Page 10 of The Spinster's Seduction(The Lover's Arch #4)

Evelyn had felt nervous about a great many things in her life. Most events came with a healthy dose of anxiety, and she never doubted herself more than when she wanted to please another person. That was, unless the person in question was Charles.

Even now, with his hand covering hers over her most private of areas, the only thing she felt was a tightening sensation of anticipation low in her belly. Pleasure bloomed under even the inexpert movement of her fingers. And yet something held her back.

“Is this not wrong?” she asked. “To touch myself in this way?”

“Does it feel wrong?”

No, it most certainly did not. But she had always been taught that a woman exploring her own body was . . . Well, sinful .

Everything you are doing here is arguably sinful in the eyes of God, Evelyn. Is that going to stop you?

It had not stopped her so far.

His gaze probed hers, as though he could peel away all her layers and read her thoughts. “Would you like to stop?” he asked gently.

“No.”

“Good.” His hand guided hers in gentle circles, and the bursts of pleasure, like sparks from a fire, that erupted from the sensation nearly shocked her speechless. “Does this make you uncomfortable? ”

“I—” It required more concentration than she could have imagined to produce even words. “No, not uncomfortable.”

“Then are you happy to proceed?”

“Yes,” she gasped.

He smiled, his mouth ghosting along the curve of her neck. “Very well.” He removed his hand from hers and placed it across her stomach once more. “Then keep going. Listen to your body and what it is teaching you. Pleasure is an art-form. Let it speak to you.”

She had never heard laconic, drawling, indolent Charles speak in such a way, and so earnestly, as though he believed in nothing more than what he told her. About pleasure being art—as though it was not just gratification, but a thing of beauty.

She moved her hand on herself. Without his guidance, she felt less certain. And yet, though intellectually she did not know what to do, she found her body provided the instructions that she lacked. Though clumsy, her fingers found a place where her pleasure peaked. She caressed herself with a sense of dawning wonder, both that this was possible, and that she had never thought to attempt such a thing before.

“That’s right,” he murmured, the fingers on her stomach tightening a little, digging into her flesh in a way that might once have made her self-conscious, if she had not heard so much suppressed desire in his voice. “You are perfection.”

She heard the words and knew them, fundamentally, to be untrue. Yet the sound of them spurred her on, as did the low catch in his breathing as he watched her. She felt the hot, heavy rod of his arousal against her thigh. Proof that he wanted her. The thought made her own pleasure spike higher.

“Charles,” she said, hearing the whine in her voice but unable to prevent it. With him, she had become someone she did not recognise.

“Yes, my darling?”

Her body moved restlessly under her fingers, slick and wanting. Everything inside her appeared to be growing in a crescendo, but she had no idea what to do now.

“Charles,” she repeated, pitiful this time.

“May I touch you?” His voice sounded gravelly to her ears.

“Yes!” She pounced on the idea eagerly, legs spreading at the idea. “Please. I think—you must know what you are doing better than I. Teach me all that I am missing. What comes next? What can I—”

“Peace.” He kissed her shoulder as his hand crept up to cup her breast. “Surrender yourself to it. I’m here.” His fingers found her nipple, stroking slow circles around it the same way she had been drawing circles on herself. When he pinched it, she felt the shock, the burst of sensation travel straight through her to the burgeoning heat in her lower abdomen. “Nothing bad will happen. I promise.”

She sucked in a long, deep breath, and resumed her ministrations with her fingers, closing her eyes. Charles’s mouth travelled down her chest to the swell of her breast, the hot pressure of his tongue exploring her lazily. She felt wound tighter than a spring, the pressure building inside her new and almost frightening, and yet she craved more. She moved her hand faster, chasing the feeling, attempting to make it bloom inside her.

Charles rose onto his elbows, and she opened her eyes to find his gaze on hers, steady as a heartbeat. So present, just as he had promised. Her relief at the sight felt mind-altering, as though the world had shifted slightly on its axis.

“You are approaching your climax,” he said, informing her of this as though she ought to know precisely what he meant. And somehow, she did. A climax. The word sounded appropriate for what felt as though it was coming, a train thundering closer. “The agony of bliss. Let it come, sweet.”

The combination of his voice, the gentle pressure of his hands on her breasts, and the relentless tide of pleasure was enough to push her over the edge. White light burst from behind her eyelids, and her body arched off the bed. She had the dim impression that Charles continued touching her, murmuring encouragement and reassurance, but it was all she could do to keep her mouth clamped shut and the noises she so desperately wanted to make trapped inside. They were not alone in the house, and although she did not doubt the loyalty of her servants, their loyalty belonged to her father, not to her .

No one could know what agony of bliss she had experienced at Charles—no, her own hands.

She opened her eyes to find Charles watching her, desire and affection commingling in his expression. “And that,” he said, sliding a hand into her loose hair, “is why many ladies find this event more pleasurable than the lovemaking itself.”

Lovemaking. Perhaps it was silly, but she had not thought about it in such terms. She dropped her gaze to his erection, the tip wet with a bead of moisture. It looked so turgid as to be uncomfortable. “Is that what we are about to do next?”

“Next,” he said, “I am going to give you leave to explore a man’s body.”

Her eyes shot to his. “You will let me touch you?”

“Is that not what you wanted as part of our arrangement?” He smiled then, adding warmth to his words. “Though if it is a chore, I’m sure we can find something else to entertain us. We do not even have to progress further today if you do not wish it.”

She looked at him doubtfully. “But you do wish it.”

“I would not be a man if I did not, but I am also not an animal.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. “Today, in all of this, your pleasure comes first.”

She smiled, loose-limbed and emboldened, and reached for his face, drawing him closer for a kiss. “Teach me,” she whispered against his mouth. “Teach me what there is to know about a male body, and then ravish me thoroughly.”

“Words every man wishes to hear.” He gripped her tightly as he kissed her, then took her hand, the one that had so recently been between her own legs, and brought it to his manhood. She had felt the heat of it against her leg, and already knew it to be hard, but she was unprepared for the silky slide of hot skin against her palm, or the way it throbbed as she closed her fingers around it.

“Tell me what I am to do,” she said. “I’m a novice.”

He made a low sound of appreciation in his throat, then rolled a little onto his side so he faced her. She looked into the face of her best friend turned lover, and wondered how she might protect her heart from shattering entirely when all this came to an end.

“Do not grip me too firmly,” he said, and smiled a little again, though the expression now seemed strained. “Every man will appreciate this differently. Do not be afraid to ask.”

She trailed her fingers up the length of him, and he kept his gaze on her, hot and heavy, as she did so. “I do not think I will be experiencing this with any other gentleman,” she said.

He inhaled sharply, throat moving as he tipped his head back. “I ought to tell you not to discount that option entirely, but in truth, I’m relieved to hear it.” His eyes found hers again, the possessiveness a balm to the knowledge that her heart would suffer their parting. “I dislike the thought of you with another.”

“Jealous, Charles?”

“What of it? You have always been special to me, Pidge. Never more so than now.” He groaned as she wrapped her fingers around the base of him. “Though I am a fool for confessing it,” he muttered, words stilted now. “That is right. Move your hand—yes. Like that.” His jaw clenched. “I rather suspect you will be the death of me.”

“Am I doing it right?”

“Yes. Yes. Very much so.” He gave a ragged, rueful laugh, and touched her breast again. “May I?”

“You already did.” She wanted to laugh, which was very unlike her. But this situation felt so surreal, as though some other person had stepped into her life. And truth be told, she wanted him to touch her again. Seeing the effect she had on him, the flush that came to his cheeks and the darkness of lust in his eyes, made her ache all over again, the wet heat between her legs no longer a surprise. She understood that now, too. Arousal.

“Yes.” He sent his hand lower, closer to where hers had been, and she spread her legs for him without much thought. “Yes, but I want to be inside you, Evie. My God, I have wanted this for too long.”

She had no time for further questions, because his fingers slipped past where hers had been, and the tip of one pressed inside her. This sensation was new, and for a moment, her hand faltered .

“Too much?” he asked huskily. “Would you like to—”

She rolled her hips against his hand, and that single finger slid a little further inside her. Yes. There. That felt good—more than good. Wonderful. Delightful. Overwhelming in just how good it felt. As though there was no longer any space inside her for breath or thought.

“Oh,” she gasped. Her voice shook. “I had not known . . .”

“That was going to be our next lesson, but . . .” He cursed under his breath. “You feel incredible, Evie love.”

Finally, belatedly, she remembered what she had been doing—what she had ought to have been doing—and redoubled her efforts. Her concentration clouded, though, and she struggled to find the right motion with her hands while his fingers played her like the sweetest of violins. A master at his craft, while she . . .

And yet, despite her inexperience, his breath came shorter, and he rested his forehead against hers. “My climax is somewhat messier than yours,” he said against her hair. “You must decide now if you wish for more, or if you had rather finish here.”

“I, ah—” She broke off as his fingers found a wholly new place with another spike of pleasure. She contracted around him, and his eyes glazed as his hips pumped into her hand.

“My apologies.” He paused, waiting for her to gather her words, then with another wicked smile, moved his fingers inside her again so her thoughts splintered into nothing. She gasped, then on a whim, sank her teeth into his neck. He groaned, hips bucking again, then laughed, the sound fiercely lovely. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“You most certainly did.”

“What would you like, my darling? Tell me, and I shall endeavour to give it to you.”

He had already given her so much, she thought dazedly. Surely there could be nothing more.

Except there was. Even she, a woman whose virtue had remained intact until now, knew that more than this would come if she allowed it.

“I would like everything,” she whispered, knowing within herself that it was the truth .

He made a noise akin to pain, and rolled, sliding his spare hand around her neck as he brought her mouth to his. On instinct, she widened her legs, giving him space to settle between.

“Evie.” His mouth found her cheek, her eyelids, the tip of her nose. “Evie,” he murmured again, and her heart cracked. “Evelyn. This may hurt. Are you prepared for that? I will do my best to be gentle.”

“I trust you.”

Something blunt settled at her entrance, right where his fingers had been moments before. Her body tensed in preparation, and she caught her breath. Charles’s face above her was lined with concentration, and she never wanted this moment to end.

I love you . The words, dangerous and sure, hovered on the edge of her tongue.

A knuckle rapped on the door, shattering her concentration. “Miss Davenport?” her maid called. “Your father has returned home and requests your presence in the drawing room.”