He doubted his cock was large enough to make such a position pleasurable for a woman.
“What’s wrong?”
He snapped back to the present.To the unimaginable gift of her body.His thoughts had wandered—that was true.
“Nothing.”
“You went somewhere.In your mind.You don’t have anything to worry about, you know.With what you said earlier.I want to bed you.”
For all these years, with his mistresses, Leith had taken succor from the money that changed hands between them.He assumed that any desire they expressed for him was feigned, because he was paying for his pleasure, not theirs.The conditions of their arrangements had allowed him to distance himself from their lack of interest.But now, with Beatrice, the idea that she would not be sincere pained him.And, of course, he couldn’t be completely sure that she was being sincere.The idea that she would lie to him about her desire, that she would just be pretending, was mortifying and unaccountably dreadful to him.
“Need I remind you?”
She moved towards him, drew back the counterpane, and slid into bed next to him.
The warmth of her body against him, through his thin nightshirt, was almost too much for him to bear.He could feel the firm warmth of her breasts and the brush of her quim.He wanted her so much that it made his bollocks ache.He felt seed, just a little, leak from his cock.He was threatening, he was sure, to humiliate himself, but he couldn’t even care when it felt so good to have her next to him.
She took his hand once more and brought it to her core.As he had earlier this evening, he felt her wetness.Shewasvery wet.It did calm him to know that.To know that, most likely, she couldn’t fakethis.
“I’m not pretending,” she said, looking into his eyes.Those brown depths that he had once regarded as opaque were now alight with clear excitement.
“Neither am I.”
He had meant to jest.
“I can feel how hard you are.Can I touch you?”
He froze.He hadn’t had a woman’s hand on his cock in ages—not since an incident at a brothel many years ago.It had been maybe a year after that first time.He had been back at a similar place with his friends.He had selected a courtesan, a wonderfully voluptuous girl with blond hair, and before he had been able to make clear his preference, she had reached down and felt his cock.Oh, a small one,she had giggled.
He had nearly died then and only the lust of youth, the desire to not have such a thing matter to him, had allowed him to follow through with the encounter.But that comment, so incidental, had decided things for him.After that, he had only slept with mistresses, women he had already worked out a financial arrangement with ahead of time.
“I—no.”
She looked surprised at that.But she merely nodded.
“Very well.I won’t touch you then.”
His body screamed out at that.Of course, he wanted her to touch him.And he knew he was being, on the balance, absurd.He had had his cock inside of her.She must be aware that he didn’t have a large cock.But he nevertheless feared what she might say feeling him with her bare hand.Even through his nightshirt.
“I can touch you.”His words came out unevenly.“And then we can tup.With the letter.”
He wanted her.He didn’t want her to think otherwise.
She had a little furrow between her brow.He knew she wanted to bed him in more exciting ways.Tonight, at Vauxhall, on the bench with her, he had thought he could change.He could be different.But now that seemed impossible.
Nevertheless his head was swimming with desire.He was sure that if he put his cock inside of her now he would spend in an instant.
He bit his lip and tried to beat back his desire.He wanted to make her come again.To make her feel good.
“Very well then,” she whispered.
Leith stroked her as he had on the bench, glorying in the velvety slide of her on his fingers.
She made a contented, sighing sound.
“That’s good,” she repeated.“I love that.”
The words, so simple, gladdened his heart—and spurred his cock onward.
