Chapter Twelve
CHAPTER TWELVE
NOTHSHIRE WAS DREAMING .
That was what he thought anyway.
Someone was in his bed with him, giggling as she tried to extricate herself, squirming her warm, soft flesh all against him. She was not really dressed, only wearing a shift, something he knew because he’d started exploring her body as she writhed and giggled against him.
She smelled like port.
It was a very realistic dream, he thought, wondering about the last time he’d smelled something in a dream.
She sighed, making a strange gurgle of pleasure. “Oh, do that again .”
He moaned. “It’s you, the viscountess. Of course it’s you. Of course I’m dreaming about you. They’re all damnably right and I do want you.”
“Mmm,” she said with a giggle. “Well, that works out nicely, then.” She stretched out next to him in the bed. “Take me, then.”
Definitely a dream.
“No,” he said in a low murmur. “No, what I’d do, if I could, my lady, is give, not take at all.”
“What does that mean?” she said, snuggling in against him. “You’re very firm, do you know that? Just… firm and… large.” Her voice had gone throaty. “At the ball, I was thinking about how large your hands were.”
Good dream, he thought, and he put one of his large hands around the soft, springy give of her breast.
She sighed in obvious pleasure.
He kissed her.
She tasted like port, but her tongue was a sweet and wet discovery as he claimed it. He kissed her long and hard and thoroughly, feeling her nipple pucker through her thin shift.
Oh, Christ, he was painfully hard. He shifted position, entwining their legs so that he could keep kissing her, keep toying with that little stiff peak of a nipple he’d just created and also drive the length of himself into the warm softness of her upper thigh.
She gasped when she felt it. “Oh, well, then,” she said. “ That’s very firm, too.”
He chuckled, kissing her nose. “Is it? Tell me more about what you think about that part of my body.” Because it was a dream, and he could pretend she was some sort of skilled bawd who would seduce him with her clever words.
“It’s big,” she whispered. “Bigger than Balley’s.”
“Of course,” he said. “I imagine he had an extraordinarily tiny prick.”
“Well… no,” she said. “But I don’t want to talk about him.”
“No, definitely not,” he agreed, kissing her lips again, plucking at her taut little peaked tip, rutting into her leg.
“Mmm,” she moaned, clamping her thighs around his thigh, the one he’d thrust between her legs. “Oh, that pressure there, that’s… oh .” She shivered against him, and her nipple got even harder.
“Yes?” he breathed. “That’s what you like?”
She started to press herself against him, the heat of her sex pulsing through the thin fabrics of both of their nightclothes. She went back and forth, making tiny little noises. “This… I used to do something like this with a pillow.”
He laughed. “Really?” This was a very strange dream, wasn’t it? Wait, this couldn’t be…
“Yes,” she panted. “Yes, and I didn’t know what it was, and my nanny found me doing it and I got in terrible trouble. I was probably eleven years old, maybe twelve. She said it was frightfully dirty and that I would go straight to hell if I did it again.” She began to move her hips more frantically against him, in little circles.
Oh, damnation, this was real. This was happening . He didn’t dream about… he didn’t know women used pillows or that they went at themselves like that, really, although that should have been obvious, what was wrong with him?
He needed to stop her.
“And I tried,” she gasped, her voice frayed. “To never do it again, I mean, but… well… sometimes…”
She was really enjoying herself, though, and he was enjoying her enjoying herself, and what was the harm really, if she gave herself a little release on his thigh?
She’s fucking drunk, he realized. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s going to despise herself in the morning.
He should stop her.
Oh, I can’t, he thought, cringing, putting his hand back to her nipple. “Does that help, then?”
“Oh, yes, please,” she gasped. “Yes, that’s very helpful.”
“Good, then,” he said, soothingly. “Good, then, you keep at this for as long as you need. I’m quite at your disposal, my lady.”
She moaned, a sound that was so erotic it went right to the root of his cock. No, you don’t, he thought at himself, even as his own hips were starting to move again, even as he was starting to rut into her again.
This is wrong, he told himself again, and usually, usually, he wouldn’t do things that were wrong, not unless he could convince himself that they weren’t actually wrong.
But was that really true about him? Was he truly some bastion of moral uprightness?
Fuck it.
He kissed her again. He touched her other breast.
She gasped and cried out into his mouth.
He ground himself into her, grunting. The wrongness of it was making him more aroused in some awful way. He was going to spend on her shift, get her nightclothes all ruined with his mess, and that was so wrong and so good that he nearly crested.
But then he stopped himself, because what if that would distress her and mean she couldn’t crest?
No, let her come, and then come all over her, he thought darkly. Christ, I think I hate myself.
She clutched at his nightshirt with one hand. “Oh, I didn’t mean to… get so distracted with this. This isn’t how it’s supposed to work.”
“This is exactly right,” he countered. “I think you’re doing a very, very good thing here.”
She giggled. “But… you want… your, um, your…” She giggled again. “Your prick must be disappointed,” she said, all in a rush.
“No, no, my prick wholeheartedly approves of this situation,” he said roughly. His brain and his soul, that was another story, but he seemed to be ruled by his prick right now.
“Oh,” she said. “When you say things like that…” She moaned, her hip movement going a little jerky. “It makes me feel…”
“I very, very much approve, my lady,” he breathed. “I want you to feel what you’re feeling.”
“I feel good,” she groaned.
“I want you to feel good,” he said. “I want to you feel as good as you possibly can feel. Be a very, very good viscountess and make yourself come, then? Hmm? Will you do that for me?”
“I… I don’t know what that means,” she gasped, and then she cried out in a tiny little voice, and he felt her spasm against him.
It was so overwhelmingly erotic that he drove his hardness into her twice more and spilled onto her.
She gasped.
“Fuck,” he groaned, already regretting it. Why was it that a thing seemed such a good idea right before one was about to have an orgasm, and immediately afterward, it was only horrific? I’m a very bad man, he thought.
“No, that was supposed to…” She reached down to touch the stickiness between them. “I needed that.” She sat up. “Can you do it again? Quickly? Because Balley sometimes could, and I can’t very well be gotten with child if you’re putting that on my leg.”
He sat straight up in bed and seized her by the shoulders. “With child? ”
She shrank from him.
He let go of her. He flopped back onto the bed.
She hugged herself. “I suppose I didn’t really explain myself, did I?”