The Mistress and Her Men - Minerva Howe

The path to love isn’t always a straight line. Sometimes it’s a triangle. When Simon realizes his dearest friend is in real trouble with gambling, whoring and daredeviling, he hits on the perfect solution: provide Matthias with an outlet for his self-destructive urges. While Simon would be more than willing to take on the task himself, Matthias has always fought their “unnatural” attraction. As London’s Mistress of Discipline, Felice Grey wears her independent and

scandalous reputation with confidence. She’ll take on Matthias for one night as a favor to Simon—even break her own rules to let Simon watch. She never expected that Matthias’s struggle against his feelings for Simon would touch her heart, or that she’d feel drawn to both men. Especially since Simon’s dominant nature makes it unlikely he’ll bend to her will. Simon, barely surviving the night’s session, withdraws to his country estate in hopes that his two favorite people will find each other. Felice and Matthias

must make a decision—let happiness fall by the wayside, or pursue it—and damn the risk. Warning: Nothing can stop this femme domme from claiming both her men, and nothing can stop her from showing them how to claim each other. Not whips, or chains, or even too-tight corsets...

The Mistress and Her Men Minerva Howe

Dedication To Joey Hill for showing me what femme domme should be, and as always, to my wife BA Tortuga.

Chapter One London 1779 Simon sat in the depths of a smoky gambling hell, his cravat undone, his coat tossed carelessly across a stool near his feet. He knew he presented the very portrait of a debauched noble gambling his night away. That was precisely what he wanted, because he was in the gaming hell as a

spy tonight, rather than a full participant. Tonight he was watching his dear friend Matthias wager away every bit of good fortune the man had ever possessed. Indeed, Simon saw a note that no doubt represented every bit of Matthias’s remaining land in the pile of loot at the center of his table. What Simon really wished to do was to go over to that table and wipe it clean with his arm, dramatically saving Matthias from himself. He knew, however, that his friend would not thank him for it, so instead he would wait until

a destitute Matthias left to drown his sorrows in whatever drink he might yet afford. Then he would buy all of those notes back from the winners, whether they wished to sell or not. A roar from Matthias brought Simon’s attention back from his thoughts. Matthias’s gaming table spilled over, notes and coins flying. “You’re a damned cheat,” Matthias shouted, and in finally seeing Matthias’s opponent’s face, Simon could not but agree. Lord Chalmsley was, indeed, a terrible cheat. He was also armed with a dagger in his

sleeve, which snicked into place against Matthias’s breastbone in less than a heartbeat. “How dare you, sir?” Chalmsley said calmly. “I have beaten you over and over this evening because of your lack of skill, not chicanery.” “That’s a load of shite.” Matthias pressed against the blade until a red spot appeared on his lawn shirt. “Had you nothing to hide you would not conceal a weapon and use it so readily.” Chalmsley backed away slowly. “I only protect myself, you insolent

bastard.” “Ah, but I am no more a bastard than you are,” Matthias stated. “Fight me fairly.” “I did. With the cards.” With a flourish of his blade, Chalmsley bent to pick up the notes before stuffing them into his coat. “Good night, all.” Matthias lunged, only to be held back by a few acquaintances. Not an easy task, considering his stature, his heavy muscles. Simon watched him thusly restrained, and the kernel of an idea took hold in his mind.

The image of that bright spot of blood crystalized in Simon’s thoughts. Good God, his friend had a death wish. Yes, Matthias had a need to castigate himself. To punish himself for his perceived failures in life. How many times had Simon seen Matthias throw the first punch or toss a note in someone’s face? How many times had the man courted danger to his person simply because he didn’t think he was worthy of his life? He wondered why it had taken him so long to realize that he knew of a solution. Oh, God help him, he might just

be able to save Matthias from another night such as this, from giving away his land and his life to fulfill some sort of fatalistic desire. Matthias needed to explore this need for violence, for self-punishment, in a safe place. Would that Simon could become that place, but he knew Matthias would never accept such games from a man, let alone one he considered a close friend. There was someone, though, someone who would give Matthias what he needed.

Simon stood, assuming his jacket before he left the room so that Matthias never saw him. He dropped his own blade into his hand when he approached Chalmsley from behind, then pressed the dagger to the man’s ribs. “I’ll take those notes, my lord,” he said, smiling when Chalmsley stiffened. “I would have bought them, but I do abhor a cheat.” “You cannot be serious.” Matthias stared at Simon, his gambling companion and best friend in London, who had just

offered him a bet he might be unable to resist. “One night, and you’ll forgive all my debts?” “One night,” Simon agreed, sitting back with one booted foot crossed rudely over the opposite knee. “A whole night, with no arguments. Meanwhile, I shall be allowed to watch.” That bit rankled, Matthias had to admit, but then, he and Simon had done many crazed things together in the past year, including racing in Hyde Park, liberating a boat and rowing the Thames, and participating in a duel over a lady of

rather ill repute. Why not this as well? More to the point, Matthias’s debts had begun to pile up in a manner that might force him to retreat to the country, or worse, flee to the Continent. Hell, he was lucky he still had a place in the country to retreat to, as many times as he’d lost the crumbling manor house in a card game. Simon held the majority of his notes, and if he could wipe them out with one night of rather pleasant work, then how could he resist? “Only you, correct? No one else

would see my shame?” Simon flicked a hand in a languid gesture completely belied by the masculine shape of the palm and fingers. “No one but the lady in question.” The lady in question posed an interesting conundrum in her own right. The mistress, as she was called, was a widow who owned her own property in Mayfair, much to the chagrin of all the important men in Town. She did as she pleased, when she pleased, and had a reputation for turning men inside out before booting them out on their

backsides. “How do I know the lady will be amenable?” Matthias smoothed his hands down the front of his coat, taking comfort in the smooth nap of the claret velvet. “Because I asked her, naturally.” Simon smiled, something hard and calculating flashing in his gray eyes for a moment. “During our last literary salon.” “Literary salon. Of course. The lord and the widow with a whip, reading Fielding together and having long conversations about Matthias and his

backside.” He had heard the tales of the mistress and her games. Frankly, the idea of spending a night playing them made Matthias’s balls try to crawl up into his body even as his cheeks heated with hot blood. “You’re stalling.” Foot clomping down on the floor, Simon leaned forward, elbows on his knees. The man always managed to look as though his coat and neck cloth were natural accoutrements instead of stifling, stiff bindings. “Yes or no, Matthias?” “You know I need to have those debts

forgiven.” He sighed. “I agree.” Simon did not crow or drive home his victory with any sort of facial tic. He simply stood and walked across the space separating them to hold out a hand for Matthias to shake. “Your word on it.” He took Simon’s hand and nodded. “As it is yours to me.” “I shall speak to Felice.” Matthias did not answer, but he did wonder what he was getting himself into when Simon was on a first-name basis with the most notorious mistress of discipline in all of London.

Felice Grey refused to pace. In the main, pacing would cause her to trip over the damnable train on her gown, but she had also decided Simon Manchester, Viscount Thatcher of Lincolnshire, was never going to see her agitation. He was a force of nature, was Simon, one of the few men she wanted that she’d never had. In fact, she had no idea what he liked, which she prided herself on knowing upon meeting anyone. The talent served her well, considering her station in life. She reached up to finger the unusual

freshwater pearl that dangled from a thin velvet ribbon about her neck. Felice preferred simplicity in her attire, eschewing the powder and rouge, the silk beauty patches and stain so popular among women of all classes. She modeled herself on the late Madame de Pompadour of France, a natural beauty who had used her intelligence as well as her beauty to procure a better life than she’d been born into. Sighing, she smoothed her hands down her dress, settling the ridiculous panniers into place before leaving her

perch by the window so she could sit in a more comfortable spot. Simon and his friend would arrive when they arrived. Simon refused to be on time. Insolent bastard. She adored him with a depth of passion that frightened her. The knock came a quarter of an hour later, the clock ringing its tone once just before the brass fell against the front door. She had footmen to open the blasted thing, but she wanted to run toward it. She forced herself to sit exactly where she was, her hands folded

neatly in her lap. The picture of patience, if not virtue. The footman, Thomas, led Simon and another man into her reception room, the furniture shrinking like dainty violets next to their size and strength. She learned a great deal about a man from how he dealt with the delicate furnishings for the first time. “Viscount Thatcher, Mistress, and Baron Kingsley.” “Thank you.” She waited for Thomas to withdraw, then held out a hand to Simon. “Viscount.”

Simon strode quickly to her and bowed over her hand. “Felice. My heart stutters at your beauty.” “You are utterly false.” Felice glanced at Baron Kingsley, whom Simon assured her needed her firm hand. “Who is this, then?” The other man presented a less-thancourtly leg, his big body far too masculine, too animal, for pretty manners. She studied him, from the top of his golden head to his unfashionable one-color boots. He had a certain power to his stance, the width of his shoulders

blocking the light. Felice approved. “This is Matthias Forrester, Baron Kingsley. We spoke about him earlier in the week.” Simon’s gray eyes twinkled with mischief. “We did, indeed.” Simon had told her that Kingsley needed to release the tension coiled in him before he let it out by the way of another errant fist. Kingsley also had gambling debts he needed to clear, and Simon was very particular about letting people pay him back. “I think he’ll do nicely. Shall we

go to the library? I have sherry or port. Or whiskey, if you prefer.” She glanced again at Kingsley over the last words, and he nodded tersely. “Very well.” She stood, frustrated with her lack of will. She should have made them sit, damn it, made them squirm for a bit. Instead, she took them to her library, populated with furnishings from her father’s era, heavy and dark, masculine. Forrester would be more at ease there, and she wondered at herself for letting him have the comfort. So unlike her usual tactics, but Felice

believed in following her instincts. Those wide shoulders eased down from around Matthias’s ears as soon as they entered the library. Oh yes, he felt better here, letting his guard down a bit. Perhaps that would work to her favor. She poured a glass of port for Simon and another for her, then a large whiskey for Matthias. “To your health, gentlemen.” Felice toasted them both, noting that while Simon sipped, Matthias gulped. Nervous, his eyes darting about the room, his gaze never landing on her or

Simon for any length of time. Matthias shifted from foot to foot, holding the empty glass tightly in his big hand. “Sit. I would offer you another, but I want all of your faculties engaged this evening. Otherwise you are wasting my time.” His brows rose, but Matthias walked to a deep leather chair and sat, a sound of satisfaction escaping him. Sensual, then, far more than his simple garb and unruly hair might suggest. He wore his clothes as though they annoyed him, a

necessary evil. Felice looked forward to seeing him without them on his body. “So, Simon,” she began, “please tell me your terms for the evening.” “Why does he get to set the terms?” Matthias asked, face gathering in a frown like a thundercloud. “Because he’s the debt-holder. He made the arrangements for this meeting.” Simon was also paying her a handsome sum, but she wouldn’t mention that now. Perhaps she never would, if Simon was a good boy.

Simon sprawled in a chair, legs spread in an indecent manner. “One night. He’ll fall to your command completely. No cutting, no burning or scarring. I am to watch only.” Felice let her mouth curl into an ironic smile. “How very frustrating for you.” “I set the rules.” Simon shrugged. “I suppose I knew he would not do it otherwise.” Matthias’s scowl grew even deeper. “I can hear you, you know. And no, I will not fall to the touch of a man.”

Felice chuckled, drawing Matthias’s gaze. “You are inconsequential to the negotiations. I simply needed to know what you had agreed upon. Very well. Does anyone need to refresh themselves before we begin?” “I—” Matthias nodded, the motion jerky, his chin dipping like that of an automaton. “Yes. I think that would be wise,” Simon agreed. “Then I will have Thomas show you each to a room. We’ll meet again in the discipline salon in half an hour.” She

rang for her footman, smiling when he arrived. “Thomas, hot water and towels for the gentlemen. One to the green bedroom, one to the blue.” “Madam.” Thomas nodded, then motioned for the men to follow him. Felice went upstairs after them, knowing her maid awaited her. Half an hour would be just enough time to prepare herself for the evening. She could hardly wait to begin. Simon waved away the valet who tried to attend him. The hot water he

availed himself of, as well as the heated towel. Then he regained his breeches and his lawn shirt, choosing to leave the rest in the bedchamber he’d been shown to, knowing he would still be far more clothed than his companions. His rising excitement exasperated him. Oh, Simon had wanted both Felice and Matthias for a long while. Simon sipped his port, having taken the glass with him. Really, he and Felice had never been able to compromise on who would give up control. His dear lady friend knew how to make men cower,

but Simon didn’t know how to submit, and had no interest in learning. She had made one suggestion when they had first met, and Simon had refused. She had never approached him sexually again. Matthias, on the other hand, feared his attraction to his own sex, steadfastly maintaining that only women interested him. Simon had seen Matthias’s interest in the way Simon interacted with his male servants, as well as how he’d admired a certain actor Simon had been quite taken with. More to the point of this evening’s entertainment, Matthias

needed an outlet for his self-destructive tendencies other than gambling and hitting the stewes. Simon believed he had finally hit on a compromise that afforded him a workable solution. Felice would have Matthias, Matthias would be able to release his tensions, the white-hot rage he wore as a badge of honor, in submission, and Simon would watch, in his own way having them both. A soft knock came, the footman waiting when Simon opened the chamber door. “The lady has asked me to bring

you to her.” “By all means.” He waved his hand, his boots making no sound against the thick rug lining the corridor. He had put them back on, knowing the gesture bespoke rudeness, but also knowing Felice would find them appealing. He passed by the chamber Matthias had been taken to earlier, his body tightening even more when he saw the door open, the room empty. Matthias would be waiting with Felice already, the anticipation making him nervous, making that fine, pale skin flush, the

wide chest heave. He took a deep breath when Thomas showed him to a heavy wooden door, then bowed and left him. Curiosity filled him, for he had never been inside Felice’s discipline room before. He knocked, not wanting to barge in, just in case Matthias stood next to the door looking for an escape. “Come in, Simon,” Felice called. “We’re only waiting on you.” “I am sorry if I delayed the proceedings,” Simon drawled, entering the room and peering about. A

comfortable chair had been pulled up before a hearth with a small log crackling away in it. A table sat next to the chair, a bottle of amber liquid and an exquisite array of tiny hors d’oeuvres arranged there, along with a stoppered bottle of oil. “Is this all for me?” “It is. I want you to be comfortable.” “I’m sure I shall be immensely satisfied.” He allowed himself to look at Felice, and his breath caught in his chest. She wore a robe of thin Chinese silk, the lace on the edges scalloped gently to show off her curves. She wore nothing

beneath save for stockings and a waist cincher, her rounded, rose-tipped breasts and her downy sex bared for his gaze. Her dainty feet rested on heeled slippers, the bows on the toes pink, a lurid color that would no doubt match her cunt lips. She presented an erotic portrait, one that stirred his blood to boiling. He smiled at the thought, then glanced at Matthias who, like him, wore his blouse and breeches. The long, masculine feet were bare, however, and somehow the sight was nearly as

enticing as Felice’s more deliberate nudity. Matthias seemed to think otherwise, his gaze never straying from Felice’s exposed body. Simon sat, settling his legs comfortably spread so he had room for his expanding cock. “Shall we begin?” Felice asked, raising a brow at Simon. “Absolutely.” Matthias snorted. “I don’t get a choice?” Felice turned to study Matthias, her entire demeanor changing, her posture

lengthening until she resembled a soldier preparing to go into battle. “No. You agreed to fall to my command for one night. Therefore, you do as I say, when I say it.” Matthias drew back from her, his expression a gathering storm of anger. The set of his shoulders bespoke defiance, and for a moment Simon thought Matthias would bolt or lash out. The tension vibrated in the air. Delicious. Matthias finally straightened and faced Felice like a man ready to be led

to the gallows, nodding sharply. “Very well.” “Good.” Felice smiled, a predatory curl of lips that somehow managed to stay utterly feminine. “To begin with, I think you shall address me as Mistress. You will answer only when I ask a direct question. Do you understand, Matthias?” A muscle jumped along the side of Matthias’s jaw, but he nodded again. “Yes, Mistress.” Poor lad. So unwilling but so desperate to settle his debts, and definitely intrigued if the cut of his

trousers was any indication. Simon had often admired Matthias’s cock through the fabric as it grew heavy and hard just before he left their gaming table with his lady of the evening. Tonight Simon would get to see it bare. Matthias shifted from foot to foot once more, a portrait of impatience, his mouth turned down at the corner. “Stop.” Felice raised a hand. “I want you to breathe, Matthias. In and out. Calm your mind.” Matthias opened his mouth, then

closed it, taking a breath that swelled his chest. In and out, just as Felice had ordered. Perhaps it eased Matthias’s mind, perhaps it didn’t. Simon could only enjoy the sight. “Good.” Smiling slightly, Felice closed the distance between her body and Matthias’s, trailing her hand over his chest. “Now I know you can obey, and you know what I expect from you. Strip.” “What?” Matthias drew up again, all of the relaxation gone from his body. “Remove your clothes. I want to see

you nude. Your answer is, ‘Yes, Mistress’.” Matthias clenched his hands into fists, the seams of his blouse seeming to strain with his discontent. “Yes, Mistress.” “Such pretty manners.” She stepped away, her back to Simon, her rounded ass clearly visible through the fabric. “Now, take your clothes off, Matthias.” Matthias stood there, vibrating, for long moments. Then, after a hard glance at Simon, he pressed his lips together and began to strip. He tossed his shirt at Simon, who waited until Matthias bent

to tug off his trousers before lifting it to his face to smell it, the earthy scent of Matthias’s skin clinging to it. The breeches went next, and he saw that Matthias eschewed smallclothes just as he did. “Very well done.” Felice put her hands on her hips, her head cocked to one side. “Turn around so I might see all of you.” Matthias turned in a half circle, clearly preferring them to stare at his backside rather than his prick. “Now to the front once more, please.”

Her tone brooked no argument, and Matthias turned again, his cock rising hard and proud. He may think he should resist Felice at all costs, but Matthias needed what she could clearly give him. Simon pushed his buttocks deeper into the chair, clenching them a bit to ease the pressure building in his lower body. Matthias glanced at him past Felice’s hip, blue eyes widening. Simon chuckled, rubbing himself through his breeches. He supposed he had grown to amazing proportions, even with the cloth

covering him. He imagined that fact might concern his friend, who passionately wanted to believe men held no attraction for him. “Look at me,” Felice snapped, and Matthias turned his eyes to her once more. She stepped up to Matthias, just close enough for their bodies to brush. Simon knew the shock that ran through a man’s skin at the first contact with a woman, the mystery, the discovery. Simon saw the same awe in Matthias’s face, in the set of his body. “You’re quite lovely to look at,

sweet,” Felice said to Matthias. “Your skin has a healthy shine for someone who spends as much time in gaming hells and stewes as I hear you do.” She trailed her hand over Matthias’s chest. His chest rose and fell sharply under her hand, but he stood still otherwise, and Simon admired his restraint. “Kneel.” She gave this command softly, as if she knew Matthias needed coaxing, not ordering. This early act of submission would be one of the most difficult. Matthias quivered, his muscles

straining under his skin. Then he slowly dropped to his knees before her, his butt settling on his heels. Simon sighed, the sight damned near making him spill. He had no idea if he would survive the night at this rate. Simon certainly hoped he did live through it. He didn’t want to miss a moment.

Chapter Two Matthias shook, his hands behind his head, his knees digging into the thick rug covering the floor. He’d been commanded to kneel, and he’d done it. He focused his gaze on Felice’s breasts, hoping his reward would be worth all this. “Very good, Matthias.” Felice reached out and stroked his hair back off

his forehead. “I know that was hard for you. It will become more so before it gets easier, I fear.” He swallowed hard, trying to work past the lump in his throat. Whatever he did, he couldn’t dare look past her to see Simon, sprawled there like a big male lion, prick stretching the confines of his trousers to bursting. That might send him over the edge into pure madness. How had he agreed to this? “Now, let me look at you.” She moved back a step to study him, then walked around him, trailing her fingers

over his raised arms and clasped fingers. Her silky garment swished when she moved around him, and every time it touched his skin he felt another shiver move through him. When she came back to the front and tilted his chin up, he clenched his hands together harder to keep from reaching for her. “I know you are a man accustomed to command. You tell people what you want and they give it to you because you’re big and strong, a man of some stature in society. Tonight, you must prove that you can let someone else take

control.” Felice stared into his eyes, her green eyes seeming to glow in the lamplight. She had the way of a cat about her, her smile making him think of a satisfied puss with a bowl of fresh milk. “Do you understand?” “Yes, Mistress.” “Very well done, my sweet.” She flicked his lower lip with her thumbnail. “What shall I do first, Simon? Redden his backside?” Matthias jumped, the casual mention of spanking and the way she directed her words at his best friend, who watched

with prurient interest, making him both wary and unbearably aroused. Simon had a way about him that made Matthias’s mouth go dry, but he tried his best to ignore those feelings every time they came upon him. “Mmm. Yes. The crop, I think.” “Wait.” Felice put her hand over his mouth. “Did I address you?” Matthias shook his head slightly. “No. Therefore, you don’t speak. You need this, Matthias. Your cock doesn’t lie to me. Neither do your eyes.” She

nudged the tip of his cock with the soft kid toe of her slipper. “Let me do this, Matthias. Do not fight me. I swear, you will enjoy it.” He wasn’t sure what to believe. Clearly his body knew what it liked, and his hard shaft proved he enjoyed the sight of a mostly nude, utterly lovely woman. The rest should cause his balls to crawl back into his body, but they weren’t even trying. Yes, he could enjoy this if he let himself. Matthias relaxed his mouth, then kissed her palm.

Felice smiled at him, a genuine expression that crinkled up her eyes, showing that she was no untried girl. “You continue to surprise me, Matthias. I will not abuse your trust.” She turned from him and walked to a trunk that sat along one wall, opening it to retrieve a simple riding crop of braided black leather. The tip held a loop of softer leather, which he knew could be wielded when a lighter touch was needed to get speed out of a mount. His cheeks went hot, a muscle jumping in his jaw. He needed to rise

and run. There was no way he could take this from anyone, let alone a woman. “Hands down on the floor, bottom in the air, my dear,” Felice said. Now his ass cheeks were the ones to clench, his whole body wanting to move so he could just flee. He did what she asked, his hands hitting the floor hard, his legs feeling odd until he separated them enough to hold his weight. His balls hung heavy, open to anything she wanted to do, and his backside felt utterly exposed. At least his head pointed toward

Simon, not his backside. He could lower his eyes and pretend his friend was not there, but he wasn’t sure he could bear Simon staring at his most tender parts. Felice patted his butt softly, as if in praise, a humiliating little gesture. His toes curled up, the soles of his feet feeling strange, tender. That was nothing compared to how his backside felt when she brought the crop down across it, the blow catching him squarely across both cheeks. He jumped, his body trying to tell him to leap up, to fight in return. Instead, he

rocked back toward his heels after the crop pushed him forward, awaiting the next blow. She gave it to him, the crop barely tapping this time. His muscles relaxed, because that wasn’t so bad, was it? Then the next blow landed, and he shouted, the strength of it surprising him so that he glanced up to make sure Simon hadn’t somehow joined into the play. Simon sat very still in the chair, hands on the arms, gripping them tightly. Those gray eyes stared into his, gleaming in the low light.

So, Felice had a strong arm, then. She slapped the crop against his flesh again. “Pay attention, Matthias. No appealing to Simon to save you.” “He wasn’t, my dear,” Simon murmured. “He was making sure you were not cheating.” “Was he, indeed?” A flurry of blows fell, making him want to crawl away as if he were a scurrying crab. Pure will kept him in place. He felt the brush of her robe on the backs of his legs, heard the soft scrape of her slipper on the floor while

she moved to his other side. “I do not need a man to do my work for me, Matthias. For that you will count the blows now, until I reach twenty. Do you understand?” “Yes, Mistress.” The words popped out, coming from a place Matthias did not know he had inside him, a place somehow calm inside the storm raging through him. “Begin.” The crop moved so quickly it whistled through the air, warning him that this would sting. “One!” Matthias blinked sweat out of

his eyes, stunned at how this pain, which should have shriveled his manhood to nothing, was making him ache, his cock like stone, slapping his belly. Felice worked him like a conductor with an orchestra, the crop rising and falling and demanding his numbers. He cried out by number six, each word torn from him. By fifteen his skin burned, his muscles jumping underneath, and his hips wagged back and forth. He felt utterly owned by her, as if his body danced only to her tune. By twenty, he trembled on the verge of disgracing

himself, his balls drawn up tight against his body. His chest worked, a veritable bellows under the force of his breath. When she scraped her nails lightly over his skin, he groaned, the sensation more than he could bear. “You took that beautifully, Matthias. I am pleased.” “Thank you, Mistress.” He wondered at himself, at how she made him want to cede control to her wishes just with a simple beating. With the commanding tone of her voice. “You’re quite welcome.” She tugged

his head up by grasping a handful of his hair. “I think it is time I gave you a reward.” Matthias wondered if he even wanted to know what she considered a reward. He hoped he could agree that it was, even though nothing that had been done to him had made his cock go down a bit. No, in fact, he felt as though he might simply explode, his flesh was so engorged. She smiled into his eyes, her gaze calculating, but not unkind. “I think it’s time you tasted me.”

As an adult man, Matthias had never lost control of his little death, but he nearly did just then. Only a desperate tug to his balls from his own hand kept him from shooting on her dainty slippers. Felice did not comment on the lapse. Instead, she released his hair and walked to stand next to the chair Simon occupied. “May I use you, Simon?” A slow smile spread over Simon’s face, those gray eyes flashing almost silver for a moment. “In any way you need, my dear.” “Ever the gentleman.” Felice nodded,

then lifted her hands to slip off the silkand-lace robe she wore, leaving her only in her pointed stays and stockings. She presented an erotic portrait, which intensified perhaps tenfold when she turned to sit on Simon’s lap, very deliberately. She wiggled, and Simon moaned, his façade of polite disinterest shattered. Matthias understood. In fact, when Felice spread her legs, hooking them over the arms of the chair, and thus Simon’s forearms, all Matthias could do was sit there on his heels. He stared, his

chest heaving, arrested by the sight of her neatly trimmed curls, dark against the shocking pink petals of her sex. She crooked a finger at him, a catwith-the-cream smile on her face. “Come please me, Matthias. Put your mouth on me.” Eager to enjoy what was indeed a reward, Matthias shuffled forward on his hands and knees. He stopped a foot away, disconcerted by the fact that he would be, in essence, squatting between Simon’s spread legs. “Focus on me, Matthias.” Felice

reached down with one hand and spread the lips of her cunt. “Pleasure me.” He raised his head to stare into her eyes for a moment, reading nothing but need in her expression. Yes. She desired this as much as he did. He steadied his resolve and moved the rest of the way to meet her flesh with his mouth. He pressed his lips against her center, giving her the most intimate of kisses. She drew a deep breath, her thighs shaking on either side of his head. He pressed his tongue to the same spot, flicking the tip back and forth, and she

quivered, moisture pushing against his skin. This he knew. This act he was wholly familiar with, confident in his ability. He licked, then wrapped his lips about her tiny nub, the one he knew could drive a woman mad. “Matthias.” Felice sank a hand into his hair once more, this time to pull him closer. The tiniest tremor in her fingers told him that he was doing well, and the wetness he drew forth from her reinforced the idea. The situation felt completely right, if

not normal, which would no doubt give him pause later because his bum had to be glowing, and his hands had come to rest on Simon’s spread knees. Somehow, having Simon there now made sensations more intense. He returned his attention to Felice, lapping at her before pushing his pointed tongue directly inside her. “Such a good boy,” she told him, and his chest swelled with ridiculous pride at the words. “Isn’t he the best boy, Simon?” “Obedient, to be certain,” Simon said,

and Matthias found himself wiggling, ass swinging back and forth. “More, Matthias. I need more.” He moaned his assent and moved his hand down from Simon’s leg, his fingers sliding in beneath his lips to touch her. He rubbed her little nub gently, making circles, and he felt the waves of pleasure roll through her. Her pale thighs flexed, her legs closing about him rather than draping over the arms of the chair. Felice’s toes dragged along his waist, her slippers lost. Her inner muscles fluttered against

his tongue, and he reversed his actions, pushing two fingers inside her, his mouth working her little button now. Matthias heard the low sound of Simon’s voice, but he couldn’t make out the words. The pounding of his heart filled his ears, as did the wet sounds of his mouth on Felice’s flesh. She moaned, the sound enough to make Matthias glance up. Her head had fallen back on Simon’s shoulder, her breasts full and perfect, each one nestled into one of Simon’s hands. Why not? What man could be used as they used

Simon and not wish to participate? He redoubled his efforts, the scent of her cunt and the musk rising from Simon’s lap making him dizzy. She tasted of the sea, of pure woman, her essence an addiction far worse than laudanum or liquor. Matthias ached, his cock an iron rod of agony. He needed release, but somehow he knew he needed permission, that he must await Felice’s pleasure. His mistress. The idea sent a lightning bolt of pure pleasure up his spine.

The tension built until Matthias felt as though he were an automaton whose springs were wound too tightly. He worked Felice relentlessly. His fingers sliding in and out of her cunt, his tongue pressing at her bud until it swelled beneath his touch, until he felt her heartbeat in each pulse of her muscles. When he thought he might drown in her, when his air began to run out, she finally cried out for him, an uncontrolled sound of pure release. There was nothing of control in her actions for long moments, only the

surrender to pure ecstasy that Matthias thought every woman should experience as often as possible. When she tugged him away from her cunt by his hair, he gulped great gasps of air, sitting back on his heels. Felice presented the very image of decadence, legs trailing down over Simon’s, still spread wide, her skin flushed a deep rose from thighs to forehead. She panted, her breath shallow. “My stays, Simon. If you please.” “Of course.” Simon helped her lean

forward and loosened her laces. Felice rolled her stockings down and off, the ribbons that held them fluttering to the floor. Felice rose, removing the final garments before walking to a side table. She poured a drink from a crystal decanter into a glass and took a long draught, her nude form lovely in profile. Then she went to a clothing press and pulled out a soft robe, which covered her completely. Matthias battled his disappointment. She came to him, hand on his cheek,

thumb rubbing his damp lips. “You pleased me well, Matthias. Thank you.” “Mistress?” “Yes, sweet?” “I feel as though I’ve disappointed you.” “Never.” She caught his gaze with hers. “If anything, you disconcert me. You have power, Matthias.” He glanced from her to Simon, who arched a brow at him before looking pointedly below Matthias’s waist. His cock jerked as if the touch had been physical.

Felice stepped between them, blocking his view of his friend. “Take yourself in hand, Matthias. Find your completion.” Gaze flashing to hers, Matthias moaned. When he touched his cock, his muscles jumped under his skin, a flash of lightning striking through his whole being. His body curled around his hand and his shaft. He’d almost lost sight of his own need, but it came roaring back now, slamming into him. Felice spoke to him, her voice low, encouraging, but Matthias could make

out no actual words. All he knew was that he had her permission to come, and that he had the most intriguing, and disturbing, audience any man could ever have for the event. His balls drew up tight and hot against the base of his cock, and he leaned back to try to give them room, which was when Felice pushed up under his balls with the arch of her foot, her toes rubbing against him. Matthias cried out, his spine arching impossibly when he shot his seed, the better part of it landing on her leg.

She smiled down at him when he let his cock go and landed on all fours, panting hard. Then she stroked his hair. “Exquisite. Don’t you think so, Simon?” “Undoubtedly.” The tension rang clear in Simon’s words, but Matthias couldn’t see Simon’s face, his expression. “Yes. You will spend the rest of your night with me in my chamber. I have a device there that will display your wellheated ass to perfection. Does that suit the needs of your bet, Simon?” “It does.” Simon rose and came to

kiss Felice lightly on top of the head, close to Matthias but not touching him. “Good night to you both. Matthias, see me at the club this week for your note.” Then Simon left the room, boots clicking on the polished floor before the sound was eaten by the heavy rug under his feet. Matthias waited, trying to breathe rather than hold all the air in his lungs. He felt off-balance now, as if Simon leaving had left them without a counterweight. “Come along, sweet.” Felice turned

away, beckoning, and Matthias rose to follow her. Her bedchamber surprised him. While it held all the comforts he might expect, such as a large bed, a chair for reading and a clothing press, the simplicity of the furnishings verged on austere. The bedding seemed the only real luxury, with a fluffy duvet and plump pillows, all done in crisp pastels. A contraption he’d never seen in his life sat across the room from the bed, all polished wood and straps. The piece looked like a frame, roughly in the shape

of an X. Leather-and-sheepskin cuffs hung from all four ends of the arms, and the middle had a hole just large enough to thread through an erect cock along with another strap, which Matthias assumed would fasten around his waist. Oh, God help him, this was where he would spend the night. “Yes. You’re much quicker than I expected. I can see you understand. I want you to face the wall and step up, sweet. I want to see your backside from the bed.” Matthias stood frozen, as if she had

finally asked too much of him. He simply couldn’t drag his feet across the room to that blasted frame. Then she smacked his butt, her seemingly delicate hand packing a surprising wallop. He jumped, but the blow allowed him to move once more, and he moved close to the dark-wood X, staring at the velvet-cushioned spots behind the cuffs. Yes, one had to protect arms and legs and hips. “Push your shaft through the opening, sweet.” Felice caressed his back, his backside, which still felt fiery hot from

her ministrations. Swallowing hard, he nodded, yielding to her tiny push. Despite his recent release, his cock rose again, and Matthias knew he was in for a long night. He pushed his cock through, moaning at the feel of soft, soft cloth against his flesh. “Is that comfortable?” Comfortable? Absolutely not. Still, he nodded once more out of the humiliating need to please her. Her open palm cracked against his skin. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes. Yes, Mistress.” “Good. Arms up.” Lifting arms that felt leaden, Matthias obeyed, and she quickly buckled all the straps. He could easily have overpowered her, but he did her bidding, something deep within him wanting to please her, to make her proud. Utterly bewildering. “You’re taller than anyone who has been here before. Do you need me to reposition your arms?” Matthias tested his movement, and decided he liked being able to grip the

top of each crossbar. “No, Mistress. This is fine.” “Good.” She walked around him in a full circle, tapping his cock with her fingers before returning to play against his butt. He felt the impact of each finger as if she had slapped him hard, the tiniest touch making him rise on tiptoe. “I thought about slipping a phallus in here for the night, but that might prove too much for your first time. I didn’t want you to balk.” The feel of her fingers pushing between the cheeks of his ass made him

bark out a curse, his every muscle going tense, and she laughed, a soft breath of sound. “Yes,” Felice murmured. “I thought so. Good night, Matthias. Sleep well, if you can. I know I shall have lovely dreams.” She moved away from him, and he could hear the rustle of cloth, the splash of water as she washed up from the basin. The covers whooshed back from the pillows, and before he could try to turn his head, Felice blew out the lamps. “Good night, Mistress,” he said,

hearing her soft laughter again as he tried to relax into the awkward pose. He would never be able to sleep in this position. That was his last thought before he leaned his head against his arm and dozed right off.

Chapter Three Felice sat on a long, low divan, sipping a tiny cup of coffee. Since women were banned from coffee shops all over London, she had opened a salon that served chocolate and coffee to women, as well as men who preferred not to or were not allowed to frequent men’s clubs. She had left her home early, fleeing

from Matthias, who had slept standing up, tied to her cross. How he had surprised her, fighting his need until she truly began to discipline him. Then he had surrendered as if he was born to take her whip, taking what he offered with grace and enthusiasm. He made her want things better left tucked away deep inside. She wanted to crack him open, to find the center of him and drink him down. Better to assume her armor and venture out into the city. She wore a day dress that was a simple robe à la

française, which had broader panniers than its anglaise counterpart. The gold brocade dress and scarlet underskirt suited her mood, making her stand out against the more demure stripes and florals the other ladies boasted. Her stomacher was stitched with crimson roses, the thorns prominent on the vines. The coffee tasted earthy, strong, which grounded her somewhat. Perhaps it had been Simon’s presence that had unsettled her so. She had desired him for several years, but neither of them was willing to cede control to the other. She

had taunted him out of a tiny spurt of spite, sitting in his lap and feeling his helpless reaction. Whatever the reason, the whole experience had left her feeling at odds with her emotions, a state of being she abhorred. “Mistress Felice.” One of the more congenial ladies who frequented her salon came to sit beside her, beckoning a waiter for another cup. Andine smelled of lemon and lavender, her wig piled high with pearls and braids and strange silk birds. “You appear far too thoughtful

for so early in the day. I am, in fact, surprised to see you out and about this morning.” “Are you? Why is that?” Andine leaned close enough for Felice to see the rough skin hiding beneath her white face paint. “I hear you had a new visitor to your special parlor.” Damn, but word traveled fast among the coffee set. “I did. Do you know him?” “Viscount Thatcher? Of course.” Felice blinked, then began to chuckle.

“You think Simon came to me for discipline? Oh, gracious.” “He did not?” “No. No, he was very busy bringing me someone else to debauch.” Simon finding surrender in his soul? Never. He was superior, insolent and perfectly beautiful. “Oh.” Andine’s face fell quicker than London rain. “We had all hoped. He’s so arrogant, isn’t he?” “I adore him. Still, he has no interest in my talents. In fact, he would rather be in my place than under my control, I

think.” Andine’s carefully drawn eyebrows waggled. “Then who was it who did?” “Someone who wishes to maintain his privacy.” If the gossipmongers didn’t know who Matthias was, then Felice refused to help them. Simon could handle his own affairs of society. Matthias left her feeling oddly protective. Greedy, she wanted to keep him to herself, sharing him only with Simon. Oh, did that thought not give her a shiver of pleasure? She would love to

share with Simon, taking turns bringing Matthias to the very heights of pleasure. One of her least-known, and rarely realized favorites in the bedroom was to watch a man take another man, the pure power inherent in the act making her wet, causing her to moan and touch herself. “Pity,” Andine said, drawing Felice back to the matter at hand. “I do like to listen to your adventures.” “Well, in this case I think they are better left untold.” “Is he famous? Rich? Royal?”

“No, not particularly, and definitely not.” Felice smiled over her delicate demitasse cup, an expression she’d practiced long and hard when she’d first opened the salon. “Be good, silly.” Andine responded predictably to the girlish words, wiggling and laughing and moving on to gossip about every person she’d come in contact with for a fortnight. It was easy to let her focus drift, to observe the women, and the occasional man, who frequented her coffee shop, to tell herself stories about the ones she had not yet met. Should she

see them inside the establishment more than once she would introduce herself. Felice liked to know her patrons. More than one indignant husband had learned that his wife was attending a salon and tried to send a spy. Felice preferred to sniff out such villains herself. Then, if there was no ulterior motive present, Felice often found intelligent discourse. “—always rather thought Viscount Thatcher preferred the company of men, at any rate.” Felice blinked. What had she missed? Damn it all, she should have paid more

attention. “Why do you say that?” seemed the best question to ask. “Because she’s a gossiping harpy, naturally.” As if summoned by Andine’s prurient curiosity, Simon Manchester appeared, impeccably groomed, his smile never slipping. His gray eyes, however, remained watchful. Cool. Andine fluttered. “Lord Thatcher. I did not…” “See me? Clearly.” Simon’s smile widened into something feral. “Lady Welding. Mistress Grey.” He bent over

both their hands, kissing each with grace. He lingered over Felice’s hand, his lips on her ungloved skin. “Now, tell me why you are speculating about my proclivities.” “Oh, we would never.” Andine’s cheeks had gone deep red under her powder, leaving her a lurid pink in complexion. “Of course you would.” Simon sat across from them, negligently crossing one booted foot across the opposite knee. Such rudeness. Felice smiled, not bothering to hide it.

“Naturally we would. You are so jealous with the details of your life, after all. None of us know what you like. What else are we to do but make wagers and wonder?” “Find other means of amusing yourselves?” Simon asked, slanting another glance at Andine. “Well. I shall take myself off,” Andine murmured, her hands fluttering like a pair of frightened birds. “Mistress Grey. My lord.” Once Andine was out of earshot, Simon leaned forward, elbows on his

knees. “How was he when he left?” Her cup shook the tiniest bit, and Felice stilled it by sheer force of will. Thank God she wasn’t having tea, so there was no saucer to rattle against. “I have no idea,” she finally said. “He still slept when I ventured out.” “What?” He stared at her, gray eyes wide with surprise, an expression Felice could never before recall on his face. “Why?” “Because I am a coward.” She made a moue with her lips, feeling as if she simply needed to confess. “He is

extraordinary, Simon, and I fear what he made me feel.” “Ah.” Simon sat back once more and nodded sharply. “Yes. I want him desperately myself.” Felice blinked, then smiled at him. Now he had put them at the level of coconspirators, sharing secrets. Somehow now she might relax. She sighed. “I can see why. He is resistant to a man’s touch, I suppose?” “Yes.” The word fell between them, flat, disappointed. “I think his predilections are not as…firm as he

might like to believe. They scare him, however. He is somewhat provincial. All things hedonistic leave him feeling guilty.” “Yet he gambles.” Every insight into Matthias could be of value to her should she ever meet with him again. “That, I believe, is self-flagellation. He does not believe he deserves success.” Simon raised a brow, a slight smile playing around his lips. This was surely what Lucifer looked like, all pale skin and hair, the beautiful exterior lit from within by the fires of hell.

“Is that why you brought him to me? So that he could indulge his need for punishment without ruining himself?” Simon exhaled, his eyelids dropping to hide his eyes for a moment. “Precisely. I worried he would combust, or get himself killed at a hell.” “What a shame that would be.” She finally filled a cup for Simon. “Do you think he will return to me?” “I hope so.” Simon raised his eyes to her again. “Will you allow me to attend you again if he does?” She thought about the added sense of

danger and excitement Simon lent to the proceedings, about the thin line she walked by allowing him into her home, into her chamber of discipline. The whole mess might bury her someday. So, naturally she said yes. “Of course,” Felice said. “We shall continue as we began.” Simon’s smile stretched into something far more genuine, mirth reaching his eyes. “Even when he protests?” Felice allowed herself a laugh, her confidence reasserting herself as if a

portrait had been righted on the wall, all the angles meeting once more. “Especially then. I am his mistress, Simon. I make the rules.” A low sound of pleasure escaped Simon, making her nipples harden. “That is precisely what I had hoped you would say.” Matthias awoke alone, still strapped to the contraption in the lady’s boudoir. His muscles felt locked tight as a nun’s chastity belt. His arse, well, that must be glowing, as hot as it still felt.

Matthias took one deep breath, then another. Nothing tamed his rising agitation. He roared. “Someone get me out of this damned thing.” Matthias knew in his reasonable mind that struggling would do no good. His body refused to be logical, and he began to fight, straining at the straps that held him in place. “Sir, please be still.” The low voice was male, soft and polite. So, he was right. The lady had left him. He stilled, and the hands that matched

the voice unbuckled him, catching him when he sagged. His muscles unclenched one by one, causing him to pant and curse. “Here you are, sir. A bath has been drawn in the bathing room just there, and the chamber pot is there as well. Your clothes have been pressed. Breakfast is in the morning room, just off the ladies’ parlor downstairs. Please ring if you have need of us.” The servant dropped him down on a low divan and withdrew, quiet as a mouse. Matthias lay against the rolled-

back cushion and blinked before shifting to lie on his side to ease his throbbing buttocks. He’d let her beat him as if he were a child. Yes, and he’d liked it. What did Simon see in him, Matthias wondered, that had led his friend to this conclusion? To knowing that Matthias would surrender all to a mistress of pain? A huge copper tub sat in one corner, steam rising from the water. Matthias rose to walk to the bath. The heat might

sting his skin but it would also release the rest of his tension. More hot water bubbled gently on the hearth, and a stack of fluffy towels sat stacked on a rack by the tub. A selection of soaps enticed him, and he smelled each one, trying to see which was Felice’s favorite. There. Orange flowers and jasmine. He inhaled after unstoppering the bottle. Yes. Mixed with clean skin, this scent would be undeniably Felice—he knew that already. Matthias chose a simple sandalwood. He stepped into the water, his muscles

seizing up for a few moments from the immediate, sizzling heat. Then he melted, sliding down into the tub. Oh, yes. Relaxation stole his senses for a moment, and Matthias rested against the back lip of the copper tub, his arms along the sides. She’d left him. Retreated from her own bedchamber, perhaps even from her whole home from the sound of it, so she did not have to face him. He wondered if that was a normal course of events for her, or if those actions were part and parcel of the debt to Simon, which did

specify Matthias spending a whole night. The water at once soothed him and irritated his body, so he distracted himself with soap, trying to wash away the night. Matthias couldn’t fathom all of it, how she’d taken his very soul. Bah. Better to wash away the stain of her touch, avail himself of her breakfast and go collect his winnings from Simon, the bastard. Half an hour later, fully dressed, Matthias filled his plate from a sideboard in the breakfast room. The room told him many things about the lady

who lived in the house. The walls and upholstery were a light dove gray. Dark wood and deep blue accents lent the place a masculine air, but the china was an exuberant floral, all pink and green with a gold edge. She liked clean, powerful rooms, but she had a deeply feminine side. She was a study in contrasts, he thought, a woman who owned her own property, who ran her own life. Unheard of. Admirable. He stood at the table and sipped a rare coffee, then ate. His backside would not bear sitting, not once he had

assumed his breeches. His mind swirled with a rapid progression of thoughts, chief of which was wondering if Felice would see him again. Soon. “Is your mistress out for the day?” he finally asked, knowing the stoic footman behind him would answer out of sheer polite practice. “Yes, sir.” “I see. Thank you. Do you have anything upon which I might leave her a note?” The footman showed him to Mistress

Grey’s morning room, where a dainty writing desk in the French style held all he would need. He dipped her pen into her inkwell and scribbled quickly. Thank you for erasing my debt. Call upon me if you should require me. Yrs. Matthias. Then he took his leave, despite his reluctance to ride his horse. Really, had he known how the evening would go, he would have taken a hackney. No sense paying for one now and returning later for his mount, however. Nearly four hours later, after a change

of clothing and a judicious application of salve, Matthias sought out Simon at his townhouse. Damn the club, he didn’t wish to have this conversation in public. “He is in his study, Baron Kingsley. May I take your hat?” Simon’s butler, Benjamin, was damnably young but utterly efficient. He took Matthias’s overcoat and hat before indicating that Matthias should follow the footman, John. Also young, and singularly attractive, John had been about since Matthias had been allowed into Simon’s inner sanctum.

“Thank you.” He made his way into the study, where Simon sat at his desk, wearing a dressing gown over a linen shirt and rough trousers, the very image of dishevelment. “Ah, Matthias. Pour us both a drink, will you? I have one more column to tally.” Simon never glanced up at him, which surprised him. Simon was nothing if not direct. Perhaps Simon was as unnerved as he. “Some other poor sod’s gambling debts, no doubt?” “No.” The short word fell flat

between them, none of Simon’s usual charm evident. “Donations to the hospitals.” “Ah.” Simon had once had a sister, Matthias knew, and she had perished in a hospital for the disturbed. Simon had sought to ease suffering in such places ever since. “My apologies. I know it is a difficult subject.” “None needed.” Now Simon did look up, a small smile playing on his lips. “Pour, Matthias. I will not snap your head off.” Matthias went to the tall cabinet

where Simon stored his liquor and poured two whiskeys. He took Simon his drink before going to lounge on the long, low settee by the windows. He watched the sway of leaves in the garden, watched Simon’s cook pour pot water out on the plants. When Simon finished with his books, he tossed back his whiskey before coming to stand before Matthias, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re here for your marker, then?” “I am.” He forced himself to meet Simon’s gaze, tilting his chin up and

jutting it out. He had no reason to hide. He had fulfilled the terms of the agreement. “I see. Well, you did spend the entire night, I hear.” “Oh. You saw her today?” Damn it all, now all his hard-won bravado waned. Simon took pity on him, smiling ruefully. “Only because I sought her out. You unsettled her nerves, I think.” “I couldn’t.” Could he? Felice Grey was a mistress by trade, keeping herself afloat by serving the needs of a variety

of sophisticated clients, both male and female. How could a country squire knock a woman such as Felice offbalance? “You underestimate your own power, Matthias.” Simon sank into a chair across from him. “This is ever your problem.” “I am a country man, Simon. A bumpkin.” The city fascinated, but Matthias felt nothing but gauche, uneducated. God knew that was part of why he spent his time in dissolute hells. He didn’t find any peace in the brittle,

powdery world of the beau monde. “You have a great fire inside you, Matthias. It all but glows, and we are but moths to your candle.” Something ironic twisted Simon’s smile, and the man stood once more, pacing back to his desk. He pulled out a sheaf of folded foolscap. “Your notes.” Matthias studied Simon silently for several moments. They were friends, he thought, but he knew very little about Simon’s private life, about his wants and needs. How odd, to begin thinking about such things now, to feel a desire deep in

his belly to know more. “Thank you.” When Simon came to hand him the notes, which were embarrassing in number, he let their fingers touch, a tiny jolt of fire following the contact. Simon’s eyes widened for a moment before that straight spine was presented to him, the dressing gown flaring when Simon turned away. “Was there anything else, Matthias?” “Do you think less of me?” “What?” The question had the effect he wished for; Simon faced him once

more, gaze fastened on his eyes. “Having witnessed my shame. Do you think me less a man?” “Don’t be stupid.” Simon stared at him, into him. “Only a strong man can surrender so. I have never been so easy in admitting my desires.” Matthias smiled, knowing he was baiting the bear. “If you wish to be beaten…” “Oh, no.” Simon moved closer, knees brushing his. “I wish to be the one holding the whip.” His heart began to thud in a heavy

rhythm, and Matthias wondered if he wished for or feared Simon’s touch. The worry became academic, because Simon moved away. “Will you see her again?” Simon asked. “If she’s amenable.” Matthias surprised himself with his immediate answer. He’d thought he would say no. “I want to be there.” Simon gave no quarter with that gray stare, and gave not an inch of space between them, standing as a statue before him. “When you see her.”

“Why?” What did Simon gain from this game? “Because that is the closest I will come to having both of you. See yourself out, will you?” Simon turned on his heel and vacated the room, leaving Matthias with his crumpled debtor’s notes and his thoughts. Neither were terribly comforting. Simon sighed, pushing back from his desk and rolling his head on his neck. He’d poured himself into his accounts of late, trying to find distraction in work.

Oh, his solicitor handled many of his interests, but he had no desire to share his good deeds with the world. In fact, the only close acquaintance who knew about his charities was Matthias. Matthias, who he had not seen since he had returned the man’s debt notes. Bastard. Of course, Simon had all but snubbed the man, walking out on him in this very study, so why should Matthias seek him out? “My lord, you have a message.” His footman came into the room holding a

little silver tray, a folded note propped on it artfully. Simon summoned a smile for John, who served him well. “Thank you. How are you this evening?” “Well, my lord. May I be of any other service?” There was a gleam in John’s eye that Simon knew well, but had not answered in some time. “Not tonight, John. I appreciate your willingness, however.” “Anytime, my lord.” John left the salver on his desk and left the room, discreet as always.

Simon studied the note without touching it for long moments. It smelled of orange blossoms, and his heartbeat sped, his lungs struggling to draw in breath. Felice. He took the thing in hand and broke the seal, the tiny wax impression of a forget-me-not one he had seen before in their correspondence. The fact that she had neat, legible writing spoke of her unusual level of education to her place in society. My Dear Simon,

I expect you will wish to attend me this evening in my chamber of D. Baron K will arrive at seven. Yrs. Felice His cock rose inside his breeches, pressing against the buttons holding it closed. What torment. The last time had almost killed him, being an exercise in discipline for him as much as for Matthias. When finally alone in a bedchamber he had fallen to his knees and pressed his hand to his prick,

spending right there in his trousers. Simon glanced at the clock sitting on the mantel. He could just make it. “John! Have a mount saddled for me.” “Shall I have Lyon pack you a bag?” “Just a change of clothes.” That way he would be able to leave from Felice’s house and go about his morning routine. “Immediately, my lord.” John sounded disappointed, but Simon could not worry on that now. He did not wish to miss a moment of this night. As soon as he could be, he was on the streets. Felice’s town house was not far from his, a fact

that undoubtedly made his more conventional neighbors gnash their teeth. He smiled, pushing his gelding into a trot. The streets were quiet, most everyone tucked away in their homes. No balls or soirees lit up the windows tonight. No, it was quiet, and Simon had thought it would be for him, as well. Instead, he was embarking on an adventure. Felice’s footman met him at the door. “I shall have Pete take care of your horse, my lord. Would you like to

freshen yourself?” “Please.” There was a certain amount of ritual involved here. He would wash, strip to his breeches and shirtsleeves. Calm himself as much as he could. “Very good, my lord. This way, please.” They traversed the stairs, and the footman left him at the same chamber he had used before. “Please ring when you are ready.” “Thank you.” He took in the more elaborate preparations in the room on this occasion. Steaming basins of water,

sumptuous soaps and thick towels. A fine dressing robe in his size. Last time Simon had surprised Felice with his request to take Matthias in hand. This time the invitation was hers, and the fact that she was in charge was clear. One score for him, one for her. He decided to surprise her and strip off all of his clothing, leaving him naked under the robe. That might give him the upper hand, or it might be his undoing. Either way, the danger inherent in the notion made his pulse pound like the hooves of a six-horse hitch at a full run.

Breathing deeply to calm his racing heart, Simon pulled the bell-pull, then waited for someone to come and collect him. The soft knock on the door came a long moment later, and Simon opened it, ready to vent his spleen at a tardy footman. The sight of Matthias standing before him, eyes cast down toward the floor, body bare to his gaze, stopped him dead. Game and match to Felice. Standing

naked

before

Simon,

Matthias wondered if he’d lost his senses. His cheeks flamed, and he kept his gaze trained on the floor. When he’d received the missive from Felice inviting him back to her home, he’d jumped up and run, not giving a refusal any thought at all. Now, with his cock rising under Simon’s steady regard, Matthias had plenty of time to ponder his willingness to subjugate himself once more. “Did you come to her and ask, or did she send for you?” Simon asked, the words barely audible.

“She sent me a note.” Matthias cleared his throat, appalled at the thickness of his words. “Are you ready, sir?” “Very nice manners, boy.” Simon chuckled when Matthias flinched. “Lead the way.” The draft on his backside when he turned made Matthias acutely aware of how bare it was, how open to Simon’s gaze. Felice had not touched him yet, had simply ordered him to strip naked and kneel on the rug next to her desk with his hands folded behind his head.

“Why am I here, Mistress?” he’d dared to ask, wondering at her sudden need for him. She’d barely glanced at him, a small smile curving her lips, which were painted tonight, a shocking pink. “I want you to be here. That is all you need to know.” Matthias had bowed his head, the gratitude in his chest a lovely humiliation. He’d waited there until Simon had arrived, and then he’d known she intended to go on as they’d begun, with the three of them facing off in this

little war. When she’d sent him to collect Simon, Matthias had squirmed but kept quiet, knowing she expected obedience. His need to please her was a great, terrible burn in his belly. It eased the rage he so often fought, calmed the demons in his breast. Now he preceded Simon when they walked down the passageway. Simon’s gaze on his bottom was a brand, a physical touch of heat. Matthias felt awkward, ungraceful, and he wanted to speed his steps until he was running. He

managed to keep his pace slow. The door to the chamber of discipline sat open, and he led Simon inside, walking to his mistress’s side and kneeling. His body knew what to do, even when his mind was in tumult. “Simon.” Felice went to Simon to kiss his cheek. “I’m so glad you could come on such short notice.” She still wore her afternoon gown, the cloth rustling gently against Simon’s legs. “I live for your whim, lady. How shall we proceed?” Simon’s charm hung around him like a shield, closing off

anything Matthias might read about his mood. “As we did the last time, I think.” She took Simon’s hand and tugged him to the chair set out. “Mmm. I want to renegotiate.” Simon’s voice took on a husky tone, one that made the hair rise on the back of Matthias’s neck. “Do you?” Felice’s laugh sank deep into Matthias’s balls. “I do.” Simon settled himself, long legs spread, feet planted. “Matthias is yours to command, yours to touch. I

understand this. I want to be able to touch myself, however. Without cloth in the way if I so choose.” Felice tilted her head, a fat curl sliding off her shoulder to dangle at her breast. “I accept the terms.” “Good.” Simon nodded, then sat back, appearing to relax. Matthias licked his lips, uncertain of what might happen next. Felice came back to him, stroking his hair. “Are you ready to begin, love?” “Yes, Mistress.” Matthias was truly invested in her will. She had called him

to come to her, had wanted to see him again, not just to quell his fear, but to soothe hers, should she have them. “My good boy. I had him strip when he came in, await me on his knees, Simon. Now I think perhaps we’ll test his endurance.” The words made him sink back on his heels, trying to understand what she meant. Another beating, as last time? He had taken that well, he thought. After that, he doubted she could truly test him much further. Simon chuckled. “Bind his hands and

try various techniques?” “Perfect.” Matthias sent Simon a frown. The deal was not for Simon to be giving his mistress ideas. “No, sweet, no shooting daggers at our Simon.” She patted his cheek lightly. “I engaged his interest, so he’s allowed to offer comment.” “Yes, Mistress.” His squared his shoulders, waiting for her to do her worst. “So brave. Still so slow to full surrender.” She tugged at a lock of his

hair. “I am going to tie your hands now, Matthias.” He didn’t think she needed an answer for that. Instead, he focused on his breath, pulling air in and letting it out. When she tugged his hands to the small of his back and secured them with a length of silk, his muscles tensed all over his body, and he quivered. His toes dug into the heavy rug, his cock lifting up between his thighs. “There, you see. I take one more element of control away from you and immediately you yearn for me. You need

this so badly, my sweet Matthias. How hard you must fight against life.” She stepped away, skirts rustling. “Now, I will give you more of what you require.” He watched her, his head tilted down, but his eyes up. She would punish him if she noticed, he would bet, but now she was gathering things from a high table that resembled a hunt board. Felice had a feminine grace about her that stirred him, whether in the highest fashion of the day, or mostly naked as she had been in their last encounter. Matthias had to admire her, to watch her move.

“Are you staring at me, Matthias?” He lowered his lashes. “No, Mistress.” “He’s lying,” Simon murmured. “I think you should punish him for that.” Matthias grumbled deep in his chest, and Felice turned to him, narrowing her eyes. “Yes, I think I should punish him. He’s becoming willful.” “Use the small, braided strap,” Simon suggested. Mouth curving into a cat-with-cream smile, Felice nodded, then set aside the items she held. “What a lovely idea.”

She swept around him, but he did not dare turn to see what she was doing. Instead, he glanced at Simon again, who stared at him with something like mischief in those gray eyes. Somehow, that allowed Matthias to relax. Simon did not seem to intend competition or meanness. This whole situation was pleasing Simon immensely, and it showed on that normally austere face. How could he be angry when Simon was so clearly enjoying himself? A sharp cracking sound caught his attention, followed by a stinging pain

burning across his right nipple. Matthias grunted, swaying, trying to use his hands to right himself, which only served to overbalance him when his shoulders turned too far to one side. Felice steadied him, then stepped back. “There, you see? You’re meant to be paying attention to me, and I managed to surprise you. Anticipate my needs, Matthias, or I will punish you far more severely than I am about to do.” He stared at her for a long moment, feeling that familiar tightness rise in his chest, the one he came to her to relieve.

Defying her would make her give him more, surely, would take his demons away for at least another day. She snapped the braided strap she held across his other nipple, this blow sharper, stronger now that he saw it coming. He groaned, the tiny pain maddening, not at all like a blow to his ass. Not enough to transport him; just enough to annoy. Matthias gritted his teeth as she slapped the leather against his skin over and over, alternating nipples. They began to throb in time with his heartbeat,

his skin heating to the point where he thought flame would spring up as it did when he struck a flint to steel. The idea of his chest bearing little flaming candle nipples made him snort with laugher, which in turn caused Felice to reach down and pinch one of his buds of flesh, twisting it. He gasped, the feel of her flesh on his so much more intimate than the leather strap. More immediate. “Have I asked you to come here on the wrong evening, Matthias? Are you incapable of concentrating?”

Matthias looked up, her green gaze arresting him, keeping his stare locked on hers. “I need you to make me, Mistress. I need you to demand it.” His own boldness amazed him, but there it was, what lay deep inside him. She pursed her lips, appearing thoughtful. Then she nodded sharply. “I can see that I am too casual this evening, as well. I did not dress for battle. Simon, will you attend me?” “Gladly.” Simon rose, and Matthias watched with great interest. Felice moved to stand before Simon,

who proved himself a fine lady’s maid. Honestly, Matthias might not have known how to unpin the stomacher or how all the parts of the dress laced together. Once Simon finished, Felice wore only her chemise and stays, which was oddly more stimulating than the elaborate half nakedness she had exhibited their last night together. “Much better. Always superior to be so unencumbered.” Before he could turn away, Felice grasped Simon’s arm, holding him in place so she could rise on tiptoe and press a soft kiss to his mouth.

The sharp stab of envy that arced through Matthias shocked him. He wasn’t sure exactly who his jealousy was aimed at, if he were honest. Felice knew she’d outsmarted herself the moment her mouth met Simon’s. Matthias was both a challenge and a joy, but in the end she knew he craved the control she exerted over him, that he needed the release of submission to tame his self-destructive side. Simon had no such tendencies. Not a single one in his body. He was as a wolf among foxes.

He slid one hand behind her head, holding her there so he could take her lips by storm, his tongue pushing into her mouth to taste her. She curled her hands into fists against his chest, his skin a warm shock to her senses. Why had she thought to make Matthias jealous with such a dangerous game? When she pushed away, her lips tingled, and she stepped back, trying not to give away her confusion. She refused to hide, to cower, so Felice looked Simon straight in the eye. “Thank you, Simon. That’s all I require.”

For a moment she thought he would protest. Something dark, something dangerous flashed in his eyes, taking them from cloudy gray to stormy charcoal. Then he glanced at Matthias, and his face smoothed from a frown into a polite smile. “I may ask for you to return the favor at some point, lady.” She inclined her head, acknowledging the debt. Then she turned her attention to Matthias, who watched them, his face drawn into a scowl. Oh-ho. Someone preferred to be the center of all attention. They could certainly give him that.

Behind her, Simon sat once more in his chair, apart from the proceedings by only his choice. He’d made that clear. “Now, then,” Felice murmured. “I can focus on you, Matthias.” He nodded, but jerked his head to stillness when she touched his chin. “No, love. Don’t move. In fact, for the next adventure we have waiting for us, I will need you to be very, very still, do you understand?” Matthias swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yes, Mistress.” “Good. I have no urge to actually

damage you.” Returning to her earlier preparations, she took up a candle of beeswax, one fine and pure enough for her purposes. She lifted the globe on the closest lamp and lit the candle before pulling a soft linen towel out of the stack she’d set aside. She handed the bath sheet to Matthias. “Let me put this under your knees, so it’s spread out before you. Mustn’t mess the floor. The maids would leave me.” He nodded, swallowing hard as she spread the towel out, and he knelt a few inches in from the edge. Then he glanced

up to see what came next. Felice smiled, anticipation rising in her belly, and stepped close enough that her legs brushed his arm. “Breathe for me, love. In and out.” Matthias took a deep breath for her, his chest rising and falling. On his exhalation, Felice tilted the candle so wax dripped gently on his shoulder. His breath hissed in again, his whole body tensing, but he made no other sound. That wouldn’t do; Felice wanted his every response. “You will share your sounds with me,

Matthias. I would know all that you’re feeling.” “Yes, Mistress.” The words sounded forced out from between gritted teeth. “Breathe.” He did, in and out. She waited until he calmed a bit before trailing more wax on his skin, this time on his upper arm. “Uhnn.” There. That sound was half grunt, half groan. His muscles quivered, but with his hands bound he could do no more than jerk against the sting. She liked the look of him, kneeling like a supplicant, his muscles bulging every

time he fought to pull his hands free. “Much better, love. I do want to hear you.” She looked down directly into his eyes. “I want honest reactions from you.” “Yes, Mistress.” He was panting now, tremors running through him, his blue eyes gleaming as with fever. She stroked his hair with her free hand, loving how silky it felt, so soft for such a hard man. The wax on the candle had built up again, and she dripped it down over his chest. “Christ!” He jerked, only her legs

stopping him from falling backward. “Burns.” Felice grimaced. Yes, she would need to be more careful where he had such a thatch of hair. Poor planning on her part, for she was too eager to try all of her techniques on him. Simon chuckled, and Felice waved her hand at him, trying not to laugh too. “Simon, please.” “He’s a bit hirsute for this particular punishment, sweet.” She gave him what she hoped was a repressive frown. “I think he has some

smooth spots.” Felice pushed Matthias forward so he bent over his thighs, his head dipping toward the floor. Then she tipped a spill of wax between his shoulder blades. The wax formed tiny rivulets, then hardened, the pattern fascinating her. Every shift of that big body caused a new formation, and she touched the hardening wax with her fingers, smoothing it into a thinner layer. “Mistress.” “Do you exist for my pleasure, Matthias?”

“Yes.” “Then hush. I promise to have more forethought about where I put the wax.” His arse cheek, for instance, but only the top, not the underside where it met his thigh. That would hurt too much. “Someday soon I will shave everything between your waist and your thighs so I might use the candle without worry.” His whole body tensed, his head shaking in denial, and Felice knew she’d found a limit she must push. Anything that caused him real distress she would eschew, of course, but simple resistance

due to fear must be eradicated. “You are mine, love. I decide such things.” She tipped the candle, the small of his back and his left ass cheek her target now. A low moan was her reward, his body jerking. Felice glanced at Simon, who sat still, his hand covering his privates, a small smile twisting his lips. He would help her, no doubt, would hold Matthias steady for the razor. Her pussy clenched with desire, the idea of Matthias bare to her hands, perhaps her mouth, making her feel wet, swollen.

Even more exciting was the idea that perhaps Matthias would allow Simon to do more than watch. The thought of Matthias pleasuring Simon at her command was heady, making her nipples tighten once more. Matthias quivered, his nostrils flaring, and she wondered if he could smell her sudden increased arousal. He was far more attuned to her than she could have credited when they first met, his desire to please her stunning and perfect. “I think that’s a lovely pattern.”

Felice set the candle aside. “We’ll let that stay for a bit before I tear it off.” Matthias shook his head again, just the tiniest jerk of his jaw. She deliberately firmed her mouth, and put her fingers beneath his chin, forcing him to meet her stern gaze. “You will do what I wish. You have no say. In this discipline chamber you are a slave. You came tonight knowing this. Do you deny it?” He stared into her eyes for a long moment. “No, Mistress. I am yours.” “Good.” He had challenged her to

prove it earlier, and she thought their first time together had shown her the way to his truest surrender. He needed to be beaten. Firmly. Not the tiny strap to the nipples. She moved to the chest again, the press which held all of her tools. Last time she had chosen a crop. This time, she picked a heavy wooden paddle, something that would thud against his flesh, would make him rock with every blow. “Lift your hands up and hold them out of the way of your backside, love.” She knew the position would be

uncomfortable, making him work for his balance. Matthias moved his bound hands up as much as his well-developed muscles would allow, his shoulders straining. Delicious. Felice walked around behind him, swinging the paddle to familiarize herself with the weight of it. She rarely had a chance to use it. Most of her subjects would lack the strength to take too much of such an implement. The whoosh of air made Matthias tense once more, so Felice waited until

he relaxed before she landed the first swat, the heavy wooden paddle landing against Matthias’s bottom with a meaty thwack. He jumped and grunted, his body swaying. Pink lines bloomed on his flesh, the spot between them a darker rose color. Yes. Now she needed to leave it holding that color for the rest of the night, not just a few moments. She hit him again, her breath catching at the display of muscle he exhibited trying to keep his balance. His cock rose hard and high before him, and she

admired the sight before she turned back to the matter at hand. “This is what you need, love. A firm hand. Too much softness, too much leeway, and you try to wrest control back from me.” The paddle thumped against his skin over and over, and his flesh took on the glow of a well-used slave, the color only someone who needed beatings so desperately could achieve. This was the key to Matthias’s true surrender. She knew he would tolerate many things to please her, but this pain was what his soul craved.

A smile spread across her mouth. She knew what he liked. Simon was touching himself when she next glanced at him, his robe open, his cock in his hand. He had an elegant shaft, a beautifully flared head, but she couldn’t let him distract her. When she thought Matthias’s sore bottom had taken enough punishment, when he seemed to have found a rhythm in her swats, Felice dropped her hand a few inches and brought the paddle up under his cheek where it met his thigh, sending him skittering forward.

Matthias yelped, his hands reaching out toward her behind him, his back arching. “That’s what I want to hear, Matthias. I want your sounds.” Felice snapped that same spot over and over, listening to Matthias’s deep, hoarse song. So lovely. She pressed her thighs together, the wetness there easing the way, allowing little shocks to run up the center of her body. “Mistress. Please.” He sounded more animal than man, and she watched him dance when she moved down the backs

of his thighs. A small sound came from Simon, and she chanced a peek at him. He drove his hand up and down his swollen member, his breath coming fast and hard, his eyes the color of a winter storm. Yes, she understood. Completely. Still, she drove Matthias with more urgency. Then she began to speak to him. “I want your skin to glow with light, love. I want to see your bottom when it’s almost so sensitive the scratch of my nails would make you come. Then I want to put oil inside you so I can push my

fingers in and make you scream.” His hips rocked back and forth, losing the rhythm of her spanking. He was working toward his little death, and she didn’t want him to arrive just yet. When she stopped swinging the paddle, silence descended so quickly her ears rang. Matthias went still except for the heavy rise and fall of his chest, his attitude one of expectation. Of waiting. Simon’s groan tore through the room. “Damn it, woman. How could you stop there?”

“Because this is my dungeon, Simon.” She arched an eyebrow and quirked her lips at him. “Mine.” He glared at her, but nodded curtly. “You’re lucky it’s not mine, my dear. I would put you over my knee.” “You would try.” The thrill of competition went through her, surprising her with its strength. She knew how strong his physical pull was upon her now. How delicious would it be to resist him at her own game? Simon laughed softly. “I would.” Felice steadied Matthias with a hand

on his shoulder before surveying her work. “Should I bind his cock, do you think?” “Mmm.” Now Simon’s noise was that of a big African cat. “Not this time. Let him show his strength.” “As you say.” Tremors ran through the muscles under her touch, and she could feel each breath Matthias drew. Such perfect suffering. “Good form, Matthias. Back straight, hands as high as you can push them. Spread your knees for balance. Simon,

bring me the small padded bench?” Simon stood, the very portrait of need, his hard cock jutting out from his body. If anything, Matthias shook harder when Simon came near, quivering with the need to escape, perhaps. Felice noticed how Matthias’s gaze lingered on Simon’s form, though, and she thought Simon was correct. Matthias was not unmoved by his own sex. No, not repulsed either, judging from the way his cheeks flushed even brighter, by the hard bob of his Adam’s apple. That information she would file away

to use against him later. For now, she had a promise to keep. “There, now.” Felice pressed a hand to the back of Matthias’s neck. “Rest your chest on the bench.” With a grunt, Matthias lowered himself, his backside now sticking up and out at a perverse angle. The color of his skin made her gasp, her sex clenching deep inside. Following an earlier thought, Felice bent and scraped her nails over the deep red flesh. “Mistress!” His whole body jerked, and she heard his cock slap the bench.

“Now, now, love. Just your chest on the bench.” She pulled his hips back, arranging him as she desired, even as he ground out a curse. She slid her index finger to the top of the cleft between his cheeks, and he froze in place. “Be good,” Felice told him. “Or I will have Simon hold you down.” He shook his head wildly. “No. Please. I’ll behave.” “Remember that when I get back.” She went to her standing chest to retrieve oil and a small leather phallus.

Her fingers wouldn’t be enough of a stretch, she thought. He needed to push his limits, to really feel her dominance over his hole, over his body. He existed for her pleasure. Simon chuckled, moving past her, one hand sliding along her hip, over the swell of her ass under her shift. She shot him a repressive glare, but it had no real heat behind it. His touch was not unwelcome, just disconcerting. Once Simon had regained his seat, Felice returned to a shaken Matthias, holding both oil and phallus in one hand so she

could soothe him, stroking his back. “Shh. That’s very good, sweet. The perfect position.” Matthias relaxed, one muscle at a time, letting the bench hold the weight of his chest and shoulders. The attitude of surrender thrust his buttocks out at an obscene and wonderful angle, perfect for her desires. She hummed her pleasure, continuing to stroke him, gentling him as if he were a fractious horse. “There, now. I’ll let you smell the oil, hmm?” She moved to stand next to his head before unstoppering the oil. The

rich, earthy scent suited the act she was about to perform. “Sometime soon I will use the spiced oil, which will make you cry out and twist at how it burns. For now, this will do.” She leaned over him, propping one knee on the bench beside his shoulder, letting him smell her cunt while she drizzled oil along the small of his back. “When I rub this in,” she said, “it will soothe your bottom. I know it must ache.” “Yes. For you, Mistress.” The words sounded forced out through clenched

teeth. Such a struggle he went through. “I’ll make it better.” Then she would ask more of him, make him let her inside. Felice rubbed the oil into his skin, stroking gently in small circles. His hiss of discomfort, followed almost immediately by a pleased moan, told her she had worked him almost too hard. He made her greedy. When she reached the cleft between his cheeks, Felice slid an oily finger even farther, until she reached his hole. There she paused, awaiting his reaction. “No.” The word burst out of him, and

the bench slid forward when he tried to crawl away. She immediately smacked his burning ass with the flat of her other hand. “Do not run away from me, Matthias. Remain still.” His ass clenched as if warding her off, but otherwise he stayed motionless on her command. “Isn’t he a good boy, Simon?” Every mention of Simon made Matthias recall he was there, reminded Matthias that she made the rules. Such delicious tension that brought to Matthias’s muscles, an

unconscious wiggle of that fine buttocks. “He is exceptional, and you know it. He’s taken to discipline far better than even I had hoped.” Getting up and moving about seemed to have aided Simon in regaining some small amount of composure. He gripped his cock once more but did not look as close to the edge of sanity as he had appeared only moments before. “Shall I fuck him now?” she asked, knowing both men would harden even further at her words. “Yes. Now.” Simon’s lips curled. “If

it pleases you.” “Oh, very pretty.” She put one hand on the small of Matthias’s back to hold him in place, then slid a finger into his back passage without any more warning. “Unh.” Spine arching, Matthias fought her intrusion, his muscles trying to clamp down to keep her out. No doubt this was something utterly new to him. She would not be denied, however, and pressed until his body gave way and let her in. His opening loosened enough for her to slide her finger deep and leave it there, letting him settle into the feeling

of being invaded. “Tell me how it feels, my love,” she demanded. “Tell me what you want.” “Big. Scratchy. I want to fuck you. I want to feel your cunt.” He sounded like a caged animal, but his muscles loosened for her, letting her push her finger in deeper. “It will get bigger, I promise.” “Oh, God.” Head falling forward, Matthias moved back on her hand, fucking himself on her finger like the needy man he was. His resistance only lasted so long at each new turn. Then he

embraced each challenge she threw at him with a desperate enthusiasm. Simon watched, his eyes the color of fog in the streets of London, his mouth pressed into a hard line of desire. Felice felt the weight of his stare deep in her belly, in her cunt, which clenched and released, wetness dampening her inner thighs. She felt powerful, teasing both of these strong men, bending them to her will. Yes, even Simon, who couldn’t touch or view any of this without her permission. She rubbed the small of Matthias’s

back with her free hand, easing the muscles there, which allowed her to slide another finger into his back passage. He moaned, shaking for her, his body bending to her demands. “Please.” For a moment it seemed Matthias might try to crawl away again. Then he rocked back once more. “Soon,” Felice agreed. “Soon it will be the phallus. Can you see Simon, love? He’s imagining his fingers inside you, his cock.” Matthias shook his head, but his inner muscles belied the movement, clamping

down on her fingers, pulling them deeper inside him. The possibilities maddened her, made her circle her hips to ease some of the pressure deep between her legs. She wanted to see them together, these two strong, masculine creatures. Their bodies were a study in contrast, Matthias broad and heavily muscled, Simon golden and lean with sinewy limbs. She wondered if Simon could dominate Matthias as she did. His force of will led her to believe he could, and easily. Felice shivered, turning her full

attention back to Matthias. Time to fuck him, she thought, to let him really feel the stretch and burn of something hard and thick inside him. Too often she denied herself that same pleasure, because letting one of the subjects of her discipline fuck her led to their dismissal. Perhaps she should engage in a true affair, one with an equal. Someone such as Simon, who would not expect messy emotional entanglements. She smiled, imagining what a bad idea that would probably turn out to be, which was reinforced when Simon snapped at her.

“Would you fuck him, for God’s sake? What are you waiting for?” Turning her head, she halted her motions, staring at Simon. He glared at her, his hand stilling in his lap. They held each other captive for long moments, a battle of wills if she’d ever had one. Then Matthias bucked under her hand. “Mistress.” “Yes.” Yes, this was for Matthias, to fulfill his need. The tiny war between her and Simon could wait. “Let me get the harness, sweet. I want to fuck you

just like a man would.” He jerked again, her words having as much power as her touch. Felice pulled free, leaving him open for her, and washed up at the basin she’d prepared before buckling on the harness she’d made. The contraption allowed her to take a man, or a woman, just as someone born with a phallus attached. Heady, wielding that sort of force. She pushed up behind Matthias, stroking his lower back. “Are you ready for me, love?” Matthias shook his head, but his body

swayed back toward her. “I don’t— Mistress.” “I know, sweet. You need me to make this decision. I am your mistress. I will happily show you all the pleasures on this earth.” She smacked his right butt cheek, simply to distract him with the sting. A glance at Simon showed him staring at them, not moving, clearly holding his breath. Felice guided the fake cock to the entrance to Matthias’s body, ready to push in, slow and steady. She paused, but only to slick the cock up with more oil. Such a virgin hole would

need the aid. His body, stretched out on his hands and knees before her, made Felice ache, deep in her cunt. The marks she’d left on his skin taunted her, reminded her that for just this moment, at least, he was hers. She took a deep breath, letting half of it out before slipping into his hole a few inches. Matthias moaned for her, dipping his head down toward his hands. His struggle to accept the invasion left his skin flushed dark, gooseflesh rising along his hips and back.

Stroking his back, she began to move, one tiny motion after another, rocking her hips slowly. Men pushed too hard too fast, but Felice knew starting slowly made the stretch more obvious, made all of the sensations intensify. Skin tingling, muscles tensing, waiting for the slam of hips on ass… The wait could definitely be worth it. She bit her lip against the need to speak to him, to reassure him. No, she was Matthias’s mistress, and if this pleased her, it needed to please him. How else would he learn? Instead she

began to move faster, yet still slowly, sliding the phallus in and out. She let him feel each long glide of the fake cock, let it rub his inner nerves until he shook for her, his backside starting to wag from side to side. Then she slapped his left butt cheek, letting him feel the tiny burst of pain on the other side from where she’d left a handprint last time. He responded so beautifully to the beatings she gave him, and this time was no different. Matthias whispered her name and opened for her, his body accepting the phallus all the

way to the root. Felice rested against Matthias’s broad back, enjoying the flex of muscle she felt beneath her. Her cunt squeezed and ached, the harness stimulating her clitoris but leaving her empty otherwise. “I want to touch you both.” Simon ground the words out as if every single one pained him. A glance at Simon showed those gray eyes focused on where she and Matthias came together, watching the phallus slide in and out of Matthias’s body. Hunger shone in those eyes, and was tightly

outlined in every muscle of Simon’s body. Simon wished to be where she was with an intensity Felice could feel. It heated the room like a blazing hearth. Oh, how she wanted Simon with her and Matthias, wanted to feel his hands on her skin, his lips in the nape of her neck when he slid inside her from behind. No, that was madness. The loss of control would be fatal. She pulled her gaze from Simon’s and focused on Matthias once more. Matthias had raised his head off the bench to stare at Simon. “Mistress.”

“Yes, love?” She pushed her hips inward with each word, taking him from behind to remind him to be careful what he asked for. “Will you let Simon touch you?” She paused, the phallus buried deep within him. “Not you? He would like that just as much.” He shook his head slightly. “I—I’m not. Yet. No.” Yet. She looked to Simon again, the agony of hope on his face from that one simple word almost too much to bear. They progressed well.

“Why do you want him to touch me?” she asked, treading these waters with care. “To give you pleasure, Mistress. You deserve his attention since yours is all focused on me.” “Oh, very nice, your manners.” She rather thought Matthias wanted to distract her, and she wondered at the wisdom of breaking their self-imposed rules, that Simon should stay in his chair and not touch. “I am not certain Simon has manners, though. He might take advantage.”

“I do not fall easily to command,” Simon agreed. “A kiss, perhaps, I could do with no other pressure to touch.” Feeling very brave, Felice beckoned to Simon with one hand. “A kiss then. Come give it to me.” Matthias moaned, jerking back and forth, moving her faster. Not at all unmoved, her slave. Simon came to them, carefully skirting Matthias to stand on her left side. No need to push Matthias any further; he had already asked for more than either of them expected.

Simon smiled at her, the expression wolfish. He never said another word to her—he simply slid a hand behind her head, his calluses catching on the wisps that clung to her neck. His thumb settled by her ear, and Simon pulled her toward him, leaning down until his lips brushed hers. The initial contact felt like the brush of wings, tiny, almost tentative. As soon as she gasped, though, he was pressing his tongue inside her mouth, the invasion sudden, startling. He kissed her until her ears rang, until she forgot what she was about. Felice lost

herself in Simon’s kiss, and he overwhelmed her with his need. She only came back to herself when Matthias shoved back against her, nearly unseating her. Planting a hand on Simon’s chest, she held him at bay when he would have kissed her again. “One kiss,” she told him. “Back to your chair.” “And if I refuse to be banished?” Simon asked, a dangerous glint making his eyes shine with a silvery glow. “Then we all stop.” Felice stared him down, digging her nails into Matthias’s

butt cheeks. “No.” Matthias bit the word out. “Sit down, Simon.” “So forceful,” Simon murmured, but he did turn back to his chair, very deliberately trailing his hand over Matthias’s back as he went. The muscles around the phallus attached to her harness squeezed down, and Felice bit her lower lip watching it happen. Matthias clearly longed for Simon’s touch. She would have to explore this, because sharing Matthias with Simon would be the highlight of her long career

as a mistress. Simon resumed his chair, but made no effort to hide his cock, hard and red, dripping. He opened his robe all the way as well, his chest heaving, and he made quite a scene in his dishabille. “I want you both to come now,” Simon demanded. She wanted to resist, wanted to shout at him that she did not take orders. Felice knew the impossibility of it when her inner muscles clenched, her sex drenched with the moisture of her completion. She shook for him, and

Felice wasn’t sure if she would ever forgive him for it. Matthias shouted, sawing back and forth, almost unseating her. Felice grabbed his hips to steady herself, and when he was done she slumped down on his back, folding over the hard phallus until it pressed against her as firmly as it pushed into her slave. Simon groaned, the sound one of utter torment, and she and Matthias both lifted their heads in time to see him come, his body shaking, his cock spurting out streams of cloudy fluid. Utterly

delicious, his abandon. Her gaze met Simon’s, and Felice knew they had turned a corner on a path they could never retrace. How convenient for her that she was accustomed to forging her own way in the world. She would simply have to make a new path. Simon had no intention of letting Matthias ignore him, yet that seemed to be the very object of Matthias’s ambition. They had rarely gone a fortnight without gambling together, or

seeking the pleasure of a fighting ring. Now, though, it had been two days past that, and Simon had seen neither hide nor hair of Matthias. The last place he expected to find Matthias was in his club, dressed in formal attire, yet that was exactly where, and how, Simon finally found him. Matthias sat in splendid solitude near the fire in the main room, a glass of port dangling from his hand, his neck cloth untied. No matter the type of clothing, Matthias always managed to appear disheveled enough that he could just

have made love in a back corner. The thought made Simon’s heart race, so he sternly tamped it down. He joined Matthias at the circle of chairs near the sullenly burning grate. “I thought perhaps you had removed to the country,” Simon said while he settled his coattails. “I thought about it.” Matthias glanced at him, blue eyes clouded with doubt of some sort. “Have you seen her?” “No.” He did not ask who. That would be disingenuous. “Have you?” “No.” Matthias hunched his shoulders and looked into the fire. “She has sent

more than a few messages, but she refuses to meet without you.” “Ah.” Disappointment flared in his chest, even though Simon knew full well Matthias feared intimacy with him. “Well, we do have something of a bargain.” “Bah.” Matthias turned back to glare at him. “I need the release she gives me, Simon. I lost a packet at the tables this week, something I haven’t done in an age.” “Then tell her yes.” Simon crossed one leg over the other, straining his

breeches at the seams. Damnably tight things. “I can’t.” To his credit, Matthias did not look away again. “I’m sorry. I think I cannot do what you want of me.” “Why not?” Simon dropped his foot on the floor, then leaned forward to prop his elbows on his knees. “You want to. I see your need when we’re all together. You glow with it. Oh, Matthias, the things we might do together, Felice and I. To you, if you would only allow it.” Spots of red rose high into his friend’s cheeks. “I do not deny that in the

heat of the moment I find the notion thrilling. On sober reflection, however, I know the truth of it. It’s unnatural.” “Is it? Am I to burn in hell, then? I’ve had as many men as women.” “Simon!” Matthias glanced about. “Do you want to hang for sodomy?” “Why not? Better that than deny what is in my heart.” He sighed, waving to a footman to bring him a glass of his own. “Port, if you please.” “Don’t be a fool.” Matthias threw back the rest of his drink, then grimaced. “No matter how permissive people seem

to be in your circles, step outside them and you’ll get us both killed.” “I see. You’re afraid of society. How dull.” Simon knew better. Matthias was afraid of him, because if anyone in his acquaintance was reckless and courted danger, it was Matthias. No, Matthias feared his own feelings, not the hangman’s noose or the gaol. “Blast you, Simon, you’re the one who sent me to Felice. Now you would deny me that release?” Simon sat back once more, rolling his head on his neck when he did. His neck

cracked, the tension building under his skin. His decision crystallized before he even needed to make one. “No, Matthias. I will not force you to leave off with Felice. In fact, I shall remove myself from the equation for you. One of my estates in Lincolnshire needs my attention. I will leave Town for the duration, and you may explore your time with your mistress alone. Would you like me to send Felice a note to that order?” Matthias blinked at him, mouth opening with delicious surprise, lips parting, rosy and damp. “You’re

leaving.” “Indeed. A wounded soldier knows when to withdraw from the battle. My salvo in our last meeting clearly unnerved both you and your mistress, as she is avoiding me as well.” The waiter brought his port, and Simon drank it with none of his usual slow appreciation. “Does that suit your needs? You are, if nothing else, a dear friend to me, Matthias. I would not lose that.” Matthias snapped his mouth closed. “I —yes. I wish you didn’t feel as if you needed to leave Town, but I would like

to see Felice alone.” “Then you shall have it.” He stood, reaching out before Matthias could stop him to touch one of Matthias’s cheeks. “Enjoy one another.” Then he turned on his heel and left the club before he ruined his reputation as a cold-hearted bastard by making a scene. That was the sort of gamble Simon would only take if he thought he had any chance of success. Simon had left. Gone to the country, as though he

loved the provincial life. Damned bastard. Matthias needed him as much as he needed Felice, somehow, even if he couldn’t be what Simon needed. He sat at the gaming table, surrounded by sots and cheats, his pile of notes growing with every play. Didn’t it just figure that as soon as Simon left he would begin winning? “Your go, Forrester,” his card partner, Thomas Woolsley, murmured and Matthias studied his cards. What was he doing here? He had Simon’s blessing to go and see Felice.

She had sent him numerous invitations. He needed but to go to her and she could turn him inside out, could take all the reckless anger out of him. Would it work, though, without Simon there? He had no idea. What if her touch wasn’t enough? What if it took those ice gray eyes watching him, caressing him like another touch, in order to get what he craved? “Forrester.” Woolsley kicked his booted foot. “Go.” Matthias made his play, but his heart wasn’t in it. Gambling paled beside his

mistress. So did horse racing and whoring. She was so soft, her skin far more supple than the finest kid leather gloves. Better than Chinese silk. She smelled like all of the most delicious sins: whiskey and smoke, coffee and musk. Her smallest touch commanded him to do things he thought beyond any pale. So, again he asked himself, why was he here? “Well played, Woolsley,” someone said, and the round came to an end with Matthias and Thomas taking more than

their share of books. They won the wager for the round. The pile of notes before him grew once more. Matthias fought the urge to laugh hysterically. “Your deal, Forrester.” Matthias glanced in turn at the other two players, then turned an apologetic smile on Woolsley. “I’m afraid I have another engagement, gentlemen. Harvey, will you sit in for me with Thom?” “Indeed. Leave me seed money, and I’m your man.” Matthias snorted, but pulled off two

notes and handed them over. “By all means. Buy the boys a brandy, hmm? Good night, gentlemen.” Mind made up, Matthias rose, ready to go to Felice and beg her to take his anger, his pain, away from him. With or without Simon, Matthias needed the release he’d become addicted to, needed to let go. He knew it was late, and he hated to go to her in such a flagrant disarray, but go he would. God knew he couldn’t bother to stay and bet on another winning hand. That simply wasn’t Matthias’s style.

Chapter Four Felice was done with begging. She had sent no fewer than four invitations to Matthias, the first two carefully worded, catering to his pride. The third she had mentioned how his bad habits might affect him should he stay away any longer. The last had been a plea on her part, her need to see him overwhelming her good sense.

There had been no reply, no indication at all that Matthias needed her special touch in any way. Therefore, Felice resolved to push her desire for both Matthias and the oddly silent Simon away, and to focus on her more pressing concerns. Strangely reluctant to take on new slaves, she spent her time at her coffeehouse and on her literary salon. The worst of the whole mess was the feeling of humiliation, that a woman of her experience would have let herself be drawn into Simon and Matthias’s

ridiculous game. Naturally, the evening after she made her peace with her decision, Thomas announced, “Matthias Forrester to see you, madam.” “It’s quite late,” she said, frowning repressively. “He seems…desperate, madam.” “Does he?” She tapped her finger against her lower lip. “Well, then. Allow me to arrange some things upstairs. Bring him to me in half an hour.” “Yes, madam.” “Oh, and Thomas. Have him strip

down, then stay with him. Watch him. Make him uncomfortable. He needs to overcome his fear of his attraction to men.” A wide smile spread across Thomas’s face. “With pleasure.” Thomas did love to play, and he adored having a bit of pride of place over another man. He was a fine footman, fitting neatly into her household. Felice went up the back stairs, not wanting to run afoul of Matthias too early. She went to the chamber of discipline

first. Opening a small press in the corner, she laid out several implements, then set up the set of restraints she thought would best serve them tonight. The cuffs dangled from an adjustable yoke chained to the ceiling. For his feet, Felice would use a simple spreader, forcing him to keep his balance, to struggle throughout the whole evening. She rang for one of the other footmen to lay and set a fire in the fireplace, then placed some oils and creams on the mantel to warm. Now she could decide on her armor

for this battle. She chose a heavy brocade robe. She wore it over a thin shift of fine linen to protect her skin, but truly she wanted something Matthias would find scratchy against his skin, simply to add a layer of sensation. She washed up a bit, then pulled her hair down to brush it, knowing how Matthias liked her natural, un-powdered hair. Prepared, the butterflies in her belly calmed by her ritual, she made her way back to the playroom to ring for Thomas. Just before her bottom hit the cushion of

the settee she thought to recline over, though, Felice changed her mind. Instead, she sat in Simon’s chair, her hands on the arms, just as Simon might keep his. The door opened, allowing a very bare and very agitated Matthias. He surged toward her, but Felice held up a hand. “Stop.” His body moved a few more steps, but she saw her word register, saw him stumble when he tried to halt too quickly. Matthias stood six feet away from her, hands hanging at his sides.

“Good. Now, before you try to speak, I want you to know that your mistress is displeased. I called for you, and you did not obey me. Tonight you will be punished for this before we can move forward. Do not speak. You may nod to show me you understand.” His face fell, his expression going from hopeful to crestfallen. Still, he nodded slowly, showing that he understood both her words and, she thought, his transgression. “Good. Thomas, strap his hands to the hanging yoke.” She would not touch him

tonight, not until he had paid for his fear, for his lack of trust in her and in his friend. Simon had given them this, and it was unfair to exclude him. Simon in Lincolnshire, of all things, as if agriculture could replace this in some way. Matthias jumped, clearly only then realizing Thomas was still in the room. His cock, only at half-mast to begin with, deflated quickly. Thomas came forward, his eyes glinting with glee, and took Matthias to the hanging yoke, turning him to face

Felice. Matthias flinched every time Thomas touched him, the feel of male hands setting him on edge. She saw it in the way Matthias swayed in the restraints, in the way large muscle groups clenched and released. Even more, his discomfort was evident in the iron hardness of Matthias’s jaw. “The spreader for his feet, if you please.” Thomas nodded, easily attaching the carved wooden bar with its padded belts to Matthias’s ankles. “Perfect. Are you in any pain? No

words, Matthias. Just gestures.” She could see him mulling over his answer, but finally he shook his head, his gaze meeting hers. Mutinous, but willing to give in for now. Such a magnificent man he was. “Good. Thomas will be joining us this evening. Thomas, strip down, please.” Thomas nodded, stripping out of his coat and blouse, his breeches following in short order. He was a good specimen, as well, strong and well-formed, dark where Matthias was pale. Felice

hummed happily at the sight they made together, so near to one another. Matthias kept his eyes carefully trained on the floor, but Felice knew he was focused on the proceedings. He would be desperate to know what came next, and she watched some of his interest return by way of his cock. Beautiful. “Now, I have to think of a suitable punishment. The flogger, love? The crop? What sort of beating shall we have?” He stared at her, his mouth flattened

into a tight line. “Shall I allow Thomas to choose?” she asked. Matthias shook his head violently. No, she imagined he would rather not have Thomas pick the big cat or the heavy tawse. “Then you decide. The crop? The flogger? A cane?” He pursed his lips, giving her an arch look. He loved the crop, and she knew it. She would have Thomas use it on that hard bottom, and she would watch Matthias fight his arousal at every step of the game.

“The crop, then, please. Thomas, if you will?” “Yes, Mistress. Shall I turn him so you can see?” She spared Thomas a brief smile. “I can see the view I wish to have, my dear.” Matthias snorted, the sound loud and full of bravado. Still, his cock rose a notch, didn’t it? Yes, this was for her pleasure, and once he realized that, they could progress apace. What he wanted did not matter. Only her will should concern him.

Thomas got the crop from her little pile of tools, and moved to stand behind and to one side of Matthias. At her nod, Thomas swung, and she heard the snap of leather hitting flesh. Matthias jumped, swaying against his restraints, a sharp noise bursting out of his mouth. No matter what his reservations, the beatings always made him fall in line. Felice put a hand to her chest, the raw sensuality of Matthias’s reaction making her breathless. Her nipples scratched against the brocade of her robe through her thin shift, and she thought she might

have outfoxed herself there. The abrasion made her shiver, arch, but the movement served to intensify the heat in Matthias’s gaze, so she didn’t chastise herself too firmly. The swish-slap of the crop became louder, Thomas warming to his work. Matthias flinched, but his cock kept rising, flushing a deep rose, the head peeking out through the foreskin. Yes, he needed this beating, no matter who administered it. Stubborn man, waiting so long to come to her, trying to deny himself this release from his own

torment. Now he would have something new to think about. Thomas giving him pleasure would, she hoped, be a revelation to him. The crop rose and fell over and over, and Matthias began to flinch with every blow. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and his lower body rocked, first forward, away from the crop, then back into it. Temptation made into flesh, he was, and Felice wanted to see his rosy butt but she kept herself still but for her hand, which she lowered back to the arm of

the chair. She would outlast him; he would beg before she gave him any sign that she was as desperate as he to continue their association. Just when she thought he would never break, a harsh sound escaped him, and he arched forward, clearly trying to escape any more blows. “Thomas, stop,” Felice said. The rain of slaps stopped, and Thomas stepped out from behind Matthias, awaiting her next order. “Look what your work has done, Thomas.”

Thomas glanced at Matthias’s proud cock, and that wicked smile she so loved appeared again. Her footman did apply himself to his job with pride. His cock stood high and hard as well, his pale cheeks bright red. “I think you should suck him now, Thomas. He’s earned his relief.” She knew Matthias would think this a punishment to begin with, not a reward. In fact, a glance at his face showed him drawing breath to speak, his eyes flashing blue fire. Felice once more held up a hand.

“No. I told you. You must earn the right to speak to me. I have not forgiven you yet. Will you force me to stop the whole process now?” The threat caused him to close his mouth, but every muscle in his body drew up tight, and when Thomas knelt before Matthias, his belly drew in, his hips swaying back. He thought this would be torture. Thomas had a mouth made for sucking cock, though. Matthias would explode before he could even think a single thought about unnatural practices.

Reaching out, Thomas put one hand on Matthias’s hip, holding him still. Then he craned his neck and sealed his lips around Matthias’s cock, pushing halfway down on his first foray. Matthias cried out, a wordless sound of shocked pleasure, and yes, he was going to surrender. Her beautiful slave. He pushed up, Thomas pressed down, and soon the two men had a rhythm, gaining speed with every thrust of Matthias’s hips. Poor Matthias had been denying himself his release, so his arrival took mere moments. Thomas

hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard, lips following their path down to Matthias’s root. That sent Matthias over the edge, his body shaking when he came, his face contorted as if he was in pain. Thomas caught every drop, even when Matthias’s thrusts threatened to throw him to the floor with their roughness. Felice gripped the arms of Simon’s chair, her nails digging in against the need to touch herself. She cleared her throat. “Good. Very good, Matthias. No, not yet. Thomas deserves a reward for

his work.” Face going tight, Matthias began to shake his head. Yes, he worried about what reward she might choose for Thomas, but she would never allow someone to take what was rightfully Simon’s and be the first man to find pleasure inside Matthias. She also knew Thomas well enough to know what he would choose as a reward. “Thomas? What would you ask of your mistress?” Thomas turned away from Matthias,

his cock a tight rod of need. He crawled to her, pushing his head down to kiss the toe of her kid slipper. “Spank me, Mistress.” “Over the lap, then.” Thomas knew the position to assume, and he stood to drape himself over her lap, supporting himself with his hands and feet so his weight was evenly dispersed. That left his taut, round bottom pointing up at her, in the perfect position for her hand. She glanced up, meeting Matthias’s gaze for a moment, and she smiled at his thunderous frown. He was angry that

Thomas had beaten him rather than her, and that Thomas was getting what he was denied. Perfect. First she stroked Thomas’s backside, feeling the skin, always surprisingly soft. Then Felice drew her hand back and slapped hard, leaving a lurid handprint where the blow landed. Thomas moaned, a soft, pleased sound, and arched like a cat being petted. Such a good boy, always craving her discipline. She hit him again, then again, the sting of each blow traveling up her arm into her shoulder.

“Are you going to spill for me, Thomas? Just from this? Are you going to come?” She taunted him a bit, knowing he wouldn’t dare soil her brocade robe. “Only if you command it, Mistress.” The example he was setting for Matthias was priceless. Every glance at Matthias showed his interest focused on where her hand met the hard male buttocks she controlled so easily. His cock was rising once more, the tableau more rousing than he could pretend to ignore.

“Good boy,” she murmured, not knowing exactly which of them she meant the words for most. She kept the spanking, and Thomas began to writhe, his body undulating with each slap. He panted for her, rocking back and forth from hands to toes, ass jerking. The muscles in his behind danced for her like hot water on a stove, his skin becoming pink, burning up with heat. Finally, the movements became frantic, Thomas struggling too hard, his cock sliding against her legs, opening her robe. She pushed him gently to the

floor. “Bring yourself off, Thomas.” Thomas nodded frantically, rolling to his back to grab his cock, stroking it madly. Good man, not wanting to stain her rug. He jerked, dancing on the end of his own hand, and he came explosively, grunting as he shot his seed into the air so it landed on his chest. She let Thomas catch his breath before she smiled at him, holding down a hand to help him up. “Thank you, Thomas. You may leave us now. Put some water on in my bedchamber, will you?”

“Yes, Mistress.” He bowed, then gathered up his clothes. With a long, last glance at Matthias’s bound form, Thomas slipped out the door, closing it behind him. The silence stretched, Matthias continuing to follow her edict not to speak. Felice stood, smoothing her hands down her front to settle her robe back into place. “Well, there you have it, Matthias. A man touched you, and God did not strike you down.” His mouth twisted, and she smiled,

walking over to him so she could press against his side. “You may speak now.” “I’m glad it gave you pleasure, Mistress.” His voice sounded as if he’d gargled glass. “Watching Thomas take you in his mouth gave me great pleasure.” She kicked one leg free of her robe and slid up her shift so she could slide between Matthias’s thighs. “I would rather have beaten you myself, but I was making a point.” “Punishing me.” “Not really, for all that I said so.”

Felice pressed closer, her pussy meeting his skin, her outer lips rubbing against him. “I needed you to understand that pleasure comes in all forms. That you could get it from Thomas as well as me, and enjoy it.” “I did, Mistress, but I— That’s not the same.” “The same as what?” She stroked his belly, her hips rocking. So wet for him. “Simon. Simon could break me.” The raw admission tore down a barrier, something inside him reaching out to her, begging for her help.

“Yes, he could, but I vow to you, that wouldn’t be the end of the world.” His cock had flagged, so she cupped her hand beneath it, lifting and stroking. “He wants you so badly. Imagine him as your master just as I am your mistress. You could serve both of us, Matthias, and you’d never whore or gamble again.” He sighed, his chest heaving when his breath hitched there. “I’m not strong enough, Felice.” He hung his head, causing his shoulders to strain. “I want to be, but I can’t lose his friendship. I can’t.”

“Oh, sweet. Sending him away will do that just as easily.” She backed away just far enough to bend down and unbuckle the cuffs at his ankles, then stand to release his hands. Matthias stumbled a bit, but she balanced him until he regained his bearings. “Come with me, love.” She took his hand, leading him out of the room. They would go to her bedchamber and rest, then bathe together. His reward for his candor, for the truest words he’d said to her.

When they reached her huge bed, she pushed him down, studying him a moment. “Do I need to bind you, Matthias? Would that help? I want to discuss this some more.” His blue eyes met hers, worry lurking there. “Please.” “My strong love.” She bent to kiss his mouth, and he jerked, pulling in a deep, shocked breath. To his credit, he did not reach for her, but she felt his hands curl into fists. “Let me tie you.” Felice wanted a different position for his arms and shoulders, so she did not tie him to

the bed. She took a length of soft silk and wrapped it around his wrists, keeping his hands before his body. He could touch that way if she so commanded, but he couldn’t escape her. She went one step further and tethered his ankles as well, the cuff there allowing movement but not release. “Better?” she asked, coming to the head of the bed to brush his damp hair off his forehead. “Yes.” She slapped his cheek lightly, knowing the blow barely stung. “Yes,

what?” “Yes, Mistress.” He stared at her, and she didn’t have the heart to tell him to lower his eyes like a good slave. Matthias was clearly devastated, his emotions raw, every thought writ clear on his face. Her mentor William, the man who had taught her the art of discipline, had often spoken of breaking someone down so that they might be built up again. Matthias, she thought, had reached that breaking point. “Good,” Felice murmured. “Very

good.” She opened the sash of her robe before letting it slide down off her shoulders and arms, then tossed aside her shift. Naked, she crawled up on the bed with Matthias, pressing against his side, her breasts against his solid rib cage. “Now, then. Shall we continue?” “Mistress…” He took a deep breath, his ribs swelling against her. “I don’t know where to begin. I stayed away, but I was lost without you.” “You stayed away out of sheer stubbornness. Have you learned whose will is important now?” She stroked his

chest, her fingers tangling in the mat of dark hair there so she could tug a tiny bit. “I hope so. I cannot promise I won’t be a fool more than once.” His wry smile relaxed her, made her realize he was regaining some of his equilibrium. “No, I suppose none of us can promise that. We need to talk about Simon.” “I know.” He struggled a bit, and she realized Matthias was trying to face her. She helped him, and soon they lay nose to nose. “I don’t think I can bear it.”

“Bear what, precisely?” She kept touching him, offering comfort of sorts, knowing what he needed from her now was for her to listen. “His touch. His need.” Matthias shook his head. “I told myself I could do this, keep our bargain of only meeting with you when he could be present as well. You command me, and I know you desire me, but Simon… I think he loves me.” He closed his eyes, and Felice could count each dark lash where they fell against his cheek. “He does.” She fought down the pain

that rose in her chest at his words. Oh, she could so easily love him, but she could hardly allow that, could she? So, why did it hurt her to hear Matthias state it so baldly? “I can’t be what he wants.” “Why not? Have you asked Simon what he wants?” “No.” Those blue eyes opened once more to stare into hers. “I’m too much of a bloody coward.” “Oh, Matthias.” She reached up to stroke his cheek. “You surrendered yourself to me because you need to stop

making the wrong decisions. You let me command you in order to save you from yourself. You trusted Simon in his choice of me. Now you must trust that he loves you enough to do what is best for you.” Was she really advocating for Simon? Could two men have more than an affair, even as decadent as their society was now? “What if I find his touch abhorrent?” Matthias chuckled. “Not that I didn’t prove tonight I wasn’t quite the whore.” Now she slapped his face hard enough to leave a bit of a handprint.

“Enjoying pleasure does not make anyone a whore.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry.” “A bit of a touchy subject.” “I imagine.” He paused, clearly thinking hard. “How did you come to do this?” “This?” She smiled. “The telling of my life would take too long, Matthias. Suffice to say that I decided long ago that I preferred to be in control, and thankfully, I was able to achieve such.” She tapped her fingers against his chin. “Now, about Simon. He’s gone, yes? He

sent me a note to proceed without him.” “To Lincolnshire.” “Hmm. I have a sudden urge to go to Lincoln.” He drew back, eyes wide. “Are you serious? You want to go to Simon’s country house?” “Yes.” Felice had no idea where the thought had come from, but once it came into her head it stayed, blooming into something inescapable. “What better place to explore what you need, and what the two of you might give one another?”

“You’re my mistress, though, and I need what you give me.” Pride and pleasure replaced the earlier hurt she’d felt when he spoke of Simon. “You’re my best slave, Matthias. I have no intention of giving you up. I think I can be persuaded to share you, however.” His body relaxed against hers, as if that was exactly what he needed to hear. “I fear I need you both.” “Then I shall help as much as I can.” Felice allowed herself the luxury of another kiss, pressing her mouth to his,

pushing her tongue between Matthias’s lips. He opened for her, but didn’t let her take control for long. He rolled over on top of her, despite his bound hands. She let him settle between her legs, his cock pressing against her mound. Resting her heels on his back, Felice held Matthias against her, his weight pushing her into the bed. His hips moved, and when Felice reached down to his fiery buttocks he moaned, his body bucking against her. He grunted, rocking back and forth, the

tip of his cock working between her folds. Should she let him? Felice was wet, ready for him, and she thought she ought to reward his trust in her, allowing her to see him at his lowest point. Oh, she was fooling no one, least of all herself. Felice wanted Matthias inside her. A quick adjustment had him pushing into her pussy, his cock a steely invader. He stretched her to the limit, his hands caught between them, pressing against her lower belly. Matthias kissed her

again, deeply, and they began to move together, truly fucking for the first time. God, he felt perfect, as if he’d been made for her. Felice pushed back the fear that she would find herself on the outside once Matthias gave in to Simon’s advances. Instead, she closed her eyes and took what he gave her, took her pleasure by slamming up with her hips, riding her way up and down his shaft. They rutted, not another word passing between them. Matthias took her with a single-minded intensity that took her breath, the bed shaking with their

movements. Oh, he was the most amazing male animal. Felice rose up to bite his shoulder, right at the top of his arm, and Matthias shouted, losing his balance as his hands dug into her skin. She pushed him up by his chest, letting him finish, the rhythm broken as he strove to come inside her. Felice slapped his rump, pushing him beyond what he could bear. He cried out for her, a sound she reveled in, and spent inside her with a series of long shudders, his grunt feral, utterly male. The last thrust pressed him down

against the little bundle of nerves at her core, and Felice shouted, her thighs shaking, her belly pulling in with her release. Her vision blurred, but she watched Matthias anyway, wanting to take in every detail of his little death. When he slumped to one side, gallantly avoiding crushing her, he lay next to her, his chest heaving. “Thank you,” he said. “Felice.” “You’re welcome, love. Tomorrow we leave for Lincolnshire. For now, though, I think I would like that hot bath.”

Matthias rode while Felice stayed in her coach. They had spent a quiet night at a coaching inn the night before, posing as brother and sister, which had necessitated separate rooms. That had left him entirely too much time to think, just as another day of riding did. His mistress had commanded that he go with her to find Simon, and so he had, but he was certain this was a terrible idea. Simon leaving town had brought about a collapse of their system, yes, but it had also been Simon removing himself from play, and now Felice wanted to

bring him back into the game. Could Matthias let Simon that close to him and not lose what was left of himself? God, what if it all backfired and Simon found him dead in some gambling hell in a fortnight? Sighing, he nudged his gelding with his heels, riding on ahead. Soon they should be passing Lincoln, then turning off toward Simon’s estate. God knew what Felice was amusing herself with in the carriage, but Matthias had resisted riding with her, not wanting to end up naked and bound for the whole ride.

She was somewhat obsessed with him naked and tied. His cock threatened to harden, which would be ridiculously uncomfortable on a horse, so he shifted and resettled himself, then focused on his surroundings. Cold, but still green. Once one got out of the city, the whole world seemed green. He could simply turn back. Not as if Simon knew they were coming. They could call it off. His belly tightened, and he fought the urge to run. Felice would be disappointed, and Matthias constantly

surprised himself by how easily he’d adapted to her will, to putting her needs before his. No, he wouldn’t run, no matter what his mind told him, because she wanted him to meet with Simon, and so he would. He reined his mount over to the carriage to rap on the window. Felice peered out at him, pulling the curtain aside, her little veil almost hiding her eyes. “Yes, love?” “Shall we stop for lunch?” She smiled at him, her lips curving in

a wry arc. “No. Delaying gains you nothing but more punishment, Matthias. Bad enough that you’ve avoided me the whole trip.” “Carriages are too close quarters, Mistress,” he told her. “They make me itch.” “No doubt, which is why I will only tan your hide with ten blows for averring. Now, what Simon will mete out I have no idea.” “Perhaps he will not want to. Simon prefers less effort in life.” “Oh, I think it would be a mistake to

assume his languorous demeanor means he’s lazy.” She waved a fan before her face, wrinkling her nose. “Carry on. I want to freshen up as soon as I can.” “Yes, Mistress.” He allowed himself a smile, as well. Her strength eased him somewhat. Matthias had never thought of himself as needy, but what she gave him, he used to better himself. So, he supposed he needed her. Soon he would see if he needed Simon as well, or if this ploy would fail and he would be forced to live without his best friend for the remainder of his

life. He dreaded the answer, but he could face it as long as Felice gave him a way out of his own thoughts. He only hoped he would not lose her as well. “My lord, you have visitors.” “Damn it all, Benjamin. Can’t you take the knocker off as we do in Town?” Simon was tallying accounts, pleased at the tidy rows marching down his page like chicken tracks. His estates flourished. At least this way he’d be able to continue to pay Matthias’s debts

behind his back. The man could run up a staggering tab in no time. He snorted, and Benjamin raised a brow. “My lord? The calling card.” Simon plucked the ridiculous, tiny card off the salver Benjamin offered him. The creamy stock was printed with a gray swirl, and stamped with a simple Mistress Grey. His head came up, and he stared at his impassive butler. “Mistress Grey is here?” “Just arrived with Baron Kingsley.” “I see.” He sat back in his chair.

“Well, then. Prepare tea in the green drawing room. I will receive them there shortly.” “My lord.” Benjamin inclined his head and left the room. Simon sat at his desk, listening to the pounding of his heart. Lincolnshire was hardly close to London, not at all like a jaunt to Bath or Brighton. They were not simply in the area and paying a social call. Felice had come here with a purpose. He wondered what Matthias’s role had been in this decision.

Simon took a deep breath, then rose, his boot heels ringing on the floor. Instead of going into the main hall, he exited his study through a small, hidden door and made his way up the back stairs. His father had taken assignations with the maids to a level no man had ever previously achieved, and each room of their manor had more than one way out. Completely unlike him, but he changed his shirt, and he put on a coat. His rough buckskin trousers would just have to do. His boots, at least, had been

buffed just this morning. No neck cloth, however. That would be trying too hard. He rang for his footman-cum-valet, John. “Yes, my lord?” John ducked into his bedchamber from the servant’s entrance. “I need you to make up the bed and the fire in the red chamber, please.” John looked surprised, but only nodded. “Of course.” “Thank you, John.” Well. He could hardly delay any longer, could he? Simon gathered his

nerve, and his wits, which he would need with Felice, and went down the stairs to face his visitors. The green drawing room sparkled, being one of the first rooms Simon had restored when he visited his estate three years ago upon inheritance. While he had kept his mother’s decorations, he’d cleaned and repaired the paint and the rugs on the floor. He liked the contrast of its femininity to his masculine appearance. Matthias, on the other hand, seemed almost hulking when seen in such

surroundings. The giant brute was gorgeous, and Simon had to close his eyes momentarily to regain his composure before going to greet them. “Felice,” he murmured, bowing over her gloved hand. “What a surprise.” She glanced at him from under her lashes, her eyes glittering chips of emerald, shining with knowledge. “Is it, indeed?” “Yes.” He put meaning behind the reply, because he honestly had not expected to see either her or Matthias again in this context. Socially, perhaps,

but not together and seeking him out. “Then you underestimate me.” Her tiny veil gave her face a mysterious shadow, but the curve of her lips was unmistakable. He glanced at Matthias. “Forrester.” Matthias pressed his lips together for a moment, then nodded shortly. “Simon. I should have let Felice come alone, eh?” “No. I’m pleased to see you. I thought you would be avoiding me from now on.” He smiled, genuinely trying to put Matthias at ease. His heart expanded with joy just seeing them both.

“I was.” Matthias relaxed enough to offer him a wry grin. “So, what brings you to Lincolnshire? I hope you both need tea. I had Benjamin arrange it.” “Tea?” Felice lifted her veil and removed her traveling hat, her elaborate curls piled high to support it. “What if I want brandy?” “Then we’ll put it in a teacup so Benjamin is not upset.” “God forbid,” Matthias murmured. “He serves me well,” Simon said repressively. “That is more than I can

say for some.” “Ah, are we down to the insults already?” Felice asked, smoothing her skirts. “Brandy first, Simon.” “Mmm.” He could play the cards on her terms, he supposed. Not that he wanted to let her be in charge. In fact, Simon was fighting a very male urge to put her over his knee, which really wasn’t fair of him. Felice had played by their rules. Matthias had been the one to stop the game. “Very well.” Felice cheered, and he laughed out loud. Raucous woman. So inappropriate.

Benjamin walked in carrying a tray of tea, cakes, and cold meat and cheese. A very nice spread for such a short amount of time. Simon nodded at him, pleased. “Thank you, Benjamin.” Benjamin gave Matthias a curious look, then placed the tray on a low table. “Will Mistress Grey pour?” “I will,” Felice answered. “Thank you, Benjamin.” Now Matthias was frowning at Benjamin, then Felice in turn. Yes, Matthias had met his butler before, but clearly was wondering how Felice came

to know him. The idea of Matthias being jealous made Simon want to smile. He bit it back and moved to sit next to Felice where she had settled to pour tea. Matthias took a chair across the way, sprawling in a manner reminiscent of Simon’s usual rude seating. So defensive. Delicious. He wanted to climb into the chair with Matthias and force a kiss. Immediately. In fact, he entertained the fantasy while Felice poured out. He was brought back to reality by Felice nudging

him indelicately with her elbow. “Brandy.” “You are single-minded.” He rose, knowing his hardening cock showed itself to good advantage in his tight buckskins. “Matthias?” “God, yes. Bring the bottle.” “Oh, no. Whatever happens here, I will not allow you to use drunkenness to excuse it,” Simon retorted. Matthias shook his head. “No, I have no intention of being inebriated. I just rode for two days, though, and my backside is sore.”

“Is that the only reason?” Simon asked, raising and lowering his brows. “Yes.” Felice poured them all a cup of tea before sitting back with a tiny cake. Simon wondered where the cakes had come from. Was Cook trying to seduce Benjamin with such things? “He refused to ride in the carriage with me and amuse me.” “Such a selfish boy.” “I know.” Simon finally moved to retrieve the brandy. He took the decanter to Matthias and poured some in his tea. “Try a

cake.” “How domestic,” Matthias scoffed. “Bucolic life suits you.” Felice laughed, the sound a musical trill. “I do like the look of the place. Will you give us the grand tour?” “Of course. I’m still restoring some rooms, but I’m quite proud of the advances I’ve made.” Simon rather liked being a gentleman farmer, a fact that never ceased to amaze him. Matthias stared at him. “You truly are an agricultural. Amazing.” “I do have my uses beyond paying

gaming debts.” A dull flush stained Matthias’s cheeks. “I know that, you idiot. I have never doubted it.” “Well, that’s something, at least.” He poured some brandy for Felice, then himself. Then they sat as if they were polite company, simply having tea. The thought occurred to Simon that they’d never just been together socially, that the three of them had never been together but for disciplining Matthias. “Shall we have a literary discussion?” Felice asked, her lips

curving in an evil smile. “Play whist?” “Depends on what you might wager.” “Hairpins?” She chuckled outright now. Terrible tease, she was. “Clothing,” Simon rejoined. “I would be willing to play for that.” Matthias rose abruptly, tension straining his every muscle. “I would like a bath, if I may.” “Of course.” Simon stood as well, going to ring for Benjamin. “A bath for my guest, Benjamin,” he said when Benjamin entered the room. “In my chamber.” His huge copper bath would

fit Matthias well. “Thank you.” Matthias brushed past him, fingers grazing the back of his hand. That tiny touch gave him hope. “Would you like to bathe, too?” he asked Felice. “Travel is dusty.” “I should like to freshen up, yes.” She came to him, tea and brandy set aside. Felice pressed a hand to his chest. “Then we will discuss you running off.” “Will we?” He bent to place a soft kiss on her mouth. “Run along with John.” The footman had appeared as if by magic. “He’ll bring your boxes.”

“Matthias missed you.” “Did you?” Simon asked. “I did.” She patted his chest before turning to follow John. “Clear some time for us tonight. I have something special planned.” “Oh, that sounds ominous.” His cock remained hard, though, and he knew he would take whatever crumbs she and Matthias decided to give him, craven as he was. For now, he would just take Benjamin’s magical tea and cakes.

Felice did not dress for battle. While Simon had clearly brought his butler and one footman from Town with him, the rest of the staff was suspect, and she had no desire to set tongues wagging in the country. Simon did have to do business with these people, live among them when he was there. Instead, she donned her riding habit without the coat, the simple linen blouse and ivory waistcoat accented by a lacy neck cloth. The bell-shaped skirt ended just at her booted ankles, accentuating her hips. Best of all, the outfit gave her

an excuse to carry her crop. Thomas had accompanied her, riding atop the carriage, and he acted as her lady’s maid, helping her dress. Such a good boy. Felice had rewarded him by commanding he go find footman John and suck him until he spent. “Ah, Simon.” Felice found him in the same drawing room where she’d left him, sprawled out on a divan, a pile of biscuit crumbs on his chest. “The tour?” “Shall we wait for Matthias?” “No need.” Matthias strode into the

room, the picture of masculinity in a pair of buckskins and a waistcoat, his coat missing as hers was. “Proceed.” “Well, this is the green drawing room. My mother decorated it in the Classical style. I rather like it.” “It’s lovely,” Felice said. The room had soaring ceilings, gold moldings and crystal chandeliers. She approved. The furniture was also comfortable and conducive to trysting. “Womanly,” Matthias grumbled. “Ah, then let me show you the library,” Simon said, clearly amused.

“Very manly.” Simon led the way across the entry hall to a room flanked by dark wood columns, the carvings of leaves and grapes recalling Dionysus. The library made Felice smile, for it truly was a man’s room, one with leather furniture and ladders that turned into tables and stools. The smell of books permeated the air, and that of tobacco. Simon was indulging at night, she could tell. Matthias nodded happily. “Yes. Now here I could play whist.” “As long as you don’t try to retire

here without me after dinner and leave me out of it,” Felice murmured, running a hand over the small of Matthias’s back. He jumped, his cheeks going pink, his eyes heavy-lidded when he stared at her. Desire flashed in his blue eyes, and she thought he had recovered from his awkwardness on seeing Simon again rather well. Perhaps he had pleasured himself during his bath for relief. Oh, she hoped so, for then she could punish him for finding release without permission. “Not at all.” Simon waved a hand at

the room at large. “There are no other ladies in residence, and I know you enjoy port and tobacco on occasion.” “I do.” She raised a brow at Matthias’s look of surprise. “I am not dainty, Matthias. I never have been.” “I am well aware of that, my dear. I have felt the weight of your hand.” “Mmm,” Simon agreed. “She has a strong hand.” Felice brandished her crop. “Don’t forget it. What’s next?” “Hmm. The kitchens? The ballroom?” Simon’s wicked smile never faltered.

“You have a ballroom?” Felice slapped Simon’s arm with her crop. “I want to see.” She did love a fancy dress ball. She hadn’t been to one in years, not a true society ball. Oh, she eschewed all the aristocrats and such, but she liked a pretty gown and some lovely music. “Very well.” Simon took her arm and led her down the corridor, where a pair of grand doors opened to a ballroom, dark now thanks to the giant windows covered with sheeting. What furniture sat in the room had been covered as well, but the mirrors and the parquet floor

shone dully even in the low light. “Your mother loved to entertain,” Felice said. “Yes. She would gather all the local dignitaries. She didn’t care if they were rough buffoons or lords and ladies from Town. She loved the glitter, the noise.” “I understand. All women have a fascination with it, even if we pretend otherwise. We like pretty things, you see.” She glanced at Matthias when she said it, and he ducked his head, his cheeks pink. How delightful, and how odd to interact with one of her slaves in

such an ordinary way. Matthias chuckled darkly. “Will you throw us a ball, Simon?” “No.” Simon stated it baldly. “I have no desire to expose you to the cruelty of country squires and their wives.” “Too late for me,” Matthias murmured, and Felice realized she knew very little about his background, really. Only what Simon had told her. “I grew up that way, you see.” “I would have Benjamin clean the place up, if you like,” Simon said. “Benjamin has quite the hand on the

pianoforte, should you wish to dance.” “I might just take you up on that.” As long as it made both of her men relatively uncomfortable, she would absolutely enjoy such a game. “So, upstairs, or out to the gardens?” Simon asked, a knowing look in his gray eyes. “Upstairs,” Felice answered before Matthias could draw a breath. Surely Simon had a chamber with toys of some sort, considering that he brought Benjamin and young John with him when he retired to the country. They would

both show their bellies to anyone with a hint of mastery in their blood. Such amazing games they could play. “I want to see where you sleep. I assume you have restored that chamber, as well.” “I have.” They started for the stairs, and this time Matthias offered his arm. She took it, glad that she needn’t worry so about her blasted skirts. Really, nudity was so much easier when dealing with men. Simon showed them to his bedchamber, which made her gasp with its grandeur. “This is a bed for an earl or

a marquis, not a viscount,” she teased. “Absolutely.” Simon chuckled. “My father aspired high. He bought the bed from a Tudor cousin, I believe.” The full tester monstrosity took up nearly an entire wall, the hangings in the back some sort of heavy brocade. The curtains around the side had been replaced, she assumed, the Chinese silk begging her to touch it. Simon clearly liked his comforts, for down pillows and heavy quilts covered the mattress. She would sleep with him there in a heartbeat.

“The hangings are sumptuous. Your touch, I assume?” Simon wrinkled his nose. “God, yes. The original hangings were frightful. Heavy and dark and suffocating. Do you like silk, Matthias?” Something in Simon’s tone caught her attention, and she glanced at Matthias, who flushed darkly for them. Yes, he liked silk about his wrists, binding him, and the bed curtains had made him think those sorts of thoughts, she suspected. Eyes dark, nearly charcoal, Simon cleared his throat. “I do have one other

room I wish to show you.” Her heart kicked into a heavy, quick rhythm. She hoped desperately that Simon was going to try to seduce both her and Matthias, and soon. “Lead on,” Matthias murmured, and she smiled. Yes. He was ready, as well. “This way.” Simon took them back down the passage, turning at the stairs to the other wing of the house. “There’s a slight turret on this side of the house. A rotunda of sorts—did you see it before you came in?” “Yes.” Oh, how delicious. This room

sounded very fun already. They followed Simon, the thick rugs eating up the sound of their steps. Even Felice felt surprised by the decadent room Simon opened up for them. The turret gave them a view off the grand drive that swept up to the house, and the trees lining it. The room itself had a deep, burgundy colored rug, the walls covered in gold and red filigree cloth. There was a bed, not as impressive as Simon’s, but there were also benches and stools whose purposes were immediately obvious to Felice.

She wondered if Matthias understood them, as well as the trunks and the huge clothing press on one wall. Simon’s supplies and toys. “What a stunning chamber,” Felice murmured, stepping back to latch the door. She hoped Matthias was indeed prepared for what might happen next, for suddenly Simon appeared a predator, vibrating with intensity. “Thank you. I have rarely had a chance to use it, though John is rather fond.” Matthias’s head snapped around so he

could stare at Simon with what looked like outrage. Jealous, was he? That boded well for the night. “What is it you do here?” Matthias asked, his chin jutting out, his chest puffed up like that of a banty rooster. “Look about, Matthias,” Simon said with deceptive gentleness. Matthias strode to the big wardrobe and opened it, his breath coming in sharply. “You’re well prepared. I had no idea people did such things to each other, and you both have these…cabinets of curiosity.”

“Oh, now.” Felice frowned at him. “No need to insult.” “No. I didn’t mean to. I’m simply stunned that I had no idea.” Matthias turned to Simon, spreading his arms wide. “What do you want from me, Simon?” “Only everything,” Simon said, and Felice felt her heart melt. Simon thought there was no sense in prevaricating any longer. He wanted Matthias. He wanted Felice. There was no way he could have them if he never

said it. Matthias stared at him, a muscle jumping along his jaw. “I can give you only what I can, Simon.” “Do you know what that is, though?” Simon approached Matthias slowly, waiting to see if he’d bolt. When he came close enough, he reached up to touch Matthias’s cheek. “No. I will have to find that limit, I suppose. I never thought I would be here, right now.” Matthias shook slightly but stayed where he was, like a green colt becoming accustomed to human

touch. “No, neither did I.” Simon held out a hand to Felice. “We needed someone else to balance us.” A surprised expression crossed her face for a moment before her lips curved into a sensual smile. Felice took his hand, coming to press against Simon’s side, her breasts against his ribs through the cloth feeling warm, soft. Matthias relaxed against him the moment Felice laid her free hand on his wide chest. Yes, this could only work if Felice was with them. She acted as both

the catalyst and the fulcrum. “Kiss him for me, Matthias,” Felice ordered softly. Matthias blinked, and Simon could distinguish each individual lash when they swept down over those blue eyes. A long moment ticked by wherein Simon thought all was lost. Then Matthias leaned down and pressed his mouth to Simon’s, the kiss almost passive, but still warm and firm. Simon took the kiss deeper, opening Matthias’s lips with his tongue so he could push inside and taste. He wasn’t

willing to waste this chance, to lose it. He slid his hand behind Matthias’s head to hold him in place, thumb rubbing under Matthias’s ear. Moaning, Matthias opened for him, letting him in, and Simon pressed his advantage, pushing Matthias back against the wall, holding him there. “Lovely,” Felice murmured. Matthias fisted both hands in Simon’s coat and pulled, desperate, cock rising against his, obvious even through their breeches. Simon wanted to just throw Matthias

down and take him, but that wasn’t how this situation worked, wasn’t what Matthias needed. Simon loved Matthias too much to have this once and be done with it when Matthias ran. So he broke the kiss and stepped back, breathing hard. “Mistress Felice? What would you have your slave Matthias do now?” He glanced at her, noting the heat in her green eyes, the glint of a smile when she tapped his arm with her fingers. “Our slave, Simon. Definitely ours. I want to watch how you handle him for a

bit, actually. He loves to be bound. Makes it easier for him to accept all things.” “Thank you.” He kissed her too, lightly on the mouth, before she walked away, seating herself on a plush chair, a reversal of his familiar pose causing him to smile. Simon turned back to Matthias even as he stepped back a few paces. “Strip, Matthias,” he said, his tone commanding. Matthias stared at him for so long he thought the silence might shatter like glass if someone broke it. Then Matthias

began to disrobe, taking off the waistcoat and blouse before working out of his breeches and boots. Naked Matthias stood before Simon, hands hanging at his sides. So beautiful. His wide chest and shoulders tapered to a narrow waist and hips, the heavy thighs perfect. The full cock rose up, curving slightly, full and readily indicating Matthias’s need. Yes. Matthias was ready for this. “Shall I bind you, Matthias? Felice says you find that easier.” “No.” Matthias paused to lick his

lips. “Sir. No, sir. I need to do this on my own.” Simon’s heart slammed against his ribs, the words stealing his breath. “Good. That’s good, love.” He backed farther into the room. “Here. Come here and kneel.” Simon took a pillow off the bed and tossed it on the floor to protect Matthias’s knees. “Hands behind your head.” He’d played this game more times than he could count, with John and Benjamin and any number of men, as well as some women. Never with

Matthias, though, and his mouth went dry with the possibilities. Matthias came forward, dropping easily to his knees, his hands locked behind his head. Every muscle stood out in stark relief, the tight globes of Matthias’s backside tempting Simon beyond belief. A quick glance at Felice showed her smiling at him, toying with the top button of her waistcoat. Glorious woman. Simon winked at her before circling Matthias, hand trailing over Matthias’s shoulders, making Matthias shake a bit.

He would tan Matthias’s hide first. He knew how well this man reacted to a beating. Matthias wasn’t here to serve, or for the kinds of games some men liked to play, chasing balls or struggling across the floor to lick boots. Matthias craved the pain, longed to have his will overtaken by someone else. He needed physical castigation. “What implement is his favorite, Felice?” Simon asked. “You know better than I.” “Oh, I think he likes many, Simon.” She had worked off her waistcoat now,

and her blouse was open to the waist. Simon admired her for a moment, his eyes taking in every detail. “The crop, the paddle, the tawse. He’s not angry tonight, more worried. Something solid but not punishing, I think.” The paddle, then. He had one that he’d had custom made, wood wrapped in leather. The thud against Matthias’s flesh would sound delicious, but the leather would pad the blows just slightly. He walked to the wardrobe to retrieve it, his cock pushing uncomfortably against his button placket.

He might not survive this night, but oh, it would be the perfect death if he didn’t. The paddle fit beautifully against his palm, and he hefted it, listening to it cut the air. Matthias stiffened when Simon moved around behind him, but Simon outwaited him, stood there silently until Matthias relaxed. Only then did he press Matthias down gently with the tip of the paddle between his shoulders so he was head down, bottom up. That way Simon knew he wouldn’t miss with the paddle when he swung and hit something less padded

and more vital. He had no desire to actually harm Matthias. He glanced once more at Felice, who was inching her skirt up with each breath. She wiggled, her breasts moving with tantalizing bounces under her open blouse. Oh, he would deal with her and her teasing presently, and he hoped his long stare conveyed that thought. She thought, no doubt, that she would dump Matthias off on him, happily match-made, and then run back to her salons and coffeehouses in Town. She had no idea how wrong she was, for

Simon fully intended to keep her too. He turned his attention back to Matthias, watching that tight male butt waiting for him, swaying side to side gently as Matthias shifted his weight. Mouth-watering. Truly. “Now,” Simon said, slapping that fine bottom with his paddle. Matthias jumped, pulling in a sharp breath. Yes, he was used to the hand of a woman, even a strong one such as Felice. Simon’s touch had to feel stronger, more commanding. Perhaps more painful.

One way or another, he wanted to be different, to distinguish his touch so Matthias might know it blindfolded. Another swat had Matthias jumping, swaying, but he never let his hands slip from behind his neck. No, he balanced on his knees, his chin nearly touching the floor. Simon couldn’t be more proud of his grace, and of his submission. The spanking heated up, and he tried to keep the blows even, keep his excitement in check. This was not a punishment. This was centering Matthias, allowing him to find what he

needed, and for Simon to connect with Matthias on a visceral level. When Matthias’s skin had taken on a hot red tone, and Simon’s arm tired, he glanced up to see Felice with her hand between her legs, pleasuring herself. His next swing stuttered, and Matthias grunted, toppling over, his face hitting the floor. “Damn it.” Simon looped a hand around Matthias’s arm, helping him kneel up. “There. You may stay like that, Matthias. So you can see your mistress.” Matthias stared at Felice, a low moan

coming from deep inside him. “Oh.” “Yes.” Simon stroked Matthias’s hair, combing it through his fingers. “You inspire her.” Felice spread her legs wider, her pink folds clearly framed by her pale thighs and her dark skirts. “You both make me wet, eager for touch.” “Mistress.” Matthias might have been pleading, but no one would show him mercy tonight. “She can’t save you now, love.” Simon curled his hand into Matthias’s hair to pull his head back so their gazes

collided. “Tonight is mine.” “Yes, sir.” Matthias swallowed hard, blue eyes blazing. “Yes, please.” “You’ll call me Master soon enough.” He simply had to act as such and stop being distracted. Felice chuckled, the sound low and throaty. “He will, Simon. Master him and he’s a perfect slave.” Simon bent and kissed Matthias, tasting that mouth once more. Matthias leaned into the kiss, yearning with every part of himself. Once Matthias stopped protesting, stopped fighting, he gave

himself with utter generosity, just as Felice promised. The kiss broke, Simon breathing deep of Matthias’s scent. “I think you should pleasure your mistress. You did that the first time we were all together, and I would see it now.” “Excellent choice,” Felice said, crooking a finger at them. “Come and lick my cunt, Matthias.” She wasn’t commanding Matthias, though. She was seducing Simon, and he knew it. He watched Matthias crawl

across the floor to nestle between Felice’s legs. So different from this angle, where he could see all of both of them. He did miss the feel of them, though, the way Felice had sprawled in his lap. He watched Matthias put his mouth to Felice’s wet pussy, tongue flicking out to taste. They all moaned, because they needed her with them, needed to make everyone a part of this. Her pale thighs and round breasts drew him to her, and Simon heeded the call, crossing the room to kiss her, his hand resting on

Matthias’s back. A small gasp escaped her, and she reached up to hold him, her fingers petting his hair. He let himself truly taste her, shocked at how careful they’d been not to touch, not to lose themselves in one another. Simon could forget himself with both of them, could begin to want things no sane man might even consider. Felice tasted faintly of coffee, but underneath that was all softness, all woman. Like cream and spice. He wanted her fiercely, not to tame her or

dominate her as he desired with Matthias. No, with Felice, he wanted her to want him as a partner, as a fitting master for her slave. The sounds of kissing, both above and below, sounded loud to his ears, as did their breathing. He wanted more, but when he reached for the open neck of Felice’s blouse, she slapped his hand away. “No, Simon. Please. I’ve never seen you bare. You first.” Because she had asked rather than commanded, Simon nodded, and, after

nipping at her lower lip, he backed away to disrobe. He pulled off his damnably tight coat, then worked the buttons on his waistcoat. He struggled out of his buckskins, which clung to him, so he knew he was putting on something of a show. Well, why not? He had nothing to be ashamed of, despite a few scars gained from being thrown from horses or the occasional gambling night that went slightly askew. While his chest didn’t have Matthias’s breadth, he knew he was well formed, and his cock rose hard and

hot as soon as he stood tall before her. “Oh, Simon.” She reached out with one hand and took his cock against her palm, measuring him. “You’re beautiful.” While he knew she was being kind more than not, he preened for her. Her touch made him melt, made his skin tighten and heat. The thought of her putting her mouth on him made his butt clench, his balls drawing up. “He’s so hard for you, Matthias. So ready. I would see him fuck you soon, though I’m not sure you could take that

now.” Matthias quivered, working harder between Felice’s legs. She threw her head back, moaning, which in turn made her tug on his cock. “More.” Simon had no idea who he was talking to, but he wanted to touch and lick and fuck. “Closer,” Felice said, panting, tugging him as if his prick were a leash. He stepped up, pressing against Matthias, against her leg. Their heat, their need enveloped him, and Simon snapped, unable to hold himself apart

any longer. He touched what skin he could reach, from Matthias’s back and shoulders to Felice’s creamy thighs. Her skin felt silky and smooth, Matthias’s rougher, damp with sweat. Simon bent to taste the dampness on the back of Matthias’s neck, the salty stuff stinging his tongue. “I want you,” he whispered in Matthias’s ear. “Both of you. I’m bursting with it. Oh, what I would do to you.” Matthias shook for him, and he patted that fine back before leaning up to reach

for Felice. Her breasts called his fingers, her skin so smooth and heated that he had to bite back a shout. They overwhelmed his senses, such a force of nature together Simon wasn’t sure he’d survive it. Felice shivered, her nipple poking against his palm. The rougher, pebbled skin around it fascinated him, and he turned his hand to stroke it with his fingertip, rubbing in a circle. In turn, Felice pushed into his touch, her moan soft, musical. So feminine next to Matthias and his animal male presence.

“Simon,” she murmured. “Touch me.” “Yes.” He would never throw away such a chance. He shifted his stance, his hip pressed to her skin so he could bend over the chair and kiss her deeply. She tasted sweet, dark, like cherries and brandy. He pressed his tongue into her mouth, not attempting to dominate, just letting them feel one another. His fantasies could never live up to this, the reality of having them both. He wanted more. Simon wanted Felice’s wet folds around his cock, pulling him into her depths. Or Matthias’s lips against the

head of his prick for that instant before Matthias sucked him in and he felt a rough tongue on the underside of his flesh. He rocked his hips, missing the pressure of Felice’s hand. She’d let him go when the angle of his body had changed, and he needed pressure and friction. “Stop,” Felice commanded, one hand on his chest, one tangling in Matthias’s hair to yank him up. “Simon needs your attention as well, Matthias.” Matthias lifted his head, licking his

lips, which shone wet with Felice’s juices. “Attention?” Matthias asked, breathless and hoarse. “Lick him. Suck him. I want to see it.” Simon stopped breathing for a moment, waiting to see what Matthias would do. Then Matthias smiled up at him, saying, “God help me,” before he turned on his knees and pushed his lips over Simon’s shaft. He would have come right then had Felice not reached around behind to tug down Simon’s balls. Still in perfect control, their Mistress Grey. He was

glad for it, because he wanted more of the sensation, pleasure hooking into his lower belly and traveling up his back to burst in his head, nearly bringing tears to Simon’s eyes. Matthias moaned around him, the vibration shivery good. “Don’t choke him, Simon. He’s new to this.” God, he wanted to fuck something, simply let his hips have their way and go wild with his lust. The feel of Matthias’s lips about him, soft and warm, the harsh stubble on his cheeks a rough contrast,

pulled at him, begging him to let loose. Instead, Simon followed Felice’s command and kept his thrusts shallow, his muscles quivering with the effort of holding back. “Good. So good, both of you. I love how you look on your knees, Matthias. Suck him well for me and I’ll ride your cock.” Felice moved in the chair, pulling her legs up to free Matthias so he could more easily bend to Simon’s body. Matthias sucked him harder, moving farther down his shaft, up and down. Yes, that sensual threat would give any

man the impetus to work harder. His balls pulled up, his lower belly a giant ache. He patted Matthias on the shoulder. “I’m about to arrive, love.” “Take it all, Matthias,” Felice said, “I want to taste him on your lips.” Matthias nodded slightly, and slid all the way down, clearly trying to impress his mistress even in his inexperience. The clasp of Matthias’s throat around the head of his cock sent Simon over the edge like water over a fall, rushing through him until he shot so hard his ears rang.

Panting, his cock slipping from Matthias’s mouth, Simon dropped to his knees, his hands on Matthias’s shoulders to pull the man to him for a kiss. He would taste himself there before Felice had him. Simon needed to have that much, at least. Matthias kissed him, arms going about him, the strength of those arms squeezing what was left of his breath right out of him. Felice slid down on the floor next to them, her soft body pressing to them, her riding habit fluttering when she threw the

rest of it off behind her. She reached between them, her hand on Matthias’s cock, her lips pressing in and taking over their kiss. To his surprise, she kissed him first, pushing him, demanding his response. He gave it to her, pressing her back against Matthias’s shoulder. Spent as he was, Felice aroused him, made him want her, want to sink into her and ride until she screamed. She pushed at his chest, and he let her go, even though he wanted more. No, she was the mistress, and he would let her

prove it. Felice pushed Matthias now, and he fell back against the floor. She climbed astride him, smiling a feminine, mysterious smile. “Time for your reward, Matthias.” “I already had one, Mistress.” Matthias glanced at him, eyes like blue flame. “Then you shall have another, love.” Felice took Matthias’s cock in hand, steadying it so she could lift herself up and lower down on it, taking him deep inside her.

Matthias moaned, arching and bucking like a fractious horse. His gritted teeth and corded muscles showed how much restraint it took for him to lie back and let Felice take him, and Simon admired the man ever more for knowing what he needed. Simon decided he wanted to watch as closely as he could, so he also straddled Matthias, his pelvis against Felice’s ass, reaching around with his hands to grip her breasts. “We’ll both ride, hmm?” Simon said. Felice quivered, her nipples pressing

into his palms when she leaned her head back against his shoulder, her body a taut arc of pleasure. “Please. Yes. Oh, Simon.” They both wanted him, and the feeling went to his head. He pushed, lifting and lowering Felice, exercising some control of his own. She used him for leverage, moving up and down, taking Matthias by storm. Matthias finally snapped, hands closing on Felice’s rounded hips, yanking her down. He couldn’t roll, not with Simon and Felice both on top of

him, but he could push up with his hips, his strength almost shocking. Exciting. Animal noises came from deep in Matthias’s chest, rock hard thighs straining under Simon’s buttocks. He could see over Felice’s shoulder, see his hands on her breasts, see Matthias’s chest rising and falling. Simon moved them faster and faster, rocking against Felice, his cock half-hard once more, the scent of all three of them together tantalizing him, making his mouth water. “Faster,” he urged, and Felice bounced, her sweet bottom rubbing

against him, her skin so perfect he was afraid to bruise her. Her hair came loose from its knot and trailed down against Simon’s chest, another type of caress. The rough hair on Matthias’s thighs was a sharp contrast, abrading the insides of Simon’s legs. Every sensation conspired to make him harder, and he reached down with one hand, fingers finding the spot where Felice and Matthias came together. Her wetness eased the way, and the first touch of his fingertips to her hard little bud made Felice scream, her body

shaking. Simon swore he could feel her tighten down around Matthias’s prick when she arrived, her skin hot as fire to the touch. “Come for us, Matthias,” Felice ordered. “Come now.” Matthias shouted, his entire body seeming to rise up off the floor, lifting them. So bloody ferocious, their Matthias. He came inside Felice, and Simon smelled their completion, musky and earthy, and so perfect he couldn’t hold back a joyous laugh. Slapping his chest, Felice smiled for him, her flushed skin and trailing curls

achingly feminine. “Are you laughing at us, you ass?” “No, my love. I am simply happy.” “Good.” That came from Matthias, who reached over to take his hand, an act that caught Simon completely unawares. “Can we all go to bed now? This floor is damnably uncomfortable.” “The bed here is roped tight enough even for you, Matthias.” Simon rose and helped Felice dismount as well. This was the first time Simon had been about for the aftermath, and he intended to take full advantage of it.

“I do like a tight bed.” Matthias eased down, hissing when his bottom hit the ticking. “You have a strong hand, Simon.” He smiled at Matthias, scarcely able to believe they had all become lovers now, genuinely. “I am proud of you. Unbearably.” Felice nodded, patting the bed so Simon would come and sit beside her. “As am I. He is generous, Simon. You’ll see.” “He’s sitting right here,” Matthias grumbled. “I could use some rest. Come

and lie with me.” Simon and Felice did just that, curling up with Matthias on the big bed, all of them touching one another. Such delights could never last, but Simon knew he wanted this here and now. And for now, that would be enough.

Chapter Five Felice laughed, all of the birds in the cages at the shop they were passing dancing and flapping their wings. How adorable. The birds in the Town always looked so…sooty and sad. These seemed healthy, singing their songs and flitting from perch to perch. “Would you like one?” Matthias asked, coming up behind her, his breath

on her cheek when he leaned over to see the captive animals. “Oh, no. I would only let them go. Poor things, in a cage their whole lives. I do like to listen to them, though.” “They’re lovely,” Simon agreed, joining them at the shop. “Not as lovely as you.” She resisted the urge to flutter just like the birds. The last few days had been a dream, an idyll beyond her wildest dreams. A lover more attentive than Simon would be impossible, and as a slave Matthias was incomparable.

Together they were a force that threatened to make her forget herself, to leave her life behind and pretend they could play this game forever. “Here.” Matthias moved to the next shop and lifted up an elaborate bonnet with faux birds nesting on it. “Maybe this is what you need instead.” “Oh, much better.” How charming. She touched a ribbon, deciding to buy it right then and there. “I think this one must be mine.” “I shall have it delivered to the house,” Simon murmured, passing her so

he could talk with the milliner. They were on the high street of Lincoln, wandering, visiting shops and buying trinkets. She had not had such a carefree day since she was a girl. Simon was generous, dropping coin on tiny pies and lemon sweets, and Matthias had a wicked humor that kept both her and Simon laughing. They had bought Matthias a neck cloth and Simon new stockings, and were making their way toward a stand with more sweets, the little cakes with some kind of spice in them that smelled delicious from a

distance. Simon stepped out of the milliner’s, bowing. “It will arrive in the morning.” “You are too kind, Simon.” Felice tapped his arm with her fan. She wore her lightest dress suitable for venturing out, but she still felt overheated. Maybe that state came from the frequent glances and touches her companions visited upon her. These two men would make any woman faint and steamy. “I only wish to make you happy,” Simon said, his gray eyes dancing when

he pinched Matthias on the bum, making him jump. “You’re succeeding.” She dipped him a tiny curtsey. Really, Simon was a new man since they’d come to him demanding that he become a part of their games instead of a watcher. “Viscount Thatcher!” A high-pitched voice came from across the lane, a woman wearing an elaborate robe à la français and an immense powdered wig waving at Simon with a dainty hand, her thin dust-cover cloak bouncing. “Fancy seeing you here!”

Simon groaned quietly. “Good God. It’s Lady Mowerly. Her husband must be nearby.” “Is she local?” Felice asked. “No, she’s from Town. Her mother remarried hereabouts, I think.” “Ah.” Felice wasn’t sure whether to step away or stay close. Simon solved her dilemma by tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. “Thatcher.” A man joined Lady Mowerly, a wrapped parcel tucked under his arm. “And Kingsley. Damn me, it’s good to see someone civilized in this

benighted wilderness.” “Mowerly,” Matthias murmured. “Pleasure.” Felice could tell from his voice that Matthias found the situation to be anything but pleasurable. Neither of her men liked this one a bit. “I say, my lord, did you marry?” the lady asked even as her husband escorted her across the main street. “No,” Simon answered shortly. “Oh.” Lady Mowerly looked Felice over with the eye of a practiced gossip. Felice smiled at her in turn, baring

her teeth a bit, knowing she could appear intimidating to a wit as slow as Lady Mowerly. “A relation, then?” Lady Mowerly asked, clearly not willing to give up. “None of your business, frankly,” Matthias said, drawing both the Mowerlys up short. “No sense being rude, Kingsley,” Mowerly said, a frown drawing his brows together. “Just answering your lady in kind,” Matthias said easily. “Now, Matthias,” Felice said. “The

lady is only curious. Mistress Felice Grey, at your service.” Lady Mowerly gasped, her cheeks going pink under all the powder she wore, and backed up a few steps, drawing her skirts back as if afraid to touch filth. “The coffeehouse madam?” “The very same.” “I say, Thatcher, that’s odd.” Mowerly took his wife’s arm. “We’re at my lady wife’s mother’s, should you like to call.” Mowerly flicked a glance at Matthias, but did not dignify her with a look. “Just you.”

“Why would I do that?” Simon drawled. “If my friends are unwelcome, so am I.” Simon patted Felice’s hand and drew her away, Matthias following like a thundercloud on a rainy day. “Damned arse,” Matthias grumbled. “Bastard cheats at cards, and now he’s insulting Felice.” Felice laughed lightly. “Oh, he was insulting you, as well. People talk. It is what it is.” “I suppose none of us is unused to chatter,” Simon agreed. “Cakes?” “Yes, please, though you will have to

loosen my stays if I keep eating this way.” “We can do that, assuredly.” Matthias leaned close from behind, his lips brushing her ear. “Anything you require of me, Mistress.” Felice shivered. Yes. Anything she required, even if that meant stripping down and sitting at her feet to feed her cake with his fingers. What a novel idea. “You’re thinking evil thoughts,” Simon murmured. “What would you like? Pick one.” “No.” When he drew back, a

surprised frown on his face, she smiled at him. “No, we should buy a selection and take them back to the manor, Simon. Matthias can feed us.” Heat flashed in his gray eyes, darkening them to charcoal, and Felice heard Matthias catch his breath. “Yes. I can see the merit in such an idea,” Simon agreed. “The almond nougat, then, and the honey apple.” Felice nodded lightly. “The quince jelly and raisin, and perhaps the nuts and marzipan.” “Do I get a choice?” Matthias asked,

adding, “Mistress?” “No.” She had learned his likes and dislikes well enough over their last days together, and she would choose for him. There was a deliciously sticky-looking biscuit scented with oranges and apricots that would suit him to the bone. She pulled a coin from her purse and made the order, the baker putting each cake and biscuit carefully into a basket lined with oiled cloth. “Lovely, thank you.” “No, my lady, thank you.” He practically bowed to her, and not for the

first time that day she realized what an impact Simon must have had on the local economy, investing in the town. He was far more complicated and successful than she had ever imagined, and pride in his accomplishments filled her. She had always desired Simon, and enjoyed his company. Now she admired him as well. “Back to the horses, then?” Matthias sounded…eager to be at their mercy. “Yes.” Simon took the basket and handed it to Matthias so he could put a steadying hand under her elbow. “I think we’ve had enough high street diversion.

Time for something far more entertaining.” The tone of his voice caused her to shiver, making her wonder what perversions he had in mind. “You are ever inventive,” she told him. “Let me show you both how much.” “I accept.” Felice threw her head back and laughed. She couldn’t wait to see what sorts of perversions Simon could come up with. She had never thought the country could be so much fun. Matthias knelt, his hands bound

behind his back, the bindings tied to a ring at the base of the phallus filling him. His whole body throbbed with need and from the inventive beating Simon had given him. Not his backside, no. His thighs, front and back, and his belly. Felice had tortured his nipples at the same time, and Matthias ached from the twisting and touching. His balls felt as though they might explode from the need to come. And now what did his mistress and her diabolic consort do? They were playing whist.

Felice sat naked, her only adornment a velvet ribbon around her throat, a pearl dangling from it, her hair a wild, tangled mass. She was laughing at Simon, her green eyes alight with merriment, her breasts and belly flushed a stunning pink. She’d lost every bit of clothing and her hairpins, to boot. Simon had fared better, his shirt and coat gone, but his trousers and boots still in place. Simon laughed out loud, slapping cards on the table. “Ha. What will you offer me now, Mistress Grey? Your clothes are all gone.”

“Hmm.” Her lashes fluttered down coyly, covering her eyes for a moment. The tilt of her chin, the way her hair fell around her, made her look almost girlish, but Matthias knew better. She was a demon. “I could offer my slave,” she said, proving his thoughts true. Simon’s demeanor changed, his body straightening, interest showing in every line. “Indeed? What would you offer this time, my dear?” “Well.” Now her gaze flicked to Matthias, sharpening to something that

sent shivers of delight through him. “You’ve had the pleasure of his mouth.” “I have. I admit, I crave something else.” Simon spread his legs, sitting back from the card table. Arousal shone in his eyes, his face set in hard lines. The excitement Matthias felt as they bartered over him would have surprised him even a fortnight ago. Now heat rose in his belly, his cock back to completely full in an instant. Coming to the country had released him, allowing him to accept so many things he’d denied himself. Being in Town had too many

rules, too many worries. A soft chuckle drew his attention back to Felice. She winked at him, and he ducked his head. They conspired against him, and Matthias found them impossible to resist, all of his fine arguments meaning less than nothing against the force of their combined will. “He wants you, Simon. He is open, slick from the oil and the phallus in him. Take him.” Matthias felt a moment of utter panic overtake him, and his body reacted by trying to flee. He backed up, or

attempted to, but the pull of the fake cock inside him made him cry out. “Matthias, stop.” Felice’s order brought him to complete stillness, his head down as he fought for air. “We talked about this.” “Yes, Mistress.” Late at night, while Simon slept, looking like a fallen angel. He’d told his mistress how he wanted Simon inside him, so why did the near reality of it steal his good sense? He took one deep breath, then another. “You discussed me fucking Matthias?” The crude words made

Matthias smile, which was undoubtedly Simon’s intention. “We did,” Felice agreed. “We went on for at least an hour before Matthias snapped and took me hard.” “Ah.” Simon stood abruptly, his cock straining the placket of his breeches. “Well, then. I would hate to disappoint.” Matthias inhaled again, sharply, steeling himself for Simon’s touch. Felice had taught him to give in to his urges, to submit to her will, but with Simon he was once again a student. Learning from a whole new tutor.

Simon came to him, untying his hands, which sent a shaft of pure bliss through his body. He gasped soon after when his muscles cramped, and he fell forward, trying to catch himself. Strong hands righted him, Simon holding him still until he could get his balance. “On your feet, love. I want you standing.” “Why?” Matthias asked, then bit his lower lip when Felice tsked. “Your master asked you to stand, Matthias. You don’t ask why.” His master. Was Simon his master as

Felice was his mistress? Oh, Christ, he hoped so. “I would be honored to fill that role,” Simon said, as if reading his mind. Matthias sat there on his knees for a long moment, then pushed up against Simon’s steadying hands so he could stand. He leaned forward to place his lips against Simon’s, taking a slow, soft kiss. “Thank you, Master.” Simon moaned, sliding a hand behind his head to hold him still while Simon plundered his mouth. The kiss burned as if he’d gulped scalding tea, stealing his

breath. Simon pressed against him from knee to chest, holding him so close he felt every fiber of the cloth still separating them. When they broke apart his ears rang like church bells on Sunday, and he could barely hear Felice’s delighted laughter. He heard her words when she spoke, clear as day. “Finally! Oh, Simon, take him for me. Take him deep and hard.” “Yes.” Simon nodded, then turned him so he leaned over the back of a wing chair, in profile to Felice so she might

see it all, no doubt. He braced his arms on the chair back and spread his thighs, pressing back with his hips. Felice was right; the fake phallus and the oil that eased its way left him slick, open. All Simon had to do was pull the thing free and replace it with his very real cock. “So beautiful.” Felice sat back in her chair and spread her legs, her wet, pink folds visible to him when she turned to watch them. His mouth watered; he wanted to plunge inside her and fuck like the very devil.

“Now, Matthias. Tell me you’re ready.” Simon slipped the phallus free of his channel, making him grunt, his muscles clenching and relaxing. “Yes. Please. Simon.” Simon pushed out of his breeches and boots, giving Matthias a good view out of the corner of his eye for a moment. Then he stepped around behind him, moving close, cock pressing up under Matthias’s balls for a moment. The pressure of the touch sent him up on his toes, his grunt loud and primal. Simon pushed a finger inside him

when he rocked back down, which should have felt small in comparison to the phallus, but instead scraped all his nerves with its heat. So good. This was Simon, who Matthias had denied for so long. He could deny the man his body no longer. Simon moaned, the finger disappearing. “You’re ready for me now, love? I cannot wait for you any longer.” “Now,” he agreed, his heart thudding against his ribs like a hammer on a stone.

Laughing softly, Simon moved just far enough away to set the head of his cock to Matthias’s hole. Then he pushed inside, the tip popping in, surprising Matthias with its heat. Simon’s very human prick was nothing like the dildos he’d had inside him ’ere now. Simon pumped his hips and speared Matthias deep, surprising a gasp out of him. He lost his grip on the chair, his chest hitting it hard enough to take the air out of his lungs. Simon slid one arm between him and the back of the chair, holding him up, helping him take every

inch of that large cock. His body opened, stretched, and Matthias gritted his teeth against a shout. The imprint of Simon’s fingers on his chest might simply stay there forever, marking him over his heart. “Tight. Hot. Oh, Matthias. I’m lost in you.” Simon said the words against his neck, rough and guttural. Simon began to move, hips rocking in short thrusts. Too fast but not quickly enough. “My men.” Felice said the words like a prayer, hushed and awed. He tried to turn his head to look at her, but Simon bit

him on the nape, making him forget everything but the burn of being taken, of his utter surrender. When Felice came to them, crawling into the seat of the wing chair to kiss him, Matthias knew he would never recover from this moment, knew that he would be forever changed. He opened to her kiss, to her tongue exploring his mouth, fucking him as surely as Simon did. “God,” Simon ground out. “Oh, look at the two of you. I could do this forever, could love you both for the rest of my

life.” Love. Matthias bucked, his muscles clenching, pulling Simon deeper. They both jerked, both moaned, moving faster. Matthias had given up control only to gain it, his body demanding Simon give him more. Felice reached past him to touch Simon, where he didn’t know, but Simon slammed into him, breath harsh in Matthias’s ear. He needed to breathe, needed to ease the pressure in his balls and his arse, but even more he needed

Felice and Simon just this way, touching him. Loving him. “Please,” Matthias said, finding himself chanting. “Please, please.” “Soon,” Simon agreed. “Need to feel you come around my cock, Matthias.” “Come for him, sweet.” Felice said the words against his mouth, her tone soft, but her words had iron in them. Matthias came for them, their commands more than he could resist. Simon made a sound that he would remember his whole life, a tortured sound of pleasure so perfect Matthias

wanted to hear it over and over. Felice cried out as well, and he thought perhaps she’d come with nothing more than a few touches of her own hand. They leaned together, breathing hard, all of them touching. “Shall we play another hand?” Simon asked. Felice’s laugh trilled out like the voice of a songbird. “Not now, lover. I think we all won this round.”

Chapter Six Simon hummed, writing one figure after another in the profit column. He smiled, thinking how really everything had improved since Felice and Matthias had come to join him. Felice, he knew, sat in his mother’s morning room, penning letters of instruction to her man of affairs in London. She had many business

concerns of her own, and she sent letters every few days. Matthias would be at the stables at this time of day, having taken an acute interest in Simon’s brood mares. Oh, he knew well enough they would all return to Town soon, but for now, they had a perfect little world to play inside. “My lord?” The words followed a soft knock, Felice’s footman Thomas peeking around the door to his study. “You have a caller.” Simon raised his brows. “Do I? Who

is that?” “Mr. Fraeme, the local vicar,” Thomas said, his carefully blank expression telling Simon what Thomas thought of their visitor. “Indeed? I donated when I first arrived.” Vicar Fraeme was new to the area, but Simon had found that generous donations kept the local vicars from asking him to attend church once they met him. Simon so rarely evinced piety. “He says it’s rather urgent.” “What can be urgent in his line of work, hmm? Send him in, Thomas. And

thank you.” Thomas fit in with Simon’s servants extremely well, and took great pleasure in serving in the same sorts of ways Matthias did, as well. Thomas bobbed a tiny bow and left, only to return with a dull crow of a man, all black coat and flopping black hat, his nose resembling nothing so much as a prow of a ship. “Ah, my lord,” the vicar said. “Thank you for receiving me.” Simon waited until Fraeme was shifting awkwardly and wringing his hands before rising and waving toward a

pair of leather chairs separated by a humidor with a tabletop where he sank down. “Have a seat, if you please.” “Thank you.” The vicar sat, folding his hands in his lap. He did not remove his hat, and Simon wasn’t sure if he was returning Simon’s rudeness or just uncertain where to place it. “What is this urgent matter, Mr. Fraeme?” Simon asked when the man just sat there staring. “I have a matter of a rather delicate nature to discuss, my lord. I assure you, were it up to me, I would not remark on

it at all.” “Then why remark on it?” Simon forced his body to stay relaxed, despite the way his muscles tried to clench up. “Because I fear for your safety, frankly. For almost a fortnight now I have been hearing rumors about the countryside about your houseguests.” Fraeme held up a hand when Simon would have spoken. “I have no interest in your personal business, my lord. I promise you, I have turned everyone from the subject when they have asked. However, in the farm village last night, I

heard some terrible rumblings when the men thought I could not hear.” “What sort of rumblings?” He looked down to find his fingers clenched white on the arms of the chair. He released them one by one. Ridiculous. Simon had never given a whit what anyone thought of him. “Well, the lady seems of questionable virtue, but no man really has a leg to stand on there. The real issue seems to be one of perversion. A local lady who has her daughter visiting says she knows your lady friend, and she’s no common

strumpet. Therefore, the man she arrived with…” He decided not to comment on Felice. She would laugh at questionable and say her virtue was black as soot. “Baron Kingsley? What of him?” “A baron?” The hand-wringing redoubled. “Oh, dear. The assumption about the country is that he, and possibly you, are allowing the lady to ply her trade of, er, discipline.” “And if I have been?” Simon knew the answer to that. He and Matthias could both go to gaol, their property

seized, and possibly lose their lives at the gallows if all of their activities came to light. Simon had seen it happen more than once in Town. “Sir! You should be more circumspect. Your very life might be in danger. Such things are considered unnatural. Sinful. Especially by the more pious of our neighbors. If you are engaging in such activities, I cannot judge. That is for God to decide. However, I urge you to send them away. Both of them. For their safety.” Simon turned to fully face the man,

studying him intently. Truly, he found nothing in the big-nosed visage but sincerity. “I will take it under consideration, Mr. Fraeme. I appreciate your honesty.” “Yes, well, you have been generous to us all, and frankly, I rather like you. No nonsense and such.” “You may well be the only vicar to say that in my life.” Simon stood, offering a hand to shake. “Would you care for anything from the kitchen? And do you know anyone honest and smart locally who could be hired on as an

estate manager here?” “I might, in fact, know such an honest man. Do you think your cook would serve tea in the kitchen? I don’t wish to be a bother.” “I have no doubt that you will leave as stuffed as a Christmas goose.” “Thank you.” Fraeme shook his hand. “I will send you a few candidates for your manager.” “Soon, if you please. I imagine I will be leaving soon for London.” Fraeme nodded, his face creasing in a smile. “Good. I am grateful for all your

estate here has done for us.” “Would that more people adopted your attitude.” “Bah. I am an old man who had three grand tours of the Continent. I have seen so much nothing shocks me.” Vicar Fraeme flapped off toward the kitchen, Thomas appearing to lead the way. Simon stood in the hall, tapping his fingers against his thigh for a long moment. Then he turned on his heel and walked across the hall to the morning room. He would talk to Felice before making any real decisions.

She sat in a dainty white chair, her robe anglaise printed with tiny pink roses. The longer she stayed with him in the country the less she looked like a sophisticated mistress of discipline in crimson velvet, but her will remained iron. His boot scraped on the floor, and Felice turned to see him there, her eyes lighting up. “Simon! I thought you had accounts to do.” “I did. I imagine I will finish them, but we need to talk. Did you breakfast?” He offered an arm, and she came to him,

resting her hand on the crook of his elbow. “I did. However, if the cold collation is still laid out on the buffet, I would take almond cakes.” “I’ll ring for coffee and tea, then.” They went to the dining room, and sure enough, Cook had put out an array of biscuits, cakes and savory meats and cheeses. His cook was indecently obsessed with Matthias, and liked to have delicacies on hand all day in case Matthias became peckish. “You have a very serious face,”

Felice told him, sitting at the table and letting him serve her. “Is that chocolate in the pot at the end?” “Yes.” He poured her a tiny cup, happy not to need to ring for drinks. “And yes, I do. We’ve been put on notice by the local vicar. He fears violence toward you, mainly. Then Matthias. Unnatural perversities, he says, is the accusation.” “And so they are. We have been indulging a great deal.” She tilted her head, the fat roll of hair trailing down her neck sliding over her shoulder to

dangle over her breasts where they rose above the neckline of her gown. “What do you plan to do?” “Go back to Town, I suppose. No one cares what a lowly baron and viscount do there, and the mistress of discipline would be back in the safety of her stronghold.” “Do you think this will work back in London?” She stared at him, her gaze steady. “You and I can find our pleasures where we will, but Matthias thrives here.” “He won’t thrive if someone drags

him off to gaol or worse.” Simon sighed, sitting across from her. He munched on a biscuit while he gathered himself. He loathed giving into social mores. “What are your thoughts?” “I think we need to decide what we want. Who do we want to be?” Simon pressed his lips together to stifle his first words, which would be censorious. Did they have a choice? Had he missed that point in his life? Instead, he took a deep breath before asking, “What do you mean?” “I mean, do we want to go back to

being three individuals who see each other occasionally, or do we want to act as a unit?” So calm, so measured. She was, as ever, her own mistress more than anyone else’s. “How can we live as we are now, Felice? We all know this has been a lovely holiday that couldn’t last.” While he eschewed the rules everyone else lived by, Simon was practical. “I suppose so.” Something in her demeanor changed, something cooled in her eyes, the sparkle fading. “So, back to Town, or perhaps we could travel

together for a while, extend the holiday.” He opened his mouth to say something, anything to put the smile back in her eyes, but was interrupted by Sam, one of his stable hands, who pelted into the room without even knocking. “Sir! Sir, you must come quickly. Mr. Matthias, he’s hurt!” Simon sprang to his feet, following Sam when he turned to run back outside. “Was he thrown?” “Stable master just said to fetch you.” His stable master, Liam, and Matthias had become fast friends, and often rode

together. If Matthias had fallen, Liam would be the best man to help him. The fellow doctored injured horses all the time. Didn’t keep Simon from running faster than he ever had in his life. When he reached the stables, Simon followed Sam into the tack room, where Matthias lay prone on the bench Liam used for mending tack. Liam stood over Matthias, pressing a cloth to Matthias’s head. “What happened?” Felice ran into the room behind him, her cloak swirling about her. He hadn’t thought to grab his,

but her thin gown was no match to the cool morning air. “We were set upon, my lord.” Liam stepped aside so he could see Matthias, who lay unconscious. “I am sorry. I tried to fight them off.” Simon glanced at Liam, who was bruised and cut, his clothing in shambles. “Sam, see to Liam.” “No. No, my lord. No, I must tell you what happened.” Felice had knelt next to Matthias, lifting the cloth from his head. “He’s breathing, but this knot on his head

worries me, Simon. We need to get him to the house and call a doctor in.” “They took us just beyond the trees, my lord. We had been racing, but we were pulling up, laughing and such.” Liam spread his hands. “Local lads. Five of them. Two of them held me off while the other three beat him, kicked him, they did.” “Did they mean to steal his purse?” Matthias never carried money here in Lincolnshire unless he planned to go into town. “No.” Liam grimaced, a cut on his

cheek stretching and beginning to bleed sluggishly again. “No, sir. They were… They accused him of perversions. Said he was the devil’s spawn.” For a wild moment, Simon wanted to run back to his house and accuse the Vicar Fraeme of coming to his home just to distract him from Matthias’s plight. Then he realized the folly of that idea. There was no way anyone could know that Matthias would be out riding when Fraeme came to call, and the vicar had seemed genuinely concerned. Simon moved to stand at Matthias’s

side, kneeling there, willing his lover to awake, to be well. “Felice?” “Nothing appears broken,” she said in a brisk tone, rising to her feet. “We simply need to get him where he can rest comfortably.” She was ever the mistress, but her lips trembled when she looked at Matthias, so still and pale. “Sam, can you get Thomas and a few stout lads to carry Matthias to the house?” Simon realized he was shaking, his head feeling as though it floated a foot above his body.

“I can help carry him,” Liam said. “You will do no such thing,” Felice said. “You need rest. Sam, get Thomas and Benjamin and John. You will remain here and tend to Liam once you come back.” “Yes, ma’am.” Sam ran off, doing Felice’s bidding immediately, like every other male she came into contact with. “Sam and I could have carried him,” Simon said. He was afraid to touch Matthias, fearing he might make any injury worse. “You’ll do no such thing,” Matthias

grumbled, his blue eyes popping open. “I can bloody well walk.” “Oh, thank God.” The words burst from Simon, and Felice nodded in obvious agreement. “Ah, there you are, Mr. Matthias,” Liam said. “I was worried you’d be addled.” “I may well be, but I’m too goddamned angry to care. Simon, help me up.” Matthias struggled to sit up, and Simon sprang up to help him, Felice stepping up to the other side of Matthias’s body to assist.

“You can tell us what happened at the house,” Simon murmured, not wanting to discuss too much in front of Liam. His stable master was a good man and knew a great deal about Simon’s preferences, but it was better to keep him out of intimate things. “I will. You may depend upon it.” Tension tightened every line of Matthias’s body, fury plain on his face. “Come on, then.” Simon nodded at Liam. “Thank you. Get some rest, will you? If you require a leech, let Benjamin know.”

Sam returned just then with Thomas and John, who helped him hoist Matthias up. The walk to the house took twice as long as normal, Matthias sagging by the time they gained the front door. “Do you need to rest here before we take you upstairs?” Felice asked, throwing off her cloak. “No,” Matthias said through gritted teeth. “If I stop now I’ll sleep where you set me for two days.” “I want you where we can have a bath,” Simon said firmly. “The steam will ease your soreness. Benjamin, see

to it.” “Yes, my lord.” Benjamin moved with alacrity, barking commands at the other servants. John nodded, and he and Simon halfdragged, half-assisted Matthias up the stairs, walking him into the master chamber to lower him on the bed. “Oh, God.” Matthias stretched out, his moan tugging at Simon’s heart. He hated that Matthias was in pain because of their situation. Felice flitted about like a bird, never landing anywhere too long. She helped

Simon tug off Matthias’s clothing, cursing like a sailor when she saw his bruises and scrapes. Then she moved to the basin across the room, pouring water and gathering cloths. Servants began to parade in and out of the room, bringing hot water and setting up the big copper tub. Simon covered Matthias with a light blanket to keep him warm until they could look him over. Matthias went quiet, and Simon thought him asleep until the last servant left them. Then Matthias said, “They pulled me

off my horse like brigands. Cursed me for devil’s spawn and beat me, kicked me.” Felice stopped her running about and moved to Matthias’s side, lifting the blanket to take his hand. “I’m so sorry, my love. I never thought—” “No. No one is to blame but those fools.” Matthias rose up on one elbow, staring at Simon. “Do you hear me?” “I hear you. Sadly, the statement is untrue.” Simon stared back. “Vicar Fraeme came to warn me today that we have been too obvious around the

countryside and in Lincoln, as well. Very much thanks to our encounter with Lord and Lady Mowerly, people are coming together for a witch hunt.” Matthias pressed his lips together, then cursed when it put pressure on a cut on his lower lip. Simon winced for him. “The good vicar can kiss my arse,” Matthias said. “We’re here together and I won’t act as though I don’t know you to keep anyone happy.” “At the risk of your life? Of hers?” Simon snapped. He paced to the side of the bed. “I cannot bear to see you hurt.

Do you think anything is broken?” “No.” Matthias snorted. “I’ve had far worse behind a hell when a cheating card player cornered me. These selfrighteous types have a conscience, still. Card men do not.” “Thank God.” Simon sank down on the side of the bed, taking Matthias’s hand in his. “I’m sending you both back to London. As soon as I find an estate manager to take over the work I’ve been doing, I’ll be back to join you.” He glanced at Felice, then looked away. Her flashing green eyes and

crossed arms told him what she thought of that idea. “You expect us to leave you here alone?” Matthias sat up, the blanket sliding away, revealing his bruised chest, one a clear boot mark. “Nonsense. I will not abandon you.” “Neither will I,” Felice agreed, moving to sit with them. She touched Simon’s hand where it grasped Matthias’s. “We’re in this together.” “Yes, which is why I need you to listen to me.” Simon knew he could command, and he put that in his voice

now. “As soon as Matthias is well enough to travel, you will go.” “Oh?” Matthias grunted, pushing him away to rise and creak his way to the tub. “How are you going to make me go? Beat me? I may be willing to bend to both of you in the bedchamber, but I will still make my own decisions when I must.” “I will stay, as well. Even if they believe I am Lamia, these louts will be less likely to attack either of you if there is also a woman present. Safety in numbers, after all.” Felice set her chin,

lifting it stubbornly. “Are you both mad? The three of us being together here is what’s causing the problems. I love you both too much to be the reason you’re injured or killed!” He was in it for good now, Simon supposed. Saying the words in the heat of lovemaking he could later deny. Here he’d bared his entire soul to them. “What says we do not feel the same way about you?” Felice poked his chest hard, leaving a bright spot of pain. “Why should you order us to leave you and not understand when we say no? Find your

bloody estate manager. I will tell my solicitor in London to continue to run my concerns, and we shall away to the Continent. Rome, perhaps.” “Matthias has land he needs to attend to as well—” “Bah.” Matthias cut him off, sinking into the water an inch at a time. “That estate is worthless but for hunting deer. I will sell it to my cousin.” “Sell it?” A hard, desperate sound escaped him. Simon wished to believe they could do this with all his heart, but today had reminded him harshly what the

world thought of their association. “Does anyone believe we can continue on this way? That we have some sort of life we can build?” “Simon.” Felice reached for him, but he brushed her off. “No. See to Matthias. I have to make a report to the magistrate.” The attack had happened on his property. No matter what people might rightly or wrongly accuse him of, he would not have local lads trespassing and hurting his family and servants. He left them there, because he

couldn’t bear any longer to listen to them try to convince him to run away with them. Simon had never been afraid of taking risks in his life. Now he was frightened. Once she’d stuffed Matthias full of brandy and put him to bed, assuring that he slept like the fallen angel he was, Felice went in search of Simon. He’d left them earlier and had not returned. “What the devil is wrong with him?” Matthias had snarled, flinging water into the fireplace from the tub, the sizzle

matching Matthias’s fiery mood. Felice had only shaken her head. “He’s afraid,” she’d replied. “We’ll simply need to love it out of him.” Matthias had crawled into bed and held her hand until he slept, and she smiled, thinking how both of her men could be such babies. They required guidance. Felice knew her own mind. When she had decided to flout all convention and become a mistress of discipline, she had left fear behind. Now she took what she wanted, and once she allowed herself to

believe she could have both Simon and Matthias, she wasn’t going to let Simon convince her she couldn’t. When she failed to find Simon in his study or the men’s sitting room downstairs, Felice pulled her wrapper more tightly around her to beat off the cold draft before making her way back upstairs. Matthias lay in Simon’s chamber, so she simply had to look in each bedroom to see where Simon was hiding. She found him on her third try, in the chamber where he kept all of his

implements of discipline. The scent of them most likely lingered on the bedding, so she should have suspected this was where he would be. A candle burned low on the stand by the bed. Simon lay across the bed in the wrong direction, still wearing his coat and boots. With one hand he clutched the bedcover, as if he’d been afraid of sliding off the bed. Felice sighed. Poor Simon. So sure of himself except where love was concerned. Loss was a risk one took when they opened themselves up to the

tender side of their emotions. Better to take that risk and glory in love rather than never really have it because of fear. “Simon.” She began at his feet, tugging at his boots. “Help me, will you?” “Mmm?” He rolled to his back, blinking. “What are you doing?” “Making you more comfortable. Now, pull up with your leg.” She tugged down on each boot in turn. They both popped off with relative ease, so she crawled on the bed to tug at the tight coat Simon wore. “How can you bear this?” she

asked. “I always ask women the same about stays and side panniers.” Felice chuckled. “Men. I blame it all on men. No matter what the gender, you believe beauty requires suffering.” “True.” He watched her, his gray eyes dull, his cheeks flushed as if with fever. Oh, he was working himself into a state, and she would have to fuck that right out of him. As soon as she had him naked, she began to strip. Thankfully she had taken to country fashion and wore only soft

undergarments beneath the morning dress she had never managed to change. Good thing, because Simon never once offered to play lady’s maid. He watched, his hands out to the sides where she left them when she pulled off his shirt. This was not the man she loved, not her wicked, witty Simon. Felice would be damned if she would allow him to lie down and give up. She required her naughty, clever lover. Once unclothed, Felice crawled back up on the bed so she could straddle his thighs. The rough hair on his upper legs

abraded the softness of her inner thighs, and Felice rested her hands on his belly. He could pretend disinterest, but his cock rose with gratifying speed, reaching up toward her. “Why are you so afraid, Simon?” she asked. “What is it?” “I can’t lose you.” Simon rolled up on his elbows, staring into her eyes. “If you or Matthias were to be seriously hurt, or killed, I would never forgive myself.” “You’ll lose us if we all go back to Town, and you know it.” “But at least I will know you’re safe.

Matthias will have you, and you will have him.” “We will not have you.” She put one hand to his cheek, the scratchy whiskers a surprise. Usually so fastidious, her Simon. “Matthias could lose everything, Felice. Word spreads so quickly here, and while his estate is not here, provincial people take laws into their own hands. If they don’t kill him, they could burn his estate to the ground. Who knows?” “Bah. He’ll gamble it away as soon

as you stop paying his markers. You’re being overly dramatic.” She moved her hand from his face to his cock, closing her fingers around him. Simon groaned, his body arching under hers. “I can’t—” “Stop.” She squeezed him hard, working the extra skin at the head with her thumb. “Stop it right now. You will not leave us, do you understand? You and I both can live comfortably for years off our concerns, and Matthias will sell to his cousin and add to that. He’s too proud not to pay his own way.”

“Oh? And where will we go?” Simon’s chin jutted at her, his lower lip sticking out at an adorable angle. He knew he was beaten, she could tell, and was now simply acting stubbornly. “Hmm. The bread situation in Paris leaves that right out. Also the smell.” Felice stroked Simon’s cock, watching his eyes cross. “Too bad, really, as I do love their clothes. Vienna has sanitary issues that rival any city and any farther north than that is too cold. If we must decamp, why not go somewhere with a better climate?”

“You are a fiend.” Simon fell back on the bed, lifting up with his hips, fucking himself into her hand. “Am I? Marseilles might be pleasant. Rome. Florence has a certain decadent charm, even if it is a bit in flux…” While she spoke, Felice slid up higher against Simon’s body, gripping his cock by the base now so she could rise up over him and set his prick against the entrance to her body. She was wet for him, his scent, his need making her ready. “I like Florence,” Simon said, finally

coming to life. He gripped her hips and yanked her down, his prick sliding inside her, filling her deeply. All of their games had led to this, to them fucking as equals, neither of them taking full control. Felice braced herself on his chest, her hair falling down to curtain them, her breasts bouncing. Simon panted, his gaze never leaving hers, his hands moving finally. He slid them up from her hips to her chest, sliding under her breasts and lifting them. She knew what men liked, and they

liked the shape of her breasts. She chuckled at the crude word, knowing it would hardly shock Simon, but how it has amazed more than one of her clients to hear it. “If you’re laughing, you’re clearly not thinking of me,” Simon said, a tiny smile playing about his lips. “I was thinking of tits,” she said. “I like those better than Florence.” He pinched her nipples, a sharp flare of pleasurable pain rushing from her chest to her cunt. “I can tell.” When she squeezed down

with her inner muscles, Simon grunted, gritting his teeth. “Kiss me, love. I need to feel that. Tell me you love me even if it’s a lie.” “I love you,” she told him, and it wasn’t a lie. Felice bent to kiss him, which pushed him deeper inside her. She took his mouth as she would Matthias’s, intent upon breaking down every barrier he could toss in front of her. Storming the castle, as it were. Simon took her kiss, allowing her to taste him deeply, to explore him with her tongue. She reached back and down,

grazing his balls with her fingertips, adding another layer of need to their coupling. He growled against her mouth, a sound more animal than human. Then he took hold of her, lowering her to rest against his chest so he could roll her to her back. Simon rose up, his hips rocking so he could speed their movements, his thrusts pushing her along the mattress. “No more games, love.” Simon reached down between them, gathering up her moisture so he could use it to

ease the way. Then he circled her little pleasure bud with his fingers, making her cry out. Yes. She craved his touch, had wanted it for years but never given in. When she gave herself finally she did it with her whole heart. “More,” she demanded, pinching his right nipple between her fingers. “Yes.” Simon moved faster, slapping them together, and he plucked at her, making her shake. Felice wrapped her legs about him, holding him as close as she could, touching whatever skin she could with

her hands. They were rutting now, pushing toward their little death, the first one they would share joined together. “Felice. Love. Oh, God.” Simon threw his head back, his voice rising, and he lost the rhythm, jerking wildly into her. She felt it deep when he spent himself, his seed filling her. She clutched at his arms, her body shaking, thrashing as she reached for her climax. He helped her, kissing her, pressing his hand between them so all of the pressure landed against her pelvis. She moaned, the sound long, trembling with such

perfect pleasure. Panting, Simon lowered himself down on her, his skin hot as coal in the stove. She stroked Simon’s back, damp with sweat, heaving with his breath. “You’ll stop trying to send us away?” she asked, knowing what the answer would be. “How can I make you leave me? I’m not strong enough to live without you, I suppose, though God knows I would try. We’ll try it your way.” “Good. I am the mistress, after all.” When he simply stared at her, Felice began to laugh, giddy in her relief that

she had convinced him to give them another chance. The door to the chamber opened, surprising both her and Simon into immobility. When she saw Matthias standing there, swaying slightly, she held out a hand to him so he could join them on the bed. “Are you done caterwauling, then?” Matthias asked. “You were loud for me to find you even with my liquor-soaked senses.” Felice laughed hard, drawing Matthias to them once he reached the

bed. “We are. We were simply discussing our future.” “Negotiation,” Simon agreed. “And have you planned everything without me, as usual?” Matthias asked with an exaggerated grimace. “That’s our way,” Felice said. “As your master and mistress. How do you feel about Florence?” “They have an old bridge,” Matthias said. “A great many expatriates I’ve heard naughty things.” She kissed his mouth, then glanced at Simon, who was smiling for the first

time that day. “Then I would say it’s the place for us, yes?” Simon nodded, then leaned past her to kiss Matthias as well. “I am willing to try.” Matthias settled in close, heaving a sigh of what Felice thought was contentment. “Good. Now, can we all rest a bit?” “Of course, love,” Felice said, stroking Matthias’s furry chest. Joy filled her, her men just where they belonged. Oh, what adventures in discipline they could have from now on.

Epilogue Florence, Italy 1780 “Benjamin. More coffee, if you would, please,” Simon said. They sat at the table on the grand terrace of the house they had decided to rent just outside Florence. They might winter in Rome, or Sicily perhaps, but in the late spring like this, Florence felt like paradise.

Matthias stretched, feeling the sun on his head and neck. Simon and Felice had instructed him to wear only simple breeches and a thin lawn shirt, just in case a fellow expatriate became curious and dropped in to visit them. Simon wore little more, the only difference a waistcoat and hose. Felice joined them only moments later, fresh as a spring flower, though less chaste. Italy had brought out her more adventurous side, as far as fashion, their bodices sitting far lower than the English ones.

“Look at this dispatch from my solicitor,” she said, then handed a packet of vellum to Simon. “Riots in the streets of London.” Simon read through the papers, but Matthias found he had little interest. Oh, he had a care for what was going on back home, but he didn’t really miss anyone enough for the ache to be sharp or specific. He had all he needed here. “The coffeehouse is still doing well, it seems,” Simon said. “Of course it is,” Felice shot back. “I told you my man of affairs was efficient.

He would not leave us in desperate straits.” Matthias snorted. In this he had finally found equal footing. Matthias had made a packet on the sale of his land, and he had invested in the new coffee shops Felice had opened in Italy. His return was keeping them in roasted chestnuts and rent, for certain. The money Simon and Felice brought in they tucked away for when they needed to move on. Matthias shifted, stretching again, the seams on his breeches creaking audibly. Benjamin, who arrived just in time to

pour coffee, stared at him appreciatively. Ah, Thomas. Matthias patted that sweet, tight ass when the lad passed by. Memories of a recent competition Felice had ordered them into flashed through his mind. Thomas had lost. Matthias would happily take that arse as a reward for winning over and over. “Stop it, both of you,” Felice said. “I tell you when you can play.” Thomas started as if stung, but Matthias only smiled and reached out to snag Thomas’s leg with one hand,

stopping the man’s forward motion. If he’d learned anything in the last year it was his power, the ability to tease his mistress and master into giving him what he needed, what he desperately wanted. He found himself wanting rather desperately at the moment, his cock rising to press against the button placket of his breeches. “Thomas, go and tell Benjamin you need discipline,” Simon ordered. “Matthias, to the room.” The room Simon referred to held all the implements of discipline they had

acquired on their travels, as well as some Felice had brought with them. Matthias stood, but he didn’t run off like Thomas. No, he intended to earn even more punishment. “If I don’t wish to go?” Matthias asked. Felice moved to stand in front of him, her green eyes alight with delight and desire. “You will do as your mistress commands. Now.” She reached up to tweak his nipple through his thin shirt, a warning and a sample of what was to come.

Simon rose as well, deceptively casual in his movement. Matthias was suddenly flanked by them, a fine strategy on their part, as if they were generals at war with him on the other side of the battle. They did work well together. “To the room, Matthias,” Simon said. “You’ve earned exactly what you desire.” “I have,” Matthias agreed. He had earned both of his lovers, and now he intended to keep them with him for the rest of his life.

About the Author Minerva Howe is the kinky alter ego of author Julia Talbot. Julia lives in the great Southwest, where there is hot and cold running rodeo, cowboys, and everything from meat and potatoes to the best Tex-Mex. A full time author, Julia has been published by Samhain, Dreamspinner Publishing, and Ellora’s Cave. She believes that everyone

deserves a happy ending, so she writes about love without limits, where boys love boys, girls love girls, and boys and girls get together to get wild, especially when her crazy paranormal characters are involved. Find Julia at @juliatalbot on Twitter, or at www.juliatalbot.com.

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eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B Cincinnati OH 45249 The Mistress and Her Men Copyright © 2015 by Minerva Howe ISBN: 978-1-61923-186-3 Edited by Jennifer Miller Cover by Leah Kaye Suttle All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: October 2015 www.samhainpublishing.com