“You mentioned there is a difference with a serpent? What would that difference be, Lord Stride?”
He had taken her hand in his own again, forcing her to abandon the pressure on his knot, tightening both sets of fingers around his cock and increasing the speed at which she stroked his shaft.
“There are two, Miss Eastwick. Two identical cocks, although what they look like is anyone’s guess. They might be smooth and pointed or textured with frills and spikes, but there are always two.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock. She had not been expectingthat, not at all. “How would one even manage that?!”
He was unable to hold in his groan then. He was leaking a clear fluid that coated her knuckles, and his turgid skin had become molten. “I suppose you’ll have to take up with a serpent and find out, Miss Eastwick. I can’t say that I have personal experience in that particular arena.”
He was pumping her hand down hard on his shaft by then, pressing into his knot. Freeing her other hand, Eleanor cupped his heavy ball sack, pulling and squeezing, gratified by the way he groaned again. “Miss Eastwick, you might be the innocent, but let it not be said that you don’t catch on marvelously quick. Just like that, little moth. I think we’ve turned you into a proper little wanton already.” Another groan as she squeezed his sac, his cock jerking against her palm.
His testicles, too, seemed to have a life of their own, moving in their sack of skin, pulling up tight until they resembled two plump aubergines flanking the thick club of his cock. She wanted to explore these again, she thought with another blush, allowing him to move her hands back to his cock. She was intrigued by the way they shifted and moved and wanted to explore and catalog every tiny reaction of his foreign anatomy.Alas, you won’t be here that long, and then you’re never going to see or think of his cock again.
“You already have me ready to spill, darling. How is that possible?” He was moving his hips now, raising them to meet her hands, both of her hands around his shaft now squeezed tight within his own, his eyes closed, and his head dropped back . . .
“Still, I do wonder how different an orc would be.”
His groan was strangled, his look mutinous, and she was torn between the triumph of putting that last thought in his head as he reached his completion and being fascinated with the act itself. His cock jerked against her palm, a rhythmic spasm as his creamy white seed flooded out, covering her hands. His knot was pulsing, she discovered, those fat aubergines tight to his body, his cock rearing and jerking like a dragon with every spurt. It seemed like he came an endless amount, hips jerking, his knot pulsing against her, cock letting loose a river of his spend.
When he was finished, he sagged the bench beside her. She did not know what compulsion caused her to lift her hand to her mouth and dart out her tongue like a cat with a saucer of cream, and the marquis moaned as if he were in pain at the sight.
“Miss Eastwick, if you want to taste, the next time you can drink it right from the source. I daresay seeing you with my cum smeared on your pretty lips would be the pinnacle of joy. Someone could knock me off the roof in my sleep, and I’d still die happy after that.”
She blushed at the mere thought, her heart a riot within her, while next to her, Silas Stride muttered a curse, looking them over. He seemed displeased with the way the night had ended, despite the physical satisfaction he might have achieved. She was meant to feel elated, triumphant, but instead . . . she felt oddly empty, her chest utterly devoid of butterflies for the first time she’d spent in his presence. He pushed his feet, pulling her along with him, holding her arms out before.
“I didn’t think it was going to be such a mess,” she admitted with a hollow laugh. There was a small water pump outside the door of the gazebo; he gave it several pumps to get the water flowing before thrusting her hands beneath it. She squealed at the icy cold, his big hands sloughing her fingers clean beneath the spray. When there was no evidence of what they had done left on her skin, he pulled out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, wrapping it around her icy cold, wet hands.Cleaned away, easily forgotten.
“It would have been messier if we had spent a bit more time on the buildup, but lesson learned, I suppose. If you permit me a small amount of time to recover, we can retire somewhere more comfortable, and I’ll pay back the favor, little moth.”
This was what she was meant to want, but she suddenly felt exhausted from this charade. Eleanor wasn’t sure how she was meant to keep it up for another week. “I do believe you’re right, my lord. I ought to retire a bit earlier this evening. I think I’m tired from the travel.”
His recovery was swift, but his spine was stiff as he offered his arm. “Yes, of course, my dear. Where are my manners? Let me escort you back to your room.”
When she was snug beneath the plush feather-stuffed bedclothes, she allowed herself, at last, to take a breath. That had gone exactly as she’d hoped. She’d kept control, reminded him that his lessons would end soon and that she’d be applying her newfound knowledge on another lord who was not him, perhaps had even picked up a new skill. Silas Stride was merely an accompaniment on the road to getting what she needed, and it was good to remind him of that.
So then, why did she feel so hollow? Eleanor closed her eyes, pushing the thought away, determined to go to sleep. It was far earlier than she normally retired for the night, but she hadn’t lied. She was exhausted, and the mere thought of the week before her and this continued manipulation made her head heavy.He’s the one who decided the way this would work. All you’re doing is following his lead. A fair point, a true point . . . but as she drifted towards an uneasy sleep, the thought of his furrowed brow twisted her stomach as she sunk into oblivion.
Silas
Thesecondevening,whenhe woke at dusk at the top of the moon chapel, he was surprised to find her there. She was sitting a short distance away, within his line of sight, perched on the back of a nearly unrecognizable gargoyle, between him and the edge of the moon chapel. Silas thought her placement seemed deliberate.
“Miss Eastwick. Fancy meeting you here. Again.” Her cheeks flushed, the same adorable little blush he had been bringing to her face since the very first night they’d met, but that evening it was hard to take pleasure in the sight.
She had pleasured him with her hands the night before, stroking his cock and squeezing his knot until he had come all over her dainty hands. She had tasted his seed, and the thought of her on her knees before him — her beautiful tits on display, her rosebud lips wrapped around his shaft, suckling his cock tip while her tongue worked over his ridges — nearly made him dizzy. It should have been an enjoyable time spent. After all, he had achieved completion, and she had learned a new skill. But throughout, she kept mentioning the other noblemen upon whose prodigious members she might lavish the same attention, and something had begun to twist in his chest.You’re in danger of apoplexy. You have been all month. You ought to see a physician and find out if there’s something wrong with you. By the time he had retreated to his study after depositing her at her door, pouring himself several fingers of brandy as he began to pace, he felt sick.
When he was agitated, he paced. It was a habit he shared with his brother, both of them learning it from their father. When they were children, Maris said she could always tell when he had done something wrong because he would pace in panic afterward, waiting to see if he would get caught. The length of his study was insufficiently satisfying, but he’d been loath to venture anywhere else in his current state of mind and decided the best course of action for his entire household was to contain his black mood. He hadn’t stopped pacing until it was time to retake his perch at dawn, and now, the following night, she was here again, and he didn’t feel any better about the situation.
“It’s so peaceful up here. I can understand why you have chosen this place to rest, my lord.”
Silas shrugged. It was easy to slip back into his icy, disaffected mask. Everyone wore a mask in the peerage, and it did not matter if one was a human or a member of the bête monde. Armor was a necessity. Armor around his true self, around those he held dear, armor around his heart. He didn’t especially like having to don it in his own home, especially in the privacy of his perch, but he felt oddly trapped. “The moon chapel was built expressly for this purpose. It has unfettered access to the sun, what little sun we get up here, and it is secluded enough that I can rest without disturbance. Normally.”
She had the grace to flush again, that delectable little lip trapping between her teeth. “My apologies, my lord. I-I didn’t realize I was intruding —“
“It’s all right, Miss Eastwick.” His voice softened nearly without his approval, and her eyes flickered up to his. The previous evening had left him feeling discomfited, but he was willing to put it behind them both if they could get back to that place of softness they had previously enjoyed. “A gargoyle guards the privacy and safety of his perch jealously, but I don’t mind you being here. Although, that is my great great uncle Aloysius you’re sitting on.”
Silas bit back a laugh as she leapt off the lump of stone with a yelp.
“I - I brought your clothes,” she choked out once she’d recovered. I noticed last night you only wore a Banyan and . . . I didn’t realize that you slept bare, my lord. I apologize for impugning your privacy.”
