Page 39 of Olive Becket Plays the Rake (The Seattle Suffrage Society)

Olive stood shivering in front of the chestnut standing mirror in Emil’s bedroom.

His maroon silk robe enveloped her, whisper thin and soft against her skin.

Her nipples, large and taut, pushed against the front obscenely.

She was considering folding her arms over them when there was a brisk knock at the door.

“Come in,” she called, hands fisting at her sides in an effort not to fidget.

Emil stepped into the room, rubbing a towel over his black locks, and her lips parted in astonishment.

He was shirtless. Shoeless. Clad only in low-slung pants, the top button brazenly undone.

Droplets of water still clung to the curvature of his pectorals, and as she watched, mesmerized, one fat drop slid down the center line of his chest. She licked her dry lips, but a flutter of uncertainty marred her appreciation.

He was so outrageously handsome, so effortlessly impressive. What if—

“Uh oh,” he said lightly. “I know that look.”

“What look?” She peeked into the mirror, but all she saw was herself.

“The one that tells me the wheels of worry are back in motion.”

“I’m trying not to, but…it’s hard.”

“Well, that simply won’t do.” He tossed the towel over the top of the door and spread his arms wide in invitation. “Purge them all, here and now, and be done with them.”

For once, his ability to remain nonplussed comforted rather than annoyed.

It reassured her, let her know he was willing to try.

And that was far more than anyone else had done.

“I’ve moved on from fears of pregnancy.” He nodded encouragingly.

“But my new worries might not make sense. You can’t laugh at me. ”

“I won’t.” He dragged an X over his heart with his fingers. “Go on. Out with it.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and expelled all the worries threatening to upend what could be one of the most monumental occasions in her admittedly boring life.

“What if you find me less attractive with my clothing removed? What does a penis taste like? How can I know if you have syphilis? Is your willingness to make love to me a sign the madness has already begun? Are there institutions that can treat syphilis? And if so, how much do they cost?” She paused, shrugged, and opened her eyes. “I think that’s it.”

He slowly raised his pointer finger and pressed it against his clamped lips.

She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes in warning.

His nostrils flared; a muscle jumped in his cheek.

She tapped her foot. His eyes watered, and a choked, snuffling sound slipped through.

He was losing the battle—she might as well push him over the edge.

“And what if…” She leaned in close, voice sweet and earnest. “What if I’m the best you’ve ever had?”

Emil’s laugh was unadulterated. Sonorous.

Straight from the belly. It tickled her eardrums and hummed through her bones.

A laugh like that turned heads, and she had been the one to set it free.

She should have been embarrassed—should have felt foolish for spilling every ridiculous, unfiltered worry in her head—but she didn’t.

Not with him laughing like that. Not with him giving her that soft, indulgent look.

Because somehow, it didn’t feel like he was laughing at her.

It felt like he was laughing with her, like he understood the absurdity of her thoughts without diminishing them.

Like he found her delightful, not ridiculous.

And wasn’t that all she had ever wanted?

For someone to hear her, to take in every unpolished, ungraceful part of her, and not turn away?

So she tipped her head back and let her laughter rise to meet his.

“Goddamn,” he said, wiping at the corners of his eyes. “You are a treasure, min k?raste.”

The compliment warmed her from the inside out, sending heat flooding to the crevice of her thighs. “A treasure? Surely not.”

He tugged her against him, his arms sliding around her lower back to hold her close. “A treasure,” he repeated. “Now. I’ll attempt to allay some of your fears. Though I hardly know where to start.”

“Syphilis.”

“To my knowledge, I do not have syphilis. As I told you before, I always wear a condom.”

“Right. That’s good.”

“Speaking of penises, I have no idea how one tastes.” A glint came to his eye, and his voice took on a teasing tone. “You’ll have to ascertain that one for yourself.”

Her mouth went dry at the suggestion. Despite the explanation she’d received, it was still difficult to imagine how it was performed. A dozen images flickered through her mind, each one more graphic than the last.

“Although,” he added, his humor fading into a frown, “you should only do that if you want to. Never let a man—including me—coerce you into anything you do not desire.”

Olive gazed at him, her heart in her throat.

Emil was a man who knew exactly what he wanted and what he was doing.

Not just with his body, but with his restraint.

With his honor. And that undid her more than anything.

He wasn’t just offering pleasure—he was offering trust, a space free of judgment or fear.

He’d already proven she could step into the unknown with him.

She would do it again, knowing he would never let her fall.

“And if I like it? If I like what we do?” she whispered. “Does it make me wanton?’

His breath quickened, and his eyes darkened. “You are not wanton if you enjoy what we do—you’re human. Female pleasure is natural. It’s your God-given right, and to hell with anyone who thinks otherwise.” His voice grew gravelly, and he turned her to face the mirror.

“I want you to revel in every kiss and caress of your silky skin.” He tugged at the loose belt and nudged the robe from her shoulders, his hand guiding it down her limbs to the floor.

She was laid bare, and every nerve awakened.

“I want you to bask in each lick and suck of your nipples.” Her nipples pebbled beneath his hungry gaze.

“I want you to triumph when your hot, wet pussy pulses around my cock.” She mewled in the back of her throat, and he hissed through his teeth.

“And I want you to own your power over me.”

She shook her head once. “My…?”

“Your power.” He rocked up against her, and she gasped at the obvious bulge in his pants. “I’m in a constant state of arousal around you.”

He swiveled his hips, the gentle rasp of wool on her bare lower back a crude reminder of her nudity. Yet she wasn’t nervous. How could she be when Emil devoured every inch of her with his eyes, his hands twitching at his sides as if he was waiting to be unleashed upon her?

She gathered her courage and met his gaze in the mirror. “I want you, too.”

His hand came to rest on her hip, gripping her tightly. “Very well done, k?raste,” he said gruffly. “I know that was difficult.”

His palms slid up her torso to her aching breasts. He cupped her, his thumbs brushing lightly over her turgid nipples. She bit her lip, her hips twitching forward at the zing of pleasure.

“You’re so responsive,” he crooned. “So eager for more.”

She wanted to look, to see what he was doing to her.

To see their lewd stance reflected back at them.

But she couldn’t—not yet. It was too raw, too intimate.

It was easier to concentrate on his beauty, on the look of total absorption as he played with her breasts.

He captured her long nipples between his thumb and forefinger, rolling them gently.

She shifted restlessly, heat pooling between her thighs.

The temptation to look grew stronger, but she resisted.

She could enjoy it without knowing what it looked like.

She could be content to simply feel, just like last time. Yes, she could. She could.

“Go ahead. Look.” His gaze met hers in the mirror. “See how beautiful you are.”

She gave a tiny shake of her head.

He considered her for a moment. “Because you don’t want to, or because you’re a lamb?”

“I’m not a lamb,” she said fiercely.

“I’m afraid I need some convincing.” His mouth dipped close to her ear, his breath hot. “Be brave, min k?raste. You don’t have to hold back. Not with me.”

She glared at him, but he was unaffected. He stood behind her calmly, as if he had nothing better to do than wait for her to decide. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so difficult. She could try, if it meant he would touch her again…

She peeked at her reflection. The image was shocking—her nudity against his half-clothed form.

Her light hair against his dark locks. Her timidness against his relentless confidence.

She gazed at herself uneasily. She was pale but for the flush covering her chest and neck. Trembling and on the brink of fleeing.

“I think you see more in me than is really there.”

“Then I will make you see.”

Her gaze flew upward in time to see the fierce expression hardening his features, and then he was on his knees before her.

“Watch,” he said, his voice pure encouragement. “Watch how your perfect little breasts respond to me. How the rosy nipples tilt toward my mouth, begging for attention.”

He leaned forward, and her nipple disappeared into his sucking mouth.

She cried out, the feeling like nothing she’d ever experienced.

It shocked her; it delighted her. She stared in fascination as he suckled her.

Let out a gasp when he released her with a smack, her skin wet and shiny from his saliva.

“You’re fucking gorgeous. Say it.”

“I’m—I’m—” She couldn’t think. How could she when his hand swept up her leg, dancing feather-light touches across her skin. Higher and higher he crept, and her breath caught when he teased the soft inside of her inner thigh.

“Say it, Olive, and I’ll reward you. I swear to God I’ll reward you.”

“I’m fucking gorgeous,” she blurted.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, you fucking are. I’m going to pet your pretty pussy now. Widen your legs for me, k?raste. Yes, just like that.”