Chapter Eleven #3
Harriet’s brow furrowed in confusion. Alexander took a deep breath and began. Might as well be honest with her—how else was she to learn? And what a pity it would be to live without knowing how to bring oneself pleasure.
She scooted and sat up in bed, her back against the headboard, ever the eager pupil.
“Do you know anything of intercourse? What happens between a man and woman?” Alexander almost amended that it could happen between any number of people of any sex but felt that was getting off topic. Besides, Harriet was already blushing madly.
“Not really,” she whispered, the blush having traveled from her cheeks down her neck and across her chest. He would dearly like to see where else it spread.
“I see. Well, there’s a … point … at the end of intercourse. A crisis.”
“A crisis?” Harriet looked concerned again. Blast it.
“Or, rather, a peak. A culmination.” Harriet nodded along with him, waiting for more.
Dear God, was he really going to explain self-gratification to a blushing innocent? Apparently so. “This, uh—”
“Apotheosis?” she provided, hurrying him along adorably.
“This apotheosis,” he said, trying desperately not to laugh at the suggestion, “well, it feels … blissful. Heavenly. It’s the reason men do half of what they do.”
“Half?”
“True, it’s vastly more than half, come to think of it. We’d hardly be managing land or fighting duels or racing curricles or wearing skin-tight breeches if coming didn’t feel so damned good.”
“But last night—” Harriet began, clearly unsure of how to ask what she wanted to know. “You believed me to be asleep.”
“I did not intend to subject you to my actions; I am sorry.”
“I see,” she said. “Is it always that way? With the woman asleep?” And then Alexander did let out a laugh.
“No, no, the woman isn’t asleep for intercourse at all.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m not explaining it well, I fear. This climax, you can produce it on your own, outside of intercourse. You don’t need a partner for it. That’s what I was doing last night.”
“Oh,” Harriet said, looking down at her lap. Alexander waited, knowing there was more. She was far too curious for the discussion to end there. “So why wear tight breeches then? Or race curricles? Or … enjoy … women at all? If men can do that themselves?”
“It’s far, far more pleasurable with someone else, I promise you,” Alexander responded, knowing he was tiptoeing into quite dangerous territory, but unable to stop himself.
It wasn’t the ale or the dancing or even the damned shift, but the feeling he had that the two of them were entirely removed from the rest of the world in that tiny, cold room, which compelled him to add, “It’s not just men who can do so themselves. ”
He willed Harriet to ask the next question, even as he knew he should end this conversation.
For all his rakehell ways, he knew he should not be discussing frigging habits with an innocent.
And yet. He could tell she wanted to know.
Harriet always wanted to know things. And he wanted to be the one to teach her.
“Women can toss themselves off, then?”
He laughed, a full laugh. Harriet startled, which made him feel like the worst sort of person. He unthinkingly reached over and placed a hand on her arm to stay her.
“They can. It’s only, I’m not certain it’s called ‘tossing off’ for a woman.” Harriet looked down at her arm where his hand lay and then up at him. Even in the dim moonlight, he could see her gray eyes widen with desire. Desire to learn a vocabulary word, yes, but desire all the same.
“What is it, then?”
He brought his arm back to his lap, which felt safer. Nothing in all his years had prepared him for this interaction.
“I’m not certain I know the phrase for women.”
“You don’t know?” She sounded affronted.
“I’m afraid I don’t. Bring oneself off? That may apply to either sex. Self-pollute surely does, although that seems to carry a negative connotation I shouldn’t like to associate with the act. I’ll admit, I’m not very studied in this.”
“I am appalled to hear that you don’t know about female pleasure. I felt certain, based on your reputation, that it was your specialty.”
Alexander turned his entire body to face her, insulted.
“I will not have you discredit me. I simply don’t know the words a lady might use for touching herself.
I assure you, I know plenty about female pleasure.
Indeed, I have forgotten more about bringing a lady to her peak than many men have ever learned.
” He could feel himself breathing more heavily and was glad to see that she was too.
Dancing wasn’t to blame this time. She was silent for a moment before she parted her lips, darting her tongue out to wet them before she began.
“So, you do know how it’s done?”
“Of course I know how intercourse is done. I’d hardly be worthy of my title as London’s Most Notorious Rake if I didn’t, would I?”
Harriet held his gaze for a moment, and he couldn’t look away. From the edge of his vision, he saw her throat swallow thickly. She was gathering her nerves. He was doomed.
“I meant touching myself,” she corrected, quietly.