Naughty Bits

by Lacy Danes

  EVERY WOMAN REMEMBERS EXACTLY WHEN SHE lost her maidenhead, but how many can recall the moment when they first lost their heart? For me, it happened on a sunny afternoon in June of 1886. The man appeared at the doorway of my private conservatory as though the earth had conjured him out of the same riot of fertility that produced the swelling fruits on my squashes.

  Although the cut and fabric of his clothing spoke of wealth, his features had a coarseness one usually associated with the working classes. The line of his jaw—rather too square to be considered aristocratic—seemed especially out of place against the stiffness of his collar.

  His size alone would have made him stand out in any gathering. With his broad shoulders, powerful chest and long legs, he nearly filled the doorway. And yet, tousled blond hair and brown eyes that held a hint of laughter softened him. Indeed, he made an impressive display with the late spring sun beating down on him.

  He nodded his head in greeting. “Your Grace.”

  I set aside the cattleya I’d been repotting. “If you want to see me, please call at the front door and provide your card to my butler.”

  “The usual way to do things.” He smiled. “Would that get your interest?”

  “Most likely not.” In fact, I often ignored overtures like that. Most people who sought me out did so out of curiosity or in search of fuel for the gossip about the notorious dowager duchess. Life in the country could get dreadfully dull, even with the usual round of house parties. A few tidbits about that strumpet—what had possessed the Duke of Millford to marry such a woman, anyway?—could help to pass the long evenings.

  “I’m right then?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You wouldn’t have seen me if I’d sent in my card.”

  “I don’t think I’ll see you now,” I said. “You can find your way out, I trust.”

  He didn’t leave but instead reached into his coat and produced a calling card. Holding it out to me, he stepped inside the conservatory and approached the bench where I worked. I reached out and took the card, my fingers leaving smudges of compost on the vellum.

  “Mr. Arthur Chatman,” I read out loud.

  “At your service, madam.”

  “What sort of service did you have in mind?” Dear heaven, would I never learn to curb my tongue? It was exactly that sort of thing that had earned me my reputation. Not that I gave a fig for what any of polite society thought, but the buzzing and the sideways glances did become annoying after a bit.

  Arthur Chatman didn’t look the least alarmed, despite his youth and, one would have to assume, relative innocence. He appeared just shy of full manhood, probably a dozen or more years younger than my own thirty-five. He didn’t stammer or avert his gaze but looked at me evenly, as if considering my question.

  “I was hoping to ask a favor of you,” he said.

  “There’s nothing I can do for you,” I said. “After my husband’s death, the queen doesn’t even have to pretend to tolerate me any longer.”

  He laughed. “I don’t want to go to court. We can do what I’d like right here.”

  I raised an eyebrow in a manner that would normally make the timid turn tail and run. Chatman didn’t.

  “I think you’ll be intrigued,” he said.

  “Really.” I set his card on the potting bench and wiped my hands on my apron. “Let’s walk then, and you can do your best to intrigue me.”

  He offered his arm, but I walked past him and led him outside. Our footsteps crunched along the gravel path as we went through the vegetable garden toward the lawn. He placed his hands behind his back and kept up with me, but made no move to touch me.

  “So what is your favor, Mr. Chatman?” I asked.

  “You have an…um…interesting reputation, Lady Millford.”

  I stopped walking. “Shall I slap you now and send you on your way?”

  “I hope not. At least let me do something to earn getting slapped.”

  He was a cheeky pup, I had to give him that. “Go on, then. I haven’t managed a decent umbrage in at least a week.”

  “From what I understand, you haven’t done anything that a man wouldn’t do after his wife’s death, but society doesn’t see it that way.”

  “Hang society.”

  He smiled. “Exactly.”

  I turned and resumed walking. “So, you want to teach society a lesson?”

  “I want you to teach me a lesson,” he said. “I want you to teach me how to fuck.”

  I didn’t just stop walking at that one. I tripped over my own feet, nearly falling over. He caught my elbow in his large hand and steadied me. The contact felt at once reassuring and disconcerting. A combination of gentleness and strength that couldn’t help but remind me he was so much bigger than I. And yet, with a shout I could call any number of servants to subdue him if I felt at risk of assault. Teaching him to fuck could prove much more dangerous.

  “I’ve shocked you,” he said.

  “Fuck isn’t a word that comes up in most polite conversation.”

  “I could have said I want you to teach me how to make love,” he said. “But that isn’t the same thing, is it?”

  “Let’s stick to fucking, shall we?” Good Lord, I must have taken leave of my senses. Here I was, standing in my own garden talking to a perfect stranger about fucking. A very appealing stranger, granted. He grew more appealing by the minute. A cheeky pup with an innocent smile and a strong, young body. Although my husband had been an accomplished lover, I’d never experienced lust with a stud like this one. None of the lovers I’d taken since Millford’s death had a physique anywhere nearly as well built as his. He had intrigued me after all.

  Still, I had to chuckle. “It’s my experience that most men are born knowing how to fuck. It’s instinctual with them.”

  “That’s true, but I want to know how to do it well.”

  “And you think I can instruct you.”

  “It’s a bit complicated.” He blushed. The curse of fair skin. The color on his cheeks was endearing, really, and emphasized his youth.

  I began walking again, now across the more formal part of the garden where shrubs and flower beds lay in orderly geometric patterns.

  “I’ve had some experience with women,” he said. “At my age, most men have.”

  “You didn’t find it satisfactory?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have much to compare it to.”

  “Did the women seem to enjoy it?”

  “Not because of anything I did. They seemed happy with…” He cleared his throat. “…my size.”

  “Ah.” I cast a quick glance at the front of his trousers, but his jacket hid anything interesting.

  “All the women I’ve known were quite experienced. That’ll change soon,” he said.

  “You’re going to start ravishing innocents, are you?”

  “I’m not a cad, Lady Millford.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Of course, you’re not.”

  “My family will want me to marry,” he said. “I’ll probably have a choice of several young women, all of them virgins.”

  “You want to seduce your wife?”

  “Mostly, I don’t want to frighten her.”

  “With your size,” I said.

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he cleared his throat again and blushed even deeper.

  I blushed myself, I’ll admit. He did have a problem. If his cock was in proportion to the rest of him, he couldn’t help but cause a virgin pain. Only arousing her to the point of desperation could make her beg to take something so big into her body.

  I, on the other hand, had only dreamt of taking a lover so well-endowed. Millford, bless his heart, had given me everything he could but not that. I’d given up on filling that erotic dream. Now Chatman was offering me the opportunity.

  “I know what marriage is,” he said. “I don’t expect my wife to love me but I don’t want her to cringe when I slip into her bedroom.”

  And there it was. The exact mom
ent when I first fell in love. I just didn’t realize it at the time. It felt like a surge of lust so powerful it made my knees weak.

  Millford had cultivated my lascivious nature for both our pleasure. I’d always known that his body had been aging and imperfect, but I’d counted myself so lucky to have a husband who cared about my satisfaction, I’d never thought to indulge myself with a large and eager young cock. I’d searched for what I’d missed after Millford’s death, but none of the men I’d had offered the combination of kindness, beauty and sexual prowess I’d desired. Chatman did, and I could have him. The possibilities set my mind to racing.

  “You’re thinking of helping me, aren’t you?” he said.

  “I could hardly think of anything else.”

  He smiled. “Then you won’t slap me.”

  “Not unless you ask me to.”

  He stopped walking, turned, and took my hand in both of his. He stood there, looking down at where his fingers held my own. “I’d like your help.”

  “Are you sure you’d find me attractive? I’m quite a bit older than you.”

  His head snapped up and his eyes widened in surprise. “You’re a handsome woman, Lady Millford.”

  I blushed again, the heat creeping over my cheeks. Nothing made me blush anymore. Nothing except for this man. My heart tripped in my chest. For a moment, I might have been a young girl with her first suitor.

  I looked back up at him. “Come back tomorrow. We’ll begin your lessons then.”

  I spent the next day berating myself for not telling Chatman what time to come. After spending most of the night dreaming of huge cocks and strong fingers teasing my pearl, I had awoken in a state of anticipation that stole my breath and left my skin tingling. I might have slipped my fingers between my thighs and given myself some relief. But that would have taken the urgency from my need without fully satisfying it. In the end, I decided to enjoy my arousal as it grew over the hours.

  I tried reading, but the words swam past my eyes without penetrating my brain. I picked strawberries and ate them still warm from the sun. Their succulence and sweetness only heightened my sensual awareness, and I imagined licking their juice from the swollen flesh of my new lover’s cock. I tried taking walks to clear my head but—as I hadn’t worn drawers in order to be ready for my young lover—I only became more and more aware of the friction between my legs.

  Finally, I lay quietly on my fainting couch—closer than I’d ever come in my life to actually swooning—and counted the hours every time the clock chimed.

  In midafternoon, Woodson appeared at the sitting room door with a silver salver in his hand. “A visitor, my lady.”

  I sat up on the couch and extended my hand. Woodson approached and held the salver out to me. For a moment, I hardly could bring myself to look at the printing on the card for fear it was someone besides Chatman. If it was, I’d have to send them away and hope they didn’t cross paths with my young swain on his way in.

  I took a deep breath and read. Thank heaven. I looked up at Woodson. “Send him in.”

  I arranged my skirts around me but stopped when the trembling of my fingers became pronounced. An observer might have thought me a green girl for all my fluttering.

  He appeared in the doorway wearing riding clothes and carrying his hat in his hand. If he’d tried, he couldn’t have found clothing to outline his physique better. The britches stretched taut along his thighs and the jacket barely contained his shoulders. His hair was pleasantly mussed as though the wind still rustled through it.

  He gave me a tentative smile. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  “Please close the door and come in.”

  He did as I asked and then stood in the middle of the room as if waiting for my next command. My heart pounding, I patted the surface of the couch beside me. He sat and fidgeted with his hat until I took it from him and set it onto the floor nearby.

  “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” I said. Although, heaven only knew how I’d manage my lust if he decided to back away.

  “I want to,” he answered. “I just don’t know what I’m about.”

  “That’s why you’re here. So I can teach you.”

  He took a breath. “Right.”

  “Let’s pretend that I’m an innocent. We’ve met several times, and I’ve been showing interest in you. We’ve sneaked away, and we can’t know when someone will find us.”

  “Miss…” He stopped. “It would help if I knew your name.”

  “Lily Sandridge.” My last name hadn’t been Sandridge for years, and only Millford had called me Lily during our marriage.

  Chatman took my hands and gazed into my eyes. “Miss Sandridge.”

  “Very good. Start slowly, and if the woman shows any reticence, retreat. She must feel safe.”

  He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

  I studied him for a moment. “Have I made you uncomfortable?”

  He looked me straight in the face. “What makes you say that?”

  “You seem…I don’t know…hesitant.”

  “I can manage hand-holding on my own. I’d like to move past what would be appropriate between us if we might be discovered.”

  “Certainly.” I wanted that, too, of course. I’d spent the entire day waiting for his hands on my body and mine on his. I might not have his rod inside me during this lesson, but I’d get a good idea of its dimensions. That would fuel more erotic dreams and a heightened tension for more days yet. With a bit of skill, I might stretch out the titillation until it had reached unparalleled levels. And to think, if Chatman hadn’t appeared out of the blue the day before, I might never have thought of such delicious play on my own.

  “Good, then,” I said. “Let’s move on.”

  “Yes, let’s.” He gave me a wicked smile then, so unlike his earlier shyness. It made his eyes sparkle and formed his lips into sensual curves too delicious for any mortal woman to resist. Yes, we’d start with kissing.

  “We’ll assume you’ve already touched the young lady several times—all innocently and by accident.”

  His smile broadened. “Of course.”

  “Now, the two of you find yourselves alone. Her chaperone has nodded off or some such.”

  He leaned toward me, his eyes bright with excitement. My own most likely looked the same.

  “It’s time for your first real kiss,” I said.

  “Oh, yes.” His voice came out husky and full of promise.

  “You still should move slowly. Signal your intent and let the lady come to you.”

  He leaned closer to me, his lips nearing mine.

  “That’s it,” I said. “Hesitate, looking into her eyes. Show her you want her but that you’ll wait until she’s ready.”

  He stopped there, his mouth only inches from my own. I’d never had a more tempting invitation and I paused to savor it. The world slipped away as we sat there, each waiting for the contact that would begin our ascent to heaven.

  Finally, weak human flesh that I am, I surrendered. I closed my eyes and sampled his lips.

  And, oh, what lips they were. Soft and full, yet firm. Sweeter than my strawberries and headier than brandy. He held himself still while I explored every inch of his mouth from the corner to the fullness of his bottom lip and to the other corner.

  After a moment, he began to tremble, so I ran my arms around his neck to encourage him. He took the message and groaned as he pulled me against him. Then his lips moved, brushing mine and sucking. Soon a fog of arousal filled my brain. This was no lesson but an assault on my senses. One I happily surrendered to. I offered him my tongue, and he grazed it with the tip of his own.

  A shock raced through me, and I gasped. Immediately he pulled away.

  “I’m sorry.” He took a shaky breath and then another. “I was carried away.”

  I pressed a palm to my chest, as if that would help me get air. “My fault. I moved too quickly.”

  “I’m not complaining.”

  “No
r I. That was quite remarkable.”

  He smiled. “You liked it?”

  “My dear Mr. Chatman, when you know women better you’ll realize that you seduced me thoroughly with a kiss.”

  “Please call me Arthur.” He looked quite pleased with himself. A true rake in the making. Only the flush to his own skin gave him away. He’d become as aroused as I was.

  “Well, Arthur, you’ve done a very good job of kissing an experienced woman. A virgin will take a bit more work.”

  “That’s what I’m here to learn.”

  With another man, it might have worried me to give a fellow such power over women. An unscrupulous rake could cause misery for large numbers of young girls. Though I preferred adventurous men myself, I found the predatory sort beneath contempt. Taking someone’s innocence for one’s own enjoyment with no thought of the consequences was a selfish act of the worst sort. Selfishness had no place in good sex, as I’d learned from my late husband. But Chatman seemed to honestly want to please his wife-to-be. In that regard, he was much like Millford. In fact, if I’d believed in the supernatural, I might have thought Millford had sent him to me so I could have the joy of mutual pleasure with a strapping young specimen.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  I brought myself back to the present and found him studying me. Rather than the timidity he normally displayed, he gave me a frank appraisal, as if he could see inside my mind. For just a moment, I got a glimpse of the man he’d become in the prime of his power and worldly accomplishments. A glimpse of a stunning man, indeed.

  “Hmm?” He leaned toward me and pressed his lips to my temple. His hot breath slipped into my ear, and I couldn’t help but tremble.

  I put my hand on his chest and pushed him back. “I think you’re getting much too good at this.”

  “Let’s go on.”

  “Now then, after you’ve shared several of those kisses with your young lady, you’ll find she makes more and more opportunities to get you alone.”

  “I do hope so.”

  I raised a finger in true instructor fashion. “Always pretend to be surprised. Pleased, but surprised. It’ll make her feel very clever.”