The Gentlemen's Club: Volume One in the 'Noire' series Read Online Free PDF Page A

the seduction of Hetty , Mademoiselle Noire had avoided MacCaulay’s eye, so it was with some surprise that he received her invitation via the Master
of Ceremonies, informing him that the lady sought his company for a private
audience. Consenting readily, and wondering if his chance for retribution were
to be presented so easily, MacCaulay was led not
upstairs, as he might have expected, but down, towards the very cellars of the
building.

 
    There, in a room so dark that
it took some moments for his eyes to adjust, he became aware of Mademoiselle
reposed upon a chaise, no longer wearing her evening gown, but a negligee of
finest silk chiffon, tied in front by a single ribbon. As he approached, she stood,
lifting an oil lamp beside her, so that its glow half illuminated her features.
Her guipure lace mask remained about her eyes. The dull flicker of the flame
revealed the upper curve of her body, in silhouette beneath the flimsy material
of her gown. The room was damp and chill, so that MacCaulay wondered at her removing so much clothing. Nevertheless, she stood with utmost
composure, as if in the warmest of chambers.

 
    When she spoke, it was with
her usual taunting. “I had begun to think you would never dare return,” she
reproached. She stepped forward, so that he was within two paces of being able
to grasp her about the neck.

 
    She saw the look upon his
face: the tension and suppressed anguish, and his desire for revenge. It was
exactly as she had anticipated.  

 
    “Perhaps you harbour some resentment for your treatment at our last
meeting?” she enquired, the habitual smirk upon her lips.  

 
    “I would expect nothing less.
In truth,” she continued, “I think you deserve some ‘justice’ for your
humiliation, do you not?”

 
    He remained silent, allowing
the Medusa to speak, awaiting her apology.

 
    “It is said that all is fair
in love and war, so it is only fitting that I present you with this,” declared
Mademoiselle Noire. Reaching behind her, she brought forth the crop and held it
out to MacCaulay .

 
    He took it, feeling its
weight. It was a fair length but very light, allowing it to be wielded with
alacrity.

 
    She watched him turn the whip
in his hands, feeling its suppleness. “I grant you permission to use it against
me, in whatever fashion you choose, for ten strokes – no more.”

 
    He had never imagined that
she would place herself at his mercy so willingly, and his suspicions were
raised, but she made no move to run or evade him as he drew closer. Inches from
her body now, he could smell the musk of her skin and see the pulse at her
throat. Her décolleté was barely covered by the flimsy chiffon, breasts rising
softly with each breath. He touched the end of the crop to her chest, brushing
the silk covering her delicate nipple.  

 
    He pulled the ribbon between
those luscious orbs, so that the fabric fell away to each side, revealing the
bare flesh of her breasts in earnest, the curve of her belly, her dark bush
below and her long legs. He had thought of little else but exacting his
retribution upon this siren but, now, as she stood before him, so vulnerable, he
was perturbed, feeling confusion, and a stirring lust in his loins.

 
    He knew not whether to beat
her or embrace her. The blood rose within him and his tongue grew dry in his
mouth.

 
    Mademoiselle Noire allowed
him to run his eyes over her physique, knowing her body to be all that a man
could desire: fleshily voluptuous, yet well toned and
shapely.

 
    His hands clenched against
the stem of the crop, itching to reach out and seize the abundant camber of her
breasts, to thrust his mouth at them, to devour them, to suck at those ripe
nipples. He would graze his mouth down her belly and then bury his face in her
bush, raising her leg, so that he might feast all the deeper. He imagined its
plump wetness and the taste of her juices. His desire to consume her near
choked him.

 
    “I’m