Tonight would be a first for each of them.
“I confess you’ve been rather constantly on my mind,” Claire whispered, intoxicated by his touch, his nearness, his compelling size and beauty.
Ormond touched her cheek lightly. “I have been thoroughly obsessed with you since you first burst into my house. You were a ferocious little tiger-bewitching and bedeviling me. Leading me into temptation.”
“And me,” she whispered. “Because of you, I am undone.”
More aroused by her delicate vulnerability than the most adroit courtesan practicing her craft, he found himself inclined to mount her on the spot. Drawing in a breath, he cautioned himself to restraint. “We are both undone-and I for one am unaccustomed to the feeling.”
“You don’t mean to-that is…you aren’t changing your mind?” she said with unseemly panic.
“No, no, indeed not.”
“Oh, good. Should I take this off then?” She plucked at her shift. “I don’t mean to rush you, but I worry our absence might be remarked upon.”
Could he ask for more? “Rush me all you want,” he murmured, reaching for the buttons on her shift, gratified that her timidity no longer deterred her.
She didn’t wear a corset, although her gown was boned to define the narrow waistline that was fashionable once again. He was thankful for one less garment to remove.
“May I unbutton your shirt?”
The hesitancy in her voice struck some primal nerve, reminding him afresh that there was a world outside the brittle facade of the
As she freed the diamond studs on his shirt front, he slipped her shift from her shoulders, taking note of the unadorned cambric fabric much the worse for wear. He would take pleasure in giving her a new wardrobe. She dressed austerely-like a governess-part of her resolve not to be beholden to her aunt, no doubt.
She needn’t worry about being beholden to him.
He was generous with his lovers.
And breasts like hers should be covered with the finest silk.
Slipping his palms under her opulent breasts, he gently weighed them in his hands. “You hide these.” He smiled. “Now that you’re mine, I’m grateful.”
“I’m not yours.” But her voice was hushed, her fingers arrested on his shirt front.
“Really.” He tightened his fingers slightly, leaving an indentation on her soft plump breasts. “I thought we had a bargain.”
She shut her eyes against the fevered ecstasy streaking downward from his hands to the throbbing ache between her legs.
“Tell me,” he whispered, taking her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing gently. “Tell me you’re mine.”
She shuddered as a jolt of desire rippled through her vagina. “Yes, yes.”
“Yes, what?” For a man who had always avoided female entanglements, that he required her submission should have been a warning or disquieting at least.
“Yes, yes,” she breathed, as he gently massaged her nipples, as her body opened in lustful welcome, as long- suppressed desires overwhelmed all else. “I’m yours. I’m yours…”
“Good.” A brusque, blunt avowal.
“Would you…I mean-could you possibly-” her gaze was fevered, impatient, her breathing unsteady.
“Fuck you?”
She looked away, her bottom lip caught in her teeth.
For a virgin, she was ravenously eager. Although how would he know what a virgin was like? “I’m sorry, that was rude,” he whispered, thinking her the picture of unspoiled womanhood, all pink, soft innocence in half undress.
“I shouldn’t have asked,” she said, turning back, embarrassed, yet impatient, unsure of the degree of wantonness allowed.
“Of course you should have,” he murmured. “Ask me anything.” And bending down, he kissed her trembling mouth.
She clutched at him and whimpered, offered herself up with a desperate abandon no man with a heartbeat could have refused. Quickly easing her down on the couch, he whispered, “I’ll be right with you,” and stood to strip off his remaining clothes.
This time, he dropped them on the floor without regard for Miss Russell’s sensibilities.
She didn’t notice, but he didn’t think she would, lying as she was with her eyes closed, shuddering and trembling. Suddenly, her body went rigid, and clenching her fists, she shut her eyes so tightly her eyelids turned white.
An image that gave him serious pause.
It wasn’t as though he had a dearth of women wanting to fuck him.
Did he really want this patently reluctant woman?
“I’m not sure I’m looking for a sacrificial virgin,” he murmured, although even as he spoke, he was chiding himself for being so magnanimous with his personal pleasure at stake.
“Wrong,” she whispered. “Please don’t make me wait.”
There. That certainly was unequivocal permission.
Not giving himself any more time to question his philanthropic impulses, he quickly lowered himself over her body, smoothly positioned himself between her legs and guided his throbbing cock to her sex. Reminding himself to enter her slowly-losing one’s virginity was said to be painful-he carefully eased the crest of his erection into her cleft.
She was succulent and slick, her tissue liquified by lust, but he moved forward delicately, penetrating the merest distance before politely pausing.
To his surprise, she lifted her hips, enticing him deeper.
Grateful for her overture, having never dealt with a woman who had been rigid with fear, he thrust forward marginally and meeting no resistance, drove in deeper yet.
And deeper.
And deeper still.
As he buried his cock up to the hilt in her hot, molten cunt, he suddenly understood that he had misread the implication of her utterance-
Miss Russell was no sacrificial virgin; she was no virgin at all.
Beneath her schoolmistress persona and virtuous pose was a woman of lush voluptuousness and seeming sexual appetites.
He felt enormous relief, profound gratitude, and a seriously explosive ardor. There was no need to tread lightly, as it were. The lady was no novice; in fact from her impassioned response, from her soft sighs and eager moans, her clutching hands on his shoulders and back, her lush, tight, avaricious cunt, he rather thought he’d chanced upon the more sexually liberated of the Russell sisters.
With professionalism and artistry, he set about exploring the silken heat of her willing cunt, moving from side to side, in and out, more fully appreciating her ready response for having thought it absent. As she enthusiastically matched his rhythm, offering variations of her own with a spirited zeal, clinging to him as though he were her sexual salvation, he experienced a new level of erotic sensation.
Overwrought and overstimulated after being celibate so long, Claire drifted in some mindless glow of rapture and ecstasy, a flushing, tingling, all-pervasive mist of ravishment and delight. She felt each spiking impact as he thrust forward, each tactile caress and oscillation, each slow stroke and flutter of withdrawal, and consumed by a red-hot hysteria, she came so quickly the first time, Ormond had to swiftly improvise.
A man of less virtuosity might have failed her.
Fortunately, years of practice came to the fore and swiftly shifting direction, he drove back in, plumbing her depths. Cramming her full, he held himself hard against her womb as she climaxed in a panting, blissful, suffocated scream.
