Page 2 of The Mistress (Dirty Little Harlots #2)

Anything you can do to satisfy him, Jocelyn. He will strike Reggie’s debt and you will be safe.

Yes. That is the only reason I was agreeing to this.

I almost believed myself.

Beside me, Reggie cleared his throat. “I’ll just—I’ll just leave you two—” he began, but Ironhenge cut him off.

“Stay.”

The command was as dark and certain as he was. His gaze never left mine, faint mocking in his dark eyes, as he continued.

“After all, Markland. Jocelyn is your mistress. It wouldn’t be proper to leave her alone with me.”

My lips parted, but only air escaped. Because in that moment, I could see what Ironhenge wanted. He wanted Reggie to watch. He wanted Reggie to see me being owned by another man.

And why did that thought make my core quiver? I squeezed my thighs together.

Reggie had stumbled toward the settee, mumbling something, but I could only focus on the Duke, who was picking his way across the carpet toward me.

I kept my chin high as he paced slowly around me, examining me, judging me. He halted to one side, and his hand reached out to grasp my hair.

When he lifted the locks, his calluses caught in the dark curls, tugging at them as he raised them toward his mouth. His mouth? No, he was smelling them. Smelling my hair, while holding my gaze.

My heart was pounding in my throat as I watched him. His hum—was that approval, or not?

“Markland tells me you have studied your art.”

My…art? Perhaps my confusion showed, because he allowed one black brow to twitch.

“You have read A Harlot’s Guide to the Forbidden and Delightful Arts ? It is…most enlightening.”

Ah .

I swallowed, squeezing my thighs together again to contain the quiver of my core. “I—I have, Your Grace. I know it well.”

This time I was certain his hum was one of approval.

I shouldn’t be surprised such a man—a powerful, commanding man—had access to a book like A Harlot’s Guide .

It had recently been republished with stunning illustrations, showing various stages and positions of sexual congress, and Reggie had purchased me a copy I kept in the room where I entertained him.

He would often choose a page and test me on the position, so I was confident in my knowledge of that particular book, and knowing he’d bragged about that to someone like the Duke of Ironhenge…

Well, I lifted my chin, my skin tingling with need already.

Until the Duke spoke, his voice just as mild as if he’d been asking about the book again.

“On your knees, whore.”

The command—the insult—was uttered in a bland tone, one expected to be obeyed.

And I didn’t think of ignoring it.

As regally as I could manage, I grasped the silk of my robe in my shaking hands and sunk to my knees.

“Look at me.” This was a growl, and I tipped my head back to meet the Duke’s eyes. “Good girl.” He smiled wolfishly as he reached for the buttons on his trousers. “Do you know page twelve of A Harlot’s Guide ?”

Page twelve. Oh yes, I knew that one. On her knees, as if in prayer, the woman bobs her head, the movement akin to a swan. She takes her lover’s member into her mouth, as deep as she can…

I licked my lips, half nervous, half eager. “ The Supplicant Swan, Your Grace.”

“Good girl,” he grunted. “And do you suck cock well?”

My gaze flicked to Reggie, who was sitting upright on the settee, his hands gripping his knees and his wide-eyed expression darting between us.

“Don’t look at him,” Ironhenge barked, and my gaze snapped back to the Duke. His tone eased. “When I’m speaking to you, you will look at me. You will answer when I ask a question. Do you understand?”

I swallowed, my throat dry. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Good girl.” His hands resumed their task, his expression turning speculative as his eyes skimmed over me. “Now, again, do you suck cock well?”

I couldn’t look at Reggie, couldn’t see his response to my admission. “I do, Your Grace.”

“Excellent. Show me.”

With that command, he pulled his member from his trousers, and I sucked in a breath.

It was huge—bigger than Reggie’s cock, bigger even than the man I’d been discovered with at that ball so many years ago, prompting my expulsion from Society and my downfall to this . Big, yes, and thick.

And it made my mouth water.

Instinctively, I reached for it, but his command stopped me.

“No hands.”

Fine . I could do this. I darted a glance up at him, but his dark eyes were half-hooded as he watched me, lazily stroking his own cock.

He wanted me submissive? I would give him what he wanted.

I gathered my robe in my hands and shuffled forward, all-but-crawling on my knees until I reached him. I opened my mouth, tipped my head back, and met his gaze.

Approval flared in his eyes as he pushed his erect cock toward my lips, and I opened wider to take it.

This was a skill I’d mastered early on, because it wasn’t something my patrons expected from their wives, and they were always ridiculously grateful. For Reggie, I was sparing with my fellatio, knowing he prized the act.

With the Duke, however…

With the Duke, the act excited me.

Perhaps it was the way he didn’t seem ridiculously grateful; his body language told me he expected this, he was due such submission. I took him as deep as I could, holding him there for as long as possible before coughing slightly and pulling back.

“Good girl,” he murmured, spreading my saliva across himself with unhurried strokes.

He lifted his cock, watching me, and rocked his hips forward.

It was as if I knew what he wanted before he had to tell me. I leaned forward to take his ballocks in my mouth, and this time, his hum sounded approving.

Unable to help myself, my hands rose toward his hips to hold my balance, but he snapped, “ No ,” again.

My gaze darted up to his, and I knew what he saw: a harlot in green on her knees before him, gobbling greedily for his cock. His free hand stroked my loose hair. “You don’t touch me, Jocelyn. Do you understand?”

I dragged my tongue up his cock again before murmuring. “Yes, Your Grace,” as I dropped my gaze from his eyes.

Was it my imagination, or did his voice sound a little strained with his next command? “Touch yourself .”

I immediately obeyed, a sense of liberation mixing with my arousal.

This was what he wanted, and I was going to give it to him.

My fingers trailed down the silk of my robe, catching on the tie at my waist, and I tugged at the knot until it unraveled.

The silk parted, revealing my skin to the cool air of the room, and I shivered, my nipples hardening in anticipation.

The Duke’s jaw tightened, his hand stilling atop my head as he guided his cock in my mouth, and I knew it was with approval.

I cupped my breasts, their fullness filling my hands perfectly. I knew what I liked, what made my body respond. I began to knead them, reveling in the rough touch, my nipples already teased into stiff peaks. I could feel the Duke's gaze on me, hot and intense, and it spurred me on.

I wanted him to watch me, to see what a good girl I could be.

I swirled my tongue around his shaft, tasting the saltiness of his skin, feeling the velvety softness against my lips. I took him deep, my throat opening to accommodate his length, and I hummed softly, knowing when his hips bucked that he had appreciated that sensation.

His lips parted, and I paused, hoping to hear his praise. What he growled, however…

“You like it rough, slut?” His voice was gravelly, as if unused. “Are you pretending those are my hands on your tits right now? Fucking your mouth and squeezing your tits?”

I shouldn’t be aroused by such words.

I was.

Moaning, I moved my hands lower, my fingertips tracing the curve of my waist and hips.

And yes, I was pretending it was the Duke’s hands on my skin, the hands of a man who was more commanding, more demanding , than any lover I’d had before.

I had to resist the urge to glance at Reggie, knowing he would see the comparison in my eyes.

I shuddered at my caresses, my skin sensitive and alive. I could feel the wetness between my legs, and fought the urge to squeeze my thighs together. Instead, I parted them, my knees spreading wider on the carpet for him to see, and I touched my cunny.

Churning butter , page fifty-one. Seeking self-pleasure, the woman curls her middle two fingers into her channel, seeking the position of ecstasy.

I was soaked, my fingers slipping easily through my folds. I stroked myself gently, my touch light and teasing. I wanted to build my pleasure slowly, to draw out this moment of ecstasy. I circled my clitoris, my body jerking slightly at the contact, and I moaned around the Duke's cock.

His hand tightened in my hair, his grip firm, the tugging just shy of painful. He guided my head, his hips beginning to move in tandem with my mouth. I could feel his control, his dominance, and it…it excited me.

“Look at yourself,” he grunted. “Fucking your fingers like a slut while you slobber on my cock. You’re a needy little whore, aren’t you?”

I should be ashamed, horrified by his words. Why wasn’t I?

Instead, my fingers slid inside my channel, my body clenching around them as I stroked that sensitive spot within. I kept my attention on the Duke and his cock, my jaw beginning to ache from my ministrations, a good kind of ache…but I still stroked myself like a good girl.

I curled my fingers, my palm pressing against my pearl of pleasure, creating a delicious friction that made my hips buck. When I moaned again, the sound was muffled by his cock in my mouth, I felt his grip tighten further in my hair.

I matched the rhythm of my hand with the movements of my mouth, my body undulating as I pleasured both him and myself.

My breath came in short gasps through my nose, my heart pounding in my chest as my arousal built.

I could feel every inch of him, every ridge and vein, as my tongue swirled and my lips nibbled.