Read Sin for Free Online Page B

Guilt made her heart pound.
    In the middle of the book, she would find Rodesson’s famed picture of a gentleman reviewing his ‘harem’ of willing wantons at a Jermyn Street brothel. That gentleman, the Earl of Trent, was shown in aroused glory…
    All she had to do was look.
    All she had to do was open the book and satisfy her…curiosity.
    No, that was…improper. Invasive. Rude. Unforgivable. But she could just peek. After all, the earl had performed in public. It was his own fault he had ended up in a book—
    Really, one peek could hardly hurt.
    She flicked past two courtesans entwined like the numbers six and nine to find The Jermyn Street Harem .
    Trent was shown reclining on silken pillows, dressed in a dark blue robe, covered but for his spectacular…cock which curved upward into the air. Dozens of women stood before him, displaying their breasts and quims. His lordship appeared as jaded as always as he selected one for his entertainment.
    Throat dry, Venetia studied the picture. Trembling, she traced his length with her finger.
    This was so very…wrong. To touch…him. This way. But she couldn’t resist.
    Was he exaggerated in the work? She doubted it. He’d felt enormous, impossibly so, when pushing against her backside.
    His…cock looked so rampant. Thick at the base, it curved toward his lean stomach like a sickle and was crowned with a large, dusky head. It was clearly the centerpiece of the picture, rendered in great detail—even to the veins on its shaft.
    She found her fingers stroking between her thighs. The way she did, without conscious thought, while she drew.
    Women were not supposed to touch themselves there. Even bathing was to be done with a cloth and with haste. But if she didn’t touch herself, she’d die from the pain.
    Rubbing in a slow, sensual spiral, she remembered his words. “Do you touch yourself like this, sweeting? Do you paint your quim with your brush until you are creamy and wet?”
    She lifted her brush from the water goblet, stroked it against the rim to smooth the bristles and squeeze the water out.
    Do you prefer two cocks at your command, or another woman’s juicy cunny?
    She thought of him watching her, amused, intrigued, with his hand on his large cock…
    She wanted him so, this man she couldn’t have. He was an earl—one who frequented the wildest brothels, lavished fortunes on the most desirable mistresses—but in her fantasies, she could have him. He would be hers.
    Yanking up her skirts, she listened. Her door was behind her, closed. From beyond it, nothing but quiet. Feeling illicit, she parted her thighs on her chair and touched the wet brush to her nether lips. She drew a line of water to the apex and dabbed there, teasing herself with the cool wet against her heat. The sable bristles, soft but slightly stiffened by use and washings, rasped her clitoris.
    She could just imagine the look of approval on Trent’s handsome face…
    Sliding the brush down, she held it tight to her bud and rubbed herself against it. Wanton. Wild. Not longer caring about a delicate performance…
    Yes, yes, he was right. She was wet and sticky. Heat and honey.
    Oh, yes. Oh!
    She had to hold the edge of the desk as the climax roared through her. She shook with it, rocking the chair on the plank floor. Her fingers dug into the blotter; she dropped the brush to the floor.
    She gave a weak, giddy giggle as she imagined Trent applauding—
    She gasped at the quick rap on the door.
    Mrs. Cobb. The doorknob rattled. Twisting in her seat, she saw it begin to turn. She’d forgotten to lock it!
    The book fell into the drawer with a bang just as her housekeeper pushed open the door and peeped through the opening. Facing forward, Venetia prayed Mrs. Cobb didn’t notice her hiked up skirts, prayed that her racing heart didn’t explode.
    “This came in the post, mum.”
    Fluffing out her skirts as casually as she could, Venetia felt the hem swish over her ankles. She dropped a cloth over