Now I must know. I step through her doorway and she steps back, careful to keep the paper behind her. I close the door behind us and lunge to the side, reaching for the paper. She whirls away with a half yelp, half laugh, and I pursue her, reaching for the paper again and again as she continues to keep it just out of my reach. The next time she spins away, her eyes go wide as she finds her back against the wall beside the door. I close in on her, caging her with my hands on the wall beside her head. Holding her gaze, I lean my face close to hers. “What filth were you reading, dear? Come on, don’t be greedy. You’re not the only one in this room who likes smut.”
Her chest pulses with the tempo of her breaths, her hands still behind her. Then, with a sheepish grin, she pulls the paper from behind her back and slowly lifts it between us, obscuring the bottom of her face while she makes innocent little doe eyes at me.
I release her gaze to read the page.
My breath catches.
It isn’t one of Edwina’s manuscripts but mine. Just like she promised last night, she’s reading my book. But not just any part of my book. It’s the chapter titledHow to Have Better Sex.
My eyes fly back to hers. “Chapter Eight? I told you not to read it.”
Her gaze wanders over my head, to the side, to the paper, anywhere but at me. “I was curious and found it…rather informative.”
“Informative.” My mind goes wild at that word. At the certainty that I’ve aroused her with my written instruction on having better sex. Then a spike of irritation pierces my chest. I clear my throat and push off the wall, increasing the space between us. “You won’t need to worry about Chapter Eight this weekend if you interact with honorable specimens. Which I will ensure you do.”
She steps away from the wall and lifts her chin. “I wasn’t reading that chapter with this weekend in mind. It was for future reference. You should be ashamed of yourself for trying to hide this kind of intel from me.” With that, she marches toward the sitting area.
I follow her with my gaze, taking a few steadying breaths to gather my composure. Daphne’s hotel room is a mirror to my own, an open space with a sitting area, a marble hearth, and a bed. The windows are tall, inviting in streams of glittering sunlight through the partially drawn curtains. The walls are papered in ivory-and-gold damask, the floor covered in plush floral-patterned rugs. It’s a modest yet beautiful space, much larger than my cramped apartment back home and ten times as fine.
Daphne lowers herself into one of the wingback chairs beside the unlit hearth, and I belatedly follow to claim the chair beside her, on the other side of a small tea table between us. Upon the table rests a stack of papers that I recognize as the rest of my manuscript. She sets the single page on top of it and then sprawls in the chair, her legs tucked up on the seat cushion.
“So,” I say, propping my chin on my hand and my elbow on the armrest. I give her a taunting smirk. “Did you only read Chapter Eight, or did you peruse the rest of my book?”
“I perused it. Some of it. Then I went back and read Chapter Eight all over again.”
I snort a laugh. “You really wanted to disobey me, didn’t you?”
Her cheeks flush deeper. “I told you, I found it informative. It…it’s really good. Your book. What I read of it, I mean.”
My pulse quickens, my heart fluttering. I had no idea how much her feedback meant to me until now. How desperate I was for her to approve of my writing. “I’m glad to hear that.”
She worries her bottom lip, meeting my eyes for only a beat before looking away again. When she speaks, her tone is hesitant. “Can I really do what you wrote about?”
My elbow nearly slips off the armrest. “Pardon?”
“The part where you mention asking for what I want in bed. Can I really do that?”
Fucking hell, why did she have to ask me that? I swallow hard and force my voice to remain level. “You have as much of a right to pleasure as your partner. Of course you can ask for what you want.” Does she hear it? The tremor in my voice?
“It’s just…my partners have never seemed amenable to suggestions, but perhaps I just don’t know the polite way to ask.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, relishing the pain as I force my brain to assess her question from a grounded perspective. From Gladys’ perspective. “Any decent partner would be eager to know what you want. Some will ask and be happy for your honest answer. Others will need direct guidance.”
“What kind of guidance?”
Fuck. I’m going to lose my mind. “Well, for starters, say your partner is touching you. Maybe you’ll…move his hand. Adjust the placement of his fingers to where it feels best for you. Or you can state your requests, asking him to slow down or go faster—” My words dissolve in a cough.
Her eyes are glued to me now, and she nods along eagerly as if memorizing my every word.
My gaze falls to her lips to give me some anchor to focus on, something to steady me while I describe the next part. “Other lovers will be more intuitive. They’ll read your wants in the motion of your body, the sounds you emit, the quickening of your breaths. They’ll adjust their speed, their touch, based on the way you respond to them.”
“I want that,” she says in a rush. “How do I find one of those?”
I shift in my seat, aware of the way my cock hardens in my lap. “It’s not something you can know by looking at someone. You’ll have to experience it together, and any couple can learn to be more intuitive about each other. An awkward first time doesn’t have to be telling of the entirety of the relationship.”
Daphne deflates a little. “Perhaps I’ve been too harsh of a judge.”
My fingers curl into fists. Why are we still talking about this? And why can’t I stop myself from asking what’s on the tip of my?—
