“I understand if you’re afraid,” Lucy replied, “but I’m not.” She lifted Catherine’s hand and pressed the softest possible kiss to the back of it.
Catherine’s breath shivered out on a sigh.
Lucy kept going—her fingers mapped the course of the veins in Catherine’s pale wrist, and her palm smoothed over the downy hairs on her forearm. She followed the line of her collarbone, the fluted column of her neck, and the small curls that escaped all hairpins to cluster where her scalp met her spine. Catherine hummed with pleasure as Lucy worked those pins free, one by one, draping golden locks over both of them. When she finally—finally!—pressed her lips to Catherine’s mouth, the countess was all but panting with delight, trembling and shivering and returning the kiss with something near to desperation.
Lucy allowed a flame of sensual triumph to flicker in her breast, unspoken, as Catherine’s arms twined luxuriously around her neck and pulled her close without the slightest hint of fear or hesitance.
The countess didn’t take things any further, though. Lucy didn’t mind. Patience was a game she was happy to play for the right rewards.
The next night, in between kisses, Lucy removed Catherine’s dress and then her own, as well as the stays beneath, but left their chemises and stockings in place. The night after that, she peeled off a single one of Catherine’s stockings, and the second the following evening. And so it went, night by night, one delicate piece of fabric at a time fluttering to the floor like seeds from a dandelion clock, until finally Lucy was able to press herself against Catherine, skin to skin.
Lucy shivered, though she felt anything but cold. Catherine was above her in the bed, sheets tangled around both their ankles, firelight flickering gently over miles of creamy, curving skin. “You’re so beautiful,” Lucy murmured, running a hand along the irresistible dip of the countess’s waist.
Catherine bent down for another kiss, lingering and lush. She hadn’t frozen up since that first day, but Lucy kept her hands soothing and steady anyway. She was determined not to rush this, no matter how hard her pulse was pounding.
Catherine slid a hand along Lucy’s side, then cupped her breast. Lucy groaned happily into Catherine’s mouth, her nipple going tight beneath the countess’s palm. She was focusing so intently on not rushing that she was utterly shocked when Catherine straddled one thigh and slipped a hand to the aching spot between Lucy’s legs.
Lucy cried out as every muscle in her body spasmed with pleasure.
Catherine froze, eyes going wide. “Too fast?”
“God, no,” Lucy groaned, and arched up against her hand demandingly. Catherine’s breathy laugh skittered hot over Lucy’s skin as she took the nipple she’d teased into her mouth. Her fingers continued playing between Lucy’s legs, and Lucy clutched her free hand hard in the sheets to keep from tangling it in Catherine’s hair.
Lucy’s other hand was still on Catherine’s waist, so she felt it at once when the countess shifted. Lucy cracked open the eyes she’d convulsively shut just in time to watch Catherine bear down against Lucy’s thigh, soft curls and wet heat grinding against Lucy’s feverish skin. The countess moaned at the friction and sank her teeth into her lip, a picture of desperate yearning.
And just like that, so suddenly she didn’t even have time to gasp for air, Lucy was coming. Her back bowed off the bed as pleasure stormed through her, sweeping everything else aside. Distantly, she heard Catherine whispering encouragement in her ear, and it only set her off a second time, climax rippling through her and making her shudder like the flames dancing in the hearth.
When she came back to herself, Catherine was lounging beside her, stroking her hip, the ample curves of her body tilted in languorous pride like some ancient statue of Venus. Lucy stretched out her arms above her head and laughed, half chagrined and half impressed. “Serves me right for trying to treat you like an untried virgin.”
Catherine stroked more of Lucy, her hand wandering teasingly across her belly and over her small breasts. “I managed to figure out one or two things, in fifteen years of marriage,” she said.
“Only one or two things?” Lucy teased. She rolled Catherine beneath her and settled on top of the countess’s delectable body. Catherine splayed out eagerly as Lucy’s hand roamed lower, but her eyes truly widened when Lucy slid down until she could set her shoulders beneath Catherine’s knees. Lucy spotted a dimple in Catherine’s left knee and pressed a sweet kiss to it, lightly spreading the other woman’s legs wider. Golden, flushed, and perfect—she was even lovelier now than in all of Lucy’s secret imaginings.
The countess leaned up on one elbow, the lightest furrow appearing between her golden brows. “Where on earth are you going?”
Anticipation shot through Lucy, comet-like. “Oh, so this isn’t one of the things?” Her hands drifted up, from the lady’s knees to her trembling thighs, and brushed her thumbs along the tender folds between the countess’s legs. “Let me show you a trick I learned in my school days. Though I promise, you won’t find it anywhere on the curriculum.” She bent her head and licked once, precisely where she knew Catherine needed it most.
It was no small achievement, to make a countess curse.
Lucy laughed and licked Catherine again—then again, on and on, pressing hands down on the other woman’s hips to hold her in place as the countess’s cries spiraled higher and breathier. She used every trick of lips and tongue that she could think of, licking and sucking and flicking at the tender flesh. Judicious fingers, cunningly applied, caused another round of gorgeous cursing. Catherine sobbed as she came, Lucy’s eager tongue catching every drop of her pleasure. With a long moan Catherine fell back, gasping for breath, while Lucy moved up to nuzzle into the dewy crook of her neck, satisfaction of more than the physical kind rippling through her. “How was that for a novelty?”
It was a while before Catherine essayed a reply. “I have visited many strange places and had many unique experiences in my travels,” she breathed, her generous bosom heaving delightfully up and down, “but I never imagined anything quite like that.” She flung an arm up above her head and stretched, the curves of her shifting into new and fascinating topographies. “I feel positively licentious.”
Lucy grinned. “You ought to have stayed home and learned about good old-fashioned English debauchery, as I did.”
Catherine chuckled as Lucy pulled the sheets over them both. “If you’re offering to teach me, I expect you’ll be a proper scholar and do it rigorously.”
Lucy snorted, and nipped at Catherine’s earlobe, enjoying the way it made the lady sigh and shiver. “I shall take careful notes, and make sure my experiments are repeatable.” Lulled by warmth and the sweet feel of Catherine beneath her, Catherine’s arms around her shoulders, Lucy drifted into sleep before she thought to stop herself.
A squeak and a clank had Catherine cracking open an eyelid at far too early an hour the next morning.
It was daylight, but barely. The clank had been the coal scuttle, banging gently against the hearth as Narayan’s foot struck it. The squeak had been Narayan herself, arriving earlier than usual to lay out Catherine’s morning gown for the day.
Catherine, presently wearing not a stitch, clutched the coverlet to her breast and stared wildly at the maid, whose eyes were wide with shock.
Lucy—equally nude, and apparently a restless sleeper—was tucked in the crook of Catherine’s arm facing outward, the curve of her spine fitting into the curve of Catherine’s waist, one long leg thrown free of the sheets. Her hands clutched the countess’s arm to her chest, as though she were afraid Catherine would try to flee sometime during the night.
Narayan bent down and scooped up the garment she’d dropped. “Apologies, my lady,” she squeaked. “Shall I... Shall I come back in a few minutes?” Her eyes flicked to Lucy and then away, and she tucked a lock of hair behind ears turned ruddy with embarrassment.
