She acceded, finding the right spot and moving her fingers in a circular pattern. “Like that.”
He touched her again, copying the movement.
She reached down to adjust the positioning of his fingers. “Here. Press harder.”
He obeyed, finding a slow, firm rhythm that made lust creep over her skin in a demanding itch. “Will this make you come?”
“You’re rather ambitious for your first endeavor.”
“It’s not my first endeavor. I believe I was quite successful the other night.”
He had indeed been successful that night in the tavern, but that had been something of an accident. She had merely been enjoying the hard, thick feel of him against her before being overwhelmed by a sudden climax. To do this intentionally, without the shield of midnight and strange surroundings that made everything feel less real, was another matter. “That was different.”
“Was it? Well, I find that I usually excel at whatever I turn myhand—” He briefly increased his pressure in a way that made her gasp. “To. I’m sure this will be no different.”
She managed a breathless chuckle. “Don’t get your hopes up.” He would no doubt be insufferably smug if he succeeded in satisfying her, so she determined to remain as cool as possible, to not let him know what his touch was doing to her.
But remaining cool was a herculean feat when he was touching her like that. She had made the mistake of showing him exactly how she liked to be touched, and he was diligent enough to match it almost perfectly. The slight variations in rhythm only heightened the sensation, reminding her that someone else—Felix—was the one giving her pleasure.
She let out a long, slow breath, forcing herself to keep the rising tide of pleasure at bay. There was no way she would climax so easily. Not for him. Not like this.
Definitely not, she decreed, even as the muscles in her thighs tensed and her feet flexed.
He stopped—and she just barely suppressed a cry. Her core throbbed, desperately seeking the sensation he’d been giving her.
With his other hand, Felix traced her opening. “May I enter you?”
“Yes,” she breathed. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than him inside her, filling her.
He hesitated briefly, then eased a finger in, her slickness guiding him. She drew in a sharp breath, and he paused. “Does that hurt you?”
She shook her head, unable to manage words.
“So warm,” he murmured. “So soft.” He sank in further, pressing deep, and she bit back a moan.
His other hand resumed stroking her, rubbing gently as he thrust in and out. Something in the avid way he wasfocusingon her brought her even higher. He was intent, thorough, and meticulous in pleasuring her, as if nothing else existed in his world but her. She was at once a tool for him to practice upon, as well as his greatest desire.
Never before had anyone lavished her with such single-minded concentration. Cornelius had been a generous lover, but his attentions had always had the aim of increasing his own enjoyment. Felix, on the other hand, worked her with the devotion of a scholar decoding a foreign tongue.
Pleasure coiled inside her, drawing tight like overspun thread about to snap. She grasped onto something—anything—to distract her from the inexorable wave on the verge of overwhelming her: the plush pillow beneath her, the clench of her fingernails into her palms, the scent of perfumed oil from the burning lamps next to them. It smelled like marjoram, that herby fragrance she’d noticed on Felix before.
He paused again, and she bit her lip. “You’re twitching,” he said. “What does that mean?”
“It means—it means—” If she spoke any more, she would end up begging for him.
He surveyed her with a mix of dispassionate analysis and carnal greed that made her muscles give another spasmodic twitch around his finger. “I believe I understand.”
His thumb returned to her apex, stroking in unrelenting, methodical circles. Lucretia knew she was lost, vanquished by his slow, deliberate pleasuring, and she abandoned her efforts to hold the pleasure at bay. The thread snapped, and she gasped his name as spasms wracked her body from head to toe.
Her hand shot down to grip his, holding him tightly in place as her body writhed against his fingers. She wrung every last bit of pleasure from him, then collapsed back on the couch, chest heaving as shivers ran over her.
Felix gently withdrew his finger from inside her. “I did warn you, I am rarely unsuccessful.”
There was that insufferable smugness. But lying limp on the couch, every muscle heavy with satisfaction, she couldn’t even summon the will to be annoyed by him. “You show great promise as a student.”
He grinned, then examined the liquid coating his finger before wiping it with a napkin. “You are a most accommodating teacher.”
She managed to gather her legs beneath her and heave herself to a sitting position, drawing her dress back down to cover herself. Her quim felt tender, little spasms still sparking with every movement. She reached for her abandoned wine goblet and drank deep, her throat parched.
