“I’m listening.”
At the gentleness in his tone she glanced up, then started when she realized he had extended a hand to her. He hadn’t come any closer, leaving the choice of skin-to-skin contact completely on her.
“Mrs. Hurst … may I call you Regina?”
She hesitated only a moment, her gaze lifting to meet his. “I suppose that would be all right.”
“And you should call me David. We will be spending several nights a week together. I want you to feel comfortable with me. Whatever limits you wish me to skirt, I will gladly do so.”
That seemed to reassure her, and she took the few steps to close the gap between them, placing her hand in his. It was ice cold and shaking, so he laid his other atop it and lightly chafed the chilled skin.
“David,” she said, his name nothing more than a strained whisper. “I think it would be best if we established that this arrangement is strictly for the purposes of procreation. Mr. Lyons was most adamant about your … um … experience. However, I want you to know that you need not worry that I will require any … prolonged ministrations. Truly, the faster it is over, the better.”
David’s hold on her hand went slack and he felt certain his eyes were about to fall free from their sockets. It would seem this arrangement was set to introduce him to a wide range of firsts. Never in his life had he encountered a woman who wanted him to rush through bedsport.
“I don’t understand—”
“I’ll remain in my nightgown, and I’d like you to be clothed save for … well, you know.”
She waved her free hand in the general direction of his pelvis, as if she indicated a vase or a heap of horse manure. David wasn’t certain if he should be affronted on behalf of his cock.
“If you would refrain from placing your hands anywhere near my face or throat, I would appreciate it,” she went on, talking faster now, as if the first words had freed her. “We shall always lie face to face, and … and the lamp is to be doused.”
“Regina, do you really want me to take you to that bed and rut on you like … like some sort of …”
“Stud?” she offered with a little shrug of one shoulder. “With all due respect, Mr. Graham—”
“David.”
She gave him a brittle half smile. “David … our contract specifies that you are to be exactly that.”
“But, I’m a courtesan. Pleasure is my business, and at the risk of sounding arrogant, I’m very good at what I do. Wouldn’t you prefer to actually enjoy the conception of your child? It needn’t be so … impersonal.”
Her plush lips set into a firm line, and she fixed her gaze somewhere south of his chin. “This is the way I need to go about it. Do you understand?”
No, he didn’t understand this woman at all. But for what she was paying, David did not need to understand her. He simply had to fulfill the contract, which meant giving her what she wanted, exactly how she wanted it.
“Very well. I will insist on removing my coat, at least. The tailoring is too exact for me to have full range of motion.”
She gave a silent, stiff nod in response, then turned away. David peeled off his coat as she went to the bed, slowly and carefully turning down the coverlet. Then, with her back still turned to him, she shrugged out of her dressing gown. The heavy damask fell away to reveal a prim, white nightgown. As he laid his coat over a chair near the hearth, she climbed up onto the mattress, offering him a glimpse of a dainty foot, a slender ankle, and a taut calf. The small peek of skin was enough to get him moving. He approached the bed as she went onto her back, legs straight and pressed together, arms at her sides.
As he neared the bed, dousing the lamp before climbing on over her, it struck David that she looked more like a corpse laid in a coffin than a woman waiting to be fucked. It was the worst sort of luck. As he crouched over her, knees spread on either side of her thighs and hands bracketing her shoulders, he became very aware of her scent—crisp, clean, and slightly floral. Womanly. The dim light of the fire cast shadows over her eyes, but he could clearly make out the plump lips, the darling little chin, the column of her throat, the swells of high, firm breasts.
He would have gladly spent the night kissing and toying with her until she begged him for the pleasure she claimed not to want. And there was the rub. His cock was already eager, ready to be taken into her body. More than that, his fingers itched to loosen the row of buttons running down her sternum, to caress her bare skin and find out if it felt as satiny as it looked. His mouth watered to kiss the patch of skin just below her jaw, take her nipples into his mouth, kiss his way down her belly until he was making love to the valley between her thighs with his tongue.
He swallowed, having worked himself into a state with nothing but his wandering imagination. David felt her eyes on him, registered the anxiety thrumming through her tensed limbs as she waited for him to begin.
Keeping his movements slow and deliberate, he began lifting the hem of her gown. He paused at her knees, hooking his fingers behind each soft cleft to urge them to bend. David held his breath as what little she would allow him to see was revealed. Shapely calves, soft thighs, rounded hips, and—sweet God above—the downy curls between her legs. The slash of moonlight illuminated alabaster thighs, and right between them, a contrasting thatch of hair like a sunburst. Copper and ivory; an appealing combination that had him wanting to sink to his belly then and there so he could press his lips to the hidden, pink flesh of her cunny.
There would be none of that, so he pushed the thought aside before it could root itself too deeply in his mind. He slid a hand down one thigh, gently pressing it open, then then other. She lay beneath him unmoving and, it seemed, hardly breathing. Regina wasn’t even looking at him. He could not make her eyes out clearly, but could tell they were fixed on the ceiling. Her hands gripped the bunched fabric of her nightgown as she remained silent and waiting.
One hand still braced on her inner thigh, he slid a thumb through the nest of curls, whispering over sleek folds and the taut circle of her opening. She sucked in a sharp breath when he moved upward, seeking the bud of her pleasure, then flinched when he offered the gentlest press of his thumb.
“I … you shouldn’t …”
“Shh,” he crooned, lightly working his thumb over her clit once more. “It’ll be easier if you’re wet. You aren’t ready yet.”
He had a feeling she might never be, but David would do what he must to keep from making her uncomfortable. It was a ridiculous notion when she was lying like a plank of wood beneath him, obviously wanting his attentions to come to a swift end. She was nothing if not uncomfortable.
It was so odd, being near this woman—so warm and seemingly vibrant, yet somehow cold and shuttered. Had her husband never offered her pleasure? He couldn’t have, if Regina could lie there with him stroking her clitoris without wanting him to linger there.
David withdrew long enough to lick the pad of his thumb, then was caressing her again, slow and steady. She tensed, then went loose-limbed, her thighs widening as he stroked her, coaxing forth her natural wetness. He delved his first finger into her sheath, finding her dewy and soft, gripping his finger with unwitting spasms. Her fingers flexed convulsively around her nightgown, and when he peered at her face again, he found her jaw clenched tight, nostrils flared as she took slow, deep breaths.
“Now, David,” she whispered, still not looking at him. “Please.”
That wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear, not when a few more seconds could have had her saying ‘please’ for an entirely different reason. But she was clearly intent on hurrying him through the encounter and David didn’t want her to call out for the footman. He liked his head just where it was.
He had his fall open in a matter of seconds, his cock hard and already wet at the tip. The sight of her bared from the waist down, the feel of her on his fingers, her scent … it was enough. He hooked her thighs over his and guided his prick toward her, carefully nudging his way in. She let out a choked sou
nd as he lodged half his length in her with one stroke, her breaths becoming rapid and harsh as he withdrew and plunged, giving her the rest. His arms nearly buckled from the strain of holding himself up, when the tight clench around his cock made him want to collapse into her.
He gritted his teeth and rolled his hips, surging deeper, grinding against her as the stroke of her velvety sheath caressed him. Her body had gone pliant, accepting him. Yet, her arms remained at her sides and the same preternatural stillness held her in its clutches. His instincts cried out for more stimulation, for the taste of her lips, the rasp of her tongue against his, the hard bud of her nipple in his mouth. Closing his eyes, he imagined being allowed to do this properly, conjured up the sounds she would make when he licked her throat, pinched her nipple, worked a hand between them to stroke her clit in time with his thrusts.
His hips jerked and he increased his rhythm, clinging to his fantasy and letting it run wild in his mind. She would come alive for him, panting and writhing and clawing his back, chanting his name. Her legs would wind around his waist, drawing him closer and deeper, urging him on.
David’s eyes flew open as climax slammed into him, and instead of pulling away, he drove in and released with a shudder, his teeth clenched around a hoarse groan. Alarm momentarily gripped him at the hot rush of his seed into her, until he remembered that it was the entire point. This was what Regina wanted from him—all she wanted from him.
She was trembling again, finally looking at David as he slowly withdrew from her body and sat back on his heels. He could see the whites of her eyes, flared wide in the dark, as if she were just as surprised by what they’d done as David. His hands were clumsy as he worked to close his fall, and Regina looked away from him as she eased the hem of her nightgown down her thighs. He fumbled for words … any words. What was he to say to her now that it was over? He was out of his depth here, when cuddling a satisfied woman against his chest typically followed his beddings. Perhaps a few kisses and caresses, another tumble if she were up for it.
However, Regina Hurst had retreated into herself, seeming to want nothing to do with him now that he’d done his job.
“Are you … all right?” he ventured, hating the uncertainty threading his words.
“Fine.”
She didn’t sound fine. Her voice had trembled on the solitary word.
“Regina … can I do anything for you? Get you something? I could—”
“No, thank you, David. I just want to sleep now. You may return at your convenience to try again. Thank you.”
Thank you. It was the coldest dismissal he’d ever been treated to.
“Of course. I will return tomorrow.”
“Very well.”
He climbed off the bed, turning the coverlet up over her before backing away. Regina remained where he left her, head turned toward the window. As he took up his coat and shrugged into it, David frowned, a bitter taste flooding his palate. Despite achieving release, he had never left a woman’s bed so dissatisfied in his life. Glancing down at himself, he cringed to realize he hadn’t even removed his boots.
It was what she wanted, he reminded himself as he turned for the door.
The thought did nothing to make him feel better, because David could see that what Regina wanted was based on what she thought intercourse ought to be. Who had taught her that? Had her wretch of a husband visited her bed this way—in the dark and still wearing his clothes—to take from her while giving nothing in return? Was that why Regina wanted it done with quickly? Of course it was. No woman wanted some panting, sweating beast of a man rutting on her with no care to her needs. She fathomed no other way because no one had taken the time to show her otherwise.
Rationalizing all of this in his mind, David ignored the questioning stare of Powell as he made for the stairs without a look back.
His skin crawled with the need to immerse himself in a hot bath. Not once over his years as a courtesan had David felt like an object, something to be used and then discarded once he’d fulfilled an obligation. He had reveled in the feeling of being desired and wanted, being able to put a smile on the face of the woman in his bed. There was nothing he found more beautiful than a woman flushed with passion, stretching and grinning like a cat lying under the warmth of the sun.
Tonight, however, he left the home of his new keeper feeling filthy and low, and wondering how he was ever going to make himself go through with this night after night for God knew how long. Better for them both if Regina turned up pregnant sooner rather than later.
Chapter 5
“This author happened to spot the Honourable Mr. R and his wife about Town the other day. The artistic gentleman was engrossed in selecting pigments for his craft while Mrs. R lingered over the most darling items meant for an infant. Dear reader, if you took my advice and wagered that the newlywed lady would be breeding by Christmas … I do believe it is time to collect your winnings.”
-The London Gossip, 7 December 1819
Regina turned onto her side, staring sightlessly through the drapes parted to the moonlit night. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she made herself as small as possible and wrapped her arms around herself. Despite her best efforts, she could not seem to stop shaking. It wasn’t that she was cold—quite the opposite. The warmth of her courtesan’s body still clung to her nightgown, and his scent had imprinted itself on the sheets. It flooded her nostrils with every inhale—sandalwood and musk. Her throat constricted, and she forced herself to swallow and breathe while reminding herself why this was necessary.
David’s seed was slick and sticky between her thighs, her only comfort in the aftermath of what had just happened. Tonight, they might have conceived the child she wanted so badly. Enough to part with several thousand pounds. Enough to allow a man back into her bed after so many years of loathing the act of intercourse. Randolph made certain she could never enjoy it, though for years she had lain still and tolerated him with a single hope burning in her chest. If his attentions would bear fruit and give her someone to love and call her own, she could bear it. She could part her legs and do her wifely duty and swallow her revulsion.
Only, time and the fruitlessness of his affairs had proven her husband unable to sire children, yet another cruel circumstance of a life that had heaped nothing but misery on her.
Pressing a hand against the flat stretch of her belly, she silently prayed.
Please … please … please …
Please let her plan work so she would not have to spend the rest of her life alone and mourning what never was. Please let her womb quicken sooner rather than later, so she wouldn’t have to withstand the attentions of her courtesan any more than necessary.
It would have been funny if Regina still possessed a sense of humor. Randolph had stomped that out of her, too, along with her hopes, her youth, her passion. There was nothing amusing about hiring a man who specialized in erotic pleasures, while taking no joy from the act of lying with him.
And yet … it hadn’t been quite as unpleasant as she had expected. Unnerving, that. She had been prepared to grit her teeth and bear it, to disconnect her mind from her body long enough to endure his attentions. Regina’s strategy had been a good one, thought up to protect her from anything that would conjure unwanted memories of Randolph.
Dim lighting, layers of clothing between them, a restriction against unnecessary touching, a position that would allow her to open her eyes at any time and be reassured by a face that was not her dead husband’s.
However, it hadn’t worked quite as well as Regina had hoped. She had not expected him to insist that he could give her pleasure. Nor had she anticipated the gentleness with which he’d handled her, the slow and methodical attempt at ensuring she was ready to accept him into her body. Randolph hadn’t cared whether she wanted him, had never done more than flip up her nightdress and force his way into her.
Regina shuddered, recalling the touch of David’s long, slender fingers on her thighs, the press of his thumb against a
part of her body that had set off sparks between her legs and pangs of … something deep in her belly. No one had ever touched her that way, and she’d never realized her body was capable of such a response. Her cheeks flushed hot as she remembered the slick sounds of him stroking her, one finger plunging in and out of her channel.
His touch had produced the most befuddling sensations, as well as a most embarrassing phenomenon. As he’d stroked and touched her quim with efficient skill, Regina had become wet. Was that what he had meant by claiming she wasn’t yet ready? She had to admit, the expected discomfort of his invasion into her body had been made easier by the slickness, which had increased with the friction of him moving in and out.
How very odd.
Regina still couldn’t understand any of it. Not his careful treatment of her, or the baffling war of sensations that had raged within her from the second he first touched her to the moment it had ended. The self-imposed isolation of mind from body had been shattered despite her best efforts, and the man on top of her had ceased being a mere vessel for her use. He’d become David.
When Regina closed her eyes, she saw him with uncanny detail—the moonlight glinting off his hair, illuminating the contours of his perfect, plush mouth, the intriguing ripple of his arms through his shirtsleeves, taut and strained from holding his weight over her. Biting her lip, she shook her head to blot out the echoes of the only sound he’d made, right at the end as his cock jerked inside her and spilled. The deep, throaty growl had taken her by surprise in its rawness and vulnerability. Regina had dared a glance, finding herself enraptured by the sight of him. Head tipped back, jaw wound tight, nostrils flared and eyes squeezed shut. She had been the most intrigued by the view of his jaw and chin, tilted at an angle she might not otherwise have viewed. The man was ridiculously beautiful, almost godlike, and yet the moment of his completion had brought him down to the mere plane of a mortal. It had exposed a part of him she would rather have not witnessed.
Taming of the Rake (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 4) Page 9