He watched her throat work as she swallowed hard, watched the way her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath. Watched the way her pupils dilated, the way her lips parted slightly.
And then she spoke again, and the words nearly undid him.
“Please, teach me, Your Grace.” Her voice trembled slightly, but there was determination beneath the vulnerability. “You are the only one who can. Please.”
Cecil's eyes widened. He had not expected her to actually do it – had not expected her to surrender so completely, to ask him so directly for something so intimate.
For a moment, he simply stared at her, his mind racing, his heart pounding.
This was dangerous. This was crossing a line he had no business crossing. She was his friend. She was helping him find a wife. She was not someone he should be teaching about pleasure.
But God help him, he wanted to.
“I will not touch you,” he said, his voice rough, hoarse. “But you will have to trust me.”
Penelope nodded, her dark eyes locked on his, wide and trusting and so beautiful it made his chest ache.
Cecil moved closer, close enough that he was soon drunk on the scent of her perfume. Close enough to see the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat, to see the way her breathing had gone shallow.
Slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wished, he lifted one hand and traced his fingers along the side of her neck. Her skin was warm, soft as silk.
Penelope shivered beneath his touch but did not move, did not pull away.
“Close your eyes,” Cecil murmured.
She obeyed immediately, her lashes fanning against her flushed cheeks. In the dim candlelight, she looked ethereal, otherworldly.
Cecil leaned in until his lips were nearly brushing her ear, until he could feel the heat radiating from her skin. His voice dropped to barely more than a whisper.
“Tonight, when you retire to your chambers, you will go to your bed in your nightdress. You will lie down and make yourself comfortable.”
Penelope's breath hitched, her chest rising sharply, but she remained still.
“Then,” Cecil continued, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles against her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath his touch, “You will remove your nightdress. You will feel the sheets against your bare skin and you will become aware of every inch of yourself. The way the fabric feels against you. The way your body responds to even that simple touch.”
Penelope's breathing had grown laboured, her lips parting slightly. A small sound escaped her – barely more than a breath, but it sent heat rushing through Cecil's veins.
“You will let your hands roam over your body,” Cecil whispered, his own breathing growing heavier. “Unafraid. Exploring. Finding the places that make you feel warm. That make your breath catch, that make you want more.”
His thumb brushed against her jawline, and Penelope made a soft sound – half gasp, half sigh – that made every nerve in Cecil's body sing with awareness.
“Eventually,” Cecil murmured, his lips so close to her ear he could feel her shiver, “Your hand will find its way between your legs. And you will let your urges guide you. You will touch yourself the way I cannot touch you. You will stroke and exploreuntil you find what brings you pleasure, Penelope. Until you understand what lust feels like, what desire can do to you.”
Penelope's eyes fluttered open, and Cecil found himself caught in her gaze – dark and heated and utterly captivating. He could see his own desire reflected there, could see the way she was fighting against the pull between them.
“I could give you a taste to remember,” he heard himself say, the words escaping before he could stop them, before he could think better of it.
Penelope nodded, a barely perceptible movement, but it was enough.
And then Cecil's mouth was on hers.
The kiss was not gentle. It was fierce and demanding, a claiming that left no room for doubt or hesitation. His hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her waist, pulling her against him.
Penelope melted into it with a soft moan, her hands coming up to clutch at his coat as though she might fall if she let go. Her fingers dug into the fabric, pulling him closer.
Cecil deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping against hers, tasting wine and something sweeter – something uniquely her. He had kissed countless women, but none of them had tasted like this, had felt like this.
Cecil found himself drowning in it, in her. And he brought the hand that had been around her hip to her throat, feeling the wild flutter of her pulse beneath his fingertips.
