Glass Slipper

by Abigail Barnette

  She blushed in response.

  “Joséphine,” he began patiently, “you cannot be afraid of mere words.”

  Frowning, she said, “I’m not afraid. It’s just so…coarse.”

  “Then we shall amend our lesson slightly. How can you do something that you can’t bring yourself to say?” He lifted her chin, wanting nothing more than to cover her petal soft mouth with his and kiss her until her lips were swollen. “Now, tell me, in words that I would use…what do you want to do?”

  She made a noise of frustration. “But isn’t it more polite to—”

  He pressed one finger to those beautiful lips. “Politeness has its place, but not in the language of the bedroom.”

  “We’re in the hall,” she replied with a sweet smirk.

  With a growl, he tickled her sides until she became breathless with laughter, squirming on his knee and clutching the front of his coat. “Stop!” she cried, panting. “Stop! I’ll say it!”

  He released her at once. “I’m waiting.”

  “I want to—” she closed her eyes, a residual giggle escaping her. “I want to suck your cock.”

  As if responding to its name like a faithful hound, the part in question leapt up. “Very good.” He touched a fingertip to her bottom lip, tracing the curve back and forth for a moment. “And you will. But we will learn theory, before we embark on practice.”

  He dipped his finger into her mouth, wetting his fingertip with her saliva and stroking the same path along her lip. “It isn’t a matter of simply taking a cock into your mouth. There are some considerations to follow. The first and most important of which is what to do about your teeth.”

  “My teeth?” she murmured, still pouting her lip for his attentions.

  “It is an opinion almost universally held that teeth have no business near so sensitive an organ as a man’s cock. However, since we almost all wish to put ours into a mouth, it is important to learn how best to avoid causing discomfort.” He slipped his finger into her mouth, just to the first knuckle.

  She leaned away, releasing him. “But you are so much larger than that.”

  It gave him no small amount of satisfaction to know that she had noticed. “That is true. But this is good for practice.”

  She nodded obediently and leaned forward, opening her mouth just a bit to draw in his finger. She sucked hard, covering her bottom teeth with her lip and using her tongue to draw him away from the top.

  Julien nearly spilled in his breeches. He pulled his finger free with a strangled, “Well done.”

  She dipped her head and smiled, clearly unused to being praised.

  “The second thing you must remember,” he began, trying to keep his tone as scholarly as he could—which was damned hard with his cock straining to burst from his trousers—, “Is that your mouth is so desirable because of what it can do. It’s not enough to just open your mouth and let a man thrust into it. You must use your tongue, your lips, your throat, all of those parts in concert to bring your partner pleasure. Do you understand?”

  “I think I do,” she replied. She took his hand in hers and brought it back to her mouth, sucking his fingertip between her lips. Her tongue swirled around as she sucked hard, then stopped a moment, then sucked again.

  He hissed through his teeth, and she released him immediately, a look of concern wrinkling her smooth brow. “Was that wrong?”

  “Not at all.” He took his hand from hers to disguise its trembling.

  “I don’t understand.” She looked absolutely crestfallen. “If I’m doing it wrong, please tell me.”

  How could she not understand that her every action was made ten times more seductive because of her innocent desire to please him? That if she’d been any other woman, he would have had her in his bed by now, and that temptation drove him mad?

  It was that very innocence that kept her from understanding, and it frustrated him more than it pleased him. He gripped her hand and, before she could realize what he did, forced it into his lap. “Does it feel like I am displeased?”

  A visible shiver passed over her. If she had made even a twitch towards pulling her hand away, he would have released her, but she did not. She stared for the space of two heartbeats at her hand, then, with agonizing slowness, curled her fingers around him through his breeches.

  His teeth ached from holding back his groan. “That is all the proof you need that you are an exceptional student.”

  She took a deep, shaking breath, still holding him through the fabric. “I thought that it was Marie who had…aroused you. This morning. I know so little, and she knows so much. I thought you liked her better.”

  “Marie is a very beautiful woman and a talented lover.” He would not unfairly criticize her to spare Joséphine’s feelings. If she truly sought to capture the prince, she would have to become accustomed to sharing a man’s attention with other women. “I greatly enjoyed watching the two of you together.”

  “But you find me attractive in that way, too?” she asked, her face alight with hope. “I want to please you. I don’t want you to be disappointed in me. I don’t want you to be angry and leave like you were last night.”

  Ah, so that was what she feared. Not displeasing him, but being abandoned. “I apologize for my inept handling of the situation. I did not leave you because you had displeased me. I left you because I could not trust myself not to press my advantage.”

  Though she carefully composed her expression, it was clear that she was pleased to hear this. Julien helped her to her feet and stood, hoping he did not look too entirely ridiculous. “Come along.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked, letting him pull her along behind him.

  “To your bedroom.” He just hoped they could make it that far.

  Chapter Ten

  Joséphine followed, breathless as Julien pulled her up the stairs and along the corridor. He did not speak, and she quaked inside to think that he might take her to her bed and ravish her. Would she protest such a thing?

  He stopped suddenly and pressed her against the wall, his lips finding her ear, then her throat as his hands roved over the bodice of her gown. She gasped his name while clutching the lapels of his coat, and he seemed to come to his senses, releasing her to resume their walking.

  She would never speak again, if that was to be the outcome.

  Once at the door to her room, Julien kicked it open and pulled her inside. Madame Brujon waited there, with a tub of water beside the fire for her bath. Would the housekeeper ruin everything fun in this castle?

  “Out,” Julien ordered, and the old woman left with a harumph of displeasure. Joséphine couldn’t bring herself to feel embarrassed. Julien’s fingers already worked at the tiny pearl buttons that closed her gown. He opened a few in quick succession, and when they would not cooperate further, he ripped the two halves of the fabric apart. Little round buttons flew through the air, and the sound of Marie’s delicate work tearing in his hands echoed over their labored breathing.

  Her head swam as he pushed the gown down her arms, then over her hips, leaving her before him in her corset, drawers, and stockings. He pulled the laces of her corset roughly from their grommets, each tug loosening the pressure on her lungs until Joséphine stood gasping in relief. He tossed the corset aside as though it were some evil thing, then stripped her of her drawers.

  “Leave them,” he ordered gruffly when she bent to untie the garters that held up her stockings. He still stood behind her, pressing his clothed erection against her bare bottom, and she wiggled against him as she straightened. His fingers dug into her hips as he turned her to face him, and he discarded his coat as he dropped to one knee in front of her.

  “Give me your foot,” he ordered, and though his tone was gruff, his hands were tender as they encircled her ankle and brought her shoe to rest on his thigh. He stripped her of the shoe and bent to kiss her ankle. Then, another kiss, higher, where her calf curved gently up to her knee. He slid his hand up, to the back of her knee, and
gently pushed the foot from his thigh to repeat his ministrations on the other leg.

  This was so different than what she had felt with Marie. While that had been exciting and pleasurable, she never felt as though she would die from wanting, the way she felt right now. It had only been with Julien that she’d been so lost to her desire that she was actually frightened. Just remembering how much she had wanted him made her tremble now.

  Julien leaned forward, pressing kisses to the fronts of her thighs, then the seam between them. She took a step to part them, and he got to his feet. “In good time. For now, we have a lesson to begin, do we not?”

  Her knees quaked, and internal muscles she didn’t know she had clenched. He hadn’t even touched her most sensitive parts, but she ached as though they were bruised. “Please.”

  “Please?” he chided, unbuttoning his shirt cuffs, then the shirt itself. “You asked me to please teach you how to suck a man’s cock. Do well, and you’ll be rewarded.”

  Her throat went dry. She wanted her reward very, very badly.

  “On your knees,” he instructed gently, and he pulled a pillow from the bed for her to kneel on. She sank onto it and looked up expectantly. He still wore his breeches and boots, and she gave in to the impulsive urge to wrap her bare arms around his clothed thigh. This put her face in startling proximity to the very obvious shape in his trousers. She nuzzled against it with her cheek and made a mewling sound, rather like the ones Marie had made while she’d performed the same service that morning.

  Julien’s hand tightened on her shoulder, all the influence she needed to reach up for the fastenings of his breeches. It struck her how bizarre this seemed, being, if not comfortable, at least somewhat confident doing something so intimate with a man. She reached her hand inside the flap and her fingers were met at once with hot, naked flesh.

  “Take your time,” he bade her through what sounded like clenched teeth. “I want you to be completely at ease with a man’s member.”

  Oh, yes, because of the prince. Somehow, in the heat of the moment, she forgot the purpose of their lessons. Willing her mind to be scientific, she freed Julien’s shaft to observe it. First, she ran her hand down the length of him. Though she didn’t have anything to compare him to, he seemed terribly large to go inside of her. Of course, he wouldn’t go inside of her. The prince would. Perhaps he was smaller.

  That was a disappointing thought she would rather not consider. Instead, she chose to consider the flesh in her hand. The skin moved, gliding over the hard, central core of him. She pushed her hand up and down him a few times, delighting in the hiss it produced in his voice as he said, “You may hold it tighter. I won’t break.”

  She flexed her fingers and pumped her fist a few more times. He was wide, too, almost too wide to fit her hand around. The tip of him flared red, and a drop of slippery fluid appeared at the slit there. Curious, she pointed her tongue and dragged it across the enflamed flesh.

  Julien groaned. She must have done something right. She did it again, and he took a deep breath. “Very good. Now, just as we practiced.”

  She looked up at him and smiled, then opened her mouth and took him in. It was so much different than practicing on his finger. She concentrated on keeping her teeth as wide apart as possible, and brushing her tongue over him as she pulled her mouth free, then dove back again. After a few long strokes with her mouth, she fell into a rhythm, alternating the sucking of her mouth and the swirling of her tongue. She reveled in the strangled sounds he made, in the taste of him, salty and hot in her mouth. In a strange way, she felt powerful. Though he was leading her with his every gasp and groan, she was in control. She pulled him free of her mouth with a giggle.

  “You find this amusing?” he asked, and though he smiled his usual, confident smile, she noted the sheet of sweat on his brow.

  “I do,” she said, sliding her hand along his shaft. “I was just thinking I could leave you like this.”

  His smile faded. “What?”

  “I could leave you, the way you left me last night.” She swirled her tongue around the tip of him, then blew a stream of warm breath across it.

  “I would not be left unsatisfied,” he laughed.

  She dropped her hand, her chest aching with sadness, though she knew it was foolish. “Of course. There must be dozens of women in the village who would warm your bed.”

  He reached down and hooked his fingers under her chin, lifting her face to his gaze. “I would not be left unsatisfied because I would go to my bed, stroke my own cock, and remember how you looked with your mouth on it, kneeling before me naked but for your stockings. I would come thinking of you.”

  Her cunt tingled at the image his words painted in her mind. She turned her attention back to his cock, imagining what it would be like to touch herself while she thought of him. Of all the scenes she could paint in her mind, the one she concentrated on most was one of him between her legs, braced above her as he slid his big shaft in and out of her. She shivered and moaned around the thick flesh in her mouth, quickening her pace.

  “Joséphine,” he urged, his hands at her shoulders as though he would push her away. She resisted, redoubling her efforts, and was rewarded with a guttural groan as he stiffened, his cock twitching in her mouth. A burst of salty wetness landed on her tongue, then another and another, and she swallowed, stunned.

  Pulling her mouth away, she looked up at him. “Was that right?”

  He chuckled, despite his apparent breathlessness. “Oh, that was very right.”

  She got to her feet and stood before him, squeezing her thighs together. A slick wetness rolled between them. She bit her lip to keep from begging.

  He sat on the bed and reached for the buckles on his boots. “Unfortunately, there is nothing seductive about a man taking his boots off.”

  She laughed and climbed onto the bed behind him and reached for the cord that held back his hair. While he removed his boots, she freed his hair, combing her fingers through it.

  “Ignore the silver, if you would,” he chided, kicking his boots aside.

  Looping her arms around his shoulders, she leaned to kiss his ear. “I don’t mind it.”

  He turned and kissed her on the cheek, then stood and let his breeches fall. “Come on, into the tub with you.”

  She frowned. “I thought I would get my reward.”

  “You will,” he assured her. “As soon as you get in the tub.”

  The water had cooled some, but Joséphine thought the old housekeeper must have intended to scald her to death if she’d thought to force her into the water any earlier. It was pleasantly warm, but steam no longer rose from its surface. The currents of the water as it settled around her caressed her like phantom hands. Then, Julien stepped into the tub and seated himself behind her, and hands that were entirely real slipped beneath the surface. She arched her back as he ran his hands up her stomach to cup her breasts. Slowly, he traced a retreating path, letting both of his hands delve between her thighs, then back to her breasts once more. She rocked with the motion, and the water rocked with her, splashing onto the floor. Soon, she writhed under his touch, panting, even closer to begging than she had been before. Finally, she gasped, “Julien, please!” and he gave her what she desired, his fingers sliding into her cleft to stroke her aching bud in tight circles. She gripped his arms and squirmed against him, the sensation of his skin against hers, slick and wet, pushing her over the edge far sooner than she expected. Her body bowed, caught on the precipice of release.

  “Let yourself go,” he murmured, his fingers still swirling over her sensitive flesh.

  All it took was the tickle of his breath against her ear, the sound of his deep voice urging her to give in, and her body was forced to obey his command. She came, screaming his name, and collapsed against him.

  He climbed out of the tub, kissing her forehead as he did so, then helped her out and wrapped her in the linens left by the fire. Then, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to her bed.
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  If she had not been so exhausted, if she had been able to keep her eyes open, she would have asked him to stay.

  Chapter Eleven

  The days went by much faster than Julien expected. They settled into a comfortable routine. In the mornings, after breakfast, he would visit Joséphine in her room. Sometimes, they would be alone. Other times, Marie would be there with them, though he could tell that Joséphine didn’t care for those times as much as she liked to be alone. It was a necessary measure, on his part; if Marie was there, he could not forget that this was an exercise to help Joséphine secure the prince’s attention.

  And she would secure his attention, of that Julien had no doubt. In the weeks since she first arrived, Joséphine had gone from innocent maiden to practiced seductress. Her charm lay in her demeanor, and the fact that though Julien had watched her perfect each of her techniques, the enthusiasm with which she performed kept her from appearing too schooled. If any man could be with her and not fall in love with her, well, that man was a fool.

  In the evenings, they ate dinner together before retiring for the night. Although she still insisted that her virtue be preserved for her future husband, she had no reservations about letting Julien pleasure her with his hands and mouth.

  During the day, they saw little of each other, owing to Joséphine’s lessons with Madame Brujon. In these, she excelled, as well. When Julien took her to court, she would blend in as seamlessly as though she had been born in the palace.

  When. He knew the answer, but he did not want to face it. There was nothing left that he could teach her. The truth—that he wished to keep her for himself, all of her soft skin and warm smiles—was harder to face. There had been many nights that he would have been content to sleep beside her, burying his face in her golden curls and breathing in her scent. A few times, he had feared she would ask him to, and then they would both be lost.