Glass Slipper (7 page)

“Bravo,” Marie whispered against her ear as she carefully withdrew her hand. “Did you like it?”

Like it? Joséphine wasn’t sure if she would ever walk again, her legs trembled so. She sat up and turned at the waist, scrutinized the woman’s expression for any hint of mocking. If she were to be made fun of now, she would die. Simply die. But there was nothing but tenderness in the woman’s expression, so Joséphine leaned forward and kissed her, as passionately as she could ever imagine kissing anyone.

Marie moaned against her mouth, and Joséphine wondered if the woman felt as frustrated as she had the night before, when she had gone to sleep unsatisfied. Though at the time she hadn’t a clue what would have satisfied her, she thought she knew what the woman would like. “May I…may I touch you?”

With a content smile, Marie lay back, spreading her arms in invitation. Joséphine turned between her legs and found herself laying quite close to the woman’s bosom. Experimentally, she opened her mouth and touched the tip of one dark nipple with her tongue.

“Very good,” Marie murmured. “You can take the whole of it into your mouth, if you like.”

Joséphine closed her mouth over the dusky peak, still tapping it with her tongue. She thought of the motion of the seamstress’s finger between her legs, and swirled her tongue around and around. Marie gasped and lifted her hips beneath her. Joséphine smiled. Perhaps it was easier to please a woman than to please a man. Marie did not run from her, as Julien had.

When she had thought of physical relations, she had always imagined them between a man and a woman. The thought of touching another woman like this would have seemed absurd, even vulgar, once, but she could not understand such thinking now. She sucked hard on Marie’s nipple, releasing it from her mouth with a pop to move on to the next one.

Julien came to sit beside them on the bed. He still stroked himself, and as Joséphine lapped at Marie’s nipple, she imagined touching Julien. If she were to replace his hand with her own, what would he do? Would he reject her? Push her away as he had before?

Marie groaned loudly, her fingers digging into the pillows above her head. “Yes, you are doing so very well.”

Emboldened, Joséphine reached down, touching the mound covered by fine, dark hair between the woman’s legs. Her thighs parted, and Joséphine admired the wet, pink flesh that opened to her view.

“You can use your mouth there, as well,” Julien suggested. He reached over and stroked the nub between Marie’s parted nether lips. Marie rolled her hips, her breath hitching. “Use your lips and tongue there, and place your finger inside.”

Joséphine hesitated but a moment, until Marie’s whimpered pleas reminded her of the unrelieved lust she’d felt before. Wetting her lips, Joséphine slid down to position herself at the opening of the woman’s body. She smelled of soap and something else, something Joséphine couldn’t name, but it enflamed her senses. She dipped her head, brushing her lips across the tight pearl. Marie moaned, encouraging, and Joséphine opened her mouth, sucking the bud into her mouth as she had with the woman’s nipples.

Her reaction was as violent as Joséphine’s had been when Marie had first touched her intimate flesh. The seamstress raised her hips from the bed, her breath tearing from her lungs in rapid gasps. Joséphine flicked her tongue against the hot flesh, her own cleft growing damper at the sounds of the woman’s pleasure. Remembering Julien’s instruction, she slid a finger inside Marie’s tight channel, stroking and curling it the way she had done.

“Very good,” Julien whispered, taking up instruction for Marie, who groaned and writhed under Joséphine’s mouth. “Now, don’t let up. She is so near her climax. Can you feel her pulsing around you, getting wetter and wetter?

Joséphine did. She increased her tongue’s pace, swirling around the surging bud faster and faster, all the while pumping and stroking her finger inside Marie’s cunt. The thighs on either side of Joséphine’s head trembled and clamped down, the seamstress’s sunken belly tensed and quivered. Joséphine felt a gush of wetness over her hand, and muscles rippled around her fingers.

“Well done,” Julien congratulated her, gently lifting her face from the other woman’s mound.

“Very well done,” Marie purred approvingly. “You have learned very well.”

Joséphine glanced over at Julien, still holding his stiff member in his hand. “But how will that help me to please the prince? Surely I should have practiced on you, instead.”

Marie laughed and clapped her hands. “She is quite the find, Julien. From what you’ve told me of the prince, she will be a good match for him.”

Jealousy burned through Joséphine’s veins, shocking her with its intensity. It bothered her more than she would like to admit to herself to hear the seamstress talk with such familiarity with Julien. Of course, they had been lovers before. She was so beautiful and slender and self-assured, what man could resist her? Or what woman, for that matter? Joséphine’s cheeks burned with shame at the thought of what she had just done, though her core still ached for release once more.

“She is an astounding pupil,” Julien agreed. “And I believe she deserves a reward.”

Marie smiled and reached for her, but he clucked his tongue. “Your talents are required elsewhere.”

Shocked, Joséphine watched as Marie slid from the high bed. She knelt obediently on the floor beside Julien, and he stood, allowing her to take his organ into her hands. Joséphine made a noise of protest she had intended to keep to herself.

“Come to edge of the bed, Joséphine,” he urged her, a bemused smile on his face. He shed his jacket and stood before her in just his shirtsleeves. When she wiggled to the edge of the bed, he gripped her legs and pulled her so that her bottom was flush with the edge of the bed. Then, he knelt between her spread legs.

It was so startling, she almost pulled away. To have Marie touch her was one thing. Marie didn’t frighten her so, didn’t make her long for the forbidden the way Julien did. That was a mark of Julien’s reputation as a master seducer, Joséphine decided. He exuded lust, and made other people dangerously lustful, as well.

He pressed his mouth to her core, already puffy and wet from Marie’s attentions. Joséphine sighed despite her trepidation. This was what she had wanted the night before. She’d wanted him to give her pleasure, though she hadn’t known at the time exactly how.

His face was rougher than a woman’s, and she realized that he hadn’t shaved off his whiskers this morning. Had he intended to do this to her all along? She thrilled at the thought, and squirmed under his lips, which pressed delicate kisses along her folds. She lifted her hips, almost demanding that he grant her relief. Still, when his tongue stroked over that sensitive pearl, it was not the relief she sought, but more torture. He groaned against her flesh, and she remembered Marie on the floor, stroking him with her hands. The thought brought a tide of lust to her already soaked channel.

Julien pressed at the entrance of her body with one finger, gently, for his hands were larger than the seamstress’s had been.

“Be careful,” Joséphine urged him quietly.

He lifted his head to murmur, “Of course,” before nibbling the tender, pulsing bud with his teeth. His finger slid inside, stretching her, and he did not have to curl it to find that secret place. He rubbed the whole length of his finger against it, sawing back and forth inside of her until she thought she would scream. He sucked at her pearl, teasing it with his tongue at the same time, rubbing his stubbled chin across her petals until she did scream, her entire body bursting into pure pleasure. He did not withdraw from her, but eased his assault only until her shaking stopped. Then, with skilled fingers and tongue, he drove her back into the frenzy, until she sobbed with desire and shrieked his name as she climaxed.

He pushed back from her, then, his face tight with something akin to pain. Joséphine sat up, frowning. What had she done wrong? Then, through the vestiges of her own pleasure, she remembered Marie. The seamstress half-lay on the floor before Julien’s kneeling form, her head bobbing as her lips slid up and down Julien’s shaft. With a strangled noise, he pulled himself free from her mouth, silvery-white liquid spurting from the head of his member. Marie laughed and opened her mouth, catching some of his seed on her tongue.

Joséphine watched, captivated. She had never seen something so interesting as a man succumbing to his pleasure. An intense envy burned her. She wished it had be her, and not Marie, to have inspired such a reaction. She resolved at once that she should one day do the same to Julien.

And to the prince, of course.

Chapter Eight

The rest of the day was not nearly as exciting as the morning had been. After Julien had excused himself, she and Marie had dressed and the seamstress had chattered on happily about how lucky Joséphine was to have such an excellent tutor as Julien. Her exaltation of Julien’s prowess in the bedroom left Joséphine with little doubt that the two had once been intimately involved. She had hardly been able to wait until the woman left.

After the seamstress departed, there as a much, much more boring lesson to attend: Madame Brujon’s etiquette lessons. The old woman had seemed the last person one should learn any kind of manners from, but she proved to be a strict instructor. By late afternoon, Joséphine’s head swam with all the new rules she had learned. Rules on how to curtsey, how to greet nobles, how to great royalty, how to order about anyone else. Rules on how to eat and drink, rules on how to accept things that one might be handed.

Then there were other rules, ones that frightened her. Rules about how to spot poison in your glass or smell it on your food. Rules about what could be said and shouldn’t be said, and what could land you in the dungeons. Joséphine prayed she would never have occasion to use any of that newfound knowledge.

A few times during the lesson with Madame Brujon, Julien had stepped into the great hall. He had watched Joséphine curtsey without comment, had not corrected her when she picked up the wrong fork. Still, his very presence had made her feel like a failure.

Why did she feel such a disturbing need to please him? Gratitude, certainly, for helping her and taking her away from her stepmother and stepsisters. Even if it were only a temporary reprieve, even if she ended up sent away to the north, Joséphine could not deny that it was a respite worth being thankful for.

She wanted Julien to like her. She had seen the way he had looked around her shabby home, how he’d pitied her father and loathed her stepsisters. She couldn’t bear that he might think of her in the same way. If she could impress him, give him a reason to admire her…

But what would it matter? He had made a promise to her father to help her marry well, and he would see it done. She had heard rumors of his conduct with women, but never rumors that he was not a man of his word. To the contrary, her father had often spoken of him as though he were a bastion of honor.

So, why did it matter to her what he thought? It should not, and yet it did.

Dinner came, and she took extra care to put her hair in order and wear something that flattered. Not that she could have found an unflattering dress in the bunch, after Marie had finished. Joséphine chose violet silk and tied her curls up with a bright yellow ribbon, aided by the brush Julien had bought for her in the village while she had been in the clutches of Madame Brujon. She looked like a violet, she decided with pleasure as she viewed herself in the looking glass. She did a little twirl, and stopped at the sound of masculine laughter.

Julien stood in the door, watching her. “I was going to ask if you liked your new dresses, but I can see the answer before me.”

She blushed, cursing herself for acting like a silly little girl. “I do. And I hope you like me in them.”

Heavens, whatever had inspired that? She smiled, proud of herself in spite of her shock. That was the bold sort of thing a woman like Marie would have said.

Julien’s eyebrow lifted in approval. “Yes, well. I think I like you better out of them. Shall we?”