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

to question the madam’s judgment in sending this particular male.
    He would only use the dildos tonight. And possibly the satin cords. They were always enough to ignite his fuse. Her breasts were magnificent. He contemplated how he could both see her impaled and watch those tits harden in pleasure.
    Of course, the easiest way would have been for him to do everything himself.
    No. No. He shook his head and blinked his eyes a couple of times. She was a whore.
    “Madame DuPuis explained what will happen this evening?” he questioned in French, keeping his voice unthreatening. Not that French was ever threatening.
    “ Oui. ” Her voice was delicate and feminine.
    He wagged a finger at the male prostitute, indicating he could proceed and stared as the other man stepped in behind the French woman. The sight of the staggering phallus sliding along the cleft cheeks of her ass had his heart racing and his cock straining. She stiffened and bit at her lips, turning her head away.
    “He won’t hurt you, chérie .”
    The man’s large hands cupped her waist and slid upward. Michael’s palms itched and burned with want. He pulled air through his nose, trying to capture the scent of her a second time. Strong male hands cupped her breasts, covering and then kneading. His own hand slid into the placket of his trousers and palmed his aching cods.
    She gasped and took a small step away before placing one delicately boned foot on top of the other.
    Madame was right. The girl was new, a little frightened, and based on the lush body she displayed, entirely suitable for her profession, once she became accustomed to a man’s needs.
    “Kneel on the bed,” he commanded her in French, his voice catching.
    She stepped up on the wooden box, lifted one knee, then the other. Her bottom jutted out, poised and ready for penetration. Her legs quivered.
    Michael’s cock throbbed with need and he wasn’t even stroking himself to encourage his excitement, only squeezing, fearful that her innocent allure and the wicked longing to see her—not hurt exactly but overpowered, taken—caused thrilling, guilty pleasure. He reached for the large dildo on the bedside stand and handed it to the other man.
    “Anal first,” he ordered the man. Then he spoke in a more coaxing, pleasant tone to the girl, sticking to the French since he didn’t know her command of English. “Relax, chérie . It will be momentarily uncomfortable.”
    He’d been fixated on this act since he’d started this dark journey, and now, after his encounter with Clarissa, he could think of nothing but the tight penetration and the consuming pleasure it would bring. The act was all the more forbidden since he had never requested it of Clarissa. Only from his paid whores.
    Swiping the dildo through the wetness of her body, the man reached for the girl’s ass, spread one cheek and rammed the thick head in a few inches. The girl flinched and gasped, going down on her forearms, her head hanging down.
    Michael grabbed the man’s wrist to prevent further penetration. “You fucking clumsy ox. Do you plan on killing her? Get out.”
    Mumbling some apology, the other man left, latching the door behind him.
    Michael touched her hip, stroking for a few minutes, trying to soothe the sting and burn of the forceful entry while whispering soft, calming words in French. He did not remove the dildo. The jerky motion as she clenched it inside her body nearly had semen shooting from his overexcited shaft—his gaze, his body fascinated by the sexual display.
    He touched the protruding piece, keeping it firmly embedded in her asshole. She shook in response and he leered when the phallus moved as she puckered. “Arch your back, c hérie .”
    He stood behind her, imagining his own cock twitching as he entered the tight passage. Instead, his erection bulged painfully, the skin tight and sensitive. “Easy, chérie . Here it comes.”
    Michael dropped his hand to the perfect globes of her ass, his