Chapter Twenty-Nine
“You’re proving tobe an adept pupil, my lord.”
Anne Brown parted her thighs once more and slipped her hand between them, pausing at the thatch of blonde curls.
“In theory, at least,” she added, pursing her lips. “Of course, I’ve nothing against the theory of pleasure, but it is far more beneficial to engage in the practice of it.”
Charles scribbled in his notebook and held it up.
Her gaze flicked over the words he’d written, then she let out a sharp huff. “Iamdiscreet, your lordship, and assuming your man is equally so, your wife need never know whether you touch me or not. I have shown you everything I know about how to satisfy a woman.”
Doubtless she had, having brought herself to pleasure in front of him in all manner of ways—some at her own hand, some with the use of marble artefacts, and others with the assistance of a fellow doxy.
Charles’s cock had swelled with anticipation on several occasions, but there was only one woman capable of easing his torment. Much to the doxy’s disappointment, he only wanted to practice the art of pleasure on his wife.
Olivia…
What might it be like to have her spread before him, offering her sweet body to be feasted upon. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting her pretty pink nipples, but he’d brushed the doxy aside when she offered her own. She might have elicited his release provided heimagined it was Olivia writhing in pleasure beneath him. But he couldn’t bring himself to touch another woman. Better to seek an unfulfilling release at his own hand, which he’d done each time he’d returned to his lodgings, his wife’s name circling in his mind.
At least John had been considerate enough to refrain from commenting on his master’s stained bedsheets.
The doxy let her dressing gown slip to the floor, exposing her breasts, then she slipped her finger into her mouth and released it, glistening and moist. She caressed her breasts, then circled a nipple, before she pinched it and let out a sigh, her back arching.
“You see, my lord, how much pleasure this gives me?”
You are merely performing an act.
She glanced at Charles’s hand gestures, then gave a knowing smile. Doubtless she understood what he’d conveyed. A good whore was adept at understanding the needs of men she serviced and reading his body and his mind—crawling under his skin as she crawled over his naked flesh, to delve into his deepest, darkest yearnings.
And Anne—or Angelina Bellissima, as she sometimes called herself—was the best whore in Town.
“Ah,” she said, an undertone of slyness in her voice. “You doubt my sincerity.”
She curved her lips into a smile and parted her thighs wider, and he caught his breath at the sight—her female flesh, glistening and ready.
“There!” she said. “Witness the evidence of my desire. A woman’s body will always betray her. It is how you’ll be able to tell whether your wife takes pleasure from the act. Do you recall our first lesson?”
He nodded, then gestured to his ears.
“That’s it, my lord. You listen to her voice, the hitch of her breath. And then?”
He hesitated, then pointed to his nose.
“Excellent! Yes, you breathe in her scent. As I said, averyadept pupil.” She cocked her head to one side. “Can you smell my desirenow?”
He shook his head. The air in the doxy’s chamber was thick with her cologne—an expensive Parisian scent, no doubt, but cloying nonetheless. He preferred delicate floral scents, such as rose and lavender…
The scent of his wife.
“And, of course, you can tell with your eyes,” Anne continued. “Her skin will flush a beautiful pink, and her nipples…”
She flicked her nipple and smiled as it swelled.
“They will harden in readiness for your lips. Then…”
She widened her thighs, and her smile broadened as Charles’s cheeks warmed.
“Do you take pleasure from looking at me, my lord?”
