Carnal Knowledge Ch. 11-12

Blankly, he realized Sinclair was still talking to him.

"What would you say if I arranged a night for the four of us?" the other man said. "We could plan for tomorrow evening if you're interested. I know you have a fondness for Violet, and I find myself quite keen to sample your Rose."

Rockdale forced himself to breath slow and steady. You brought her here, he reminded himself. You should have known other men would desire her.

He forced his lips to turn up in a facsimile of a smile. "Not quite ready to share her." He clapped Sinclair on the back. "I'm sure you understand."

"Quite," Sinclair murmured, the corners of his mouth turning down. "You must tell me, what transpired earlier between Rose and Sir Harold Cavendish? The poor fellow was entirely out of sorts afterwards. I had to send a serving boy to help him to a bed chamber. Besides, I thought you didn't want to share Rose," he added with a touch of grievance.

"Ahh," Rockdale said, rubbing his jaw. Christ, how was he to explain this one? "I really can't say. It's a private matter between Rose and Harry."

"I see," Sinclair replied in a tone that implied he clearly didn't. "Well, come along with me, Rockdale. I have something to show you in my study."

The ache in his temples expanded to a vicious throb. "Can it wait? I'm waiting for Rose to return."

Sinclair's stare turned mockingly incredulous. "I don't doubt Rose's little cunt tastes sweet as nectar and grips your cock like a velvet glove, but surely you are not so enamored of that hole that you cannot move from this spot for a few minutes?"

Rockdale gritted his teeth as Sinclair regarded him with raised brows. Swallowing his ire with no small effort, Rockdale jerked his chin. "Lead on, then." You arrogant bastard, he added silently.

They left the crowded ballroom where the antics were becoming decidedly more risqué. He cursed himself for allowing Sinclair to shame him into leaving even for a short time.

Sinclair ushered him into his study with a flourish. "I simply had to show you the new paintings I had commissioned."

Rockdale glanced up at the walls with irritation then narrowly stopped himself from gaping in surprise. A series of three paintings hung on the wooden paneling behind Sinclair's enormous desk, but it was quickly apparent that these were no ordinary portraits.

Forgetting his ire for a moment, Rockdale drew closer to the first of the series. Within the gilded gold frame Violet knelt, completely nude, in a perfect submissive pose amid a tumble of white silk and lush pink flowers. Her image embodied everything sweet and innocent—all things Rockdale knew full well she wasn't. "The artist is superb," he murmured.

"Yes," Sinclair answered, sounding pleased with himself. "Really marvelous, isn't it, how he captured her expressions and coloring."

Unable to stop, Rockdale continued to the second frame. In this painting, Violet reclined, again completely unclothed, on an expanse of bluish-purple satin and plush pillows. Her legs were spread wide showing the smooth, plump folds of her quim. One of her hands delved into her parted nether lips. With her eyes closed and mouth slightly open as though crying out, Violet appeared to have been captured right at the moment of climax.

Rockdale quickly glanced back at Sinclair. "These must have cost you a fortune."

The other man's smile was smug. "It was going to, yes."

"Was?" Rockdale queried, moving to the next picture.

"The idiot painter fell in love with her. Or perhaps it was only lust," Sinclair snorted. "I had Violet begin pleasuring him with her talented mouth in between sittings. The man had a stiff pole in his pants every time I saw him, what was I to do but take pity on him?"

Rockdale frowned, and Sinclair shrugged before continuing. "When the paintings were finished the poor bastard begged me to let him paint five more! He was bereft upon leaving and refused to take any money, the twit. Can you believe such a thing?"

Rockdale shook his head, wondering if Violet had willingly offered her services to the painter. This business with Eliza had affected his brain, he thought ruefully. Before he wouldn't have wondered or cared.

His breath caught in his throat when he turned back to gaze fully at the last picture. Violet's slender limbs were outstretched between two tall wooden posts of an ornately carved bedstead. She faced outward with a black silk blindfold covering her eyes.

Every nuance of her lithe body was visible, as were slight red welts marking her milky skin, concentrated over her high, uptilted breasts and the bare mound of her sex. Rockdale noted with a jarring twinge that Violet's smooth mons bore the most intensely crimson marks.

"Shit," Rockdale muttered. How often must Violet have had to pose this way for the artist to capture such a startling image?

"She loves being restrained," Sinclair said softly. "I enjoy whipping that little body with my crop quite frequently. Afterward I tie her face down over the footboard and beat her rump with my paddle until it's a most becoming shade of crimson. Then I thoroughly fuck her cunt and tight arse. The sensation of that glowing-hot derrière against your groin is..." He hummed appreciatively. "Well, let me just say the experience shouldn't be missed."

Rockdale swallowed hard, his mind conjuring the image of Eliza bound naked over the bed frame while he whipped her. She would like it, a voice whispered in his brain. Once you got past her initial resistance, she would let you...you know she would.

With an effort, Rockdale tore his eyes away from the elicit painting and found Sinclair watching him with an avid interest.

"Enticing thought, isn't it," Sinclair said. "Why don't you bring Rose back tomorrow night? I won't touch her if you don't want me to. Violet and I will watch you whip her for the first time." He smiled. "I already have everything you need at hand."

Rockdale took a step backward, then another. He cleared his throat. "I should find Rose now. I wouldn't want her to get into any trouble."

Sinclair stared at him for a moment then finally nodded. "I believe it's almost time for Violet's entertainment. We wouldn't want to miss that."

A trickle of unease slithered down Rockdale's spine, but he followed Sinclair to rejoin the crush of the ballroom. Once back inside, Rockdale quickly scanned the crowd for Eliza's white gown and fair curls.

They joined a group of guests milling around the center of the large room. The crowd cleared a path for Sinclair to move to the center, and Rockdale followed. His stomach clenched when he finally spied Eliza.

Rockdale received a jolt of surprise to see the two women reclining side by side upon golden chaises with a muscular male slave kneeling between them. The attractive young male fed the two women glistening purple grapes from one hand while holding a silver goblet in the other.

Sinclair's laugh grated across Rockdale's ears.

"It appears the lovely Rose has consented to be a part of our show," Sinclair remarked.

Not if he had anything to do with it, Rockdale thought grimly, stepping forward. Sinclair's hand shot out and gripped his elbow hard.

"Now, Rockdale," Sinclair said mildly. "I can't allow you to interrupt."

"Release me," the earl growled. "You have no right—"

"What have you done!" Violet's voice rang out, capturing everyone's attention.

The male slave ducked his head in apparent shame, lowering the goblet.

Violet pointed to a small dark spot on her flowing white robe. "You've spilled the wine," she said darkly.

"Mistresses, forgive me," the servant begged, shuffling backward on his knees, eyes darting between Violet and Eliza.

"I told you not to spill a drop!" Violet rose from the chaise and glared down at the servant.

"It won't happen again, I promise!" the slave insisted, grasping at the hem of Violet's long robe.

She snatched it disdainfully away. "Rose, we will have to discipline him. I see no other course of action."

Rockdale's jaw fell open as Eliza swept regally to her feet and picked up a square polished piece of wood with a handle.

"It's for your own good," Eliza said sternly, smacking the wooden paddle against her palm with a loud thwack.

Rockdale blinked and blinked again, torn between the urge to snatch Eliza up and out of the scene and sheer shocked curiosity at what she might actually do. He knew the exact moment Eliza realized he was watching. Her eyes narrowed and fixed on him, visible even behind her mask, and she thwacked the paddle against her palm once more.

Sinclair gave a choked snort of laughter. "I'd watch yourself around that female if I were you, Rockdale."

The male slave gingerly arranged himself on one of the chaises on his hands and knees at Violet's direction.

Violet made a show of slowly untying his loin cloth, leaving the servant entirely nude except for the golden bands he wore. She ran her hand over his muscled arse, squeezing and fondling the taut, masculine curves.

Rockdale couldn't help but notice the male's impressively sized cock was already partially erect and curving up toward his stomach. The slave moaned low in his throat as Violet's hand slid around to grasp his shaft.

With a nod from Violet, Eliza stepped forward. Rockdale could see her waver for a brief moment before lifting the paddle.

That little minx! Rockdale quite simply could not wrap his mind around what he was seeing. Just what in heaven's name had possessed Eliza to take part in such a spectacle was beyond his understanding. He winced in sympathy when the paddle swung through the air and connected with the slave's arse with a loud smack. The man's eyes widened as though he had received rather more force than he'd anticipated.

"Keep going, Rose!" Violet urged.

Eliza's paddle smacked his bottom once more, and the man groaned through gritted teeth. Violet's hand continued to work his stiffening penis.

Rockdale's own cock twitched as he watched, helplessly captivated by the sight of Eliza wielding the paddle like a vengeful, seductive angel.

Two more smacks of Eliza's paddle and Violet stepped back, releasing the slave's cock. The man's golden skin gleamed with a damp sheen of fine perspiration. She stripped out of the robe, her slim beauty and breasts shown to perfection in the revealing silvery corset.

Violet daintily straddled the chaise in front of the slave's head and reclined against the cushioned back. Her eyes drifted partially closed as her hand wound into the man's short cropped hair.

"Pleasure me," she purred seductively and arched her hips up off the chaise.

Without delay, the slave eagerly pressed his face into Violet's spread labia, licking and lapping. His cock visibly bobbed with the smacks from Eliza's paddle while she continued to administer punishment to the male's reddening arse.

"I think that's enough of the paddle, Rose," Violet said finally, licking her lips as the male servant continued to use his tongue and fingers between her parted legs. She grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled. "Get down in the floor, slave."

The man quickly rose up from the chaise. "Yes, mistress," he said, walking a few steps past the chaises to kneel down on a rug that had been spread in the center of the ballroom. He bowed his head. "I await your desire."

"Lie on your back," Violet ordered.

Once the man had complied, his cock jutting up as though begging for attention, Violet stepped closer and placed one high-heeled slipper on each side of his hips. She tossed her head, flipping her long dark curls over one bare shoulder. The onlookers shifted closer when Violet gracefully lowered herself over his groin.

"You will not spill your seed until I give you leave to do so. Do you understand?" Violet's beautiful features were severe gazing down at the male beneath her.

The man's face looked almost pained as Violet grasped his manhood firmly, positioning it at the entrance to her body. "Yes, mistress, anything you command, I will obey."

Violet sank down on his cock with a purr of satisfaction, and Rockdale's eyes were drawn back to Eliza, who looked up as though feeling his gaze upon her. He hoped rather fervently her part in this silly pretense was over.

"Rose, join me!" Violet demanded. "He will pleasure you with his mouth while I use his cock."

Eliza stepped forward and something finally snapped inside Rockdale. "Oh, hell, no," he grated out and strode forward, jerking free of Sinclair's restraining arm.

Rockdale grabbed Eliza's shoulder, spinning her around. "I think you forget who you belong to, Rose."

"You're ruining my show!" Violet hissed.

Rockdale ignored Violet, and his temper threatened to spill out of his normal icy control. "I don't know what you think you're trying to accomplish with this foolish display, but I will not allow another man to touch my woman."

Eliza tugged at her arm. "Don't be an arse. I wasn't going to let him touch me!"

Sinclair's deep chuckle snared both their attention.

"I think your companion is sorely lacking in respect and training, Rockdale," he drawled, moving to Violet's side where she was still astride the male servant.

Sinclair thrust his hand roughly into Violet's dark curls and released his erect cock from his breeches. Taking his shaft in hand, he slowly drew it over Violet's cheeks. A mulish look crossed her face only briefly before she parted her lips and accepted his penis into her mouth.

He directed a smug look toward Rockdale. "Discipline, my dear fellow. Works wonders." Violet's eyes were fixed on Sinclair's face as he thrust deeper and more forcefully into her throat.

"I am not a child to be disciplined," Eliza protested.

"Be quiet," Rockdale growled to Eliza. To Sinclair, he said, "I believe it is time for us to depart."

"Pity," Sinclair said pulling his cock from Violet's abused mouth. "Things are just beginning to get entertaining here." He moved behind Violet and knelt down between the male slave's splayed legs, drawing a small bottle from inside his jacket.

With a hand on Violet's back, Sinclair urged her to bend at the waist. He uncorked the bottle and dribbled what looked to be clear oil over his cock. He spread the cheeks of Violet's bottom and slid his oiled staff up and down her exposed crevice.

Sinclair continued speaking as though his actions were not completely shocking—even by his usual standards. "We're having a lovely cold supper at midnight with champagne. Surely you can stay until then."

He might have been conversing with them in a normal social setting. Rockdale caught a glimpse of Eliza's astonished expression as Sinclair worked his cock into Violet's fundament.

Violet's face contorted into a puzzling combination of pleasure and pain while the two men thrust their cocks into her body.

"Bring Rose tomorrow," Sinclair urged, shoving harder against Violet's bottom, eliciting a moan from her.

"Ahh," Rockdale said, his eyes following the debauchery with reluctant fascination. He cleared his throat. "Thank you for your...hospitality, Sinclair. We must bid you goodnight."

Rockdale bowed and keeping a firm hold of Eliza's arm, he towed her toward the exit.

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Chapter 12

John Willoughby shot upright in his bed, sweating and wild-eyed. Panting, he shoved the tumbled covers away from his damp skin and rose from the bed. He went to stand by the window, pushing the wooden shutters open with more force than necessary.

Leaning out, he sucked in lungfuls of cool night air until his thundering heart began to slow and the remnants of his disturbing dream started to fade. God, but it had seemed so real! His cock throbbed as though to remind him of the lustful nature of his slumbering thoughts.

Normally, he prided himself on holding tight control over his baser male urges. John Willoughby might not have a title or very much coin to call his own, but he was a gentleman, by God.

Women were to be admired for their gracious, kind ways and quick, creative minds, not solely to be ogled and degraded by brutish, crude men. A true gentleman would never—even in his dreams!—have such salacious thoughts.

But what thoughts they had been... His cock jerked enthusiastically in memory.

He had gone to bed feeling strangely irritable and restless, plagued by images of Miss Lockhart's angelic features, and to his shame, a vivid memory of how she had looked in her evening gown—the one that had so snuggly outlined her lovely bosom. His hands fisted. Even a monk would have been stirred by the sight of those creamy mounds rising up from that tight bodice like an offering to a starving man's eyes.

John had finally fallen asleep only to conjure the young woman in his dreams. He had once again been searching for her in the estate gardens. Only when he found her in his dream, she had been dripping wet as though caught out in a pouring rain storm. It had seemed only logical to get her out of that sodden dress. His hands trembled remembering how his dream self had unlaced and peeled away her clothing until it all lay puddled at her feet.

He had filled his hands with those glorious breasts, and she had smiled at him so sweetly. Inviting him to further intimacies he so desperately wanted to take. He leaned down to lick and suckle at the ruched pink of her nipples.

"Oh, John," she had whispered. "I want you to touch me everywhere."

And he wanted, rather madly, that exact thing.

John endeavored to be gentle, slowly maneuvering her to lie back upon the grass. Her wide blue eyes held trepidation but also trust when he eased her legs apart and settled between. "It's alright, darling," he assured her in a whisper. "I won't hurt you. I will never hurt you."

His own clothing had magically disappeared, and he covered her nakedness with his own, his staff impatiently seeking entrance to her body. He could still hear her gasp as he pushed that first tight inch into her soft center.

Only to rudely awaken. Alone. Spike-hard. He could have wept in frustration.

"Damn it," he muttered.

John shoved an agitated hand over his bare stomach, aching with the need to grasp his swollen cock and stroke. Up and down...repeatedly...until he came in a shuddering climax.

But no. He wouldn't, he told himself stubbornly. Miss Lockhart deserved better than to be the object of his vulgar impulses.

Deliberately he turned his mind away from the lovely governess. The whole house had been abuzz this evening with Lord Rockdale's instructions for poor George the footman. What exactly had been the reason behind the odd actions, John had been unable to discover.

He couldn't shake the idea that it had something to do with Miss Lockhart.

It had been very strange indeed the way Lord Rockdale had rushed her out of the house that morning...and personally accompanied her on the journey as well. That did not seem at all right, in his opinion. Something about the entire trip aroused his suspicions.

He gritted his teeth while pondering what his father had told him. Could it really be true? He knew his father would never fabricate the tale, and Willoughby the senior swore that he had heard the words straight from Miss Lockhart's own lips.

Ruined by the earl himself, his father had said gravely.

As Lord Rockdale's secretary, he was well aware the man was no saint. Far from it. But to take a girl in his employ against her will... This was greatly disturbing.

And then the way she had brusquely fled from him in the gardens when he had only been attempting to offer assistance. It perplexed him. She had brushed by him almost like the devil had been on her heels.

What a tangled mess. He rubbed his aching temples.

Perhaps Eliza and Rockdale were together even now...in bed. Perhaps she welcomed his attentions. Perhaps... He pushed away from the window with a swallowed curse.