Lashwood: Lords & Masters, #2

By Everly Ryan

Book 2 in the Lords & Masters Series

Jessamine Gipson’s investigation into her sister’s disappearance leads her to a notorious private club. She quickly realizes she’s in over her head, but the Dom in charge, Benedict Bellanger, Viscount Lashwood, inspires a most wicked reaction in her body. Jessamine is willing to risk anything, including her virtue, to find her sister. She proposes that Ben train her in the art of submission.

Submissives have gone missing on Ben’s watch before, yet he would never endanger Jess, who speaks to his need to dominate—to protect. Her steadfast resolve forces him to take control, to tempt her with taboo pleasures designed to frighten her away from her intrepid scheme. He doesn’t count on Jessamine’s willing participation. Nor does he consider his own unprecedented response to dominating her.

Yet, Jess wants more from Ben than spankings, and to win his heart, she must free him from his tortured past. Their love might heal them both—if they can escape a diabolical murderer bent on their demise.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Everly Ryan
• Release date: Jan 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386675020

Book preview

Chapter One

Shall we begin?

Jessamine Gipson shrank into the shadows as the golden god of a man ascended the dais at the front of this horrid den of iniquity where members of the ton and commonwealth alike engaged in the most unspeakable acts.

Coming here had been a mistake. Every instinct railed at her to flee but she couldn’t seem to get her feet to move. More importantly, she hadn’t found her sister.

Drusilla had always possessed a stubborn streak. She was recalcitrant to say the least. But this?

Whips. Restraints.

Oh dear Lord, what on earth is that woman doing to that poor man?

Jessamine flinched at the sound of a tailed whip finding its mark. This was too much. Surely Dru would never have come to a place such as this—an underground dungeon, for all practical purposes.

Unless she’d been forced against her will.

The idea of it sent a cold shiver up Jessamine’s spine. She hugged her arms across her chest to hide her unfettered breasts. Upon her arrival, she’d quickly realized clothing was not obligatory.

In fact, the opposite seemed to be the standard. Men and women traipsed around in what appeared to be no more than underwear.

And naughty underwear at that. Black leather. Collars. Some wearing nothing but jewelry fastened to their bodies in the most disturbing places.

Hoping to avoid drawing undue attention, she’d reluctantly stripped down to her chemise and knickers.

Her search for Dru had, thus far, yielded no results other than searing images into Jessamine’s brain she’d never be able to forget.

Someone thrust a young woman onto the dais. A flash of long brown hair caught her attention. Hope flared. Dru?

Tall and lean, the dungeon god stalked toward the woman and turned her to face the audience.

Jessamine’s heart both sank and took wing at the same time. It wasn’t Dru.

She started to slip from the room, but suddenly, the onlookers grew so quiet and still, Jessamine would have attracted attention if she tried to leave now.

The woman willingly, it seemed, allowed the man to bare, bind and bend her, exposing her pale-skinned bottom to the gathering.

So lovely. His accent suggested breeding, refinement. His body evidenced something altogether different. Hard, rippling muscles indicated the brute strength of a blacksmith, which seemed at utter odds with the waves of close-clipped tawny hair and clean-shaven, patrician face. The white shirt he wore opened to the waist, molded to his form, as did his black leather breeches, leaving little to the imagination.

Jessamine’s pulse raced a little faster in anticipation of what he was about to do. Her conflicting reactions confused her, awakened some part of her she didn’t want to acknowledge.

As he turned slightly toward the hapless woman, Jessamine couldn’t tear her gaze away from the torch-lit beads of perspiration that gleamed on his muscular chest. The woman had been lashed to some sort of bench that looked as if it had been fashioned explicitly for the purpose of humiliation.

He slapped a crop against his thigh. Jessamine gasped. Dark thoughts fleeted through her head—thoughts that made her insides quiver with unwelcome desire. Images of herself at the mercy of that lion of a man wreaked havoc with her senses.

She shook her head as if she could wrest free from the sinful temptations. In another time and place, she might find herself curious to submit to such a man, but as it were, finding Dru outweighed anything else.

The crop struck flesh and the woman let out a moan that bespoke lust more than pain.

Jessamine’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp.

The lion’s head lifted. Even in the darkness, Jessamine could feel his eyes boring into her. Her stomach knotted. Her heart thudded.

Why had he singled her out?

Did he know she didn’t belong here? Did he intend to drag her up onto that dais?

Welling panic threatened to choke her. Terrified, she rushed away. It no longer mattered what anyone in this awful place thought of her. She had to find her way out. Coming here had been a grievous mistake. Blindly, she raced through the dark hallways. Groans and cries of pleasure and pain mingled with her harsh breathing as she tried to regain her bearings.

Where was the exit? Fear mounted, making her dizzy. Tears stung her eyes. She’d been foolish, impetuous to come here looking for Drusilla.

You, slave! a man barked. Bald and thick, he stood at the end of the hall. His lips curled into a sneer. Where’s your Master, little bird? he asked, as if he were intent on filling the position.

M-Master? Jessamine gaped. Her eyes darted left and right in the hall but there was nothing but room after curtained room, all filled with hedonists of the worst sort. Nude men and women tangled in shocking poses. If she fled into one of the alcoves, the man could easily trap her inside.

Undoing the fly of his breeches, he started toward her. On your knees, slave. I’ve got just what you need to fill that impertinent little mouth.

Jessamine’s breathing hitched. She felt her eyes widening as the man’s phallus sprang free. Every instinct railed at her to flee.

She whirled, intent on running, but instead slammed into the hard wall of a very masculine, very immovable chest.

There you are, you naughty little imp, the lion from the dais uttered. One arm wound around her, drawing her into an inescapable embrace. He cupped her chin and forced her to look up at him.

Up close, he seemed even taller, even broader. One eye twitched slightly, as if with amusement, as his gaze moved like a rough caress over her face, dropping to her uncontrollably heaving breasts before slinking back up to her eyes.

She couldn’t hold his all-too-penetrating stare. Please… The nearness of him left her unsteady. Everything about him assaulted her senses like a drug. His soap-and-leather scent. His overpowering physique. She felt so small—and strangely—so protected in his arms.

Lashwood—

Bugger off, Farley, the lion bit out impatiently, never relinquishing her eyes.

Jessamine searched her captor’s fire-and-ice gaze. She couldn’t distinguish if the pale irises were green, blue or gray. How could eyes the color of ice hold so much heat? He looked as if he could devour her, bones and all, in one bite.

A shard of jealousy whispered that this man might very well be the one with whom Drusilla had run away.

Jessamine shivered even as she melted against the lion’s warmth. No wonder her sister had been drawn in by this…this wayward recklessness.

More heads emerged from behind the curtains. A meaty paw raked at her shoulder but the lion whisked her away. Like a dancer, he moved with her, effortlessly waltzing her behind one of the thick black drapes.

I saw her first, Lashwood, the man in the hall bellowed.

The lion’s lips swept over her forehead as he stooped to press his mouth to her ear. "I don’t know at what game you’re playing, madam, but most assuredly, it’s a dangerous one. These people must believe you belong to me."

He spun her around and bent her over a padded bench. Several pairs of curious eyes attempted to peep through the opening in the curtains. Her breath caught in her throat when the lion’s hands jerked down her drawers. Fingers searched with appalling familiarity between her legs.

Oh dear, he muttered and leaned over her. His lips brushed the sensitive shell of her ear, and in spite of everything, she resisted the urge to push back against his hand. We have to make this convincing, if you intend on leaving…intact.

The way he emphasized his last word told her he realized she more than didn’t belong here—she was a virgin.

Play along, pet, he warned before he straightened.

Panic rioted in her veins when she felt his fingers against her bottom as he undid his breeches. He intended to take her!

She lifted her back but he pushed her back down. Roughly. His sinister laugh slid over her.

I warned you. His voice boomed as if it were meant for the people in the hall instead of her.

Unhand me! she cried.

Any further protest was cut summarily short by a quick swat to her rear. She tried to reach behind to protect herself but he caught first one wrist and then the other, holding them firmly in one large hand.

Shame burned in the back of her neck and in her cheeks that he had so easily subjugated her.

And then something long and thick and hard slid between her legs and through the moist furrows of her sex. Jessamine stilled. The vise-grip on her wrists prevented her from struggling. Powerful hips, pressed tightly to her posterior, thwarted any hope of escape.

Even as she steeled herself for the inevitable pain of penetration, she mustered every ounce of courage she possessed. Release me this instant!

The hand tightened around her wrists. She winced.

Be still. The lion’s baritone roar had been reduced to a menacing cobra’s hiss.

Some traitorous part of her felt compelled to obey, to surrender herself to the slow, slick slide of his arousal between her legs. She twisted her neck in an attempt to look back at him. If she could just get a read on his expression.

His eyes were narrowed, fixed on the chink in the curtains where the onlookers had begun to disseminate. I won’t hurt you, he murmured so softly only she could hear. But these people need to believe you are mine.

Comprehension flooded her. But understanding was a far, far cry from trust. One shift and he would be inside her. One lapse in judgment and she could lift her bottom in welcome.

A muffled groan rumbled in his chest and the idea that her body gave this godlike creature pleasure caused her traitorous channel to tighten. Liquid eased the passage of the silk-and-steel shaft through her folds, touching her in places that had previously only known her own hand.

Jessamine held her breath as her awareness focused on that single, perfidious bundle of nerves crowning her sex. Anxiety mounted that he would continue this sensual assault, resulting in her undoing. But pure, cold fear gripped her that he’d stop.

The hold on her wrists loosened until one arm was free. His other hand slid under her chemise, his thumb tracing up her spine, his fingertips grazing her side, her breast.

A squeak of a moan left her lips. She’d never felt anything so sinfully good.

What are you doing here?

She didn’t want to answer his question. She merely wanted to feel.

His hand slipped underneath her, his fingertips finding her nipple. He pinched. Hard.

Shockwaves of lust fused some invisible cord between her breast and that spot his flesh kept tantalizing. Merciful heavens, she was so close…

Answer me, he demanded, the pressure on her nipple never lessening.

If she didn’t, would he spank her again? Her ribald desire for the base treatment humiliated her. I-I’m looking for my sister. Her voice sounded raw. Thick.

The torturous kneading stopped. So did the undulation between her legs. He stepped back, the absence of his touch leaving her feeling as if she’d been caught in a bone-chilling draft.

Draw up your knickers.

Mortified at herself, she pulled up the remnants of her pantalets, straightening and turning to face him as she tied the drawstring. He studied her, his gaze a curious blend of impatience, bewilderment and amusement. Underlying it all, however, was something dangerously feral signifying just how close she’d come to being ravaged.

She lowered her eyes. It was a mistake. His breeches still bulged indecently with his erection.

Jessamine inhaled sharply.

Come with me. He didn’t wait for her to move. Instead, he clapped a big hand on her shoulder and ushered her back out into the hall, walking so close to her she couldn’t possibly hope to escape. Eyes down. No submissive holds her head so high in this place.

But I’m not—

Eyes down. He smacked her bottom again, the sharp sting reminded her of the unrequited lust still pulsing through her veins. Really? Are you thick?

Not at all! She jerked her chin up at him but his fierce look of warning urged her to lower her gaze.

If you give me cause to reprimand you one more time, I’ll drag you into the arena and give you a very public, very deserved spanking.

Her knees quivered as an image of just that flashed through her thoughts. Some impish part of her encouraged her to rebel. Apprehension, along with the surety that he’d make good on his threat, kept her in check.

Together, they twisted down dark corridors with more rooms occupied by men and women engaged in acts she’d never surmised were possible. But whenever she tried to get a better look, her captor quickened his pace until she was compelled to trot to keep up with his long steps.

He pushed open a big wooden door that led into to some sort of cloakroom, seized a black coat from a peg and, without ever breaking stride, he herded her out another door and into an alleyway.

Before she could shiver from the cold, he flung the coat around her, turned her to face him and then began deftly fastening the buttons with a tender concern that seemed incongruous with his previous rough treatment of her.

Now then, he said, turning up the collar to keep her neck warm. Explain to me how you got in and exactly what you hoped to accomplish.

Jessamine’s gaze darted left and right. Escape was futile. Besides, he’d have no trouble chasing her down.

Oh, don’t even consider it, love, he warned as if he could read her thoughts.

Ice-colored eyes, razor sharp, seared her. She swallowed thickly. Outside the…dungeon…or whatever that den of sin was called, he looked far more shark-like than feline. Doubtless, by his polished appearance, he was a peer of the realm, but yet he seemed so terribly lethal. Capable. The proximity of his body made her feel petite and vulnerable.

At a taller-than-average height for a woman, Jessamine was unaccustomed to feeling small. Instinctively, she straightened. She cleared her throat. I’m searching for my sister.

Yes, you already mentioned that. His perfectly shaped lips stretched into a flat, impatient line. Is she a club member?

A club? Is that what you call that…that house of assignation?

A muscle in his jaw flexed. "I assure you that if your sister is indeed a member, she would be here of her own accord."

Jessamine snorted indelicately. You whisked me out of there in such haste, I couldn’t determine if she was there or not.

It was a moment before he spoke. What is her name? he asked in a concerned voice that seemed to reach out to caress her.

She shook off the hypnotic effect he held over her. I doubt you would know her.

A vein throbbed in the man’s forehead. I make it my business to know, madam.

Oh what did it matter? Going round and round with this rascal wasn’t going to help her find her sister. Drusilla Gipson.

He touched a finger to his lips. His gaze drifted to the left and then returned to Jessamine’s. I am not acquainted with a Drusilla Gipson.

I don’t believe you.

He caught her by the shoulders. "I told you I would know were she a member of my club."

Desperation snaked through her. My lord, please. She’s only nineteen. She’s gullible and rebellious and—

More so than you? He barked a laugh.

Anger broiled in Jessamine’s cheeks. She mentioned some mysterious lord who’d been paying her attention. She babbled on and on about how he promised to run off to Gretna Green and marry her.

Lashwood’s brow furrowed. He tapped his lip condescendingly. Gretna Green. An exclusive dungeon. I can easily see how you managed to confuse the two.

Jessamine’s hands fisted, hidden by the sleeves of the oversized coat. The point is, my lord, you and I both know peers do not marry nineteen-year-old commoners.

You think your sister is in harm’s way. It was a statement more than a question.

One of Jessamine’s eyebrows shot skyward. And you accused me of being thick!

Lashwood’s arrogant expression softened. Madam, no one of that name or age description is a member of my dungeon.

Horse hooves echoed on the cobblestones as a growler rolled up the street. It creaked to a stop and a footman hopped off the back, pulled down the steps and opened the door. Jessamine noticed the coat of arms emblazoned on the side of the fine carriage.

Do you perhaps know anything about your sister’s…patron? Lashwood asked.

I do not. She was very secretive.

I apologize that I cannot be of more help, but I will most certainly let you know if I discover anything concerning her whereabouts. He guided her toward the carriage.

Take Miss—Gipson, I assume—home and return for me at the usual hour, Lashwood called to the driver as he ushered her into the coach.

Flummoxed, she sat heavily, trying to sort out everything that had just happened.

Common sense rushed back over her as the footman began closing the door.

Wait! She jammed her foot into the door. The bewildered footman stepped back. How will you know where to find me?

His forehead furrowed and he flashed that haughty smile once more. "My driver will tell me after he takes you home. Good night, Miss Gipson." At that, he chuckled, spun on the heel of his boot then disappeared back into the dungeon.

* * * * *

Viscount Lashwood, Benedict Bellanger, shook his head as he returned to the club. What had that woman been thinking? How had she ever managed to get past the door? He hated to think how easy it would’ve been for someone to have mistaken her for a troublesome submissive. She could have been violated. Would have been violated