Where Destiny Plays, page 19
She smiled. “I think we’ve had sufficient introductions over the last several visits. We’ve got to know each other, we’ve shared stories and laughter.” She leaned in. “One needs to have such a foundation for an intimate relationship. It’s not just about physical release. Although as you get older and have more experiences, you’ll find there are a great many vagaries with regards to sex.”
She still touched him. He swallowed but his mouth was dry.
“I wanted us to start in the library so you can say you were in the library today and it would not be a lie.”
She stood and offered her hand. He took it.
“Now we’ll go to my bedroom. You don’t have to tell anyone about that.”
She led him up the stairs to her room. Lace curtains allowed the afternoon sunlight to stream in but, he hoped, obscured his presence. She let go of his hand and they stood in the middle of the room. Her ornately carved bed loomed large against a wall.
“Have you ever undressed a woman, William?”
A thrill tingled up his spine. It was happening. “No.”
“You most likely will not have to but you should watch so you’ll understand what we wear. That way you won’t be surprised when it takes simply forever for a woman to divest herself of her clothing.”
He chuckled nervously.
She indicated a chaise longue. “Have a seat.”
He sat. And then she began removing her clothes.
The spectacle was fascinating and arousing all at once. So many buttons, so many layers, the structure of the dress revealed to be padding and drapery, the form of the woman revealed to be achieved by cinching and plumping. His cock throbbed to the point of delirium. He wanted a frig so badly.
She stripped down to her underthings, her stockings and a garment she called a “combination”, which served as drawers but with a top. It was not quite sheer but the roses of her abundant breasts darkened the fabric. She stepped toward him.
“Now it’s your turn.”
Bollocks.
“Why don’t you let me sit on my chaise? You can drape your clothes on that chair there.” She pointed to a stuffed armchair. “You only need to go to your drawers.”
He undressed slowly, methodically, draping each garment on the chair, unable to meet her eyes. At first. While he unbuttoned his shirt, he glanced at her. She was smiling, a genuine sort of smile, not something false one might encounter at a tea party. She relaxed on her chaise, as if she were enjoying herself, one hand absently stroking her thigh. She emboldened him. He stripped off his braces, pulled off his shirt, and started in on the fly of his trousers, all the while holding her gaze. He had to look away to take off his trousers and socks but when he was wearing nothing but his drawers, he stood before her less ashamed than when he began.
She raised an eyebrow. “Magnificent. I see you are an athlete.” Her gaze studied his chest, shoulders, and arms.
He flushed. “My father loves the outdoors. We hike and fish. It’s really quite brilliant.”
She stripped off a stocking. “Keep it up.” And then another. “The male physique is a wonderful thing if treated properly.” She stood and came toward him.
His cock sprang to life. Thank God he was wearing his drawers.
She drew her hand across his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles, staring at him with wonder. “You’ll have hair one day soon.”
He could barely stand it. His nipples hardened. His skin prickled to gooseflesh.
She stood directly in front of him, smoothing her palms down his arms, breathing approbations. If he looked down, he could see the crack of her bosom. Beyond that the bounty was covered by a thin piece of fabric. He tried not to look down. His hands ached from restraint—from not touching her or not touching himself, he wasn’t sure.
She searched his face then drew her lower lip between her teeth. “You want to touch me, don’t you?”
Oh God, yes. “Please, my lady, don’t…”
She waited. “Don’t what, Mr. Peel? We are both standing here in our drawers. I think that is permission enough for you to touch what you want.”
Her. He wanted to touch her. He already knew what his achingly hard cock felt like.
His hand remained poised in front of her while his mind tried to think of the best angle. And then her hand was on his, directing him to cup a breast.
So soft, so weighty, so yielding under his hand. He stopped breathing…until he had to. She let go, leaving him to explore on his own, to smooth over the beauteous mound, finding the taut nipple. Placing a finger and thumb on either side.
“Go ahead.”
He pinched. Her sigh sent more blood rushing to his cock and his other hand to explore the breast before it.
And then he was lost in a frenzy, his hands squeezing, his mind uncomprehending, his balls tightening. He palmed the demi-globes but it wasn’t enough. He needed to taste them. He bent his head—she did not object—wrapped his hands around her waist and pressed his open mouth against a nipple.
“Oh, William. Oh, yes.” Her words fell in a breathy sigh as she stroked his shoulders.
He licked through the fabric, wetting it until it was soaked, then sucked.
She moaned.
He sucked harder.
She arched her back, moaning his name, rubbing her hips against his.
He came in his drawers.
He jerked back, mortified.
She was breathless, flushed, one breast visible through the wet fabric.
“My lady, I…I…” He glanced at the stain at his crotch.
She lay a finger on his lips. “I wanted that to happen. You’ll be more relaxed now.”
“I don’t understand.”
She smiled sweetly. “You’re eighteen. You’re very potent. And very excitable. Your next crisis will take a little longer.” She drew a finger from his sternum to his crotch. “Which means we’ll have longer to play.”
“There’s more?” he blurted.
She laughed softly and tugged at his waistband. “Yes, there’s more.” She unbuttoned the waist. “I want to show you how to use that magnificent tongue of yours to please a woman.” She continued unbuttoning his fly. “Take them off. I want to see you.”
He did as bidden then stood for her perusal. She circled around, tickling with a featherlight touch, swatting his butt, cupping his stones, encircling her hand gently around his cock, which stirred once again to arousal.
“See. Like I told you. You’re very excitable.”
“I want to see you, too.”
She grinned. “Of course.” She let go of his prick to take his hands. “Why don’t you unbutton and I’ll take it off.”
His fingers trembled as one by one he unfastened the buttons of her undergarment all the way to the split in the crotch. Her thatch of dark hair surprised him—he had thought it only on the male. One never saw hair on women in paintings or sculpture. Her pale skin peeked through between the open placket, enticing him. He drew a finger from the hair covering her sex up to the dip under her neck.
She licked her lips. “Now pull it off my shoulders, slip my arms through.”
Moments later, she stood naked before him. He simply had not imagined such a magnificent sight.
A slender waist and hips were topped by a splendid bosom at which the underwear had only hinted. She was soft, sensual curves all over.
“Would you like to kiss me while we’re nude?”
“God yes.” He reached for her.
She took his hand. “Let’s get on the bed, shall we?”
She led him to the bed, lying on it first, beckoning him beside her. Overcome with desire he clambered on the mattress and pulled her to him.
He knew how to kiss; he’d done it a great deal. But this…this was different. She was warm and willing underneath him, his rampant cock poking and prodding against not his trousers and drawers but the flesh of a woman. He had a vague idea of what a man and woman did and sought the entrance between her legs.
She grabbed his cock. “Not yet.”
Disappointment bled into mortification. “Please forgive me.”
She patted his cheek. “We’ll be doing something else today. Something for the woman. Once you’ve learned that, then we can proceed.”
He rolled off her. “I forgot I was a pupil for a moment.”
She laughed. “William, you have already discovered the wonders of a woman’s breasts, how they are sensitive to a man’s kiss. There is another place on a woman that is sensitive to a man’s kiss.”
She took his hand and placed it over the hair of her crotch. She spread her legs slightly then directed his fingers between.
She was sticky and wet and warm. He hadn’t expected that. Of course he wasn’t quite sure what to expect.
“Gently stroke me. Become familiar with how I feel.”
He probed and caressed until his fingers seemingly lost all sensation and his mind took over, fantastical notions of what a man might do to a woman taunting his needy cock.
She stilled his hand. “There is a spot on a woman that gives her as much pleasure as your cock gives you.” She directed a finger through her cleft. “There.” She flinched ever so slightly. “A bit of hard flesh. Like a nipple. Do you feel it?”
He did. “This?” He poked.
She flinched again. “Yes. Draw the wetness up and stroke me on that spot.”
He kept slipping but she was patient, helping him, until he was pretty sure he had got it right.
She sighed. “Yes, dear. Like that. Just like that.” She closed her eyes as the lines in her face softened. So beautiful. He had to give her what she wanted.
“A little faster.”
He obliged. Her mouth fell open, the muscles in her neck ticked.
“Faster. Harder.”
He crushed the nub and rubbed vigorously. Her breaths raced, punctuated with moans, her head pushing into the pillow.
She bucked her hips against his hand and cried out. He continued his ministrations. She slapped his hand away with a laugh.
“That is the result you want to achieve. A woman’s pleasure. Her crisis. Like what happens to you when you masturbate.”
He flushed.
She cupped his cheek. “And now we’ve each had a crisis.”
He grinned. “You said something about a kiss.”
“I did.” A naughty gleam twinkled in her eyes. “What you just did with your finger? You’ll do that with your mouth.”
His eyes widened. “Down there?” He flicked his gaze to the hair of her mons.
“Yes.” She smiled. “Start your kisses at the lips.” She tapped her lips in invitation.
He touched his lips to hers, caressing the seam of her mouth with his tongue until she opened for him, letting him dally for only a moment before she pulled back.
“Then proceed down the woman’s body with gentle pecks, stopping at her breasts momentarily.”
He lay kisses on her neck, her shoulders, admired her beautiful breasts before kissing those and flicking his tongue on the erect nipples. She writhed and moaned under him.
“Continue to the swell of her belly, all the way to the hair of her motte.”
He grasped her waist as he kissed down her middle, the soft skin of her belly so tantalizingly erotic he dared to lick and nip the tender flesh. She gasped then groaned her approval. He had surprised her. Could he surprise her more?
He kissed down to the dark, wiry hair at the apex of her thighs then licked back up to her belly, ending with another nip.
She threaded her fingers through his hair. “Oh God, William. Lower, lower.”
Lower? In the hair?
“Where your finger played.” She opened her legs.
Before him was the sticky flesh he had only felt. It looked…complicated.
“You already know how to pleasure me with your finger. Now use your lips and tongue. As if you were kissing my mouth.”
What an absolutely amazing idea. Her sex did resemble lips.
He bent over, her feminine scent filling his nostrils and engorging his cock, seeing the little nub that before he had only felt. He ran his tongue over it.
“Yes. Kiss me.”
He dived in, kissing, tonguing, sucking. She writhed under him so he held her steady, gripping her hips, his fingers pressing into the pillowy flesh of her buttocks. Her taste, her scent, her moans filled his senses, arousing him beyond his expectations. His prick ached with excitement, wanting its own pleasure. He undulated his hips against the sheet, the soft fabric chafing his sensitive flesh.
His tongue explored, finding the opening to the depths he had only ever heard about. He plunged in, tasting her heat. She gripped his hair, pulling the strands, moaning his name, rocking her hips to allow him deeper access.
This, this is what it was to fuck a woman.
He imagined he was extended over her, lying between her legs, not his mouth and tongue inside her but his cock. He ground his erection into the mattress as he thrust deeper with his tongue, matching the rhythm of his rocking hips to the cadence of her cries.
Deeper, deeper, searching for that place, that feeling where his body tensed, struggling for its sensual release, and then he was there, the moment before explosion.
He came on the sheets, growling his release into her quim, then stilled.
This was better than masturbation.
She tugged at his hair. He lifted his head, shame descending when he met her eyes.
“I see pleasuring me was as pleasurable for you.”
“I’m sorry, my lady.” Was that supposed to have even happened?
She laughed softly and motioned for him to lie alongside her. “Don’t apologize. You are supposed to be aroused by the act.”
“But I…all over your bed.”
She wrapped his arm around her. “And when you are an older man, you will wish for a return of such exuberance.” She drew a line down his torso to his groin. “Enjoy it while you can.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
She kissed his chest. “You’re welcome. Now I shall give you another lesson to practice before the next time we meet.”
“Oh?” Anything. Anything for her.
“I want you to masturbate—”
He laughed.
She smiled. “This time it will be different. What I want you to do is to mark the changes in your body, the course it takes before you have your crisis.”
“How do you mean?”
“What are the physical changes? Such as, do you move from a relaxed state to a state of muscular tension? What happens in your mind?” She tapped his temple. “Do you lose yourself for a moment? Especially mark what happens right before you spend. This is important for you to know when you are with a woman not your wife.”
“Not my wife?”
“Your mistress, if that has to be the case. Or your lovers before you get married.”
“Like you.”
She smiled. “Like me. So this means you might have to masturbate several times before you truly understand your body.”
He laughed. “I think I can do that.”
“Good.” She gave his hip a little swat. “Now get dressed. You’ve been here long enough.”
Time with her was never long enough.
* * * * *
From the bustling foyer, Arthur scanned the crush of guests in Lord and Lady Roxton’s ballroom. The event was well-attended as it was the first held by the viscount and his wife after the double wedding of their twin daughters. It seemed all of London was in attendance.
Which meant Lavinia would be there. Eventually. So he kept searching, knowing the ever elegant and dynamic lady would stand out in a room full of dull aristocrats.
“Arthur, Lady Banbury says the Smythe girl will be with her here tonight,” Mother said at his side. “You do remember Lady Banbury from the St. Albanses’ wedding, do you not?”
“I do. She is a dear friend to Lady Foxley-Graham.”
“Good. Then keep an eye out for Lady Banbury. Or for Lady Foxley-Graham for that matter. She might know where her friend is.”
“Yes, Mother.” Arthur would be very willing to keep an eye out for Lady Foxley-Graham.
They filtered into the ballroom, nodding and smiling to people of importance or social survival. Arthur was as polite as any infatuated man could possibly be. He almost heaved a sigh when he saw her. She was with Lady Banbury and a lovely blonde-haired girl.
“There they are.” Mother practically dragged him toward the threesome.
Lavinia immediately offered her hand.
“My lady,” he greeted with a kiss above her fingers.
“Lord Petersham.” She casually slipped her hand from his. “I trust you received the books on parliamentary procedure I sent over?”
“I did, thank you. And I have been diligently reading reports on Parliament in the morning and evening papers.”
She beamed. She looked spectacular in her tight-fitting gown of burgundy and umber trimmed in copper, the colors of sunset over a sultan’s desert palace.
Mother greeted the blonde girl as if she had met her before, which raised his hackles. The girl was simply too young. Far too young.
“Lord Petersham,” Lady Banbury said, “may I introduce my charge for this Season, Miss Beatrice Smythe.”
Arthur bowed and took the girl’s proffered hand. “Miss Smythe. Delighted to meet you.”
She curtsied with a blush. “My lord.”
He felt like an East End whore. It was too obvious.
“I’ve known Beatrice’s father for years,” Lavinia said, surely taunting him with the reference to time. “The Earl of Ryburgh.”
Curious, then, how she was not Lady Beatrice. Arthur held his tongue on the matter. “It seems I am unfamiliar with him.”
“You should pay more attention to your instruction from Lady Foxley-Graham,” Mother scolded.
He raised a brow at Lavinia. “We should discuss all your political associates over tea, my lady.”
She smiled a wicked smile. “We should, my lord.”
“Arthur, the music is about to start,” Mother said. “Why don’t you ask Miss Smythe if she would like to dance?”
He wanted to simply storm out. But a gentleman did no such thing. A gentleman asked a young lady to dance.
She was a pleasant girl and an especially skilled dancer. Miss Smythe—who, he learned, eschewed her title on political grounds—kept rhythm for both of them as most of the time Arthur was distracted by Lavinia talking to his mother and Lady Banbury. A very handsome middle-aged man joined the women. He was overly chatty while gawking at Arthur and Miss Smythe and made Lavinia laugh far too much.
