Then his mouth was on her breasts, working in the same way his hands had been. The sensation now was so much softer and deeper. She cried out as he sucked her, every swipe of his tongue creating a sweet torture between her thighs.
“Please, Trem,” she said, both knowing and not knowing what she was begging for.
“Did he touch you here?” he said, his hand coming to the curls between her legs, but only lightly.
“Yes,” she gasped out. He had done so, although she had not been this wanting when he had.
He was standing between her outstretched legs and he widened his stance so that her legs spread out farther. The embarrassment she felt at having his gaze latched on her vulva—and she was, she knew, embarrassed, her cheeks somehow overheating even more than they had been—was nothing in comparison to how badly she wanted him to touch her there.
He reached for her again and, this time, he parted her with his fingers. She knew by how easily she opened that she was very wet. He teased the sensitive bud at the apex of her legs for a few moments, drawing gasps from her with each stroke, before pushing one finger and then two farther into her. He moved his fingers in and out of her and she knew that it would not be long before she was spending.
During her night with Justin, he had explained that both men and women spend, but that the results were different in each case. Henrietta had, of course, known from touching herself that women could find carnal pleasure, but she hadn’t known that that sensation she found with herself was the equivalent of a man’s own. Justin had pleasured her in much the way she did herself when she was alone, seeming proficient in the art himself. He had done so before they had completed the act—he had explained that a woman’s first time was made much more pleasant by such attentions. From how she had heard other women describe their first experience with carnal relations, he must have been correct.
The pressure building in her now, however, was of a wholly different nature. It felt so much more immense, the pleasure causing her vision to narrow—the strength and skill of his fingers reaching inside of her felt too good to believe. He found points of exquisite feeling within her that she had not even known were possible. Right when she was at the cusp, however, he stopped the movement of his thumb on her clit.
“Don’t stop,” she said, not able to keep herself from begging.
“Did he make you spend?” he asked, his voice hoarse. His eyes bored into hers, telling her that she better not lie, and yet she still couldn’t admit it.
“No,” she gasped.
“Liar,” he said, pressing her clit with his thumb, causing a jolt of pure pleasure to riot through her. She whimpered in response but did not say any more.
“Tell me,” he said and repeated the action. She let out another moan and tried to wriggle against him to get more of that exquisite sensation. “You won’t get what you want, Henrietta, until you are honest with me. If you want me to give this sweet pussy what it wants, you’re going to have to tell me.”
“Yes,” she said, no longer caring about anything but the release before her. “Yes, he did.”
“Good,” Trem said, a smirk on his face. “I am glad to hear that. And I am also glad that what you are about to experience will far eclipse those efforts.”
Henrietta already knew it was true. And, as he rocked his fingers in and out of her, she let him know it with her moans, letting go of trying to maintain composure, what she thought she should sound like. Instead, she just responded to him.
When she broke, it was with a cry, the whole world narrowing to this immense sensation, and she knew, even before she had opened her eyes to focus on Trem once more, that she would never again be the same.
Chapter Eight
Trem had just done the unthinkable.
And he only wanted more.
Because Henrietta was magnificent.
That first moment, when he had seen her in her shift, he thought that he was going to have an apoplexy and expire. And then her sweet cunt on his fingers had sealed what he had already known was true. He had known it when he had first seen the outline of her perfect form beneath that thin shift.
Hell, if he was honest with himself, which he wasn’t sure he was prepared to be, he had known it a lot longer than that.
At any rate, he could admit it to himself now at least.
Henrietta Breminster was different.
Now, she stood before him, her cheeks heated from orgasm, her long legs bare and her core tempting him to return, and he knew he was in trouble.
In a way he had never before experienced.
He had had many women. As the absolute siren before him had said, as his friends had long teased him for, many of these women had been in complicated situations. He knew he sought out those women because he enjoyed the emotional entanglement as much as the physical. He’d had his feelings engaged many times. He might be a rake, but he wasn’t so much of a dolt that he thought emotionless sex was the height of existence. He knew that the carnal could be enhanced by any number of emotions—sorrow, exhilaration, danger, and certainly infatuation.
But, with Henrietta, it was more.
He couldn’t focus on that thought—no, not even a thought, a certainty he knew in his gut—with her naked before him.
