Followed by a man who thought too little of himself, who wanted to do something that would help the world rather than just float through it. He should be free to live up to the potential he couldn’t seem to recognize in himself. Not that he had even brought up the possibility of their finding a way to be together forever.
It would be enough that she could and would say no to his brother.
Lady Eleanor’s Good List for Being Bad:
Re-enact some of that erotic poetry in real life.
Chapter 20
“It’s all here,” Alex said as soon as she entered the room, removing the wrap from her shoulders. He gestured to the table, which normally held the book—or That Book, as she had come to think of it—and was now filled with all manner of food arranged on mismatched plates.
There was cheese, and bread, and sausage, and grapes, and little tarts that appeared to hold bits of strawberry, blueberry, and cream.
“Oh!” Eleanor said, surveying the food. She looked up at Alex, who had the same anxious and proud expression he’d worn when he’d given her the Lemprière. “You brought all the delicious things,” she continued, snatching up a piece of cheese and popping it in her mouth. The rich flavor made her utter a contented sigh, and she closed her eyes in satisfaction.
Her eyes snapped open as she heard him clear his throat; he was regarding her now with a timely hungry look, only she didn’t think he was craving cheese.
“You don’t know what you do to me, Eleanor,” he said, sliding his finger between his neck and his cravat as though to loosen his clothing.
She smirked, picking up another piece of cheese and stepping forward, holding it up—and up some more—to his mouth. “Taste it,” she urged. “It’s delicious.”
He reached up to clasp her wrist, encircling it with his long fingers so they met, with her effectively trapped in front of him. He drew her hand to his mouth and opened his lips, keeping his gaze on hers as he ate the bit of cheese.
She froze, her entire body reacting to how he looked as he chewed, how his strong throat worked, how his eyes blazed.
She definitely knew he wasn’t craving cheese.
“I—I am hungry,” she began, stumbling backward to go seat herself at the table, picking up one of the small plates and putting food on it with a shaky hand.
“As am I,” he said. She heard the humor in his voice and met his gaze squarely.
“I don’t believe we are discussing food at this moment, Lord Alexander,” she said in a mischievous tone.
“Oh, Lady Eleanor? What are we discussing then?” he replied, grinning.
She raised a brow and looked him up and down, letting herself admire the view. He was truly gorgeous, all tall, godlike self of him.
His grin twisted into a smirk as he watched her looking at him. She liked that he didn’t pretend not to know what she was doing, that his attitude and smile appeared to encourage it.
She just wished he were wearing fewer bits of clothing. So she could admire him more.
Her gaze returned to his face, and she smiled at him. It was incredible how powerful she felt at this moment. How she knew that whatever she did, it would be her choice.
She licked her lips and his eyes tracked the movement as he inhaled quickly.
“Let’s eat and finish up this translation,” he said, leaning past her to grab some of the food from a plate. She laughed and took a few more bits of the food, then helped him clear the table so he could lay the book out again.
She found her place, one of the last plates, a picture depicting Mars and Venus.
She’d gotten almost inured to what the couples (and sometimes more) in the pictures were doing, but she allowed herself to look at the drawing more thoroughly than she had before.
Mars was lying on a bed, while Venus knelt over him, her legs tangled up with his. Between them was his male member, upright and almost urgent in the depiction. Mars’s expression was one of intensity, a look she thought she’d seen on Alexander’s face when they’d last been in this room.
When he’d—well, yes, when he’d done that.
She couldn’t say what it was even within the confines of her own head. How would she describe it, anyway?
Lord Alexander kissed me down there, in a place I wasn’t aware was at all conducive for kissing. And then he touched me and made me practically see stars, it felt that good. Not only that, it felt as though he were worshipping me, at the altar of my body, and I felt desirable, and beautiful, and wanted.
That went somewhat to it, but not entirely.
How about:
I wanted to be overwhelmed, and Lord Alexander has done just that in so many ways. Ways I cannot possibly describe.
That was better.
Satisfied, she picked up her pen and tried to ignore how the picture of Mars and Venus in their private rapture made her feel.
“It’s done,” she said after about an hour. Alex had been too keenly aware of her to do anything but watch her, intrigued by her change of expressions, as fluid and delightful as she was.
She glanced at the clock, frowning. “My maid will be here soon.”
His heart sank. For a reason he couldn’t examine too closely, not now; that would be wasting time he could be spending with her.
“But I will just go tell her there are some unexpected complications,” she continued, shooting him a knowing smile as she spoke.
And then something else on his body rose, and he suddenly very much wanted to examine things more closely—namely her in this room when they were by themselves.
Did she mean what he thought she meant?
“Just give me a minute.” She raised her eyebrow. “And you might want to get started, I am not certain I can remove your jacket myself—you’re so much taller than I am.”
She did.
He was out of his chair, shrugging out of his jacket before she’d left the room. She looked back, a mischievous expression on her face, and shut the door behind her.
Meanwhile, Alex placed his jacket on the corner of one of the bookshelves, not worrying about whether or not it would fall off. He undid his cravat then, putting it on a bookshelf. He was starting in on the buttons of his shirt when she returned, slipping into the room and closing the door softly behind her. “Hold on,” she said, gesturing toward him. “I want to help with that. It was just your jacket, and perhaps your boots, that are problematic.”
His fingers stilled, and he jerked his chin toward her. “Come over here and take care of it, then,” he said. He could already feel how aroused he was, and she hadn’t even touched him yet.
She stepped over to him, raising her fingers as she did, walking to stand directly in front of him, her hands at his chest. She placed her palms flat on him, sliding them up and down, an intrigued look on her face. “Your chest feels so different from mine,” she mused, making him laugh.
“I imagine that is because I don’t have your gorgeous breasts,” he replied, looking down at the items in question. She had been wearing a shawl, but had removed it earlier while working at the table. He could see the soft mounds of her bosom rising up from her gown. He knew just how she tasted there—and elsewhere—and he felt his mouth water at the thought of tasting her again.
He might not make it beyond her removing his shirt—he was that excited. He should think about something boring, about some of the poetry he’d read with his tutor, not the erotic literature she’d been translating. Boring things about wars, and flowers, and feelings.
“I want to see what’s underneath,” she said, her pretty face twisting up in concentration.
“You did already. At the cricket match.”
She raised exasperated eyes to his. “It wasn’t close up, and I couldn’t touch. It’s entirely different.” And then she returned to the work, undoing the buttons of his shirt and yanking the hem out from his trousers.
He bent down so she could draw the shirt up and over his head, amused as she folded it neatly and placed it on the chair opposite.
And then she regarded him, an admiring expression on her face, and he felt his breath quicken. And his already-hard cock get even harder.
“You are even more beautiful than I remembered,” she said, stepping forward to put her hands on him. The shock of her skin touching his made him gasp, and she paused. “Am I hurting you?” she asked, looking up at him.
“No, Dejanire.” Except in the most deliciously agonizing way.
“Well, Hercules,” she replied, the corner of her mouth curling up into a smirk, “let us see what feats you can accomplish.”
Eleanor had never felt better in her life. Nor as terrified, nervous, and excited. This was what life was. This—this joy at spending time with another person, sharing an intimacy that couldn’t be described.
She smoothed her hands over his chest, feeling the warm, strong muscles underneath her fingers. She drew her fingers over his nipples, and she heard his breath hitch in response. That had to be a good thing, right?
A quick glance down his body told her it was.
Goodness, that was a lot of whatever it was. His Herculean member.
But she couldn’t get distracted, or she would never know what it was like to touch him. Everywhere.
This was definitely an overwhelming experience. She would have to thank him, when she could speak properly.
“I want to kiss you,” he said, his words making his chest rumble.
She tilted her head up at him and smiled. “I want you to kiss me too,” she replied, stretching her hands up to the back of his neck, raising herself up on her tiptoes as much as she could. “So we are in agreement.”
He shook his head gently, undoing her arms and pushing her backward so her bottom hit the table. Without breaking eye contact, he swept everything off the table, the book, her papers, the pen, everything, and it fell to the floor with a crash. She glanced to the door.
“Nobody will hear, Eleanor,” he said in a whisper. “Mr. Woodson is the only one who might care, and he will ignore whatever occurs here.”
“Oh,” she said, licking her lips.
He eased her onto the table, her legs dangling over the edge as they were before, when he—when they—and she couldn’t stop the low moan that emerged from her mouth.
He smiled, a confident, knowing smile that told her he knew precisely how she was feeling, and he had every intention of making her feel more.
“Oh,” he echoed before lowering his mouth to hers.
His kiss was possessive, plundering, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with an authority she couldn’t deny. And yet she had learned a few things since starting to kiss him, so she kissed him back, her tongue tangling with his, her mouth widening, their lips moving over one another.
She had her hands on his back, and was running her palms up and down his body. So strong, so smooth, so powerful. So much.
He really was supremely tall, which made her grateful that this sort of thing could occur when they were lying down, to lessen the discrepancy between them.
His hair had fallen forward, that delicious lock she’d noticed since the first time they met one another, and the strands tickled her forehead, adding to all the sensations—his mouth on hers, his chest lying on hers, his fingers tugging on the pins in her hair, drawing them out, undoing the locks so they fell around her face.
And then his hands were at the bodice of her gown, tugging, and she raised up slightly, not breaking the kiss, and his fingers went around to the back of her gown and she felt him begin to undo the buttons.
She widened her legs to better accommodate his body, and he nudged forward, that hard part of him right there, right where he’d kissed her before. Right where the sensation was the most intense.
How could she bear it? She knew there was more to this, more than just kissing—he’d done more to her before this, and yet she already felt as though she were at the peak of something, as though if there was more she just might die from the pleasure.
But then that would mean she couldn’t experience the rest of it.
He broke the kiss to raise her up farther, sliding the sleeves of her gown off her arms, his gaze intent on what the fabric was revealing. She looked down as well, seeing his fingers on her skin, making her shiver everywhere.
He cocked a brow and nodded to her gown. “We should get that off you. I don’t want it to wrinkle.” As though he were truly concerned about her gown, of all things.
She grinned and hopped off the table, the gown sliding down to pool at her feet. She stepped out of it, now clad in her corset and shift, and picked it up, laying it on another chair.
His gaze narrowed, and she caught her breath at his expression. As though he was preparing to strike, only not in an unpleasant way. Not even just pleasant, but absolutely deliciously.
She couldn’t wait.
His fingers went to the laces of her corset, and he was so close she could feel his heat. She wanted to curl into it, to entwine herself up in it and luxuriate.
Her corset removed, tossed to the floor, he knelt down in front of her, taking the hem of her shift in his hands. He looked up at her, as though asking her a question. She nodded, and he began to draw the fabric up, up over her shins, her knees, her thighs, and he stood up, continuing to draw the fabric up, now over her waist, her breasts, her shoulders, until she was completely revealed.
And she felt far, far more than average now.
He stared at her, his eyes blazing, his chest heaving, and she had to suppress a smile at seeing him so undone.
Only he wasn’t undone enough, was he?
“And now you,” she said, reaching forward to grab hold of the waistband of his trousers. He smiled and stepped forward so she could undo his buttons. Her fingers trembled.
This was truly about to happen, and she already knew she would not regret a thing. This was an experience the likes of which she had never had, nor would she have in the future.
A future that was appearing less and less certain the more she thought of it.
She placed her hands at his hips and shoved the fabric of his trousers down over his long, long legs, pulling them down when they clung to his leg muscles.
At last he stepped out of them, and she picked them up and folded them as carefully as he had her gown, sharing a smile with him as she did so.
Then she took a deep breath and looked at him. He was long and lean, muscles in places she didn’t know humans had muscles, his solid self making her long to touch him everywhere.
And she could, couldn’t she? He was giving her permission to do whatever she wanted, and she would. She placed her right palm on his upper chest, sliding her hand down the middle of his body, to his waist, then lower still, to where his member thrust out, proud and erect and gravity-defying.
She took another breath and put her hand on him, wrapping her fingers around the length, still covered by his smallclothes. He hissed, and she paused, but he shook his head. “No, please,” he said. “Touch me, Eleanor.”
She swallowed, tucking her fingers in between the fabric of his smallclothes and his skin, drawing the fabric off him, sliding it down until it, too, fell to the ground.
It should have been ridiculous—two people naked in the back room of a bookshop, discarded clothing piled and folded around them like some bizarre laundry day adventure—only it wasn’t. It was beautiful. It was glorious.
It was . . . “Overwhelming,” she declared as she looked there at where he was so clearly excited.
He uttered a soft snort, stepping forward to draw her into his arms and lay her back down on the table.
“You overwhelm me,” he said softly, his lips sliding over the skin at her neck, at her collarbone, to her breasts. His fingers played with her nipple, making her shiver, and she felt how it stiffened and lengthened, and how her whole body reacted to his touch.
That place there was particularly reactive, especially since now he was pressed against her, his member hard and throbbing.
His mouth was moving lower now, his
lips closing over her nipple, sucking gently, his fingers at her other breast, holding the weight of it in his hand.
“Ohh,” she moaned, gripping him on the arms, wanting all of it, all of him, before she died from it.
“Please,” she said as she wriggled her body closer to his, pushing that part of her right against that part of him. It felt wonderful, only she knew there was more, more to him, and them, and this.
He lifted his head, her nipple released from his lips with a soft pop. “Are you certain?”
She smiled at him, allowing all of what she felt to be seen in her eyes. “I have never been more certain of anything in my life,” she said, punctuating her words with a slide of her body to him, rubbing there against him, making him hiss in reaction. “Just like Alcibiades and Glycera,” she said in a mischievous voice.
“Hold on then,” he said, and he put his strong hands on her thighs, holding them apart as he stood in front of her, her god come to life, her adventure made physical.
She felt him nudge at where she most wanted him, only she rather doubted he’d fit. But then again, he had done this before, presumably he’d have said something if she wasn’t like the other women he’d been with. That would be a far less awkward conversation to have than now telling her it just couldn’t be done after all.
And then she felt stretched as he pushed into her, his hands keeping her legs apart, his bottom lip in his teeth, his expression one of concentration.
“Is there anything I should be doing?” she asked, unable to keep herself from speaking.
He looked up, his pained expression lightening for a minute. “Just relax, love,” he said, and then he thrust all the way up inside her, and she gasped at the feeling. He was too much, too there, too right.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked, his breathing loud and quick in the small room.
“I think so,” she replied, and then he reached between them to put his fingers there, and he began to rub and touch and fondle her, and then she knew she was really all right, she was more than all right, she was wonderful, and he was making her feel that way. No, both of them were making her feel that way, she had just as much a part of it as he did.
Lady Be Bad Page 19