about it for three years. Camille had sighed long and loud about how her husband wasn’t interested in her female attributes, but her dramatic twin played the tortured queen to a tee. And she couldn’t deny Heath’s excitement as he stood behind her, rubbing himself against her backside while Rutledge slapped her sister’s bare behind.
Heath raked a hand through his dark, disheveled hair, challenging her with his cocky gaze. He was a damn sight more fabulous than his father.
“We’ll make it easy,” he crooned as he fingered the head of his shaft. Like a brilliant purple mushroom it teased at her. A single droplet of moisture seeped from its tip.
Colette licked her lips.
“Yes, he would love to be in your mouth, sweet lady,” Heath murmured, “but he saw your sister’s hot little hole…the honey running from it…and he wants his honey, too. I can smell your heat from here, Colette. You can’t deny your excitement—your inner quivering at the naughty thought of fucking your husband in the hallway where someone might happen by.”
Damn him! The man had no scruples, no decency! It was a sure bet Daisy and Mrs. Douthit had left the music room by now, and the maids would soon come to their chambers to freshen and turn down their beds for the night. Her insides tightened while in her vivid imagination, she pictured Heath bending her forward so he could plunder her with the surge of heat that marked all of his sexual escapades. While it sometimes irritated her that he became so rapidly aroused and just as fast shot his wad, such capabilities had their advantages…
He stepped toward her, his eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you want your bottom smacked. I’m just the man to do it, too!”
“Take it and be done, then!” she spat as she whirled on her heel. Colette yanked her skirts to her waist, thrusting her ass at him. They’d hastily pulled on their clothes when Manfred had summoned them downstairs, so her underthings were still in a heap on the bedroom floor. On his bedroom floor.
Heath’s victorious snicker preceded the grasp of his hot, strong hands. He pulled her back from the waist, stroking her wet lips with his long cock. “Thank God you’re not a prude like your sister!” he grunted.
She reached between her legs to align his thrust. “Camille’s no prude. She has her sensibilities—”
“Father spread her on the table after dinner and devoured her. To hear Richard tell it, she squealed like a little piggie—”
Colette’s squeal escaped before she could catch it. Heath entered her quickly and sheathed his full length, then pulled out and thrust roughly again.
“But she wasn’t exactly fighting him off,” Heath continued in a voice thick with passion. “She writhed and knocked plates to the floor while he stuck his tongue up her cunt—”
Colette clenched at the thought, at the sight in her mind. Then she blinked. Were those footsteps on the stairs? “Someone’s coming!” she grunted.
Without pulling away, Heath urged her forward by walking with his legs flanking hers. Outside his father’s suite of rooms, a tall cabinet held bedding, towels, soaps, and lotions on shelves to the left, with a tall storage compartment for mops and a bucket alongside the linens. When her husband whipped open the door, Colette quickly removed the cleaning supplies. Without a word they slipped inside and Heath pulled the door shut after them.
For long moments they held their breath, listening. The aromas of lemon wax and fresh linens and lavender bath salts filled the airless, confining space, while, with his subtle strength, Heath slowly eased her higher against the cabinet’s wall.
“Grab the rod above you,” he whispered. The warmth of his breath raised the hairs on her nape, and when she’d grasped the horizontal wooden pole he sought his satisfaction again.
Colette nipped her lip to keep from gasping. His long, thick cock slid up and down with maddening slowness, teasing her toward release, even as Daisy’s unmistakable humming announced her approach.
Why was her own maid coming to Camille’s quarters? And what if Daisy opened the cabinet to fetch fresh towels so her twin could soak in the tub? Or liniment to sooth the red cheeks of her ass? Rutledge’s handprints were as visible in her mind as they were on her sister, and the thought…the heat of that teasing, titillating discipline…those smacks and the anticipation between them…worked their fervent magic on her. Leave it to Heath to find a new place, an untried position, which reminded her how very potent and powerful he was as a lover. What woman wouldn’t relish a man who constantly sought novelty in his lovemaking?
Heath thrust high and hard inside her, and Colette gripped the pole to keep from crying out. From the depth of the bedroom came subdued voices…Daisy’s and Camille’s…and didn’t they just wish they could be witnessing this closet rendezvous? Again her husband plumbed upward, until she wondered how much farther inside her he could really go.
“I can’t last much longer, love,” he rasped. “Squeeze me now! Milk the honey from my shaft with your hot, tight cunt until I—”
“Jesus God!” From deep within, the spasms grabbed her. Colette suddenly had to thrust downward to meet his accelerating assault, mindless of the way her feverish hips thumped against the cabinet wall. The confining closeness only made her inner explosion more intense and impossible to restrain.
“Yes! Yes, my love!” Heath murmured raggedly. “Take it, now! I’m going to shoot you full of my juice, until—”
The first spurt sent her into a silent scream. With her eyes clenched and her mouth open wide, Colette answered him thrust for thrust until he’d spent himself. It was over too soon, but that didn’t really matter, did it?
As she blinked in the dimness, bringing herself back into focus, she congratulated herself: she would never surrender the way her sister had, in front of the servants while Lord Bentley wielded her shoe. She would have taken off her pump and then smacked his hand with it, had he tried to spank her! It meant she could maintain a modicum of control while caught in a tight situation. And that might come in handy if she and Camille went through with the swap they’d talked about.
Heath panted into the fabric between her shoulder blades. His body thrummed against hers until he finally slid out of her. Light kisses fanned her sweaty neck, signs of his gratitude, but Colette was already thinking ahead to how they’d avoid detection when stepping from the cabinet. Was that Daisy’s voice, echoing in the tiled bathroom as she tended Camille in the tub?
“Let me out. You’re smothering me!” she rasped.
Heath fumbled in the darkness. At long last he found the latch and the door popped open. Colette stepped out ahead of him—
And there stood Daisy, grinning. Her hands were clasped as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. “I come out to be sure you was all right, missus,” her maid said slyly. “Tight quarters in there, what with you and Master Heath and that big piggin’ cock of his.”
“That will be all, Daisy. You may return to your quarters and I’ll see to my sister, thank you,” Colette stated. “And you’ll do well to avoid my husband’s—appendages, and to keep this little rendezvous to yourself. The help will all be trying it in the closets, so nothing else will get done, you see.”
Daisy’s eyes widened warily, yet Colette saw the maid cataloguing this idea for future use. Did these inquisitive servants have nothing better to do than peep and spy and eavesdrop? She’d be damned if
