“I’m just surprised you know how to do this.”
She was surprised? But she knew he had experience. Otherwise, what good would he be as a teacher? And from what she had said earlier, she knew he had mistresses and Lady Starling was his currentinamorata. His sister Alice must have told her. Damn Alice and her gossiping tongue.
But what did Phoebe think he did with his mistresses? Play chess?
No, idiot.She knows that’s what you do with her.
“You don’t have to unlace them all the way.” She stepped away from him and pulled the stays over her head. Still facing away from him, Phoebe removed her chemise and as he stared at the flawless milk-white skin of her bare back, she fumbled with something at her waist and dropped her petticoat to the floor.
Now he was looking at simply the most gorgeous bottom he had ever seen. He had anticipated seeing her breasts ever since he had grabbed and pulled her to him for that first tongue kiss. But given how little information was revealed about a gowned woman’s body below her waist, he had not predicted her bottom. Yes, perhaps he should have been prepared since he had groped a buttock through her dress while kissing her on the bed before, but the visual?
It was spectacular.
The barest hint of a dimple above each cheek on her lower back, framing the inward curve of her spine. Then a pouty pair of perfectly smooth and creamy globes. Protuberant in the most enticing of ways. Like the most delicious fruit. Sharp demarcations between her buttocks and her thighs that faded as the lines moved out toward her hips. And those thighs, wonderfully fleshy as the most beautiful women’s legs were. Round and thick and luscious to match her bottom. But his eyes were drawn, irresistibly, back up to her cheeks. He longed to sink his hands, his teeth, his soul into that bottom.
Then she turned around and he mourned the disappearance of her backside even as he gloried in the front of her body. A sweetly curving abdomen leading to the triangle of her light brown maidenhair that covered the pulsing ache she had told him about. And her breasts—those succulent, larger-than-croquet-ball-sized orbs. Now he could see they were round and high, crowned with large pink areolae and plump nipples that begged for a mouth. His mouth.
Finally, he ripped his eyes from her body to look at her face. She was biting her lip, worried. The little crease between her eyebrows was back. Her whole body had a very fine tremble.
He cursed himself. He had been indulging his own base appetites and not tending to her as he should.
She spoke first. “Do I look all right, George?”
Again, a teacher owed his pupil honesty. And honest praise. “You’re beautiful, Phoebe.”
Her whole face changed. The crease disappeared. A pink blush tinted her face, her neck, the tops of her breasts.
“Really? I am to your taste?”
“You would be to any man’s taste, Phee. You are magnificent.”
“Really?”
He moved the counterpane off his lap and showed her his hardened shaft.
“When a man is this hard with no touch, just looking, it means the woman is exceptionally arousing.”
The pink on her face veered toward red.
“Let’s get into bed, Phee.” He raised the counterpane and slid into the bed himself and toward the far side of the mattress, holding up the coverings so she could get in after him.
She scrambled into the bed and clutched the counterpane eagerly, bringing it up over her breasts until it was just under her chin.
“Are you cold, Phee?” He was up on his elbow, next to her, observing her.
“No, I’m hot. After all, it’s June.” A pause. “I feel shy.”
“That’s fine. Your husband will expect some timidity.” Again, the thought of Thornwick in bed with Phoebe made him want to cast up his accounts. He pushed the nauseating thought away. “I’d like to touch you. Would that be all right?”
“Oh, yes, George.” She practically cooed. “Please touch me.”
He started by running his hand over each one of her shoulders, then her upper arms, then her upper chest. When he moved his hand down under the counterpane to one of her breasts, she shuddered. Oh, oh, with just the lightest brush of his fingers, her nipple was puckering under his touch. He gently folded the counterpane down. Oh, yes, those lovely breasts with the even lovelier shell-pink areolae and the loveliest of dark-pink nipples, one flat right now, the other poking up so seductively from his light stimulation. Now he brushed the other nipple and was delighted to see it become as erect as its twin. He seized the closest breast with his hand, kneading it and bringing his mouth to the peak. As he suckled there and swirled his tongue over the already hard nub, he heard her gasp, and then moan as she rubbed his head.
“Oh, George.”
He didn’t like women talking during lovemaking. Sounds, yes. Words, no. Words were for another part of his brain. Words distracted from his animalistic pleasure. But suddenly, his name in her mouth was the most powerful aphrodisiac in the world. He released her breast and leaned over and suckled at the other breast, hoping to make her say his name again.
She didn’t. However, her moan became more high-pitched and fervent, her hands moving more quickly over his scalp. Just as he began to nibble, she spoke.
