“Once I position you, you must only move when and how I say. Agreed?”
She couldn’t think so painful was her arousal. He slapped her barearsewith his fingers. “Yes?”
“Yes.” The word came out as a breathless whisper.
“Good.” He took her free hand and placed her palm onto her breast. He splayed her fingers so she caught her nipple between two of them. “Squeeze,” he rasped. She did as she was told. He moved down to sift his hand through the hair over her quim. He worked until he had brushed the springy strands aside to expose her to his touch. He ran a forefinger up her cleft slowly, touching her already wet cunny as if he were mixing paint. He pushed the tip of his finger inside of her. She bucked off the couch and he caught her hips and placed her back into position.
She watched in fascination as he took the arm he’d placed behind her head and lowered it so he could lick and suck her fingers. Then he guided her hand to her aching quim and placed her fingers over her damp, quivering flesh. Honoria was torn between embarrassment and desire. She did not move as he strode back to his easel and began to paint in broad strokes. He was utterly intent on what he was doing, but every time he looked at her bolts of heat shot through her to land between her legs or against her nipples.
The only way she marked the time was the movement of the sunlight across the floor. Periodically, she caught sight of one or more of several cats moving into the light as it changed position. Never had she imagined the building desire lying so displayed would create. With no clothes, no jewels, nothing but her bare body and her gaze she held him transfixed and she reveled in that power.
“Now,” he finally said. “Do exactly as I say, love. There is one expression I want to add to this portrait to show the world how truly beautiful you are.” She nodded. She would agree to anything which frightened her deeply.
“Pleasure yourself.”
She blinked and swallowed hard. “What?”
“Think of me and pleasure yourself. Squeeze your breast and caress your quim until you come. I want you to come for me, Honoria. Come for me.”
As if she had no will of her own she closed her eyes and began to caress her breast and pinch her nipple as her fingers slid up and down her cleft. She tried to hold back the little sounds that formed in her throat and breathed across her lips. Faster and faster she teased and played with her cunny. Her middle finger slid into her entrance. She pulled it out and ran the pad across the spot that begged for her touch.
“Look at me, Honoria,” Leo commanded. “Look at me.” She opened her eyes. Their gazes locked. He continued to paint, but all the while he watched her work her cunny towards the oblivion she sought. She wanted him to watch. She wanted him to know the satisfaction she achieved when she imagined him doing this to her body. The pleasure built to a crescendo. She arched her hips into her hand and closed her eyes.
Suddenly he was there. He pulled her hand away. She cried out in frustration as he licked her fingers. Her body shook. She opened her eyes to see him toss his shirt on the floor and shuck his buckskins. He handed her a French letter. Her hands shook, but she managed to cover his cock and tie the sheath into place. He bent his head between her legs to kiss her quim. She cried out as her orgasm took her. Then he was inside of her. With slow, steady strokes he rode the shudders that shook inside her and caused cascades of light to explode behind her eyes.
“Leo,” she cried as she tried to match his rhythm, tried to make him take her faster and harder. Still he moved slowly and deepened his penetration with every stroke. She clasped his shoulders and ran her hands across his back. Her nails dug into his flesh as she urged him on. She wrapped her legs around him and bucked against him with all of her might. “More, damn you,” she growled. “More.”
“Say it,” he panted. “Tell me what you want, my wicked Honoria.”
“Fuck me, Leo. Please, fuck me so I never forget.”
“Yes. Yes, my love. Never forget. Never.”
They pounded against each other, their gasps and groans in time to the wet and powerful meeting of their bodies. He raised her back to the level of heaven and then joined her there with several thrusts that shook the fainting couch before he called out her name and collapsed on top of her.
“Honoria,” he whispered over and over in her ear. “My Honoria.”
She stroked his hair and blinked back sudden, unexplained tears. Her body continued to quake even after his even breathing told her he had fallen asleep in her arms. This afternoon had been no fantasy, This afternoon was as real to her as any ball or salon or visit to their country estate. This was what happened when a woman took control of her own life. But the price she might pay? She refused to contemplate it.
The sun was beginning to lean to the west. Honoria slid carefully out from under him and stepped off the platform. She picked up a stray shawl and draped it over his muscledarse. She now understood men’s desire to have portraits of their mistresses. She wanted to commission someone to paint an image of Leo’s incredibly muscled back andarsesimply for her private view.
She quickly cleaned herself with the bowl of water behind the screen. Donning her clothes was a matter of a moment or two. When she came around the screen and sat on the chaise longue before the fire cats came from all directions to be petted. Trust Leo to take in stray cats, tomcats at that. She snorted. The canvas still sat on the easel. As quietly as she could in her walking boots, she walked over to stand before her portrait. Of course, the painting was not complete. He had actually pinned a number of drawings of her to the legs and bar of the easel. He’d sketched her almost from the moment they met if the drawings she studied were any indication.
But her portrait. She reached out to touch the paint, and stopped herself.
Oh!
There she was, herself but not herself. He’d stripped away the practiced smile, the constant serenity, the carefully served air of boredom. She’d practiced all of those expressions in her mirror from the time she was twelve. The woman in this painting had no need of those. She took her pleasure as she wished and apologized for nothing. The look in her eyes, the look. Her gaze was for him, for Leo as he watched her take her pleasure, his gaze was one of shared joy. He saw her in the throes of passion and reveled in that passion with her.
She had to go. She must return home and gather all the pieces of the Diamond he’d stripped away. She would not be able to live the life that had been chosen for her if she lost who she presented to the world. She hurried to the door and plucked her cloak from the hook. Paper crinkled inside the pocket.His journal pages.She placed them on the table next to her gloves. On top of the pages she left a sealed note in which she requested her next selection from his journal. Time worked against her. Father would soon want to announce her engagement. Until then she’d take every dangerous opportunity to spend time with Leo. Soon her memories would be all of him she had. The pain of that thought confirmed what she’d come to fear in the last few days. She’d lived her life so that no one and nothing might hurt her. She had not counted on hurting herself.
Her gaze fell on his sleeping form. Lucifer had climbed onto the couch and crouched on the pillow next to Leo’s head. His front paws folded in front of him like a sphinx he blinked at Honoria with golden eyes. She glanced around the studio and saw the rest of the cats had settled down to nap as well.
“Take care of him,” she whispered.He desperately needs someone to do so.That someone, however, would never be her.
8
Leo read Honoria’s last note and smiled. If all went well he’d be able to deliver on her latest request tomorrow. In the last ten days they’d managed to spend time together, but not in the pursuit of pleasure. Thanks to her friends and his, he’d met Honoria at the Royal Academy where she’d compared every portrait and landscape to his work, much to the amusement of Leo and her lady’s maid, Esme. They’d taken turns rolling their eyes at Honoria’s clever critiques and comparisons. He did not know if Esme liked him or trusted him, but they both knew things about Lady Honoria Eveleigh that other people did not.
