and her legs parted wider. He slid his hand under her derriere, lifting her against his mouth more firmly as he plied her with steady, skilled precision. She was squirming and rocking against him helplessly when Gareth realized she was trying to speak. He lifted his mouth from her, frustrated at the interruption of what he was convinced was the closest she’d been to waking sexual satisfaction.
“You are torturing me,” Felicity managed. “I don’t want you to stop, but I can’t… this is unbearable.”
“ Shall I stop?” He was frankly looking at her spread flesh, toying with her damp curls, and running a finger over her wet folds. He did not want to stop, and not out of any generous impulses toward her and her limited experience of pleasure. “It’s your decision, love.”
He’d promised her this, that he’d stop, because he was sly, manipulative, and nowhere near as clever as he thought himself to be. He’d thought himself experienced with women, and he was—with the Ediths of the world—but Felicity was not like them.
Yet.
“I need to…” Felicity licked her lips while Gareth clenched his teeth. “I need to rest.”
Well, of course. This was Felicity, and he’d been so sure he could shock her into abandoning their agreement. He laid his cheek against her mons, wanting to howl, get drunk, and curse—or swive her until neither of them could walk.
Felicity stroked her hand over his hair, slowly, as if the contact soothed her.
“It helps that you don’t just pop up here beside me, all tidy and dapper and full of more vocabulary.”
Helps whom with what? “I am,” he said without moving, “also a bit undone. These are the precise circumstances under which a man might be well advised to see to himself.”
Her hand on his hair went still. “See to yourself?”
“Masturbate, self-gratify, come in the hand.” He raised himself to sit beside her, and noticed Felicity didn’t immediately twitch her skirts back into place.
He was making a wanton of her, and that did not please him at all.
“I don’t mind if you want to… to do that here.”
So bloody damned gracious of her, but he didn’t want to go prowling through the night for a partner, and he was hard now . They had talked about self-gratification, about how his father’s generation regarded it as a harmless pleasure, and a growing sentiment in the present misguided day regarded it as sinful.
“I will trespass on your generosity.” On her courage, on her determination.
Her damned stubbornness.
Felicity did smooth her skirts down, with a single, casual brush of her hand. “You will embarrass me but not humiliate, Gareth, and the rest is simply… overwrought dignity. Couples all over Town are fornicating as we speak, every alewife and baroness, and all London seems to have known it but me. What would you like me to do?”
He would like her to find some other way to meet the terms of the damned will, a will he should have had Brenner read by now.
Instead, he undid his falls, extracted himself from his clothing, then sat back and wondered if there was a particular corner of hell for men who corrupted aging virgins.
“Watch,” he said, letting his eyes drop to her mouth, then to the tented flap of his shirttail. He wanted her mouth on him, wanted her hands on him, and yet all he could manage was to ask her to watch.
Nothing more but watch.
She was a damned spinster, virgin, bluestocking excuse for a madam in training, and she was going to drive him absolutely barmy.
***
Gareth was in dishabille on the cushioned seat and gazing at Felicity with all the inscrutability of a large, hungry cat. This was personal tutelage. This was exactly what she was supposed to gain from him, though the transaction felt as unbusinesslike as anything Felicity had ever undertaken.
Her body hummed, sweet and alive with sensations she had no words for, while her heart… she’d let him down, somehow, and he was disappointing her as well.
He
“You are torturing me,” Felicity managed. “I don’t want you to stop, but I can’t… this is unbearable.”
“ Shall I stop?” He was frankly looking at her spread flesh, toying with her damp curls, and running a finger over her wet folds. He did not want to stop, and not out of any generous impulses toward her and her limited experience of pleasure. “It’s your decision, love.”
He’d promised her this, that he’d stop, because he was sly, manipulative, and nowhere near as clever as he thought himself to be. He’d thought himself experienced with women, and he was—with the Ediths of the world—but Felicity was not like them.
Yet.
“I need to…” Felicity licked her lips while Gareth clenched his teeth. “I need to rest.”
Well, of course. This was Felicity, and he’d been so sure he could shock her into abandoning their agreement. He laid his cheek against her mons, wanting to howl, get drunk, and curse—or swive her until neither of them could walk.
Felicity stroked her hand over his hair, slowly, as if the contact soothed her.
“It helps that you don’t just pop up here beside me, all tidy and dapper and full of more vocabulary.”
Helps whom with what? “I am,” he said without moving, “also a bit undone. These are the precise circumstances under which a man might be well advised to see to himself.”
Her hand on his hair went still. “See to yourself?”
“Masturbate, self-gratify, come in the hand.” He raised himself to sit beside her, and noticed Felicity didn’t immediately twitch her skirts back into place.
He was making a wanton of her, and that did not please him at all.
“I don’t mind if you want to… to do that here.”
So bloody damned gracious of her, but he didn’t want to go prowling through the night for a partner, and he was hard now . They had talked about self-gratification, about how his father’s generation regarded it as a harmless pleasure, and a growing sentiment in the present misguided day regarded it as sinful.
“I will trespass on your generosity.” On her courage, on her determination.
Her damned stubbornness.
Felicity did smooth her skirts down, with a single, casual brush of her hand. “You will embarrass me but not humiliate, Gareth, and the rest is simply… overwrought dignity. Couples all over Town are fornicating as we speak, every alewife and baroness, and all London seems to have known it but me. What would you like me to do?”
He would like her to find some other way to meet the terms of the damned will, a will he should have had Brenner read by now.
Instead, he undid his falls, extracted himself from his clothing, then sat back and wondered if there was a particular corner of hell for men who corrupted aging virgins.
“Watch,” he said, letting his eyes drop to her mouth, then to the tented flap of his shirttail. He wanted her mouth on him, wanted her hands on him, and yet all he could manage was to ask her to watch.
Nothing more but watch.
She was a damned spinster, virgin, bluestocking excuse for a madam in training, and she was going to drive him absolutely barmy.
***
Gareth was in dishabille on the cushioned seat and gazing at Felicity with all the inscrutability of a large, hungry cat. This was personal tutelage. This was exactly what she was supposed to gain from him, though the transaction felt as unbusinesslike as anything Felicity had ever undertaken.
Her body hummed, sweet and alive with sensations she had no words for, while her heart… she’d let him down, somehow, and he was disappointing her as well.
He
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