Demand your own adventure.
Lady Ida’s Tips for the Adventurous Lady Traveler
She couldn’t help but notice what was happening there as he stood. If she were another kind of woman, she’d probably be horrified and appalled that his body had reacted to her words with such—alacrity.
Instead, she wished she could ask him about it. Did it hurt? What would the inevitable result of it be?
But for once she didn’t just ask questions in pursuit of knowledge. Not because she wasn’t curious—of course she was—but because she had to imagine that it would be a difficult thing to discuss.
“I took our bags up myself,” Bennett said as he walked close behind her. She could feel his presence at her back, which made her feel all tingly. “I will wait in the hallway while you change. Just call out when you are under the covers.”
He opened a door at the end of the hall, gesturing for her to step inside. She hadn’t had strong expectations of the quality of the room, given the exterior and the inedible food, and her expectations, low that they were, were met. The bed dominated the room, its coverlet a jarringly cheery red color in the midst of mismatched dark furniture and smoky windows.
Their bags were at the foot of the bed, and she turned her head to nod at him. “I won’t take long.”
He nodded. “I wouldn’t expect you would,” he replied, closing the door.
She withdrew her night rail and twisted her hands behind her so she could undo her buttons. Thank goodness she was flexible enough to do it herself; she did not want to ask him for help. It was awkward enough, having seen his . . . alacrity downstairs in the public room.
She got dressed quickly, launching herself toward the bed and pulling the cover up to her chin. “I’m in bed,” she called, then winced as she realized what she’d just yelled.
Hopefully only he had heard her.
He stepped inside, closing the door firmly behind him. He glanced toward her, then cleared his throat as he looked away, moving to crouch on the floor in front of his bag.
“If you don’t mind closing your eyes for a minute,” he said in a strained tone.
She felt a giggle lurking in her chest, but suppressed it. He would not appreciate being laughed at. Or he would appreciate it, and then they would both be laughing, and then other things would happen. As they had in the carriage.
Although she had to be honest, that was entirely her doing.
She squeezed her eyes shut, hearing the noises of fabric shifting. Squeezing her eyes more tightly when she was tempted to open them to see what he might look like with less clothing on.
“Here,” he said, and she felt a thump as something landed on the bed. Not him, fortunately. Or unfortunately, she couldn’t say which she’d prefer.
Drat. That wasn’t something she should even be admitting to herself.
He’d tossed his coat on the bed, and she looked at it, and then at him. “Are you expecting me to go out?” she asked in a haughty tone.
He shook his head, chuckling, then drew the coat so it lay in a straight line right in the middle of the bed. “So I had heard of this practice from the Americas. It is called bundling.” He gestured toward the coat. “It’s a way for courting couples to spend time together without being compromised.”
“By placing a coat between them.” She arched an eyebrow at him to accompany her skeptical tone of voice.
“Not a coat, hedgehog. I am improvising. But, yes, the point is that there be some sort of physical barrier between two people as they share a common space. Like the walls of Jericho, only neither of us has a trumpet.”
Of course. The walls of Jericho. “Oh.”
“You’re not convinced.”
She shrugged. “If you want to have an artificial barrier to protect yourself from my advances . . .”
He heaved an exasperated sigh as he got into the bed. She felt the mattress dip with his weight.
“It’s not your advances I’m concerned about, Ida.” The way he said her name—it made her body heat, and she couldn’t help but wriggle her feet in some sort of bizarre dissociative response.
“It’s mine.” He leaned up to blow out the candle he’d placed on the nightstand on his side of the bed, plunging them into darkness. Oh, she wished it didn’t feel quite so intimate. “I know that you and I—that we agreed about the future, but when I kiss you . . . When I touch you, I can’t seem to remember that.” His voice lowered, and it felt as though the world had shrunk to just the two of them, alone and adrift in the darkness. “I want you, Ida. And it would be a terrible mistake.”
Just when she’d been considering reaching over to touch him. Just then, he’d said it—“a terrible mistake.” Of course. Because they’d agreed that neither one of them wanted the other. He wanted someone soft as a wife, even if he might want her now as—as something else.
“Yes. It would be.” She was proud of herself that she hadn’t let any emotion color her voice—that he had no idea what she was thinking.
Even though she wished he did know what she was thinking. That he often seemed to guess correctly what she was thinking was remarkable.
Come to think of it.
And then she had to grin at her own illogic, even though finding illogic amusing was not at all her way. It was . . . illogical, in fact.
“Are you laughing?” He sounded incredulous.
Of course he would be. He’d just admitted that he wanted her, in a dark, hopefully depraved and passionate way, and she apparently found that amusing.
Well, that likely made him want her a bit less. Which could only help the situation.
“No, it wasn’t—that is, yes I was laughing, but not at you. I promise.”
He was silent for a moment, and she caught her breath, hoping he would understand. Or at least be willing to overlook her inappropriate behavior.
Which wasn’t nearly as inappropriate as what it seemed he wished to do with her.
But she couldn’t think about that.
But it seemed it was all she could think about after all.
“You mentioned before that I was welcome to order you to do anything I wish. That you usually were the one to take an initiative. That you wanted someone else to take charge.”
He heard the movement of fabric, and then the unmistakable sound of a body shifting, and then she was on top of him, her hands in his hair, her warm mouth pressed on his.
So much for the walls of Jericho.
She urged his mouth open with her lips, sliding her tongue inside, her nails raking on his scalp, making him feel as though his entire world had just reduced to this moment, this dark room, her body on his, separated by the coverlet as his arms wrapped around her, his hands settling at her lower back.
So close to her arse. He stroked her back up and down as she kissed him. And it was her kissing him; she took the lead and he surrendered it gratefully, letting her set the pace of their kiss, relishing the feel of not being in charge. For once.
She was responding to his words, of course. She was taking initiative, doing things on her own, not waiting for him to begin.
She moved her mouth from his lips to his jaw, bestowing tiny kisses as she worked her way down to his neck, licking his skin, her hands tugging on his hair, her body moving on top of his.
His cock was hard, aching for the brief contacts her body made with it. He heard a groan, and realized it was him. She chuckled softly, and he felt her laughter on his skin.
“I want to see you,” she said, moving her body so she was straddling him. She leaned over him, and he could feel the movement of her, and it was even more alluring that her breast was so close to him, likely barely covered by her night rail.
His throat thickened, as did his cock.
He heard the strike of the match, then the flame of the candle, setting a soft glow where they were.
His eager eyes could gaze at her in the candlelight, the flicker of the flame causing intriguing shadows around her body.
She made a satisfied noise, then eased herself back down so she still straddled him, but her face was slightly below his.
He reached for her, but she swatted his hands away as she shook her head. “You said you wanted someone else to do the work. So now I am,” she remonstrated, placing his hands firmly on the coverlet on either side of his body.
Oh. This was very interesting indeed. He’d never been in such a submissive position before. Not out of bed, and certainly not in it.
This was nothing like he’d ever experienced before. And he most definitely liked it.
She was sitting on her heels, just looking at him as though pondering what to do next.
“You said you wanted to see me?” he asked in a ragged voice. One roughened by need and passion.
“I do.” And then she leaned forward, undoing the buttons of his nightshirt as she pressed her lips to his exposed skin.
Her fingers slid underneath the fabric, onto his upper chest, her fingertips surveying his body as though it were an atlas and she was a very interested explorer.
And then she lowered her mouth to him, kissing his chest, dragging her teeth over his skin, all the while making soft noises deep in her throat.
She rested her body on top of his again, and he felt even more blissfully and agonizingly trapped.
“Your skin feels so different from mine,” she murmured.
“I wouldn’t know that, since I haven’t been able to touch you,” he replied reproachfully.
“Patience, leopard,” she said, drawing the coverlet down to his waist, wrapping her fist in the fabric of his nightshirt. “Just be. Just for right now.”
And she yanked her hand down, shredding his nightshirt and separating the two halves, placing her palms on her thighs as she gazed at him, her tongue emerging to lick her lips.
He had never been in such acutely painful ecstasy in his life.
And then she put her hands back on him, sliding her palms over his nipples as he shuddered at her touch. “I like this,” she said in a low voice as she ran her fingers through his chest hair, tugging a little bit as she lifted her fingers to drag one fingertip from his breastbone down to his abdomen, making him inhale sharply.
“Does this feel good?” she asked.
“It does,” he said through gritted teeth. His hands twitched on the coverlet, desperate to touch her, but not wanting to disturb her explorations.
“Mmm,” she replied, lowering her mouth to one nipple, licking it before closing her mouth over it. He bucked underneath her, jostling her, his cock straining to bury itself inside her.
“Ida,” he said, hearing the pleading in his voice, but not sure what he was asking for.
She chuckled against his skin, sliding her body down so she could bring her tongue from his nipple to underneath his pectoral muscle, down to the top of the hair that led down to the thatch of hair around his cock.
“What do you want me to do now?” she asked. It wasn’t a rhetorical question, and he knew she would welcome an honest answer.
“I want you to touch me. There.” He punctuated his word with a thrust of his hips, and she nodded, wriggling down the bed farther as she slid the coverlet down so it was below where he throbbed.
She sat up to rest on her heels again, her hands clasping the fabric of his nightshirt, dragging it up to rest on his lower belly.
His cock rose proud and straight in front of her, and her eyes widened, making him both pleased and anxious. He knew she hadn’t seen a male member before, and he hoped she wasn’t horrified.
“How does that do that?” she asked wonderingly before placing her palm on it to grip his shaft.
He groaned at her touch. Not horrified, thank god.
“Now what do I do?”
“Stroke it. Up and down,” he said, willing himself not to move, not to touch her, as he so desperately wished to do.
She caught her lip with her teeth, then began to do as he’d said, sliding her hand up and down his cock, her expression entirely focused on the matter at hand. So to speak.
He didn’t think it was possible to get even harder, but he could feel himself thickening under her touch.
“Is this right?” she asked.
“Yes, God, Ida, it is so right.” He could barely speak.
She kept stroking, sliding her fingers over the top of his cock before bringing her palm down again.
“A little faster,” he urged, and she did, her breath coming out in short, wicked gasps that filled the room.
He could see she was shifting as well, likely because her sweet nub needed the friction her hand was currently giving him.
“I need to touch you,” he said, and he didn’t wait for her permission, but put his palm right there, right where her night rail was bunched up, his fingers finding her wet and slick. Making him even more lust-crazed.
He slid his fingers along her slit, his thumb on her small pearl, rubbing gently.
“Ohh,” she moaned, widening her legs to allow him better access. “It feels much better when you do it,” she said.
“You’ve done this to yourself?” he asked, images immediately coming to mind. “I want to see you climax, Ida.”
“Is that what it’s called? That explosion?” She’d slowed the speed of her hand, and he rolled his hips to remind her that there were more important things than etymological questions.
“Yes, climax. A little death,” he added, sliding his finger inside her where she was tight and wet.
“Ohh,” she said again, stroking her hand faster on his cock.
And then he was coming, his back arching, everything forgotten but how good it felt. She gasped as he spilled onto his belly, and she released her hold of him, staring at him from under heavy lids.
He waited until the pulse of his cock lessened, and then he began to work her again, rubbing her nub as he slid his finger in and out of her, adding a second finger as she began to writhe on top of him.
“God, Bennett,” she gasped as he felt her spasm under his hand, watching her face as she closed her eyes and tilted her head back, her hands fisted.
It was glorious to watch her climax. He felt ridiculously proud of having brought her to that point just by watching her reactions and timing his touch accordingly. And, still, she remained entirely in charge of all of it, of their pleasure, and it was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.
He didn’t want this moment ever to end—both of their climaxes subsiding, the feelings leaving a soft, luxurious well-pleasured sensation. Alone in the dark together with nobody knowing where they were.
“That was amazing,” she said as she got off his body to lie against him, one arm thrown over his chest.
“And you took the lead. As you knew I wanted, but I didn’t know myself.” He picked up her hand and kissed her fingers. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome,” she said as she yawned.
He grabbed the edge of his nightshirt and wiped away his seed, then sat up partway to remove it, dropping it on the floor.
“And all it took was one ruined nightshirt,” he said as he lay back down.
“Your coat didn’t do its job very well,” she observed, yanking the coat out from under herself and tossing it to the other side of the bed.
“That’s because it had a very determined opponent,” he replied, gathering her in his arms. “You are far more powerful than a mere trumpet.”
“Whatever that means,” she said sleepily. “But thank you,” she said in a pleased voice.