Pleasure and Purpose Read online

  "As Minister of the Council of Fashion." Cillian swung the flogger. "Ah, the sound of it is as nearly wonderful in the air as against her skin. Don't you agree?"

  "The Council of Fashion is no less important a post than any of the others." Cillian stopped. "Spare me the merry ego stroke, Edward. I'm being granted the minister position to give me something to do besides fuck and drink and gamble. Isn't that right? And as my dear father doesn't trust me enough to give me a position which has real effect on the government of Firth, he's settled it that I'll get to oversee the length of trousers for the upcoming season."

  "It's not my place to judge your father's decisions."

  Cillian flung him a look so venomous it would have made a man unused to such ire step back. As it was, Edward merely braced himself for the flood of cursing he expected to follow.

  "My father," the prince said in a surprisingly even tone, "pays you to play nursemaid to me. Placate and soothe my. . . irrational urges. To keep me in line." He smacked the flogger against his forearm, and though it left a red mark, he didn't even flinch. "Isn't that true, Edward?"

  Edward had to admit it was. This agreement brought Cillian no joy, however, as evidenced by the cloud that crossed his fine features.

  "My father pays you to keep me happy as well, does he not? Isn't that part of your duty, too?"

  "No man can make another happy, my prince," said Edward with a hand over his heart and a half bow to soften the retort.

  "Same as it ever was." Cillian snapped his fingers and a woman scurried forward with a jug of worm, of which Cillian quaffed a great mouthful. "And yet. . . not the same." Edward had learned saying nothing was more often the better course when dealing with the prince. Cillians answering smile was that of a man baring his teeth to barricade a scream. The prince wiped his lips and handed the jug back to the maid.

  "When they deemed me fit to return to polite society," Cillian said, "it was with the understanding I'd never really regain the status I had before. No monarch wishes to wed his daughter to a madman, even one so dramatically recovered." Cillian grimaced, looking around the room. He let the flogger s trailing tails caress his arm. When he looked at Edward again, his eyes glinted with anger but his voice stayed calm.

  "He didn't want to have to do it, you know. Didn't trust you. Has never trusted you, Edward, not since we were lads in school. It's made your place difficult, has it not? Being out of the king's favor, settling for the shite assignments. You could've sought a different trade, perhaps, but your own father was desperate for you to hold a higher place than he had. Spice merchant, wasn't he? Got his place in court by sheer hard work. Is that right?"

  "You know it is." Edward kept his back straight, face without expression.

  "It's what fathers do, isn't it, Edward? Hope their sons are better than they? What do you suppose my father thinks of me?" Cillian's laugh sounded like breaking glass. "No, he didn't want you at all, Edward, my dear one, but I insisted. My old school chum would keep me under control. He didn't want it to be you, not after what happened . . . what we both know happened . . . but it had to be someone, didn't it? And so now you have a nice house out of the city, and your table is never empty, your wardrobe never out of fashion. It's been good for you, hasn't it, my dear one? Looking after me?" Cillian's green eyes had gone dark with emotion.

  "Yes, Cillian," replied Edward coldly. "It has." They stared that way for a few moments, much being said without being spoken, and Edward remembered how he'd once called this man brother. Then, at Cillian's whim, the moment passed. He swung the flogger against the back of his hand. "Ah, such a sweet sting. Are you ready for it, my dear one?"

  The woman tied to the ironwood cross murmured and shifted again, the pink slit of her sex glistening. Cillian looked back at Edward with a grin that belied the tension between them.

  "I don't give a virgin's fart for the Council of Fashion, Edward. Not about the difference between peacock and sky blues, nor about the cost of wool and silk, nor about trade routes or any other of that rot. Someday I'll be King of Firth and until then, I'll play as I wish. You want to know my plans for the minister position? What if I decree that all women should wear nothing but collars and men attire themselves in cock rings and codpieces?"

  "I think you'd have a difficult time garnering the support to pass such a decree." Cillian sneered again. "Don't worry. You can assure my father I'll be certain to surround myself with assistants who do care. But my prick is straining the front of my breeches at the moment, so unless you'd like to bring me off with your mouth, I suggest you step back while I whip this lovely cunna in front of me."

  Edward had no intentions of so servicing the prince and stepped back. Cillian laughed and strode forward. He paused behind the woman and with tender hands pushed her hair over her shoulder to expose her bare back.

  "Just a little sting, my sweet," he murmured.

  She cried out, body jerking at the first lash, and Edward couldn't help the surge of desire flooding him at the sound of leather on her flesh. The delicious aroma of sweet feminine arousal teased his nostrils. Cillian let the flogger fall again.

  Edward would have avoided Cillian's playroom entirely, had King Allwyn not expressly bid him to attend the prince there, to make certain his activities never again went too far. It was, however, torture, made greater by Cillian's constant taunting. He wanted to leave, but the sight had riveted him in place. Cillian was a master at physical dominance. He marked die woman's back without hesitating, pausing just when her cries grew so loud Edward was certain she was unable to take another strike. The prince slipped a hand between her legs, working his fingers inside her, and she cried out, pushing back against him as much as her bonds would allow.

  "Edward. Come here."

  Edward obeyed, for though his mind might be reluctant, his body wasn't.

  "She's so close to the edge. Her cunt's gripping my hand like a fist. She's going to go over."

  The girl moaned, body trembling. The welts on her back stood out against the dun of her skin. Cillian pulled his hand out, slick with her juices, and licked his fingers.

  "Her honey is sweet. I want you to taste her."

  "My lord—"

  "You're not married, my lord Delaw," interrupted the prince. "And I know for a fact you have no mistress. So give me no excuses about why you cant take your pleasure with this cunna, who'd be begging for it if I hadn't gagged her mouth."

  "Cillian. I don't wish—"

  "Do it," ordered Cillian, voice low and dangerous. "Do you forget, my dear one? What it's like to do this?"

  "I don't forget."

  How could he? No matter how long it had been since he'd taken his enjoyment that way, he could never forget how it felt. Nor the consequences.

  "Come taste her." Cillian was teasing. Seducing. Certain Edward would give in. Edward moved forward, his fury inflamed by the scent of the woman before him and his cock, straining despite himself in his trousers. "If it so pleases you, my lord."

  "It does," hissed Cillian. "Put your hands on her." Edward slipped a hand between the girl's legs and her thighs trembled. His fingers slid along her folds, eased by the honey trickling from her slit. He rubbed it with his fingertips, then found her clit. She was so wet, so swollen, so hot. . . though her back bore the marks of Cillian's flogger she didn't weep, didn't pull away from the pain but embraced it.

  A despised and familiar heat swept his brain as he stroked her. The need to grip, to bind and bite and own ... he let out a low groan as her cunt pulsed around his fingers. She wanted this, his hands on her.

  "Fuck her with your hand," murmured Cillian, "while I kiss her with my lash. And together we'll make this cunna scream. Shall we?

  He didn't bother waiting for Edward's answer, but brought down the flogger again and again while the woman writhed as much as her restraints allowed. Edward gave himself up to the desire. He slid two fingers into her slick channel, his thumb rubbing her clit with every stroke. Breathing hard, his prick as hard as t