Absolute Pleasure Read Online Free

blaze a trail down her chin, her neck, her bust, coming to nestle betwixt her breasts. The bodice of her gown was nipped extremely low, much of her breasts protruding, and he nuzzled across the creamy swell of skin.
    The woman gripped the back of his head, urging him on. He acquiesced, tugging at the rim of her dress and pushing at the fabric. Before Elizabeth had any notion of what to expect, the woman's breast was bared.
    Mesmerized, Elizabeth evaluated every detail of the mound of flesh, its rounded profile, its jutting nipple. Mr. Cristofore gazed adoringly at the naked orb, kneading, pinching, and tweaking the nipple then—shocking Elizabeth to her very core—he leaned down and licked across it.
    In visible ecstasy, the woman shoved her chest forward, offering more of herself for his spirited application, and he readily submitted, flicking at the peak, men sucking it into his mouth.
    "Oh, my Lord!"
    The immoderately loud remark garnered another frown from Charlotte. "Be silent!"
    "Yes... yes..."
    Elizabeth rammed a knuckle between her teeth and bit down hard, effectively averting another verbal blunder.
    For an untold interval, she contemplated them. Mr. Cristofore suckled against his lover, much as a hungry babe might; he yanked and tugged, teased and toyed. Unable to restrain herself, Elizabeth dissected every aspect of the lurid scene. When Mr. Cristofore broke the contact, she was so distraught that she wasn't sure how she could remain in her seat, yet the performance wasn't even half finished.
    Amazed, undone, she could have observed them all night.
    Mr. Cristofore murmured a farewell to the woman, stole a fleeting kiss, then exited the box. The woman waited a few minutes, then she departed, too.
    Long after they'd gone, Elizabeth was glued to her spot, staring across at where they'd been.
     

Chapter Two
    Gabriel Cristofore Preston slipped into the town house he shared with his father, John. Due to the lateness of the hour, the servants were abed, but he wasn't perturbed by their absence. With the schedule he kept, one that entailed chasing after the lonesome women of the aristocracy, he never had the slightest idea when he'd be home, so he could hardly expect his retainers to tarry, waiting for the moment he deigned to return.
    Sometimes, when the right opportunity presented itself, he disappeared for days.
    He lit the candle that had been conveniently left for him next to the door, hung his cloak, then climbed the stairs to the library where he could enjoy a libation before retiring.
    The February night was chilly; he shivered in the dark hallway, and as he stepped into the comfortable room, he was glad to see that the remnants of an earlier fire glowed in the grate. He closed the door to hold in the warmth, added a scoop of coals, then went to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of his favorite Scotch whisky.
    When he turned toward the hearth, the ring Helen had slipped on his finger at the theater shimmered in the firelight.
    Always remember me, she'd begged.
    I will, he'd lied.
    The ring was a glaring reminder of how he'd spent the evening—of how he spent many of his evenings. Refusing to let his conscience tug too long or too forcefully at his better sense, he grabbed for a chair and tried to relax, but neither the chafing presence of the glimmering gold band nor its red gemstone bestowed any peace.
    He toyed with the ornate clump of jewelry, rolling it around, then removing it and holding it up to the candle, visually appraising it with the flame as a backdrop. Assessing its authenticity, its purity, he tossed it up and caught it in his palm, judging its weight, wondering whether he should extract the stone from its setting, if the ruby would fetch a greater sum individually, or if he should sell the bauble as a whole.
    Unconcerned, and not yet ready to seriously reflect on the matter, he flipped it into a bowl on a nearby table, just as the floor in the corridor creaked, and his father entered. His