Lady Be Bad

by Megan Frampton

  No wonder that poet had tried to capture this moment in words, but there were no words—no articulate ones, at least—that could properly describe what she was feeling.

  He raised his mouth and stared down at her, a triumphant expression on his face. “You like that, do you?” he asked, his thumb flicking at where her nipple poked up from her gown.

  “You know I do,” she replied honestly. Because he knew she would want the Lemprière, what kind of adventure she craved, how she wanted to be touched. That she wanted to be touched, not just tolerated from afar in a white gown.

  His smile deepened as he lowered his mouth to her neck, kissing the area where her shoulder began. Biting the tender skin, then soothing the bite with a swipe of his tongue.

  She held onto his shoulders, her head leaning back. Her breasts ached, and she suppressed a moan as his mouth moved from her neck to the upper area of her chest, pushing aside the fabric of her gown.

  His fingers moved up to the top of her breasts, the palms of his hands finding her skin and stroking it.

  Then he straightened, and she let out a soft noise of disappointment, only to exhale in surprise as he leaned her back on the table. Remarkably like Polyenos and Chriseis, if she was recalling it properly.

  Her knees dropped over the edge, her whole back resting on the hard wooden surface. She was acutely aware that she was laid out in front of him, her chest rising and falling with her rapid breath, her feet dangling toward the floor.

  He didn’t move for a moment, his gaze traveling over her face and body with a ferocity that made her breathless. As though what he’d been doing hadn’t been enough to rob her of breath in the first place.

  “You are so lovely,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

  She couldn’t doubt his sincerity, even though she didn’t think many would agree with him. Now was not the time to point out that she had brown hair, blue eyes that didn’t work so well, and a figure that was rather more than fashion would like.

  “Thank you,” she replied. “You’re rather stunning yourself.”

  And he was, of course. She was grateful she had put her spectacles on, because it meant she could see him in all his glory, from that sun-streaked hair to the intent green eyes, to his long arms and lean, rangy frame.

  His legs were likely as long as her entire self, or so it seemed to her.

  But she couldn’t do the calculations on that, not now, not when he was bending over her again, his legs nudging hers apart so he could stand between her thighs, leaning over her, his hands sliding over her breasts, his fingers finding her taut, aching nipple.

  “I want—” she began, then bit her lip as she thought about what she wanted to say.

  “I do too,” he replied with a grin. He did, didn’t he?

  That she could answer, thankfully.

  He lowered his mouth to her skin, his fingers pushing the fabric of her gown free. It felt as though the fabric might tear, but at this moment, Eleanor did not care. She wanted his hands on her, wanted his mouth to kiss her, not just on her lips, but wherever they could reach.

  And then the fabric didn’t tear, it eased down and he let out a groan as he saw her breast pop out from the gown.

  He licked his lips as he regarded her, and it felt almost—almost—as though he’d actually put his mouth on her.

  But then he did do precisely that, and the truth of how it felt was so much more than just a look.

  His lips closed around her nipple and he sucked, gently, his hand on her other breast, rubbing and plucking as he tormented the hard, aching flesh.

  She heard herself moan, and she squirmed up against him, feeling his hardness against her, imagining what it would look like if someone were to draw a picture of them at this moment. As erotic and delicious as one of the pictures in that book. Alexander and Eleanor joining Hercules and Dejanire and all the other illicit lovers.

  Her lying on the table, her legs wide, his body planted between them, his head buried in her chest, his hands touching her skin, his hair falling forward to tickle her.

  Her hands were in his hair, holding him to her, not as though he seemed reluctant to leave. He took his mouth off her and blew air onto her nipple, and she moaned again, only to swallow the noise as he took her breast in his mouth again. His tongue licking and sucking, making trails of heat all along her skin.

  And then he drew back and looked at her, his gaze heavy-lidded and so filled with want, and he leaned forward again to kiss her, his hands now sliding down her body, pulling up the skirts of her gown to rest on her thighs.

  His hands were on her bared skin now, his palms rubbing up and down her legs as he kissed her, his tongue a welcome assault in her mouth.

  And then she heard him groan, and her whole body felt as though it was quivering, and she wanted all of it, everything she’d seen and read in that book, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled his chest onto hers, the weight of his body a satisfying pressure.

  But not satisfying enough, not for right where she could feel him lying against her.

  “Please,” she said, hoping he’d know what she was asking for when she wasn’t even certain.

  “It would be my pleasure,” he murmured, sliding down her body, his hands trailing over her skin. He got off her, and the table, making her utter a low noise of dissatisfaction which turned to a sigh as he put his hands on her legs, his fingers moving up, pushing the skirts of her gown up to her hips. Lying wantonly on the table, not caring in the least. Because he had her where he wanted her, and she was where she wanted to be as well.

  She was exposed, all of her, in front of him, and she could feel how she was wet down there, and wished she was ladylike enough to be embarrassed about it, but she wasn’t. Not when she was so interested in what was going to happen next.

  “I need to,” he began, only to stop speaking as he placed his mouth on the inside of her thigh, his fingers holding her open to him. Every part of her was open to him now, her emotions, her wants, her desires, her whole self.

  And he licked her, dragging his mouth on her skin to the juncture of her legs, sliding over so she could feel his warm breath right there, right where she was moist and wet and longing for him. Well. She hadn’t seen this happening in that book, but she couldn’t deny it was what she wanted.

  “Please,” she said again, putting her hands in his hair, twisting on the table as she waited for whatever it was he was planning on doing.

  And then she cried out as he placed his mouth on her right there, greedily licking and sucking on her until she didn’t know if she could stand the pleasure.

  Could one die of pleasure? And why hadn’t the book covered that, if it were possible?

  He raised his mouth and blew on her, making her shiver. He chuckled at her reaction, raising his head to look in her direction.

  “I want to see you come apart for me, Eleanor,” he said, his fingers digging into the soft skin of her thighs. Her whole body shrieking for him to stop talking and resume doing what he was doing, only she didn’t know the words for what it was he was doing, nor was she entirely certain she could speak words in the first place. “Will you come for me, Eleanor?” he asked as he slid his thumb over to that sensitive spot he’d been kissing before. His thumb began to move, rubbing in an erotic circle that made her moan.

  She could see his satisfied smile, and then she couldn’t see his face anymore because he’d buried it once more between her legs, his mouth and thumb working together now, heightening the pleasure.

  Every part of her was focused on that spot right there, the spot he was touching, and kissing, the spot that made all other thoughts fall away.

  Her fingers were clutched in his hair, and she had to bite her lip from screaming her pleasure. Until—until it felt as though she were about to reach the top of a hill, and then his tongue did something, she wasn’t sure what, and she reached the summit, a wash of pleasure coursing through her.

  “Aaah,” she moaned, bucking under h
is hands, which were smoothing her skin. Touching her there, only more gently now, as though knowing how she felt.

  Her entire body felt suffused in it, in the joy of what he’d done to her, and she lay on the table boneless. Knowing that if anyone should happen to walk in she would be completely and entirely ruined, far worse than Della, even, but not having the energy to care. More than that—it was worth it, to feel this kind of overwhelming feeling. This was what she’d wanted, even though she hadn’t known it. But he had.

  “Eleanor,” he said at last, sliding up to lean over her body, dropping his mouth to kiss the sensitive spot under her ear—not that she’d known it was sensitive until just this moment—licking her neck, his hands gently putting her back into place.

  “Oh,” she sighed. “That was—that—oh,” she said again.

  She heard him chuckle as he dropped a final kiss to her mouth, a soft, sweet reckoning, then straightened, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breaths.

  And she couldn’t help notice there, there where the fabric of his trousers stuck out, where that thing was that seemed to be the focal point of so many of those pictures.

  Was it as large as the rest of him?

  That was not a question she should be having, she thought hastily, even as her mind was calculating just how big it was, given the angle of the fabric. And it was most definitely not a question she should ever find the answer to.

  He put his hand on his chest, directly on his heart, and he reached forward with his other hand to pull her upright.

  “I hadn’t imagined,” he began, then shook his head as though he couldn’t finish. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes ablaze with what she knew was want. Desire. Passion.

  “Me neither,” Eleanor said with a smile, her fingers reaching up to smooth back that lock of hair. Her body tingled with awareness of what he had done, and where he had touched, and it didn’t feel wrong, even though it absolutely should, given everything. “But what about—?” And she gestured vaguely toward him, feeling her face heat. As though now was the time she got embarrassed, which was ridiculous given everything that had just happened.

  He shook his head. “I’ll be fine. It was worth it to see you. You are gorgeous when you climax, Eleanor.” He reached up to touch his mouth, licking his fingers. “You taste gorgeous too.”

  Oh, goodness. That was nearly as erotic as all the rest of it, watching him slide his fingers into his mouth to savor her taste.

  Her breath caught, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him, off his mouth, off his fingers that had done such wicked things to her.

  And then he smiled and reached forward to slide the fabric of her gown back down over her legs, and she could breathe again.

  “Thank you for the present,” she said with a wry smile.

  He grinned back at her. “I’ll make certain to give you presents every time we meet, if that is the reaction.”

  And then they both laughed, entirely comfortable together, even though they shouldn’t be. Couldn’t be, if their respective family’s plans were to remain intact.

  “Well, that was intriguing. Overwhelming, almost,” Eleanor said, reaching out to take Alexander’s hand and scooting herself off the table to stand in front of him. Her skirts fell back down to a respectable height, and she regretted she wasn’t still lying on that table while he continued doing what he had been to her. Perhaps if it had continued she could have done something to him as well.

  Not as though she didn’t know what those things were, thanks to the book.

  Now that she knew more of what the poet was talking about, firsthand, she discovered she was looking forward to the translation.

  Plus it meant she could spend more time with him.

  Until it all ended.

  Lady Eleanor’s Good List for Being Bad:

  Explore.

  Chapter 17

  Alex sat back down in the chair opposite her, wishing he were less of a cad—which would mean he wouldn’t have touched her in the first place—or more of one, which would mean he’d be continuing what they started to the inevitable end.

  Anything but this in-between area, guilt warring with desire inside his head.

  His cock was hard, throbbing with the need to thrust into her wet warmth. Perhaps he should have accepted Lady Vale’s offer, although he already knew there was only one lady he wanted to fuck. And she was seated opposite him at this table, a lady clad in the white of her virginity, not to mention she wasn’t supposed to be his at all in the first place.

  He would just have to suffer.

  “It’s not your fault,” she said, suddenly. As though she were reading his mind.

  “Isn’t it?” He spread his hands to indicate the two of them, alone in this room. “It is not as though you have a reputation as a powerful seductress.”

  “Hardly,” she said ruefully.

  “I didn’t mean,” he began, only to stop speaking when she chuckled without humor.

  “I know you didn’t. I know that somehow you believe me to be lovely, as you said earlier.” And then her cheeks started to turn pink, only now he didn’t find the color appalling in a chaise-longue way. Because it only made her prettier.

  “You are. Anybody who says you aren’t is lying,” he said in a fierce tone, forgetting he shouldn’t be speaking to her this way. Touching her that way.

  “Then why does your brother have to have you woo me? If he cared at all, he would do the job himself.”

  He wanted to, but he didn’t, really. He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t want to get to know you. He sees you as an obligation. But he couldn’t say any of that, not without betraying everyone in the situation.

  She shook her head, speaking before he could come up with some sort of reply. “That part doesn’t matter, really. Because all of this”—and then she gestured between them, and he knew just what she meant—“keeps happening, and somehow I don’t want it to stop. Even though I know it’s wrong.”

  “I don’t either,” he said, admitting it to himself as much as to her.

  “So what do we do about it?” She regarded him from behind her spectacles, the glass of the lens making her large eyes seem even more enormous.

  He’d like to see her wearing only her spectacles. So she could see all of him.

  “I haven’t fulfilled all the parts of our bargain,” he said. Watching as her cheeks turned even pinker.

  “You haven’t?” She sounded breathless again, and he felt his cock twitch in response.

  “There is more,” he said, raising his eyebrow, “and there will be no guilt. On either side.” Even though there was, on his side. Because he did love his brother, but his brother—didn’t love her.

  And Alex was nearly certain he did. He nearly stumbled at the thought.

  Dear god, he’d done the worst possible thing he could have: fallen in love with the woman his brother was supposed to marry.

  His beloved brother who was only trying to do what was right; when all the time Alex was doing what was wrong.

  But it wasn’t wrong. It felt right, even if nobody but he and Lady Eleanor thought so. And he was as blunt in action as he was in speech. Which left him no choice, given how he felt about her.

  “What do I get out of it?” she asked, tilting her head and giving him a sly smile.

  “More of this,” he said with a grin.

  “Oh,” she said, her tongue darting out to lick her bottom lip. “Oh,” she said again, her chest rising more rapidly.

  “And the gambling den too?” she added, a mischievous expression on her face.

  “Absolutely. I promised to help you find your joy, Eleanor. I am going to do just that. All of it.” And he didn’t dare think of the future. He wouldn’t allow himself to.

  He hadn’t thought this through, hadn’t thought any of it through, but from the expression on her face, it didn’t matter. It felt right.

  He was doing what he’d promised to do, and she would continue knowing what joy and pleasure there was
to be had in life. It would be enough. It would have to be enough. For both of them.

  He stretched his hand across the table, holding it out for her to shake.

  She laughed, then stuck her hand out as well. “To our bargain, then,” she said. “When do we continue?”

  That was a much better question than, “When do we end?” This question he could answer.

  “Tonight.”

  “But why aren’t you wearing white?” Pearl asked in a soft voice.

  Olivia glanced at her twin, then at Eleanor. “Perhaps she needs a change,” she replied in a knowing voice.

  The chances of Olivia keeping Eleanor’s rebellion quiet were slim. So slim she doubted anyone at the gambling den she’d be visiting later that evening would take her up on the wager.

  “Needs a change from what?” Pearl asked, looking confused.

  Cotswold glared at Eleanor, daring her to answer her sister’s question. Cotswold hadn’t known all the details, of course—if she had, she’d currently be sitting on top of Eleanor refusing to let her out of her sight—but she had agreed to let Eleanor have her adventure, since she knew as well as Eleanor did that it would be only temporary. That it wouldn’t cause a permanent scandal.

  But that didn’t mean Cotswold had to like it.

  “A change.” Olivia emphasized the word with all the enthusiasm she could muster.

  “I might have told our mother that I wanted to make my own choices in life,” Eleanor said in a deliberately low tone. “And tonight I am going to a place that young ladies usually do not. It isn’t entirely respectable, but it’s not unrespectable.”

  And that was the most prevaricating she thought she’d ever done.

  “Huzzah!” Pearl yelped, making all three of the other ladies in the room stare at her. She blinked at them in confusion. “It is just that—well, if you can’t do what you want, then what are the chances we will be able to?” Pearl continued in a much-softer voice. “What would happen if Olivia or I fell in love with someone our parents said was unsuitable? Would we have to just walk away from love?”