Chapter Four

The connecting door between the countess’s and his bedchamber was unlocked when Griff surreptitiously turned the knob. His meager belongings had been unpacked and hung up by an unknown servant in the adjacent dressing room. He realized he had been given the former earl’s bedroom. Most aristocratic married couples rarely slept in the same bed other than to copulate. Griff wished more space separated him from his employer. But then, she would want him handy to fulfill her carnal demands. He had always slept nude until he was in the army and kept on his linen. Now he wished he owned a nightshirt.

It was after midnight when he and the countess had returned. The house was quiet. He expected a service call from the countess, so he fortified himself with a generous tot of brandy. He removed his military tunic, but nothing else. When a tap came on the door to his dressing room, he allowed a silent groan to invade his mind. He went to the connecting door and pulled it open.

Agina stood inside the doorway wearing filmy nightclothes that were definitely not designed for warmth. She had taken the pins out of her lustrous hair and let it drape over her shoulders. He noticed that the extravagant rings she wore on several fingers of one hand had not been removed. They flashed in the single flame of the candle holder she held.

He knew he should be more attracted to her, even lust for her, seeing her en dishabille. But for some unusual reason, she did nothing to ignite his senses or melt his bones.

“Follow me,” the countess said, crooking a manicured index finger at him. She pivoted, the sheer fabric swishing around her ankles as she strode through both dressing rooms. “It’s time we got to know one another better.”

Griff followed her into her bedchamber. She placed the candle holder on a tabletop and turned to face him. He had paused in the doorway. Now she glided slowly toward him and walked her fingertips over his shirt and chest, teasing him until palms gripped his shoulders. Finally, she clamped her fingers around his nape. “I believe the first thing you should do is to kiss me.”

Bloody hell, this is going to be harder than I thought, he thought. I’d rather get her into the bed, fuck her, and be done with it.

He kissed her more or less absently. However, the taste of her mouth lingered. “Kissing is for amateurs, countess,” Griff said, adroitly maneuvering her toward the frilly bedstead piled high with plump, goose-down pillows. There he hoped to hide his distaste for what he was being forced to do. “Why don’t we get to what you really want, Countess?” he asked. He stopped her beside the bed and brought his hands up briefly to fondle her breasts.

She tilted her head backward, her eyes closed and leaned slightly away from him. “Umm, that feels nice, but I want more from you than that. Why else would I pay so generously for your services?”

His groin muscles tensed, his body taking possession of his mind. He knew what he was supposed to do, but it was damn difficult to fake mind-blowing passion in order to fuck the countess. He was in total disgrace and drummed out of the King’s service, wasn’t that ignominious enough? Did he really have to play prostitute in the countess’s bed?

Griff’s nasty memories caught up with him. His brain sketched in vivid detail of what he recalled of his last days on the Peninsula. The memory rankled deep in his gut and diminished what was almost left of his once proud ego.

“Do you like what you see, my gallant hero?” she asked.

Oh God, I was no hero on that infamous day.

The countess’s coquetting had snapped him back to reality. She looked up at him and undid her night robe, letting it puddle at her feet.

“Well?” She ran palms over her sides outside the matching gown, filling her hands with her breasts, offering the plump mounds to him like succulent fruit. The dark pink nipples were easily visible through the transparent fabric. When he simply stared down at them without saying a word, the countess snapped, “Have you nothing to say?”

Coming out of his haze, Griff slid the lace trim of her night rail off of her shoulders. The fabric caught on the prominent tips of her breasts. He tweaked the nipples with his fingertips.

She released a husky groan from deep in her throat. Reaching out, she yanked his shirt out of his breeches, exploring the warm, smooth skin of his muscular torso.

Griff knew he wasn’t hard enough yet. Damnation, what if he couldn’t perform?

She moved questing fingers down and over the front of his breeches, unfastening the flap. “I do believe you are nervous, Griff. Don’t worry, darling, I know how to make you hard as stone.” She laughed wickedly and grabbed his partially flaccid cock. She squeezed, caressing it until it finally stiffened and lengthened.

Thank God, he thought, as his penis reacted, his mind wiping droplets of invisible sweat from his brow.

“Ah,” she said, “I do admire sizeable, ever-so-long-lasting cocks. See? You’re bigger and rounder already. Were you funning me, Griff, or do you really need a woman’s touch to fuck like a randy stallion?”

“No! Of course not,” he snapped angrily when she demeaned his manhood.

God help me! I did need help…with her, at least.

The countess gripped his dick a little tighter. The breeches’ flap had exposed his pubic hair and his balls. She bent to lick the velvet, plum-shaped head of his penis. “Young cocks are so tasty,” she muttered. She opened her lips to suck him into her mouth, pulling on him like a hungry babe. He blessed the increasing size and hardness of his rod while groaning silently, hating it was her touch that worked the magic on him and caused the powerful erection. He concentrated on what he had to do, not his wounded self-esteem in order to earn his livelihood.

The countess played with his body, his cock large and pulsing in her hand as if he were a sex toy—bought and paid for her amusement. In one sense, he was just that.

Griff managed to remove his shirt and pried her mouth and fingers off of his pecker. She straightened. Not seeming angry that it took him a while to grow hard, she crawled her hands over his ribs, moving higher to tantalize his coin-shaped nipples. Her eyelids drooped, and he watched the sultry expression on her face change.

“Umm. Nice. I want to play some more.” She smiled, leaned close, and licked his warm skin until the brown nipples rose into hard little knobs. Then she bit him, harder than he expected.

“Yow!” he yelped, and she chuckled wickedly. “Do remember that you are mine to do with whatever I want. Don’t think you can forget your obligations, or I’ll have your lovely piece of manhood sawed off and put on display in a window on Regent Street.”

Griff’s cock jumped, reacting to her threat. He almost believed the witch would do it.

He ground his back teeth together. He never thought it would be this difficult to fuck a woman, any woman. But obviously, the damn countess upset his composure. If he didn’t watch his step, she’d turn him into a tame, willing plaything. He was determined not to allow her to dominate him. Not only because of her exalted station or wealth, but because she was a female. He would take a firm grip on his manhood before the night elapsed and show her who was in charge of this unholy liaison.

In answer to her threat, Griff roughly forced the countess backward onto the big bed. She stayed there immobile, a surprised look on her face. He quickly yanked off his boots and let them drop next to the bed. His half open breeches he left on. His penis was hot, hard, and ready, throbbing against his lean groin. He pounced onto the mattress, covering Agina’s supine body in one smooth movement. Straddling her thighs, he pushed up her night rail. With one finger, he stroked her slick clit.

“Oh, yeesss! Rub my pussy harder,” Agina exclaimed, twisting beneath him. “Ahh, again. Again. Tame me, damn you. Make me surrender. Do it over and over until I come!” Agina loosed a low, growling moan, gripping his big wrist and holding his hand against her pussy until she oozed female juices.

Griff pulled his hand away briefly and added two rough, blunt fingers into her waiting opening, stroking her hard and fast.

She writhed in ecstacy against the down-filled mattress. “Arghh, yes! More. Do it some more! Another finger! Add it now!” She grabbed his arm.

“Beg me, countess,” Griff commanded. He’d get some satisfaction by making her beg him to finger fuck her. “Ask me nicely what you want, or…”

Her blue eyes flew wide, her face grimaced with unsated lust, awaiting completion. “I’ve paid for you, damn you! Don’t leave me like this!”

“You won’t get what you want until you say please, countess.” His voice rasped, harsh and uncompromising. A wicked smile hovered around his lips as he removed his fingers.

She reached for his cock, but he held it away from her.

He hadn’t yet jammed his massive, rigid penis into her slick, willing vagina.

“Is this what you want?” He gripped his cock with his own hand and masturbated, watching as her avid gaze fixed on what he was doing.

She was panting, breathing fast.

“Look at it, countess. It’s damn big now. Smooth, hot, and rock hard. I can shove my friend here so far inside you, you’ll wail like a stuck pig when you finally come. Look again,” he taunted viciously. He rubbed the velvet tip gently where a drop of fluid oozed onto his fingertip. “It’s long and big around—ready to pleasure you. I’ll let you have it, but only if you beg me for it. Better do it now, Aunt Agina.”

“Oh, God, yes, yes, please. I can’t wait. I want it inside me. I need the pleasure. Do it now,” she pleaded, reaching for his magnificent body part.

Finally, Griff gave in and guided his engorged cock into her often-visited pleasure garden. He entered the countess in one thrust and pounded hard and fast inside until her fingernails scraped the skin of his ribs raw, leaving red welts. Degraded and angry about what he had to do, he screwed her with all of his strength, his body taking charge over his mind. His powerful thrusts pushed her toward the headboard.

“Yes! Fuck me! Fuck me, dammit, until I tell you stop!” she roared. “Arggh! You’re bigger and better than any stallion I’ve ever had in my bed! I want more!” She screamed, loud and repeatedly, when she climaxed.

Griff was out of breath. That wasn’t lovemaking. It was damn hard work.

At first Griff panicked when he couldn’t raise the flag. But puffing hard, he managed to finish the job. He quickly pulled out of the countess’s convulsing vagina and spilled his creamy semen in the bedclothes. God forbid his life source should take root in the countess. It was demeaning enough that he had to fuck her to get paid.

Her carnal urge sated for the time being, Agina seemed relaxed as she turned back to business. “I almost gave up on you, dear boy,” she said, adding a sly innuendo. “I’m sure you can do better and more ways you can pleasure me, eh? You must earn your wages.”

Griff’s golden brows rose. “Do you have any complaints, Countess?”

“No, no, not at the moment. But you must not let it happen again. You see, that was a test.” She paused, slyly. “Pour us a glass of wine from that decanter, and I’ll explain the rest.”

* * * *

After he did what she asked and sat back down on the edge of the mattress, she said to him, “Hear me out. You are never to speak to me in that tone again, Spencer. Do you understand? I won’t have it. Your father may have thought he could dominate for a bit, but…”

Griff’s look was sharply curious. “You knew my father?”

Agina bit her tongue. “If you recall, I told you we met. But that is dirty water under the bridge.” She had lost control and spoke too quickly. An angry retort nearly exposed her earlier lifestyle. She drew in a sharp breath and continued. “Your father was found in an alley in Cheapside outside a brothel he frequented. Perhaps, he was looking for an easy way out of his problems. The Times wrote that his gambling debts were quite overwhelming.” She stopped, glanced at him, and took a sip of her wine. “I believe he had health problems, too, caused by the debauched life he led.”

Agina knew that Boswell Spencer had caught the French disease from a two-shilling whore he solicited at Covent Garden. After that, Agina had nothing more to do with him other than bleed him out of his blunt when he needed regular doses of opium to alleviate the pain. When he could no longer get a supply without money to pay for the opiate, he had shot himself in front of the establishment where Agina had once been a highly prized prostitute.

“I wouldn’t know. My father and I didn’t speak. There was no love lost between us.” Griff knew of his father’s demise, but nothing else. He never learned the complete details even when he got hold of a month-old copy of the Times, looking for news of home, and instead, read the death notice with mild surprise.

“I sincerely hope you won’t end up in the same dire straits. It would be a shame if, like him, your pretty face and lovely body were to go to rack and ruin.”

Changing the topic, Agina said, “Well, just remember that I’m a countess, and you are …absolutely nothing. Simply a well paid hanger-on with certain … duties.”

Her wary gaze fastened on Griff, watching for his reaction. She took another sip.

Griff ignored what the countess said.

“Well then, listen carefully, dear nephew. This is what I want you to do.” She laid a heavy hand on his arm. “You, my handsome prick, are to be my stepdaughter’s tutor concerning sex.”

That got his attention.

“To my knowledge she is a virgin, never even been kissed. Can you believe that?” Agina chuckled. “I’ll give you a fortnight to change Dulcina’s status from a maid to a woman, Griff Spencer. Now that I know you are capable, I want her ravished. Often. So glutted by passion she will do anything to get more of that cock of yours inside her.” The countess raised an eyebrow. “Are you listening?”

“What?” He must look as stupefied as he felt.

The countess’s tone and expression was clipped, demanding, and business-like. More like when he first came here. “You heard me. Besides that, I want you two wed as soon after that as possible.”

When he remained silent, she asked, “Well? Do you agree, or don’t you?”

His slashing brows arched. “That wasn’t part of our agreement.”

“Of course, it wasn’t. But I’ve changed the terms since then.”

“I need to know more,” Griff replied. In turn, his gruff tone imitated hers. He straightened from where he was lounging against the bed’s headboard. He jerked away when she laid a caressing hand on his thigh and threw his long legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet resting on the carpet.

“This person, this Dulcina, Countess, is a horse of another color. I’m pockets to let, or I wouldn’t be here. I don’t have a kite to fly with nor do I expect one to land in my lap. And I’m too damn pinched without blunt to court a lady wanting frivolities.”

“You needn’t worry, Spencer. Dulcina isn’t used to frivolities. She is a plain girl without greedy ambitions. She has lived a very quiet life for almost twenty years in Surrey. I had to scold her to come to Town for a Season. She’ll be here very soon. When you two are wed, she will be happy to return to the rustic life she enjoys. Take my word for it.”

Agina ran a smoothing palm along the rigid spine of her latest cicisbeo, aware the muscles of his back hadn’t relaxed. “Never fear, dear boy, I daresay you and I can console one another when the matter is satisfactorily concluded. As soon as you abandon your mousy wife in the country where she belongs—you may warm my bed once again. Until then…well, you’re to make your magnificent cock available only to my stepdaughter.”

Her arrogance galled him, but he asked, “What about a dowry?”

“Of course, it will be yours. But that is all you will get. Half of Dulcina’s inheritance is hers to do with whatever she wishes after she is wed. If she gives you a generous allowance as her new husband, that’s all to the good. That way I won’t have to frank you. If not, perhaps I shall offer you pocket money if you make yourself useful in my bed.”

The old witch plans to keep me beneath her thumb, does she? Well, not if I can help it.

Asking for more information from the wily countess, Griff’s frown deepened, and he asked, curiously, “Who is currently in charge of her inheritance?”

“Why, I am, of course, as her guardian. As soon as Dulcina is wed, she and I will share the former earl’s income until one of us cocks up our toes.”

“I thought a husband was given the duty to … er … take care of his wife’s funds.”

“Only if it is written in the marriage agreement, my boy. I will see to it as her guardian that you are dependent on Dulcina’s coin.”

“And what happens if she doesn’t wed?”

“Oh, I assure you, dear boy, I will see to it that she does. If not to you, to someone else. If she isn’t wed by the time she reaches her twenty-first birthday, almost everything belongs to her. You understand I must protect myself. I won’t let that happen.”

“I see. She’s twenty now?”

“She attains her majority on November twenty-second this year. Don’t think to bamboozle me, Spencer. I’m too sharp for that. I tamed her father when I married him. Not that it was easy to convince the earl that he couldn’t live without me until he made me his wife. But I did it. The girl’s inheritance was spelled out by the earl’s ridiculous will, but I’ll not be left with a measly year’s allowance of a few thousand pounds. I permitted the man’s sloppy, inept lovemaking before and after we were married. Now, I won’t give up half of what is rightly mine. I earned it.”

Griff’s quick thinking considered the countess’s newest conditions. He needn’t deal with the woman’s demands on his body for a while. He had no desire whatsoever to fuck her again. Something must be wrong with him, but he couldn’t help himself. The idea nauseated him. Her touch brought on quivers of distaste even as his cock reacted to her ministrations. Was it the vivid memories of those boys being abused by their so-called protectors that brought back those perversions? They did what they had to survive. It dawned on him he was doing much the same thing. He would hate to be dominated, especially by an unfeeling, crass woman like Agina Trayhern. It was enough that his father had dominated him during childhood.

“If you refuse or are not up to the position, I’ll engage someone else tomorrow, and you, dear boy, will be sent packing. Take my word for it.”

Standing up slowly, Griff pulled on his top boots and shirt, and buttoned his breeches. He leaned over and reached for the full glass of wine sitting on the bedside table. “To our mutual benefit, countess,” he said, toasting her sarcastically. He quickly tossed down the wine, turned without further word, left her.