Sinjin:The Rakehells of Rochester, #1

By: J.A. Templeton

1





London, England

Sinjin and his brothers had barely crossed the threshold into Madame Darion’s Pleasure Palace, when they were welcomed by a bevy of whores in the large, smoke-filled room. Men of all ages lounged on gaudy red velvet settees and worn chairs, accompanied by alluring women who willingly offered what their wives or mistresses would not.

“Sinjin, you are everything a man should be.”

Sinjin looked up from the pair of immense breasts belonging to Paris, a French whore who had straddled him mere seconds before.

Paris rotated her hips in a way that had Sinjin clenching his teeth. “And you are everything a woman should be, my dear.” He lightly bit the slope of one luscious, creamy-white globe.

Her rouged lips curved in a coy smile. “I imagine you say that to all your women, my lord.”

“All my women?” He placed a hand over his heart, doing his best to look hurt. “Paris, you wound me.”

“Everyone knows your reputation, my lord. What is the nickname for you and your brothers—the Rakehells of Rochester?” She gave a low, throaty laugh. “You are a wicked one, Sin.”

He mentally groaned at the mention of the nickname that had been whispered throughout ballrooms and brothels from Rochester to London of late. True, he and his brothers had a fierce appetite for women, but to label them all as rakehells was a bit extreme. “You should not be listening to idle gossip, Paris.”

“Do you mean to tell me the rumors aren’t true?” She actually sounded disappointed.

“Not a word,” he replied.

Her lips quirked. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Sensing that someone watched him, he glanced to the right to find a full-lipped brunette dressed in a daring gown made of cream lace staring at him with a wanton smile. Tall and long-legged, she sat on a settee in a most arousing way, showing him in one glance what she had to offer.

Paris’s fingers brushed through his hair, her nails digging into his scalp. Ignoring the brunette for the time being, he leaned in and kissed Paris, his tongue brushing against the seam of her lips, seeking entry.

She tasted of mint and brandy, but her technique left little to be desired—too little tongue and too much teeth.

“What’s your pleasure, my lord?” she asked before kissing a trail to the sensitive curve of his ear.

Blood coursed through his veins, straight to his cock. “I am up for anything.”

Her brows lifted as she looked down between them. “Yes, you most certainly are.”

Paris’s slender fingers slid down his chest and abdomen, past the band of his pants, to caress his cock from root to tip.

Setting his drink on a nearby table before he toppled it, he kissed Paris again, becoming ever aware of the brunette who watched them intently. Did he have enough money for a ménage à trios? he wondered, mentally calculating the money he had in his coat pocket. If all else failed, he could always send Jeffries back to the townhouse for more.

“Perhaps you can buy me for the entire night, my lord,” Paris whispered against his lips, her hand gripping him tighter. “I will make it worth your while, I promise.”

“I think we can do without the formality, love. Call me Sinjin.”

“I would rather call you Sin—because that is what you are—sinful.” She bit his lower lip and sucked on it. “I want every inch of your long, thick sex inside me.”

Aroused by her sensual words, Sinjin could not keep the smile from his lips. “I am more than happy to oblige.”

She lifted her skirts a little, and taking one of his hands within her own, guided him to her slick folds. “Do you feel what you do to me?”

“You are hot, sweet Paris.”

“I am on fire, Sin. Shall we venture up to my room?”

He was ready to ask if the brunette could join them when his brother Victor appeared out of nowhere, a panicked expression on his face. “Mother is here.”

Sinjin shook his head, hoping he had misunderstood. “Pardon?”

Victor glanced nervously over his shoulder before turning back to Sinjin. “Mother is here, as we speak.”

Sinjin laughed, but Victor did not share his amusement.

“I am not joking, Sinjin. Mother is here. Jeffries said she has been circling the block for the past five minutes.” He brushed a hand through his dark curls, a habit he’d had since a boy, especially whenever he was anxious. “Where the hell is Rory? We have got to find him and get out of here.”

Sinjin’s heart slammed against his chest. Dear God, he wasn’t kidding. Jeffries, their trusted valet and faithful servant, would never jest about something as serious as their mother staking out a whorehouse in Covent Garden in the dead of night. “What in God’s name is Mother doing in London?”