“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-wrong.
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.
He marveled at her control. Even in extremis, she’d curbed her orgasmic cry. But then Miss Russell was not an impulsive woman. Or under most circumstances she was not, he thought with a smile.
Always a courteous lover, he waited for her fevered sensibilities to cool before slowly resuming his rhythm.
“I am smitten and enraptured,” she breathed, her eyes heavy with pleasure. “Although, never fear, I know my place.”
“Preferably under me,” Ormond murmured, thinking her tactful in the extreme. Women were always quick to stake claim, as though having sex somehow allowed them to intrude into his life. This little schoolmistress wouldn’t be demanding it seemed. The perfect woman, he fondly reflected.
“I couldn’t agree more.” She smiled sweetly and wrapped her legs around his waist.
She recovered quickly, matching his rhythm once again as though she’d not just climaxed. “We need more time,” he murmured, thinking a week or so would suit him with a woman of such carnal proclivities.
“I’d like that.”
Suddenly they both heard the orchestra for the first time since they’d entered the library as though aware once again of reality. Or perhaps the musicians had been on break and they hadn’t noticed.
Regardless, they became conscious of time.
“Once more before we go?” he said with a smile.
“Please, may I?”
His cock increased enormously at the guileless naivete of her response. He almost decided to disregard the possibility of exposure to have his fill of her tonight. Although, that thought died after the briefest of seconds. He was not so rash.
Also, he wanted more than the furtive interval allowed them here.
And while he didn’t know exactly why he wanted it, he knew he did.
“You feel glorious around my cock,” he whispered, forcing himself deep inside her.
“I adore-him-and you,” she whispered back, gasping as he bottomed out, stretching her taut, pulsing tissue.
“Have your fill,” he breathed, selfishly hoping it didn’t take her too long to come this time, settling into a slow, artful rhythm he’d perfected over the years. It was about feeling, not speed, positioning, not indiscriminating oscillation. It was about watching and listening-about paying attention.
In short order, Claire died away in blissful release once again, uttering his given name in a breathless litany of thanksgiving and joy.
Ormond climaxed a few moments later, although he was less vocal. But he went off the deep end with equal frenzy or in his case with unusual violence to sensibilities he didn’t realize he possessed.
Perhaps he had become too jaded.
Sex of late had not been particularly soul-stirring. Which made his reaction to Miss Russell even more surprising. But rather than overintellectualize his feelings, he decided instead to pursue further sensations with Miss Russell and once his breathing returned to normal, he said, “I’ll make it better next time. We won’t be so rushed.”
“You were excellent.”
He smiled, feeling as though he’d been graded. “Thank you. I enjoyed your company as well.”
She looked up and smiled back. “And thank you too for being-so dependable.”
“Selfish motive impels me.”
“Nevertheless, your selfishness also benefits me.”
He didn’t respond other than lift his chin toward the sound of music. “We should rejoin the festivities.”
She suddenly felt as though he were aloof, detached. It’s over. He’s had his fill and he’s bored, she thought, feeling a vast unhappiness. He hadn’t meant what he’d said when he mentioned not being so rushed next time. It was politesse only, a kind way of taking his leave.