Chapter Five

 

 

ALWAYS SHE WAITED FOR him. A good half hour had passed since her arrival with no sign from her tutor. The excitement she’d felt when she had first walked through his door, her cheeks stinging with the cold while her body heated in anticipation, had died in the face of boredom.

Elizabeth glanced about the room, twisting her fingers idly around a loose thread from her skirt, again and again. His desk dominated the space, a heavy oak structure looming over all, the set of drawers on either side lending a certain sort of monstrosity. The leather blotter, so precisely centred, left little room for the forlorn, empty inkwell at its head.

The surface was neat, precise and completely devoid of personality. How did he work in such a Spartan area? There was nothing to indicate he did indeed work, no ink stains, no scraps of paper, nothing. Maybe the desk was for show, solely to intimidate those unwary enough to enter his study.

She blanched. And wasn’t that just a dramatic and overwrought thought?

It did beg the question, though. What did Malvern do with all of the bits and pieces that inevitably littered one’s desk? Her own was a mess of correspondence, invitations and scribbled notes she always meant to one day file. Did he keep his papers in the drawers? If she were to look, would she find her schedule, the one he insisted he had written?

The potentially intriguing drawers were out of her line of sight and she fought the impulse to investigate, telling herself it would be extremely rude to invade her tutor’s privacy, but really it would be his own fault. All who knew her were aware she couldn’t be trusted to keep her distance when her imagination fired. To be fair, Malvern had known her for all of a week and a half, and he couldn’t be held at fault for not yet realizing how far she would go to slake the niggling compulsion to know.

Oh, sod it all to hell and back. She hurried around his desk, her fingers itching. The first drawer was locked. And the next. And the next.

Damnation. Folding her arms across her chest, she stared at the drawers, contemplating stratagems for forcing the things open.

“I lock all my drawers, as you have no doubt discovered.”

Malvern’s voice cracked through the room, abnormally loud and utterly unexpected. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Good Lord, she had been caught at his desk like an unruly child with her hand in the biscuit tin.

He offered no rebuke, however, and remained framed in the doorway, his arms crossed over casual attire of shirtsleeves, robe and trousers. “Was there anything in particular you were hoping to discover?”

She shrugged, attempting nonchalance, as if she were caught trying to rifle through men’s desks daily. “I thought to find my schedule. To facilitate your tutelage, of course.”

“Ah.” Not a raise of his brow to convey his indifference, nor a twitch of a lip to show his amusement. Nothing. “So you weren’t planning to steal my millions?”

Her gaze flew to his. Had he just made a joke? But no, his face betrayed no trace of humour, was set in its usual disinterested lines. The first sign of insanity, imagining things. Well, that and snooping in people’s desks. She was terrible. She truly was. “I should not have attempted to invade your privacy. It is such a bad habit of mine. No one is safe from me, I fear. I shall endeavour, though, to remain on that side of your desk.” She gestured to the side away from all those interesting drawers.

“It is of no consequence.” He came to stand beside her, close enough to touch. Unfortunately, he did not take advantage of their proximity. “Today, we shall discuss the male form. Have you seen a man fully disrobed?”

Surprised by the change of subject, it took her a moment or two before she could remember if she had seen Rocksley naked at any time in their marriage. On occasion, she’d pressed Rocksley that they might undertake their martial relations fully unclothed, out of curiosity’s sake if nothing else. However, he had consistently looked so horrified at the notion she hadn’t the heart to pursue it further. Thus, their marital relations had continued as ever they had, the lights doused and their night clothes raised only so the necessary could occur.

“Never.” The denial was stark. Embarrassing. “I have examined an anatomy book, though.” As if the examination of a book could negate the embarrassing truth. Twenty eight years of age and never had she seen a naked male. She would wager even Anne had seen her husband unclothed and there could be no one more aware of the bounds of propriety than Anne.

“The anatomy book will make this easier, then.” He shed his robe, coming to stand before her. His face, as always, betrayed nothing of his thoughts. “First, our discussion shall encompass what makes us desire. It can be a small thing—a turn of a wrist, a flash of skin—or it can be more obvious. Breasts swelling above a corset, skin tight breeches outlining a perfect thigh.”

Her mind skittered where he had surely intended, to her own surreptitious studies of male groins, so perfectly outlined by formal wear. She had known she should not have looked, but she had, and having looked, she had wanted.

“Desire is a personal experience, at the discretion of the one experiencing it. There is no way for me to teach you this. You will discover what attracts you. Arousal, though, is another matter. The signs are similar in all. For a man, arousal is more obvious. The penis will become engorged, rising from its flaccid state to become hard, ready to be stimulated until semen is released. This process, of course, can be achieved in many ways.”

She pressed her hand to her chest. Where was he going with this? A few possibilities occurred to her, and each set her heart to racing.

“I will demonstrate how a male can be stimulated for ejaculation to occur.” He began to unbutton his shirt and her mind went blank as his chest was revealed.

Pale golden skin glowed softly in the candlelight, lovingly caressed by shadow and flame. Her eyes ran greedily over his wide shoulders, his strong back. Sleek muscles flexed, strong biceps curling and releasing, as he removed the shirt from his person, the long muscles on his side standing in relief as he twisted to place the garment on his desk.

She barely noticed the slight pain as her tongue slid over the ridges of her teeth. Good Lord, the man was stunning. She wanted to touch him. To trace her fingers over him, to find out if that pale gold skin was as warm as it looked, to discover for herself its texture, the resilience of his flesh. She wanted to taste him. She could do so, could she not?

He lectured, something about the various muscles on his body, though who could care what he said when such a bounty was before her? She needed to place her lips on his skin, above his nipple, and rub them back and forth until they became sensitised. Then, with her flesh stinging from the feel of his, then she would savour his salt on her tongue.

His voice wrapped around her, his body filling her vision, her fingers aching for him beneath them, sense of his words drowned by the pounding of her heart. If this was lust, it was absolutely insane she’d not pursued the experience years earlier.

If she had been listening to him, it probably wouldn’t have shocked the life out of her when he opened his trousers. As she choked, he pushed the fabric down his thighs, gracefully stepping out of them. She tried to maintain some sort of dignity, but really, where was dignity when a man so very calmly revealed himself?

Her gaze skittered to his face and that infernal brow raised, no doubt in amusement at her reaction. Well, she had no defence. He was the first man she had seen naked. He was lucky she was too overwhelmed to ask questions.

Patiently, he waited until she had fully recovered. “As you can see, the penis is already starting to lengthen. Further stimulation will result in full tumescence. I shall demonstrate.” He encircled himself, his strong hand unashamedly stroking his flesh.

She couldn’t tear herself away from the sight. He was displayed for her, like one of those anatomy books, but gloriously alive, gloriously touchable. Her palms itched to feel his flesh, to measure the strength of his erection for herself. Desire cut through her, a steady litany of I want... I need...

“They are many names for the penis.” His hand continued stroking his length. “Some are clinical, some are base. Many are meant for amusement. Penis, cock, dick, phallus. I prefer the term cock.” His flesh grew before her gaze, the head becoming flushed as he worked himself.

He was saying something about stimulation and strength, but it was merely noise. She followed the slide and pull of his hand on his flesh, lip caught between her teeth, barely remembering to breathe. “Can I—would you mind if I…touch it?”

No response. Her gaze flew to his. She awaited his answer, apprehensive she had said something wrong, exhilarated that maybe she hadn’t. How could he still seem imperious while unclothed? His gaze locked with hers and they remained thus, his breathing even for all his apparent arousal.

Finally, finally, he reached for her hand and placed it on his…his cock.

The weight was heavy in her palm. She bit her lip as she traced the flesh, learning the shape, the feel of it. The skin should have been rough, but instead it was silky soft, sliding sinuously over the hardness it contained. Satisfaction filled her as the flesh hardened further, blood staining its skin as she stroked from root to tip.

His small groan tore her captivated gaze from his groin. Ruddy colour flushed the skin along his cheekbones; his teeth gritted against the pleasure. Shamefully, she remembered there was a person attached to that fascinating bit of flesh, a person who appeared wholly taken with her touch.

“Am I doing this right?” Strange, the throatiness of her words. Only now her attention had been broken did she realise her own susceptibility. Shallow breaths pushed her breasts against her corset, scraping her sensitised flesh against the stiff material.

“Too well.” He hissed as she ran her thumb over the indentation at the tip of his cock. The harshness of his tone made her skin tighten. “Do you wish to continue with this or—?” His voice broke as she increased her grip.

“Or?” The muscles of his abdomen leaped in time to her strokes, his hips rolling against her as he pushed himself into her hand.

Her grip tightened again and he swore under his breath, that deliciously foreign word she found so titillating. Catching her wrist, he lifted her hand from him. The index finger of his other hand trailed down her cheek, along her jaw to under her chin, tipping her gaze to his. Perspiration gleamed on his skin. Fire burned behind blue ice, and a shiver rushed through her at the sight.

He traced her upper lip, then the lower, her flesh stinging in his wake. Then, he pushed inside her mouth. Her lips automatically closed over him and slight panic filled her, her hand grasping his wrist to prevent him from intruding further.

His eyes locked on hers. For an endless moment she stared at him, his finger motionless in her mouth, her mind racing.

“Suck me,” he said.

Never taking her eyes from his, she drew on his finger, the suction gentle but firm, her hand cradling his wrist. The taste of him was salty on her tongue, the flesh resilient as she gently scraped her teeth against him. Each pull found companion with the pulsing inside her, heat and wetness gathering between her thighs as she recognised the rhythm. She swept her tongue over him, triumph washing through her as he fought to contain his reaction.

Gently, he drew his finger from her mouth, her lips closing over the tip before allowing him to leave. He caressed her cheek with his knuckles as he sat in the chair she usually occupied, tugging her down to kneel between his spread legs.

“Now.” His tone was low, beguiling. “Suck me. There.”

Eager, she lowered her gaze to his lap. His erection was proud, strong, and her mouth watered as she imagined that flesh in her mouth. Her tongue darted out, touching the corner of her lip as she considered possibilities, stratagems.

Malvern, conscientious tutor that he was, offered assistance. “Take my cock in your hand.” His voice strained, his own hand covered hers, directing her to hold him just under the head. Again a wash of pride, that her touch had done that to him. “Take it in your mouth, as far as you can manage.”

Somewhat apprehensive about the matter but raging with desire, she moved to undertake his directive.

“Wait.”

She froze.

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, some of the fire had dimmed. “It would be better to build up to that. I apologise. My only excuse is I became carried away. Pleasure is about anticipation, driving your partner wild with lust. Sudden and direct has its uses, but in a situation such as this, taking one’s time is preferable.” His fingers gently cupped her chin, and his eyes burned. “You should make me desperate for your mouth.”

Her pulse beat loudly in her ears. “What should I do?”

“Play with me, pet me, drive me insane with small, quick touches. Deny me, and then give me everything. Keep me off balance. But most of all, do what you will.” A small tick started in his jaw, though his gaze was steady, as if he weren’t exposed and naked before her. “Nothing is wrong, indulge your whims, your desires. Surprise me.”

Whatever she wanted? Aroused by the possibilities, she gently traced his shape with her hands and, feeling suddenly brave, she placed a small kiss on the tip. Her breath brushed along him as her fingers played delicately, cupping him, stroking him, and she feathered kisses along his length, revelling in the freedom to do whatever she wanted.

The feel of him was astounding, becoming more so with each passing moment. Her tongue darted, licking up his length, the taste of him salty and sweet. He made a slight noise, small enough she only glanced up at him, and he gently pushed her towards the head of his cock. Licking delicately at the plum-shaped head, she experimented with the flat of her tongue, the tip, circling around and around as she played with her tutor.

She must have been doing something right as he cursed, his hand clenching in her hair. Pride and arousal danced inside her, and then she took him in her mouth.

A moan escaped at the way he filled her, strong and straight, and she went down on him as far as she could, enveloping him in the warmth of her mouth. A gentle tug at her hair made her retreat, helped her learn the rhythm, the push and pull as she took him inside her.

He whispered harsh commands as she learned him, his shape, his texture, his taste. He whispered how to hold him, when she should caress him, and a slight stroke on her jaw encouraged her to lick here, suck there. Lost in sensation, lost in him, she learned how to read his moans, his curses, the flow and ebb of his body.

Her body responded to his, her breasts aching, her core molten and a fierce pulse beating between her thighs. She wanted to touch herself. No, she wanted his hand, his lips, his tongue. But first, she wanted to make him scream.

“Stop.” Gravel ground his voice as he issued the command. She barely heard him, her attention solely on the thick flesh in her mouth. Her hands dug into his thighs, clenching and releasing as she sucked at him.

The pressure between her legs was unbearable. She ground herself against her heels, wishing she could touch herself but there were too many clothes. There were always too many clothes. Not on him, though. He was gloriously bare, his skin glistening with sweat, his hips thrusting his cock into her mouth as his hands gripped her hair, tangled almost painfully amongst the strands.

“You have to stop. Now. I’m going to—” He groaned as she almost let go of him, her tongue curling under the head of his cock, her hand cradling his taut flesh as she tortured him.

He swore, pushing her away from him. She landed with a heavy thud, her hands braced behind her, the taste of him on her tongue. Grasping his cock, he pulled hard at the flesh, his hips moving frantically in time with his hand. He cursed harshly and shuddered as climax overtook him, but then he covered himself with a handkerchief she’d not before noticed, obscuring her view.

However, any disappointment remained brief as he was so very beautiful in his pleasure. His throat arched, his eyes closed as the orgasm she had given washed over him. Her tongue touched the corner of her mouth, tasting him still, and she didn’t realise she was stroking her stomach, her hips undulating against the floor, not until she felt the heat of her palm through the layers of clothing. Empty, she was empty, her core throbbing, demanding that she do something about this ache.

Slowly, he recovered, the rise of his chest slowing as his breathing eased. By contrast, her heart raced madly, her skin hot, and oh, she so desperately wanted to touch him.

He opened his eyes and his gaze ran over her, her wanton sprawl, the desire she couldn’t hide. “Come here.”

His voice rushed through her, a shiver against her nerves, sending sensation down her spine, over her skin. She moved closer, but not enough to satisfy him, and he grasped her beneath the arms, lifting her to her feet. His hands slid down, heavy on her hips, burning through the layers of cloth even as, logically, she knew she shouldn’t be able to feel his heat. Turning her, he tugged her to his lap, her back settling into his chest, the threadbare material of her oldest gown a thin barrier between her skin and his. One arm across her hips pulled her further into him, while the other braced between her breasts.

“You did a good job.” His arm tightened against her breastbone. She arched her back and a helpless moan rose from her, her skin on fire as she felt his hardness cradling her.

“Such a good job,” he crooned, his hand sliding over her tortuously. He cupped her breast through the fabric of her gown, using the rough slide of fabric to abrade her tender skin. “You should have a reward.”

A gasp escaped her when he licked the cord of her neck, her hands digging into the arm of the chair as he traced a line to the curve of her shoulder. His hand slipped beneath her bodice, and he made a sound of approval at the looseness of her corset.

“You made yourself ready for me, didn’t you? Like I told you.” His breath whispered against her ear, stirring loose strands of hair.

“Yes.” There were no undergarments to impede him either. She pushed herself into his palm, his skin hot and rough against hers. The scent of him teased her, the soap from his bath, the tang of his cigarillo, the hint of alcohol on his breath. It wound about her, drove her mad, and she imagined drowning in it, enveloping her in him completely.

Lost in the sensations he aroused, in the desires his touch engendered, she wanted to feel him beneath her fingers, to trace his chest, to measure him, feel his cock leap beneath her touch once more. But she couldn’t. She was helpless before him, her body at his disposal, displayed for his pleasure.

Arousal roared through her.

He squeezed her breast, lifting it from the confines of her bodice. Cool air rushed across her fevered skin, and she moaned at the contrast. Her nipple beaded tight, the cradle of his hand rubbing against her, making the bud firmer, tighter, pain and pleasure combined.

“Put your legs on either side of mine.”

In a daze, she complied, her head nestled in the gap between his neck and shoulder. His hand continued to play with her breast, moulding and shaping, pinching her nipple, tracing the tight flesh. Grasping the arms of the chair, she pushed back into him, her legs loose on either side of his as she tried to ease her ache.

“Calm, my dear.” His other hand trailed over her stomach to rest lightly on her mons. “I shall take care of you.” Slowly, achingly slowly, he gathered the fabric of her dress.

Cool air caressed her calves, her knees, her thighs, and then the outside of his knee was against the inside of hers, his flesh resilient and warm. He abandoned the fabric of her gown and rested his hand on her thigh, making little circles against her skin. Breath frozen in her chest, she waited in agony for what he would do next.

Deliberately, he widened his legs. Draped over his, her own legs followed, until she was open, spread, cool air licking at her heat. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, could do nothing but wait for him to touch her. His lips whispered about her ear, playing over her flesh as one hand caressed her breast while the other—good Lord, the other—trailed up her thigh and then back, a little higher and then back, and all the while she ached, she wanted, her core weeping for him, a wicked pulse demanding him inside her.

She almost screamed when he put his hand on her, his fingers delicately tracing her folds. Stubbornly, he avoided the spot she most wanted him to touch. He avoided it, and she called him a bastard, she cried and his hand tightened on her breast, his legs opening wider, opening her wider to him. He crooned words to her, about heat and wetness and what he was going to do to her. And then, finally, he touched her.

It was almost too much, his fingers on her, gently flicking against her, driving her out of her mind. The precipice was coming, it was racing toward her and she thrust against him, her fingers digging like talons into the arms of the chair. He pushed a finger inside her, his thumb still massaging as he hooked somewhere inside, somewhere that made sensation storm through her and that was enough.

She exploded.

Dimly, she heard herself cry out, felt him hold her firmly, restraining her writhing body as climax rushed through her. The feelings were uncontrollable, too intense, too brilliant, storming through her like electricity, like lightening.

And then it was over.

Slowly, she came back to herself, her chest rising and falling harshly, her head lolling against his shoulder. His hand covered her breast, holding her gently, his other hand stroking her stomach through her gown. Moisture clung to her lashes, dampened her hair, and she realised at some point, she had wept.

His body beneath hers offered comfort and warmth and, strangely, the man who had caused the maelstrom now offered respite from it. She placed her hand over his on her stomach.

His hand jerked as she did so, and for an endless moment, she was certain he would pull away. He did nothing, however, remaining motionless beneath her palm. Tentatively, she linked their fingers.

And he let her.