Page 8 of The Spinster's Seduction(The Lover's Arch #4)

Evelyn stared at Charles’s face, willing herself to gather the thoughts he had effectively scattered. Yes, she had definitely been right to come to him: he certainly knew what he was doing. And kissing him had been an odd kind of torture, a pleasure so exquisite she thought she might expire from it, and a torment to know that he would soon be bestowing those kisses elsewhere.

But she shouldn’t dwell on that, not when he had been so obliging as to teach her what to do.

She did not know if the prospect of taking control made her more fearful or excited. Following his lead had been delightful. All her fears about perhaps not even liking kissing—with tongue —had been assuaged. At least with Charles, she could be certain she liked it. He knew precisely how much pressure with which to touch her. His mouth was warm and his tongue, when it brushed against her lower lip in silent invitation, made heat sink through her body. She wanted him to kiss her with his tongue.

A previously unfathomable thought.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured, settling his hands firmly on her waist. “I will remain in this position. You need have no fear that I will overstep.”

That was not her fear at all.

“And if I would rather you did? ”

His eyes darkened. Stormy now, so dark she felt as though she could sink into them and never emerge. “Don’t tempt me,” he said, voice so low she felt rather than heard it. “I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

Well, she had convinced him to seduce her; perhaps that was all she could hope for at present. Perhaps it was a good thing if they took matters slowly.

She exhaled, fighting the urge to shift and ease the ache between her legs. She was a woman, not a statue, and she had felt desire before, or at least so she’d thought, but it had never felt like this—not like temptation, but a hot, messy, liquid ache deep inside her.

Summoning her courage, she leaned in closer and pressed her mouth against his. His lips were a point of softness in an otherwise hard face, and they softened further still against her inexpert movement. Yet as promised, he did not move, allowing her to tilt her head and explore the best angle. After a second, she found it, slotting their mouths together so they fit like two puzzle pieces. Unfamiliar heat filled her, and she slid her hands into his hair—silky, another point of softness about him. There were so many that she had never previously known.

What a privilege to discover them now. She felt as though he had given her access to a hidden part of his life and his person. And she also understood, too, that he had been right: they could never go back to their unassuming friendship after this. Not now she knew how his hands felt against her waist; not when she knew, finally, what it felt like to kiss him. All these new sensations moving through her body—it felt as though she had been sleeping for years, decades, and now finally was coming awake.

Charles’s hands tightened fractionally on her waist, and she eased closer, her knees digging into the soft cushions of the sofa. Her chest brushed against his, and new pleasure moved through her. Her breasts felt heavy and sensitive, even through the many layers she wore, and she distantly wished she could remove her blouse.

She wanted his hands on her bare skin. To know, without a doubt, what being intimate with him would entail.

He exhaled a ragged breath, and his lips parted, allowing her to deepen the kiss. Tentatively, just as he had done, she experimented with touching her tongue against his. The first time he had done this, just minutes ago, she had felt momentarily unsettled by the wet heat, the sense of having something of his inside her, the overwhelming intimacy of it. But now, even the first touch sent excitement through her. Pleasure.

He made a noise in the back of his throat, and finally he moved, returning the kiss in kind. Tongues, lips, even teeth.

Heat coiled in her lower belly. His mouth set fire to something deep within her. No longer was she mere flesh and blood—now she was heat and light and longing. He made her burn, and for the first time in her sheltered life, she understood how perhaps pleasure could be a drug on which a person could overdose.

“Charles,” she whispered against his lips. “Am I . . . am I doing it right?”

He leant back, looking at her with hooded eyes. “Very much so.” His hand came to caress her jaw, and she pressed her face into the light touch. There was so much about touching she had not known, either. How addictive it could be. “But you do not need to be so hesitant with me, Pidge. For the purpose of today, I am yours. Do what you will with me. Kiss me however you would like.”

Her gaze travelled over his handsome face, worn by time and dissolution. His eyes, dark and heavy, but warm with affection she knew he held just for her, framed by lush dark lashes. She trailed her fingers along the heavy lines around his mouth, then the subtle ones by his eyes. Crow’s feet, her mother had called them. She touched his nose, proud and aquiline, and scraped her nails along his jaw and the stubble just starting to grow there. So different from when they had been children together, and yet she would not have exchanged this version of him for the world.

“I have a question,” she said, letting her hands fall away.

“Then ask it.”

“When I am kissing you, how do I know that you are . . . also enjoying it?”

He snorted, but when she frowned, he took her hands and pressed them to his mouth, one after the other. “Sweet, innocent Evie. You are a delight.”

“It was an honest question. ”

“Let me give you an honest answer, then.” The corner of his mouth curved, though his eyes remained hot on hers, like scorched coals. “Do you know what happens when a man is aroused?”

“His—” She stumbled over her words. “His phallus swells.”

He gave a delighted bark of laughter and brought her face to his for another quick kiss. “Never change, my dear.”

“Charles! Is that incorrect?”

“Not in the slightest, although I am not in the habit of referring to my cock as a phallus.” He tilted his head at the way she recoiled from the word. Once, and only once, Lady Durham had used the coarse expression, and Evelyn had disliked it immensely. If she were to refer to a man’s private parts, she did not wish to do so in that way. “Does that distress you?”

“It seems unnecessarily coarse.”

“Ah, but Evie, I am .” His thumb stroked across the hinge of her jaw, oddly tender despite his words. “You are sitting on the lap of a hardened rake, and I mean that in every sense of the word.”

His tone, playful and serious all at once, indicated his double meaning, and she frowned. “Do you mean hard as in . . .”

“Say it.”

“I will not say that rude word,” she said firmly.

“Very well. Yes , Evie. I was referring to my erection.” He took her hand. “Promise me you won’t be shocked.”

“At what?”

His lips twitched. “I’m about to show you my phallus.”

“ Show me?”

“Well, perhaps not quite that.” Gently, he brought her hand between them, to a sizeable bulge between his legs. “When a man is aroused, he becomes hard, and that is what I am experiencing now. Because of you.”

Shock initially made Evelyn want to flinch away, but after a moment’s contemplation, she kept her hand there, wrapping her fingers around the length. He inhaled sharply, but when she glanced at his face, he shook his head .

“It’s sensitive.” A wry smile touched his mouth. “More so than I would have anticipated.”

“You . . . like this?”

“I do.”

“I had not thought . . .” She dropped her gaze to his trousers and the sight of her hands on his manhood. Pleasure spiked through her, and she explored the length of him, squeezing and massaging as she grew bolder. “You admit things so easily.”

He caught her wrist, stilling her. “I admit to experiencing pleasure at your hands, yes. But we should stop that for now.”

“Why?”

“Because today’s lesson is on kissing.”

She looked back at his face. “Then kiss me.”

Her own boldness shocked her, but Charles’s eyes flared, and his hand flattened on the small of her back. He kissed her with sudden, fiery urgency, nipping at her lower lip and chuckling at the way she gasped.

The heat in her body turned liquid.

She wanted, she wanted, she wanted .

She wiggled forward until her breasts pressed against his chest and the apex of her thighs rested right on the bulge she had been fondling until so recently. Her core felt sensitive, the friction just enough to send waves of pleasure through her. The wantonness of it alarmed and thrilled her in equal measure. He groaned, arms wrapping more firmly around her, and she felt like a woman possessed. Needy, urgent. Desperate for—well, something.

“Evie.” His hips lifted to meet her, his voice rough. “Have you ever touched yourself?”

“I—” She blinked down at him, trying to understand the question. “How do you mean?”

He swore, low and fluid, under his breath. “We should stop.”

“What?”

“This. Now. I will not bring about your first . . . this is not how I had envisaged things progressing. ”

Evelyn pressed the back of her hand against one flushed cheek, wishing his words did not stab into her quite so deeply. “You do not wish to continue?”

“I wish very much to continue, and that is precisely the problem.” He eased her off him and rose, striding to the other end of the room. She watched from the sofa, crumpled and feeling a little like a gutted fish. She had always known that words had the capacity to slice one open; she had been gossiped about one too many times for her not to know that. But she had not known that Charles could say something that would hurt so deeply. Particularly when she knew his intention was not to hurt—with her, his intention was never to hurt. She knew that.

And yet.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

He whirled. “No, Evie. No. You are the antithesis of something wrong.” In a few quick steps, he stood before her again, and she was at the perfect height to note that he must, at least in some ways, be telling the truth. “I am the one—” He hesitated. “This is entirely new for you, I know, but it is also new for me. I am not in the habit . . .” He frowned, looking discomforted, and on a whim, she rested her palm against his thigh. His eyes met hers, and he sighed, crouching so their heads were at the same height. “I am not made for tenderness, Pidge. You have only ever seen the best of me, but I am not a good man.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“And yet it is the truth. It’s why I have resigned myself to marrying a lady I know I cannot care for, and who does not care for me. And it is why I feel not the slightest compunction about my role in her future happiness, or probable lack thereof. I will not fulfil any desire she has for love, and she will certainly not do so for me.” He gave her a slight smile. “I have seduced many a wife away from her husband’s arms, and I have taken ladies as lovers until they bore me. I am a man accustomed to chasing nothing but my own pleasures.” He kissed her palm, and although she felt a slight pang in her chest, she did not pull away. “I would not like you to see those ugly parts of my character for yourself. And that’s why I must leave. ”

“What do you think you would do if you stayed?”

His eyes found hers again. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t want to be as gentle as you deserve. This is my first time bedding a virgin, my darling, and I would not have my desires ruin any of your own.”

This was what he had mentioned before, a gentleman being rough with her. She trusted Charles, but she also craved his softness, even as curiosity mingled with her frustrated desire.

“When will I see you again?” she asked. “My father will be back in town by the end of the week; I would like to have this completed by then.”

Charles looked into her face, a wry smile creasing his expression. “ Completed ?” he repeated, running his fingers through her loosened hair. “You make me feel like a cad, Evie.”

“By your own admission, you are.”

“You are right, of course.” He laughed and straightened. “I am a scoundrel, there is no doubting that. I will come back around tomorrow. Until then, let me pin your hair back up.” Without waiting for a reply, he gently turned her head and retrieved some of the pins he had discarded.

“What will tomorrow’s lesson be?”

“Eager already?” His knuckles brushed her skin. “I want you to understand your own pleasure a little better.”

“My . . . own?”

“Precisely.”

“I don’t understand what you mean by that.”

“You will.” His mouth ghosted across the path his fingers had taken across the back of her neck. “It is an important step in any lady’s education in pleasure.”

“I thought you were new to this.”

“Why, so I am, but that does not change the facts. Every lady’s body is different. Once you understand your needs, you can better guide me towards providing for them.”

Her insides tightened at the thought. “Will you . . . instruct me?”

“That’s what I’m here for, Evie.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow. ”

Evelyn watched him go, her usual composure splintered and cracked in a hundred different places. The way Charles made her feel almost hurt her, yet she would not have exchanged that pain for the world. It was a lady’s privilege to have her heart broken at least once in her life, and at least the man in question was dashing enough to do the thing properly.