Parlor Games
will not pay for your company forever,” she whispered into Sarah’s ear as they made their way over to the chair. “It is time you began to learn what pleases the men who come here. You are not a Polly, to flit carelessly from flower to flower. You will want another protector to secure you as soon as Mr. Wilde loses interest in you.”
    With shaking hands, Sarah overturned the hourglass. There was no point in worrying just yet about Tom losing interest in her—he had paid for her for the month.
    Though she did not want to attract the men who stood around her watching, she wanted them to be amused and entertained with the game. Mrs. Erskine would be displeased if she bored them.
    Most of all, she wanted Tom to know, not just to guess, that it was she who stood before him.
    As she stood there, irresolute, the men around her began to turn their heads away and titter. The cause was easy to divine—they were distracted by Sir Richard Etheridge and Polly, who were getting very intimate in their dark corner. The esteemed politician was half lying on the couch, his trousers around his ankles, while Polly sat on top of him, moving rhythmically. Her voluminous skirts could not hide the fact that she was fucking him in the corner.
    They were making no effort at concealment. To Sarah’s horror, and the amusement of the gentlemen, Sir Richard grunted with Polly’s every downward thrust, sounding remarkably like a pig at the trough. Even Tom, blindfolded as he was, was facing the direction of the noisy couple.
    Sarah could not compete with such an open and public display of intimacy. Nor did she want to. Instead, she wanted to tease, to entertain, and to allow the men’s imaginations to complete the picture.
    She grabbed Tom’s hands and held them to her face. Would he know her by his sense of touch alone? She guided his fingers over her eyes, round her ears, down the nape of her neck, shivering at the intimacy of his touch. Though he was only touching her face, his caress was more private and more sensual than all the thrusting and grunting that was emanating from Sir Richard’s corner.
    Tom’s hands rested on the nape of her neck as she repeated the caress on him, running her hands over his face and neck, learning every ridge and hollow of him with the sensitive tips of her fingers.
    In turn Tom gently ran a finger up Sarah’s throat, over her chin, and gently parted her lips where she kissed his questing fingers.
    Her fingers mimicked his as they explored each other in gentle caresses.
    The surrounding crowd had gone quiet and were watching them intently, ignoring the overt display in the corner.
    Intent as she was on caressing Tom, she did not notice the hourglass until the last grains of sand were falling. She squeezed his earlobes hard in a silent message.
    His lips curved in a smile. “Miss Sarah Chesham,” he said quietly, just as the last grain of sand fell.
    The men in the audience applauded loudly as she removed the blindfold and, to her own surprise, planted a chaste kiss on Tom’s lips.
    He took her by the hand. “I have won your company for the evening?”
    Sarah nodded, her mouth dry. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that, thankfully, Sir Richard and Polly had finished their display and were lying quiescent on the sofa. The thought of providing such a wanton display made her breathless with fear, and also, she had to admit, with excited anticipation. She could never behave like that in public. Not with Tom. He would think she was a shameless tart.
    Maybe one day when she had lost her virginity and was a whore in every way, maybe then she would feel ready to take part in such public fucking. Maybe one day she would lie on a sofa in the middle of a crowded room, spread her legs wide apart and invite a man to climb on to her and fuck her. Her pussy began to grow shamelessly hot at the thought of watching them watch her fucking. But she was not ready for that now. Not yet. “I will not—”
    Irritated, he

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