Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Her confusion was stamped on her face, but she slid off his lap and rested on her haunches between his legs. He pried the placket of his trousers open, and his arousal shot up as if injected with steel.
“I want your mouth on me,” he said, taking her hand and wrapping it around him.
“You’re so big,” she blurted. “How do you walk around with this?”
“It’s not usually this way.” Humor glinted in his eyes. “That nightgown helped.”
The heat of her hand on him as she carefully petted his veined beast aroused him even more. He swelled ever the more at her rapt look, as her grip expanded around him.
“Explore me,” he invited.
She gently stroked him up, rubbing the pad of her thumb under his weeping head before sliding her fist down his shaft, moving the supple skin over the rigid core.
“Am I doing this right?” she whispered. “Will you show me what to do? How to please you?”
He took her hand and taught her how to touch him. The pace and pressure he liked. When she perfected the supple slide of skin over the rigid core, he grew dizzy with desire.
His stones pulsed, steamy pressure building in his shaft. His hand lifted to her face, and his thumb ran over her lips, pressing softly into the plump bottom lip.
Her answer was to flick the tip of her tongue on his fingers before she swiped a leak a bead of seed off his tip with the finger... she paused, then licked it off.
Her nose wrinkled before she leaned in and flickered her tongue over his crown, and a breathless grunt left him as he watched her little pink tongue flick back and forth over his swollen dome
Then she fitted her lips over the tip of his cock and gave a light, awkward suck, before she licked him like she would do an ice from Gunther’s. She did it again, and he didn’t know whether to laugh or groan at the exquisite torment of being treated to inexperienced fellatio.
“Wrap your lips around me,” he instructed, as he fisted himself, a voracious hunger birthing in his gut, the way her gaze followed the movement of his hand as he pleasured himself. “Take as much in your mouth as you can and suckle first.”
As she did, a surge of pleasure shot to his head like a cannonball. “Try relaxing your jaw and breathing through your nose. Watch your teeth.”
He slid his hand into her hair, holding her steady while she gingerly took more of him inside. Fire blazed down his spine as she took him deeper and deeper, and his length disappeared between her pure pink lips.
“Bloody hell,” he grunted.
He tried to control the pace, to not demand too much of her on her first foray into this type of intimacy—but it soon became clear that she was a quick study.
His hand was lax in her hair as she pleasured him with a dainty fervor that filled him with lust and wonder.
When he nudged the end of her throat, she coughed, the reflexive squeeze making his neck snap back in bliss. God, it was too much. With an oath, he wrenched himself from scorching mouth.
“Why did you do that? I’m not finished,” she pouted.
This close to exploding, he gritted out, “I was about to spend.” Her brow furrowed.
“So?”
“So, it’s not polite to spend in a lady’s mouth.” He grasped her hand and placed it on him. “Stroke me instead.”
She stroked him with both hands, his pre-seed lubricating her touch, and Ariadne ignored his order, placed her lips on him again, and his hips bucked as she lapped at his erection.
He could not tear his eyes away from how her pink tongue worked over the fat, glossy dome, then down the veined shaft. He pulled her away in the nick of time as he exploded, hot creamy heat, into the closure of his fist.
“I like this,” she breathed.
“I thought you might,” he murmured as he hauled her up. “Now, tell me what you want to do to you.”
“Umm,” she blushed. “You don’t need to.”
His brows lifted, “Is that so?”
“Yes,” she said, reddening like a tomato. “I—I already did. =
Chuckling, Cedric righted his clothes and stood, pulling her with him. Doing the bows back up, he brushed a hand over her side. “I like this.”
“Good,” she said. “Because I have three more, in different variations, coming.”
The next morning, Cedric was out in Manchester this time, and he told her the trip would be at least two days.
She already missed his surly self, but she still had her job to do, and while going through the unending stream of invitations and cards, she found a letter from the headmaster of the orphanage, Stephen Maximilian.
To His Grace, Duke of Holloway
Your Grace,
I pray this letter reaches you in good health and contentment. It is with the deepest respect that I write on behalf of the children of St Andrew’s Orphanage, whose welfare has long been sustained by your noble generosity.
We remain profoundly grateful for your pledged support, which has provided comfort and stability to those who have no family but the one we nurture here.
Yet I must humbly bring to your attention that the entirety of the funds expected this season has not yet arrived.
I am certain this is but a minor delay or an oversight, and I hesitate to trouble Your Grace with such matters.
Still, necessity compels me to inform you that our provisions are running low, and the children’s needs grow daily.
We have stretched our resources with utmost care, but without the promised assistance, our ability to provide even the simplest nourishment is at risk. The children, innocent and trusting, look to us for sustenance and guidance, and it is my solemn duty to ensure their well-being.
If it pleases Your Grace, may I respectfully request that the funds be dispatched at your earliest convenience, or that word be sent regarding their expected arrival. Your continued patronage is not only a blessing to our orphanage but a beacon of hope to the children who depend upon it.
It is with utmost gratitude that I thank you, and I wish you and your family all the best,
With the highest regard,
Stephen Maxmillian.
Headmaster
Frowning, Ariadne shuffled through her drawers for the folio Mr. Draven had put together and began poring over the columns. At first pass, she did not see any irregularities, and she worried her lower lip, something she almost never permitted herself to do.
Her eyes flitted to the letter and back to the ledger, not sure what to believe—then she saw it. At the very bottom, a numeral did not seem to fit the sums above.
Grabbing a pen and a pad of paper, she did the sums herself and found that at fifty pounds had magically vanished. Frowning, she summoned Hunt.
“Your Grace?” he bowed.
“Can you find me the ledgers for the orphanage for the last year?” she said. “I need to go through them all.”
He bowed, “I will have them for you, Your Grace.”
Four hours later, with her eyes stinging and a pile of four ledgers on her desk, Ariadne looked down at her deductions; over the past year, a season where the duke donated fifty pounds to the orphanage to last for each quarter, and yet, over the year, eighteen pounds were collectively missing.
The orphanage needed those pounds, and she decided not only to send it to them but to deliver it herself.
“Your Grace?” Mr. Maxmillian bowed to her at the doorway. “I am shocked and delighted to have you in our humble home. Please, come in.”
Stepping in, Ariadne looked around the small foyer and looked at the sad state of the great hall, illuminated by bright afternoon sun. The walls were bare, as she imagined having wallpaper would be expensive to maintain and clean with young children who may have an affinity for paint or mud.
The drapes were thin and unembellished, probably sewn by the older girls; the wainscoting needed a thorough scrub and perhaps a coat of paint. The floor was scuffed and worn. It most certainly could have used a splash of polish, or two.
The entire orphanage had a run-down, drab feel to it. At least, in appearance, but she knew the home, even lacking all the ammonites, was filled with joy and love.
“I am happy to be here,” she said. “I received your letter, and I felt it needed a personal reply.”
“Please, follow me to my office.” He said. “The children are at their lessons now, so we have time to talk.”
With a footman a step behind her, Ariadne followed him into a cramped office that was nothing more than a glorified cupboard. His desk was piled high with several ledgers spread in front, with ring stains from his cup of weak coffee and pens scattered about.
“I apologize for the mess,” he said. “But I am glad you came. I assume you know that you are aware that His Grace donates twenty-five pounds each quarter, and it is a massive blessing that keeps our doors open and food on our table.”
“You have sixteen girls from age three to ten-and-six and twelve boys from two years to seven-and-ten, yes?” Ariadne asked.
“Yes,” he nodded, “We do as we can with farming and raising chickens for food, but it is still a task to house, clothe, and educate them. Every wet season, we hope no one gets ill because our homemade remedies do not work all the time.”
Ariadne did not dare tell him her suspicions about why and how the money had gone missing. That was between her, Cedric, and his steward. “I have gone over the books, and I realized that this year, eighteen pounds are missing from your donations.”
From his tight smile, she knew he knew it too; he probably hadn’t said anything, as it felt like questioning authority.
She handed over four ten -pound notes, and he recoiled as if struck. “Your Grace, this is entirely too much. I—”
“It’s my pleasure,” she stopped him. “The additional three are from me personally, and I would like it if you used them to give the children new suits for this upcoming Christmas.”
He smiled. “Thank you, Your Grace. Your generosity is very much appreciated. Would you like to meet the children?”
Her heart leaped. “I’d love to.”
“So,” Isolde linked Ariadne’s arm with hers as they meandered through Hyde Park.