Interrogation of a Paramour

Ferdinand_Tellgmann_Porträt_eines_Kupferstechers_Öl_auf_Leinwand

Source: Ferdinand Tellgman, Portrat eines Kupferstechers (retouched)

“It’s Newgate for sodomites, you know, but I got some questions first.”

“Of course.”

“Might be easier on you if you hadn’t been caught with a viscount in your bed.”

Solomon Peate rubs a hand across his face. Once before he had been caught, prancing about a molly house, but he had been cheap entertainment then, not the paid companion to a lord. The owner of the flash house who had rented him out had just paid off the Watch to look the other way. He certainly hadn’t been taken up by Bow Street, and the newspapers hadn’t followed him. Drew was going to hate him after this. Not to mention stop paying the bills.

“It wasn’t what you think.”

“No? What was it, then?”

WilliamCobbettPrison

Source: Crimes and Punishment Magazine, 1810

The man stares expectantly, not looking for an answer, but rather, the lack of one. Would that Solomon and Drew had established some sort of lie to cover this eventuality. Surely, this man hadn’t heard the rumors screaming through the ton, of the two men sharing the favors of The Black Goddess. He was only a functionary, after all.

“It was just… he needed a place to sleep. There is only one bed. I could hardly let a viscount sleep on the floor.”

“Mm hmm.” The man made a note in a file, the shifting of his beady eyes leaving Solomon feeling, if only for a moment, less pinned to the wall.

“Newry pay your rent, then?”

This was safe territory. Plenty of men were compensated with room and board. Sadly, in this case, it hadn’t been provided in Drew’s servant’s quarters, where a viscount’s title might have provided some measure of safety. Not that living in Drew’s town house in proximity to his staff would have been at all safe.

“He is my employer. I am his secretary. Part of my remuneration is the upkeep of my rooms.”

“In a building filled with nothing but mistresses to wealthy men.”

“I cannot be held responsible for the life choices of my neighbors.” Whether or not the on-dits had reached Bow Street, his options were running out. “In fact, my location is how he met his true mistress, who lives just across the hall from me. Kali Matai, La Déesse Noire? You might have heard of her.”

“Heard you and Newry are sharing her,” the man states baldly, rolling his eyes, “but I also hear that might be a front. Secretary, you say?”

“Yes.”

Another note. “Keep his accounts then?”

“Among other things.”

“It’s the other things that interest me.”

Solomon only just manages not to laugh at the implication; he must be slightly hysterical. None of this was a laughing matter, and suggesting the man would act as voyeur to two catamites was not at all the best idea.

“There are no other things of the type you insinuate. I manage his everyday business affairs. Estate matters and the like.”

“Mm hmm. How many estates does Newry own?”

The interrogator clearly knows, and Solomon hopes he has no specifics in his file, for what Solomon knows of Drew’s business affairs is limited to discussions he has overheard his protector having with other gentlemen, and the monies he spent to keep his companion in cravats.

“Three estates. Four houses, though, if one counts the one here in London. Or rather, three and a half. One burned last year, and is only now being rebuilt.”

Oh, he could tell this little roach of a man that Drew prefers weak tea and almost burnt toast, that he always wears silk shirts and owns one hundred twenty-two watch fobs and thirty-seven snuff boxes. Solomon could easily recall the placement of his birthmark and the exact size of his… thumbs. But the specific nature of the viscountcy’s investments? The cost of the servants’ wages? Problems on his tenant farms? Any of the details a good secretary would know? He hadn’t the least idea.

“Where are his properties?”

“Portslade, Whitney, and Swindon. And the town house on Curzon Street.”

The quill just kept scratching across the foolscap. Such a slight sound to be giving Solomon such a large megrim.

“Primary source of income?”

“Sheep. And mining.” At least those were the investments of which Drew spoke most frequently. “He has started a stud, but it isn’t turning a profit yet.”

666px-Newgate-prison-exercise-yard

Newgate Exercise Yard by Gustave Dore

For the first time, a lecherous grin crosses the man’s face. “Way I see it, started a stud in his own bedchamber. That’s enough, Peate. I can call you back after I’ve spoken to your… paramour. See how your stories hang together.” His laughter barks like a badly loaded musket. “Hang together. That’s funny.”

“He is not my paramour, and I sincerely doubt anyone will hang a viscount,” Solomon said, unsmiling. A viscount’s paramour, though, was another thing altogether.

“Mm hmm. Best warn you. Don’t much like gentlemen of the back door in Newgate.”

Solomon felt the blood draining from his face. He had thought nothing could be more injurious to body or soul than his former life—servicing any man with a guinea to keep his bed in a flash house—but even an hour or two imprisoned for this particular charge would be far worse. In Newgate, he wasn’t even worth a guinea.




Find out what happens to Solomon Peate in La Déesse Noire: The Black Goddess.

LDN CoverSired by a British peer, born of a paramour to Indian royalty, Kali Matai has been destined from birth to enthrall England’s most powerful noblemen—though she hadn’t counted on becoming their pawn. Finding herself under the control of ruthless men, who will not be moved by her legendary allure, she has no choice but to use her beauty toward their malicious and clandestine ends.

When those she holds most dear are placed in peril by backroom political dealings, she enlists some of the most formidable lords in England to thwart her enemies. But even with the help of the prominent gentlemen she has captivated, securing Kali’s freedom, her family, and the man she loves, will require her protectors stop at nothing to fulfill her desires.


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Interrogation of a Lord

portrait-of-baron-schwiter-1827(1).jpg!Large

“I. Am. A. Viscount!”

Andrew Marsham, Lord Newry, had been shouting for at least a quarter-hour, since this… lackey from Bow Street appeared at the door. When told the viscount was Not At Home, the lout forced his way past the butler, calling out through the halls and opening doors like he had a right to be in the house. Eventually, he had found Drew in his study, making himself quietly drunk.

Red face perspiring, veins in his neck and forehead distended and twitching, the viscount insists, at a continued loud volume, “You cannot keep me here! You cannot lock me in my own house and treat me like a criminal!”

“You may as well sit, Newry.”

Lord Newry to you, Sirrah!”

“Call you anything I like, and if you’re lucky I won’t call you a molly.”

“This. Is. Preposterous!”

The man points with his quill to a chair and says, his voice a bit tired, having been awake since the small hours when he dragged Drew and Solomon from a shared bed, “Sit, Newry. This can get a lot worse for you. And it might be preposterous if I hadn’t seen you in bed with a man with my own eyes. Can you explain how you came to be there?”

The volume dropped as he stumbled a bit over his words. “We… we were both… bosky, and there was only one bed. I was hardly going to sleep on the floor, nor ask the room’s resident to vacate his own chamber.” Donning a viscount’s display of indignation, he added, “I cannot imagine why that would necessitate imprisonment.”

“If you had been clothed, I might be more inclined to believe you. The only reason you are here and not in Newgate is the gentleman speaking for you. Marquess of something-or-other. Outranks the earl who—”

“Marquess of what?” he demanded. “Who is speaking on my behalf? And to which earl are you reporting? I am a peer of the realm, Sir, and require you provide me the information without delay!”

“I cannot provide you information I do not have. God’s bollocks! Will you sit, man?”

WilliamCobbettPrison

Source: Crime and Punishment Magazine, 1810

Lord Newry splashes brandy into a glass and downs it quickly, as he has done twice already since the interrogation began. Pouring another, he finally lowers himself into a chair, worry beginning to take its toll. There was no chance he could ask about Solly’s whereabouts, but the thought of him sitting in Newgate, rotting away for who knows how long, is enough to make Drew cast up his accounts. Were he not a disciplined man, he might have done already.

Then, a thought occurs that turns his weak stomach into a strong knot. Solly will surely want nothing to do with him after this, no matter how much Drew pays as a quarterly stipend. He is already distrustful of the nobility, given his prior experiences with gentlemen seeking brief, anonymous paid entertainment with a desperate man, but never, in those encounters, had he been followed by the newspapers and tossed into Newgate. And, it must be said, Sol hadn’t been entirely dependent on them. He hadn’t been forced to trust them, which made this situation much worse.

Sol had no reason to stay; his pocket watch alone—the one Drew had had engraved—would keep him for a year.

Unfortunately, asking about Solly’s whereabouts or his condition was no way to convince this functionary of the innocence of their association. He hopes Sol is suffering only in pride, not person.

“So, you say he’s your secretary.”

“Because he is my secretary.”

“What kind of work does he do, then?”

Lord Newry’s nostrils flare. “The same sort of work as every other secretary in England. Estate matters, correspondence, appointments…”

“Can anyone verify that he’s responded to a letter or scheduled a meeting? Does his writing appear in your dairy?”

“His writing—?” Lord Newry stands again, pacing to the hearth, where he tosses a log into the fire. His observation was slightly less bellicose now: “This is preposterous!”

“Just answer the question, please.”

Drew was well aware Solly’s hand appeared nowhere in his diary, nor in his ledgers or correspondence or estate reports. Solly’s hand appeared nowhere but on Drew’s… well. It was critical this horrid little man not get his hooks into anything in the study or estate office. Especially not the more personal missives Drew would have burned, had they not so heated his blood.

“How am I to know to where he has written every note?”

The man looks up, eyeing Lord Newry with more interest now. “You don’t keep track of your own secretary? What if he should cheat you?”

“He has been in my employ almost three years. If he were going to cheat me, he would have done it and disappeared long before now. And I am hardly the only man in London who doesn’t stand over the shoulder of his man-of-business.”

Making a note in his book, eyes on the paper and ink, the man asks, “You pay his rent?”

If the man knew who paid the rent, it meant he might already have access to the account books. Drew was now unsure in what instances he could lie.

“As part of his remuneration, I pay the lease and maintenance of his rooms. He was in a sorry state when I found him, and it seemed the honorable thing to do. I could hardly have a man representing me in tattered clothes, living in a cheap room in Saffron Hill.”

“Most peers would have hired a man more suited to the position.”

“Most peers have no compassion for the downtrodden.”

“That is certainly true.” Shuffling through papers, the man asks, “The rooms you pay for… the building is owned by the same woman who owns the Masala Rajah whorehouse. Most of those apartments are rented out to the demimonde.” He laughs as he corrects himself, “The dark-skinned demimonde. Any reason you have your secretary housed in the same building as other men keep their mistresses?”

“I cannot be held responsible for what goes on in every building whose threshold I cross. The rooms were clean and inexpensive.”

My man just raises a brow. Perhaps inexpensive had been a bit too much of a falsehood. “Any truth to the rumor you are keeping the woman across the hall from him?” He checked a note. “Kali Matai? A dancer of some sort?”

Of course! Kali! How could he have forgotten Kali? “Miss Matai and I have… an arrangement.”

“What sort of arrangement?”

“Do you honestly believe me to have so little honor I would give you details of my relations with my mistress?”

The man shrugs and shuts the portfolio of papers before him and stands. Drew looks up, having expected the interrogation to last longer. He had been spinning lies in his head that might have lasted all week.

“You cannot leave the house, New—Lord Newry. There are guards posted. I will return if I have any further questions. Your friends hold more influence than I, and likely, at this moment, more than you. Perhaps they can keep it quiet and out of The Lords. Were I in your shoes, I would trust in them.”




Find out what happens to Lord Newry in La Déesse Noire: The Black Goddess.

LDN CoverSired by a British peer, born of a paramour to Indian royalty, Kali Matai has been destined from birth to enthrall England’s most powerful noblemen—though she hadn’t counted on becoming their pawn. Finding herself under the control of ruthless men, who will not be moved by her legendary allure, she has no choice but to use her beauty toward their malicious and clandestine ends.

When those she holds most dear are placed in peril by backroom political dealings, she enlists some of the most formidable lords in England to thwart her enemies. But even with the help of the prominent gentlemen she has captivated, securing Kali’s freedom, her family, and the man she loves, will require her protectors stop at nothing to fulfill her desires.


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To connect with Mariana Gabrielle:
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New Title Tuesday! ME! – La Déesse Noire: The Black Goddess

On New Title Tuesday, you will find books that have been out for less than three months or will be released within two weeks in all different genres, with all sorts of authors. If you would like to be featured on NTT, use the contact form to let me know.


La Déesse Noire: The Black Goddess
Genre: Regency Romance
Release Date: June 10, 2015
(Am I the only one who is this excited? No, wait. Don’t answer that.)

Please come celebrate with me at the Facebook Launch Party, June 10, noon – 8 EDT

PrintSired by a British peer, born of a paramour to Indian royalty, Kali Matai has been destined from birth to enthrall England’s most powerful noblemen—though she hadn’t counted on becoming their pawn. Finding herself under the control of ruthless men, who will not be moved by her legendary allure, she has no choice but to use her beauty toward their malicious and clandestine ends.

When those she holds most dear are placed in peril by backroom political dealings, she enlists some of the most formidable lords in England to thwart her enemies. But even with the help of the prominent gentlemen she has captivated, securing Kali’s freedom, her family, and the man she loves, will require her protectors stop at nothing to fulfill her desires.

 Amazon
Amazon UK
Barnes and Noble
iTunes
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All Romance eBooks
Smashwords (After June 10)

Early reviews at Goodreads

Who first encouraged you to write, and how?
I don’t have a firm memory, but it had to be my mom. She was an artist, and spent a goodly portion of her time with me encouraging my creativity in myriad ways.

What inspired you to write this book?
I was inspired by the idea of a female spy, but the final result only has the vaguest hint of spying now. Along the way, I was amazed as the sources of inspiration that popped up out of nowhere. The most notable: I had no sooner thought, “Indian courtesan,” than information about the tawaif caste of noble courtesans appeared.

What do you think is the most important quality to cultivate to be a successful writer?
Thicker skin and stronger backbone.

About the Author
MarianaGabrielle copyMariana Gabrielle is a pseudonym of Mari Christie, a professional writer, editor, and designer with almost twenty-five years’ experience. Published in dozens of nonfiction and poetry periodicals since 1989, she began writing mainstream historical fiction in 2009 and Regency romance in 2013. In all genres, she creates deeply scarred characters in uncommon circumstances who overcome self-imposed barriers to reach their full potential. She is a member of the Bluestocking Belles, the Writing Wenches, and the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. Her first Regency romance, Royal Regard, was released in November 2014.

www.MarianaGabrielle.com   |   www.BluestockingBelles.com
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Snippet from La Déesse Noire: The Black Goddess

logo book hooksBook Hooks allows authors to provide book snippets as part of a Wednesday blog hop. Also check out the authors at the link below.

La Déesse Noire: The Black Goddess
by Mariana Gabrielle

Very quietly, almost under her breath, she said, “Many married gentlemen keep a mistress. I’ve no objection.”

Shoulders twitching under his linen shirt, fingers worrying a waistcoat button, he replied, in as kindly a manner as he could muster, “You know I will not, sweeting.” Fitz finally wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her tight, but she only stiffened. “We’ve spoken of this.”

She nodded, but the motion was sharp, jerking her out of his arms. With a suspicious rasp, she retorted, “If you must marry that woman, so be it. As I’ve said, it is folly—you’ll not be happy one moment the rest of your life—but far be it from me to advise you about women, a topic on which I am expert.” For the first time today, the first time in months, she snarled. “And you, clearly, are not.”

“My sweet, it is only she—”

“She comes with ten thousand a year and her father will ease your way in Parliament. Yes, you’ve said. She is also—”

“A harridan, and ugly besides. ‘No joy to bed on my wedding night.’ You’ve made yourself known on that score.” His voice began to take on volume, and he pulled away from her, straightening his cuffs to keep his anger in check. Right away, he discovered the sleeves could be torn from the shoulders before that would happen. “As though I haven’t eyes or ears of my own! I don’t want to marry her, Kali! You act as if I have a choice!”

LDN Book Release Excerpt Meme 3

Pre-order now for a special $0.99 price at:

Amazon
Amazon UK
iBooks
Barnes and Noble
Kobo
All Romance eBooks

LDN CoverKali Matai, London’s most famed Indian dancer and courtesan, harbors a lifetime of secrets, as more lives than hers depend on it.

 Sired by a British peer, born of a paramour to Indian royalty, she has been destined from birth to enthrall England’s most powerful noblemen—though she hadn’t counted on becoming their pawn. Finding herself under the control of ruthless men, who will not be moved by her legendary allure, she has no choice but to use her beauty toward their malicious and clandestine ends.

When those she holds most dear are placed in peril by backroom political dealings, she enlists some of the most formidable lords in England to thwart her enemies. But even with the help of the prominent gentlemen she has captivated, securing Kali’s freedom, her family, and the man she loves, will require her protectors stop at nothing to fulfill her desires.

Pre-order now for June 10 release:

Amazon
Amazon UK
iBooks
Barnes and Noble
Kobo
All Romance eBooks

Check out the other authors on this hop at: Click here

Blog Tour Schedule for La Déesse Noire

This tour is quite exciting, filled with interviews, excerpts, and a whole lot of original writing related to the book, which you may only ever see on these blogs.

Many thanks to all of the wonderful authors and bloggers who will host me on this tour. I hope you will go take a look at their sites and leave a comment while you are there. In most cases, you can be entered to win a free copy of the book just for commenting.

May 1
The Snarkology: Those Dastardly Villains

May 4 and 6
Karen’s Book Bench

May 16
Eileen Richards

May 18
Hello Romance
Sherry Ewing: Awakening the Soul One Heart at a Time

May 20
Reviews by Crystal

May 21
10 Minute Novelists
Christina Tetreault: Happily Ever After

May 22
Susan R. Hughes, Romance Author

May 23
Jill Hughey

May 26
Helena Fairfax

May 27
Jessica Cale

May 28
Coffee Time Romance

May 29
Jessie Clever

May 30
The Bluestocking Belles’ Teatime Tattler (Part 1)
Nicole Zoltack: Where Fantasy and Love Take Flight

May 30
Renee Reynolds: Obstinate Headstrong Girl

June 1
Janie Franz: Anasazi Dreams

June 2
Ute Carbone: Happiness is a Good Book

June 3
Susana’s Parlour

June 4
A Covent Garden Gilflurt’s Guide to Life

June 5
Sherry Ewing: Awakening the Soul One Heart at a Time

June 6
The Bluestocking Belles’ Teatime Tattler (Part 2)
Exquisite Quills
Caroline Warfield: Love is Worth the Risk

June 7
Jude Knight

June 8
Amy Rose Bennett

June 17
Anna Markland: Passionate about Historical Romance

July 2
Kryssie Fortune

July 9
Iris Blobel: Dare to Live your Dream

My own new title (even though it’s not Tuesday): La Déesse Noire: The Black Goddess

Somehow, in my haste to promote to 31 (yes, 31) other blogs on the road to my new release on June 10, I have completely forgotten to say anything here. (Yeah, right?)

So, without further ado, I have a new book coming out June 10, La Déesse Noire: The Black Goddess, which is already getting great reviews from ARC readers. To celebrate, I will be having a Facebook party, which everyone is invited to attend, June 10, 12 noon-8pm EST, with a bunch of great authors, including the Bluestocking Belles.

LDN CoverSired by a British peer, born of a paramour to Indian royalty, Kali Matai has been destined from birth to enthrall England’s most powerful noblemen—though she hadn’t counted on becoming their pawn. Finding herself under the control of ruthless men, who will not be moved by her legendary allure, she has no choice but to use her beauty toward their malicious and clandestine ends.

When those she holds most dear are placed in peril by backroom political dealings, she enlists some of the most formidable lords in England to thwart her enemies. But even with the help of the prominent gentlemen she has captivated, securing Kali’s freedom, her family, and the man she loves, will require her protectors stop at nothing to fulfill her desires.

You can pre-order at a special price of $0.99 at:
Amazon
Amazon UK
Barnes and Noble
iBooks
Kobo
All Romance eBooks

Add it to your Goodreads To-Read Shelf

I’ve also set up a Rafflecopter Giveaway, where you can win some cool prizes that might have been worn by the heroine while she danced for the gentlemen of England.

You can also enter to win a signed print copy of the book at Goodreads.

Hope to see you all at the release party!

Book Boyfriends Cafe: Hot for Friday

Book Boyfriends Cafe‘s Hot for Friday Feature’s challenge this week was to post a section of dialogue containing a “swoon-worthy” line by the hero (which, admittedly, is rather subjective, and I’m not a swooner). This dance, however, made even me reach for my fan.

So, from Royal Regard:


(Excerpt from our hero and heroine’s first dance.)

Royal Regard cover3-02Bella’s slipper caught on the waxed floor. Taking advantage of her instability, he held her waist more firmly, drawing her close to encourage her shivers and gooseflesh.

“You said you had no designs on me! You swore by the Knight’s Creed!”

He leaned in to murmur, “I am not a knight, my sweet.”

With less wallflower and more worldly woman, she laughed, “Sir Satyr, I’m sure, charter member of the Order of Rakehells, pledged to lead me down the path to depravity.”

“You’ve caught me.” He stared down at her ripe mouth. “Would that we were not in a crowded ballroom.”


When Bella Holsworthy returns to England after fifteen years roaming the globe with her husband, an elderly diplomat, she quickly finds herself in a place more perilous than any in her travels—the Court of King George IV. As the newly elevated Earl and Countess settle into an unfamiliar life in London, this shy, not-so-young lady faces wicked agendas, society’s censure, and the realities of a woman soon to be alone in England.

Unaccustomed to the ways of the beau monde, she is disarmed and deceived by a dissolute duke and a noble French émigré with a silver tongue. Hindered by the meddling of her dying husband, not to mention the King himself, Bella must decide whether to choose one of her fascinating new suitors or the quiet country life she has searched the world to find.

TO BUY
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1ySFAJi
iTunes: http://bit.ly/1tJ0Kd3
Barnes and Noble: http://bit.ly/1uwzC2L
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1yZogCz
Smashwords: http://bit.ly/1x4AxYK

Now, go get hot at the rest of this bog hop’s stops. 😉

Book Boyfriends Cafe: Hot for Friday (Rated R)

Book Boyfriends Cafe put out a challenge for Valentine’s Day: Share a scene in which characters find themselves entangled in a web of sexual tension.

For once, I’m not posting about Royal Regard. My next book, La Déesse Noire: The Black Goddess, will be released June 15, and since it is about an Indian courtesan in London, it is pretty much boiling over with sexual tension.

Perfect.


(Excerpt in which our heroine, Kali Matai, performs for her new lover.) [unedited]

LDN CoverShe clasped his hands behind the chair and asked him to keep them there, mischief and desire both undeniable in her eyes, and he agreed playfully to comply with her every command.

By the time he felt the silk of her sari across the back of his neck, he was more aroused than he had ever been. After a month of touching but not tasting, watching and waiting for this breathtaking woman, he immediately regretted his promise not to put his hands on her body more than any pledge he had ever made.

She had chosen a Persian-blue, gossamer-silk sari shot with gold threads for their first night together, which brought out blue-black candlelight in her upswept hair and the sparks of escalating need in her eyes. The shift and choli beneath the sari were also sheer, offering hints of her hidden treasures, but not detracting from his never-quite-fulfilled view of her succulent skin. The tiny bells tinkling along the edges of the yards of fabric wrapping her body, the music of the bangles she wore on her ankles and wrists, were as fairy dust clouding his senses. He couldn’t keep his eyes from tracking hers, even in the face of the rest of her glorious body.

As she sang slow, ancient ballads of tenderness and yearning, twisting her limbs in the steps of the mujara, she allowed the drape of the sari to drift over his legs, his shoulders, his face, his throat, never following with the weight of her flesh. She slid her skin, even her fingertips, only against the cool water of the loose, translucent silk, but kept herself between her lover and the few candles lighting the room, so he could always see the outline of her slender form, sinuously inviting his touch, moving away any time his hands twitched.

She lifted her knee and bared foot over his shoulder and shook the bangles circling her trim ankle, leaving him to only envision her inner thighs behind his head and still never touching him. He couldn’t help his mouth moving to taste the smooth skin of her calf, inhaling the scent of sandalwood, the trace of jungle rain. Her sharp intake of breath was like food to him, though she quickly moved to tantalize from a few feet away.

She hummed the haunting melody as she removed each pin from her hair, letting them drop onto the Turkish carpet, arms drawn up, full breasts and hardened nipples moving with each breath beneath the silk. Not one strand of her coiffure fell out of place until the entire thick length dropped to her waist like an ell of heavy satin. She moved toward him again, letting her long hair trace across his shoulders, fall around his face as though holding at bay the world around them, filling his senses with forests and spices and the music of mysterious ancients.

His jacket disappeared under her hands, fingertips dissolved his waistcoat buttons, vanished the complicated knots of his cravat. The feel of her nails on his chest, opening the ties of his shirt, made him choke on the force of his desire. She ran her fingers through his hair, into the hollow of his throat, over his shoulders, down his arms. She tugged the shirttails from under his waistband, over his throbbing cock and heavy bollocks, one slow inch at a time.

He found himself rubbing against the inside of his trousers, unable to keep his hips from following after her touch; when she traced her fingernail against his straining erection, the contact was so delicate and swift he would have missed it if not for the shuddering forced through the rest of his body.

He wanted to beg her to touch him—to let him touch her—but he couldn’t conceive of words, nor remember how to speak. He had entirely forgotten his insistence on keeping the upper hand. If she brought any part of her body into contact with his sex, he was certain he would release inside his clothes. When she turned away to shimmy her hips against the insides of his thighs, inches from his heated shaft, it would have taken no more than the vibration of the bells at her wrists, only half an inch closer.

“You so beautiful, Kali,” he forced out, his eyes fluttering closed against the ache in his gut. “Perfect… Oh, God… Exquisite.” Before he opened his eyelids again, she had moved out of his line of sight.

From behind his back, her hand ran down his chest, under his shirt, as she responded low and husky into his ear, “As are you, premi. I have never seen such a magnificent man. You arouse me by only your presence.” He scented her musk in the air, underneath the aroma of her skin that always teased him, and thought his head would rise like a hot-air balloon over the treetops, catch flame until only sparks and flakes of ash remained, drifting on the breeze.

When his head fell back, baring his throat to her, she parted the collar of his shirt and used both forearms to rip down the center, leaving it gaping over his chest. The sudden violence left him gasping, moaning when she used the unfettered access to touch every inch of skin she had bared, the locks of her hair, the edges of her nails, the pads of her fingers tickling his nipples, his stomach, the waistband of his pants, her breasts cradling the back of his head. The teasing left him groaning, growling, and finally begging. When his hands moved from their position behind the chair, trying to slide up the inside of her thigh, she stepped away.

He knew he had only to stand and follow her, assuming his knees would stay under him. He could drag her down to the floor or up against the wall, take her in any position he chose, but he had been keeping the promise for weeks not to molest her person; he could offer up no good reason to break it now. He slowly clasped his hands again, using the placket of his trousers to once more try to ease his desperate need.

When she knelt down before him, between his spread thighs, close enough to feel her heat, too far to touch no matter how he strained, he found himself keening, begging, “Please, Kali. Please touch me. Please.”

Her smile was inscrutable. “Do you not enjoy my attentions, premi? You need only say if I do not bring you pleasure. It is my fondest desire to please you in all things.”

She loosened one button of his trousers, placing a soft kiss on the bared skin, and all he could force from his throat was, “No, you… oh God.” When her tongue tip flicked across his hipbone, he barely, just barely, kept from climaxing without ever touching her. “Oh, dear God.”

By the time she reached the fourth button on the left side, he had found it within himself to pace his desire, worth every recitation of the kings and queens of England, as she rubbed her soft cheek against his skin, warm breath reaching under the fall to almost touch his straining member.

“Oh, God, buttons… more buttons… please,” he begged, his thoughts and words chaotic and jumbled. “Please… dying… touch…” He couldn’t even tell if he were forming words or speaking in tongues.

A bit faster, but only a bit, she loosened the right side of the placket with the same tender kisses as each inch of flesh appeared, sliding the satin lining against him as she finally freed his cock, surely larger, harder, more desperate than it had ever been, dripping with need, striving for any caress she would grant. Her hair drifting across the inflamed head found him thrusting against the air. Her tongue sliding up the underside set him throbbing and begging alternately for her to stop and to never stop.

Each time he moaned, “Don’t… oh, God… stop,” she pulled away. When he whined, “Please… touch me,” she traced the length lightly with her tongue tip again. He reverted to moans and whimpers, but still couldn’t help pleading. “Please, Kali, take… God… tongue… please…”


June 15, you can find out who he is and exactly how his tension is resolved… until then… well… if he can imagine it, you can. 😉

Now, go get hot and bothered again and again at the rest of this bog hop’s stops.