Chapter 9 #2
Flicking briefly through the present book, she gathered that all the illustrations were similar: Captain Henri with a range of half-naked women eager to embrace him in different positions, some even spreading their legs to expose their most intimate portions.
That peculiar shaft appeared in most of them too, although sometimes it appeared to have vanished when he lay upon the women.
As she grew more accustomed to the salacious material, Rose decided that Captain Henri himself was not so very attractive, with his blond hair, whiskers and uniform.
The Duke of Ravenhill was far more handsome…
She closed the book and returned it to the shelf before selecting Lessons in Love from the Venetian Contessa.
Everyone kept telling Rose that she still needed to learn, and the title implied some kind of educational content. Perhaps this book would finally tell her what she needed to know. Opening it, Rose found the story of Lord Basington, a young Englishman on his grand tour of Europe.
It was written in the first person in an open and confessional style, with Lord Basington admitting in the introduction that “until I met Contessa Teresa Barbarigo, I was as innocent of the world and its lusts as any young maiden,” and noting further that “at the age of one-and-twenty, this was no longer a virtue but a condition urgently requiring remediation…”.
Rose felt immediate kinship with Lord Basington and an interest in his story as well as the same physical response that the story of Captain Henri had aroused in her.
Out of curiosity, she flicked ahead to the first illustrations and paused there.
The hero of the story had dark hair and a clean shaven face which pleased her far better than the blond and bearded naval officer.
By the third picture plate, where a bare-breasted Venetian countess was undressing the young man, it also became clear that Lord Basington possessed the same strange shaft at his groin as Captain Henri.
Did all men have this feature? If so, why did it not show through their clothing?
Or was this only some literary metaphor or joke that Rose didn’t understand?
With a sense of daring, Rose touched the picture with her fingertips. The young man on the page was darkly handsome and well-built with broad shoulders, narrow hips and sturdy thighs. Did Dorian Voss look like this when undressed, she wondered? Her own curiosity on this subject shocked her.
“Have you found something you like?” asked a deep and resonant voice, making Rose physically jump in surprise and slam the book closed.
She blushed guiltily, feeling as though allowing herself such an indecent thought about her new husband had actually summoned him.
“I was hoping to find some of Duchess Juliana’s poetry but I couldn’t,” Rose told him quickly, putting the book behind her back and hoping she could set it back on the shelf and escape before he realized what it was.
How embarrassing if the duke were to see what she had been reading! Already blushing under his gaze, her cheeks began to feel as though they were on fire.
“I don’t suppose you would, in this particular section of the library,” he remarked and Rose saw amusement dancing once again at the corners of his mouth. “Let me see what you did find.”
“No, it is nothing. Really, it is too silly…”
He reached out his hand and Rose skipped away to the side as she tried to excuse herself, only making him laugh.
“Dear me, you look a little hot and bothered, Rose. Is it really that bad? I cannot imagine it will shock me. Come now, let us look at your book together.”
“Dorian!” Rose exclaimed as the Duke of Ravenhill lightly swept her off her feet and brought her onto his lap on the green leather armchair.
There she wriggled helplessly for a moment between his strong arms, her own hands instinctively rising in defense and producing the book before the duke’s eyes.
“Lessons in Love from the Venetian Contessa,” he read aloud with a raised eyebrow and a smile. “Did you like it, Rose? You need hide nothing from me. I consider this library yours now, as much as mine, and I am the last man alive to judge you for wishing to read an erotic story.”
Dorian’s breath was warm on Rose’s face and the scent of his skin was heady in her nostrils, overlaid with his usual woody cologne.
Inhaling it seemed to inflame her cheeks and her heart further but there was presently no physical escape.
If he wished to hold her there, he could.
She had to admit that the warmth and strength of his body were not unpleasant.
Pressed so closely to him, Rose could even feel the rumble in his chest as he spoke.
His voice was teasing but not unkind and she supposed that he spoke the truth.
Books such as these were likely nothing to a man like Dorian Voss.
It occurred to her that there was likely nothing in any of them that he had not done himself.
“I did not know what kind of books they were until I opened one,” Rose told him. “I was shocked at first. I have never seen anything like this before.”
To her consternation, the duke leaned in and kissed her hair lightly at one temple, breathing in her scent as he did so and causing Rose’s own breath to catch in her throat in a sound that was almost a whimper.
“I would not suppose otherwise,” he said, kissing her other temple. “Still, you have not answered my question. Did you like the book, Rose?”
Rose could not help wriggling again although she was no longer really thinking of escape, only bewilderment at the sensations in her own body.
“I only just began this book when you came in,” she whispered. “I liked it better than the first one I saw.”
“Which book was that?” Dorian whispered in her ear, his tongue flickering lightly there.
“The one with Captain Henri and all his different wives,” Rose admitted, feeling now as though her entire body was blushing. “He was not so handsome as Lord Basington and I did not understand some of his story.”
Her husband laughed softly and reached up a hand to caress Rose’s face, as though confident now that his captive would not attempt to break loose without restraint.
“Well, if you like the opening of Lord Basington’s tale, then let us read further together,” he proposed and took the book from Rose’s unresisting hands. “Had he met his contessa before I interrupted you?”
Rose nodded and the duke’s lips brushed hers lightly as he flicked through the first pages, stopping at the third illustration when Rose nodded again. Dorian regarded the scene on the page with deep interest and then looked back at Rose.
“I believe that Contessa Teresa’s breasts are not half as beautiful as yours, Rose,” he observed. “Did you know that?”
She gave an involuntary squeak as the duke’s hand lightly brushed her bosom through the blue wool dress and explored the buttons at its front. A moment later he was deftly unfastening them with only one hand and then opening her bodice completely.
“Do not be afraid, Rose,” he assured her. “I would do nothing you do not enjoy.”
Her breasts now naked and fondled gently in Dorian’s warm hand as he began to read from the book held in his other hand, Rose could only moan her understanding.
Why did feel so good to be touched by this man, even in this indecent manner?
At this moment, she could not imagine how anything he did could be less than enjoyable.
“‘…until that moment, I had not realized the physical effect that contact with the beauties of a naked woman would have on my own…’” the Duke of Ravenhill read aloud and laughed softly under his breath before kissing Rose again, deeply this time, his tongue briefly demanding admission to her mouth.
When that kiss ended, Dorian was breathing as hard as Rose but still continued with the story, which had now reached a point where Lord Basington and his bewitching contessa were both naked on her great four-poster bed.
“…when she opened her thighs, I saw for the first time the greatest charm and source of delight that a woman possesses and a man desires…” he read aloud.
“Oh Dorian!” Rose moaned, squirming with pleasure and confusion.
Having left her well-caressed breasts, the duke’s hand had slipped down to very deliberately stroke Rose’s leg through her dress and then slide underneath its hem.
Ankle to knee and then further up Rose’s thigh, Dorian’s fingers slid over her smooth stocking, past her garter and then came to rest on the nest of golden fur between her thighs.
“The greatest charms and source of delight that a woman possesses and a man desires,” he murmured into Rose’s ear before capturing her lips again in a luscious kiss. “How lovely you feel here, Rose. How soft and wet and womanly.”
The Duke of Ravenhill’s fingers were now actually running the length of her humid slit, dabbling inside folds that felt swollen and sensitive to his surely-improper exploration, and then deliberately caressing the swollen nub at the top.
Rose could feel her body grown every bit as soft and slippery as her husband described.
What was he doing to her? Rose did not know but it felt wonderful, and shocking and her breath was coming in rhythmic pants and moans.
“How pretty your sweet face looks right now, Rose,” Dorian told her, his voice sounding lower and rougher. “Shall I carry on reading? Do you want to hear of Lord Basington’s first mounting of a woman and Contessa Teresa’s enjoyment of his vigorous young body?”
Rose writhed with pleasure on her husband’s lap, feeling something hard now beneath her hip. Was this the strange organ that both Captain Henri and Lord Basington possessed? Would the duke take it out and show it to her?
Ever stronger thrills passed through Rose’s body as Dorian continued his intimate stroking. It felt as though two of his fingers were actually somehow inside her now, even while his thumb kept up its regular motion on that one impossibly pleasurable spot.
“Or would you like me to stop?” he suggested teasingly, making Rose cry out in incoherent protest and turn pleading eyes to her husband’s handsome face. “Tell me what you desire, Rose.”
What did he want from her? The ever-more prominent swelling rubbing against her summoned back the image of Captain Henri and his Spanish wife.
I cannot wait…You must give it to me right now…
Rose shuddered, almost choking on the sensations flooding her body.
That was what her husband wanted. He wanted her to say something like Lucia, to ask for whatever it was that Captain Henri had provided.
Yet Rose had sworn not to ask Dorian for anything, hadn’t she?
She could not surrender to him now, however much she wanted to.
With a loud series of cries, gasps and whimpers, a crescendo of ecstasy overwhelmed Rose and made any further thinking impossible. The duke peppered her hot damp face with kisses until she grew still in his arms and then withdrew his glistening fingers.
“Oh God, what was that?” Rose sighed. “What did you do?”
“That was perfect,” rumbled the duke, his face smiling but hungry. “More than perfect, for a first time. I think we will find some consolation in our marriage. When we do, you will have even greater pleasure.”
He kissed Rose’s lips once more and then stood, placing her carefully back in the chair, and returning the book to her trembling hands. Rose was too dazed yet to offer any comment although she would rather he had held her a few moments longer.
“Stay and finish your book,” he instructed, his voice a strange mixture of wolfish growl and human good-nature. “You will not be disturbed. It is better that I leave you now, lest all my good resolutions be undone by your charms.”
Before the Duke of Ravenhill turned away, Rose had the chance to glance towards his groin and observe the straining of fabric from whatever was seeking to escape its bounds.
After his footsteps died away, Rose looked down at her own breasts. Were they really as comely as the duke had said? Lifting them in her own hands, she felt their roundness and weight for herself and shivered with the memory of his touch.
After a moment, Rose slipped a hand under her skirts and hesitantly touched the soft, wet place between her thighs. She could not recall ever finding her intimate parts in such a strange state before. Dorian had somehow done this to her - but what exactly had he done?
Withdrawing her hand, she picked up the book again. Perhaps Lord Basington could enlighten her further…