“Are we going to become intimate?” She did not look at him, but rather made a little show of sliding her gloves down her arms, off her fingertips and dropping them at her feet.
“Second, you must cease calling me Lord Whitcombe in that tone of yours and from henceforth call me Daedalus. And I shall call you Cordelia, at least in private.”
She angled her head back enough to meet his gaze. “Very well.” She patted the spot next to her. Now sit down, Daedalus, and kiss me.”
His entire body head to toe heated so quickly he grew dizzy. He stumbled forward and dropped onto the bench so hard and fast he landed sprawled on top of her. She plucked off his spectacles and placed them carefully on the floor well away from where they sat.
“Can you see me without those?”
“This close? Absolutely.”
“Oh good. Now, where were we?” She ran her hands slowly on either side of his neck and untied his neckcloth, which she pulled away and tossed in the direction of his spectacles. Daedalus had decided his heart would stop beating at any minute, but he was resigned to die doing anything Cordelia Perriton asked of him. Anything. “I remember. You were going to kiss me,” she whispered across his lips.
“Yes,” he managed right before he brushed his open mouth across hers. He cradled the back of her head in one hand as she lay back against the stone bolster at the end of the bench. Her tongue darted out to tease and tempt his. All the encouragement he needed, Daedalus sank his kiss into her mouth, his tongue curling and thrusting around hers. His every sense was attuned to her response. She sighed and sucked his tongue. Her breasts moved against his chest as a tiny moan vibrated from her body to his. She threaded her hands through his hair and angled his head to seal their lips more tightly. He had never kissed, never been kissed as he was now. His body shook with the force of the simple, passionate joining of their mouths.
She nipped at his bottom lip. He growled, shocked at his own response. Cordelia tasted of tea, sugar, and some exotic dark spice. When they finally broke apart to breathe he rested his forehead against hers, gasping for air, and stared into her face. Her expression was soft and alive and alluring beyond his wildest imaginings. She traced one delicate fingertip down his cheek and across his lips.
“That was quite good.” Her voice held a rasp he found oddly pleasing. “But if a gentleman wishes to truly pleasure a woman he will kiss her…everywhere.” She blinked up at him.
“I am at your command, my lady. Where…”
Somehow she’d managed to drag the bodice of her gown down to reveal two of the most exquisite breasts topped by small dark nipples it had ever been his privilege to see. She cupped his cheek and drew his head down. “You’ve read my books?”
“Thoroughly,” he said darkly and licked his lips.
She leaned up so that his lips rested next to one tight nipple and whispered in his ear. “What did you learn? Show me.”
He didn’t even try to hold back the eager grin that creased his lips. He curled his tongue around her nipple in one long slow motion. He raised his hand to cup her other breast and then stroked his fingers in painstaking increments around and across every velvet soft inch of that tempting flesh. He alternated strokes with gently squeezes, but avoided this nipple utterly. He pressed soft kisses around the edges of her areola and brushed his nose against the taut tip with each kiss before he suddenly took the entire tip of her breast into his mouth and began to suckle.
All the while he forced his eyes open, desperate to watch her reactions to his every move. She threw her head back, her lips pursed and moaned softly. Her mouth fell open in a longAhhhhof pleasure. His hardened cock throbbed against the confines of his silk evening breeches. He raised his head enough to free her breast from his eager mouth and dragged his hair across her skin, pebbled with goose flesh. She gasped and guided him to her other breast, still cupped in his hand. He used to tip of his tongue to thrum the tightened tip, licking and then flicking over and over whilst her legs moved beneath him and she murmured, begging him to do more. He grasped the nipple in his teeth and tugged.
“Yes,” she hissed. “So good. More. More.”
He set himself to the task with fervent dedication. The sound of her voice, the passionate joy in her face urged him to try everything he’d read, everything his fevered dreams had conjured. She smelled of violets and gardenias. Her skin was hot and sweet and like satin under his tongue. He nipped the under side of her breast, ran his tongue across the top curve and then sucked as much of her into his mouth as he could and sucked long and hard.
When he raised his hand to cover the breast on which he’d started she took his hand and slid it down her body. She’d somehow raised her skirts and when she shifted slightly she slid his fingers between her legs. Daedalus forced himself not to start as he encountered the sweet, wet spot she’d described so well in her books. He continued to roam over her breasts with his mouth—kissing, nipping, suckling, and listening to the commands of her sighs, gasps, and moans.
He raised his eyes to watch as he slid his fingers up and down the cleft of her sex in slow long strokes. She began to pulse her hips in tiny lifts against his hand as he quickened his pace ever so slightly. She bit her bottom lip andhmm’edher pleasure as he teased at the opening of her cunny with the tip of one finger. Then he dragged that fingertip up in search of the place she’d written of, the seat of her pleasure. He knew he’d found the spot when she gasped and wrapped her hand around his wrist to keep him there, rubbing and circling with the aid of the increasing wetness he’d wrung from her body. She took over for a moment, showing him what she wanted. Once he caught the rhythm he lifted his face from her breasts and kept his eyes on her as he rubbed faster and faster and plunged two fingers into her quim every few strokes.
Her voice rose higher and higher. She stuffed the side of her free hand into her mouth. Her head, thrown back, tossed from side to side and her entire body rose longer and faster against his hand until she suddenly arched her back, froze in place for several continuous shudders and then collapse onto the bench with an ecstatic cry.
Daedalus caressed her cunny a few last times and marveled at the shivers that ran through her. His blood thundered in his ears. He suddenly realized his chest was heaving as if he’d run from London to Hampstead Heath. Not that he cared. Not when Cordelia sat up, tucked herself back into her bodice, and lowered her skirts. Especially not when she clasped the back of his head and dragged him to her for a kiss that had him one breath from spending in his breeches like some speckle-faced greenling. Her face, aglow with pleasure and satisfaction stunned him.
“I think you shall be trainable after all, Daedalus,” she said as she retrieved her gloves, wiggled from beneath him, and pulled those silvery scraps of silk up over her arms. “I suggest we meet again in a week and continue your education if that is satisfactory to you.”
“A week?” His head rang as if he’d taken a blow from Gentleman Jackson. “I mean—”
“Very well,” she said. She stood and shook out her skirts. With a few pats to her hair, she fairly glided to the folly’s entrance. She glided, whilst he doubted his ability to stand. “In a few days then. Send a note along with the particulars. I will allow you to choose the place, somewhere discreet, of course.”
“Of course. Wait. Cordelia.” He gathered himself enough to grab his spectacles and stumble down the steps after her.
She turned and waited for him to catch up to her. “Yes?”
In that split second he imagined he saw something more than the composed sangfroid she always wrapped around her. Her eyes still burned with passion. Her breathing pushed those glorious breasts against the top of her bodice fast and hard. He even detected a slight sway in her stance, as if her legs were as shaky as his own.
“I…That is…” He shoved his spectacles onto his nose. “You do not want Breadmore. He will not make you a good husband.” Not what he intended to say at all, but his brain still had not come out of the bliss of those moments in the folly.
“I would ask you why if I was in the market for a husband, but I assure you I am not. A husband is the last thing I need.”
