But they were surely outliers.After all, his friends had been, before their marriages, three of the most notorious rakes in London (although, of course, in Monty’s case, it had turned out to be more complicated than that…) and so he hardly took their habits as representative.
No, he was sure, most men in England preferred to bed women the way he did.Without too much fuss or bother.
He had never shared these proclivities with his friends because he knew they would not understand.But he was also equally sure that it was a generally normal course of things for most men who were not voracious seducers.
In the past, when he had bedded women in any other way, he had found it far too…messy.
His cock needed quim like men needed air, but he didn’t need the rest of it: the bared skin, the slapping of flesh against flesh, the foul speeches.
Usually, his mistresses were happy to follow his lead, especially once he made his preferences clear.
Unfortunately, Beatrice appeared bent on talking.
She was saying something about spending—that she spent easily.Why she felt the need to relay this information to him was unclear.He didn’t typically concern himself with whether his mistresses orgasmed or not.If they did (and that was, as far as he could tell, rare), he had no problem with it, but he wasn’t a passionate man.He did not need to see a woman whipped into a frenzy for him in order to take his own pleasure.It was a wholly unnecessary consideration.
He was very sure that most of his peers were exactly the same.
Truthfully, Leith already felt his peace threatened by Beatrice Salisbury.His desire to bed her, to plunge himself inside of her, was nearly unbearable.
Blessedly, when he told her it was no matter to him, she said nothing in response.
His cock was at full mast.The insistent rhythm of the blood that pounded there also beat against his skull.On his fingers, Beatrice had been plenty wet, telling him that she was ready for his entry.
Leith unsheathed himself, his hand tangling in the tapes for a moment, before he managed to get himself out.From his pocket, he procured a shield.
“What are you doing?”she asked.“I cannot see you in this darkness.”
“Putting on a French letter,” he ground out.
“Oh, yes, I always use them myself.”
At least on that they agreed.Since that first time, Leithalwaysused the letters with his mistresses.The very thought of the pox gave him a piercing headache.And he certainly wanted no by-blows.Furthermore, he appreciated that they contained the mess of his spend.
“Shall we light a candle?”she asked, as he struggled with the letter.
Dear God, no.He hated taking in a woman’s face as he tupped her.There was something about it that was ghastly to him.He craved the feel of a quim on his cock and the release that it brought him, but he knew he was not a good lover.He did not need evidence of that reality staring back at him as he took his pleasure.
Furthermore, he had long ago learned that he didn’t savor a woman’s face when she discovered his underwhelming cock.
While he supposed, in the abstract, he would have enjoyed seeing his mistresses naked, it didn’t make up for what else he would see (their feigned or absent pleasure) and what they must see of him: a small-cocked man reduced to a bloody simpleton, perspiring above her.
A candle threw light on the other things that he was unprepared to provide.He could not offer a woman extravagant expressions of passion or odes to her beauty or whatever else surely delighted women in the bedchamber.He was not equipped, physically or emotionally, to provide more.
“No,” he said, securing the letter, and trying to keep the irritation from his voice.“No need.Are you ready?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice brighter than he would have liked, reminding him of sunlight and sobriety, in a place that he preferred shaded and half-sober.“Please.”
“Mm,” he said, resisting the urge to tell her to be quiet more explicitly.His cock liked her voice, had jumped at the “please,” buthedidn’t like it.He didn’t like the expectation it established.
He guided himself towards the heat he could feel between her legs.When his cock met slickness and warmth, he stifled a groan.
He preferred to keep silent when bedding a woman.But it was hard to do so when she was so exquisitely lush.
He didn’t know if he could bear taking her slowly.Not when the mere feel of her threatened this sanity.
Instead, Leith pushed forward, thrusting into her in one motion.
And nearly came instantly.
