And had responded to it.
CHAPTER 21 - The Drawbacks of Celibacy
DALE STOOD AROUSEDand confused in the corridor. He shook his head. What was he going to do with this woman? She had an intoxicating mixture of worldliness and innocence, and yet thought nothing of talking to him at her bedroom door while wearing only a shift. With any other woman, he would have taken it as a wanton advance, a brazen invitation to seduction. But he had seen her ineffective attempt at covering herself with the door. Obviously, she thought that enough to satisfy modesty.
If she only knew how he felt. She was teasing a tiger and didn’t even know it. He had wanted to pounce. Snatch her in his arms, take her back to the rumpled bed he could see in the background from which she had obviously just risen and...
He ruthlessly cut off that line of thought. That way lay madness. He had to get a hold of himself. Perhaps literally. Maybe the self imposed celibacy he had endured these past seven years was no longer a good idea. It was easier to be celibate when temptation did not live under his own roof, did not ambush him in his own corridors.
He had to find a solution. He pondered one while he entered his bedroom and disrobed. Perhaps if he sought release, if he slaked his lust somewhere else, he wouldn’t be so volatile. He grabbed his stiff member and stroked. The pleasure was blinding. Briefly, he considered visiting one of the houses that provided that kind of entertainment. He knew a few. Had availed himself of their services before his marriage.
The women were always beautiful, welcoming and skilled. It would be so easy, so pleasurable. He could let go and... The image almost made him come right then and there, because the woman he saw in his fantasy was Livvy, not some faceless courtesan. And he knew then it wouldn’t be enough. His desire was very specific. For whatever reason, he wanted the woman in the next room, and only she would do. The others wouldn’t be more than a temporary solution, offering no more relief than what he could do himself with his hand.
Completely naked, he walked to the bathroom door and pushed. Locked. Then he heard her inside. She hummed some melody while the splashing sounds of water indicated she took a bath. Thank goodness she had remembered to lock the door this time. If he had walked in on her in his present state... he shuddered. Just imagining her naked and wet, all slippery from the soap, drove him wild.
Leaning his back against the closed door, listening to her in the bathtub, he grabbed himself. Just a few strokes were enough to push him over the edge, for he was almost at the boiling point. Muscles tensing, he let out a deep groan with his swift and powerful release. He felt a little less crazed but no less desirous. Would he need to keep masturbating to avoid importuning her? If that is what it took... He smiled without humor. Ridiculous. The man who hadn't enjoyed physical pleasure in seven years would likely not last seven minutes before needing another release.
That evening, the conversation at the dinner table proved easy and uncomplicated. Avondale had tried to be formal and impersonal to create distance, but that didn’t hold against the strength of Olivia’s warmth and charm. She told stories about her family and friends, her work, her hobbies, painting a picture of a rich and fulfilling life filled with love.
What a contrast with his own life. There had been a time, a long time ago, during his childhood when he had thought he lived a charmed life. His parents had fought like devils among themselves, but they had each been affectionate towards him in their own way. But even that little affection had vanished.
Sometime in his youth, he had become yet another point of contention between the duke and the duchess, and it soon became apparent he could not please them both. In trying to do so, he had pleased no one. Including himself.
Then his father had died, and he had tried to repair his relationship with his mother, but with only limited success. And even what little had been salvaged had been shattered after the disastrous end of his marriage. When Eloise died, his mother had washed her hands of him and had never spoken to him again.
Sometimes he wondered what made him so unlovable that even his own mother had not been able to love him enough to accept him as he was, faults and all. Weren’t mothers supposed to love their children unconditionally? Ah well. That was in the past. He had long ago accepted that to seek love was a recipe for disappointment, so he had stopped.
He concentrated on the charming woman next to him, paying attention to her words so that he could keep up his end of the conversation. She brought such a bright spark of joy into his dull life. He could become addicted to her. It would be very easy, indeed.
He bid her good night after dinner and retired to his private study. There he removed his shoes, jacket, and cravat, poured himself some brandy and sat by the fire. The fact was that he wasn’t doing a very good job of controlling his desire for Olivia. Just thinking about her now had his loins tightening. He adjusted himself, trying to relieve the pressure.
Starting tomorrow, he would avoid spending too much time with her. She was too much of a temptation, and he had been avoiding temptation for seven years.
Nothing good could come of the way he felt about her. He would keep busy during the days. He had plenty of things to keep him occupied between running his estates and other business interests, his charities, and his parliamentary work.
He considered going to London for a few days, but it would be rude to leave her all alone in the country while he went away. No, rude was not quite the right word. Insensitive was more like it. He had to remember that for all her cheerfulness; she was alone and scared.
