The Riding Crop

Evernight Publishing

www.evernightpublishing.com

ISBN:

978-1-77130-033-9

Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

Editor: Marie Medina

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this
copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or
reproduced electronically or in print without written permission,
except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are
fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

This short story is for everyone who has bought and read my

books. Especially to those who took the time to let me know how
much they enjoyed my multi-genre stories.

Also to Evernight Publishing for giving a raw, unknown writer

a chance.

Thank you~

THE RIDING CROP

Karyn Gerrard

October 1887, London

The night was a typical one in the heart of the East End of

London. A thick, coal-laden fog blanketed the cobblestone streets of
Whitechapel. Laughter and raucous merriment poured out of the
many pubs lining the narrow lanes. A noxious odor of gas, piss, and
stagnant water filled the air.

Lord Gideon Broyles, Viscount Cravenbrook, no longer paid

attention to the sights and sounds he encountered in his numerous
nocturnal journeys. The decadent and depraved adventures he pursued
most nights earned him the name “Lord Craven” for a good reason.
Moving aside the red velvet curtain on his carriage window, Gideon
glanced down the alley where he observed a couple of men copulating
with shilling whores against the brick walls. Yawning, he sat back in
his plush coach, and thought of his destination for tonight. The club,
The Riding Crop, was private and recently opened.

At age twenty-eight and sexually active for twelve years, there

wasn’t much Gideon hadn’t experienced. Since the time of the
innocent tumble with an under-house parlor maid at age sixteen, his
sexual escapades grew in intensity as the years passed. Boredom was
perhaps the reason he sunk to such debauched levels. He played the
game, attended balls, assemblies, and danced with the appropriate and
eligible daughters of the ton. None had ever sparked his interest, or
more importantly, his lust. In his more reflective moments he
wondered if he even felt anything at all resembling feelings and
emotions.

The carriage came to a halt and Gideon moved aside the

curtain once again. He had arrived. Placing his beaver hat low over

his brow, he clasped his silver-head walking stick and waited for his
man to unfasten the door.

The door opened and the wrought iron steps snapped into

place awaiting Gideon’s departure. With a flick of his long cloak, he
descended the carriage, and with quiet stealth, slipped into the
adjoining alleyway.

His man knew to return in four hours. Gideon allotted that

block of time for himself and his carnal pleasures. Knocking on the
oak door, the small window slid open and a pair of sinister, blood-
shot eyes glared at him in question.

“Ah, Lord Craven. Welcome.”
He cringed. The nickname annoyed him. By no stretch of the

imagination was he a sniveling and pusillanimous man. The name
referred more to his cravings and appetites of the sexual nature. Still,
the moniker grated. The window slid shut and the door opened. Well
over six feet in height and broad of shoulder, Gideon bent slightly and
strode across the threshold.

The rather brutish looking doorman stepped aside and Gideon

was immediately greeted by Pan, the host. Rumors abounded Pan
was, in fact, a eunuch. He could believe it. Pan was flamboyant in
speech and dress and could very well be a “back gammon player” if
he wasn’t absent any part of his tackle.

“My lord. And what is your desire tonight?”
Pan gave him an assessing and admiring gaze, taking in his

form and formal evening dress. Gideon removed his kid-leather
gloves, then his hat. He tossed the gloves inside the hat and passed
them along with the walking stick to Pan.

“I believe I will start with the third floor,” Gideon answered

while removing his cloak.

“A very good choice, my lord. Please, follow me.”
Pan momentarily ducked into the cloakroom then rejoined

him. He led him through the narrow, darkened halls. The hiss of gas
from the wall sconces intermingled with groans of ecstasy emitting
from the many closed doors. As they climbed the stairs, Gideon could
already feel his cock harden in anticipation.

The third floor consisted of small rooms with private alcoves.

This was the voyeur floor. Each door leading into a private alcove had
a sign. The red side indicated the alcove was occupied and the blue
side meant the alcove was vacant. The first door showed blue.

“Do call on me, my lord, when you are ready to proceed.” Pan

bowed elegantly and disappeared into shadow.

Gideon opened the door and slipped in. The alcove was

covered in darkness. A small shelf held numerous pieces of flannel
and a basket underneath. A porcelain bowl of water sat nearby.
Gideon dipped his fingers in, finding it pleasantly warm. He would
give The Riding Crop their due. The den of sin appeared well
equipped, clean and discrete. Various peepholes were drilled into the
wall next to the shelf at various heights. He peered through the
highest hole. Two men sat on a padded bench. They were young, well
built and quite beautiful. He recognized one of the men. Two weeks
ago he fucked the light-haired youth for over an hour. He really did
prefer women, but he did enjoy anal sex, so to him, all asses were the
same. Being in control in every sexual situation was paramount. He
would never allow any man to “back door” him. He also didn’t mind
a man sucking his cock, and had indulged in the act a few times as
well. The debaucheries were all part of the adventure, reaching for the
next thrill, and willing to try anything just to have a reaction, a stutter
of emotion, and a hitch in his heartbeat. Alas, he’d been stymied for
years. Gideon watched as the two naked men roved their hands over
each other. Exploring muscled biceps, tightly packed pectorals, and
the firm, muscled band around their midsections, the two young men
moaned with desire. Both were fully aroused, and after indulging in a
little cock play, the dark haired man grabbed the blond and bent him
over the bench. Without any preparation or gentleness, the man
rammed his cock into the other’s ass and pumped wildly. This was the
sex Gideon knew and participated in. A rutting beast only out for his
own gratification. The sex was wild and feral, and his cock thrummed
in his trousers, begging for release. He unbuttoned the flap, his eyes
not leaving the carnal scene. Dark rammed wildly, grabbed Blond’s
hair, and pulled his head back. Blond grimaced from the awkward
angle of his head and the pounding of his ass. Gideon stroked his cock
in time with Dark’s thrusts. While what he observed titillated to a
point, the act of wanking his prick seemed perfunctory. When his
release came, he grabbed a flannel and quickly cleaned himself. The
men too, had finished. Re-buttoning his trousers and wiping his hands
in the water, Gideon tossed the flannel in the basket and quietly left
the alcove.

Entering the next vacant recess, he glanced through the

peephole and was shocked to see the Duke of Glenholm and his pretty
auburn-haired wife, the Duchess Miranda. Gideon shook his head in
disbelief. Now, he had seen everything. Of course, debauchery ran
rampant through the aristocracy. How many orgies had he attended at
various manors and country estates? He also had a few short-term
affairs with the wives of earls and viscounts with their knowledge.
The men were usually off pursuing their own carnal delights. This
seemed surreal, as he had just attended a ball at His Grace’s London
townhouse not one month past where everything was in strict
propriety and proper society.

What manner of perversity would His Grace and the duchess

perform? He watched as Glenholm slowly and reverently undressed
his wife, laying affectionate kisses on her bared shoulders. Layers
were removed and tossed aside. The duchess looked rather non-
descript and her body adequate for a woman who had three children
and approached forty years of age. The duke was surprisingly fit.
Good Christ, and hung like a stallion. Gideon was no slouch himself
in length and girth, but His Grace had him beat by a country mile.

The couple lay on the wide settee and Glenholm proceeded to

make love to his wife. Nothing untoward or sinister in the act. The
duke was very skilled and thorough. He left no part of his wife’s skin
untouched by his hands or lips. The duchess arched her back in
ecstasy as Glenholm’s head disappeared between her thighs. Gideon
was riveted on the scene. Obviously the couple’s deviant thrill was
they liked to perform for an audience. As His Grace lapped his wife’s
quim, Gideon realized he had never performed oral sex on a woman.
He never saw to their needs, caressing, touching, embracing, and
kissing. Far too intimate and negated his own pleasure. Selfish
bastard. If a woman managed to peak while he fucked her, he never
gave it further thought. The duchess cried out, her head back, her
long, flowing sunset hair touching the wood floor. The duke then
proceeded to make a meal out of her breasts. A low, simmering flame
grew inside and slowly spread through Gideon’s whole body. This
scene was exquisitely erotic and damned desirable to observe. By the
time Glenholm mounted his wife, Gideon took a silent bet the duchess
would not be able to accommodate that gargantuan prick. He would
have lost as the duchess took it all. There was no frantic rutting, no
rough, brutal sex. The duke made passionate love to his duchess. The

look on his face as he thrust deeply was akin to awe and what Gideon
supposed could be love. He suddenly felt ashamed for observing such
an emotional and intimate act. Stepping away from the wall, he was
surprised to feel heat flushing his cheeks. Good God, an emotional
response. He left the room and went to the next. His hand shook as he
reached for the door handle. Taking a deep breath and exhaling, he
walked in.

The stark contrast from the tender and gentle lovemaking he

observed to this torture chamber scene was hard to fathom. He
recognized Sir Anthony Tollingham, Knight of the Realm and a
respected judge at Chancery. The older man was completely naked
and restrained by chains hanging from the ceiling. His arms elevated
slightly, he glanced toward the door. Mixed with the look of
trepidation was also expectation. The man no doubt waited to be
birched or flogged. The door swung open and a woman walked in the
room. Gideon’s breath caught in his throat. She was exquisite. Lush
and shapely, she wore a black lace bodice with knee high boots a
pirate might wear. Her golden-honey hair hung in thick waves down
her back. The woman wore black leather gloves and in her hand was a
riding crop, which she tapped absently in her palm as she walked
around the judge as a lion would stalk its prey. Her blue-gray eyes
were hard and cold. The look on her beautiful face furious and
determined and Gideon felt the blood rush to his head and to his cock
simultaneously.

“Do you wish to be bloodied?” she asked the judge, in a tone

of voice she might use in the parlor to ask him if he wanted sugar in
his tea.

The judge closed his eyes and smiled.
“Oh yes, please.”
“Yes please—what?”
“Yes please, Mistress Birch.”
Gideon choked back a snort of derision. These types of games

he may have dabbled in a few times. He did take a cat-o-nine-tails to a
woman once, but he hardly made a mark on her. He just reveled in the
role of master in full control. Come to think of it, he was the
authoritarian person in all his salacious sex play. Could he submit to
this wisp of a beautiful woman and her riding crop? Not bloody likely.

Before he could form another thought, an almighty thwack

filled the air as the Mistress laid the riding crop across the back of the

judge. The man howled, but the cry ended in joyous laughter. The
riding crop then flayed open the judge’s thigh and blood dripped to
the floor. Gideon’s eyes widened in shock. This he had never seen
before. She slid the crop along the judge’s erect cock and the man
moaned in ecstasy.

“One more, where do you want it? Chest? Back? Your

buttocks?” The crop moved back and forth along his stiff prick. “Or
here?”

“Yes! There!”
Gideon tore out of the alcove. Be damned if he would watch

that. He heard the crop make contact and the judge scream in
pleasure-agony. Silence filled the air. He leaned against the wall.
Jesus, he was hard as a pike.

Pan appeared before him.
“Are you ready, Lord Craven? Have you decided what is next

on the menu?”

Gideon gulped deeply. “Yes, I want—her.”
****
Olivia Durham stepped out the side door into the private

passageway. With the riding crop under her arm, she peeled off the
leather gloves and handed them to Pan, who stood nearby.

“The judge is unconscious. He will have to be attended to.”
Pan’s eyebrow rose. “My dear Olivia, did you beat him into

submission once again?”

“The old reprobate wished for me to flay the skin off his cock.

The request was tempting, however, I hit close enough for him to
faint. I am going to my room to rest.”

Pan reached out and laid a hand on her arm. The contact made

her flinch.

“You have another customer. Lord Craven. I placed him

upstairs in the gold room with a bottle of brandy, so he should be
comfortable for the next forty minutes or so until you collect
yourself.”

Lord Craven? She had seen the man from a distance and heard

the idle gossip. Very tall, imposing, dark, and dangerous. His glare
could cause ice to form around one’s extremities. Of course, the same
could be said about herself. Olivia frowned. She also heard he
behaved as a beast in bed, not that she planned to fornicate with the

depraved viscount. None of her encounters at The Riding Crop had
anything to do with sexual gratification.

“He has paid a great deal of money to be in your company,”

Pan urged.

“Lord Craven does not strike me as the type to surrender to

anything.”

“Agreed. He observed you with the judge, so he is well aware

of what you offer. I am surprised he would subject himself to be in a
submissive position, but there it is. The man sported quite the erection
when he left the alcove.” Pan reached for her arm again, but then
pulled back as if remembering she didn’t like to be touched. “All the
safeguards are in place. The room is completely private, but the
hidden bells are in working order should you need assistance. Gordon
will be down the hall in case you need him.”

Olivia exhaled. “A lot of money, you say?”
“Yes, your cut will be quite substantial, I assure you. More

than you made all of last month.”

Olivia needed the money. The offer was too good to pass up.

Poverty and the ever-lurking specter of living in the streets caused her
to nod her agreement.

“Fine. Give me the gloves. I’ll go to him in forty-five minutes.

No sooner.”

Pan handed them over then bowed slightly. “As you wish, my

dear.”

Olivia walked down the back stairs to the enclosed walkway

that linked to the house directly behind The Riding Crop. This area
was exclusive for the staff. The whores had their own rooms, as did
she. Pan made sure the area was neat, clean, and entirely livable and
insisted the staff kept it that way. Living here was far enough
removed from the business and it would do for now. In truth she had
no place else to go.

Entering her room, she turned the gas on the wall sconce and

with a decided hiss and pop, illumination filled the small space. The
room was cozy, a single bed with lots of warm blankets and feather
pillows sitting against one wall. In the other corner sat a dresser and a
plush chair she used for reading. Further along the wall was a
fireplace for warmth and for heating water for a cup of tea when the
mood struck.

Olivia stripped off her clothes and pulled open the drawer.

What to wear for Lord Craven? Something to titillate but nothing
more. She held up a sheer coral peignoir with a matching coral and
gold corset. Might as well give the viscount his money’s worth for he
would be looking, not touching.

As Olivia dressed, she pondered her fate and what led her to

The Riding Crop. If Pan hadn’t found her that night—she shuddered.
Pan had become her dear friend and confidant. His real name was
James Sidle and contrary to tittle-tattle he was not a eunuch. He
played up his role around customers. He confided to her one night
over a bottle of port “his gate swung both ways”. In this cold world, it
behooves one to discover warmth and affection where one can find it,
he had explained. The man was a hopeless romantic who found a
profit could be made in the vices of others. There was more to his past
no doubt, but that could be said of everyone working and living at
The Riding Crop. Pan—or James as she called him when they were
alone—knew of her past. He was the only one she confided in. Her
long-term plan consisted of making enough money to live quietly in
an isolated cottage either far north or south of London.

Affixing the cloak around her shoulders, she stepped into the

gold ankle high boots, grabbed her crop and, turning down the light,
walked out of the room.

****
Gideon paced the room for the twentieth time, a snifter of

brandy in his hand. “The Gold Room”—he could understand the
reference. From the gold brocade curtains and matching silk bed
linens to the fleur-de-lis gold wallpaper, the room was plush and
Georgian in its decor. His cock was still hard as stone and damned
uncomfortable. Not so much from the flogging he witnessed, but the
woman herself. Never had such a swift and lustful reaction to any
woman in all these years. Quite astounding, really. The cold,
implacable gaze countered with the soft, feminine body intrigued him
to no end. He wasn’t exactly sure how to approach this situation.
Perhaps he could make her his mistress. He never had a long-term one
before. Mistress Birch was the first woman that even had him
considering the option. The offer of a townhouse, servants, jewels,
and money surely would appeal. He would even sign a long-term
contract if she insisted. He had to have her. His hand brushed by his
erect prick and he shuddered.

****
Olivia opened the door to the gold room and locked the door

behind her. Slipping the key into the side pocket, she removed the
cloak and laid it across the nearby chair. She turned and the sight of
Lord Craven made her gasp softly.

The viscount laid on his side on the velvet settee propped on

one elbow, a snifter of brandy in his hand. His coat and waistcoat
removed, his white shirt was unbuttoned to his waist. A muscled chest
dusted with a sprinkling of black hair was evident, along with a flat
stomach. Tight black trousers did nothing to hide the quite prominent
bulge. Long, graceful legs stretched past the end of the settee. His feet
were bare and elegantly shaped. Her gaze roved back to his face. He
was in a word—stunning. A lock of his black-as-midnight hair hung
over his forehead in a carefree manner. Thick black brows only
enhanced the obsidian shade of his eyes. The lashes were thick and
long. His face was handsome beyond reckoning, with a sturdy, well-
shaped jaw and sharp, high cheekbones any woman would envy. His
gaze met hers, and a frisson of heat trickled down her spine. The face,
beautiful in its masculinity, showed no warmth at all. His eyes
narrowed as he looked her over quite thoroughly. She tapped the crop
against her white leather gloved palm. Olivia did not look away. The
man’s intelligent and cool gaze did not intimidate her.

Lord Craven sat the snifter on the table, swung his long legs

over the side and stood. Broad shoulders tapered to narrow, muscular
hips. His body was as stunning as his face. He appealed as no man
ever had. Olivia tamped down the spark of attraction. Merely the
twitching of a corpse, she reasoned.

“Mistress Birch, I presume?”
His voice sounded deep, but raspy.
“Yes. I rarely take on two clients in one night.”
He bowed slightly.
“I am honored, then.” His arm inclined toward the nearby

chair. “Shall we discuss terms?”

Taking a seat, Olivia watched as he sat on the edge of the bed

and crossed his long legs.

“As Pan may have told you, I allow three strikes. How hard

and deep I wield the crop is up to you. As he also no doubt told you I
am not to be touched, nor will any sexual congress pass between us.”

His thick eyebrows arched in question. “Indeed? Seems to me

a vast amount of coin paid out for the privilege of being whipped as a
naughty school boy. I have another proposal in mind.”

Lord Craven was used to getting his way, Olivia could tell by

the determined set of his jaw. The onyx eyes glittered with interest.

“Pray tell me what manner of perversion you require. I have

heard of your reputation, Lord Craven.”

A deep laugh rumbled in his chest. “I can well imagine. This

is not my chosen form of pleasure. Agreeing to this was the only way
I could see and talk to you. If I must endure a flogging, so be it. My
proposal is this: For each strike I allow, you will give me something
in return. And there will be more than three.”

This man was beyond arrogant. She heard he reveled in being

in control. Be damned she would let him wrestle power away from
her in this situation.

“I do not make deals. This is not the marketplace at Bethnal

Green where we will haggle over the price of fresh fish or a loaf of
bread. Take what is offered or I am leaving.”

He smiled a predatory grin of a crafty fox.
“Why do you flog men, Mistress? If you do not allow anyone

to touch you or engage in fucking, then sexual gratification for
yourself is not the reason. Do you seek to punish them or all men in
general?”

His observation hit too close to the mark. Olivia struggled to

hide her reaction, but she knew she showed her emotions. Lord
Craven threatened her cool reserve.

****
Gideon watched as her luscious eyes widened. He had hit the

bulls-eye. The fact she did not wish to be touched spoke of her utter
disgust with the male species. The look on her face when she flayed
open the judge’s thigh would be forever etched in his mind.
Satisfaction, retribution and vengeance. The depth of her emotions
made her all the more fascinating. She did not reply.

“Come. Think of the contentment you will derive in bringing

such a supercilious man to his knees. You will be the first to make me
surrender.”

She cocked her head as if studying him.
“I have brought many such men to their knees. That is hardly

an inducement.”

Gideon strode to his coat and pulled out a velvet pouch. He

dropped it on the bed.

“Then perhaps money will convince you. There are fifty gold

guineas in the sack. All yours, no splitting with Pan. A side exchange
between us. What I propose is sharing. For every strike of your crop,
you will allow me to touch you or kiss you. We will also share
something of our lives. Imagine, neither of us in control, neither of us
submitting. We will both give and take.”

She frowned. The temptation of the coin seemed to sway her

thoughts. For a woman who remained cool and collected, she
displayed a wide range of emotions on her countenance. Doubt,
confusion and wariness. He took a couple of steps closer.

“What is your given name? Let us start there.”
“Olivia.”
“My name is Gideon.” He took her gloved hand and brought it

to his lips. Olivia struggled to pull her hand away. He held it firm and
laid a polite kiss before he released it.

“Are we agreed, then?”
“You ask too much.”
“I ask for trust.”
Olivia’s laugh sounded bitter. “I trust no man. I never will.”
Gideon took another step forward. He observed her body

stiffen.

“Why not? The men who submit place their trust in you.”
Her mouth quirked in a cynical twist. “Those sexually corrupt

men are not putting their trust with me. They are putting their lust. All
men feel at any rate.”

“I cannot argue that fact. Regardless, the deal is before you.

Take it or leave it. Tell me now.”

She stood before him. The top of her head barely grazed his

collarbone. Her assessing gaze had his heart slamming against his
ribcage.

“You are very unhappy,” she whispered.
“As are you, madam. Perhaps we are fated to end such a state

together.”

Olivia stepped back and the loss of her closeness was keenly

felt.

“Very well. Five strikes are all I will agree to. Give and take.

You have a deal—Gideon.”

The sound of his name on her sensual lips caused his prick to

throb in time with his rapid heartbeat.

“Very well, Olivia. Should I remove all my clothes?”
She ran her crop over his exposed nipples and he shuddered in

desire.

“Only if you wish me to draw blood. Do you?”
“I think not. However, feel free to birch me good and proper.”
“Grab the bedpost and hold on.”
Olivia’s command sent waves of lust though his entire body.

Mixed with the lust was apprehension. He had never put himself in
this position before. It did require a good deal of trust. He removed
his shirt and tossed it to the bed. Gideon reached for the bedpost.

The crop flicked across his back and the agonizing sting

caused air to hiss through his clenched teeth.

“Jesus!”
****
Olivia observed the play of muscles as he flinched from the

impact of her crop. A red welt rose on his flawless skin. It would be a
sin to bloody such masculine perfection. A tight ball of satisfaction
pulled at her insides from the strike as it always did.

“Aren’t you supposed to speak soft words of encouragement

to me?” Gideon said. “It is what I’ve observed with others in this
situation.”

“I do not play that game.”
Olivia laid the crop on the bed as Gideon turned to face her.

His dark eyes were ablaze.

“Then I was right. You do this for vengeance. Give and take,

Olivia. Tell me what happened to you.”

She never should have agreed to this. Did she want the money

so desperately she would sell her soul? There was something about
this man, beyond the handsome face and athletic body. She
recognized and felt his deep-boned unhappiness. The man fascinated
her.

She sat on the edge of the bed. Gideon stood at her side and

leaned against the bedpost. He flinched in pain. Perhaps she did wield
the crop a little too deftly.

Taking a shuddering breath, she exhaled. “Three years ago, I

came with my father to London. I was barely twenty. Living in
Hertfordshire with cows as neighbors, to say I longed for adventure

was an understatement. Against my father’s warnings, I ventured out
onto the streets alone, curious to take in all the sights and sounds. I
was cornered by two men. They dragged me into an alley, raped, and
sodomized me repeatedly. I was left beaten and bleeding. When I
managed to make my way to the inn we were staying, my father
slapped me, called me a harlot, and locked me in my room.”

Gideon’s eyes widened then narrowed in obvious anger.

“Damn your father to hell.”

“The next morning, I awoke and found myself alone. He left

me nothing but a letter saying I was not to come home. I was no
longer his daughter. My father is a very pious man, a vicar. He would
never forgive me. I had to scrounge through the rubbish in the streets
for a crust of bread. That is where Pan found me.”

Gideon sank to the bed next to her.
“How long have you been here?”
“Three years. I take a couple of clients a week. The rest of the

time I assist Pan in the running of this club. I am very good with
mathematical figures. I have never contacted my father. My pride will
not allow it.”

The confession seemed to lighten her burden. This man was a

stranger, yet it felt right to talk to him of such a private matter.

He turned to face her and his hands framed her face. His

thumbs gently stroked her cheeks. Heat and flame spread from his
touch through her whole body.

“Have you ever been kissed?”
She gazed into the depths of his dark, mesmerizing eyes. He

did not mock her. His look spoke of gentle empathy. She shook her
head, as words would not form.

Gideon leaned toward her and his lips brushed past hers in a

fleeting movement. With tender compassion he showed her how a
kiss could sear one’s soul. His tongue teased the corner of her mouth,
so she let him in. Trust, a new concept. His probing tongue tasted
every part of her mouth, but he was not aggressive. She soon followed
his motions, and when Gideon groaned, a flicker of flame ignited
deep inside her heart.

He pulled back and looked at her with amazement. His thumbs

brushed her swollen, well-kissed lips.

“Shall I make a confession? I have only kissed a woman a few

times in my life. Never had it felt so—real. Potent. Wonderful.”

He lied, surely. However, his gaze seemed sincere. Him? Lord

Craven? Hardly kissed? Gideon continued to stroke her plump and
sensitive lips.

“My many encounters resulted in my own gratification, no one

else’s. Kissing seemed too intimate. It appears I have missed out on
an incredible experience.”

His touch sparked unknown emotions. Olivia pulled back.
“And why have you pursued these many encounters?”
Gideon stood, walked to the fireplace, and absently stirred the

embers.

“I no doubt came out of the womb bored. Tedium drives my

desires. I have no tale of woe. I am a spoiled and pampered son of the
aristocracy who was never told ‘no’ in the entirety of his life.”

He walked to the bedpost and held it tight. “Go on, again.”
Before he could utter another word, she picked up the crop

and laid it across his lower back.

****
Christ, the pain was exquisite. Because she did the flogging?

Perhaps it the fact he was giving and not taking for once. A raw,
pleasurable ache from her strike covered his body. He turned to face
her, unbuttoned his trousers and stepped out of them, standing before
her completely naked. His cock became as hard as an iron bar and
stood straight up his belly. Her gaze fixed on his throbbing erection.

“I want you to touch me.” His voice sounded raw and husky to

his own ears. “Please, Liv.”

“No one has ever called me by that name. I like it,” she

whispered.

She strode toward him, her shapely hips swaying. Her hands

spread on his chest. Olivia touched and caressed his skin, explored
every dip and valley of muscle. Her touch was magical, sparking
nerves under his skin he did not know he possessed. Her hand
lowered, and followed the trail of hair to his cock. She fisted him,
gripped him tight and he nearly came in her hand. He splayed his
hand on top of hers and showed her the stroking rhythm to bring him
to the edge of desire. Together they pumped his rock hard cock. He
felt his sack tighten, his insides dipped and rolled. Gideon moaned,
his breathing ragged when he cried out with his forceful climax.
Endless jets of his cum pumped over their joined hands.

****

Olivia’s eyes widened. She had observed many men climax

during her crop ministrations. She merely saw it as a disgusting
conclusion to the act. To see Gideon with his head back and jaw
clenched stirred the simmering embers deep inside her body. His
deep-throated, raspy moans caused liquid heat to pool between her
legs. Never in all her encounters did she have such a physical reaction
to a man.

Gideon staggered, then backed up to the bed and sat down

with their hands still joined. She tried to pull away, but he kept her
hand grasping his cock. The man was unbelievable, as his cock
hardened again.

“Liv, become my mistress.”
She glanced up at his flushed face. His eyes shone the color of

polished onyx stones.

“You can’t be serious.”
“I do not know the first thing about having a long-term

mistress. I am not a man who believes in possessing another like a
fine piece of jewelry. I would agree to whatever terms you wish.”

With great effort she pulled her hand away and removed her

soiled gloves.

“Lord Craven, this situation is going beyond the parameters

we set up. I have no intention of becoming a possession or a mistress
to any man. Besides, I hear you are very commanding and demanding
in your pleasures. I will not subject myself to such a situation.”

Gideon stood, reached for a flannel, and casually cleaned

himself.

“Perhaps I can be as you describe. I have proven here I am

quite capable of sharing and submitting. It is you, Liv, who are afraid
of change or of feeling and living.”

Gideon tossed the flannel to the bed next to her gloves. He

turned his back to her and grasped the bedpost.

“Again. Go on, Liv. Exorcise your demons. Punish me,

pleasure me.”

Olivia barely gave him time to complete his sentence before

she snatched the crop and laid it low on his back. Skin separated
under her lash and a few drops of blood trickled over his muscled
buttocks. The crop fell to the floor and her hands flew to her mouth in
shock. She did not mean to draw blood. Gideon roared in response.
Shock, desire and perhaps anger laced his growl.

She had gone too far. This entire situation, the intimacy, the

confessions, and the touching were too much for her to handle.
Whatever slim thread of control she used in these situations,
splintered apart. Hot tears ran in rivulets down her cheeks. She had
not cried since the rape and the abandonment by her father.

Gideon turned and pulled her into his embrace. His body was

warm and reassuring. She laid her wet cheek against his chest, and his
hands smoothed her hair. No man had held her this way before. James
once put his arm around her, but she had not been held against a
man’s heart, wrapped in his masculinity or comforted as if she were
fragile and made of glass.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered.
Gideon kissed her temple and whispered words of

compassion. His gentle consideration increased the flow of her tears.
Olivia did not wail or gnash her teeth, shudder or shake. The tears just
fell.

“I want to make love to you, Liv.”
The words seized her breath.
“Listen to me. Before I observed you and the judge, I watched

a duke make love to his wife. The act was a revelation to me. In all
these years, I have never made love to a woman, saw to her needs or
even cared if she received any pleasure. I had wild, selfish sex.
Making love is apparently more than thrusting one’s prick into a
woman’s wetness. But I wouldn’t know about that.”

Olivia glanced up at him. “Neither do I, my lord.”
****
Gideon could not believe he proposed they make love. Good

Christ, he did not recognize the man who made the suggestion.
Taking the time to comfort someone felt strange. Looking at himself
through Olivia’s eyes, he truly was a debauched, egocentric man. In
this moment, he did not want to be that man any longer. This
damaged woman with her intriguing mixture of vulnerability and iron
will reached his emotions and brought them to life.

“You haven’t had sex with anyone since the rape, have you?”
Olivia stepped out of his embrace. She met his gaze, her eyes

still red-rimmed from tears.

“No. I don’t think I can. Not for one hundred guineas.”
Gideon took a step toward her and touched her flushed cheek.

“I do not ask as part of our deal. I want to love you. You are

attracted to me as I am to you.” He leaned down and whispered in her
ear. “You are wet for me. Let me touch you. We will not have sex if
you do not wish it. But let me worship your body. At any time you
wish for me to stop, say the word, and I will. Put your trust in me as I
have with you. Give and take, Liv.”

She did not answer right away. His heart thumped faster

knowing she considered his proposal.

Olivia took his hand from her cheek, raised it to her lips and

kissed it. Hot desire shot through his veins.

“Give and take. Very well, Gideon. I will try.”
His cock hardened at her words. He slid the peignoir from her

shoulders, and as he had observed the duke do to his duchess, lowered
his head to lay tender kisses on her bared skin. Taking his time, he
removed the bodice until she stood naked before him, as lush and
shapely as he knew she would be.

Even though a ripple of pain shot through his back, he lifted

Olivia into his arms and carried her to the bed. Watching her closely,
he looked for the fear, the trepidation, and the anxiety. What he saw
in her eyes was trust. His heart soared.

Lying on the bed next to her, he explored her body in a

thorough manner with hands, lips and teeth. Her soft mews and gentle
groans sparked him onward. Cupping her ample breasts, Gideon
lowered his head and suckled a nipple. It pebbled under his lips and
hardened into a sensitive nub. Flicking his tongue, Olivia writhed and
moaned in response. His hand made its way past her stomach and
teased her curls.

God, she was gloriously wet. He caressed all around the lips of

her pussy, stroking with care and tenderness, and then inserted two
fingers. Her quim clamped around him, so tight, so damned beautiful.
He thrust at a slow pace, and his thumb found her nub. The sucking at
her breast, the thrust of his fingers, the stroking of her clit all done in
perfect rhythm.

Olivia’s eyes widened in wonderment.
“Look at me, Liv. I want to see your face when you come.”
His strokes increased and so did her groans of desire. Her back

arched off the bed, but she kept her gaze firmly locked with his.

He knew the exact moment when her peak came. Her inner

muscles clutched his fingers, and her body trembled. Olivia cried out,

her body shuddered and shook. He removed his hand and gathered her
close to his heart and rode the wave with her.

The sensation was so intense, the feelings overwhelming, he

came as well. Jets of hot cum pumped onto her stomach and hips.

After several minutes, he lay back on the bed and pulled her

next to him, her head on his shoulder. Olivia cuddled in close and laid
her hand flat over his heart.

“I didn’t know it could be like that.”
“Neither did I,” he said with all honesty.
As much as he loathed leaving the bed and her warmth, he

stood, retrieved the basin of warm water, and gently wiped them both
of his seed.

How he wanted to take this further. To spread her long legs

and thrust his aching cock into her pussy. Thrust and pound until he
was completely spent and milked dry. But he wouldn’t. For once, he
would think of someone else rather than himself and his own
pleasures.

Setting the basin aside, he stood and looked down at the

beauty before him.

“I ask you to come with me. I swear you will not be my

possession, but my partner in all things. We will share it all, Liv. Life,
joys, sorrows, sex, companionship, respect, trust and who knows—
love.” He held out his hand. “Take it, Liv. Take my heart, for I am
giving it to you. Take my hand and come away with me, now.
Tonight. This very moment.”

Their gazes met. The cold indifference he had seen in her eyes

earlier in the evening was no longer there. Endless moments passed.
He closed his eyes. Olivia was going to say no, and dismiss his
heartfelt plea. For the first time in his life he laid open his heart, and it
bloody well hurt.

Fingertips brushed by his palm. Gideon’s eyes snapped open.

Olivia’s small hand squeezed his tight. His long fingers closed over
her hand and he gently squeezed in return.

She smiled. “Give and take, Gideon.”

The End

www.karyngerrard.com

Other Books by Karyn Gerrard:

Timeless Heart

Timeless Love

Black Lust

Black Desire

Evernight Publishing

www.evernightpublishing.com