The Painted Heart: The Velvet Basement Series by Elsa Holland

Author:Elsa Holland [Holland, Elsa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Elsa Holland Books
Published: 2017-04-08T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

Elspeth awoke on the sofa, wrapped in her robe, alone with the phantom sensations of the press of his tongue into her folds, the way he sucked at her sex and pressed his face into her. She turned her face into the soft velvet cushion, mortified at her own role in the event. She hated him—no, she hated herself. How fast she was now reduced to carnal depravities.

How could a man she didn’t even like give her so much pleasure? How was it that just hearing his footsteps in the corridor or seeing the stiff, broad shape of him as his too-perfectly-dressed image had her body pulsing with a dark wanton heat?

Elspeth pushed herself up to sitting, straightened her robe and stood.

It was because he was so contained.

That infuriating, unreadable cold and taunting character was somehow powerfully alluring when he showed his desire. His sure guiding hands on her body, his lack of hesitation to touch her so intimately, to take what he wanted and be so very sure of her pleasure at his skill.

Three days later, there was still no sign of him.

Elspeth had not seen him since that night. For three days. She had come down every evening for the last three days for dinner, only to be informed that he was dining out.

She could have gone looking for him on his floor late at night if she dared, but she had wanted a reprieve and he had given it to her. But the lightness and freedom she’d experienced was chased down at night with memories of how he touched her. It was as if her whole body had become a living ear, listening for every sound in the house for his return, for his footsteps.

Yet she never heard when he came home or when he left.

Elspeth tugged on her gloves, made of the softest kid leather. Her dress was one of the many Blackburn had ordered as part of her wardrobe as his Painted Sister, although, as she was as yet unpainted, she could still default on their agreement right up until the first of the tattooing was on her skin. Many collectors held back the bulk of their gifts until after the tattoo was started for that very reason.

Blackburn had clothes delivered nearly every day.

She’d refused to wear what he’d sent until she realized he probably had no input in the selection, however it continued to vex her that every thread she now wore had been paid for by him.

Her dresses from her time at the Hurley’s still sat in the wardrobe but were getting pressed further and further to the back in deference to the more beautiful garments. And that despite having to fight to stop the maids from taking them away at Blackburn’s request.

“Carriage please, Smyth.”

He bowed then left to ensure that her bidding was done.

The door to the front parlor opened and Blackburn followed an oriental man in traditional Japanese dress out into the foyer. Her heart surged forward with a few rapid beats.

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