Some Like to Shock (Mills & Boon Historical) (Daring Duchesses - Book 2)

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘Ye gods …!’ He gave a strangled groan.

  ‘Is that a yes or a no?’ Her fingers curled about that steel encased in velvet.

  ‘It is—I believe I might be slightly larger than the average,’ Benedict managed to gasp between gritted teeth as Genevieve ran the soft pad of her thumb across the moisture that leaked from the slit at the top of that engorged tip just at the feel of her soft flesh encircling him.

  ‘You are certainly much larger and longer than—’ She broke off to draw her bottom lip sharply between her teeth, her hands also ceasing their caresses before dropping away completely. ‘I apologise.’ She gave him a stricken look. ‘It was very wrong of me to talk of—to—’

  ‘All is allowed between us, Genevieve. All and everything,’ he reminded her tautly as he took a light grasp of her hand and replaced her fingers about him.

  Her fascinated gaze also returned to that long and throbbing length. ‘I had no idea until today that a man could be so beautiful here …’

  Benedict bit back another groan as she gave a swipe of her lips with the moist tip of her little pink tongue. Genevieve was both the most innocent and sensually exciting woman he had ever known; that very innocence, the honesty of her comments, excited him as the caresses and attentions of a more experienced women never had or ever could.

  ‘No, love.’ Benedict lightly grasped her arm to prevent her from moving on to her knees in front of him, knowing that his own knees would surely buckle completely if he were to still be standing on his feet when she placed those warm and delectable lips about him. ‘Allow me to be the one to drape myself decorously on the chaise before your explorations become any more … intimate!’

  Genevieve could not help but admire the fluidity and elegance of movement of Benedict’s naked body as they crossed to the chaise, his muscles as lithe as a cat’s—and just as predatory!—beneath the silkiness of his tanned flesh.

  She should still be feeling shy, embarrassed by their intimacy in the bright candlelight, and with the curtains not even drawn across the windows against nosy neighbours or passers-by. And yet somehow she no longer felt that way as Benedict lay his lean length upon the chaise before drawing her down to sit beside him, the blaze of candlelight, and the daring of those undrawn curtains, only seeming to add to Genevieve’s own state of arousal.

  Perhaps she was every bit as wanton, after all, as she had tried to give the appearance of being on the night of Sophia’s ball, when she had first made the suggestion regarding the three young widows taking lovers?

  Whatever the reason, Genevieve now felt no hesitation as she once again curled her fingers about Benedict’s jutting arousal before lowering her head, her hair falling silkily across Benedict’s thighs as she took him into the heat of her mouth.

  Benedict drew in another sharp breath as the heat of Genevieve’s mouth surrounded him, pleasure coursing through him as he watched her head bob slowly up and down as she sucked and licked, her teeth a gentle and yet arousing scrape along his length, her tongue stroking across and around his bulbous tip, lingering to lathe that sensitive spot just beneath the bulbous head as she obviously felt and heard Benedict’s groaned reaction to that intensely pleasurable caress.

  She was an unrelenting siren. A witch. She seemed to know instinctively which caresses gave him the most pleasure, those caresses making him harder and more swollen, and driving him ever closer to release.

  Benedict gave another groan as Genevieve hummed her own satisfaction as she tasted and lapped up the dribbles of moisture that had already escaped his control, the blood roaring through his veins, his vision blurring as he felt his release burning inside him to be set free. ‘You have to stop now, love!’ He reached down to gently grasp her arms and lift her up and away from him—only to groan anew as he saw the sultry arousal so evident in Genevieve’s face; her eyes heavy and deeply blue, her cheeks flushed, her lips—oh God, those lips!—so swollen, and wet and glistening from her ministrations to him.

  She pouted those swollen lips. ‘But you said you like it?’

  Benedict gave a choked laugh. ‘Very much. Too much,’ he added as she would have made another protest.

  Her expression became quizzical. ‘How can you possibly like it “too much”?’

  He gave a restless shake of his head. ‘Because if you do not stop I am seriously in danger of—of releasing whilst still in your mouth!’

  ‘You said that everything and everything was allowed between us?’

  ‘I did, yes.’ A statement he was now having serious reservations about having made to one who was proving as adventurous as Genevieve. ‘Genevieve, do you understand about ejaculation? The release of a man’s seed?’

  ‘I am not a complete ninnyhead, Benedict,’ she assured him indignantly, although her cheeks coloured prettily. ‘It is the release of a man’s seed inside a woman which produces babies. But,’ she continued before Benedict could answer her, ‘you are not inside me, so there is no danger of that happening.’

  ‘No danger of pregnancy, no …’ Benedict acknowledged weakly.

  ‘Then what is there the danger of?’

  ‘Gods, Genevieve, when a man—when he reaches his climax he—well, he—’ He gave an impatient shake of his head. ‘How to explain this …? Have you ever seen pictures, possibly in books, of a volcano erupting?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘You are likening the release of a man’s seed to the erupting of a volcano?’

  At this moment, Benedict was dearly wishing that he had never started this conversation! ‘It is similar in its lack of … control, yes,’ he acknowledged through gritted teeth. ‘And if I were to be inside your mouth when it happened, then—then—Damn it, Genevieve, can you not imagine my seed pumping copiously into your mouth, choking you?’

  ‘It would not choke or drown me were I to swallow when it erupted—’

  Benedict pushed up and away from her at the erotic image her words portrayed, standing up to pace the room—and very aware that pacing lacked its usual authority when he was completely naked, his arousal jutting long and thick as it bobbed up and down in front of him! ‘Women—ladies do not swallow a man’s—they do not—Genevieve, a lady does not swallow a man’s seed.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I—they just don’t!’

  ‘Then what else do they do with it?’

  ‘They do not do anything “with it”.’ Benedict glared his frustration. ‘From all that I have heard, most ladies of society would be—scandalised, at the very least, if their husbands were to ask them to perform such an act of intimacy.’

  ‘Why?’

  He frowned darkly. ‘I believe they consider it—It is not something a lady is supposed to enjoy.’

  Genevieve sat back against the chaise to look up at him. ‘I enjoy it very much, so does that mean I am not a lady, after all?’

  This conversation was, as was usual when he discussed such things with Genevieve, getting far beyond Benedict’s control. ‘You are more of a lady, more of a woman, than any other I have known.’

  Her eyes lit up with pleasure. ‘That is good.’ She nodded. ‘But do the gentlemen of the ton not enjoy this intimacy?’

  Benedict gave another hard laugh. ‘So much so, I believe, that any of them would get down on his knees and kiss the feet of the woman who offered to service him in the way you are suggesting completing me!’

  She looked thoughtful. ‘Could that be why many of them go to the beds of whores within months of being married?’

  ‘Genevieve …!’

  ‘Benedict.’ She held his gaze steadily. ‘How am I to understand, to know how to please my lover, in all ways, if you do not explain such things to me?’

  Benedict scowled darkly even as his hands clenched at his sides. ‘And is that what this is all about, my tutoring you in the ways and desires of men, so that you might know best how to pleasure your next lover?’

  Genevieve had been referring to Benedict himself when she talked of her lover, of how she migh
t learn how to please him, and had not given so much as a thought as to there ever being a ‘next lover’. Because she did not want another lover. Only Benedict.

  Which was not only silly of her, but dangerous, too. Benedict had never given any indication, any hint that he intended their relationship to continue beyond the few weeks it might take him to become bored, with both her company and with teaching her how best to enjoy her own body and that of the gentleman she was with.

  Which was not to say she could not enjoy those few short and pleasurable—and memorable!—weeks with him to the full …

  She stood up, the steadiness of her gaze holding his as she crossed the room to where Benedict stood tensely. ‘It is not polite to talk of other lovers, for either of us, when it is the two of us who are here together now.’ Her hands once again moved, caressing across his shoulders and chest. ‘Will you not return to the chaise, so that I might continue—Benedict …?’ She looked up at him with hurt eyes as he flinched away from her and began to pull his shirt on over his head. ‘You are leaving?’

  Benedict’s eyes glittered darkly. ‘It may have escaped your notice, but I am no longer in any danger of “erupting” anywhere!’

  Her gaze moved down to where the heaviness of his shaft was no longer rampant and straining for release but had become considerably deflated. Still impressive to behold, to be sure, but obviously no longer eager for play. ‘I am sure that if we were to return to the chaise—’

  ‘I am no longer in the mood!’ He sat down on the chaise to pull on his pantaloons over that rapidly deflating erection, followed by his boots, with such violence he was in danger of damaging the fine leather.

  Genevieve had no idea what to do, what to say, to ease the tension now so palpable between them. ‘Perhaps conversation was not such a good idea at that point in the proceedings?’ she attempted to tease.

  Only to receive a fierce black scowl for her trouble as Benedict stood up to continue dressing with less than his usual elegance; his shirt still hung outside his pantaloons, neither his waist or superfine were refastened, and his neckcloth was ignored altogether as it lay forlorn and alone upon the rug in front of the unlit fireplace where Benedict had discarded it earlier.

  Genevieve gave a pained wince. ‘I—Benedict, I am sorry if I have done or said anything to—to offend you.’

  His nostrils flared. ‘I am not in the least offended, the mood has passed, that is all.’

  And he so obviously did not wish for it to return at this moment … ‘If you would rather not take me for a ride in your carriage in the park tomorrow afternoon—’

  His expression was one of remote haughtiness. ‘I have said that I will take you and so I will.’

  ‘I do not recall if I said so earlier … I am more grateful than I can say that you have succeeded in ridding me of William from my life once and for all.’

  ‘I believe I have already received a demonstration of the depth of that gratitude.’ His mouth twisted derisively as he gave a pointed glance in the direction of the chaise.

  Her eyes widened and her face paled. ‘You believe that I—’ She moistened the dryness of her lips. ‘That was unfair, Benedict. Not only unfair, but unkind, too.’

  Yes, Benedict was aware he was currently being both of those things. Because he could not seem to stop himself. And he had no idea why he was behaving in this objectionable way.

  He and Genevieve had developed a friendship of sorts these past two weeks. And they now had an understanding; she was nervous and fearful of physical intimacy because of her experience in her marriage and he had decided to be the one to help her through that fear, to introduce Genevieve slowly and gently to the finer points of intimacy, which at the same time allowed him to enjoy her just as intimately.

  But he had not made that offer, Benedict now realised, with the intention that Genevieve might go on to practise her obviously increasing enjoyment of that intimacy with another, as yet faceless, lover in the future. ‘It is late, Genevieve, and well past time I take my leave.’ He bent abruptly to collect up his neckcloth from where it lay on the fireside rug. ‘I will call for you here at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon, if that suits?’

  Genevieve gave a pained frown. ‘If you are sure you still wish to take me?’

  His expression darkened. ‘What I wish—! Never mind what I wish.’ He scowled dismissively. ‘It would perhaps be as well, if Woollerton is still in town tomorrow, if he were to hear of our outing together in the park as further proof of my continued protection of you.’

  Genevieve had no idea what had gone amiss with this evening—an evening when Benedict’s mood had seemed light and carefree when he first arrived, indulgent as she made love to him, only to have now turned dark and unpredictable.

  Perhaps he was becoming bored with her already? With her incessant questions in regard to lovemaking? Most especially when those questions occurred at an inappropriate time. ‘They do say that practise makes perfect, Benedict, and I have no doubts I shall do better tomorrow,’ she promised warmly.

  He looked at her blankly. ‘Do what better tomorrow?’

  ‘Did you not say you offered, the afternoon of Devil and Pandora’s wedding, to take me for a ride in your carriage?’

  Much as Benedict tried, he found he could not maintain the air of haughtiness he had assumed, as a shield to the confusion of his thoughts, in the face of the impish smile that accompanied Genevieve’s improper suggestion. ‘In my carriage in the park, Genevieve, in broad daylight, with the rest of the ton posing in their own carriages?’ He arched a disbelieving brow.

  ‘No one will see if I am kneeling beneath the level of the window,’ she assured audaciously. ‘And I have always wanted to see a volcano erupt.’

  Benedict groaned. ‘I have created a monster!’

  Her smile widened as she obviously sensed that the blackness of his mood had passed.

  Quite how or why it had Benedict was unsure, except to know that Genevieve had the ability to lift or darken his mood seemingly without trying.

  Just as he did not wish to delve too deeply as yet into the why his mood had turned so black in the first place … ‘I believe I should like to be the one kneeling tomorrow, my head beneath your skirts, witnessing your own volcano erupting, several times and with increasing force.’

  Genevieve’s cheeks became flushed, whether with embarrassment, or anticipation, Benedict was unsure. ‘People would surely notice if only the Dowager Duchess of Woollerton were visibly seated in Lord Benedict Lucas’s carriage.’

  He arched a brow. ‘I suppose, if you think it necessary, I might briefly come up for air between those eruptions and give our audience a wave or a bow?’

  Genevieve burst out laughing at the image he projected, relieved beyond measure that whatever blackness had overtaken Benedict now seemed to have dissipated. ‘I am sure, as you are only too well aware, that would only succeed in making matters worse!’

  ‘If I am to die from lack of oxygen, then I am sure I can think of no other place I would rather be!’

  ‘I am sure this conversation is not in the least proper, Benedict.’

  ‘Not in the least.’ He still grinned as he took her into his arms. ‘But it is more fun than I have had in an age.’ He sobered as he looked down at her with serious intensity. ‘You are more fun than I have known for more years than I care to think about.’

  ‘The same is true of me with regard to you,’ she said slowly. ‘Strange, is it not?’

  It was not a question which required an answer. Nor did Benedict have one. At this point in time he only knew that it was thoughts of Genevieve sharing her laughter and her joie de vivre, as well as her body, with another man, which had brought on his earlier blackness of mood. ‘Give me a kiss goodnight, pet,’ he encouraged gruffly as he lowered his head and gently captured her parted lips with his own.

  ‘Do you really have to go just yet?’ Genevieve looked up at him wistfully once that lengthy kiss came to an end. ‘It is not even midni
ght—’

  ‘And the Dowager Duchess of Woollerton is still recovering from having a bone broken in her wrist,’ he reminded gravely, and instantly wished he had not as he saw the shadows return to those beautiful and candid blue eyes. ‘I promise he shall not trouble you again, Genevieve,’ he assured her firmly, his arms tightening about the slenderness of her waist as he felt the trembling of her body against his. ‘He is under threat of public exposure for his crimes if he should ever so much as come near you again.’ Benedict pressed his cheek gently on top of her red-gold curls as she lay her head trustingly against his shoulder.

  ‘His crimes …?’

  ‘His father may have been your legal husband, Genevieve, but that legality did not give the whole family licence to beat you for the slightest reason, or lock you in your bedchamber when the mood took them,’ Benedict bit out grimly. ‘And I have left Woollerton in no doubts that I will take great pleasure in publicly ruining him if in future he so much as enters a room you are in.’

  She gave a soft sigh. ‘I feel so safe when you hold me in your arms like this.’

  ‘Safe?’ He looked down at her teasingly. ‘When I am like to throw caution to the wind and make love to you at any given moment?’

  Genevieve had not been referring to that sort of safety, and Benedict knew she had not, but had chosen to ignore it by teasing her. She followed his lead and did the same. ‘As I am like to throw that same caution to the wind and make love to you!’

  Benedict chuckled wryly. ‘It is what makes our friendship so interesting.’

  Their friendship.

  Yes, Genevieve acknowledged, she and Benedict had become friends as well as lovers. A friendship she could only hope would continue once they ceased to be lovers. To contemplate anything else, that of no longer having Benedict in her life, was completely unacceptable to her.

  She stepped back out of his arms to tuck her hand companionably into the crook of his arm. ‘As I have dismissed Jenkins for the night I will walk with you to the door.’