Page 11 of My Lord, Lady, and Gentleman

Much like before, the awkwardness soon eased, despite the circumstances that would cause horrified squawks and dramatic swoons within the ton. In truth, he’d barely suppressed his own cheer. Because in a short while he would be watching a master at work. And he would know at last the broadness of Clayton’s naked chest, the curve of his ass, the length and girth of his cock.

Swallowing hard as his own cock throbbed in anticipation, Joseph gestured to his chair. “Should I sit here again?”

Clayton shook his head as he kicked away his shoes and peeled off his stockings. “No. If you wish to learn, you need a prime viewing spot. I suggest you take the top corner of the daybed.”

“I agree,” said Susanna, absorbed in watching their guest undress.

“Before we begin, is there anything you don’t want, my lady? Just tell me. I won’t be offended if you’d prefer no kissing or whatnot. Although I will need to ensure you are wet enough to take me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Susanna squirmed on the daybed, and then hoisted herself back so she sat in the middle. “Oh no. I want everything.”

Laughing, Joseph leaned forward to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. “My, my. Aren’t we greedy.”

“Very greedy,” she replied, gazing back at him with such gratitude and tenderness he almost couldn’t breathe. And yet his cock grew even harder.

The sound of more fabric rustling distracted them both, and they turned to see Clayton removing his linen shirt to reveal strong shoulders and a leanly muscled and surprisingly hairless chest. A mouthwatering sight by itself, but now the other man was unfastening his trousers.

Yes. God, yes. Show me.

Time seemed to crawl as Clayton attended to the buttons, and pushed down his trousers. But finally, his long and fully erect cock was revealed, springing from a wiry nest of darker golden hair.

Susanna gasped, and Joseph barely held in his own moan at the thought of caressing that length and taking it in his mouth. How exquisite the ache and burn would be as his ass was owned with rough, oil-slick thrusts. But no. He couldn’t have that. Just the next best thing: watching his wife get plundered.

“You are exceedingly good for my ego, my lady,” said Clayton, as he knelt on the daybed. Then he cupped Susanna’s face and kissed her, his mouth moving expertly over hers, teasing, coaxing her to relax and open up until he could dart his tongue between her lips. Lazily, effortlessly, as though he could kiss all day. And yet when Susanna’s lips were plump and dark pink, he trailed a path down her neck, languidly lapping, occasionally nipping, making her pant as his mouth danced over her collarbone and the tops of her breasts.

Hell. Master didn’t begin to describe his skill.

“Are you watching closely, Joseph?” said Clayton as he cupped Susanna’s breasts and stroked the taut peaks with his thumbs. “I’m going to lick these pretty nipples now. Suck them. Scrape my teeth over them. Until they are so sensitive, she cannot bear it.”

“Yes. Please,” begged Susanna, her sigh turning into a choked whimper as Clayton bent her over his arm so he could circle and circle her right nipple with his tongue before lashing the tip.

Enthralled by the eroticism, Joseph observed the way the other man lapped and bit and suckled Susanna’s lovely large nipples until they were thick and almost wine-colored, and she moaned helplessly. As he settled her down on the daybed, tucked cushions behind her head, and slid a hand between her legs to tease her swollen clitoris.

But he yearned to do so much more than watch. To touch and be touched. Fuck and be fucked.

By both of them.

* * *

Only in Clayton’s wildest fantasies had he imagined this: Susanna Fenton naked in his arms, moaning as he pleasured her, intoxicating him with the scent of her spicy wetness.

For a gentleman who had been thrown out of Divinity school three times, it seemed far too great a miracle. But somehow he’d been granted more than that, for Joseph Fenton also sat almost within arm’s reach, his jet gaze glittering, his cheeks flushed, and that huge bulge between his legs prominent against his trousers. For an artist who prided himself on seeing beneath the surface, the baron and baroness had surprised him. Excitingly so. When they’d said nothing on his arrival, or while he sketched, he’d thought the last interlude had been dismissed as a momentary lapse in propriety, to be forgotten like it never happened.

Yet here they were. And damn it all, he felt like Joseph’s avid gaze wasn’t always concentrated on Susanna. But there was only one way to discover if that was nothing but wishful thinking: to be bold and reckless in true Clayton Irving fashion, and push the other man further.

Decision made, Clayton paused his finger’s shallow thrusting in and out of Susanna’s dripping cunt.

She lifted her head, her temples glistening with perspiration, and eyes wide with alarm. “Please don’t stop!”

“Unfortunately, we have a problem, darling,” he said slowly. “And I don’t think I can continue until it has been attended to.”

“Problem? What p-problem?”

He gestured toward Joseph’s tented trousers. “Your poor husband is in terrible discomfort. Look.”

She turned her head and gasped. “Oh dear.”

Joseph rubbed his jaw. “I’m fine. Really. Do continue. I…Susanna needs more.”