He gasps. “Never. It is a terrible sin before marriage.”
My mouth goes dry. A virgin. It is too good to be believed. I knew he must be inexperienced, but a virgin? Sweet Lord. I have never had so fine an appreciation for the church and its teachings as I do right now, I am sure.
“How often do you make yourself come?”
He shakes his head. “Never. It is wrong.”
What nonsense. No man can go completely without.Hemustmake himself come. Or he must come in his sleep without meaning to.
“Perfect,” I murmur. Even if his statement is not accurate, he must be in some state of regular deprivation if he has sprung a cockstand so easily.
He appears willing to do anything to keep his post. But that fear can only be the beginning. I must use it to my advantage.
We have reached the vicarage. But I give a special rap on the roof that tells the coachman that I do not yet wish him to open the door.
“I am going to render you a favor, Mr. Saintsbury.”
“Thank you, Miss de Lacey,” he gasps. “I promise to never vex you again. I realize that I must seem to you a complete beast. I will leave you alone forever.”
“Oh no. That is not what I want. Not at all. I have too many uses for you. Instead I want you to do what I say. I want you toobeyme.”
“Obey you?”
“Yes. I am going to show you that you don’t need touch to come. Not from your trousers or your own hand or any part of me.”
He looks perplexed.
“I cannot—I cannot?—”
I am not sure of the nature of his objection. But I do not care.
“Tell me,” I say languidly. “Do you want to put that big cock in me?”
“I-I-I-”
“Be honest, Mr. Saintsbury. You promised.”
“Yes,” he chokes out.
The man looks delirious. He is wound so tightit will not take much for him to spend. I have never seen a man so taut with want.
“And when you do, what do you want me to say?”
“Say?”
He looks as if he has only just learned that people can speak when they fuck.
“Yes, what shall I say when you give me that big cock?”
His cock surges forward again. He lets out a sound between a sob and a moan.
“That’s right,” I say. “Tell me what you want me to say.”
“My—my name,” he pants. “I want you to say my name.”
“Mr. Saintsbury?” I tease.
“No,” he says, bracing his hands on the seat. “Alfred.”
