“You shouldn’t be. The Italians have a saying:Chi mangia bene, vive bene. Meaning, that who eats well, lives well. I’ve found it’s true. A person who takes pleasure in food, also knows how to enjoy other life’s pleasures... Such as sex.”
Well, her face was probably flaming, judging by the heat she felt around her ears.
“I haven’t. Enjoyed the pleasures of sex, that is,” she confessed.
As much as she yearned to experience passion in this man’s arms, she didn’t want to mislead him into thinking she was accomplished in bed. That would lead to severe disappointment on his part and great humiliation for her.
But far from being deterred, his eyes glowed with possessive hunger. “I’m sorry your previous lovers have been such dunces. But if your response to my kisses is any indication, you shall enjoy pleasure tonight.”
His words, as much as the wicked promise in his eyes, melted away her apprehension in a surge of heat. She cleared her throat and sipped her wine, attempting to calm her rioting emotions.
“Not unless you can secure the sheaths,” she retorted cheekily.
His smile was devilish. “Oh, even without intercourse, I can and will show you pleasure like you have never experienced, my dear.”
“Oh.” She tried to hide her disappointment. She had rather hoped for the intercourse part.
As if reading her thoughts, the marquess went on, hiding a smirk behind his glass of wine. “But never fret. Mathias is combing the streets at this very moment, looking for an apothecary shop or some such establishment that can provide the sheaths. I have perfect confidence in his abilities. He’s a resourceful chap.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “You sent your servant out to buy sheaths for you?”
“Yes. And why not? It’s not the first time he has fetched them for me. It’s part of his duties,” he said with a nonchalant shrug.
“But he will know what they are for.”
“I sure hope so. The lad doesn’t strike me as naïve.”
“I mean, he’ll know we will...” she trailed off, unable to say it.
“He knows, anyway, dear. He’s the one who will sleep in your room. But don’t worry, he’s loyal to me, and the embodiment of discretion.”
“If you say so,” she muttered, still uncomfortable with the idea. “I hope you don’t ask him to wash your used sheaths as well.”
That produced a big guffaw. “Absolutely not.” He leaned forward as if to impart a big secret. “I never reuse my sheaths.”
THIS DINNER WAS TURNINGinto one of the most sensual experiences of his life. He couldn’t tear his eyes from her lips, the way she licked them after taking a sip of her wine. Watching her neck ripple when she swallowed had become an obsession. And the rise and fall of her breasts on every sigh of pleasure was almost more than he could endure.
His erection was becoming painful, and if Mathias didn’t return soon with sheaths, he would be reduced to roaming thestreets himself to get the damn things. He had meant what he said before. He could show her pleasure without intercourse, but he was afraid his cock would never forgive him. His organ might wither and die of despair if it couldn’t sink into her sweet haven tonight. He chuckled at the melodrama of his thoughts.
“Did I say something humorous, my lord?”
“No. I was just thinking.”
She raised an eyebrow questioningly, but there was no way he could tell her about the direction of his wayward thoughts. A knock on the door saved him from having to make something up. He called permission to enter, and a maid peeked in.
“Milord, milady, just to inform you that your baths are ready in your rooms when you please.”
“Thank you. We’ll be up soon.”
The meal was almost over, but he wanted to savor the dessert. He was partial to sweets, and the delicious Tipsy Cake was one of his favorites. The first bite of the succulent dessert did not disappoint. He was quite looking forward to seeing her lick a trace of custard or whipped cream off her lips, or close her eyes and sigh in ecstasy while the flavors of the sponge cake soaked in sherry exploded in her mouth. Who would have thought dessert could be so tantalizing? He’d be the one to explode in his pants like a callow youth if he didn’t cease these lurid imaginings.
“You should try the dessert,” he told her after washing down the initial mouthful with a sip of sherry. “It’s excellent.”
“No, thank you. I don’t eat dessert.”
Well, that brought this particular fantasy crashing down. “You don’t like dessert?”
“It’s not good for the constitution,” she replied primly.
