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Books by Kate Pearce
SIMPLY SEXUAL
SIMPLY SINFUL
SIMPLY SHAMELESS
SIMPLY WICKED
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
SIMPLY WICKED
KATE PEARCE
This book is dedicated to my mother-in-law, Lolo, who didn’t like to read the “naughty bits” but was always thrilled by my
success anyway. Rest in peace.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
1
London 1819
“Oh God, where am I?”
Anthony Sokorvsky opened one eye and swiftly closed it again. The birch floorboards he’d glimpsed and the black walls hung with instruments of pain and sexual gratification meant only one thing: he was still at Madame Helene’s pleasure house. He licked his lips, tasting dried blood, brandy and the acrid tang of another man’s cum.
With a groan he rolled onto his stomach, wincing as his morning erection scraped the rough wood. He was naked and still in the punishment corner. At least someone had had the decency to take the manacles from his wrists. Gingerly he sat up, fighting the urge to retch with every painful movement. What the hell had he done last night?
He stifled another groan. Nothing worse, he suspected, than he’d subjected himself to for the last few months. But something had changed. For the first time, the pain had far outweighed the pleasure. His wrists were bruised, his arse hurt and his back was torn from the lash of a whip. He buried his hands in his hair and closed his eyes.
God, what kind of man allowed himself to be used by other men for their sexual pleasure? At first, it had excited him. Now, it simply felt like he deserved it. He was almost twenty-six; surely it was time to move on?
A discreet cough sounded at the doorway. Blinking, Anthony forced himself to look up. Judd, Madame Helene’s butler, bowed and held out a brown embroidered dressing gown.
“Good morning, my lord. I have a fresh set of clothes waiting for you downstairs in Madame’s apartment and a bath if you would like.”
Vaguely, Anthony looked around for his own clothes and couldn’t see them. With a sigh, he held out his hand for the dressing gown.
“Thank you, Judd. I’ll be along in a moment.”
He couldn’t bear to meet the older man’s gaze. What must the butler think of him wallowing in a shameful pool of lust of his own making? His last conscious thought, before sexual pain and pleasure had converged to render him senseless, was of Lord Minshom bending over him—his laughter as Anthony came helplessly against the unforgiving floor.
Grimacing, Anthony stumbled to his feet and grabbed the mantelpiece for support. There must have been others. Faceless, nameless men he’d allowed to fuck and fondle him, hurt him if they liked. God, what was wrong with him?
Sunlight streamed through the windows on the lower levels as Madame’s efficient servants brought the house back to perfection before the revelry began all over again. He felt his way down to the basement, where Madame kept her apartment, and breathed a sigh of relief when he found the bedroom empty, the bath beyond already filled and awaiting him.
With a groan, he sank into the perfumed depths. His flesh stung as he discovered new hurts inflicted upon him. Even his hair was filthy with other men’s leavings. He slid down into the bath and allowed the water to close over his head. For a long moment he held his breath, thought about letting it out, of water filling his lungs, of peace…
“Anthony?”
He resurfaced with a start to find Madame Helene sitting beside the bath. She wore a plain blue gown that did little to dim her natural allure. She was easily the most beautiful woman Anthony had ever seen, and he had observed plenty at the pleasure house—Madame Helene made sure of that.
“Anthony, why are you still here?”
He blinked slowly at her, allowing the water droplets to run down his face.
“I’m not sure. I must’ve fallen asleep.”
She sighed and leaned forward to pat his shoulder. He swallowed hard at the soft contact. After the harshness of the night, her touch was almost unbearable. His eyes began to sting.
“Anthony, mon ami, I am worried about you. We are all worried about you.”
He sat up straighter to study her concerned face. “God, Valentin doesn’t know what I do here, does he?”
She shrugged, the motion as fluid and elegant as a cat’s. “I haven’t told him, but Peter knows. I’m not sure if he would tell your brother or not.”
Anthony continued to stare at her, his fingers gripping the edge of the bath until they hurt. “You won’t ever tell Val, will you?”
“Why not? He of all men might understand why you allow these men to do what they want to you.”
“Val wouldn’t understand. After his experiences with Aliabad in Turkey he told me he hates being touched by men. What the hell is he going
