Oh!
He led her across his chamber to a large mirror on a stand, one almost as tall as she, and stood before it with her. It felt both sinful and delicious to be in his chamber, with its dark hues, wood paneling, velvet and leather. The room even smelled of his skin in a most delightful way. He stood her before him and leaned over her shoulder, meeting her gaze in the mirror.
“You argue that you are not pretty, but Patience, you are mistaken in that.” She parted her lips to protest, but his fingertip landed upon her lips to silence her. “Look, for example, at this mouth. I invite you to consider its assets.” At his gesture, Patience eyed the reflection of her own face, Arthur looming behind her. “A more perfect and rosy bud has seldom been seen. It fairly invites a caress.” He slid his fingertip across her bottom lip slowly, making her shiver to her toes. His other arm closed around her waist, drawing her against him, lifting her slightly. She could not look away from the slow motion of his finger and savored the weight of it against her mouth.
Arthur leaned closer and her heart leapt. “Such a mouth as this entreats a kiss,” he murmured. “Indeed, so pretty a mouth is irresistible.” He kissed the corner of her mouth slowly and she caught her breath. He brushed his mouth across hers, once quickly and then more slowly. She felt his lips ease against hers, tempting her response and once again, she kissed him back.
This time, she dared to trust in sensation. She closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the pleasure of their embrace. She also mimicked Arthur, parting her lips as he did and catching her breath at the playful flick of his tongue.
“You are wicked,” she whispered when she pulled away and he laughed, untroubled. There was satisfaction and pride in his response and she could not be annoyed with him, not when he looked at her as he did in this moment.
As if she were a queen.
As if she had hung the moon and the stars.
As if…their match could be more than an arrangement. How often had he looked at another woman thus? Was it a practiced scheme to win his way? Patience did not know and could not care, not when she was so beguiled.
“And these eyes,” he continued in that low voice. He framed her face in his hands and pressed a kiss to one eyelid and then the other. “Perfection indeed. Such a hue, both stormy and serene, distinct and unforgettable. Perceptive and perhaps as dangerous as a medusa’s stare.”
He kissed her lips again, slowly and sweetly, and Patience could not deny the tide of heat rising within her. She was being carried away by his seductive touch, and she resolved to enjoy whatever sweet torment he meant to inflict.
Once again, his fingers were in her hair, scattering pins and freeing her long tresses. “And this hair of yours,” he rumbled. “You cannot guess the temptation it offers, so lustrous and golden, like a silken net over my hands.” He set it loose, pushing his fingers through it, spreading it over her shoulders. It fell to her hips and Patience had never thought it particularly remarkable—Prudence’s hair was a lighter hue of gold and prettier in Patience’s view, but she could not dispute the admiration in Arthur’s expression. He framed her face in his hands and bent to kiss her leisurely once again.
“You would seduce me,” she whispered.
“I would appreciate you, and take my time in so doing. Your book advises a leisurely progress and I have no objections to that. Indeed, I do not wish to miss a single detail.” He turned her before the mirror and she felt him unlacing the back of her dress. He raised his gaze to watch her reflection, no doubt noticing how her throat worked. Could he see the pulse of her heart? She was almost paralyzed by his steady progress, his smooth movements, the brush of his warm fingertips. He set his hands on her shoulders when the dress was unfastened, his hands beneath the cloth, and held her gaze as he bent and kissed the back of her neck sweetly. “You smell divine, Patience,” he murmured, his lips against her neck. Again, she saw a sudden flare of heat in his eyes, a hint that he, too, was affected by these caresses.
When he eased the dress from her shoulders, Patience shook it free and they both watched it cascade to the floor. She stood before him in her sheer chemise, her stockings and garters visible through the fabric, along with a good deal more. She felt her color rise, even as Arthur cupped one of her breasts in his palm. He stood behind her, all strength and heat, and she heard him catch his breath as his thumb landed on her nipple. She watched in the mirror as he caressed the tightening peak slowly, sliding the edge of his thumb across it repeatedly, back and forth, creating a sensation that was both wondrous and excruciatingly insufficient.
He cleared his throat and she felt his other hand, the one on her waist, flex, as if he sought to muster his control and that sent satisfaction surging through her. He bent to kiss her neck at the curve of her shoulder, then inhaled, breathing deeply of her scent as if he could not get enough of it. When his gaze met hers in the glass, his eyes were deepest blue, his manner intent. She was not snared in sensation alone and she was glad.
“You cannot argue that this breast is less than perfect,” he said softly, then reached to unfasten the tie of her chemise. Once again, the cloth tumbled from her shoulders but this time, the fire in Arthur’s eyes could not be denied. He whispered her name like an invocation as his hand rose to cup her breast again. She felt the heat of his palm against her bare skin. She watched as he bent and kissed that same nipple with a gentle reverence that made her gasp aloud.
His tongue proved to be even more wicked than she had imagined and when he flicked it across the taut nipple, she gave a little cry.
He halted immediately. “Does it hurt?”
“No. It feels wondrous, but insufficient. I cannot explain it better.”
“But you have explained it perfectly, Patience.” Arthur’s voice was low, intended only for her ears, and the rough sound of it was perfect. “It is the sensation of lovemaking, the temptation, the sweet torment and the anguish of anticipated release.” He kissed her ear and her throat, his hands running over her and she turned in his embrace, reaching to kiss him back. “I promise you—” he said with a resolve that thrilled her “—that the reward will be worth the price.”
Given the merit of the adventure thus far, Patience could only believe him.
* * *
Coulda man die when confronted with such sweetness? Arthur halfway thought it might be so. Patience was both lovely and trusting, her confidence that he would ensure her satisfaction so complete that Arthur was humbled. He had to force himself to be slow, to not hasten to the prize of release, to pace himself that she might be pleased, too.
He could smell her arousal, a most encouraging sign, and he could not find fault with this slow exploration. Would he survive a similar exploration of his own body on her part? That might kill him if this did not.
But the volume advised leisure and a slow afternoon of lovemaking it would be. The rain was pounding against the windows again, but he did not care a whit for the rest of the world. There was only Patience with uncertainty in her glorious eyes, and her unexpected audacity in returning his embrace.
He shed his jacket and knelt before her, unlacing her boots and setting them aside. Of course, they were sturdy and sensible. She had been to visit her sister and a woman like Patience would not wear satin slippers in the street. “Perfect feet,” he said to her and she giggled as he ran a fingertip along the underside of one. She leaned upon his shoulder, her hands feeling delicate upon him. “Of an ideal and delicate size, and finely shaped.”
“Feet cannot be perfect,” she chided.
“You err in that, my lady,” he said, bending to untie her garter with his teeth. She caught her breath at the flick of his tongue on the inside of her knee and he knew then that she was ticklish. He wrapped his hands around her thigh, then smoothed them downward, easing the stocking down her very shapely leg. “The legs of a lady who walks often,” he said in admiration.
“Perhaps too robust,” she said and he glanced up at her.
