Chapter 4 #2
Was that true? Was the deficiency not hers but James’s? “Is there pleasure to be found in bed? That was not my experience.”
His mouth firmed. “What was your experience?”
“I would wait in the dark under the covers. James would come to me late and reeking of the blue ruin. He would push my nightclothes to my waist, unbutton his trousers, and then…” The memory of the pinching pain she would feel as he rammed inside of her was a wound that had scabbed over but not fully healed.
“It was uncomfortable, but usually over quickly. Then he would leave me.”
Callum looked aghast. “I would wring his neck if he were still alive. You were ill-used, Eleanor. I’m sorry. A marriage bed— any bed—shared by a man and woman should be filled with pleasure and play.”
Callum talked of pleasure, not duty. It was startling. “Will you remedy my situation?”
The request popped out before she had a chance to consider the implications. But there weren’t any, were there? She was a widow now and could take a lover. Anyway, Warlock was not London. There was no ton to shun her here.
“What exactly is your situation?” There was trepidation in his voice.
“I am free. You are free.” She had a sudden thought that tensed her. “You are free, aren’t you? You are not promised to another?”
“There is no other.” Was that regret or sadness or resignation in his voice?
“Then teach me.”
“Teach you what exactly?” Now his tone was somewhere between shocked and bemused.
“Teach me how to please you. Perhaps if I had known what to do, my husband would not have visited whores.”
He wrapped his hand around her nape, and it felt like a branding. She allowed her head to fall back slightly into his support.
“I’ve met men like your late husband. He was a cad. Nothing you could have done would have kept him solely in your bed.”
He spoke aloud what she had wondered about countless times. At first, she had blamed herself for his transgressions. If she had been prettier or more worldly or more of a lady or less of a lady, James might not have strayed. Callum helped clear her doubts.
The fact was James had not been a good man, much less a gentleman, no matter his mention in Debrett’s.
With this acceptance came peace, but also another question. Should she be embarrassed she was practically begging Callum to ravish her? She wasn’t. Why not? Because she should be. Yet she could not feel a hint of her usual inhibitions.
“James has nothing to do with this.” She set her hand on his chest. “I want you to show me how to please you.”
“While I am honored, I can’t,” he said roughly.
She looped her arms around his neck and wiggled her bottom against him. There was a definite bulge against her thigh. She might have been ill-used, but she did understand the basics.
“Is there something wrong with your… cock?” Trying to sound worldly, she used the word she had first heard from the madam of the whorehouse.
He guffawed slightly. “There is nothing wrong with my cock.”
“Are you that much of a gentleman?” She wanted to stamp her foot in frustration.
His hand, which rested lightly on her bare knee, moved ever so slowly up her thigh. Her indrawn breath was involuntary. Somehow she grew hotter even as she shivered at his touch.
“If I was truly a gentleman, you would be safely ensconced at Fernlow with your sister. Instead, I chose to bring you here, knowing full well we would be alone and snowed in.”
“Then there is hope you will ravish me?”
The curve of his lips was more grimace than smile. “I would be taking advantage of the fact you are not yourself. If you had not drunk the punch, you would not be tempting me with this proposition.”
A part of her knew he was correct. She was not herself even though she felt more like herself than ever. The veneer she was forced to present to the world had been stripped away. She tucked her forehead into the crook of his neck.
“Then I suppose I must resign myself to never knowing pleasure.” Her sigh was gusty and frustrated.
His hand stilled on her thigh for a moment as his chest stopped moving with his breaths.
Finally he let out a long, slow, shuddering breath as his hand crept higher until it met the hem of his shirt and halted, his fingers dancing across her skin but not where she wanted them.
Where did she want his fingers? She wasn’t even sure.
“That is a sad thought,” he murmured.
She raised her head as a possibility occurred to her. “James visited whores for his pleasure. Do similar establishments cater to ladies? Could I hire a man?”
His arms flexed against her, and she touched his biceps, marveling at the strength there when he was holding her so tenderly.
“You will not hire a strange man to touch you.” It was a command that was threaded with anger.
“You cannot tell me what to do.” There was no vitriol in her words, but it was the truth.
He was not her father or her husband, and as a widow, no one could tell her what to do.
It was freeing. “I will find a man and pay him coin for a service. That way no one is beholden. There will be no shame or regret in the transaction. It is the perfect solution.”
The hand at her nape drew into a fist in her hair and pulled her head up so they were face-to-face. In a gruffer voice that was more begging than forceful, he said, “You will not hire a stranger to pleasure you. I will do it, but on my terms.”
“And then I’ll suck you off?”
He muttered a curse, closed his eyes, touched his forehead against hers. “You must stop speaking that way.”
“Is it too coarse and unseemly?”
“It is too arousing to hear such dirty talk fall from such lips. Such lips…” His voice trailed off as his mouth brushed hers.
A kiss. Not their first, but their first kisses had been fumbling and innocent. This was a kiss of a man who had learned much and was putting his lessons into practice. She tried to summon resentment at the other women he had loved but could only be grateful he was hers. At least for a night.
She squirmed closer, trying to press her body more fully against his. Her breasts were achy and her skin was sensitive. He deepened the kiss and inched his hand under the hem of his shirt to brush the curve of her bottom.
She gasped into his mouth, and he flicked his tongue against hers.
James had invaded her mouth, and she had endured his kisses.
This was different. Playful. It was a give and take and more arousing than she had imagined.
She wasn’t sure how long they kissed, but they were both breathing hard when they broke apart.
His hand fully covered her bottom and squeezed. She moaned his name.
He rubbed his nose next to hers and whispered, “You are beautiful.”
She hadn’t felt beautiful in a long time, much less desired and admired. Now she felt all three in equal measure.
They kissed again, hot, open-mouthed kisses that had the rhythm of a dance. A waltz, perhaps. Her hips moved against the iron hardness of his cock. It had grown, and she snaked a hand between them, seeking the length. He batted her hand away before it reached its destination.
“My rules, remember?” He tutted and shifted her so her back was to his front. “This is for your pleasure only. You aren’t allowed to touch me.”
“That’s not fair.” She couldn’t help but sounding like a thwarted child even if their games were for adults only.
“Life is not fair, sweetheart.”
The jostling made her shirt hem rise until it was barely covering her mons.
She should tug it down. Instead, she fought the urge to part her legs and lost. She was sitting on his lap, her head tucked next to his against the high-back chair.
His legs were propped on the footstool, her thighs on top of his.
She let her feet fall to the outside of his calves on the stool, leaving her knees several inches apart.
The shadowy place between her thighs was now visible. She looked into the fire instead, feeling the first tinges of embarrassment. Was the laced punch wearing off?
He stroked up from her hip, through the dip of her waist, to below her breasts. Her back arched, asking for what her tongue could not. He ran his lips along her bare shoulder to her neck. The pleasure made her nipples tighten. She glanced down her body with hooded eyes.
The points were clearly visible against the thin lawn of his shirt.
He lifted a hand, and she prayed he was going to put her out of her misery and touch her breasts.
Instead, he tugged the shirt so instead of exposing her bare shoulder, the deep vee revealed a swath of skin from neck toward her waist. As if his aim were to torment her, he traced his fingers along the edge of the shirt, skimming over the inside curve of her breasts.
“Please, Callum.” She didn’t even recognize the husky, plaintive note in her voice.
He took a nip at her neck at the same time he slid his hand inside the shirt to cup one breast. His thumb plucked at her hard nipple. She grabbed the armrests and pushed harder into his body. The intensity was almost painful, and yet she needed more.
He slipped his other hand to rest on her mons. The pressure and warmth of his fingers made her hips buck slightly.
“Easy now,” he murmured in her ear as if she were a horse. Any outrage was turned to ash under the warmth of his breath. Pleasure spiraled through her. “Have you ever touched yourself here?”
“N-no. Should I have been?” Thankfully too many other emotions vied for her attention and quashed any chagrin at her lack of knowledge.
“It’s your body. You should learn what brings you pleasure. Gentle or hard. Fast or slow. Do you wish to experiment?”
“Yes.” It came out like he had offered her water after wandering the desert.
His fingers slipped between her legs. His touch was light and gentle as he stroked her. “Do you like this?”
She did like it—very much—and yet… Her hips began moving against him.
His touch firmed and grew faster. “Or do you prefer this?”
It was like an itch being scratched. “Yes. Yes. Like that. Maybe even harder.”
He did as commanded. She felt both powerful and at his mercy.
He plucked at her nipples. The shirt parted to fully expose her breasts. Part of her wanted to squeeze her eyes shut and concentrate on the physical, but she found she could not look away from his hands on her body.
She had seen herself naked in the bath and while dressing, of course. Although, she had heard of some young ladies in the ton actually bathing with their unmentionables still on to avoid even that. But she had never appreciated her body in this way.
Her breasts were full and high, her nipples puckered and sensitive. Her legs were pale and lithe against his buckskins. The curls between her legs were a shade darker than her hair. And she was slick where he rubbed.
“Should I be so damp down there?” she asked.
His rumble of laughter vibrated through her. “Indeed. It is a sign of your arousal and would make welcoming my cock inside your body pleasurable for the both of us.”
He stopped his ministrations, and she caught his wrist with a gasp. “What are you doing? Don’t stop. Please.”
Even as she tried to force his hand back between her legs, he brought his fingers to his mouth to lick them. His cock pulsed where it was nestled against her bottom. “You are honey on my tongue,” he said roughly.
He leaned closer and captured her mouth in a kiss so carnal she forgot to breathe. She could taste herself on his lips, and when his hand returned to rub her between her legs with renewed intensity, she teetered on the edge of a precipice.
Then, without warming, she fell into ecstasy. Pleasure washed over her in waves. She could hear herself making noises, but had no control over her reaction. Eventually the intensity faded, leaving her languid and boneless on his lap.
He adjusted the shirt, covering her breasts and mons once more. Then he rose with her cradled in his arms, and she wondered again at his strength. She cuddled into his chest, her mind muzzy and her eyes heavy.
He managed to push his covers aside and set her on the bed. The mattress was soft, and the sheets smelled of him in the best possible way. He covered her and stepped away, but she took his hand.
“Wait. I want to touch you.”
“Against the rules.” He leaned down to brush her hair back and give her a sweet kiss. “Go to sleep now.”
He extinguished the candles, and as the room grew dimmer, so did the edges of her consciousness until she could no longer keep her eyes open and drifted away to dream of him.