Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
P hoebe was shocked to say the very least.
She had never seen a man without his shirt before—except for those statues of Greek gods and heroes. She had never thought that any man could look so good outside of their clothing that for a moment, all she could do was gasp .
That one small sound had been enough to catch the topless man’s attention—which now led to her being pressed up against the wall, her lips being plundered so fiercely that all she could do was moan and do her best to kiss him back.
Well, I have been wanting him to kiss me again. I certainly am not complaining when he does it out of his own free will!
As she threw her arms around him, anchoring herself to his more stable, solid male hardness, she could feel his hand boldly drifting from her head to her neck and down to her shoulder. Lower still, until it settled on the curve of her hip where she felt his fingers digging into the voluptuous flesh.
His lips trailed hotly down her neck. When his warm breath fanned across her already heated skin, Phoebe let out a slight shudder.
“Temptress,” he whispered huskily against her skin. “Do you have any idea how you torment me so?”
She let out a soft, breathy laugh. How could she—the gangly, awkward Townsend sister—ever be deemed a temptress?
But she found that she could not form the words as his hand had climbed up from her hip to her ribcage, his thumb drawing lazy strokes on the underside of her breasts.
“Charles…” she whispered feebly, her voice trailing off into a surprised moan when she felt his hand upon her breasts.
“You have been a very naughty girl, my dear,” he growled. He rubbed the turgid peak of her nipple and Phoebe arched with a soft cry, wantonly pressing her chest into his hand.
Beneath her fluttering eyelashes, she could see his lips curve into a roguish grin that was so very different from the cold and stoic Marquess she thought she had married.
“You shall learn what it means to cross lines,” he rasped against her skin, as he continued to tease and torment her breasts through the thin barrier that the fabric afforded her.
Phoebe had never been touched so boldly, so scandalously in her entire life. She had wondered all throughout what it entailed for a man to take liberties with a woman—her Mama had been woefully inadequate in her education in that department—but she found that she was enjoying having Charles as her tutor.
And she would prove herself an apt student, no doubt. Phoebe had always felt that whatever she lacked for in experience, she could make up for with a burning desire to learn.
And burn, she did.
Shyly, she allowed her hand to explore the terrain of muscles that corded at his neck and shoulder. She laid her hand upon his chest and was pleased to feel his heart thudding wildly beneath her palm—clear evidence that he was just as affected in his fierce domination of her.
She lightly traced the outline of his flat male nipple, awed once more by the vast differences in their bodies. He let out a low growl, his fingers squeezing her soft flesh in reflex.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked him, her eyes wide in concern.
He laughed harshly. “On the contrary, my dear, I find that you please me so, so much…”
Whatever reply Phoebe thought she would be capable of mustering in the face of such praise was swallowed up when his lips returned to hers.
However, this time, his kiss slowed to a silken caress. A sensual seduction. A slow unraveling of her mind and inhibitions.
How was it possible that he could evoke the same response merely by shifting his method of attack? Phoebe could not answer that—all she knew was that she was adrift in a sea of sensation, her body aching for more of his touch.
And that dull, delicious throbbing between her legs… it was the most gloriously scandalous thing she had ever felt in her entire life!
Her eyes still closed, she felt Charles reach down and lift one of her legs to drape it over his hip. That one movement drew a breathless gasp from her, and she ached all the more.
Oh, how she ached in that deliciously tantalizing way that she could not explain!
“Charles,” she pleaded against his lips. For what exactly, she did not know.
But he seemed to understand, for his smile was knowing as he gazed down at her. His brilliant eyes seemed to know just what she wanted. What she needed from him.
“Keep your leg raised for me, sweetheart,” he instructed her.
Phoebe nodded. “Yes, but I do not understand—”
She sucked in her breath when his hands bunched at her hip and began to slowly draw her clothes—robe and shift and all— up . She felt the cool draft hitting her calves…and then higher still to her knees and right up to her thighs.
She had never felt so exposed. So vulnerable.
She shut her eyes and started to turn away from Charles, but he only laughed hoarsely.
“Keep your eyes on me, sweetheart,” he urged her softly. “I will be damned if I do not see your eyes as I pleasure you for the first time.”
She frowned at him. Pleasure her?
But I suppose that undressing is part of it , she thought to herself.
She had heard of scandalous trysts and in many of them, couples were found in various stages of undress. Back then, she had never understood why .
Now, she had some idea of it.
Perhaps Charles meant to undress her, too. As to how he was going to pleasure her, she was still at a loss—but dear Lord, she wanted him to.
She needed him to. Desperately.
“Have you ever touched yourself, sweetheart?” he asked her as his fingers trailed higher along her thigh, sending tendrils of sensation skittering from the base of her spine to fuel the aching throb between her legs. All of this while his hand encompassed her other breast, his thumb gently caressing her nipple.
“No,” she admitted, biting down on her lower lip. “I cannot say I have.”
He looked pleasantly surprised at her confession and his smile seemed to soften for a fraction of a moment before his eyes glinted devilishly in the lamplight.
“You will need to hold on to me,” he warned her. “It can be a bit unsettling at first.”
Phoebe laughed nervously. “Is it the same for men and women?”
It was a question borne out of genuine curiosity. She was not so obtuse as to not notice the vast differences in his body and hers.
“I cannot say,” he replied to her with blunt honesty. “But I have been told it can be overwhelming for one untried.”
Untried —that word sparked something within her. It reminded her that while this may be her first time, she could hardly expect this to be his. It would simply be unrealistic.
The education of a gentleman on such matters was quite different from that of a lady.
It is a good thing that at least one of us knows what they are doing , she thought pragmatically.
It would have been wonderful if her Mama had been more forthcoming in that area, but unfortunately, Phoebe—like all well-born young ladies—found her education in that area extremely lacking…
But Charles was proving to be an exceptionally good tutor and Phoebe was determined to learn everything that he was willing to teach her.
And more.
Charles was holding on to his restraint by a mere thread.
Phoebe was proving to be more passionate and responsive than he had ever imagined, even if she was an innocent in the act of consummation. Her little moans and mewls fueled him, leading him almost to the brink.
And she had not even touched him yet.
Not in the manner he had been fantasizing about, no—but the feel of her warm, supple body pressed against him was absolutely maddening. It was only his sole thought of making their first intimate act as pleasurable as possible for her that kept him from tearing at her clothes like an uncivilized beast.
He kept his eyes on her, watching her face for the slightest change in her expression as he slowly drew her shift up her bare leg. Her eyes were wide as they looked up at him trustingly, her kiss-swollen lips parted slightly as her breath came out in soft pants.
She made no move to stop him, only looked at him with bated breath, her eyes wide with curiosity and dark with a desire that mirrored his own.
Slowly, he inched his fingers over the smooth skin of her legs, trailing over the generous curve of her hip, before finally reaching the downy thatch of curls between her legs.
“I am going to touch you,” he told her in a hoarse voice. “If it gets unpleasant for you… let me know.”
She nodded and he could feel her shiver slightly in his arms. This particular room had always been a bit drafty and her clothes were as thin as a spider’s web. Still, her skin radiated a warmth that burned through him.
He slipped his fingers into the folds of her center and nearly groaned when he found her wet. Phoebe let out a sharp gasp, her fingers curling reflexively into the bunched muscles of his shoulders.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked her warily.
She shook her head and let out a shaky laugh. “Dear God, no . I…oh, please—do it again…”
He smiled as he moved his finger in a smooth stroke that ended with a slight swirl around that little bundle of nerves, reveling in the soft moan that escaped her lips.
“Good God!” she breathed.
Charles could only laugh hoarsely in reply. The sight of her beginning to unravel in his arms, pressed against the wall, was something he wanted engraved into his memory.
She was desire personified. An innocent temptress learning of pleasure for the first time—he never thought that he would find it so seductive.
Now, he doubted that there was anything in this world more tantalizing.
Urged by her favorable response to his initial ministrations, he began to move his hand against her in earnest. He stroked her intimately, slipping into her slick petals and caressing the bud of pleasure in her center. His control slowly slipped from his grasp as he felt her grow wetter, heard her moans growing louder.
It is fortunate that no one should be out in the estate at this hour , Charles thought to himself wickedly, as he devoted his efforts solely to Phoebe and her burgeoning release. His sweet wife was rather vocal in her appreciation of his skills in the art of pleasure, and he himself found great pleasure in her soft cries.
“Do you like it, sweetheart?” he whispered into her ear. “Do you like the way I touch you?”
Phoebe’s fingernails were digging into his skin, but at that point, he did not care if she drew blood.
“Oh, sweet heaven, yes!” she moaned, her head tilted back. “Yes… yes… !”
He chuckled as he continued his ministrations. His skillful fingers delved deep into her center, relishing in the knowledge of what he was doing to her.
That he was the only man who had ever touched her thus.
He could sense her coming release in the way her hips thrust to meet his hand, in the way her moans came out more rapidly in breathless gasps. But his Phoebe was much too innocent to know what an orgasm was.
“Do you feel it, sweetheart? Do you feel the pleasure building in you?”
She looked at him for a moment with dazed eyes and then nodded.
He smiled. “Good girl. Now, I want you to let go. Do not hold back,” he told her softly. “Let it wash over you. Surrender to it…”
He had barely finished his sentence when she threw her head back, her lips falling open as a throaty moan rose from her throat. Her hips thrashed wildly as she cried out. She shuddered slightly before she went limp in his arms.
“Dear God in heaven, what was that?” she murmured as she wilted into his embrace. “I…I do not think I can use my legs right now…”
Her warm brown eyes were nearly black in the lamplight, her thick lashes falling over them as she let out a soft sigh.
Charles chuckled as he put an arm under her knees and swept her off the ground easily.
“Then I shall take you back to your bedchamber,” he told her. “You have had quite a night, and you need to rest.”
She let out a soft yawn and looked up at him sleepily. “But what about you?”
He gave her a smile that was somewhat pained. “I…need to take care of something else.”
Specifically, the hardness that was now straining most uncomfortably against his breeches.
Maybe one day, he could teach Phoebe how to please him, too. If she pleased him any more than she already did, he just might expire from an overindulgence in carnal desire.
Not that he minded that, in the very least.
Charles shook his head as he carried her limp body out of the trapdoor. Her head had already rolled onto his shoulder, and he heard her let out a satisfied little sigh in her sleep.
One day, he might be able to open himself to her. He could not recall being so vulnerable with anyone else before—nor had he ever considered it.
But not tonight.