath over her damp flesh as his thumbs teased her open, and her wandering thoughts scattered. Pointing his tongue, he circled the nub already swelling.

Raising his head, he licked his lips, “You taste better than any spirits. This might replace all my cravings. I shall wish for this every night.”

She thumped her head against the pillow. “Less talking, more stroking, please.”

He laughed, hushing it quickly in light of the guest in the next chamber. “Ah, Belle. Please recall, this is my reward.”

He leaned in, obstructing her view, and her head fell back, determined to enjoy this rare treat to its fullest. Without vision, her other senses intensified. When he licked just under the hood of her clitoris, she gasped and moaned.

He did it again, and she almost twisted away, the sensation was so powerful.

His fingers paused at her opening, as though waiting for her consent.

“Please...” She twisted her head against the bed coverings, needing him to fill her, hungering for the friction of thrusts. No, of him. This was not simply a carnal act between two consenting adults. This was Luke, someone she cared for despite and because of his failings as well as his strengths. The difference manifested in every stroke, lick, and word, the emotions layering more sensation than mere physical touch.

He responded to her plea by pressing two fingers into her.

“Yes.”

At that, he drove them deep into her.

“Clod—Luke, yes, there.” She corrected herself. It did not seem fair to call him by a derogatory nickname when he was doing such a good job at pleasuring her.

Her hips lifted off the bed as his fingers curled to rub a sensitive spot on each plunge and she did lift her hand to clutch his hair and press his mouth to her. “Please, lick hard. Mercy, I’m so close.”

So he did.

She exploded against him, feeling his firmed tongue press against her spasming nub. Bliss swirled outward from his still-moving fingers, and she had to bring her other fist to her mouth to stop a loud moan. Ecstasy bowed her hips off the bed, pulsing for long moments as she squeezed her eyes shut to savor the release.

She could become accustomed to this. Perhaps it was stronger because her last bed partner had been months ago, rather than due to Luke’s skill or her emotion. She’d keep telling herself that until she believed it, given the short-term nature of their living arrangement.

Finally, hyper-sensitive, she loosened her fingers and gave his head a little shove. She squirmed even from his breath gusting over where his lips and tongue had been.

He withdrew his fingers and sat back on his heels.

She pushed herself up on an elbow to gaze at him.

His eyes were bright with lust, his breathing ragged. “Thank you, Belle.”

Her brows rose. She’d expected him to leap up and demand his own pleasure. This was a new side of Luke, rather more mature than she’d dared hope. She smiled and said, “Definitely better than a foot rub.”

“Thank you.” He bowed his head for a moment to acknowledge her praise. “Will you bind me again, then?”

“Did you...?” She grimaced. How could she, a courtesan, an instrument of pleasure, nay an instructor of pleasure, not be able to finish the question?

He seemed to understand. “No. I’m not asking for that.”

“Right.” She was confused. His reward should have been achieving his own pinnacle or at best both of theirs. No man had prioritized her enjoyment to this extent. But her brain was not working correctly after his ministrations. The stirrings of respect and liking for him were too fresh for her to act on, and she wasn’t ready to leave her own bedroom so he could finish himself. In the end, she took him at his word. “There is sherry in the house for Charlotte, and I don’t want to tempt you further tonight, so yes. I will cuff you.”

He stripped down to his smallclothes and lay on his back, his cockstand tenting his clothes.

She licked her lips and attempted not to stare at it. For heaven’s sake, her lust should be sated.

After cuffing him, she laid down and snuffed the candles. She stared into darkness and imagined what he would have done next if she’d given him leave. She’d never look him in the face again without picturing his lips wet and swollen with her juices, fresh from tasting her. Her memory was fuzzy after years, but she swore not even North had taken her to such heights of pleasure. Luke had achieved a new record without using his cock.

However, the fact that she’d denied him pleasure rather than contemplating her own was what kept her awake for hours.

Five days later, Belle had relived that night every chance she had. Often the fevered reminiscing occurred in bed with her hands mimicking his actions. Not able to find an excuse to reward him or punish him again, she sent Luke back to his own room as soon as Charlotte left and hoped he’d initiate further play. When he didn’t, she was bereft, but it was better not to start anything more when he was leaving soon.

When they were alone in the house again, he’d described his idea for helping other drunkards, looking eager for her approval even as she’d winced at his choice of words. His wide eyes and forward lean gave her a new understanding of what Charlotte saw in a man so much younger than her. There was much to be said for youthful exuberance and resilience.

Despite her best intentions, she imagined that resilience in the bedroom.

Ignoring her inner devil, she’d praised him and asked a few questions. He’d thought through as much of the logistics as he could without knowing what capital he’d have available, and she was impressed.

Between his sobriety, his newfound interest in contributing to society, and his oral skills, her feelings for Luke Lynwood were unstoppable. However, in addition to a decade difference in their ages, they had an insurmountable class gap. Not only was she not of the aristocracy, or even the gentry, she was a harlot. A well-paid, highly sought after one, but a harlot nonetheless, and therefore unsuitable to marry someone who would one day be an earl.

Not that he’d offered. But she was finished with unions with a contractual end. She wanted a lifelong partner, and she refused to have children out of wedlock. Indeed, one of the main reasons she wanted to leave London was to bury her past well enough to ensure her children were free of censure.

Her advice to Charlotte to marry William and not worry about heirs was viable only because the two were both titled. She did not have the same choices, but she longed to see more of Luke’s progress.

His expertise in the bedroom continued to tantalize her. Part of her wished to search for reasons to make him beg again, to see what he’d choose as his next penance. But despite his obnoxiousness when drunk or hungover, she enjoyed a sober Luke. Thus, she encouraged his success.

When he’d managed a second outing to console the still-single William without drinking, she knew their time was drawing to a close. Without mentioning it to Luke, she requested an appointment with Bessie Dove-Lyon for them both.

The widow replied with an invitation for the next day.

Showing him the note, she braced herself for his jubilation.

His reaction was subdued, however. Head still bent over the note, he murmured, “Do you really think I’m ready?”

She curled her hand over his holding the paper. “I do.”

They were brought in through the side entrance. Belle snickered at the circumspection; it was not as though she was coming alone to have a marriage arranged this time. She supposed it was for Luke’s sake, as she likely knew half the gaming den’s clients socially from demi-monde balls and the like.

Bessie Dove-Lyon skipped the pleasantries. “I see you managed not to kill the Lyon cub, Belle. How did you fare these past weeks?”

“He was a trial, but he’s been sober for a fortnight, managed two outings without drinking, and has a plan for his future.”

“So he is ready for his independence?”

Luke shifted. “ He has a voice.”

The widow arched a brow at him, before returning her gaze to Belle.

“Yes.”

“May I ask how you passed the time?”

Belle narrowed her gaze. Mrs. Dove-Lyon never indulged in idle chitchat. There was a reason for the question, but she could not determine what it was. “We both enjoy reading. Some shared elements to our pasts were topics of discussion. And we started outlining next steps for an idea he had for a new direction in his life.”

“Excellent.” Lips just visible beneath the veil curled a fraction in a semblance of a smile.

Belle frowned. That curved mouth was more fearsome than inviting. Replaying her own words in her head, she realized their activities mirrored those she’d described to Bessie on her previous visit, and those had been with North. No wonder she was drawn to Luke. More than his oral skills fit with her desired traits in a mate... other than his need for heirs with a reputable wife.

The widow said, “I am happy to tell you that I’ve secured a suitor who meets your requirements perfectly.”

“Oh?” Belle sat forward and slid a glance toward Luke. Surely Bessie would not discuss this with Luke still in the room.

Bessie nodded and sat back.

“May I ask who it is?”

Never one to prevaricate, the widow nodded again, this time tilting her head toward Luke. “If I recall, you were looking for companionship as well as... I believe the phrase was ‘bedroom activities.’ Reading, conversation, taking care of one another when you are sick, understanding loneliness.”

Belle gaped. The woman had not taken notes during their first discussion, but she remembered every detail of what Belle had said. No wonder her fees were so high.

The widow’s tilt of head registered. “Wait, you cannot mean—”

“Lord Lynwood here is your choice.”

“What?” Luke had apparently just caught up to the conversation. “I mean...” He trailed off, looking thoughtful.

“No. That is not fair to a young man who has made a few mistakes, yes, but who has just begun to get his life on track. And he did not come to you for marriage.”

“Ah, but his markers did.”

“No. I cannot. He would be saddled with my past and ostracized from his peers. As would our children.” She ignored the pang of longing her heart gave at the idea of having children with Luke.

“His seat is almost as far from London as one could be and remain in England, which is what you wanted. That will also help him remove himself from the temptations of London.”

“I know nothing of being a countess.”

Bessie slapped a hand on her desk. “Oh, please. You have attended more demi-monde balls than I can count. You’ve interacted with countless titled lords in a myriad of social settings.”

“What about hostessing and the like? I was looking for respectability, not responsibilities.”

“You’ve hosted small gatherings, and you’ve run a household. You shall be fine.” Bessie shifted her attention to Luke. “You look thoughtful, Lyon cub.”

His hand supported his chin, elbow on the chair arm. “I’d never thought about it. Belle has been a magnificent hostess, teacher, and support these past weeks...”

“Never say you’re considering this, Luke,” Belle gasped. Goodness, if his father disapproved of him already, what would happen if he announced a betrothal to a courtesan? Trying to make him see reason, she voiced that thought. “Think of what The Earl would say.”

“Ha. I have to stand on my own two feet. I have reached my majority and can marry who I please. And no, it couldn’t make my life much more difficult than it has been.”

“You’ve been sober for less than a month.”

“What?” he asked, sounding outraged. “You just told Mrs. Dove-Lyon here that I was ready to take on the world. Yet I’m not ready enough for you to marry?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Belle murmured, reaching a hand to him.

Bessie’s voice cut through their conversation. “You’ve been sharing a household for almost a month now. Why do you not go home and consider it and return in a fortnight?”

They both turned to stare at her.

It was as though the widow was giving Belle permission to act out her fantasies before letting him go. She cast a sidelong glance at Luke. It wasn’t as though she needed to protect her virtue...which also meant she had a fortnight to explore all those sexual proficiencies she’d been imagining the past week. His departure was going to break her heart anyway, so it seemed expedient to enjoy this additional fortnight without worrying about the future. She could seduce him. A jolt of heat went through her.

“Keep in mind, your fee is due no matter what you decide, and I do not promise another option,” the widow reminded her.

Her warning did not register. Belle was already mentally undressing Luke to follow that T . “Fine.”

In her carriage, Belle peered wide-eyed across the space at Luke. He looked as shocked as she felt.

She tried to list merits for her plan, in case he resisted. First, he might marry someone without ensuring compatibility in the bedroom, but she never would.

Second... her gaze roamed the carriage, her thoughts stuck on that first benefit. There was enough room for her to straddle him. Her nether lips swelled against the carriage, the bouncing of the vehicle adding to her eagerness. Saliva pooled in her mouth at the thought of kissing her way down his T .

No, she needed to stick to her plan to seduce him. Not because she wanted to wed him.

Don’t you?

She couldn’t. It didn’t matter what she wanted. However, if they only had a fortnight, she was going to damn well make use of every minute, which meant ensuring he’d want to take advantage of those two weeks as much as she did.

At home, she ordered a bath, noting that they had an hour until supper.

Luke asked if he might have one after hers, and the maids acquiesced.

Strolling upstairs, Belle’s courtesan demeanor settled over her. An added sway showed in her hips when she walked. Her movements were more languid, soft and smooth. A brush of her hair off her shoulder, a lick of her lips. She sank into her alter ego, enjoying the swish of her inner thighs brushing, the scratch of her chemise and stays against her breasts.

After her bath, she asked the servants to light extra candles in the dining room and donned one of her most provocative gowns. Cut as demurely as any day dress, it was an innocent ecru with embroidered flowers on the cap sleeves, empire waistline, and hem. But without stays or undergarments, the imported raw silk was lightweight enough to allow the shadows of her cleavage and areola to be visible in the right light. She’d also checked the rear view, and sure enough, the cleft of her bottom and shake of her cheeks were perceptible. Bringing him upstairs could prove entertaining, providing he did not trip.

With the front of her hair pinned off her face, she left the rest to curl around her shoulders and made her way to the stairs. Still in persona, she trailed her fingers along the banister as she meandered downward.

Lounging in her dining chair, she sipped the glass of wine she’d requested be brought from the root cellar and waited for her next conquest. Her nipples were pebbled in eagerness, and she crossed her legs to provide a bite of pressure to the swollen flesh between her thighs.

Luke rounded the doorway with a smile, saying, “What shall we—” His voice stalled as he caught sight of her.

Belle lifted a brow and smiled, arching her back a fraction more.

He gaped at her, stumbling the last step forward to grip his chairback with a white-knuckled hand.

“Sit. Aren’t you hungry?” she asked through her lingering grin.

“I am most definitely hungry.” He sat with a thump, still staring and making it obvious what he wished to eat. His gaze kept dipping, but he brought it back to meet hers each time.

How sweet. He is at least trying to keep his eyes on my face. He was so gentlemanly and mature about respecting women. And now about owning his future and avoiding delinquency in the gaming hells. He’d make an excellent husband.

For someone else.

He shook his head, closing his eyes once. But as soon as they opened, they returned to roam her form.

She might have to rethink the stairs for fear he’d hurt himself. After all, having him precede her would provide a delectable view.

Belle had asked the housekeeper to keep their meal short and sweet. Thus the soup course had been skipped, and they were served a vegetable pie and mild sausages. She asked Luke to pass the breadbasket, forcing him to look at her again as he did so. She swiped the bread through the liquid from the pie and ate it. Putting the remaining piece down, she sucked her thumb into her mouth as though it had sauce on it.

He stared, knife and fork in hand, unused.

Her tongue curled out around her thumb, then she hollowed her cheeks and sucked hard. While her movements were designed for show, she kept imagining his cock in place of her thumb and wanted to squirm in her chair. Releasing the digit with a pop, she moved to her forefinger.

His eyes shuttered. Placing his fork down, his hand dipped below the table, likely to adjust himself in his trousers.

Perfect.

“What were you saying when you came in?” she asked, testing whether he wanted to discuss the revelations of the day or his reaction to them. Unfair, perhaps, when she’d already distracted him, but if he had any concerns, she’d rather know them now.

“I cannot recall,” he said, twisting his head side to side. His gaze slid to the shadows outlined against her bodice.

“Right, then. Is the food to your liking?” She frowned. He’d managed only a single bite, and she rather hoped he’d need his strength later.

“I am enjoying the meal, thank you.”

She smiled at the innuendo and managed another forkful, although she could not taste the food for want of tasting him.

After three more bites, his chair scraped back. He stood, reaching for her hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Come. I’ve had enough. I prefer to have my next course—and given your attention to your thumb, perhaps yours—in the bedroom.”

Off-balance, Belle followed him. At his gesture, she preceded him up the stairs. This was unscripted territory. Always before, if she took the role of seductress, it was either agreed upon beforehand or the client followed her lead, enjoying being the center of the interaction.

She was so distracted she forgot to add seduction to her movements. Nonetheless, she heard a groan from a few steps below her. He’d caught sight of her rear moving under the diaphanous fabric.

In her bedroom, she regained her equilibrium. Turning to him, she trailed one finger down his waistcoat to play with the fall of his trousers. Biting her lip in a practiced move, she asked, “You mentioned something about more to eat?”