When she had thought of physical relations, she had always imagined them between a man and a woman. The thought of touching another woman like this would have seemed absurd, even vulgar, once, but she could not understand such thinking now. She sucked hard on Marie’s nipple, releasing it from her mouth with a pop to move on to the next one.
Julien came to sit beside them on the bed. He still stroked himself, and as Joséphine lapped at Marie’s nipple, she imagined touching Julien. If she were to replace his hand with her own, what would he do? Would he reject her? Push her away as he had before?
Marie groaned loudly, her fingers digging into the pillows above her head. “Yes, you are doing so very well.”
Emboldened, Joséphine reached down, touching the mound covered by fine, dark hair between the woman’s legs. Her thighs parted, and Joséphine admired the wet, pink flesh that opened to her view.
“You can use your mouth there, as well,” Julien suggested. He reached over and stroked the nub between Marie’s parted nether lips. Marie rolled her hips, her breath hitching. “Use your lips and tongue there, and place your finger inside.”
Joséphine hesitated but a moment, until Marie’s whimpered pleas reminded her of the unrelieved lust she’d felt before. Wetting her lips, Joséphine slid down to position herself at the opening of the woman’s body. She smelled of soap and something else, something Joséphine couldn’t name, but it enflamed her senses. She dipped her head, brushing her lips across the tight pearl. Marie moaned, encouraging, and Joséphine opened her mouth, sucking the bud into her mouth as she had with the woman’s nipples.
Her reaction was as violent as Joséphine’s had been when Marie had first touched her intimate flesh. The seamstress raised her hips from the bed, her breath tearing from her lungs in rapid gasps. Joséphine flicked her tongue against the hot flesh, her own cleft growing damper at the sounds of the woman’s pleasure. Remembering Julien’s instruction, she slid a finger inside Marie’s tight channel, stroking and curling it the way she had done.
“Very good,” Julien whispered, taking up instruction for Marie, who groaned and writhed under Joséphine’s mouth. “Now, don’t let up. She is so near her climax. Can you feel her pulsing around you, getting wetter and wetter?
Joséphine did. She increased her tongue’s pace, swirling around the surging bud faster and faster, all the while pumping and stroking her finger inside Marie’s cunt. The thighs on either side of Joséphine’s head trembled and clamped down, the seamstress’s sunken belly tensed and quivered. Joséphine felt a gush of wetness over her hand, and muscles rippled around her fingers.
“Well done,” Julien congratulated her, gently lifting her face from the other woman’s mound.
“Very well done,” Marie purred approvingly. “You have learned very well.”
Joséphine glanced over at Julien, still holding his stiff member in his hand. “But how will that help me to please the prince? Surely I should have practiced on you, instead.”
Marie laughed and clapped her hands. “She is quite the find, Julien. From what you’ve told me of the prince, she will be a good match for him.”
Jealousy burned through Joséphine’s veins, shocking her with its intensity. It bothered her more than she would like to admit to herself to hear the seamstress talk with such familiarity with Julien. Of course, they had been lovers before. She was so beautiful and slender and self-assured, what man could resist her? Or what woman, for that matter? Joséphine’s cheeks burned with shame at the thought of what she had just done, though her core still ached for release once more.
“She is an astounding pupil,” Julien agreed. “And I believe she deserves a reward.”
Marie smiled and reached for her, but he clucked his tongue. “Your talents are required elsewhere.”
Shocked, Joséphine watched as Marie slid from the high bed. She knelt obediently on the floor beside Julien, and he stood, allowing her to take his organ into her hands. Joséphine made a noise of protest she had intended to keep to herself.
“Come to edge of the bed, Joséphine,” he urged her, a bemused smile on his face. He shed his jacket and stood before her in just his shirtsleeves. When she wiggled to the edge of the bed, he gripped her legs and pulled her so that her bottom was flush with the edge of the bed. Then, he knelt between her spread legs.
It was so startling, she almost pulled away. To have Marie touch her was one thing. Marie didn’t frighten her so, didn’t make her long for the forbidden the way Julien did. That was a mark of Julien’s reputation as a master seducer, Joséphine decided. He exuded lust, and made other people dangerously lustful, as well.
He pressed his mouth to her core, already puffy and wet from Marie’s attentions. Joséphine sighed despite her trepidation. This was what she had wanted the night before. She’d wanted him to give her pleasure, though she hadn’t known at the time exactly how.
His face was rougher than a woman’s, and she realized that he hadn’t shaved off his whiskers this morning. Had he intended to do this to her all along? She thrilled at the thought, and squirmed under his lips, which pressed delicate kisses along her folds. She lifted her hips, almost demanding that he grant her relief. Still, when his tongue stroked over that sensitive pearl, it was not the relief she sought, but more torture. He groaned against her flesh, and she remembered Marie on the floor, stroking him with her hands. The thought brought a tide of lust to her already soaked channel.
Julien pressed at the entrance of her body with one finger, gently, for his hands were larger than the seamstress’s had been.
“Be careful,” Joséphine urged him quietly.
He lifted his head to murmur, “Of course,” before nibbling the tender, pulsing bud with his teeth. His finger slid inside, stretching her, and he did not have to curl it to find that secret place. He rubbed the whole length of his finger against it, sawing back and forth inside of her until she thought she would scream. He sucked at her pearl, teasing it with his tongue at the same time, rubbing his stubbled chin across her petals until she did scream, her entire body bursting into pure pleasure. He did not withdraw from her, but eased his assault only until her shaking stopped. Then, with skilled fingers and tongue, he drove her back into the frenzy, until she sobbed with desire and shrieked his name as she climaxed.
He pushed back from her, then, his face tight with something akin to pain. Joséphine sat up, frowning. What had she done wrong? Then, through the vestiges of her own pleasure, she remembered Marie. The seamstress half-lay on the floor before Julien’s kneeling form, her head bobbing as her lips slid up and down Julien’s shaft. With a strangled noise, he pulled himself free from her mouth, silvery-white liquid spurting from the head of his member. Marie laughed and opened her mouth, catching some of his seed on her tongue.
Joséphine watched, captivated. She had never seen something so interesting as a man succumbing to his pleasure. An intense envy burned her. She wished it had be her, and not Marie, to have inspired such a reaction. She resolved at once that she should one day do the same to Julien.
And to the prince, of course.
Chapter Eight
The rest of the day was not nearly as exciting as the morning had been. After Julien had excused himself, she and Marie had dressed and the seamstress had chattered on happily about how lucky Joséphine was to have such an excellent tutor as Julien. Her exaltation of Julien’s prowess in the bedroom left Joséphine with little doubt that the two had once been intimately involved. She had hardly been able to wait until the woman left.
After the seamstress departed, there as a much, much more boring lesson to attend: Madame Brujon’s etiquette lessons. The old woman had seemed the last person one should learn any kind of manners from, but she proved to be a strict instructor. By late afternoon, Joséphine’s head swam with all the new rules she had learned. Rules on how to curtsey, how to greet nobles, how to great royalty, how to order about anyone else. Rules on how to eat and drink, rules on how to accept things that one might
be handed.
Then there were other rules, ones that frightened her. Rules about how to spot poison in your glass or smell it on your food. Rules about what could be said and shouldn’t be said, and what could land you in the dungeons. Joséphine prayed she would never have occasion to use any of that newfound knowledge.
A few times during the lesson with Madame Brujon, Julien had stepped into the great hall. He had watched Joséphine curtsey without comment, had not corrected her when she picked up the wrong fork. Still, his very presence had made her feel like a failure.
Why did she feel such a disturbing need to please him? Gratitude, certainly, for helping her and taking her away from her stepmother and stepsisters. Even if it were only a temporary reprieve, even if she ended up sent away to the north, Joséphine could not deny that it was a respite worth being thankful for.
She wanted Julien to like her. She had seen the way he had looked around her shabby home, how he’d pitied her father and loathed her stepsisters. She couldn’t bear that he might think of her in the same way. If she could impress him, give him a reason to admire her…
But what would it matter? He had made a promise to her father to help her marry well, and he would see it done. She had heard rumors of his conduct with women, but never rumors that he was not a man of his word. To the contrary, her father had often spoken of him as though he were a bastion of honor.
So, why did it matter to her what he thought? It should not, and yet it did.
Dinner came, and she took extra care to put her hair in order and wear something that flattered. Not that she could have found an unflattering dress in the bunch, after Marie had finished. Joséphine chose violet silk and tied her curls up with a bright yellow ribbon, aided by the brush Julien had bought for her in the village while she had been in the clutches of Madame Brujon. She looked like a violet, she decided with pleasure as she viewed herself in the looking glass. She did a little twirl, and stopped at the sound of masculine laughter.
Julien stood in the door, watching her. “I was going to ask if you liked your new dresses, but I can see the answer before me.”
She blushed, cursing herself for acting like a silly little girl. “I do. And I hope you like me in them.”
Heavens, whatever had inspired that? She smiled, proud of herself in spite of her shock. That was the bold sort of thing a woman like Marie would have said.
Julien’s eyebrow lifted in approval. “Yes, well. I think I like you better out of them. Shall we?”
She took the arm he offered. Just being near to him sent heat racing to her core.
“I hope you like duck. My game master’s assistant shot several this afternoon. He’s a young man, about your age, his name is Sebastian. I thought you might meet him tomorrow for your morning lesson.”
Morning lesson? “Am I to have hunting lessons?”
“No, don’t be absurd. Hunting fell out of favor with the ladies of the court before I ever set foot in the palace.” He paused in his step. “No, I was thinking of allowing you to learn with him, like you did today with Marie. If he doesn’t object, of course, and if you find him pleasing.”
“Oh.” Joséphine’s heart sunk. Did Julien not find her pleasing? He’d said she was beautiful…had that just been flattery to put her at ease.
“If you find the idea objectionable, we can ask Marie back,” he told her, misinterpreting the reason for her dismay.
“No,” she stated firmly. How strange, that she could enjoy intimate pleasures with the woman while being so completely jealous of her. “I would rather you teach me. Privately.”
He started them walking again, arm in arm down the corridor. “Are you certain? Sebastian and Marie are younger than me, Sebastian can’t be more than a year older than you.”
“I am not concerned about your age.” If anything it lent him something exciting, in Joséphine’s eyes. He seemed so sure of himself, so confident. Surely a man her age wouldn’t be able to match the self-assurance that came with age and experience.
He ruminated on this point for a moment, letting them walk on in silence. “How did you come to this conclusion, may I ask? I don’t wish for you to turn down my offer because you are afraid of displeasing me, or worried that you must repay me somehow to display your gratitude.”
“Not at all.” She wondered if there were any delicate way to put her desires into words, then remembered the morning they had spent together and decided that any prettily vague sentiments she expressed would be useless. “I have not been to court, but my stepsisters have. They have talked about your reputation. People call you the best lover in the kingdom, the worst and most disgraceful rake ever to have seduced a woman.”
“And you’re not afraid of a disgraceful rake robbing you of your virtue?” He lifted one eyebrow.
She considered her answer. “I only said it was your reputation. I never said that I believed it.”
He laughed as they turned the corner to the great hall. The table was set the same as it had been the night before, and best of all, there was no sign of Madame Brujon. Joséphine sighed in relief.
“Were you expecting someone?” Julien teased as he pulled out her chair for her.
She folded her napkin over her lap. “I am not a great admirer of being rapped on the knuckles for selecting the wrong fork.”
They chatted comfortably while they ate. For all the old woman’s unpleasantness, Madame Brujon ran a kitchen with the utmost effectiveness. Joséphine doubted she would eat anything as delicious, even at court. After their plates were scraped bare of the last little morsel, Joséphine and Julien lingered over their wine. It was strangely comfortable, she realized, to sit and talk with him. Oh, he still made her a bit nervous, but since this morning, she had been nervous in an exciting way. Nervous about what would come next in their lessons, what new and fantastic pleasure he would teach her.
As if reading her mind, he turned the conversation in precisely that direction. “How did you enjoy this morning, with Marie?”
Her cunt—that was what he had called it, and the coarseness of the word thrilled her—ached just from remembering. “I enjoyed it very much.”
“You did very well.” He took a sip from his wine. “Truthfully, I expected a bit more reluctance from you.”
A hot blush rose to her cheeks. “You think I’m wanton.”
“Yes, I do. That is not an insult, Joséphine, though some would make it one. You trust your desire, and you act on it. It’s quite beautiful to watch.”
She flushed even more.
“Put yourself in the prince’s position,” he continued, stroking a finger around the rim of his wine glass. “Would you rather undertake the tiresome task of coaxing a maiden to let go of her inhibitions and enjoy the physical act of love, or would you rather have a woman who wishes to explore every possibility?”
She considered this for a moment. “Yes, I see where the latter would be much preferred.”
“Don’t think of it as wantonness, but unfettered curiosity.” He pushed his chair back. “And it is with that spirit that we approach our next lesson.”
Chapter Nine
Joséphine gazed back at him with innocent, clear eyes, and Julien reminded himself to go slowly. Though she understood him in theory, in practice it would be much harder to dispel her old attitudes. It would be better to let her lead the discovery. “Tonight, you choose the lesson. I will be your willing tutor.”
For a moment, she was at a loss for words, or so it seemed. When she spoke, it became clear that she’d had no difficulty imagining a subject, but quite a bit of difficulty expressing her desire to do it. “You must promise not to laugh at me.”
So, it was embarrassment she feared, above all else. “Why would I laugh? We’re two grown people, about to engage in intimate activity. It’s only natural to talk about it openly, without judgment. In fact, I’m very anxious to hear what you come up with. I’m delighted at the progress you’ve made already.”
She chewed nervously at
her lip, and would not meet his gaze. “I thought I would like to learn what Marie did to you this morning. When she took you in her mouth.”
It took almost Herculean effort not display a physical reaction to her suggestion. “You want to learn to do that?”
She nodded earnestly. “If you would rather—”
“No!” he interrupted her, then he quickly calmed himself. No easy feat, when her words had inspired a graphic picture of the act in his mind. “Not at all. I would be more than happy to instruct you.”
He felt a moment’s panic at the thought of Henrí, his oldest and dearest friend, clutching his chest at a sudden attack of anxiety, the cause of which he did not know from his crumbling manor many miles away.
He forced that grim imagining from his mind, and patted his knee. “Come here.”
She looked around the empty hall furtively. “Here?”
“Here is as good as anywhere.” He did not need to explain to her that he did not trust himself in a room with a bed. It had been all he could stand to watch her with Marie this morning, and if she’d shown the slightest inclination toward it, he would have gladly relieved her of her virtue then and there. Rake though he might be, he could not destroy her trust in him. He would take her when she wanted him to—and she would want him to—but she had to want it, and not in a moment of passion that she would later regret.
She rose from her chair and approached him timidly, still not at ease with her body. She would be, soon enough. By the time they arrived at court, she would think nothing of sitting down in a man’s lap. She would think nothing of lifting her skirts and straddling a man’s lap, sliding down his straining shaft to envelop him in hot, slick flesh—
He came to his senses, thankfully, and reached for her, pulling her down to sit on his knee. “If you learn this skill well, I dare say you could have anything you wanted from any man at court. There is little a man likes more than having his cock sucked.”
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