by Lavinia Kent
“I wanted to marry the man I believed I knew.”
“And were you yourself with that man? You say that once you know someone, you try to act yourself. I cannot imagine having this conversation with that girl, the one who always looked at me as if I could do no wrong.”
Her eyes dropped to her lap, and again she wished she did not feel such the child with her feet swinging high above the floor. “No. I tried to be who you wanted me to be.”
“And is that not what you are still doing as you pretend to be willing to do anything I want?” He took a step closer.
“But I am willing.” That was the truth. She was willing—her reasons were just not those he knew.
“I suppose I phrased that incorrectly. I believe you are willing to do what you think I want, but so was that other you.”
This was the moment. She leaned forward, saw his eyes drop to her half-covered bosom. “Then why don’t you find out?”
His face clouded. “I thought we were done with this game.”
She smiled slightly. “I think you know better. The game is merely changing. I still want you.”
“But you are not willing to do anything I might ask.”
“It was not I who said stop.”
“No, but I could tell you were not truly willing. That you were not being honest.”
What could she say to that? “It would be hard for me to deny that I was uncomfortable with the situation. I have been honest all along that it is you I want.”
“And what are you willing to risk to get what you want?”
“What do you require? I am not willing to try another man, and I am not yet willing to risk my virginity.”
“I want something more difficult than that. I want to know if you are willing to let me see what you truly feel. If I ask you to do something, can you let me see how you feel about it? If you want to proceed with this game, I want no pretense between us. That is what I require.”
Could she do that? And was he actually prepared to proceed with their game? What had changed his mind? And if he was, could she really let him see into her deepest thoughts? She knew he had seen her pleasure and excitement the other night, and he had realized she was not happy earlier when Granderson was touching her. And she did want to continue; despite everything, she was not ready to give up. “I can try. I think you see what I feel whether I want you to or not.”
“I can perhaps guess, but I want you to show me, to hide nothing.”
She swallowed. “Again, all I can promise is to try.”
He inched closer, and even with her downcast eyes she could see the toes of his boots. He moved to the chair and took his seat, his feet set apart. “Should we try this again?”
Nerves curled in her belly. “Yes, but…”
“But…? Speak, and speak honestly.”
“But if I do this, if I try this, can you accept my honesty? Can you believe that I am not after a wedding ring?”
Chapter 8
Could he do that? Could he believe in her honesty? Could he trust? “I could perhaps believe that it is not your target, your goal. I have yet to meet a woman who truly did not want marriage.”
She rather expected he was wrong about that. She had known many women who did not truly desire marriage but saw no other opportunity. Life was not kind to a woman alone. “I have never said I did not wish to marry.”
“You merely do not wish to marry me?” He raised a brow, and she could see he was yet to be convinced. “Yet you wish to risk your maidenly virtue?”
“Did you say ‘maidenly virtue’? Somehow the phrase sounds most odd coming from your lips. And, yes, it is my risk. Why does it bother you so much? I am quite sure you have not always lived virtuously.”
“Perhaps, but the fact that I do not choose to always live virtuously does not mean I do not respect such behavior in others. You know that when we were courting I never pressed you for even a kiss.”
“I think I was the one who pressed for that kiss,” she sighed softly, her face pensive.
“And then you didn’t want any more. You seemed to shun my every touch. Perhaps that is why your sudden desire has me troubled.”
“I did want them. That first kiss was wonderful. I thought of it frequently. I still think of it. I just…” Her voice trailed off. “Just trust that I did want your kiss.”
She had made it clear that she wanted that first kiss. He could remember how he’d felt as her eyes stared into his, then dropped to his lips, then up to his eyes again—and then another drop. It had been impossible not to lean forward, not to press his mouth against hers—not to deepen the kiss, not to…
It had been one of most sensuous kisses of his life, despite its rather innocent nature. He’d left her that night, forced himself from taking things further, with the firm thought that he had found the one. Then she’d changed and he’d convinced himself that it was all an act, that as soon as she had the commitment of that kiss, she’d revealed her true nature.
Or perhaps she had been frightened by the passion of that kiss? That had worried him too. He had not wanted a woman who was frightened by passion.
Now he did not know what to think.
Who was Angela really?
And was he willing to find out? Was that why he was preparing to take this further, or was it simply that there was something about her that he could not resist? Did it matter? It seemed that he could not resist proceeding, could not resist her innocent charm combined with the promise of her curious eyes.
And then? That was a problem for tomorrow.
This was about tonight.
He leaned toward her, let his eyes focus on those breasts he had yet to touch, imagined their softness, their weight, their taste. He might not be ready to move quite that far until he understood more of what his angel wanted, but a man could dream. “Have I satisfied your curiosity?”
“Yes, you have answered my question, at least as far as you are able.” She bit down, her teeth moving across her plump lower lip, her breath growing suddenly shallow as she followed his gaze.
Good. He put thought aside, let his desires out. He sucked in a breath, letting his lips purse, imagining her ripe nipple between them—letting her see his need. “So if I have adequately answered your questions, I do believe it is your turn. You were going to show me just how honest you can be about what you feel.”
“If that is what you wish.” Her eyes finally met his, and he could see trepidation in them but also the returning flicker of rising desire. Her eyes said that she knew exactly what he was thinking.
“What are you feeling at this moment?” He would see if she’d show the honesty he needed.
She leaned back on her arms, reclining slightly, but held his gaze, although he could see the effort it cost her. She was far more timid than she wished him to know. “I am nervous. It is hard to imagine being honest about everything one is feeling. There are always things one would prefer to keep hidden.”
“That is not allowed. I want to know everything.” And he really did. And that tremor of nerves really was quite delightful. His prick moved against his leg, its interest growing.
“I have not refused. I merely admit that it makes me nervous, and I have come to dislike being nervous. I always like to think I know what is going to happen.”
Well, that certainly would not be the case in this little game. It was time for him to show some honesty. “I am afraid you will be disappointed, then. I do like seeing you on edge; I like it very much—and I truly think you will come to like it too.”
Her glance dropped and then rose again bravely. “I am trying to trust you, but it is not easy. I admit you have mostly been right about what I would like—except for Granderson. I did not like that at all.”
“Not at all?” He was going to push her as far as he could.
She closed her eyes for a moment, the lashes dark against her white skin, not looking at him as she spoke. “Not really. The touch was not bad, but I was always aware that it was not you.
”
“And you wanted it to be me touching you?”
She was quiet. She opened her eyes and stared at him. “Yes. I wanted it to be you touching me. I think I am willing to try almost anything if it is you.”
“That is a good start on honesty.”
She smiled slightly and the flush remained on her cheeks.
“And do you really like to please me?” He wanted to see if she recognized this quality in herself.
Her eyes dropped again. “You have chided me for doing things just to please someone, to conform to what society expects.”
“But this is different and you know it.”
She looked up, pulled a deep breath in, her breasts pressed hard against the still-loose bodice, straining against the delicate lace. “Yes, I like to please you. I don’t know why. You do not make yourself likable, and yet something warms in me when you smile with pleasure.”
He didn’t want to believe her. It would be so much easier to dismiss her from his thoughts if he could pretend that she lied, but he could not avoid seeing the honesty in her eyes. She did not like her answer any more than he. He forced the answer to his lips, even as his body rejoiced. “Good. None of this would work if you did not feel that way. Now, I think it is time to please me some more.”
“Whatever you desire.” Her lips trembled.
His already stiff prick grew even more at her words. “And what do you think I’d like?” He allowed his eyes to settle on the tops of her breasts.
She sat up straight and, bringing her hands forward, ran them over the tops of her breasts. “I think you like it when I touch myself.”
“I would say that is a good start.” He leaned back in his chair, letting his hips shift forward.
Her eyes darted to the flap of his trousers and then returned to his face. He smiled inwardly. If he had his way, he’d keep her blushing in that fashion the whole night long.
“And what would you like me to do next?” Her fingers continued to trail across the top edge of the bodice, just above the lace border. She moved slowly, very slowly.
He let his eyes follow the back-and-forth movement for a few moments, not answering.
The rate of her breathing increased as he did nothing but watch, watch and wait.
Yes, he did like her nervous.
“Lick your fingers,” he said. She brought her hands to her mouth.
“Do it slowly, deeply; imagine what else you might lick in such a fashion.”
Confusion showed on her face. Ah, she could be such a sweet innocent. It would be delightful to teach her, if he truly let things progress that far. It was so difficult to gauge quite how far he should let this go. He had meant it when he said he did not like the idea of stealing a maiden’s virtue. That was something that should be saved for a husband. He would never be responsible for sending a lady to ruin. Perhaps that was why he was so careful of traps. If it ever came down to it, his basic moral code would force him to do the right thing.
Still, given that they had not even touched each other yet, his thoughts were moving ahead of themselves. Perhaps that was the plan for tonight, to see just how far this could proceed without actual touching.
And then her tongue came out, and she licked the whole length of her index finger. He lost all sense of thought. Her eyes were on him; there was still question in them, but she was not a woman to do something halfway. She stroked her tongue along the finger, stopping and starting again.
He groaned, his mind filled with exactly how she could use that mouth, with exactly how it would feel to have her tongue trace along his cock.
Her eyes dropped to his lap. He moved and stroked himself through the fabric of his trousers. It was something, but not much. God, he wished it were her lips upon him.
He stroked again, outlining his length, moving his hand in time with her tongue.
Her eyes stayed on his lap; she caught the doubling of their rhythm, saw how he matched himself to her. He watched as understanding grew in her eyes, as color once again blossomed upon her cheeks. It was amazing what one could teach without saying a word.
“What do you want me to do now?” she breathed.
“Bring your wet fingers back to your chest; feel how different they are. Do you feel the coolness, the shiver?”
“Yes.”
And he could see that she truly did shiver as she touched herself.
“Push your bodice down now. Let me see those pretty breasts. Are your nipples red and puffy with need? Are they sensitive? Do they long for me?”
Her fingers trembled as they pushed the bodice down.
God, she was pretty. And, yes, she was red and swollen. His mouth ached with the desire to take her breast in, to suck and nibble until she cried his name. “Pull your breasts out over the dress. Yes, just like that. They look so good all pushed up. Now cup yourself; hold yourself like an offering. Show me how much you want me. Show me that you want me to admire you.”
Her small fingers curled about the ample flesh, cradling it, lifting it, offering it, as he had demanded. She kneaded herself gently.
“Harder,” he said.
She said nothing, but he could see the pressure of her fingers increase.
“Yes, squeeze, squeeze tight. Feel the weight, enjoy the silk of your skin.”
He pressed his hand hard against his length. Her eyes followed, dark and heavy. There was curiosity there as well as the growing warmth of pleasure. She liked this all very much. Even without touching each other, the moment was exquisite. “Tell me what you are feeling.”
“My breasts are swollen, as if they want to burst, as if the skin is too tight for them. They ache as they never have before—even the other night in the garden. It hurts when I squeeze, and yet pleasure shoots through me, deep into my belly. It makes me want more, but I don’t know what more is. And my nipples—they hurt when I press them, and yet they want more too. I do not understand and yet I do not care.”
“If they want to be pinched, pinch them; press them hard and hold.”
She did as he asked. He could see the sharp intake of breath, sense her holding it, as she pressed her fingers tighter and tighter.
“Let go now.”
She did but gasped again.
“Tight again. Now brush your nail across the tip—notice how sensitive you have become.”
“That feels so good. It is almost pain, but not. It is so intense, almost unbearable.”
“And yet you will bear even more, will you not?”
Her eyes came up to his. “If that is what you desire.”
He desired her on her knees before him, her lips open and ready—but that was not for now, that was for…Was he really considering…? Yes, damn it, he was. She had started this game and he would take it there, soon; if not tonight…He might not be ready to define where “there” was, but it would definitely involve her eager mouth about his prick. “And what do you desire, Angela?”
“I want to know, to know what it is I feel, to understand what draws me to you. I want this.” She pinched her nails into the red tips of her breasts, pulling them out toward him.
“Fuck,” he groaned, squeezing his fingers about his cock. If he wasn’t careful this would be over all too soon.
Her eyes dropped down again.
“Do you want to see?” he asked.
She bit down on her lip, the white teeth cutting into the pink flesh, but she nodded with surety.
He undid his flap, reached in, and pulled himself out.
Her lips parted, and a small gasp escaped her.
“Is it so different than you imagined?” he asked, stroking up to the tip, until a small drop of moisture escaped.
“It is the right shape, but I thought you would look more like the marble statues I have seen. It is much more…more colorful and larger, much larger.”
“Ah, what every man wants to hear. Perhaps that is the real reason that most statues have the penis of a small boy. It makes every man feel large in comparison.”
“I never thought it would be so dark. And it does look painful. Does it hurt?”
He tightened his fingers as he ran them up the shaft. “Only in the best way. It aches, but it is an ache that one could keep forever and still want more.”
Her tongue came out to wet her lips. “And that goes inside me—inside a woman?”
“As frequently as it is allowed.”
Her feet moved together. Her knees pressed tight. That edge of nervousness returned.
He started to increase the pace of his stroke, harder, faster.
She was pulling at her breasts with the same rhythm, whether she realized it or not.
“I am going to come,” he said.
She actually leaned forward.
He focused on a single ripe nipple, swollen and sore yet begging for more attention.
The pace increased.
Soon.
Soon.
He held back.
Then could hold no more.
—
She’d never seen anything like that. It wasn’t the actual action, although she’d certainly never seen that before either; it was the look on Colton’s face, the way his whole body had reacted. Every muscle had strained and tensed—and then suddenly relaxed, absolutely relaxed. And his face: It too had been full of strain and tension, and then—she hardly knew the words—then he’d looked at her as if he were seeing into another world, a world both beautiful and terrifying, a world of agony and utmost pleasure.
If she’d been unable to understand her own feelings as she played with her breasts, this was a thousand times that. It was intense. Intense and—again she found herself at a loss for words. Her thighs were damp; her breasts ached. It was hard to breathe.
She felt as if she had been through something, although all she had done was watch.
And had she been responsible for what had happened? Had she done that to him?
She watched as he pulled a cloth from the pocket of his coat and cleaned himself. A part of her wanted to offer to help. She wanted to feel him, to know the touch of his skin, the softness, the sweetness. A thousand questions formed in her mind, and yet she knew she would speak not a single one.
He looked up at her, his eyes hooded and heavy. “Well?”
