Chapter Forty-One
Yihui had never guessed sex was this much fun. At least not for the woman.
Max clearly enjoyed himself because he was grinning as he eased up the bed alongside her. He still wore his breeches, blunting the hot thrust of his cock against her thigh. But he did not rush her while she lay basking.
“Thank you,” she said as she raised her hand to touch his lips.
He pressed kisses to her fingertips. “I enjoyed that as much you,” he said.
“I do not believe you.”
He chuckled. “Well, maybe not quite as much.”
She lay there thinking she should adjust on the bed to give him enough room. Good lord, he hadn’t even taken off his boots.
She sighed as he pressed kisses onto her shoulder. Then she did her best to imitate his mother’s most officious tone.
“It is rude to reject a gift freely given.”
He jolted hard enough to jerk the bed. Then she watched in delight as his face shifted into the most gloriously insulted frown she had ever seen.
“I have never met a woman more determined to be debauched!”
She rolled her eyes. “No man is this virtuous. Not even the monks. There must be a reason.” Then she winced as he moved, and his boot accidentally kicked her shin.
He saw it, and all but leaped off the bed.
“I am sorry! How badly did I hurt you?”
She sat up, not bothering to cover herself. “If a man squeezing my toes cannot destroy my feet, then the scrape of your boot can do nothing. Take the things off. You are getting mud in my bed.”
He immediately pulled his feet off the bed then peered at the linen. Was he looking for stains? “Max, what is the matter with you?” Then her gaze suddenly widened as she thought of an explanation. “Is it that you do not… Do you desire… women?”
He jolted at her words and started laughing. “I want you, Yihui.” He caught her fingers and pressed them to his cock. Even through layers of fabric, she felt its heat. She squeezed it, measuring the length and girth while he hissed in reaction and his hips jerked.
“You want me,” she said softly. “And I have said yes. Why do you deny yourself?”
He trailed his hand down her thigh. She shivered at the caress, her blood heating in the wake of his touch. But she didn’t move except to rest her hand on his thigh. She didn’t creep upwards to his cock. Neither did she take it away. She wanted to touch him as he was touching her.
“Yihui, I am a large man. Even without these…” he lightly tapped the plaster and wood that splinted her feet, “I fear I would hurt you. In the depths of…” He winced. “During passion, I often forget myself.”
She shook her head. “Do all Englishmen think so hard about simple things? Or is it just you?”
He laughed. “Just me.”
“Emmaline said you spent the last five years whoring around with Prinny.”
He shrugged. “I drank more than whored.”
“That may be the only reason your head did not explode. So much worry. So much concern. Who thinks of you? Not your mother. I have seen how she worries about you until something more interesting catches her attention. Not your father, who wants a copy of himself without regard to you. Emmaline, certainly, but she is as exasperated with you as I am.”
He was not taking her words well. He flinched as she spoke. “Perhaps I should go home—”
“You will take off your boots,” she said tartly. Then when he gave her an arch look, she lifted her chin. “I will wait on your clothes.”
“Yihui,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I have explained—”
“And now you will listen to me. After—”
“Yes, yes. All right. My boots.”
It was not easy to take them off. She had not realized how ridiculous those beautiful hessians were when trying to disrobe.
She had to help him without bracing her feet, and that made for a very silly time.
By the time the second boot clattered to the floor, they were both gasping for breath between the laughter.
It was healing, this laughter. In all her life, she had not spent a more joyous time than whenever she was with him.
He had a wry way of looking at himself, both too serious and quietly arrogant.
He was a man raised to be a leader, so much so that he thought only of his responsibilities and nothing of how truly fallible even the best man could be.
She knew that all souls were weak. She’d been raised around illness and frailty. And so she now saw how much he needed her to bring him back to life. Pleasure for him without thought to anything else.
“There,” she said as she flopped back on the bed. “Isn’t that better?”
He chuckled as he stretched out again, this time wiggling his bare feet. His stockings had come off during their tussle with his boots.
“Much better.”
“Good. Now tell me why do you think women are weak?”
He frowned. He didn’t need to answer. She knew that his own mother sometimes reveled in her weakness. She enjoyed it when people waited upon her. And Emmaline herself had never been encouraged to find independence.
It was much the same in China for the upper class.
Moreso since those women had bound feet and were forced to teeter or be carried everywhere they went.
But in the lower classes where she had been raised, many girls had to fend for themselves or die.
She had learned to be practical above all other things.
“I know you have stren—” His words ended on a cry of alarm as she rolled herself on top of him and straddled his hips. Between her thighs, he responded on instinct, thrusting upward despite the separation of clothing. “Yihui!” he rasped.
“You think me weak because I am a woman, because I am a Chinese girl in a foreign world.” She leaned forward and nipped at his nose just as he had done to her. “I am stronger than you know. I will not break.”
He touched her arms, caressing up and down in long strokes. In his eyes, she saw indecision and desire. He wanted her, she knew, but he was still holding back.
Why?
She thought over this evening. She thought about how he had nearly stripped her naked by the door. And how he had kissed her with such need that she thought she would melt from his desire. And then, at the very last, she remembered what had triggered his passion.
“You think I am using you,” she said softly. “You think I am no better than a whore or a woman seeking money.”
His eyes shot wide. “What? No! Of course, I don’t think—”
“I am not using you, Max,” she said. “I love you. I want to share this love with you.”
His nostrils flared and his hands tightened on her arms. But he didn’t do more. It was as if he feared what would happen if he took that love inside.
“You don’t believe me,” she said softly.
“I…I don’t know,” he finally confessed. “It is not a word I use.”
“Neither do I. Until tonight.”
“But—”
“Tonight, I love you. Tonight, Max, will you love me?”
His expression turned tortured. His breath rasped. And he managed one word. “Yes.” Then he pulled her down to kiss him.
Here again was the passion from the doorway. Here was the kiss that unlocked all her hunger. It was a kiss that desired her as much as breath. And she returned it a thousandfold.
Their mouths fused, their tongues danced, and when she pulled back to unbutton his clothing, he was there before her. While she twisted sideways, he pulled off everything, wrenching them away enough that he jerked against her.
“Wait!” she gasped, though she hated saying the word. “Wait!”
He froze as she pointed at envelopes set behind the washbasin.
“Do you know what those are?” she asked.
He grabbed one and opened it, his choked laugh filling the room. “French letters,” he said as he drew out a condom. “How did you get them?” Then he shook his head before she could answer. “Madame Florina, of course.”
“Yes.”
“I am glad you remembered.”
“Let me put it on you.”
Silently, he held out the envelope. She took it, her belly thrumming with excitement.
She had never been able to touch a man before.
Not like this. So she took her time. She held the length of him, she felt the softness of the flesh, and the hard throbbing pound of it when she squeezed.
And she licked her lips, thinking of what he had done for her.
“No,” he said, his voice choked. “I won’t last.”
She looked at him and smiled. “Maybe tomorrow then.”
He groaned as he captured his mouth with hers. And as he pressed her backward onto the bed, she lost hold of the condom, his cock, and even her reason. She wanted him inside her. She wanted to know this. She wanted his love in its most carnal form.
He was quick with the condom.
He was slow with his kisses.
And when she was frantic for him, he was strong as he pressed her thighs apart.
She gripped him with her knees, and she pressed her slick center up around him. He held himself back so she could only strain.
“Please, Max.”
“Say it again.”
“I love you.”
“I love you,” he echoed.
For tonight.
He thrust.
She welcomed him in.
And then she felt the pain.
Shock made her cry out. He froze, his face tight with horror.
She remembered, belatedly, what this was. As a rule, whores did not talk about the pain of the first time. Only of faking such a thing. And so she had forgotten about it or perhaps chose not to remember. And the dismay on Max’s face was enough to erase the physical discomfort.
“I am fine,” she said, her breath shallow. “You are…large.”
“You are a virgin?” he asked.
She did not know the English word, but she guessed. “I am new.” Or she had been.
He dropped his forehead to hers. Then he pressed a kiss to her cheek and neck. “I didn’t know,” he said. “I didn’t think it was possible. You were a prisoner.”
“I was a gift to the king. No one could touch me.”
“I should have known,” he said. “I should have asked.”
Now his worry for her made sense. Now his care to not hurt her became clearer. He thought she’d been brutalized, but she had been pure.
Meanwhile, her body adjusted. As he pressed kisses to her face, she felt less shock, more fullness. The tiny movements he made soon felt good rather than too much. And as her breath returned, so did her desire.
She lifted her knees, drawing her thighs up along his.
He groaned as he arched, drawing out by the slowest degrees.
“No,” she said. “Don’t go!”
She tried to grip him, to keep him with her.
“I can’t stop,” he said as he tilted his hips, pushing inside her again. It was the tiniest of movements, but she felt it. She wanted it.
“Yes. Again.”
Whether because of her words or because he must, he drew back again. A little farther this time before his thrust. Her back arched, her legs widened, and she opened herself completely to his penetration.
“Yihui,” he said. There was no meaning behind the word. No command. Just her name as he thrust into her again.
“Max,” she echoed as she learned his tempo.
He thrust again. She arched into the impact.
Together and apart.
Together again.
Harder.
Faster.
Yes!
Pleasure swept her away. Then once the rush of it eased, happiness remained. Happiness that she knew was love.
Love for tonight. For now.
It was more than enough.