An Introduction to Pleasure (17 page)

He did just that, swirling his tongue around her nipple in slow, languid licks and nips. She shivered as sensations so powerful and focused that they made her weak echoed through her body. How could his touch at her breast resonate so loudly at her pussy? How could his kiss make her legs shake and her sheath clench? It was amazing.

He drifted lower, brushing his rough cheek against the smooth skin of her belly and teasing a trail with his tongue even lower. She parted her legs as invitation and he nuzzled her pussy gently before he stroked his tongue along the wet, heated entrance.

“So sweet,” he murmured against her body. His words reverberated against her heated flesh and she arched helplessly as he used his thumbs to open her and began to lick and suck in earnest. He was driving her toward release, that was obvious. Even more obvious was that she couldn’t fight that drive, nor did she wish to do so.

She thrashed against the pillows, fisting the coverlet and twisting as pleasure built, built and then exploded in a crescendo that put the night’s earlier opera to shame.

He continued to lick her through her release until the tremors of her body had eased and finally subsided, then he kissed her inner thigh.

“Now roll over,” he said softly.

She leaned up on her elbows, panting as she stared at him in question. Roll over?

Her thoughts turned to the time she’d spent at Vivien’s house. She had watched the major take Annalisa from behind. It had been an animalistic display, but the other woman seemed to enjoy it.

She shifted to her stomach and peeked at him over her shoulder. “Like this?”

“Arch your back. So I can see you,” he explained as he put a hand beneath her hips and moved her into position so that her backside was raised and her head resting on the pillow, supported by her arms.

Lysandra blushed. She was so exposed in this position. She had been on display for him before, of course, but now it felt even more so.

“I know you like when I lick you here,” he said, smoothing his fingers over her still-damp sex.

She jolted as sensation that had just faded lurched back into focus. “Yes,” she gasped.

He rubbed his fingers in a gentle, circular fashion, wetting them with her juices. She arched back toward him, pushing into them so they slipped inside of her a little farther.

“Indeed you do,” he mused with laughter in his voice.

He slipped his fingers free and slipped them higher until he circled the rosette of her bottom with them.

Lysandra gasped at this new taboo and lurched away from him out of pure instinct.

“What—?” she began.

He stared at her, patient as she looked at him over her shoulder, trembling.

“When I first kissed you where you now so enjoy my tongue, was that not foreign?” he asked.

She nodded. She had been shocked by what he did, frightened even. But the rewards for the act had been great indeed, and now she dreamed of his mouth on her.

“This is foreign to you too. But it will feel good. I promise you, I will make sure of it,” he whispered as he caught her hips and dragged her closer.

She trembled as she put herself back in the position he had showed her and closed her eyes as he pressed his wet fingers back against her bottom. Now that the shock had faded, she had to admit that this foreign touch was not unpleasant. His fingers were warm at her entrance, gentle as he stroked the tiny hole in little circles.

She gasped despite herself as he pressed harder and a sudden, unexpected jolt of pleasure rocked her. It was different than when she orgasmed, but just as powerful.

“Very nice,” he practically purred as he pressed harder, letting the tip of his finger enter that forbidden channel.

Lysandra shivered, pressing her face into the pillow and squeezing her eyes shut as she focused merely on sensation. His touch on her skin, then inside her inch by inch, to the first knuckle of his finger, then the second.

“How does it feel?” he asked, his voice tense.

She turned her head to the side. “Full. A—a little pain, but still…
good
, somehow.”

“Dancing on the edge of pain almost always feels good,” he said. “Some people take it much further, though I doubt Vivien would ever arrange for you to match with someone with such proclivities. Not until you were far more experienced, that is.”

Lysandra’s eyes went wide. Pain as pleasure? Even more pain than this tingling sensation at her backside? How could that be? And yet the thought of it made her body even wetter.

She turned her face back into the pillow to keep her reaction from Andrew. It seemed indecent to like this touch so much.

But she jerked her head up almost as quickly as she pressed it to the pillow when she felt the head of his cock slide against her entrance even as he pushed his finger deeper into her bottom.

“Andrew,” she gasped.

“Shhh,” he said softly. “Some men put their cock into the place where my finger is, but I don’t think you’re ready. Although it is so tight and hot that it makes me want to spend just thinking of it. I’ll settle for filling you in every way. Like this.”

Lysandra gasped as he drove his cock deep within her. With his finger inside her too, she felt desperately full and aching with pleasure and pain mixed at just the right consistency.

“I’ll go slowly,” he groaned. “As long as I can. Tell me to stop if I hurt you.”

She bit her lip, ready for more. Aching for more, though she didn’t dare ask for it. She might not be an innocent in any way anymore, but she wasn’t bold enough to demand what she desired. Not this.

He thrust with his cock and at the same time withdrew his finger a fraction. Lysandra cried out at the friction of his finger and his cock rubbing against each other through the thin barrier between the two entrances.

He grunted. “Should…I…stop?”

She shook her head. “No, no please. Don’t stop.”

He laughed low and then thrust again, keeping the motion of this cock and his finger at opposing directions. Lysandra found herself driving backward, rolling her hips in a circle and clenching against his invading body as he took her in every way. Her orgasm hit her, doubled in intensity by the fact that he was inside of her so completely.

His strokes quickened as she arched and cried out through her crisis and then he joined her in release, pulling from her body to splash his seed across her bare back before he flopped down on her bed and pulled her against him, panting.

She stared up at him in the dimness. He had never ended a lovemaking session by holding her. He’d made it clear, so many times, that he couldn’t and wouldn’t ever allow her so close.

She snuggled into the crook of his shoulder and slipped her arm around his bare, sweaty chest. In a few moments, a few hours, he would remember why he pulled away from her and go. But until then, she was going to enjoy this closeness and try not to think about what would happen when it was over once and for all.

Chapter Fifteen

Andrew wasn’t feeling particularly good about himself as he sat in the carriage rumbling across London as a cold rain streaked down the windows outside. In fact, he was feeling quite like a shit.

After a night where Lysandra had given herself in every way he asked, he had slipped from her bed as soon as she fell asleep and left without a word of goodbye. No doubt, that departure would wound her. It seemed that was all he was capable of doing, but how could he talk to her after what they had shared? Emotionally, as well as physically.

He had never wanted a woman more. He kept thinking that, though he never said it out loud. And every time the thought wedged its way into his mind, he hated himself for it.

Shouldn’t he have wanted Rebecca the most? Didn’t he owe her that, alive or dead, after everything she had sacrificed to marry him and give him what he desired?

And yet, he didn’t. He didn’t honor her. Truth be told, he had hardly thought of her since touching Lysandra.

Not that he could ever allow Lysandra to know that. He kept that wall between them, refusing to let her near, refusing to give her anything. All he could do was take. Take her body and take her story, as he had last night when he all but forced her to tell him about her family. It had hurt her to talk about them, to spill the painful details he would wager she had kept secret for years.

He knew a little about that.

And yet now the carriage stopped in front of a middle-class home in a neighborhood he had never visited before. He stepped down before the driver could assist and looked up with a sniff of disdain.

There was one thing he
could
do for her.

“Wait for me here,” he said. “I won’t be long.”

“Yes, sir,” his drive said with a smart bow, standing at the wait beside the horse’s head.

Andrew straightened his jacket and strode up the door. He rapped and smiled when a servant opened it and stepped back in surprise and respect even before he gave over his card.

“M-may I help you…my lord?” the servant said, guessing correctly that he was titled.

There were few times when Andrew enjoyed throwing the weight of his family name and fortune about. Normally it only brought him attention he did not seek and gossip he did not desire. Today, however, he loved every moment of it.

“Indeed. Tell your master that Viscount Callis is here to see him.” He pushed into the foyer. “
Now.
”

The servant stammered as he took one of Andrew’s gold foil-trimmed cards. “Yes. I shall. Immediately, my lord. Allow me to show you to a parlor to wait for Mr. Ingram.”

Andrew followed the servant into the room and as the door shut behind him, he looked around. The parlor was the gaudiest display of new money he had ever seen. From the gold-trimmed everything to the overly stuffed chairs to the mismatched “art” on the walls, it was all designed to scream
rich
. In the end it failed. All Andrew saw was a lack of taste and decorum.

And he liked the man he had never met even less for it, if that was possible.

Within moments, the parlor reopened and a fat, sweaty man burst through the door.

“Lord Callis,” he said, reaching out a hand with a disturbingly wet palm that Andrew ignored. The man stammered and then lowered his hand. His face got even redder. “I beg your pardon for making you wait. Damn servants.”

Andrew pursed his lips at the idea that August Ingram would blame a poor footman for the very brief wait. It only made him angrier and angrier.

“It was nothing,” he said as he took a seat and glowered up at the man.

“What an honor it is to have a man of such importance in our home,” the man continued to gush as he staggered into his own seat. “Though I don’t know what I could have done to earn the honor. Have you heard of my shop?”

Andrew shook his head. In the research he had done into the man since the night before, he had learned he owned a somewhat successful bookshop in the same neighborhood where he lived. Nothing spectacular, but he did a decent number of sales each month. Enough to live more than comfortably.

Without
Lysandra’s pittance coming in for her mother.

“Your shop is none of my concern,” he drawled evenly. “In fact,
you
are none of my concern, sir.”

The other man cleared his throat in discomfort and shifted his fat frame in the overstuffed chair. “I see.” He hesitated and then shook his head. “No, I don’t see. What—what do you want of me, then, my lord?”

“I’m here about Lysandra Keates and her mother,” Andrew snapped.

To his great pleasure, Ingram swallowed hard and dug into his pocket for an embroidered handkerchief with which to mop his sweaty brow.

“My aunt,” he said. “And her daughter, yes. My dear aunt lives with us, we took the poor thing in after some great misfortunes in her family. A pleasure for us, I assure you.”

“A pleasure,” Andrew repeated, clenching his fists. “I see. A pleasure, you say. Is that why you charge her daughter an exorbitant amount of money each month for your
dear aunt’s
room and board?”

Now Ingram began to struggle to get to his feet, but Andrew was much faster. When he rose to his full height, Ingram stopped making the attempt to stand and sank back into his chair with a meek shiver.

“See here, my lord. You know nothing of the circumstances,” he argued, though his tone was quite weak. “I only want to cover my expenses when it comes to my aunt. She is unwell. You cannot imagine what a burden that is. One we take willingly, of course, but should we not be compensated for all we do? Now may I ask you, what do you know of my cousin and our arrangement that you would come barging into my home with such an attitude?”

“I’m a friend of Miss Keates’,” Andrew said coolly. “And I’m here because I will be removing your aunt from your home today and moving her into a better situation. And I will expect you to return all monies given to you for her care by Miss Keates. Do you understand what I’m saying?
All monies.
With interest.”

“Interest for what?” Ingram sputtered.

“For being a bastard,” Andrew responded. “And a pig.”

Now Ingram managed to get himself to his feet. “I don’t have to put up with this, sir. Not in my own home. I can see now how Lysandra has convinced you to act on her behalf. She must be repaying you on her back, but—”