He groaned. Not today. The lesson he intended was supposed to entice her to share his bed, not send her running from him in shock.
"I never agreed to your terms, you know," she pointed out, as he reached her.
If she meant to tease him, she was doing a good job of it. "Very well," he said with a shrug. "Then we'll have the party next week as I'd initially planned."
He turned for the door, but she caught his arm. "No. Now that you've gone to so much trouble, you might as well finish the lesson in seduction. But do be quick about it."
A choked laugh escaped him as his bad boy leaped fully to attention. "The first thing you need to learn, sweetheart, is that 'quick' and 'seduction' don't belong in the same sentence." He led her to one of the stone benches. "And seduction is never any trouble."
"It could be trouble for me," she pointed out, as he seated her on the bench.
"I won't let it." After removing her tucker, he lowered her gown, stays, and chemise, so he could gaze his fill of her twin beauties, so pert and high, with small pink nipples that he ached to suck.
"You have perfect breasts," he rasped as he dropped to his knees before her.
"Really?" She stared at him, her gaze oddly guileless, showing no trace of embarrassment. But when she spoke again, her voice held a tremor. "They're…they're not very big."
True, yet they suited her somehow. And they were by no means paltry. "Big enough to please me," he murmured. Then he covered one with his mouth, relishing the tiny gasp she gave in response.
That was all the encouragement he needed. He took his time, teasing one nipple with teeth and tongue while he fondled her other breast. As he drank in her sighs and moans, he fought to ignore his rapidly growing arousal. She smelled of citrus and sun, tart and hot together, and he wished he could taste her for hours.
Taste
all
of her. His fevered brain could think of nothing else. He told himself it was because nothing softened a woman and turned her confessional better than a thorough tongue-lashing in just the right place.
But that was a lie. He ached with the need to have some part of him inside her. Ruthlessly, he ignored his own need. He meant to show her he could hold his beastly self in check.
Perhaps then she would see that their joining was inevitable. And once she let him seduce her,
he
would be in control. Then he would have what he wanted from her— the agreement to Tessa's enrollment, the truth about who she was…her presence in his bed every single lonely night…
The dangerous thought stiffened him to painful heights. Shoving her skirts up to her knees, he pushed her legs apart, eager to survey her domain.
"Anthony…" she said, a throaty warning that drove him mad.
"Let me finish the lesson." He inched her skirts up enough to bare her drawers. "I swear I won't do anything to ruin— "
He gulped. He had a full view of everything now, and with her legs parted, her sweet little honeypot peeped between the slits of her modest drawers, turning them into the most erotic piece of clothing he could have imagined.
The widows and whores he'd bedded had been lusty women showing off for a lusty rakehell. They hadn't worn drawers, and tossing their skirts up had generally given him instant access to their allurements.
He'd never dreamed that sublety could turn him hornier than a rhinoceros in the wild. His bad boy was fairly dancing in his trousers.
"What's wrong?" she whispered.
He glanced up to find her face awash with color. "Not a bloody thing," he rasped. Then he buried his face between her legs.
At the first taste of her, he groaned. Who would have dreamed a woman could hide such a delicious treat beneath practical linen drawers and bluestocking talk? God save him, she was dewy and warm, and her drawn-out sigh told him she was every bit as eager for this as he. Which was a good thing, because this time he meant to make her scream.
And scream was exactly what Madeline wanted to do as she stared down at Anthony's head between her legs. How could she let him do these…amazing…incredible…things to her…with his mouth? She'd never guessed a man could use it like this! Or that she'd want him to continue.
But ever since this morning, she'd been unable to stop thinking about how he'd touched her…how he'd roused an undeniable craving between her legs, more powerful than any she'd roused with her own caresses in the dark of the night.
Hardly realizing what she did, she gripped his head to hold him fast, and he paused long enough to cast her a smug glance. Curse him for that. She would make him regret it later. But right now, she'd go mad with curiosity if she didn't learn what she craved.
The more he drove his tongue inside her and the more his teeth strafed that little nodule of flesh nestled between her legs, the more she yearned and burned.
Caressing herself there had never achieved quite this astonishing sensation. It had merely frustrated her, made her impatient. It had never sent a flood of heat from her toes up her legs to just where his tongue and teeth worked that pebble of flesh with a delicacy that had her gasping. He churned the hot need in her belly into a frenzy that made her thrust her pelvis hard against his mouth.
And scream. The keening cry shocked her, but she couldn't seem to stop it. It poured out of her as she reached the pinnacle of pleasure he'd referred to this morning, reached it and soared over it into bliss.
"That's it, come for me, sweetheart," he demanded, as his fingers took over the work of his mouth. He straightened, an unholy light shining in his eyes. "Now do it again. I want to watch you come apart."
"Enough," she whispered, because his fingers tickled.
But then the tickling became an echo of before, and an ache built in the back of her throat that mirrored the quivering ache between her loins. Now it was tightening, throbbing, the ache worsening, the cry rising in her throat…and she screamed again.
This time she actually felt herself spasm around his fingers, as if to drag them deep inside her. The spasming seemed to please him, too, for a dark satisfaction leaped in his face.
His eyes were hot on her, drinking up every mew of pleasure, every gasp. He breathed as hard as she and seemed to be fighting for control.
While she still shook and quivered, he drew back his hand to wipe his fingers on his handkerchief.
"What…was that?" she asked when she could finally speak.
His eyes narrowed. "Don't you know? It's the little death."
"I-It didn't feel like death at all. Or what I would imagine death feels like." She struggled to regain her reeling senses. "It felt…oh, how to describe it…like heaven. Except reckless."
He uttered a rough laugh as he drew her skirts down. "You've never done that before, have you?"
Uh-oh. She was supposed to be experienced, remember? But she could hardly lie about this. "No," she whispered.
"That lover of yours must have been more inept than I thought," he said.
She blinked. "Lover?"
"The man who seduced and abandoned you." His gaze searched her face. "The man who drove you into exile at a girl's school in Richmond rather than marrying you as he should have."
She choked back a hysterical laugh. My, my, he'd invented quite a tawdry little past for her. She couldn't have come up with a better tale herself.
"Who was he?" he demanded. "Who was the selfish oaf who took your innocence without bothering to give you pleasure?"
Making use of his outrageous story was one thing. Expanding it was quite another. "I don't want to talk about it," she said as she drew up her corset.
He rose. "Madeline, I understand." He caressed her hair. "It's all right. You can tell me what the bastard did— or didn't do, more likely. I can well imagine your encounters— a lot of fumbling in the dark and him stuffing himself inside you with little preparation. Clearly,
something
he did made you wary of seduction."
"I'm wary of seduction for the same reasons I told you before."
"Fear of disease and illegitimate children? There are ways to prevent both."
"Really?" she said, then wanted to kick herself for encouraging him.
"Really." He tipped up her chin until she stared into his flushed face. "Alas, today I didn't bring anything with me, but next time I'll show you."
She dropped her gaze again. There wouldn't be a next time. Not that she could tell
him
that. "One of us must return before Mrs. Harris grows suspicious." And she must get him off this dangerous subject.
"It can't be me, or they'll see what I've been doing. I can hardly hide it." He stepped nearer, making it impossible for her not to stare at his trousers, since they were at eye level and quite close. Not to mention bulging.
Her mouth went dry. She did know about
this,
how a male animal's penis grew erect when aroused. It only stopped being erect once the male emitted his semen inside the female. Which she hadn't let him do.
Mustn't
let him do.
But hadn't she read some tidbit from the harem tales…Ah, yes, a man could pleasure himself the same way a woman could. She'd seen a crude picture of it— the man emitting his semen while being aroused by his own hand. And surely if a man could do it to himself, a woman could do it to him, too.
Not that it mattered— she would never do such a thing. Certainly not. "Then I'll go first, and you can follow when you're…presentable. That would rouse less suspicion anyway."
She started to rise, but he pressed her down with one hand. "You're not going anywhere until you answer my questions."
Him and his questions, drat it. She stared ahead, right at his bulging trousers. How better to distract him? Besides, the thought of touching Anthony's erect penis sent excitement swirling through her senses.
She squelched it at once. This had nothing to do with her eagerness to see what he looked like
there
. Or how he would feel in her hand. And how he would react to having her touch him.
She just had to keep him from figuring out what she was up to with her party.
"You could either ask your questions," she said, gazing at him from beneath lowered lashes. "Or I could relieve your condition. It's your choice."
He hesitated. She could almost see him weighing the choice in his mind.
"Relieve my condition how?" he asked warily.
"With my hand," she clarified, hoping she'd guessed right about what a woman could do to pleasure a man. Judging from how the bulge in his trousers swelled before her very eyes, she had indeed.
"Oh, God," he groaned, "you're a witch."
"Because I'm offering to pleasure you?"
"Because you're only doing it to keep from answering my questions."
"So you
don't
want me to pleasure you?"
"I didn't say that." Desire flared in his face. "You know damned well I want your hands on me."
"Then let me put them there." She unbuttoned his trousers. How difficult could it be to stroke a man to release?
His face flushed. "I still want answers…" he said hoarsely, though she noticed he didn't stop her as she unbuttoned his drawers.
"You'll have your answers," she assured him. "After the party, all right?" She had to give him some concession, and by then it wouldn't matter anyway, because if Sir Humphry didn't attend, she would have no choice but to beg Anthony to introduce her.
Pausing with her fingers on the last buttons, she lifted her face to his. "All right?" she repeated, making it clear this was the only choice she offered.
He stared at her a long moment. "All right," he said, the words almost guttural. Then he brushed her hands away and finished unbuttoning his drawers, unveiling the instrument that she'd seen only on animals or in drawings before.
Her mouth went dry. It was hard not to gawk. The thing was huge— not as large as a horse's, of course, but larger than she'd expected. Long and thick, it jutted out like a compass needle pointing north. To her.
"Stroke it," he commanded. "Oh, God, please stroke it."
Though she nodded, a moment of panic seized her. What if she did it wrong? What if she displeased him? A pity she hadn't read more of the girls' cursed book. One picture was hardly enough to inform a woman about proper technique.
Feeling at a disadvantage in her seated position, she rose and took his flesh in her hand. "I don't know…exactly how this works," she felt honor-bound to admit, since she didn't want to damage his lovely organ in any way.
"I'll show you." Closing his hand around hers, he moved it up and down his erect shaft.
"Ohhhh," she exclaimed, "it's like milking a cow."
A ragged laugh escaped him. "I suppose. Haven't ever…milked a cow." He guided her hand easily, as if it was a motion he did often. And the thought of him caressing himself the same way she touched herself in bed at night made her feel hot and quivery all over again.