Afraid of what she might call it next, Zeus interrupted. “Good God, will you stop? My male part. My manly projection. My masculine protrusion? So you want to see my cock? If you want to see it, you damn well better be able to say—”
“Aye!” She stared at him defiantly, determinedly, as if his crude language didn’t put her off in the least. “Your cock. Your pr-prick! Your phallus. Your sword, bayonet, yard, bodkin, dagger, dirk. Your penis,” she enunciated clearly, her fingers knotting over themselves in her bid to appear unaffected, “and if you want me to say more, then I’m afraid I shall disappoint because I’m completely out of euphemisms or naming knowledge in that particular arena. But I do so still desire to see it.”
“Fine!” His hands went to the fall of his buckskins. “Fine! Good Lord, woman—” Fast, furious, his fingers undid the buttons on either side. “Fine, I say! Do not ever let it be thought I am not an accommodating applicant! By God, you’d try the patience of a saint.” Bracing his legs, he reached past his drawers to grasp his turgid rod. Keeping hand and dirk concealed, giving himself a sharp squeeze—and his brain one more chance to reconsider—he hesitated. He stood there and he stalled, nostrils flared, mind striving for the right course, lungs heaving as if he were a stallion scenting a mare. His mare. And perhaps he was.
“A saint,” he pondered aloud, contemplating, Do I leave now, abandon all hope of gaining Amherst and the lovely lady who possesses it but walk away with a modicum of pride intact? Or do I remain and bare all…in every sense imaginable? The truth, my body, my longing… The urges storming his staff anything but saintly, Zeus concluded, “And yet, I have never been accused of being one of their exalted number.”
She watched him, eyes flared, the hard point of her nipples thrusting upward with each of her ragged inhalations, the tiny beads visible through the thin lawn, that deuced corset cinched round her middle only enhancing the gentle swells.
Every speck of her attention centered on his wrist where his hand had disappeared beneath his waistband. His straining erection grew impossibly thicker, stiffened to the point of pain when the tip of her tongue darted out as she licked her lips, giving him but a glimpse of one part of her he intended to explore thoroughly—the tempting cavern of her mouth.
Her squeak of excitement was nearly his undoing. At the sound, his damn shaft jumped within the confining circle of his fingers and nearly poked a hole in his buckskins. But it was her hoarse cry of, “Please. Please do not make me wait any longer. I so crave the sight of you,” that convinced him to stop debating the merits of morality versus the sins of sexuality and release the death grip on his dagger after one final near strangulation at the root. Using both hands, he shoved down his drawers and buckskins.
“There!”
Throwing back his shoulders and anchoring fists at his waist, he balanced in place, proudly, awkwardly, awaiting her reaction.
Her prim nod of approval, her scream of outrage or possibly a graceful swoon—none of those would have surprised him at this point. Of course she wouldn’t respond as one might predict, not his Lady Scandal.
As he weaved on unsteady feet, his engorged dirk jutting toward her position on the settee like a dowsing rod divining heaven, what did she do but sweep both palms to her flushed cheeks, open her eyes as wide as they’d go, and breathlessly exclaim, “Oh my. Oh-oh-my. It’s— You’re—much more solid than I expected.”
Hands hiding the bulk of her awed expression, she cocked her head as if that slight tilt would enable her to view him better. His damn hips preened under the unexpected admiration, twisting to the side so she could view him in partial profile.
“Longer too,” she murmured appraisingly, regaining her voice in light of his willingness—stupidness?—to allow her to look her fill. “Undeniably longer when not constrained. Mercy. Definitely bigger. Gracious me.” She finally tore her eyes from his bobbing bauble and blinked up at him. “I must admit, your virile attribute is decidedly more…intriguing than I… Just… Oh!” And there she went, flailing her hands in front of her face as though to prevent that swoon he’d been expecting all along.
Virile attribute? At least she’d progressed from the mouthful of Ms and Ps she’d massacred and pelted his anatomy with moments before.
Buckskins bunched just above his knees, a draft threatening to wilt his erection, he braved her scrutiny. Draft? Nay, more likely daft, the foolishness of this entire encounter superseding any errant air currents whistling through the drafty abode.
He was daft to be standing here when she was so far away, that was a certainty. Ready to remedy that and quickly, Zeus took one bungling step toward her.
“Nay! Not yet.” She scooted back, trying to merge into the settee, exhibiting another unmistakable hint of shyness. One of very few, his beleaguered brain had to concede.
She pointed to the floor where he stood. “Please stay there, where you are.” Her fingertips flew to cover her mouth, then she brought them down and tangled them together. “I desire to look from…from afar.”
“Bloody amazing.” How she could sit there, cheeks blazing, eyes glued to his dirk, hands now working frantically at the loose fabric of her shift as though they wanted to be on him and, conversely, she was doing everything humanly possible to occupy them elsewhere? Anxiety, boldness and bashfulness, all wrapped up in the most delightful package to ever cross his path.
Damn daftness aside, how could he be so bloody hot, boiling on the inside, standing there nearly naked in her drafty abode? It had to be her enticing company, for it certainly wasn’t their surroundings. So she wanted to look from afar? Didn’t yet want to touch? Maybe he could hurry
