Page 27 of Benefactor to the Baroness (The Seductive Sleuths #3)
“I ’m sorry,” Fontaine said. “You were right, but I was so sick with guilt that I almost made a terrible mistake.”
She felt as if her body would crumble at the slightest touch. How could she make up for the damage she had caused? She was mortified that she had not seen through Mr. Prue’s scheme. If she hadn’t thought to explore his room, she might not have learned about his treachery until it had been too late.
It was still possible for her to lock him into his promises with carefully drafted contracts, but she could no longer stomach the idea of submitting to him, even if it meant she could save so many children. She would be of no value to anyone if she couldn’t leave her bed because she was so disgusted with herself.
“It’s not your fault,” Rosemary said.
Fontaine snorted. “It absolutely is. If I hadn’t been blinded by my desperate need to make up for my failure, I might have seen what was right under my nose.” She let out a long breath as the realization settled over her. “I’ve never felt like I belonged in society. I was born on the streets. When my father found me, I was angry for a long time. My half-siblings and stepmother despised me, and I felt like I couldn’t do anything right. When I finally accepted my fate, I… I felt so guilty.” She put her face in her hands, unable to bear the look of sympathy on Rosemary’s face. “What makes me, the bastard daughter of a wealthy man, entitled to wealth? How am I different from Annie and the others? They deserve everything I have.”
Her shoulders shook. Rosemary grabbed her hands and drew them away from her face. She slid off the bed and knelt between Fontaine’s legs, a position which gave Fontaine an ample view of creamy skin decorated with delicate lace. She averted her gaze.
“Don’t,” Rosemary said as she cupped Fontaine’s cheeks in her hands. “Don’t deny yourself.” Then she brought their lips together.
A bolt of pure lust shot through Fontaine, and she wrapped her arms around Rosemary. She tilted her head, allowing the other woman better access, then moaned deep in her throat.
God, how she had wanted this. She had dreamed of kissing Rosemary every night since they had shared a bed. A vision of what might happen next flashed through her mind in quick snippets and made dampness flow to her sex.
Rosemary pushed her back until she was pressed to the bed, then leaned over her. She kissed a trail from Fontaine’s lips down to the neckline of her gown, then followed that line until she reached Fontaine’s shoulder.
“You are wearing far too many clothes,” Rosemary said.
Fontaine wriggled out of Rosemary’s embrace and clawed at her back for the strings that would release her from the tight clasp of her gown. When she’d grasped them, she tugged so hard that one shoulder of her gown popped free, but the other remained stuck.
With a hearty laugh, Rosemary swatted Fontaine’s hands away, then carefully, lovingly, undid the strings until both of her shoulders were free.
“Too slow,” Fontaine said. She shoved out of her gown, kicking it away until it lay in a crumpled heap. When she turned around, Rosemary had done the same.
They came together again, hands and lips finding each other. Rosemary’s tongue slipped inside of Fontaine’s mouth. The faint taste of brandy was intoxicating, but she wanted that mouth on other parts of her, especially between her legs, where her sex throbbed with need .
Hands came around Fontaine’s back, but there was still too much fabric. She reached for Rosemary’s waist and untied the strings of her petticoats, which slipped down to puddle at their feet. Rosemary did the same to her. Then they were left in only their corsets and shifts. The clasps on the front of each garment made it easy for them to shed, and then they were pressing their breasts to each other, with only their shifts separating them.
The hard buds of Rosemary’s nipples pressed into her chest, and Rosemary’s lips were soft beneath hers.
She reached down and lifted her shift over her head. Rosemary fell to her knees and trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down her chest, then her stomach, and finally her hips.
“The bed,” Rosemary whispered against her sex. The words made her insides clench. She crawled onto the bed and lay on her back. Rosemary tore viciously at her hair, sending pins flying. Thick, wavy locks tumbled free and formed a curtain around her body.
It was the most seductive thing Fontaine had ever seen. She squeezed her thighs together.
Rosemary crawled onto the bed on her hands and knees, her long hair draped over her shoulders, her breasts hanging heavily, nipples taught. She smoothed her palms down Fontaine’s sides until both hands cupped her hips. She squeezed, then dropped her head and kissed Fontaine’s sex. It was barely a brush of lips but made her back arch. She tried to buck her hips, but Rosemary pressed her down.
“Impatient,” Rosemary whispered. Then she removed one hand and slid her index finger up and down Fontaine’s slit, slowly increasing the pressure until at last she curled her fingers and slid them between the folds of Fontaine’s vulva, rubbing her there, coming closer and closer, but not quite…
Rosemary pressed her mouth around Fontaine’s clitoris and sucked. She slid one, then a second finger, inside. The things she was doing with her mouth and her tongue made Fontaine squirm. The coil inside her tightened ever so slowly. Too slowly. Fontaine clenched her muscles of her abdomen.
“Relax,” Rosemary whispered. “Let it come slowly.”
Fontaine grumbled but obligingly released her muscles. The ebb and flow of her pleasure came in slow waves until at last she burst apart. The orgasm traveled from her center all the way to the top of her head. She had never felt such intense pleasure and savored every moment until she was left boneless with relief.
*
Rosemary fell onto her back, more satisfied than she’d been in years. She turned on her side, ready to wrap her arms around Fontaine, but the other woman was already wriggling down the bed.
So that was how it was to be.
A shiver of anticipation rushed through her. She had dreamed of having Fontaine’s lips and hands on her since they had shared the night on the ship. She had never expected to experience that pleasure again, had nearly convinced herself that it had been a dream.
“What do you like?” Fontaine asked. She put her hands on Rosemary’s thighs and smoothed her palms up and down.
“Rough,” Rosemary said. “I like it rough. You don’t have to hold back.”
Fontaine’s lips quirked. “You’re sure about that?”
Rosemary gulped. She would’ve never dared to utter those words to any man. They would have taken her predilection for pain as permission to enact all manner of awful things upon her. It was not something she had shared with most of her partners, instead choosing to pretend she had come to orgasm rather than subject them to the level of torment they needed to inflict to bring her to a similar state. But Fontaine was different. Rosemary knew she would not go too far.
Fontaine dipped her head and rasped her tongue deep into Rosemary’s sex. It wasn’t enough pressure, but the action itself was so unexpected that she gasped. Then Fontaine dug her nails into Rosemary’s thigh and drew them down, while swirling her tongue around Rosemary’s clitoris.
The pain, which might’ve made her yelp in other circumstances, transformed into a burst of fiery pleasure. Fontaine seemed to know exactly how hard to push. There would be white lines along Rosemary’s flesh when they finished, but nothing more.
Nothing permanent.
Fontaine pressed Rosemary’s entrance wide, then slid fingers inside one at a time until Rosemary was so full that she had to hold herself back from squirming under the pressure. She closed her eyes as the action of Fontaine’s tongue upon her clitoris and the fingers not quite thrusting, but curling inside her, seeking that secret spot that would send her over the edge, brought her close to orgasm. It hovered over her like a skittish animal, ready to bolt if she lost her focus. But she did as she had bidden Fontaine and forced her muscles to relax.
“I’m close,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”
Fontaine used her other hand to draw her nails down Rosemary’s back, and that was it. The orgasm tore through her, a conflagration of sharp sensation that made her toes curl.
Fontaine slowed her motions. That was another thing Rosemary appreciated about having women as partners. They knew to draw out the pleasure rather than stop completely. Nothing was more of a shock to a system than to go from intense pleasure to nothing. It quite ruined the orgasm. As did remaining at an intense frequency. Fontaine seemed to know exactly when the pleasure faded.