He groaned.
Without moving her hand, she disappeared from his field of vision. He felt the mattress move under him, and he knew she had gotten on the bed behind him. He felt her breath on his neck, the heat of her body on his back. Her arm still reached over his hip and her hand cupped his member.
“I’m watching the clock just like you, for once. And I thought I should hurry us along. You are not as hard as you were before. We are going backward, not forward.”
“Etymology.” His voice was strained.
“Pardon?” She was squeezing his cock. “Good. You’re getting very hard again.”
“Entomology is the study of insects. Etymology is the study of the origin of words. Just remember,” he shuddered involuntarily, “entis likeant. An ant is an insect.Entomology equals insects.”
“Oh, George.” Her voice was husky and her mouth was very near his ear. “You’re a natural teacher. No wonder I came to you for my bedding lesson.”
“Were there—” His voice caught. He licked his lips. “Were there any other contenders?”
“Am I doing this right?”
“Squeezing is fine. But primarily,” he gulped and then lowered his voice, “what is wanted is friction.”
“Friction?” She loosened her grip and began to rub up and down over his shaft through his trousers.
And now, wonderfully, miraculously, her other hand was touching his scalp again.
How am I ever going to top this experience? A beautiful woman rubbing both my heads at the same time?
And not just any beautiful woman. A beautiful woman who loved him. And whom he had loved her entire life. And that thought gave him enough strength to take her hand off his cock and turn over on the bed to face her, still holding her wrist. Blessedly, her other hand stayed on his head, skimming his scalp lightly.
Phoebe was lying on her side as he was, and her pupils were very large, their inky darkness almost overtaking the brown irises.
He didn’t wait for her to ask. “I didn’t want to get too aroused, too early.”
“Is that a problem?”
“The younger the man, yes. The older the man, the opposite problem is true.”
She smiled. “So you are a young man.”
He growled. “I’m only four years older than you, Phee. And I need to keep my head clear for your lesson.”
“Oh, George.” Her own voice was breathy.
“Oh, Georgewhat?”
“Will you kiss me that way again? The way you did before? And put your tongue in my mouth?” She laced her fingers into his and pulled him toward her even as she kept stroking the top of his head with her other hand.
“Only if you answer my question.”
“What question? Oh. Oh, yes.” She smiled. “No, there were no other contenders to be my bedding tutor. You’re my teacher, my oldest friend. Of course, I came to you.”
Even as he felt reassured that she thought he was the obvious person to teach her about coitus, he wondered why the devil she was marrying the Duke of Thornwick. She was still much too young to get married. Wasn’t she?
“Now kiss me, George.”
He kissed her. She opened her lips immediately to the touch of his.
This is stupid. This whole idea of a lesson. If she does that with Thornwick, he will immediately know she’s kissed someone before. I need to stop this.
But her mouth, her lips, her hands felt so wonderful. He told himself he deserved just a little more. He may not get to marry the suddenly enticing Lady Phoebe Finch, but there was not a cat in hell’s chance he was going to give up kissing her when she was lying on his bed, doing the asking.
