Sin. Sharon Page

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СКАЧАТЬ her quim, it pushed the other out of her arse. He pushed it back in, stretching her impossibly.

      His secret. She must think of his secret…there was something significant in what he had told her…But she was stuffed so wonderfully full. And he began to paint her an image…

      “What if you were caught like this by a man in your employ? A young footman of twenty. Randy, brawny, but still a virgin and eager to be taught by a voluptuous, experienced woman. His swollen cock would stand tall for you. You would be imprisoned yet you would control him. And then, his friend would come to see where he was. Another young man, another enormous cock. Both thrusting into you and determined to please. It would be torture for them to control their climaxes until they pleasure you. And you, my beauty, would enjoy their pain.”

      She must concentrate but his fantasy was so perfect she couldn’t resist letting herself imagine…

      His cock thrust deep and each plunge of his hips crammed her toy deep within her bottom. She rarely reached orgasm with her gentlemen. But with Rodesson it happened every time. It would happen now. The double penetration brought her to her peak without fail. Her anus was so delightfully sensitive and he knew it.

      He pounded into her, brutally hard, just as she liked it. She was so wet and slick, she loved the pounding of his hips, the strike of his solid groin against her cheeks. The ripple of her flesh with each slap sent an answering ripple of ecstasy through her butt and quim.

      “Yes, harder,” Lydia cried. She wriggled her captured hands between her belly and the bed. With a moan of pure pleasure, she reached her nubbin, the trigger for her pleasure. She must work quickly. She loved to have many climaxes this way and he would reach his peak soon. He was almost sixty after all.

      “Oh God, yes.” Two strokes took her to her first. The orgasm slammed into her, roaring through every nerve. Oh yes, yes. Such pleasure. So long had it taken her to learn of pleasure like this. She saw stars, as she did each time with this man. Stars that sparkled like priceless jewels against black velvet.

      Barely did she gain her senses from her first climax, before she brought herself to a second. And then a third. By the fifth, she no longer needed to stroke her throbbing, abraded clit. It took one deep thrust of Rodesson’s magnificent cock to make her climax again. She was soaked and finished. But he was not.

      “Withdraw,” she instructed, panting, “You must withdraw.”

      With a groan of frustration, he did. Wet, exhausted, she rolled onto her back. Her bottom hit the bed, driving the phallus impossibly deep inside her. She came with it, but the orgasm was a mere ripple through her sated body. She didn’t need to give more instruction. Rodesson moved to straddle her shoulders and he held his rigid cock down to her lips.

      Once he forced himself to wait it became almost impossible to bring him to climax. Sometimes she had to leave him unsatisfied—on the days he took her by her arse. But today, she must give him special pleasure, for she knew he had secrets to reveal.

      She tongued the head, drawing out a moan. His story had been true. Even shackled she possessed great power. She kissed the bubbling eye. “You can’t paint at all?” she whispered.

      He tried to thrust himself inside her mouth, but she kept her lips together, teasing the engorged head. “But that is not so tragic,” she reassured. “Wouldn’t your books become more valuable if it is known there is to be no more?”

      “I wish there weren’t,” he muttered, speaking more by reflex than by conscious thought.

      She took him inside then let him out to torment him once again.

      “It doesn’t work that way, love,” he said louder. For a man experiencing skilled pleasure to his cock, he looked decidedly grim. “I done a few things considered shocking in the world of publishing. Keeping me copyright, for example. But if the volumes stop, me blunt will.”

      So if she wanted anything from him, she must get it now.

      “And hell, since me money’s gone, I’m to be in dun territory. Again.”

      “Don’t think of such things, master. Let your slave suckle you and please you.”

      “You’re a talented and cunning lass, aren’t you, Lydia?”

      No, she could not let him think her cunning and calculating. She must play the courtesan who loved to please, even if he could readily see through the ruse.

      She took him deep into her mouth and he rewarded her skill by swelling large. She grabbed his buttocks and let him thrust into her as vigorously as he needed to. She curled her lips over her teeth and endured. His explosion rocked him, and for a moment she feared that his heart was not strong enough. He collapsed to the bed beside her, muttering endearments and words of appreciation.

      She breathed hard and murmured words of pleasure. He still seemed to be semi-conscious as he struggled to free her of the ropes, as he gave her the key to free her own hands.

      “Yes, you’re a talented woman…” He flopped back.

      Knowing Rodesson, she guessed he’d played cards all night and had not yet slept. Curling up beside him, she stroked the damp gray hair on his chest, and waited until he drifted into a post-coital slumber.

      Lydia slipped from the bed and drew on her silky wrapper. As she tied the belt around her waist, she padded out of the room.

      Once in her library, she scanned the leather-bound books on the crowded shelves. To extract the one she wanted, she had to tug hard to free it. With a warm sense of pride, she surveyed the books surrounding her. Her library was as well appointed as any gentleman’s.

      Stroking a finger across the gilt letters embossed in the rich leather, she lay the book on the large table. Opened it, flipped the pages until she found the first erotic picture. She then took a second book and laid it beside the first. Rodesson’s last two books, Tales of a London Gentleman and A Gentleman’s Pleasures.

      Why should his inability to paint be a secret, unless…

      She studied the pictures closely. The poses. The expressions. The style.

      Her guess had been correct. These pictures were…different.

      Who had painted Rodesson’s work?

      CHAPTER ONE

      What would her jaded lord do with his hands while the lovely courtesan knelt between his legs and kissed him intimately?

      Venetia Hamilton tapped the end of her brush against her lips as she studied her watercolor painting. Even though her earl—yes, she’d decided he was an earl—was a most experienced man, this time he’d met his match in the delightful auburn-haired woman pleasuring him.

      She couldn’t resist smiling at her imaginary earl’s downfall in the arena he believed he reigned supreme. Since his lordship was so steeped in vice, so bored by customary sensual acts, he’d begin with definite ennui, merely an onlooker to his own seduction.

      In his right hand, Venetia sketched a glass of fine champagne. In his left, since he was in the theatre box of the pretty woman, she gave him a peeled orange the size of an ample breast, large enough to fill his strong hand. No, he would not touch the woman, she decided. But in his expression…there she could show not only the desire, СКАЧАТЬ