“Try me.” She was breathless, desperate to prove herself. “Pleasing a man is an art, but it isn’t hard. Let me have my hand.”
“I don’t think you want me to be the one to tame that attitude of yours, I promise,” I hissed, my grip tightening on her hair.
“By God, I’mbegging!” Her tone was exasperated with a bratty edge as her knees nearly buckled from the thought.
Fine, if this is what she wants.
Like steering the reins of a horse, I yanked her by her hair, forcing her to her knees.
She yelped when I let go, looking up at me from the ground. Those big brown eyes, which I thought would hold malice, were filled with a hungry determination that I could only imagine was fueled by my stubbornness.
“Let us use this as a lesson.” I stood straight. “Do what you wish—but you must tell me what you’re doing as you do it.”
She frowned, her brow twitching. “Must everything be a lesson?”
“How else do you tame a brat like you? Structure is important,” I teased.
She balled her fists on her thighs, her eyes falling lower. Forcing her to restrain herself unless she could commit to an action was the only way I thought she might think before she acted on her impulses. An alienist had taught me this at one point, though it was for intrusive impulsions rather than hypersexuality. I was sure it worked all the same. Saying a thought out loud could put it into perspective.
She touched my pant leg, squeezing my thigh, her lips moving but no sound audible.
“What was that, dear?”
She glared at me, eyes squinting as if to figure out if this were a ruse or genuine—it was undoubtedly both.
“I’m touching you.”
“Where?”
“Do you have eyes?”
“Where?” I repeated.
“Your thigh.” She glanced back at her hand, then her other joined it on my other leg. “Both of my hands are touching your thighs.”
I nodded at her to continue, reaching into my pocket for my pipe.
She watched me relight the old tobacco, taking small puffs to foster the embers.
Leisurely, I took in a breath, blowing the smoke down at her.
She coughed, her nose wrinkled like she was about to sneeze.
“If you’re done, we stop here.” I tilted her wrist up, checking her dainty timepiece before dropping it, her hand landing in her lap. “It’s been ten minutes already.”
“I’m ...” Jaw tensed, she crawled closer on her knees. She placed her hands to the front of my hips, one of her fingers hooking into my waistband. She stared up at me through those featherlight lashes, placing her cheek on my thigh. “I’m touching your belt, my head is in your lap.” She took a deep breath, her hand smoothing over the front of my pants, cupping my cock through the fabric. “I’m holding you.”
“Say it.”
“Yourcockis in my hand, and you’re getting stiff.” She smirked as if she’d achieved some grand victory.
I took another inhale of smoke. “I am a man, after all. What will you do about it?” I tilted my head at her and moved my foot forward, the leather shoe slipping under her gown. Then I tipped my foot up on its heel.
She flinched, and so did her grip on my cock. Just that reaction made me twitch; I was sure she felt it.
Her ivory cheeks steadily became red, the color spreading as she let the actions ferment.
“Please”—she was glowing, glassy-eyed, and squirming on my shoe—“let me use my mouth.”
