Dukes of the Demi-Monde

by Felicia Greene

  ‘No. I—I can understand the principle.’ Lydia smiled. ‘I do not understand the link between me, and—and this.’

  ‘It is simple.’ Arthur brought his other hand to Lydia’s face; Lydia felt his fingers tremble imperceptibly as he touched her face. ‘I look at you, like this. Or I look at you clothed. I look at you anywhere, doing anything… and I dream about you touching me. I dream of me touching you. Feeling your pleasure, hearing it, seeing it.’ He paused, sighing harshly as Lydia stroked him again, more boldly this time. ‘And I grow hard.’

  ‘I see.’ Lydia looked down at Arthur’s cock in her hand; at the strange majesty of it. ‘Does this happen every time you—’

  ‘Every time I look at you? Yes.’

  ‘What about other—’

  ‘Other women? No.’

  ‘You finish my sentences.’

  ‘Because if I am silent for too long, I worry that my body will move more quickly than my reason.’

  ‘That you will—’

  ‘Yes.’

  Lydia realised, with a small shock of pleasure, that she rather wanted to see Arthur lose his reason. Her body, however, refused to be ignored.

  ‘We do not grow hard.’ Her voice shook a little as she ran her hand along Arthur’s shaft, learning the shape of him. ‘We… I…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I am hot. Hungry… wet.’ Lydia whispered the last, shameful word, wishing there was another way to say it. ‘Tingling.’

  ‘When you look at me?’

  ‘When I think of you.’ Lydia laughed shakily. ‘When I look at you, it is worse.’

  ‘In the alley—’

  ‘I would have done something unconscionable.’ Lydia took a deep breath, sighing as she pressed her lips to Arthur’s shoulder. She needed the reassurance of his skin against hers. ‘I would have insisted you ruin me. The need was too great.’

  ‘I would have taken you there.’ Arthur bent his head to Lydia’s hair, breathing in the scent of her as Lydia shivered with pleasure. ‘Right there and then. Thank God I stopped myself.’

  ‘I cannot thank anyone. I know I should, but I cannot.’

  ‘I can.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we are here, now, in a house with a single, sleeping servant, with all the time in the world.’ Arthur brought his hand to her chin, pushing her face upward. His stare sent a sweet, trembling shock through Lydia as he spoke. ‘And I will not need to worry about your health, if you assure me that you feel well.’

  ‘The only thing I am worried about is my—my hunger.’ Lydia leaned closer, needing him; needing his lips, his mouth on hers. The kiss he gave her was too light; designed to tease her. To drive her mad. ‘I don’t know how to stop it.’

  Arthur looked down at her. There it was again; that tiny, crooked smile that made her heart jump. ‘Let me teach you. Let me try.’

  ‘Please.’ Lydia gasped as Arthur’s cock twitched in her palm. ‘Because if I—if I am not helped, or guided, I fear I will burst into flames.’

  ‘Water will calm fire, I think. Prevent accidents, at least.’ Arthur’s smile widened. ‘We can bathe together. Unless you already feel clean.’

  ‘I could—I could remain here for at least a day, if you were with me.’ Lydia bit her lip, astonished at having said something so redolent of a brothel. But then, she was naked and caressing her lover in a decidedly intimate manner—if ever a situation called for carnal language, this one did. ‘A week.’

  ‘We would probably need food after a week.’

  ‘Martha would probably still be sleeping. We could go for supplies daily.’

  ‘Why don’t I join you now, and we see how we feel?’ Arthur brought his hand to Lydia’s own, gently freeing her fingers. Lydia fought a stab of frustration; now that she had touched him, she didn’t wish to stop. ‘Questions of survival can wait.’

  ‘I have been waiting for this for—for what feels like years. An eternity.’

  ‘Good.’ Arthur paused, his smile fading a little. ‘Then you know a shade of how I have felt, waiting for you.’

  Before Lydia could fully examine what he had said, he began to get into the bath. Lydia stepped back as far as she could, suddenly very aware of Arthur’s size and strength, water rippling against her knees as she took in every inch of him.

  ‘You see?’ Arthur’s hand cupped her face, its roughness delightful against her damp skin. He sat down. ‘I fit.’

  Lydia didn’t have a perfect knowledge of how the act of love occurred, but even she could hear the double meaning in his words. The idea of it—of him inside her—sent a strong, wicked thrill through every nerve in her body.

  ‘This tub seems slightly too small.’ Her voice shook. ‘Very small.’

  ‘It is perfectly adequate.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel perfectly adequate.’

  Arthur’s eyes glinted with humour. ‘Would you like me to get out?’

  ‘No.’ Lydia shook her head. ‘I… I simply do not know how to position myself.’

  ‘Astride me.’ Arthur’s hands moved gently to her thighs, stroking along their curve. ‘Sit astride me.’

  ‘Can… can such a thing be done?’

  ‘Why don’t you try?’ Arthur gestured to his broad thighs, his hard cock, with a raised eyebrow. ‘All you need to do it sit.’

  ‘But I…’ Lydia didn’t quite know how to express her reticence. She wanted to be claimed, but not at this exact moment—not when his nakedness was so new. ‘I do not know how to—’

  ‘And you do not need to. Not now.’ Arthur’s hands on her waist were so comforting, even though his touch was light. ‘All you need to do is sit.’

  He was always so reassuring. How did he manage to make her feel as if everything would be alright, despite the situation? Lydia, smiling at her own silliness, slowly moved to sit astride Arthur as the hot water reddened her skin.

  She gasped at the feeling. Her softness against his hardness, her skin against his, was the most thrilling thing she had ever felt.

  Arthur tensed against her as she moved. ‘Jesus.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Lydia looked at him, suddenly anxious. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘You are wet, and naked, and—and grinding against me.’ Arthur gritted his teeth as he settled his arms against the side of the bath, his fingers gripping the copper. ‘Everything is entirely too right.’

  ‘Should I do something?’

  ‘No.’ Arthur smiled, breathless. ‘Let me calm myself.’

  ‘I do not wish you to calm yourself. I am not calm in the slightest.’ Lydia sighed as she curled against him, the obscene stiffness of Arthur’s cock rigid against her. As she moved her hips, trying to help him, his shaft slid wickedly against her intimate flesh. ‘I—oh, Lord.’

  ‘Yes. Exactly.’ Arthur spoke with apparent difficulty. ‘Refrain from doing that. Don’t do it yet, at any rate.’

  ‘But it feels so—’

  ‘Divine.’ Arthur’s stare was deliciously direct. ‘I know.’

  The only reasonable response was to kiss him. Kiss him with all of her strength, all of the hunger she felt at the base of her stomach, growing wickedly with every passing moment. She was so tempted to disobey him, to grind against him—it was as if her body had taken the reins, commanding her, practically ensuring that she rebel…

  All thoughts, of rebellion or otherwise, faded as Arthur’s hands moved to her breasts. His rough hands moved over her sensitive skin with slow, expert skill, learning the feel of her, making Lydia whimper with pleasure as his fingertips found her stiff, reddened nipples.

  ‘Oh, goodness.’ She spoke quickly, breathlessly, shivering with bliss at the feel of his hands. ‘That makes it very difficult to stay still. Nearly impossible.’

  ‘I have been dreaming of your breasts ever since I first saw you.’ Arthur’s words were a low, sinful growl as he gently pinched her nipples; Lydia bit her lip, a high cry caught in her throat. ‘Dreaming of how they’d feel.’

&n
bsp; Lydia wanted to reply. Wanted to express to him how remarkable it felt for her as well; his hands, his brazen possession of her. But before she could find the words for such a sentiment, Arthur bent his head to her breasts with a soft half-smile on his face.

  Lydia gasped, astonished, as he kissed her breasts. His mouth was infinitely more sinful than his hands had been; he made love to her with his lips, his tongue, drawing a symphony of half-ashamed cried from Lydia’s throat. When his lips closed over her nipple, pulling in slow, rhythmic tugs at her swollen flesh, the pleasure at her core was so strong as to be undeniable.

  ‘Ohhh.’ Lydia sighed reverently as she moved her hips. Arthur’s cock slid along her entrance once again, deliciously hard against her yielding centre. ‘Now you are being cruel. It is as if you—ah!—you wish me to fail.’

  Arthur didn’t answer. Lydia felt his teeth gently graze her flesh; shivers of pleasure ran through her as one of his hands gripped her hip. Yes, let him hold her there—hard enough to mark her. Hard enough to hurt.

  She rolled her hips again. This time Arthur’s hand was there to guide her—there to heighten the pleasure. Lydia sighed at the feel of him, her breath echoing with disbelieving laughter as she ground against him once more.

  She was being scandalous with Arthur Weeks. They had managed despite everything. All the hardship, all the misfortune that she had faced, only made this moment of sin all the sweeter.

  A particularly slow, deep grind of her hips had Arthur raising his head from her breasts. ‘You tempt me too much, Miss Holt.’

  ‘If all I do is tempt you to more pleasure, I am more than content with my station in life.’ Lydia bent her head, kissing him—how abundant she felt. A palace of pleasures, for Arthur Weeks to explore. ‘Especially if it leads you to—to—’

  ‘To what?’ Arthur brought both hands to Lydia’s breasts, squeezing them. It was as if he couldn’t keep himself from touching her, from giving her pleasure, and Lydia was more than glad to receive it.

  Now that she was on the point of saying it—of begging for him to claim her—shame overcame her. Lydia bit her lip, looking down as she struggled to speak. ‘You—you know full well what I wish you to do.’

  Arthur’s teasing smile was impossibly handsome. ‘Until you say it, Miss Holt, I am forced to do things that will only make it more unbearable.’

  More divinely unbearable than this? It was impossible—completely impossible. Lydia shook her head, her damp curls slipping from their pins. ‘You are far too sure of your own powers.’

  ‘I am not sure of anything. Not when it comes to you.’ Arthur thrust his hips; Lydia gasped, trembling, as he came obscenely close to entering her. Oh, if he could only move another inch… ‘But I can make some educated guesses.’

  ‘I shall not say a word.’

  ‘Then you force my hand, Miss Holt.’ Arthur leaned forward, kissing her with soft, teasing mastery. ‘You force my hand.’

  Lydia trembled as one hand left her breasts, stroking along the curve of her waist to her hips. Gliding over her flesh with lingering pleasure, his touch worked in tandem with the movement of the water to send shivering ripples through her skin. Downward… still downward…

  ‘Oh, Lord.’ She sighed the words as Arthur’s fingers stroked her mound, the water adding an extra layer of illicit pleasure as he gently parted her flushed, waiting lips. ‘I…oh.’

  He was in her. He was touching her, caressing her, in a way that no man ever had—in a way that even she never had. So gentle, so patient—as if he were frightening of hurting her, when all Lydia felt was the opposite. Quivering atop him, searching for his mouth with sudden, ardent need, Lydia moaned into the kiss as Arthur’s touch grew in boldness.

  ‘Tell me if I hurt you.’ Arthur’s low voice thrilled through her lips.

  ‘You—you cannot hurt me, like this.’ Lydia laughed, sighing as she squeezed her thighs together, forcing Arthur’s fingers deeper inside. ‘I have never been further from being hurt.’

  ‘For some women, it is—’

  ‘I have heard that it can hurt. But I have been horse-riding since childhood.’ Lydia bit her lip, sighing with pleasure as she rose and fell on Arthur’s fingers. ‘You see? I am adept at riding.’

  ‘My God.’ Arthur’s fingertips curled in her; Lydia cried out with pleasure as sparks flew through her core. ‘What are you? You cannot be human.’

  ‘I do not know what I am.’ Lydia paused, biting her lip as a deep shudder of pleasure ran through her. ‘I only wish to—ah!—be capable of pleasing you.’ She gasped as one of Arthur’s fingers left her. ‘In… in any way I can.’

  ‘It is not your job to please me. It is your job to please yourself. Now which feels better? One, or two?’

  ‘Which is more correct?’

  Arthur’s smile warmed her. ‘The one that gives you the most pleasure.’

  ‘Two.’ Lydia writhed in pleasure as Arthur obeyed, her inner walls tightening around his fingers. ‘But—but it feels greedy to ask.’

  ‘You have asked me for nothing, yet.’ Arthur ran his damp thumb along her jaw, kissing her as he stroked inside her. ‘How can you ask for nothing, and think yourself greedy?’

  Lydia stared at him, unable to answer the question. It was how she lived her life; asking for relatively little, and feeling unacceptably indulgent for doing so. Now, faced with everything she had ever wanted, she realised that boldly asking for what would please her most had brought her more bliss than she had ever dreamed of.

  ‘Where have you gone?’ Arthur’s fingers curled in her again, his voice deep in her ear. ‘Come back to me.’

  Lydia leant against his shoulder, her lips on Arthur’s neck, her hands moving around his back in a tight, breathless embrace as his fingers began to move deeper. Deep, so deep… oh, how strong the sensations were, a tight, pulsing firework of pleasure at the meeting of her thighs, ready to explode at any moment.

  She was ready for something larger than his fingers. Not just ready—desperate. How had she been so reticent before, looking down at his cock?

  ‘Mr. Weeks.’ She whispered in his ear, tightening around his fingers as he moved in her. ‘I… I am no longer frightened of the next step.’

  ‘Let us stay a little longer on this step.’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But I—I am so close.’ Lydia moaned piteously as Arthur curled his fingers; it was like lightning in her body, potent and dangerous. ‘I do not know what I am close to, but I am close.’

  ‘And you’ll reach it here.’ Arthur kissed her hungrily, the head of his cock pressed firmly against the tight cluster of nerves near Lydia’s entrance. The more Lydia rolled her hips, the more her body rewarded her with quick, savage bursts of pleasure through her core. ‘I promise.’

  ‘But I cannot finish if you do not—ah!—finish.’

  ‘Yes you can.’

  ‘But I do not want to, without you!’

  ‘Tough.’ Arthur moved to her neck, his fingers driving deeper still as his teeth grazed her skin. Lydia cried out, helpless as the sensations grew stronger still. ‘Because I want to come inside you, in a bed, fucking you.’

  The filthy words broke something in Lydia; some deep-seated tension she hadn’t known she was carrying with her. With a low, shivering cry that moved through every nerve and bone she had, she arched her back as her pleasure burst into a thousand, shining fragments.

  Was this what sin felt like? What scandal felt like? She should have done it from the first. She should have pulled Arthur to her as soon as she had seen him, taken him to the nearest private place and—

  ‘There, there. You’re not finished yet.’ Arthur’s fingers moved over her bud; Lydia gasped, trembling, as another explosion rocked her. ‘You see?’

  Lydia could only nod weakly, closing her eyes as another climax overcame her. She could see everything, if Arthur was there to show her. Waves of bliss ebbed and flowed, slowly sending her into a deep, dreaming calm.
>
  Exhausted, breathless, she lay panting against Arthur as he stroked her. His large, rough hands were impossibly soothing as they caressed her back, her shoulders, bringing her back to herself with every slow, patient movement.

  ‘Time for bed.’ Arthur rose; Lydia cried out weakly as he lifted her, taking the weight of her with complete ease. ‘I have tired you out.’

  Bed. Arthur’s words came back to Lydia; the muttered wish he had whispered in her ear as she had found completion. I want to come inside you, in a bed, fucking you.

  ‘I think I will need a little time, before we resume.’ She sighed happily at the feel of his arms around her; she was weightless, floating, ripples of pleasure still moving through her. What he had said… oh, what a help it had been in those final, frantic moments. ‘What you said—’

  ‘Pay no mind to what I said.’

  ‘But you said…’

  ‘I said something that cannot reasonably be performed.’ Arthur kissed her forehead, his gentle tone masking something. A melancholy, so deeply-hidden that Lydia didn’t know how to access it. ‘Think no more of it.’

  ‘But it…’ Lydia bit her lip, not knowing if she should say what she felt. It was so intimate, so craven, that it almost didn’t feel right to say it. ‘It… helped.’

  Arthur paused, holding her in his arms. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The sensation. The—the explosion.’ Lydia looked down, wondering how to express it best. ‘Your words… they fuelled it.’

  Arthur’s stare burned into hers, fierce and soft in equal measure. Lydia, staring back, gently brushed the tip of her nose against his.

  It didn’t ease the tension. If anything, it made the passing seconds seem even more meaningful. Biting her lip, Lydia hurried to correct herself.

  ‘I—I should not have said such a—’

  ‘You can say anything you like, and that was a—a wonderful thing to hear, Miss Holt.’ Arthur leaned to kiss her, holding her as if she were no weight at all. As if they could stand there forever, naked and holding one another in a rapidly cooling bath. ‘But you must lie down. You must rest.’

  Rest. Arthur hadn’t planned on rest—he hadn’t planned on anything that had occurred, in all of its shocking pleasure. Lydia’s cries, Lydia’s sweet, soft murmurs in his ear, the feel of her in his arms… oh, it was so much better than he had ever dreamed.