Simply Wicked. Kate PearceЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Marguerite pressed her fingers to her lips as she watched the man pleasure the red-haired woman with his mouth and fingers. Would she have the courage to demand such delicious things from a man? More to the point, would Anthony let her tell him what to do like that?

      Lisette elbowed her in the ribs. “He’s rather nice, isn’t he? I wonder what his name is.”

      “Ssh.”

      Marguerite was curious herself, but she had no intention of letting Lisette know that. The man’s body was muscled, his buttocks tight and high, his chest lightly furred. And his cock…She refused to think about how big and hard he looked, how wet and ready to slip inside a woman’s most secret place and give her what she needed.

      She licked her lips as the woman lay back on the bed and invited the man to straddle her. In the candlelight, she noticed thin diagonal white lines marred the smooth surface of the man’s back. At the base of his spine it looked as if someone had tried to carve their initials into his skin. Even through her arousal, her stomach tightened. Who could’ve done that to this man?

      “Lisette?” she whispered. “He appears to be scarred.”

      Lisette shrugged. “A lot of Englishmen look like that; it’s a legacy of their public school education.” She patted Marguerite’s arm. “I promised to meet David; come and find me when you’ve finished watching.”

      Marguerite waved a distracted good-bye and returned her attention to the room. How barbaric the English upper class were, sending their boys away from home at such a young age and leaving them to the tender mercies of men who often didn’t have their best interests at heart.

      She watched the man suckle the woman’s breasts, wondered how he managed to stay so erect for so long. In her limited experience, men came far too quickly. A deep longing stirred inside her, and her womb clenched, releasing its own cream as the man reversed his position and settled to lick and finger the woman’s sex again.

      She wanted that feeling so badly. With a furtive look up and down the narrow passageway, she slipped her hand through the pocket opening of her dress, pushed her petticoat out of the way and settled her fingers over her mound. Oh, God, she was so wet, so ready to be taken…Her body easily yielded to allow two of her fingers inside.

      Could she treat Anthony like this? Tell him what she wanted, make him go down to his knees and service her? The last time she’d tried to be sexually adventurous had proved a disaster. Memories of Justin and his friend Sir Harry Jones assailed her, the terrible complexities of unrequited love. Was she brave enough to try again?

      The red-haired woman started to come, her cries filling the room. Marguerite climaxed too, closing her eyes against the ecstasy in the woman’s face as she sucked the man’s cock to completion. There was power in this for a woman, but was she prepared to wield it again?

      When she found the courage to look back into the room again, the man had gone, leaving the woman on the bed. Her satisfied smile made Marguerite jealous. Trying to pretend that her intimate life had died with Justin hadn’t worked at all. She had to come to terms with her needs and find what she wanted.

      Marguerite brought her fingers to her lips and inhaled her own scent. She wanted to make a man beg for her, but she wanted to be made to beg even more. The salacious thought shocked her to the core. Was she more like her mother than she had ever imagined? Did she still crave the forbidden, the sinful, the unknown?

      With a moan, Marguerite ripped off her mask and stumbled along the passageway, her hand on the wall to aid her flight. She pushed open the door that led back into the main hallway and collided with a hard male body.

      “I beg your pardon, sir.”

      “Marguerite?”

      She looked up into Anthony’s surprised face and wanted to cry. Of all the people to meet at this embarrassing moment of self-revelation, why did it have to be him?