My Lady Enslaved
By Shirl Anders
Smashwords Edition, My Lady Enslaved, published by Shirl Anders/ Allure Books
at Smashwords
Copyrighted©2001 by Shirl Anders.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Blurb:
erotic regency, m/f,
HEA.
Ex-spy Lord Harrison Ravenscar's out for
revenge. The erotic drama starts quickly with mistaken identity when
he seizes the wrong woman for his retribution and he forces innocent
Chloe into being his sexual slave for revenge
My Lady Enslaved
By Shirl Anders
Prologue
Drummond Penhurst, Duke of Kittridge, relaxed in the lavishly furnished gaming salon of his country manor as he regarded the five gentlemen seated around the table. The game was Monte and these five men, chiefly including himself, compromised one of England’s most successful spying circuits in the last forty years. The fact that he had been administer of this notable spying venture, brought him satisfaction. The fact that it no longer existed with Napoleon’s demise, brought him a feeling of restlessness that he had seldom before encountered.
Their illustrious code name had been Hellagon. Regardless, they had been called surreptitiously as the Queen’s Archangels by the clandestine people in the offices at 13 Whipple Street. The pretentious naming had adhered and until the last throes of Napoleon’s demise one need only mention the Archangels on French soil to obtain a pale and fearful reaction. Yes, Drummond considered pragmatically, he had done his job skillfully and even exceedingly artful at times, managing over the years to deliver them through alive. Barely.
His gaze flicked casually to Harrison, the reclusive Earl of Ravenscar and the only man present who was near to his own middle age. Together, he and Harrison had operated in the macabre world of espionage for more than eight years. His gaze followed the movement of Harrison’s leather gloved hands dealing the next round. Harrison’s hands were perpetually gloved now, hiding the acid burns from their last spying operation gone array, just as Harrison’s voice was now a permanent rasp from those same acid fumes.
Damnation, Drummond cursed silently. He'd nearly lost Harrison in that last fateful debacle. He still questioned seriously who had betrayed their team. Who was it that nearly cost Harrison his life, had cost Radford, Duke of Sutherlin an eye and Brynmore, Baron of Duneagan the hearing in one ear?
He felt every day since that time that he had better find the traitor before Harrison did. Harrison was set for his own style of dark vengeance and it was nearly as if Harrison knew who the betrayer was. Nevertheless it was unlike Harrison not to confide in him, he reflected, if he did indeed know. And all of this coming to pass well over a year before, so now it seemed to him like so much muddied water beneath the proverbial bridge.
Chapter One
Chloe hurried down the rain soaked cobblestoned street on London’s notorious westside. She knew that she should not be in this crime trodden area of London. Especially at night . . . alone! Only what choice did she have? What choices had she ever had where her twin sister Lia was concerned? Sacred Buddha help her, she knew that she should not, but she did, damn Lia’s evil heart to the devil. Especially this time for using her little baby, Sebastian, against her.
She must . . . must get Sebastian back, Chloe thought, fighting tears of anguish over her son’s fate at the hands of her sister. Only it was also fear now because someone was following her and she was not even close to the assigned drop off place where she was supposed to meet her contact. Anxiously, she checked the small package hidden in the inside pocket of her cloak. The package Lia had forced her to take.
Chloe had no idea what the package contained. She never wanted to know. She never wanted to know what price she was paying to get her son back from her own sister! How could Lia be her true sister, she agonized, for the thousandth time in her short life?
Chloe turned a sharp right corner. Immediately, she stopped and hugged the wall with her back pressed to some unknown building on the corner of the alley she stood in. The dogging footsteps had stopped also and she nearly wished that she could hear them again it was so ominous. She was praying that they would pass her by, not really even following her. But now? She looked down the obscure darkness of the alley which held a sickening sweet smell of rotting garbage. What should she do? She could hardly make herself go down the alley. She did not want to go down there.
Tap . . . tap . . . Tap. Tap. Tap. Buddha save her, it was the footsteps again! Chloe held her breath hugging the wall.
“You will not get away from me this time!” a harsh voice rasped out of the rainy obscure darkness.
Chloe screamed and her cry of terror was cut short by a damp leather-gloved hand clamped harshly over her mouth. In that same second she was jerked away from the wall to collide with a tall immovable shape. She was too terror-stricken to struggle, yet it would have been impossible because the man had a muscular arm clamped around her waist from behind.
“Fate, my little bitch, Lia. Never underestimate fate,” the man hissed in a sinister and gravelly voice.
“N-n-n!” Chloe garbled in a scream beneath the relentlessness of the gloved hand covering her mouth.
She was bodily dragged, stumbling in front of the man, toward the sound of an approaching horse and carriage. Her mind was stricken with the fact that this man thought she was Lia. Better he left her raped in the alley, she thought hysterically, than believe she was Lia!
The carriage and horses came to a high-stepping halt in front of them with Chloe’s frantic hopes of rescue dying quickly, when the rasping man called to the driver, and then he threw open the carriage door. There was no chance for escape. Not that her terror-stricken limbs would have allowed it because the man did not loosen his hold on her, but carried her with him up into the carriage as though she were a mere after thought of weight.
Once inside the carriage with the door slammed shut it was even darker than the black rainy night outside. Still, Chloe thought, this could be her chance because surely the rasping man would have to release her now, and then she would scream her true identity at him until he listened!
“I expected you to fight me more, you traitoress souillon!”
Slut! He had called her a slut in French and his angry voice was dripping revenge on the horrible naming. Chloe found the will then as she struggled to free herself, but the man subdued her too easily. He wrested her more onto his lap and brought what felt like a silk scarf around to gag her mouth! Then he used another silk wrapping to bind her wrists together behind her back before he shoved her off him and into a corner of the carriage.
She did not know where he was inside the dark carriage as she struggled to stay upright on the bouncing carriage seat while shameful sobs racked her, making anguished whimpering sounds beneath the gag. How could she tell this man who she was if he gagged her?
“Really, Lia, . . . crying? You must imagine me noble,” the man whispered harshly in his rasping voice. “I am not, souillon!”
Chloe choked hard because out of the blackness he was suddenly there beside her. He pulled the weight of her cloak down off her shoulders while his other gloved hand tugged her heavy skirts upward with a jerk! Would he rape her now? She tried to use her legs, the only part of her free to fight. Only after two small kicks he clamped his big hands over her thighs with her linen drawers scrunched beneath as he dragged her lower limbs upward until they were on the carriage seat. His weight settled immediately between her legs, pressing down until she could not move. She whimpered like a frightened trapped animal.
“No lacy drawers, Lia? You take your pretense too far, little pussy.”
OhBuddha-Buddha. Chloe jerked her head from side to side frantically, but still the rasping man used his big hands to tug at her drawers, pulling them relentlessly downward over her squirming hips. She could not breathe! She could not catch a single breath beneath the gag.
“Where is the knife and pistol that you always carry, you little bitch? Damnation.” Lord Harrison Ravenscar cursed in a haggard rasp.
It had taken him a few moments to realize that the venomous Lia had fainted. How could that be? From what he knew of her through all of his sources, if Lia were not a woman she would be sporting balls. Harrison shook her, noticing instantly how small and fragile she felt beneath his hands. What a dangerous illusion that was, he thought with a sneer. According to the surveillance reports he managed to obtain on her, this woman beneath him would have no compunction about taking on an entire military squad single handedly. And she did! He had followed her continuing career closely for the last two years until he had lost track of her two months before. Right after she'd been placed, as the assassin of six German field officers in a bordello in Prague. Six men dead without a thought.
How could she faint? Harrison shook her again uselessly before he released her to lie limply on the carriage seat. A particularly sharp rocking motion of the moving carriage threw him off balance and harder into the cradle between Lia’s thighs. His groin nestled instinctively along the contours of her exposed sex. He could feel the heat of her cunt through his pants.
“Christ,” he cursed savagely before he was able to lever himself away. He knelt between her outstretched thighs, while disgustingly, he had to catch a labored breath.
It was the bitch’s fault beneath him that he was reacting this way. He'd not been with a woman for more than two years. Not since Lia had set up the betrayal where he’d burned his hands and throat so severely. And now, she was going to pay! She was going to endure his scarred hands on her body. She was going to crawl . . . she was going to beg him . . . she was going to fuck him until she was his slave, and then and only then, was he going to walk away from her. Leaving her with what she had become. It was better than killing her. Much better, he thought, as he began to search her again for the knife and pistol he knew she must have.
However he did not find them, nothing but a small package in her cloak and a gold locket around her slender neck. Frustrated, he began to rip her demure serviceable dress down the front. He simply could not believe that she did not have a weapon concealed somewhere.
“M-m!” Lia was awake and Harrison sneered, pulling the heavy black dress away from her shoulders as he held her wriggling thighs between his knees. He reached his hand upward and snatched back the carriage curtain allowing the light from the driver’s lantern to spill across the carriage seat.
A corset? The Lia he had studied intimately but had only seen at a distance once, would never wear something so staid and so English. She must be throughly into her undercover character, he mused, as he reached for his thin-bladed assassin’s knife that he always carried in his boot. Lady Chloe Sang, the royal stepdaughter to a deceased Asian ambassador, was her undercover character at the moment. However, Ambassador Sang, while he'd lived had been honored at Westminster court on more than one occasion for his international negotiations. What a cover, for his sly Lia, and still he could not fathom how she was pulling it off. He only knew that from the moment he'd chanced to see her at the Carlton Hotel he had vowed that she'd just made her second major mistake since turning traitor to the Archangels spying team. Brazen bitch, coming to England. It was time. She was his!
“N-mm-mm!”
Harrison grasped the whalebone stays between Lia’s softly pillowed bosom with one gloved hand and drew his knife down with his other hand. He could feel the inner slopes of Lia’s breasts heaving against the back of his gloved hand as he cut the corset free. Her breasts spilled out of their confinement. They were plump ivory moons with areolas no rounder that a halfpenny, making the spiked pink nipples in their centers appear larger. The buxom flesh jiggled and arched upward with each of her agitated movements beneath him as she whimpered and tossed her head.
He had her bared except for her stockings, garters, and half-boots. He chuckled in a sinisterly lewd manner and deliberately ran one his leather-gloved hands back and forth over each of her breasts in a smearing motion while she tried unsuccessfully to squirm away from him.
“You are mine now, Lia. All mine,” he hissed with the snakelike voice he had. It was all that she'd left him. Then he lowered his hand to pet the ebony curls covering her cunt and she screamed beneath the gag.
Chapter Two
Chloe recovered consciousness reluctantly and if it was not for the discomfort in her arms, a nagging ache dragging her from the black cocoon of oblivion she wanted to hide in, she would not have wakened at all. She moaned over the numbing pain and found her mouth dry and still gagged. That realization sent panic rushing through her and with it she tried to move and found that she could not.
Her arms were tied above her head to a post! A bedpost digging into her bare back. She twisted her body trying to refocus her cloudy gaze on anything and found that she could barely stand on the tips of her toes from where she was tied. “Ah-hh,” she groaned fearfully beneath the gag.
“Ah, my ebony-gilded souillon, so you are awake.”
Chloe lifted her head and saw a man sitting in an elegantly padded chair two long paces in front of her. He had rasped! This was the rasping man. He looked and was dressed like an English nobleman. He was handsome. He was older with rich dove-gray streaks of silver in his wavy jet-black hair. His eyes were shards of black ice, cold and calculating. His face was planed and masculine. There was not a drop of softness in the man. She was doomed unless she could convince him to remove the gag. Buddha save her most worthless soul . . . she prayed to faint again.
“What did you do with your tattoo, Lia?” He stood then and stepped swiftly toward her grabbing her chin into his gloved hand. “Do you think to fool anyone by cutting it away?” he asked as his free hand clamped over the lower curve of her right buttock.
She was naked!
. . . And now she knew why Lia had cut the back of her thigh, Chloe thought frantically, as she tried to twist away from the English nobleman’s hands. Only he held her pinned to his tall frame by one gloved hand tightening on her buttock. She could feel the press of his black satin evening clothes touching her naked skin from her knees to her breasts. All at once he tilted her head back roughly with his fingers on her chin. She whimpered in fear, caught helplessly against the heat of him.
“Who are you so afraid of, my little Asian whore, that you would mar your own beauty so?” he asked harshly, twisting her chin higher.
Take the gag off, Chloe pleaded with her eyes. Take the gag off and I will tell you.
“Do not look at me like that,” he suddenly snarled, and then he released her, backing away. “Brandy-colored doe’s eyes on a venomous bitch!” he hissed.
Chloe watched him abruptly turn away from her and stalk to the chair where he grabbed up a black leather riding quirt from the richly padded seat. She instantly jerked helplessly against the restraints holding her wrists, seeing nothing but the wicked riding quirt as she watched him turn slowly and gracefully toward her once again. He was tapping the quirt along the outside of his muscled thigh.
“Beginning to understand, are we, souillion?” The expression on his rugged features was dangerous and lethal and Chloe clenched her eyes with a terrified whimpering sound escaping her throat.
He ought to whip her, Harrison goaded himself. He ought to flay Lia’s round sleek ass red! He ought to make her cry and whimper more. Damnation, why was she doing that whimpering, he thought viciously, as he watched her. Could she play the simpering game this long and not once express any hint of defiance, anger, or lethal revenge in her dark brandy-colored eyes? Not once! Only this fear and this helplessness?
Yes! Yes, she could. Lia was the best, he savagely reminded himself. Lia had fooled Napoleon himself. She was the consummate actress in the guise of an undercover spy. He raised the quirt and watched Lia’s incredibly lovely body shuddering as large crystal teardrops slid down over the red silk gag he had tied over her mouth. He stepped closer and she sobbed, quivering like a helpless frightened doe.
“Damnation,” he swore hoarsely, throwing the quirt across his bedchamber in a violent gesture as he stood straining like a beast against its leash, clenching and unclenching his scarred hands. He dropped his chin looking down at the black leather encasing those hands. Knowing whose fault it was. Damning himself for his . . . this weakness.
How could he be weak? He'd killed men before . . . many of them and that did not allow for weakness. He had assassinated largely in stealth, yet some men face to face, skill to skill. Whether it was by sword, pistol, knife or fists, he had honored them with the chance. Those were the ones that did not haunt him, but of course he had been haunted before he ever became what he was now, a cold-blooded killer. But it was ironic because he could not place himself solidly there, as the killer he was proclaiming. It was an odd hitch in his consciousness that he fought with. The ones that nagged him into saying, “You did it for your country. You saved lives . . . countrymen's lives.” Harrison shook his head of collar length hair and swiped a restless hand across his hard jaw. Still, he'd never killed women or children. Never that.
He stalked past his enslaved trembling victim and went in search of the whiskey decanter on his bedside table. Drinking was the only way he could sleep at times by wiping away the guilt, the dreams, or his horrible past. However it was his past no matter how tragic his youth had been, and he had risen above it. Moved beyond it, and even helped his sister out of the hell-hole that they’d lived in as children.
Catherine was his sister and she was beautiful, compassionate, loving . . . and everything good that he was not. In spite of everything, he'd never regretted that. Because he had understood by the time he was five years old and Catherine was born, that if he did not do something to turn their father’s insane rage continually toward him, Catherine would be lost, just as he was. So he had, daily, weekly, and through all those years that his crazed unbalanced father had lived until . . .
Harrison took a long swallow of whiskey feeling the slow burn down the back of his throat as he left that thought unfinished. Nonetheless, he knew why he could not whip Lia, and it was because he knew what it felt like to be whipped helpless . . . and God help him he loved his sister. He swung back toward Lia. No, there had to be other ways, because he knew better than anyone that not even the lowliest beast deserved to be whipped helpless.
Christ, she was beautiful, he thought, pacing back toward her slowly in a round about widening arc. He could not deny it. What sane man wouldn’t be thrilled to have a woman stripped naked and tied to his bedpost? Lia’s hair was the color of black mink and hung straight and lustrous down to her tight little ass. No other women had an ass like the women of Asian descent and Lia was a mongrel Asian. She was born of an Asian whore and a French aristocrat and she was taller than most Asian women with longer legs and not as much slanting to her brown eyes. Only a provocative tilt that hinted at her ancestry above a cupid-nose and gracefully cupped chin. Her face was delicate and feminine but he imagined that it would look impish if she smiled. Her lips were the kind that begged a man to kiss them, reddened, bow-shaped, and full.
Yet after all was said and done, it was the shape of Lia’s lithely-rounded hips and what was between that really drew him. He was not a celibate man, at least he'd not been before he was disfigured. So he'd seen his share of women’s cunt’s before. Yet Lia’s, seeing it for the first time, was unique and would be delectable to any man, he argued with himself. It was the way the downy curls of her ebony-colored pubic hair did not cover her pussy lips so that a man could easily see her little girls pink slit.
He stopped beside her. Very close. Seeing that her eyes were still clenched and she was silently crying. No wracking sobs behind the gag any longer, just quivers. He found that it heightened his sense of revenge to have her quivering before him and it was then that he decided on the first way he would make her pay without using the whip. It was, he thought, brilliant.
“My name is Ravenscar and you will never call me anything else but Ravenscar,” he commanded in his grating voice, watching Lia’s eyelids scrunch tighter. “And I will call you, my pussy, my whore, or my slut!”
A small helpless sound escaped Lia’s throat. Ignoring the sound Harrison reached his gloved hand forward to touch his fingertips between the impressive cleavage of her uplifted breasts. She panted in fear, he assumed, as he watched her pink-colored nipples crimp tight into quarter-inch spikes thrusting forward in trembling shame. He languidly stroked his fingertips through her cleavage, downward over her fragile rib cage and petted further to her shivering belly. Her skin was unblemished, an ivory-cream color, and he experienced a rabid desire to feel it against his scarred flesh without the gloves. But not yet. First she must be made to learn the impersonality of the gloves she was responsible for.
“Spread your legs . . . pussy,” he whispered insidiously.
“M-m-m!” Lia’s head jerked fearfully back and forth as her voluptuous nude body undulated against the restraints holding her.
“You cannot stop me,” he rasped, pressing closer to her shivering body as he stroked his gloved hands deliberately lower to the top of her curling black pubic hair. Lia’s lush conical-shaped breasts heaved upward beneath her anguished and labored breathing, then he deliberately moved his hands, circling and plucking at the jutting spikes of her shamelessly aroused nipples. He pulled both of her nipples outward between his gloved fingertips, engorging and stiffening them further into fevered rosy-pink.
“A-! A-!”
Lia’s nude body squirmed sinuously as she tried to twist away while he abraded the swollen plump spikes of her nipples relentlessly with a rolling motion between the leather of his thumb and first finger. She tried to writhe away again, this time coming up on her toes for leverage and he stopped her quickly by pushing his knee between her bare shaking thighs. He continued pressing his knee upward until her cunt rode his leg and her back was pressed hard against the bedpost behind her.
“Now we will play, my little pussy,” he whispered harshly.
Lia’s eyelids jerked open and he saw her anguish and fear before he turned his gaze away, telling himself that he was glad, as he clasped her breasts fully into his hands slowly kneading the meaty soft flesh. Her breasts were young and firm, weighting his hands elegantly as he began to incessantly play her nude body like a finely tuned instrument beneath his gloved fingers. He fondled and petted her exquisitely rounded contours until she was writhing in passion despite herself.
She ardently rode her legs over his thigh, rolling her drenched cunt across the width of his leg as he stroked his gloved hands once again over every contour of her opulent curves. Starting high on her arms stretched upward over her head, to sweep down into the hollows of her armpits, lingering over her breasts, belly, hips, and the back of her firm thighs. Her head fell forward in defeat with her face pressed into the crook of his neck as he groped his hands around each of her buttocks deeply massaging the pliable female flesh over and over. Each kneading motion of his splayed fingers rode her cunt up over his thigh and thrust her pillowed breasts into the wall of his chest.
She began whimpering . . . erotic sounds not in fright this time but of needy arousal. The sound shocked him out of his own haze of passion and he abruptly realized that he'd been grinding his stiff dick against her hot cunt like a humping beast.
“Christ,” he swore holding himself still, gripping Lia’s buttocks tightly with their groins locked together. The posture he held her posed in lifted her shapely legs upward around his hips. “How does it feel to be a bitch in heat?” he hissed with a sneer. Trying desperately to break the tension.
Lia wailed, it was a hurt humiliated sound as she jerked over his thigh. Possibly trying to escape but with nowhere to go it only rubbed the heat of her cunt, hot over his impassioned cock. He snarled in denial yet his hands which were filled with her lush feminine ass lifted her too easily to slide up and down the raging length of his dick. God. He did it again and she mewled with the sound of longing and denial.
“Your limitless lust will make you my slave,” he hissed. Wondering vicariously as his own lust drew hard on him which one of them he truly meant. Then he angled his body back and grasped Lia’s smoldering drenched pussy into his gloved hand. Squeezing. “Look at me,” he demanded as she whimpered sharply and turned her head away from him.
He grabbed a thick pile of her waist length hair and tugged, stretching her neck as he forced her to face him. With his other hand holding her exquisitely hot cunt, he stretched his middle finger forward searching for the opening of her vagina. Her irises were black with passion and fear as he caressed her tender entrance with his gloved finger, circling more . . . prodding lightly.
Chloe died a hundred shameful deaths as Ravenscar penetrated her convulsing core with his leather encased finger. How could she respond? How could she undulate her hips so wildly and ride his fingering like the begging slut he wrongly named her! Only nothing mattered but the friction of leather abrading her and plunging deeper inside her with ever stronger thrusts.
“A- A- ,” she cried against the gag as Ravenscar began to smudge his thumb over the bead of her clitoris while his other finger coupled her harder. Her thighs lifted and spread wider with intense erotic begging motions as her head fell back and her breasts thrust forward brazenly.
Suddenly . . . horrifically . . . he stopped! She wailed with a muffled sound beneath the gag as he pulled away from her and stepped backward leaving her throbbing . . . and unrequited . . . and quivering in shameful lust. It was horrible! She was left in agony to watch Ravenscar smiling at her with his heavy-lidded gaze of coal black eyes and his sneer of impossibly handsome lips over arrogant white teeth.
“My slave,” he rasped venomously as he slowly began to take off his gloves and she hung there, his prisoner, knowing if the gag were not in her mouth that she would be begging him to touch her again.
Chapter Three
When Chloe saw Ravenscar’s hands, she flinched in reaction and she knew with little doubt that Lia was responsible for the scarring injuries. The man before her was seeking revenge. Seeking retribution where there could only be Buddha’s serene judgements. Yet he would take his own justice out on her because he thought she was Lia. She whimpered then, woefully in fear and with the unrequited arousal harshly riding her. What would he do to her? What would he do?
“Are you wondering who I am, Lia?” he asked with a wicked sliding whisper.
Didn’t she know, Chloe thought fearfully? Didn’t Lia know?
“It must be driving that sharp vixen’s mind of yours mad not to know . . . or why.”
Why wouldn’t Lia know, Chloe wondered with raising panic? Ravenscar neared and she twisted against the silk holding her wrists above her head.
“Perhaps when you are my complete slave I will tell you as a reward for your slavish obedience to me.”
Oh Buddha, save me, Chloe thought desperately! Save me!
“Right before I toss you out the door.”
He would release her!
“That is the moment that I live for, Lia. The moment when you will crawl on your hands and knees begging me to take you back. But I will refuse!”
Then Chloe screamed, a terrible wracking sound caught behind the gag as Ravenscar put his roughly scarred hands on her bare waist sliding them downward over her hips.
“Damnation,” Harrison rasped. His petite captive had fainted again! He quickly caught her up into his arms removing the gag and the bonds around her wrists. Then he easily lifted her, carrying her to the bed. Why was she not acting at all as he expected? How in the hell did a master spy such as Lia faint? History told that she was made of much sterner stuff than that. After he laid her on the bed, he checked her once again to make certain that she truly had fainted. Nevertheless, she had and he sat on the bed beside her where she lay limply on her back.
There was no denying that she was a beautiful erotic woman, he thought, taking an unobserved moment to stroke his fingers through her midnight-colored hair. He could not exactly feel the tresses with his scarred fingers, however he could see that the blue-black strands were sensuously silky. It was easy to envision why Bonaparte had fallen all over himself to have the little vixen as his mistress when Drummond had first planted her in Paris to be just that. She had started out as England’s spy but turned coat . . . When? Why?
What disturbed him the most was her eyes, he thought, as he stroked the part of his finger that could feel sensation over the creamy-smooth flesh of her cheek. Could any individual truly feint such innocence reflected through guileless eyes the color of chocolate-cinnamon?
“I am not, Lia! I am her twin sister, Chloe!”
Harrison reacted instinctively, grasped Lia’s wrists, piling them over her head with one hand and leaving her stretched out beneath him. He took a moment to catch his startled breath, and then he laughed. A harsh sound given the condition of his voice.
“It’s true,” Lia cried beneath him. Interestingly with puckered pink nipples and thrashing long lithe legs.
Fuck! He could not deny wanting the witch. “You will have to do better than that, my little soullion,” he charged harshly.
“No, it is true! You must believe me,” she cried, bucking her hips upward with a healthy struggle.
Harrison rolled himself on top of her, grinding her to a shaking halt. “You will be silent,” he hissed. “Or I will take the whip to your ass!”
Lia heaved a shuttering breath beneath him and he glimpsed huge teardrops in the corners of her eyes before she turned her face away from him. Why did she sound so strange? An American accent? It was another trick! “If you say one more word, vixen, I will gag you again. Do you understand?” he growled.
Lia nodded her head still turned to one side and lay still beneath him yet he could feel she was trying to hold back her tears. She was playing him! He suddenly grabbed her to push her onto her stomach. She screamed, and then she choked on some more sobs as he straddled her hips.
“Give me your wrists,” he snarled, grabbing at them but she wedged her arms beneath her chest.
“But I am not Lia!” she wailed. “I hate Lia! Lia uses me!” Harrison practically growled in frustration until he’d gotten Lia’s wrists above her head and tied to the bedpost. “Listen to me, please! Please! We are twin-n-n . . . ” Harrison pulled the red satin gag snugly across Lia’s mouth. Thank god, he thought, leaning back to rest on his heels over the back of Lia’s thighs as he ran an impatient hand through his disheveled shoulder length hair. He rested there, staring at the small scar on the back of Lia’s perfectly molded thigh. She was gasping on her sobs beneath the gag, twisting her wrists against the red silk binding her to the bedpost. Damnation, he’d be a limp prick fool to believe anything she said . . . Only his prick was not limp, it was raging, and his memory was relentless.
. . . That night over two years ago was purported to simply be an information gathering operation. His team the Archangels planned to break into Josephine Bonaparte’s apartment and gather what information they could find. It should have been fairly easy. Lia, playing Napoleon’s mistress, had passed along the information that Josephine had gone to the countryside for several days, if not weeks. Napoleon did not live with his estranged wife, yet he visited her there often. That and the intelligence gathered by the Archangels showed that many top Bonaparte officials courted Josephine’s favor and visited her apartment. The chances of finding something useful there were favorable.
Their leader Drummond sent three of them. Only seven people had known of the operation. The time, the date, and the place. And those seven people were, the six men of the Archangel spying team . . . and Lia.
Harrison went to those apartments with Radford and Saxonhurst. That should have been enough. Nothing would have been enough after what they met there. It had been a setup made to look like it wasn’t. Made to appear as though the servants had just gotten lucky and discovered them. Made to appear as if those servants were just defending themselves from a burglary attempt.
But he'd fought with those servants. He’d killed two of them. They were military trained. Saxonhurst thought perhaps and Radford wasn’t sure. But he knew. They had been trained. It also explained the explosion and why the chemicals had been there in the first place. It was not just simply a cache of fireworks stored for the up coming New Year celebration, right next to the cases of pure Russian vodka in the cellar. His hands were not scarred by fire, but by acid, and his throat was not burned by the heat, but by fumes. The tremendous explosion had cost Radford one eye and Saxonhurst his hand. They were all lucky to have made it out of there alive. Interestingly, none of the servants were harmed in the explosion . . . they had all fled just before the fire ignited. Someone went to immeasurable trouble to make it look as though this was all an accidental happening. . . . and he'd never disabused Drummond or the others of this notion. They all thought it could be . . . Yet no one knew except him.
He'd gone back to the charred and ruined apartments. With his hands in bandages and his throat still so burned that he was unable to speak. In the charred remains he'd found the remnants of the broken glass beaker that must have carried the acid . . . yet he had not found one piece of bottle that would carry Russian vodka . . .
“. . . Damn lying, bitch,” Harrison snarled, angrily coming out of his memories.
He moved his position over Lia’s back until he could wedge her thighs open with his knees. She tried to twist away from him but there was no place for her to go and the motion drew and flexed the ivory flesh of her buttock cheeks erotically beneath his gaze. She was helpless, exposed, and spread before him as he reached his bare hand between her thighs and clasped his fingers over her fevered cunt.
Lia moaned and he laughed hoarsely, delving his fingers deep into the eddy of her feminine flesh . . . so tender and wet, until he found the pearl of her clitoris. God, it had been so long since he had touched a woman this way and he was surprised at all that his scarred hands could feel. He could feel the heat of her, the pulsing sharp throbs, and the fragile texture of her clit swelling and drawing upward. He rubbed firmly over the aroused nubbin of flesh and Lia answered with the sound of a deeply sensual mewl of longing. She lifted her ass upward to him in a purely feminine begging way.
“Lusty, rosebud,” he rasped gruffly, chasing the hardening pearl of her clitoris around with his finger. Faster, faster . . . faster.
“Aa- Aa-!”
“Yes, I know,” Harrison crooned unable to stop himself from placing mouthy hot kisses along the graceful slope of Lia’s back, as he circled his finger harder on her clit bringing her to the edge of a climax. “Beg me to let you come, Lia,” he commanded hoarsely as he loosened her gag. “Beg me.”
“Ah hh-! Ravenscar, please!” she cried.
“Swear to me that you will do anything I command,” he demanded.
“Ye-Nn! OhBuddha save me. Please!”
“Swear to me,” he hissed, and then abruptly he took his hand away from her trembling cunt.
“Noo! R-Ravenscar, please!” she wailed, tugging her wrists frantically against her bonds. “Don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me like this!”
“Swear to me,” he hissed as he once more reached between her quivering inner thighs to cup her throbbing hot cunt into his hand. Squeezing. Dipping his fingers and wetting them in her arousal.
“Please! Please! Buddha help me, don’t do this to me!” she cried as she wriggled wantonly over his hand, spreading her knees, supplicating to him with the rise and erotic undulation of her buttocks. “Ohh! I will do anything!”
“Swear, Rosebud, swear,” he snarled the command as he relentlessly tweaked her passion again with a pluck of his fingertips nipping at the thrust of her clitoris.
“Oh hh!” she mewled convulsively with her entire voluptuous body shuddering. “Please! I swear! I swear!” she squealed.
“Then raise up on your knees,” he commanded roughly.
Chloe knew the act was shameful somewhere in her passion raped mind, however she could not care! She quickly crawled up onto her knees grasping the bed post as an anchor because of her wrists bound to its width. All she understood was that she would surely die if her captor, Lord Ravenscar left her unrequited again on the brink of a climax! It was torture of the cruelest measure and she knew that he would do it over and over again if she did not yield. Buddha save her worthless soul, she had always been too weak!
“You are going to do exactly everything I command of you,” Ravenscar uttered as he relentlessly toyed with her sex. Keeping her agonizingly and painfully on the edge of a wrenching orgasm. “Or I will do this to you again and again. Until you go mad. Now tell me!”
“Yes, Ravens-scar,” she sobbed on a choked cry while anguished and passion-racked tears streamed down her flushed cheeks. “A-Anything you demand. Anything!”
“Excellent,” he rasped. “And now for your reward. Turn over, Rosebud.”
Chloe felt Ravenscar rising up behind her as his hand left her loins and she convulsed with torturous need. Then his roughly-scarred hands were there urging her onto her back. She was so shaken that she wobbled until he laid her stretched out on her back with her arms crossed over each other still tied to the bedpost. But she kept her eyes clenched tight against seeing him . . . seeing herself enslaved by him. And because she had her eyes closed, she did not know where he was positioned until she felt his long hair brushing her inner thighs making her jerk in reaction.