The Seduction of Viscount Vice (Fallen Book 3) Read online

  Jerking in surprise at a sudden puff of air against his cock, he glanced down. Hell. Mairi had unfastened his trousers and was now licking her lips as she inspected him.

  “Hmm,” she said idly. “Even bigger than I remember. Iain.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what? Don’t touch your cock? Don’t make you come on my breasts or in my mouth? I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

  Vice clenched his fists. At this rate, he’d be spending in his trousers long before her hands or mouth got anywhere near him. And the witch knew it, damn her. “Dinnae call me Iain.”

  “Or what? You’ll punish me? You know, for the latest earthly incarnation of Pan, you aren’t being of much use.”

  With a low growl, he picked Mairi up and turned her around so she faced the window. Bracing her right foot on the ground and her left knee on the cushioned seat, he moved her chemise out of the way and administered one sharp swat to her smooth, heart-shaped backside. “Yes.”

  “You did not just spank me…mmmm.”

  Her hum of delight made him smile, a small reward for sinking two of his fingers into her soaked cunt. “I did indeed. And your outrage would be far more believable if pussy juice wasn’t trickling down your thighs.”

  “Are you going to fuck me properly, or just be a b-bastard?”

  Holding off his own pleasure was nigh on killing him, but in response, he withdrew his fingers and lightly stroked her slick folds, circling her clit but not touching it. “I’m undecided. Are you going to tell me about your business?”

  “There is n-nothing to tell. You…you unspeakable cur.”

  “Come on, Mairi. That is the weakest insult you’ve leveled at me. And here I was thinking you were a Highland lass. All those years amongst French dandies has ruined you.”

  She laughed, but it was an oddly hollow sound. “No, Iain. You ruined me. Remember?”

  “How could I forget?” he said softly. “Finally rid of the burden of my virginity at the grand old age of seventeen. I don’t think I ever thanked you properly.”

  “Thank me now, damn you.”

  Vice began teasing her swollen clit, a light stroke, a long pause. Again and again. “So contrary, Lady Mairi. Here I am, being gentlemanly and wanting to engage in meaningful conversation, and all you want is my cock buried in your cunt. But I can’t in good conscience do that, not when I’m so concerned about your wellbeing. Working your fingers to the bone sewing and cleaning—”

  “How else will the club be ready in time?” she said on a sobbing pant. “I have to do it, or I’ll never get my chance.”

  The club? Her chance?

  “What do you mean?” he demanded, but Mairi’s head dropped, her shoulders shaking.

  “Please, Iain. Please, please, please…”

  His control broke at her distress, her fierce need and his own too powerful to ignore.

  “All right, darling,” he said gruffly, freeing his cock from his unfastened trousers and gliding it along her drenched slit to coat himself in her juices. Even as wet as she was, he could still hurt her with his size if he wasn’t careful. “Don’t cry. I’m going to make you come now.”

  “Yes,” Mairi said hoarsely, one of her hands scrabbling around and gripping his thigh. “Hurry. Please hurry.”

  Vice ground his teeth against the urge to thrust brutally deep, instead penetrating her one careful inch at a time. Fuck, her pussy was gripping his cock like a perfect silken glove. “No. Has to be slow. You’re small. So tight.”

  “Please.”

  It seemed nothing had changed in ten years. He was as susceptible to her wishes as ever.

  Curving himself along her back, lacing his fingers with the hand that Mairi had rested on the window for balance, he pushed all the way in. She groaned as he stretched her, quivering, but in her current position she was so open, her greedy pussy so wet, that he was seated to the hilt in an instant. His cock throbbed, his balls so tight they ached, and it took every ounce of his willpower to remain still while Mairi adjusted to his size. Then she gave a guttural whimper, not of discomfort, but raw desire and anticipation.

  Taking his cue, Vice withdrew then thrust forward, making her moan.

  “More?” he murmured, nipping her neck.

  “Faster. Harder,” she replied, her hips tilting to ease his way. “I need this. And I think you do, too. Has it been a wee while, Iain?”

  His breath hissed between his teeth. How the fuck did she know that? For the impertinence, he pulled back with agonizing slowness, before ramming forward hard and deep.

  Mairi cried out. “Again. Oh God, again. I’m close. So close.”

  A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye made him turn his head. A well-dressed couple stood on the footpath outside the building, their mouths agape. How much detail could they see? He was still clothed. Mairi’s chemise offered slight cover, but the movements of sexual congress were unmistakable. Shit. Just because he was completely comfortable with, nay, craved an audience, didn’t mean she did. The fact they had once fucked over and over beside a creek, risking the chance of being watched or caught, meant nothing. Mairi hadn’t done that because she yearned for the excitement of an audience’s attention and reaction. She’d had one specific goal of ending an unwanted betrothal by ruining herself, and that was the location where her chosen partner in crime happened to be.

  “Uh, Mairi,” he muttered. “It seems we have spectators.”

  She turned her head and Vice paused, ready to carry her away from their position to one of privacy. But instead of trying to cover herself, Mairi lifted the hand resting on his thigh and cupped her left breast, nudging aside her chemise to expose her dark pink nipple to the couple.

  Stunned, he sucked in a harsh breath, almost unable to comprehend her action. Fortunately, his body wasn’t battling the same confusion. Pure instinct guided his cock to thrust harder and harder, ravenous for heat and friction, and that delicious pressure was centering in his groin.

  “He envies me,” gritted out Vice. “That man. He does nae want to be strolling chastely with her, but in here, buried inside your sweet cunt…”

  Mairi managed to muffle her scream, but there was no disguising the sharp inner spasms of her orgasm, the powerful waves battering them both. With one final thrust, he somehow remembered to pull out of her welcoming warmth, as the violent pulsing of his own climax overwhelmed him and long spurts of come coated the small of her back.

  Swiftly attending to her with a square of linen from his pocket, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward and nipping her neck, the urge to mark her as his uncontrollable.

  He was in serious trouble.

  Fucking her hadn’t eased his need, only intensified it. He was like a damned addict, even now wondering when he could have her again, despite the fact she was practically shrouded in secrets. Today had only added to that mystique, with her confessions about a club and some chance she so desperately wanted, and her startlingly enthusiastic response to their audience of two.

  Hell. Unraveling the enigma that was Mairi MacNair could well be an impossible task.

  Chapter Four

  Any moment now, she would be crushed by an avalanche of jade cock rings. Either that, or the pyramid of barrels containing whips, crops, and floggers.

  Hardly daring to breathe, Mairi tiptoed around the elegant but precarious displays and glared at Yvette’s handwritten list for the hundredth time. It felt like she, Ramsey, and Olivier had been pacing the length and breadth of this outwardly nondescript Blackfriars warehouse for days, and there were still so many things they needed to get. Dildos. Peacock feathers. Lengths of satin and leather for restraints. Semiprecious jewels.

  Again, she fought a tide of resentment. Much like the cleaning, hefting bulky packages and traipsing the town running errands was old Mairi, surely not someone about to be a pleasure club lead act. But Yvette had crisply pointed out that she had been spending a great deal of time indoors lately, was starti
ng to look sallow, and a wan-looking woman definitely could not appear in a grand opening. So she had donned a serviceable green-striped cambric gown and straw bonnet, selected her most comfortable slippers, and here she was. Buying enough damned cock rings for a regiment.

  “You know, my lady,” said Olivier, clearing his throat, “for someone who shattered her chastity belt so thoroughly yesterday, you are looking very sad.”

  Mairi stilled, then pasted a bright smile on her face before glancing at him. “Not sad. Just…quite tired. I didn’t sleep so well last night.”

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  Because every time I run an errand for Yvette, the woman who saved my life, I’m betraying Iain, the man I want and need so much more every time I’m near him.

  Yesterday had been…beyond words.

  The way he’d touched her. Readied her. Taken her.

  Being pleasured in full view of the street had been erotic enough. But when he’d made her aware of the well-dressed young couple standing outside, it was like she’d become another person. Someone beautiful. Wanton. Free to not only indulge in her own desires, but revel in them. She’d been unable to stop herself behaving outrageously and caressing her uncovered breast to further scandalize the two bystanders. But it had been Iain’s rough, blunt words in her ear about envy which had hurled her over the edge. That dizzying climax had been a true le petit mort.

  And now her emotions had gone quite Bedlamite. Making her crave something, or more specifically someone, she couldn’t have. When Iain had marked her, his huge body wrapped so protectively, so possessively around her, she’d wanted nothing more than to curl up in his lap and have him stroke her hair. Because that was exactly what should happen in the building about to house a pleasure club that would steal his patrons away. It was fortunate that Ramsey had appeared with a tea tray when he did. Otherwise she might have forgotten herself, and her actual future, completely.

  Shaking her head, Mairi sighed and looked away from Olivier. “No reason. I just have a lot on my mind with the club opening.”

  The Frenchman snorted. “I am sure. You know, my lady, you could choose love. Madame Yvette does not deserve such service and loyalty as you give—”

  “Be quiet,” she hissed. “What if she had walked past Ramsey and me that day in Calais? I would have no one. He is my only family, and, because of Yvette, is alive and well. I owe her the greatest debt possible.”

  “All right, all right.” Olivier held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

  “What is going on here?” said a gruff voice behind her.

  Mairi took a deep breath before turning on her heel and answering. “Nothing, Ramsey. I’m just tired and a bit hungry.”

  Her manservant’s lips tightened. “Why don’t you step outside and get some air, my lady? There is a tea shop two doors down. I saw it on the way in. Go and get a pasty or scone.”

  “Good idea,” added Olivier. “Before you start chewing on cock rings and we are forced to buy even more.”

  Despite herself, Mairi smiled. “Very well. I’ll be back soon.”

  After the slight gloom of the warehouse, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the bright afternoon sunlight, but she hurried along the footpath to the tea shop. Soon she was seated with both a steaming cup of tea and a buttered raisin scone, allowing herself several blissful minutes for rest and refreshment before making her way back outside.

  “Lady Mairi! Well, hello there! How are you?”

  Mairi froze as two vaguely familiar women stepped in her path and smiled warmly at her. Both were enviably petite and voluptuous, one a stunningly beautiful blonde in a topaz-colored gown, the other a striking redhead in sapphire blue. “Er…good afternoon.”

  The redhead laughed. “Sorry! Did we startle you? Why the frown? You are Lady Mairi MacNair, are you not? I’ve heard you described in such detail I practically have a portrait in my head.”

  Detail? Damnation. Her mind was mud. “I…yes. My apologies, this heat and a lack of sleep have me quite at a loss.”

  “Or perhaps you are still recovering from an afternoon of Vice,” said the blonde, grinning mischievously.

  Recognition dawned, and she almost gasped in horror. The redhead was Lady Eliza Deveraux, wife of Fallen’s Devil, and the blonde Lady Grace St. John, wife of Sin. Bloody hell, they’d almost caught her returning to the sexual accessories warehouse! “I’m not sure what you mean,” she lied clumsily.

  “Oh pooh,” said Eliza. “Don’t think for a moment we are judging you. Our virtue cards are moldy from disuse. Good grief, the two of us are here to be fitted for pirate costumes that barely cover our backsides. Our wonderful modiste, Madame Alice, is just across the street.”

  “And then,” added Grace with a wink, “we are going to buy some pleasure toys. Eliza wants to invest in a proper flogger, and I’m always lured to the dildo displays. My husband tells me I have an addiction, but strangely enough, he is always on hand to admire new samples when they arrive.”

  Laughter bubbled, until Eliza fixed her with a sharp, intelligent gaze.

  “So, what brings you to Blackfriars, my lady? You may as well tell us. We are going to be great, great friends, and such confidences should be shared from the outset.”

  Mairi looked away, her stomach twisting and turning into horrid knots. She’d never had a close female friend, and the thought of not one but two ladies who were humorous and bold and thoroughly open-minded when it came to sexual matters was almost irresistible. Yet Worldly opening would impact them, and their husbands, too. They would hate and shun her if they knew what was she was really doing, not stop for friendly gossip. “I…I was also compelled to visit the warehouse that sells the toys.”

  “Ha!” said Grace. “Isn’t it splendidly entertaining? What items did you like best?”

  “The peacock feathers were pretty. And the satin with paste jewels. Imagine strutting around on a candlelit stage wearing nothing but a single feather or a few glittering bows. Being watched and wanted by a whole audience,” she said dreamily.

  There was a long silence, and Mairi swallowed hard, wanting to kick herself for the foolishly unguarded comment. She had to keep her wits about her.

  “Well, well.” Eliza’s lips twitched. “A match made in heaven, then. Do say you’ll come to supper. I know our husbands are both eager to meet you.”

  “Oh, yes!” said Grace. “Tonight!”

  Pure craving had her biting her lip. A chance to see Iain at home, relaxed, in a social situation with his friends. Sublime food and drink. Interesting and deliciously scandalous conversation with men and women her own age. To pretend just for a few hours to be Lady Mairi MacNair again, a wellborn equal, not a poor seamstress.

  “I can’t.”

  “Nonsense,” said Eliza. “We’ll send a carriage at seven for supper at eight sharp. Vice could take you on a tour of Fallen. Show you our costume chambers. And the pirate ship, the stage for our very best shows.”

  Damnation. It seemed the devil wasn’t Eliza’s husband, but Eliza herself, dangling such a wicked temptation in front of her. And Yvette would strangle her if she refused this gilt-edged opportunity for further information gathering sans breeches. “Very well, then. Seven o’clock.”

  “Excellent!” said Grace, beaming. “Well, we’d better get ourselves to Madame Alice’s. Until later, Lady Mairi!”

  She waved them away with a smile but rubbed both arms against an icy inner chill. What was ill-advised before had become risky to the extreme. This would have to be the end of her short affair with Iain. The chance of happily ever after was not a luxury a person in her position could afford. Reality was Worldly’s successful opening and discharging her debt to Yvette. The only fantasy she could hope for was performing onstage. Finally making her own dream of being free, unshackled by convention or poverty or obligation, come true.

  Nothing else could matter.

  …

  “By the by, we’re having a guest to supper.”
/>   Vice halted on the stair and glanced sideways at Devil. “I swear, if you have climbed aboard the matchmaking cart, I will take one of Eliza’s canes and break it over your head.”

  His friend shrugged. “Don’t shoot the messenger. I just do as my wife instructs.”

  “How fucking convenient.”

  Devil’s grin contained entirely too much smirk. “Isn’t it? I’m sure you won’t mind this particular guest, though. It’s Lady Mairi. Eliza and Grace bumped into her when they were out shopping and took it upon themselves to issue the invitation.”

  What the bloody hell?

  Fierce anticipation at seeing Mairi roared through him, swiftly followed by harsh caution. “Is that wise? I won’t have my investigator’s full report until the end of the week.”

  “So do some more investigating of your own. Fallen is your territory, you can be in the position of power for once. We’ll all help, and the ladies will interrogate the hell out of Lady Mairi in their delicate, charming, smiling-assassin way.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Vice snapped. “I could have at least prepared myself.”

  Devil raised an eyebrow. “You look fine. Cravat equally puffed, jacket fits like a glove, hair bordering on civilized in a queue…”

  “Fuck off. I meant prepare mentally. Questions. Topics of conversation. The menu. What if something is served that Mairi doesn’t like?”

  “Good God. You do have it bad. But the menu is in hand. Grace specifically asked Chef to prepare a few Scottish dishes in her honor. Herbed bannock bread and cock-a-leekie soup thickened with barley, to start.”

  “Did someone say cock-a-leekie soup?” an achingly familiar voice in the foyer called. “Then I’m famished.”

  Devil greeted Mairi then excused himself to find his wife. Vice walked toward her when he actually wanted to halt and admire the view. Sure, he’d always prefer her in breeches for unhindered enjoyment of her legs and backside, but the simple ruby-red gown she wore made her eyes seem even bluer. Far better, her long, silken curls weren’t tucked under a wig or swept up in a severe chignon but flowed freely down her back, held away from her face by thin wooden combs.