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They spilled through the room, each already knowing their roles and what each duke required.

Lucien wanted three ladies tonight. Pryde had one woman he’d always met with, although he’d always hid with her in a separate room, and Dorian never knew what he did in there exactly. If Constantine simply talked to her, spilling his deepest insecurities and secrets, Dorian wouldn’t be surprised.

The Duke of Enveigh lounged against the plush velvet settee, his silky green waistcoat shining under the dark coat embroidered with the serpent of his crest. His gray eyes glinted as he watched the male courtesan slowly undress the blushing female sex worker, her gown slipping from her shoulders.

The Duke of Eccess threw his head back in ecstasy, his auburn coat adorned with the boar of his lineage lying discarded on the floor. The women, draped in silks of blush and gold, drizzled the finest Parisian chocolate over their bountiful curves, the rich hues of their silks a contrast to his honey-blond locks. Their fingers tangled in his hair as he feasted upon their skin, the dark brown depths of his eyes glinting with mischief.

Irevrence and Fortyne were led into separate chambers, and Dorian knew the rest of his friends would take their own chambers, too.

Lilith’s gaze stayed fixed on him as she moved towards him and he moved towards her, but instead of desire stirring in his loins as it had every time he saw her, he couldn’t stop seeing the golden curls and the innocent big blue eyes framed by long, curly eyelashes. Not the dark eyes of the woman before him, glistening with sin. Where Lilith was tall and willowy, Dorian suddenly craved lush breasts and curves.

“Your Grace,” she murmured seductively into his ear as she laid her thin, perfect hand on his chest. “I was wondering where you were last week.”

Her hands were clean and smooth, short nails manicured to perfect ovals. He had noticed how weathered, scratched, and reddened his wife’s hands were. Faint traces of dirt remained under her short fingernails despite having obviously been scrubbed with vigor.

Almost as tall as he, Lilith leaned closer to his ear and whispered in a low, throaty voice that sounded like pure sex, “Come.”

She took him by the hand and led him to the usual chamber where she accepted visitors. Every step as he followed her felt wrong. But the beast needed its relief, needed to be sated. He couldn’t imagine going through twelve months constantly tempted by his wife but without sexual satisfaction.

Through the grand walnut doors, she led him into a corridor with several doors to the left and right. Passing by an open door, he saw the Duke of Irevrence, dressed in pristine white, reclining upon a bed with silk sheets like a fallen angel amid temptation. With his ash-blond hair tied back, Irevrence lazily looked over the several sex workers moving around him, ready to please him, to indulge in whatever whim or fancy struck his mercurial mind.

And there, in the most opulent chamber of Elysium, was where the Duke of Fortyne, in a rich violet coat, played a game of chance and seduction. Fortyne always requested the most exclusive sex worker. Dorian was not sure what it involved, but he was certain the bastard always won. As he did in business.

Dorian and Lilith arrived at a large and luxurious chamber with heavy brocaded curtains that completely covered the windows. An exquisitely carved large bed with silky rose-patterned sheets and a white mink throw stood at the far side. Golden candelabras lit each corner of the room, and a small round table for two with wine and refreshments stood by the fireplace, in which a real fire played.

On the sideboard was a box with an array of the instruments of pleasure Dorian liked to use with Lilith: ties, gags, thin silver handcuffs and fetters, blindfolds, a soft cat-o’-nine-tails, and others. He had bought them all and they were not allowed to be used by anyone but him.

The room was set for his pleasure with a knowing partner.

And yet the ache in his chest was a constant reminder of his wife.

Lilith undressed herself and stood before him naked. He looked her over, waiting for his arousal to make an appearance, for the beast inside him to make its first hungry roar.

But there was nothing. Not even the memory of every time he’d had her pinned under him, with his hand on her throat, pounding into her like an animal, with no regard for her pleasure or comfort, only hearing the rhythmical, greedy slap of skin against skin.

And yet, she loved it. She had her climax before he did, every time. She could take all his brutishness, all his savagery.

Lilith and he…they fit. They were the same.

His wife, on the other hand, was everything he was not: light, innocent, open, young, naive, sheltered, curious, and she wore her heart on her sleeve.

Everything he craved. And everything he could never have.

Lilith came to him and kissed him, her lips tender and soft, and expert. He inhaled her scent.

Now. He would start to want her now. Now his beast would awaken and roar and he’d throw her on the bed. He’d spank her firm buttocks…and feel her wet arousal against his hand.

But he’d imagine his wife’s luxurious behind.

He couldn’t kiss Lilith back. He waited for her to do something. She wrapped both her hands around his neck, pressing her naked body into his clothes. He could feel her warmth, her silky skin, her familiar scent—a heady mix of flowers and musk that once would have ignited a fire in his veins. But now, even as her skilled hands worked to undress him, he found himself yearning for the delicate fragrance of roses that clung to his wife’s skin. Lilith’s touch, once electrifying, now felt hollow compared to the gentle brush of his wife’s fingertips against his hand when he put his ring on her.

He wrapped his arms around Lilith and brought her to him. As her hands roamed over his body, Dorian’s mind drifted to his wife. It was more than just her beauty that drew him in; it was her innocent spirit, her curiosity, and her bravery as she didn’t back down from him even when he was so furious and no doubt terrifying, and the way she kept trying to break through his façade.

Forget Miss Rose! Forget Miss Rose!

She wasn’t Miss Rose anymore. She was the Duchess of Rath. His to take as he pleased. His to bed. To kiss. To spank. To bring to pleasure.

“Is everything all right, Your Grace?” asked Lilith as she leaned back slightly, her half-lidded eyes watching him.