Seducing the Master (An Erotic Historical in the Red Chrysanthemum Series) (7 page)

She tilted her chin. “Why not?”

“Because the hour is late and I am headed
home.”

He reached once more for the handle behind
her.

“Miss Terrell,” he said with exasperation
when she did not move.

“I want but one night, Master Gallant,” she
said. “For one night, bind me with your magnificent ropes, as you
had done with Mistress Scarlet. I am yours, entirely, to do as you
wish.”

“An enticing offer, and one that I am
certain Sir Arthur would welcome without hesitation.”

“But he has not your skills. With the rope,
no one can do what you do.”

“Perhaps I will have occasion to provide Sir
Arthur a lesson.”

The thought made him grimace inside, but he
was fast coming to a loss as to what he should do with Miss
Terrell.

“That will not suffice,” she replied. “You
could give him a thousand lessons. He’d not be
you
, and it
be
you
I want.”

He pinned her with a solemn stare. “Behave
yourself, Miss Terrell, or I will remove you by force.”

“I should like nothing more than to receive
your punishment, Master Gallant.”

He inhaled sharply. The saucy jade. Catching
her off-guard with a quick movement, he wrapped his arm about her
waist and whirled her over to the other side of the doorframe. She
landed against the wall with a soft thud. Disengaging himself, he
grabbed the handle of the door and pulled, intending to depart
without his usual civility.

To his surprise, the door did not open. At
first he thought it to be stuck, but then he noticed that the key
was missing from the lock. He turned to look at Miss Terrell, whose
lips curled in a slight but telling grin.

He could hardly believe the woman—the chit.
Did she truly intend to hold him hostage?

“Produce the key, Miss Terrell,” he
commanded.

She returned a smoldering stare. “Dominate
me first. Do unto me as you had done to Mistress Scarlet.”

He felt his nostrils flare. He needed no
second reminders of
her
, especially from Miss Terrell, who
now tested his patience much like Greta had, but for wholly
different purposes.

“You think impudence will gain you what you
seek?” he asked.

She leaned toward him. “If my impudence
displeases you, then punish me for it. Punish me…hard.”

He stared at her in disbelief. No woman had
ever made such a request of him. He wanted to reiterate that she
knew not what she spoke. She had witnessed but one instance of the
punishment he had applied to Miss Greta.

As if guessing his thoughts, she added, “I
can withstand anything you desire to do to me, Master Gallant.”

“That is a bold and foolhardy statement. You
know nothing of what I am capable.”

Pressing herself back against the wall, she
cupped her breasts and caressed her ribs before resting her hands
near her crotch. “Prove me wrong. I dare you to.”

He shook his head. He was done with
challenges.

“I vow I can endure more than Mistress
Scarlet, more than any person of either sex. I could be the most
perfect submissive for you.”

“Unlikely. You have already shown a penchant
for misbehavior.”

“You could correct my waywardness.”

He frowned, because the prospect did not
repulse him as he would have wanted it to.

“You need have no reservation with me,” she
continued. “You would be free to unleash your full strength, to
test the breadth of your wicked creativeness.”

“You think my ultimate desire is to inflict
pain?”

“In return, I promise you the greatest
pleasure. No woman can eat cockmeat as well as I. And, while it is
true that I have lain with several men, they all vow my cunnie is
as tight as that of a virgin.”

His blood pumped forcefully through his
veins at her words. She cupped her mons through her skirts, and a
renewed sense of urgency swelled in him.

“Miss Terrell, this
tête-à-tête
serves no purpose. I bid you desist from wasting your time as well
as mine.”

Stepping forward, she grabbed the lapels of
his coat and pulled herself closer to him. Lust burned like anger
in her eyes, calling to a primal part of him that he could not
ignore. Her skirts brushed against his legs, and her corset nearly
touched where his hardened length was fast becoming visible.

“Then ravage me.”

She reached for his burgeoning erection,
but, dropping his articles, he grasped both her wrists and pinned
them above her head to the door behind.

“Miss Terrell, I am done with this
tomfoolery. Produce the key.”

He could have threatened to report her
mischief to Joan, but he was not inclined to snitch. Devereux was
likely to laugh at his inability to handle a young woman ten years
his junior. Moreover, the consequences might prove grave for Miss
Terrell. He knew not where or how she might survive if Joan cast
her out from the Inn.

She squirmed a little in his hold. “I should
be happy to, Master Gallant,
after
you have had your way
with me. You cannot deny that you desire to do so.”

She lowered her gaze to his crotch. He
pressed his lips together in a grim line. The scent of the pomade
she used in her hair wafted into his nose once more. Their bodies
were far too close together for comfort. She slid her leg along
his. Holding her wrists aloft with one hand, he cupped her chin
with the other and lifted her gaze to meet his eyes.

‘The key, Miss Terrell,” he demanded, unable
to keep the vexation from his voice.

She did not blink and demanded, equally
hotly, “
Ravage
me.
”

Her words rang in his ears like a song of
sirens. The air between them grew thin. With a frustrated grunt, he
yanked her from the door and dragged her across the room to the
sideboard where he kept the ropes.

“You wish me to truss you, do you?” he
asked, jerking a drawer open and grabbing a cord of jute.

Her face brightened upon seeing the rope.
“Yes.”

He began wrapping her wrists. “And punish
you for your impertinence.”

“Yes!”

When he had bound her wrists with the rope,
he dragged her to a simple wooden chair and bent her over its back.
He propped his left foot upon the seat of the chair to hold it
down. Bending toward her ear, he asked, “Your safety word, Miss
Terrell?”

“I require none.”

He would have insisted or provided her one,
but if she would persist in such recklessness, then so be it. He
was out of patience with her. Straightening, he flung her skirts
over her waist, baring her arse. The breath caught in his throat as
he beheld the enticing spheres he had revealed: perfectly round,
more supple than the backsides he was accustomed to seeing. Others
might deem her derriere a bit ample, but, as he palmed a buttock,
he felt the promise of such fullness.

She moaned as he filled his hand with her
flesh, then yelped when he withdrew his hand and smacked her. The
orb quivered only a little, owing to the tightness of the flesh. He
thought of making her arse tremble long and hard, as she had
requested. He slapped her once more, much harder than he would
during the first engagement with a submissive, and elicited another
squeal.

“Thank you, Master,” she purred.

He groped her buttock, loosening it for the
next blow, which he delivered with such force she might have
toppled over, had he not secured the chair beneath his foot. She
cried out and clung to the ledge of the seat.

“Thank you, Master,” she said after a
harried breath.

“Will you produce the key now?”

“Is that all you are capable of?” she
scoffed.

He delivered several more wallops till he
knew her arse to be smarting, though the blush of pain was not as
apparent upon her darker skin.

She trembled as she spoke. “Th-Thank you,
Master.”

His hand brushed against the folds between
her thighs. Feeling moisture, he peered around a buttock and saw a
rivulet glistening down her inner thigh. The heat rose to his head.
He was tempted to touch her
there
, to fondle her and release
the desire welled within her. He wondered if Sir Arthur had visited
the paradise between her thighs.

The thought of Sir Arthur recalled him. “The
key, Miss Terrell.”

“No. I want more. If you would sink your
cock into me…either orifice would do…”

Astounded, he said nothing. This would not
do. He needed that damn key. Reaching through her skirts, he sought
her pockets but found nothing. He replaced his foot upon the ground
and pulled her up. He should not have given her a taste of what she
wanted. He retrieved another length of rope and looped it through
the cords binding her wrists. He tossed the end over a beam in the
rafters and pulled till her arms reached straight above her. If he
intended to punish her further, he would dangle her such that her
toes barely touched the floor, but he only meant to render her
immobile. After securing the rope, he stepped back to admire her
form. She tested her bonds. They held fast.

“It would seem I am at your mercy, Master
Gallant,” she said, pleased.

“Yes. You would do well to remember not to
toy with me, Miss Terrell.”

He took a step forward and touched her
corset, which laced in the front. He pulled at the ribbon. She
inhaled sharply.

“I only ask one thing,” she breathed, “that
you leave the chemise in place.”

It was an odd request, particularly from one
who displayed such unabashed lasciviousness, but he had no
intention of disrobing her. Without word, he continued to pull at
the ribbon till the top of her corset loosened. He could now easily
free her breasts from their constraints, and he was not without
curiosity to behold the twin beauties. Instead, he slid his hand
between the plump orbs and pulled out the key.

She started, perhaps having forgotten she
had hidden it there or expecting him to reach for her breasts
instead.

“Your first—and last—lesson with me, Miss
Terrell, is that I, too, am not to be trifled with.”

Walking back to the door, he replaced the
key in the lock and picked up his gloves, hat, and cloak from the
floor. After putting them on, he tipped his hat to Miss Terrell,
who, naturally, had not stirred from where she hung, her arms
stretched to the ceiling. Her expression went from surprise to
dismay as she realized he meant to leave. She began struggling
against her bonds.

“Good night, Miss Terrell.”

He opened the door and stepped across the
threshold. He closed the door behind him and heard a string of
angry oaths from within. Without her proximity warming his body,
her scent filling his nose and making his head spin, her brazenness
taunting his own desires, he could finally take in a breath of
peace. Making his way downstairs, he went in search of a servant
and found Tippy.

“In thirty minutes,” he told the dressing
maid, “no more and no less, Miss Terrell will require your
services. She is in the far room on the second floor.”

The young maid nodded. “Yes, Master
Gallant.”

At last, he was able to take his leave of
the Red Chrysanthemum. He hoped Miss Terrell had learnt her lesson,
but he could not rest easily. She still reminded him too much of
one of those black panthers he had observed in the south of China,
silently stalking their prey before they pounced.

CHAPTER SIX

W
ith another oath, Terrell
pulled at the bindings that stretched her arms to the rafters. Not
surprisingly, the ropes did not give. They would have done so only
if Master Gallant had intended she could free herself. His mastery
of the ropes would not have permitted carelessness. Nevertheless,
she yanked harder, her efforts netting her only a shortness of
breath.

Surely he would return and untie her. The
teasing man. She rubbed her thighs together. Her wet cunnie still
ached, provoked further by her current predicament. She would not
have minded her helpless state—indeed, she found it titillating and
had been thrilled to see him retrieve the cords of jute—if he meant
to deliver her to the finish she sought and longed for. Alas, she
suspected
this
was her conclusion. He had pinioned her
wrists and tied them to a beam abovehead not to render her
defenseless so that he could impose all manner of naughtiness upon
her, but to retrieve the key she had stuffed between her
breasts.

“Your first—and last—lesson with me, Miss
Terrell, is that I, too, am not to be trifled with,” he had
said.

She scowled at the air yet could not resist
a small smile, impressed that he had managed to elude her, as few
men could. By denying her his attentions, however, he had, though
it might not have been his intention, aroused her craving further.
She remembered how, with one arm about her waist, he had whipped
her from the door and pinned her against the wall. She had felt his
strength and yearned to have the hardness of his body against her.
Her arse had only just stopped tingling from the spanking.

Closing her eyes, she tried to relive every
blow. He had smacked her hard, as she had desired him to. She had
almost asked him to slap her with even greater vigor, for only the
sharpest of stings could cool the ardor boiling inside of her.

He had erred. For his touch was exquisite.
If he had wanted to dampen her desire, he needed to disappoint her,
as all the men, save Isaiah, had done. But Master Gallant was not
capable of disappointing. Even now, despite her anger at him, she
wanted him. She wanted him to touch her most intimate parts, to
calm the flames there with his own heat. She liked to think he had
erred because, deep down, he desired her. It was not possible that
he could be indifferent. No man had ever proven immune to her.