by Lenora Bell
He took the glass and set it down. “Very well.” He finished his champagne and discarded his glass as well.
He kissed her then, positioning himself, still standing, between her thighs.
The effervescent, tart taste of the drink lingered on his tongue as he stroked inside her mouth. He dragged her bum to the edge of the bed and held her firmly against his hardness.
It must have been the champagne that made her part her limbs with barely any prompting. She’d forgotten that she wasn’t wearing any drawers.
Spreading her legs brought her in direct contact with that part of him which pressed against her naked, intimate flesh through his breeches.
In a rush of near panic, Alice’s stomach flip-flopped and she ended the kiss, pushing against his chest to stop him.
She pressed her knees closed.
She wasn’t ready yet. Not yet. Maybe never.
Maybe this was all a dreadful mistake.
She wasn’t a seductive, worldly Lady Rake. What had she been thinking?
It was all well and good to wear French lingerie and no drawers, but she was beginning to realize that a few chapters of an ancient erotic text and some bawdy anecdotes from one’s friends did not a sophisticate make.
“Did you know, my lord,” she said in a rush, “that champagne began as a still wine of a rosy hue? The cold winters halted fermentation entirely until the warming of spring produced bubbles, much to the monks’ consternation. Why, even into the seventeenth century, winemakers endeavored to exorcise that characteristic effervescence! It wasn’t until—”
“Alice,” he broke in.
“Yes?”
“Is anything the matter? You seem distracted.”
“If you must know, I’m rather flustered by you and by the thought of what is to take place upon this bed.”
“Of course you are, Dimples. That’s only natural. But you needn’t be frightened. I’ll do nothing against your will . . . and everything to please you.”
He teased her lower lip between his teeth gently, kissing the corners of her mouth before moving to her neck.
She tilted her head back to give him access, but her mind wouldn’t stop churning. “While I have conducted a thorough inventory of my person, from pate to toes and everything in between, I’m not at all sure that I understand how my person is supposed to accommodate your person and whether it won’t at first be very painful and whether I might not like it as much—”
“Alice.” He placed his hands on her cheeks, framing her face. “While I enjoy hearing your every thought, and your every thought is a unique revelation that no other lady could possibly express, there is a point at which language becomes superfluous.”
Language was never superfluous. “You can’t mean we are to be completely silent while we . . . that is . . . during the act of congress.”
“Not completely silent. Short exclamations of the imperative variety and breathy moans are encouraged. The words Yes, Nick, right there and Oh God, yes, don’t stop are allowed.”
“Oh.” Alice blinked rapidly, absorbing this new information.
Not supposed to talk?
Then what was she supposed to do? “But language, my lord, is how I make sense of the world. But if you request me to refrain from speech, I shall. If it’s the sensible thing to do in these . . . situations.”
His smile widened. “Do you ever do anything for a reason other than ‘It’s the sensible thing to do’?”
She thought about that for a moment. “No.”
“You never let emotion carry you away.”
“Never.”
“This is going to be quite a challenge. But I’ve always loved a good challenge.”
He ran a hand down the center of her gown.
“I’ve never seen wrappings like this on a gown,” he said, sliding a finger beneath one of the crossed layers. “Are there buttons somewhere?”
“Hidden hooks.”
“Mmm . . . another challenge.”
He had her bodice undone in seconds flat, and a large hand burrowed beneath the fabric, sliding across the edge of the corset. He opened her bodice and inhaled sharply, his gaze traveling over her mounded bosom and the scarlet silk corset.
“What’s this, Dimples?” The expression on his face was almost one of pain.
She’d made yet another error. “You don’t like it?” she asked, biting her lip.
Chapter 19
Some women enjoy themselves with closed eyes in silence, others make a great noise over it, and some almost faint away. The great art is to ascertain what gives them the greatest pleasure, and what specialties they like best.
The Kama Sutra of Vātsyāyana
“Ungh,” said Nick.
He couldn’t seem to form a coherent sentence. The sight of her full breasts shaped into a mounded offering, spilling over scarlet silk, had stolen all words away.
Holy hell. He needed a moment to steady his breathing.
He hadn’t been expecting her to be dressed like a high-priced courtesan under that schoolgirl gown.
The lady was full of surprises. Always toppling him off balance, wrenching him away from control.
“I knew this was a bad idea.” Alice attempted to draw her bodice back over the corset. She lowered her large, aquamarine eyes, and dark lashes fanned across her cheeks.
“No,” Nick said, holding her arms at her side. “It was a very, very good idea. I was only caught off guard for a moment. I thought your undergarments would be as sensible as you are.”
“You don’t know everything about me, my lord.”
“Apparently not.” And he liked every new curve she threw his way.
Every luscious, rounded, tempting curve.
“Let’s see the rest of it.” He peeled her dress down her slim hips, lifting her off the bed to remove it fully. He pitched the gray cotton into a corner. She wouldn’t be needing sensible gowns any more.
He might keep her in this corset for the next month.
Holy Mother of God. It just got more mouthwatering.
The boned corset ended at her natural waist, and a short, sheer shift barely hid anything below. He could even make out the patch of dark, curling hair over her sex. Below, her limbs were encased in rosy pink stockings held up by scarlet garters trimmed with fine lace.
Nick appreciated a woman in sensual lingerie.
Hell, she was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen.
Prosaic, pragmatic Alice from Pudsey.
Somehow she’d transformed herself, and it wasn’t because of the silk and lace, although that was a nice addition; it was the tempting look in her sparkling turquoise eyes as she watched him soak in the sight of her in the scandalous garment.
“I’m glad you like it,” she breathed, her lips curling into another coquettish smile.
He needed to regain the upper hand here.
Couldn’t have her thinking he was a lusting beast whom she could bend to her will with a few scraps of silk and some lacy garters.
He stepped back a pace. “Undo your hair,” he commanded.
Her eyes widened, but she obeyed, reaching around and deftly removing her hairpins, shaking her long, wavy brown hair over her shoulders.
Catching a handful, he brought her lips closer and drank his fill of her strawberry-and-champagne lips.
Damn, he was hard as the champagne bottle and he felt nearly as thick.
Slowly, so as not to startle her, he inched her knees apart with his legs until he was standing right where he wanted to be, in between her long, shapely limbs. Dipping his head, he captured one of her nipples between his lips and lapped greedily.
She laid a tentative, questing hand on his head, showing him that she approved.
He’d known she would be a quick study. Known without a shadow of a doubt that she’d be responsive and passionate, once her sensuality was awakened.
Although he could have licked and sucked her breasts all evening, there were other erogenous areas that required hi
s attention.
He lifted his head, and she made a soft, moaning noise of disappointment that nearly demolished his control.
He dropped to his knees in front of her. She immediately snapped her knees closed.
Sable lashes shaded her cheeks. He couldn’t read the emotion in her eyes, but he imagined it was half trepidation and half curiosity.
He reminded himself that she was innocent, despite her bold garments.
He placed his hands on her silk-covered knees. “Do you have dimples in other places, I wonder?” he teased. “Perhaps here?” He stroked the backs of her knees, and she squirmed.
“Ticklish?”
“Stop.” She laughed. “I’m terribly ticklish, my lord. Fred used to torture me so when we were children.”
“Nick,” he growled, losing another inch of control. “From now on, you call me Nick.”
He needed to taste her now, and his lips were on the perfect level.
He flipped the hem of her shift over her hips and she gasped, squirming in his hands.
He held her firmly above him; he wasn’t letting her escape. He blew on the silky, soft curls between her thighs, and her breath caught on a surprised squeak.
“Wh-what are you doing, my lord—I mean, Nick?”
“Spread your legs,” he ordered. “I never eat sweets, but tonight you’re my dessert.”
“I—I . . .” she stuttered. “I don’t know if I can. It’s awfully embarrassing. I surmise that you are about to . . . attempt a form of congress, with your mouth, but I must say that when I imagined our coupling, I hardly guessed this—”
“Do not surmise, guess, extrapolate or translate,” he said sternly. “Don’t even think. Just obey. Spread your legs, Dimples. Now.”
She parted her thighs one inch. Then two. He slipped in the middle, finding his treat, holding her by the bum as he delved into her salty-sweetness with his tongue and one of his fingers.
Control yourself. Nice and slow.
Nice and easy.
Prolong the pleasure.
“Don’t be ashamed,” he whispered, against her thigh. “Your body is beautiful. You are exquisite.”
She was still tense, still not allowing herself to enjoy his caress.
Her stomach muscles clenched. “I feel so exposed.”
“You are exposed.” He parted the lips of her sex, reveling in the curves and spirals of her. “I can see you, the heart of you, and goddamn, Dimples, you’re so fucking beautiful.”
“Nick! You can’t say that to a lady.”
He didn’t apologize. There was something about the contrast between her innocence and her questing mind that shattered his control.
He followed words with his lips and tongue, worshipping her, working her. Bringing her closer. Her knees trembled on either side of his head. She was straining toward climax but holding back.
“This is made for pleasure.” He touched her sex with his tongue. “Your whole body is made for pleasure. Let yourself go. Don’t fight it, breathe deeply and jump. Like it’s a river, a rushing, swollen river after a rain, and you’ll be swept away.”
God, he loved women. Their softness and their sighs.
The delicate flavor of them on his tongue.
This could take an hour. Sometimes it did.
He could do this all night. He loved tasting Alice, and listening to her breathing hitch and stutter.
She’d gone quiet for once . . . maybe for the first time in her life.
He focused on listening to her body; when she trembled, he followed the small movements, and when she tensed, he stopped until she quieted and he placed his fingers on her belly and reminded her to breathe.
He hadn’t thought the idea of being her very first lover would be so exciting, but it was.
She trusted him enough to give him this gift.
He would make this so good for her.
He flicked his tongue lightly over her, only the softest touch.
“Yes, Nick.” Her fingers tangled in his hair and she pressed his mouth between her thighs. “Right there.”
He smiled against her intimate flesh. She’d followed his instructions about the words she was allowed to use.
Which deserved a reward.
He gave her exactly what she requested.
Hard and fast and steady.
Until her fingers clenched in his hair and she climaxed in a tremor and a quake of clasping thighs and soft belly and gasping moans.
Nick moved onto the bed with her, gazing down with a rush of masculine pride at his flushed and dimpled wife.
“Oh, my.” She grinned widely. “That was highly educational.”
She’s happy and satiated. I made her happy, his heart chirped like a damned songbird.
Nick decided he had a new goal in life.
Making Alice come, so he could see that approving smile and those delighted dimples.
You’re hired, Alice thought, and nearly burst into laughter.
She flopped back on the bed, unheeding of the fact that he was still between her limbs and she was still exposed and naked.
The flood of pleasure had left her boneless. Senseless.
She had definitely chosen the right gentleman for the task. At least ten of her questions had been answered.
She’d touched herself before, and he’d touched her in the gallery, but she’d never felt such nearly violent, utterly overwhelming sensations.
She was still floating in the voluptuousness of it, carried downstream in a sun-warmed river, kicking lazily with her feet when the current faltered.
Nick rose and lifted her into the center of the bed, settling next to her. He shrugged out of his shirt. She placed a palm over his heart, as she had earlier, but this time he was naked under her fingers. Naked and warm and hers for the exploring.
The simple pleasure of touch.
The voluptuousness of skin on skin.
She’d been translating a passage from the Kama Sutra about how women experience pleasure in different ways than men.
She wanted to know how Nick experienced pleasure.
She could feel his stiff length jutting against her thigh.
She rolled to her side, facing him, and slid her hand to his breeches flap.
He froze.
She took a deep breath. “Let me see your cock.”
“Alice,” he moaned against her neck.
“Or am I not allowed to say things like that?”
“You are most definitely encouraged to say things like that.”
He tugged his breeches and smalls over his hips, and his tool sprang free, looking very pleased to make her acquaintance.
A thick, long affair with a purplish cap, smooth and silky to the touch. Tentatively, she drew her finger along the length.
His breathing quickened.
“Did you know that there have been whole cultures formed around the worship of the phallus?” she asked. “Travelers to the jungles of Angkor have met hermits who describe whole riverbeds carved into hundreds of lingams as a tribute to the Hindu gods Shiva and Vishnu.”
“I did not know that, Dimples,” he said in a strained voice. “Are you making an anthropological study? Or do you mean to give this phallus his proper devotion?”
She curled her fingers around the base, watching for signs that he approved. She remembered Aunt Sarah’s last piece of advice. “It’s so large.”
“Are you . . . awed?” he gasped.
“Very.”
He closed his eyes and thrust into her hand, which she took as a positive sign. “How does one . . . er . . . What does one do with it?”
He wrapped her fingers around him, showing her how to stroke.
Up and down. Around the head, and back down. He was hot and stiff beneath her fingers.
“You can finish me like this, if you want,” he said, with his eyes closed and his stomach muscles straining. “We have weeks. This is enough of a lesson for one night.”
“But we are newlyweds and must consummate t
he marriage. Though I’ve no idea how such a thing will be accomplished given your girth and my lack thereof.”
He rolled on top of her, pinning her to the bed with his body.
She felt him nudging there, between her legs, hard and insistent.
She tensed her muscles, waiting for the pain to arrive.
He smoothed his large palm over her belly and dipped lower, his finger connecting with her still swollen flesh.
“Oh.” She jumped under his hand.
He stroked her and it began to feel nice again.
“That’s the way of it. Breathe and relax.” The blunt, hard tip of him pressed deeper, and she couldn’t help contracting her muscles.
He was so large and she was so small.
But she could feel and see, when she lifted her head and glanced between them, that he was gently and slowly burying more of himself inside her.
He was raised on one elbow above her, his hand stroking her, his thumb making small half moons over her sensitive flesh while he sank deeper into her with each breath she drew.
“It’s never perfect the first time between new lovers,” he said. “There’s a certain amount of exploration involved. But we’ll learn the way of it. We’ll find our rhythm.”
He stretched her further, and groaned, deep and low in his throat.
She fell back against the pillows, her lips brushing one of the velvety rose petals he’d strewn across his bed for her.
She breathed deeper, consciously relaxing around him.
She bit into the pillow, stifling a cry.
He stopped moving. “Is it too much? I’ll stop, Alice, if you want me to.”
Smoothing her hands down his sweat-slick back, she shook her head. “Keep going.”
He thrust deeper, filling her to bursting. “You’re so beautiful, Alice. I want to stay inside you forever.”
Forever was a long time.
They didn’t have forever.
He moved more swiftly, strong thrusts that pushed her higher on the bed, and stretched her wider.
He dipped his head and closed his lips over her nipple.
His hand slipped out from between their bodies and he sank against her, suckling her breast while he pumped faster.
“Ah . . . Alice. So. Good.”
