“What a terribly strange comparison.”
“That’s what Frank’s lady companion says.”
She snapped the book out of his loose grip, and her eyes flashed quickly across the pages before she handed it back and crossed her arms over her chest. “I see you are not teasing me.”
“I’m not. But I do not think Frank is not terribly talented at teaching the features of the male anatomy. The comparisons continue, and they are not complimentary. I think a… hands-on lesson would prove much more useful. What do you say, Em?”
“Keep reading, Duke.”
That prim line that comprised her lips would be terribly fun to kiss back into lushness. “As you say. If I’m to win you over, I must recognize your needs and meet them. Ah, here’s a good bit to continue your education.”
She shifted from side to side, bit her bottom lip, her hands becoming fists in her skirts.
“Frank is at it again, you understand,” he said.
“Naturally.”
“Katy expresses disbelief that a man’s prick can fit inside her when it is so soft. But Frank refuses to let such falsehoods stand. He says,‘Oh, thou art an ignorant Girl indeed, when a man has a Fucking job to do, his Prick is not then limber, but appearsquite another thing, it is half as big and as long again as it was before, it is also a stiff as a stake.’”
He considered her over the top of the book—her cheeks red as fresh berries, her hair a falling mess, her shoulders stiff and lips plump, and damn but he was supposed to be rousing her, not himself. He’d never had much control of his body around her. It stood up as it pleased because she pleased him so well. “Do you understand, Emma? Or should I show you?” He moved as if through a snowbank, slow and cautious, to sit beside her, and he traced his knuckles down the soft curve of her cheek. “Because since this morning, I’ve been just as Frank describes.”
“Wh-what does it feel like?” A hazy mix of caution and curiosity in her voice. “When you are like that?”
He placed his hand atop hers and threaded their fingers together. She let him lift her hand, move it, settle it over his body, palm flat. Bloody hell. Her palm nestled sweetly on the most aching part of him. His entire body pulsed. He hissed, and she flinched, curling her fingers into her palm, scraping them against his cock. He hissed again.
“It hurts?” She glanced up at him, sorrow in the downturn of her lips.
He kissed that sorrow away, tried to take it into himself so she was left with nothing but the good. “It is a most delightful pain.”
“I… I think I understand.” She uncurled her fingers, scraped against him once more, wringing a groan from deep inside his soul. “I have a question.”
“Ask it.” Anything she asked, he’d answer. He’d show her.
“Last night… you seemed to experience what I did. A… a, oh how to explain it. A wash of intense pleasure, loss of control, then a wave of… peace.”
“It’s called an orgasm. And yes, I did. Last night.” But thankfully this morning, he’d controlled himself, held on to thevery edge to keep from coming in his damn trousers like a green boy. He only had the one extra, after all.
A mistake, he saw now. Because the light touch of her hand through trousers and smalls offered an exquisite torment he might not survive.
“And this morning?” she asked, her breath hitching with each word. “You did not. You seemed…”
“Tortured? Yes. A bit.” He gathered her close, her back and arse curving into his side, and he whispered low and dark into her ear, “I would have preferred to replace my fingers and tongue with this.” He squeezed her hand around his cock. “But I have promised not to. But that will be the only way my body knows release.” From here until dark earth poured upon his lifeless body.
“It helps, though, to do what you did last night?” Her head turned oh, so slightly so her lips almost brushed against his cheek when she spoke.
“Yes.”
“And… and can I do to you what you did to me? This morning. With mouth and fingers?”
Another pulse of pleasure shot from his cock to the rest of his body. Hell. “Yes.”
“It… it only seems fair that I…” Her hands squeezed, gently at first, then with more confidence after he moaned, dropping his forehead to her temple. Her touch the most perfect delight. But her growing confidence an even better pleasure, one that strengthened his bones and pumped his heart larger than before. He released her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, wrapped her tighter as she explored him. With his free hand, he caressed the edge of her jaw, tipped her chin up. There—her lips, slightly parted and perfect.
His lips, now.
He cupped the back of her head as he kissed her. As she stroked him with untaught and clumsy movements. Her skill or lack thereof hardly mattered.Herhand.Herfingers.Hermind willing them over his body. That what made him impossibly harder, that what spiraled control out of reach, had him panting and kissing her harder, splitting her lips to taste her tongue.
She broke away, and when he tried to pull her back, unwilling to let her go, she said with a gasp, “Is this right?”
