Wicked Desires (Wicked Affairs, Book One) by Eliza Lloyd Page A

impatient.”
    Escorted into the adjoining room, she nearly called everything to a stop at the sight of her supposed partner in this debauchery. He was naked, just slipping into a black silk robe. She’d seen enough to know that his organ looked dangerously out of portion to his stature.
    “Henri, a word.” Madame pulled him aside and whispered in his ear. Clarissa had every confidence she’d instructed him to keep his filthy cock to himself. She hoped.
    Alice then turned to Clarissa and chucked her under the chin, forcing her eyes to meet the determined gaze of her conspirator. “Remember. It is not you in that room. You are not Dunnaway’s countess. Do not act like her in any way, from your kisses to your touch. You must become that woman he sees.”
    Madame snapped her fingers. Henri clasped Clarissa’s hand and they walked hand in hand to the next room to service the Earl of Dunnaway.
    * * * * *
     
    Michael reflected on his decision as he slouched in the familiar chair with his drink in hand. Even now, he tried to think of Clarissa in the hopes he’d get a rise out of his half-dead cock. He pictured her in her frilly white flannel nightgowns, smiling so sweetly at him from the downy cushions of her bed. Beautiful, yes.
    It left him cold and unmoved, not to mention fearful and frustrated.
    He swallowed down his second drink. Only one more before he called it quits and before the entertainment arrived. Closing his eyes, he envisioned what was to come. He fisted his cock in one hand and squeezed. The near painful pleasure built.
    He revisited other episodes in which he’d participated. His erection sprang at the idea of putting his cock into the ass of the French whore that Madame was bringing to his room tonight. Madame said it had taken some persuasion, but she’d agreed to be part of his entertainment. True, he wasn’t going to fuck her, but he was damn tempted.
    In the midst of stroking himself, the door slowly opened. Michael’s cock swelled painfully. He was in a dangerous mood tonight—wanting Clarissa like he did, the temptation of the French whore and the recent memory of Clarissa’s tight, clenching ass over his finger.
    He’d waded in perilous waters for months now, eventually he was going to drown in them. Even now, he had trouble breathing.
    Air lodged in his chest as the French woman strolled into the room on the arm of the male oddity.
    Glued to his chair, he could only stare at the temptation as she lowered the robe, letting it fall to the carpeted floor in a soft swish of material. Michael cast a singular glance in the man’s direction to note that he was the usual odd specimen Alice employed, one meant to dazzle the adventurous female clientele.
    The woman passed by him, her perfume strong but the scent of her cunt stronger. Aroused, displayed and ready for fucking. Michael yearned to take a bite out of her lush white ass. He couldn’t decide where to begin. Her full breasts jiggled as she walked. The tempting exhibit was mouthwatering.
    He lived vicariously through the other man. A fine morality, indeed , he thought. Maybe he was just a coward. Maybe losing the ability to fuck one’s own wife made a man unwilling to face his other inadequacies. If he’d swallowed his pride and told Clarissa the problem, she would have been understanding.
    Which, in his mind, only made the problem worse. He did not want his wife’s sympathy, he wanted her respect.
    Another voice chimed in, one he recognized as his conscience. Yes, Michael, and she will definitely respect you for this.
    When the couple stopped at the side of the bed, Michael hauled himself up from the chair and fastened one button of his trousers to keep them in place.
    Madame had convinced the French whore to participate, but he still needed to progress slowly. Looking at the well-hung freak, he knew he wouldn’t let that penetrate this small woman. He glanced down at his own cock, wondering if his wouldn’t hurt as much. Still, he had