He stood before her, his dazzling blue eyes riveted to his work then circled her until he stood at her back. She felt her nostrils dilate when he reached around her, used his thumbs to unclasp the last two fastenings. With a thrilling little release, he clicked her corset open and tossed it on the bed.
“My,” he remarked. “It is heavy.”
“It is custom made for me, for my, er, needs.”
He walked back in front of her, nodding, clearly fighting between curiosity and arousal. “You must show me all your strange and intriguing tools. I may even be able to fine-tune one or two.”
The thought of those ink-stained hands holding a garrote made her wince.
Under the loose chemise, her breasts dropped by an inch or two, the sudden looseness creating tingles all along her chest. Gurgles in her belly made her grin in awkward apology. A sly wink from him put her embarrassment to rest. She raised her arms so he could slip the chemise over her head and wiggled a bit to alleviate the itching. As though he could guess her needs, he ran light but brisk hands over the red marks her corset had left until the itchiness had gone.
“Thank you,” she said through a smile.
“It is the least a man can do. Even if these make the most delectable silhouettes, corsets must be a pain to live in. We men are not expected to suffer this way. Inequitable at best.”
“One of many inequities.”
He agreed with a nod before tucking his bottom lip between his teeth and cupping her breasts, weighing them as one would a heavy purse of coins, his long hands easily managing her generousness.
“These are the most beautiful I have ever seen,” he whispered before pressing a soft kiss to each nipple. “And later I will make love to them.”
She swallowed because she could not force a single word out. When she looked down, the lump in his trousers made her want to skip a few steps and sink over him or collapse on all fours to curl her backside up for his taking.
In only her garter belt, she felt more beautiful than had she wore the most stunning dress and most precious jewelry. Leeford’s admiration was like a warm blanket covering her. He touched her here or there, lingered on a thigh then circled her navel or the curve of her belly. Given free rein of her body, Leeford made a mess of her heart rate with his soft lips or tender, inquisitive fingers. Needs spiked. Impulses. Urges. What had she done before her body knew his hands? How could she have found pleasure in another man’s embrace? Who better than Leeford Gunn could bring her to the precipice of delirium, keep her there with whispers alone, and send her plunging into a raging sea of delights with a mere flick of his hand? Her flesh had not known the heights to which it could be brought. She had not lived. Merely survived. Eleanor wanted to live, to taste and devour life and could not fathom how without this man by her side she could achieve such level of joy. When—if—they managed to evade Spark’s long arm long enough to either allow her colleagues to arrive or make it to Aconia and send an urgent message to the Society, she would tell Leeford. She would share this with him if he wanted to accept it. And if not, then she would count herself lucky that she had known such joy even for a short time. Others had never tasted ambrosia from its source. She had. And to her, it tasted of charming eccentricity, smelled of winter wind, sparkled blue like a fall sky. Ambrosia had another name to Eleanor—Gunn.
“Make love to me,” she whispered. “With your mouth.”
“I have a better idea.” From mocking, his grin turned rascally. “Follow me.”
He escorted her to the bathroom adjoined to his chambers. A skylight created a rectangle of cloudy sky overhead. Covered in copper except for a few details, the large bathroom boasted a coffered ceiling made of hammered copper sheets, pipes that ran along the walls, spigots, a large coffin-sized basin on a wrought iron pedestal. He did not turn on any light as he left her by the door and leaned over the basin’s rim so he could reach levers and pull a length of chain before smiling wide when a veritable rain of steaming hot water fell from a pair of slotted contraptions hanging above the basin. Another knob then foam splattered out of a thin glass tube projecting from a kettle-like apparatus. Fruity smells wafted to her. Yet water did not accumulate in the basin.
“I call this a ‘rain maker’ for lack of better word,” he remarked, proud of his invention. He hooked his index finger at her.
The sound of water drumming against the inside of the copper basin drowned the rapid whoosh of her heartbeat in her ears. She joined him, let him rid her of the garter belt. Offered him her nakedness.
“Stand in the basin, please.”
After he had helped her step over the rim, he detached from a clip in the wall an articulated pipe—the many copper rings and joints made it look like a metal snake—twisted it around to undo a kink then thumbed a small knob near the end. Water began pouring from the pipe and into the basin. He angled the pipe her way, smiled.
“Directional water jets. Very, very useful.”
Foam built at the bottom of the basin, reached to her ankles. Leeford scooped a small measure and slathered her leg with it, repeated the process with her other leg. Her belly followed, her back. Soon he had covered her in rich, fruity-smelling lather. She shivered at the exquisite sensations.
“Now for the best part.”
Oh, he was enjoying himself immensely. So was she!
With his “directional water jet” in one hand and the other rubbing her from head to toe, he rinsed her. His shirt was see-through with water. His trousers had darkened. His hair stuck to his high forehead. Eleanor sighed when he finished rinsing her but did not stop running the gentle jet over her, each tiny stream like a feather against her skin. She would curve and bend to show him where she wanted to be caressed and he would readily oblige. Such a sweet man.
“You have me at a disadvantage, Leeford. Here am I naked while you still wear most of your clothes.” She tugged at his wet lapel.
Leeford grinned wide as he wrestled his clothes off to toss them pell-mell. His cock bobbed in enticement when he yanked his trousers off, kicked out of them and all but ripped the shirt off his shoulders. Next door, the gas lamp’s amber glow silhouetted his long-limbed, athletic body.
She had been wondering about it long enough. “Where did you ever build shoulders like these?” she asked as she watched the lean muscles play under the shiny shoulders. His neck was long and strong, his jaw well defined. His belly was flat, hard-looking without being overly striated. Legs long and sinewy with great thigh and calf definition.
“Rowing.” He raked his hair back, licked his bottom lip. “I—in college, I rowed. Was good at it.”
“Good?” she replied, let her gaze roam over him. “How good?”
“My times have not been beaten yet.”
“Mmm.” She took a moment to look at him, really look at him. Magnificent.
“Sit at the bottom,” he instructed, holding her elbow as she did. “Part your legs for me.”
Now that she knew what he intended, Eleanor needed little time or coaxing to sit at the bottom of the basin and hook one leg over the rim while she caressed his face with a lazy hand. Hot water, fruity smells, the soft amber light illuminating his work, everything converged and combined to make this one of the most erotic, stimulating experiences of her life. And to say women spurned him. Fools! She knew not only because of what Lady Frivolous had disclosed about Leeford’s love life—or lack thereof—but also because she understood how women’s minds worked. And upper-class women were the worst when it came to judging and dismissing a man. They would find him cute in a gauche kind of way, would feed off his naïveté for their own jaded enjoyment, their palate dulled with ennui, then they would gather round like vultures and make light of him, ultimately spurn and wound him. They wanted a “real” man, whatever that might be. Arrogant, unyielding, domineering, rich. They wanted nothing of a gentle, caring man such as Leeford, who had no great title or fortune. She had seen it often enough. When came time for underhanded viciousness or cold disdain,
women were champions. Well, all the better for her. She would keep him, thank you very much. And certainly would not share!
When he angled the water jets on the inside of her thigh, she forgot everything but what he did to her.
Teasing, he brought the water up along her leg, higher still until the first few jets touched the sensitive skin right next to her sex. He stayed there a moment, his gaze on her face, letting her reactions guide his hand. Astute gem of a man! She moaned with contentment when hot water tickled her skin.
Leeford narrowed his eyes in complete focus. “Spread yourself for me.”
Eleanor did with not a stitch of inhibition. One leg hooked over the rim, she parted her thighs with fingers that shook from excitement, pulled her flesh outward, denuded her pearl to his hungry gaze.
He scooped creamy lather with the back of his free hand and pressed it against her vulva, rubbed in tiny, gentle circles until Eleanor had to bite down to keep her legs in place. Heat spread to her belly. From the water and from his knuckles rubbing in all the right places. The man must have studied hands for he knew how they worked. And how to use them to pleasure a woman. With the water jets directed against her sex, and with his hand still rubbing ’round and ’round, she could feel the wave coming. The roiling, swirling surge. It began with a slight tingle between her shoulder blades. Grew outward, downward, between her legs, up and over her belly. Cramps—painful—tightened her. She let her head loll back against the rim. Leeford pressed his hand over her mons to pull the skin taut. On a long whimper, she released.
“Turn around,” he said in a hoarse voice.
Without question or even opening her eyes, she flopped onto her front, raised herself on her knees and grabbed the rim with both hands, elbows bent, chin against the copper. Water, hot, delectable, landed on her cleft. On her anus. With shock, a tremor rocked her. Pleasure hit. Leeford snaked a hand under her belly so he could cup a breast, squeeze it, roll her tender nipple. All the while he kept the water against her fissure, sometimes going up and down, other times just angled at her pussy. She nearly cried out in grief when he abandoned her breast. But oh what he had prepared for her!
Lather along her cleft, from anus to clitoris. Rubbing again. So much of it. Hot water everywhere. Tingles. Fever-like heat. A tongue?
“Ahh!”
He had just bent over and clamped his mouth against her pussy, worked his tongue. That magnificent organ!
“Oh Leeford. Good fort— Ahh.” Her voice rose. She braced against the basin’s rim. Her spine concaved. Still water drummed against her vulva and anus. Then fingers were inside her. How many? She could not tell. Did not care.
“Yes, take it,” she murmured against the copper. “Yes, yes.”
He seemed to grow bolder at her insistence and began to rub her cleft front to bottom with the copper tube’s smooth edge, making the tiny water jets all the more thrilling against her distended flesh. His tongue in her, his fingers, the smooth and hot copper. Into her sex, anus, everywhere she received him.
It hit. Euphoria. Inferno. Fireworks. Drunkenness from pure unadulterated pleasure. Ecstasy. She cried out. Leeford.
She rode his hand hard, pushing back against the rim to accentuate the movement.
Somewhere behind her the angle and rhythm of his hands changed. She did not know what he was doing until she felt his legs connect behind hers. He had stepped into the basin with her. His long and lean body espoused hers as he leaned over her back, abandoned the pipe so he could grab at her backside and part her nice and wide for him. She felt tongue and even teeth against her tender flesh. Then nothing but cool air.
For a second, she lamented the loss before something hot and silky pressed against her entry, smoothly parted her. In a leisurely, torturous curl, he took her. His cock slid in without effort. Coupled with the remnants of her blinding orgasm, the tender penetration triggered frissons of expectations.
“Eleanor,” he whispered right into her ear. Into her heart.
With him kneeling between her legs, long arms over hers to anchor them on the basin rim, Leeford retreated to the glans, curled back in for a prolonged, deliberate thrust. She whimpered her need at him. He delivered another measured push. Her voice rose several octaves. To say she had always enjoyed furious couplings! Again his claiming was slow. Profound. Retreat like a small death, thrust like an awakening. She had known nothing before this.
The rhythm changed. Accentuated. Quickened. She cried out for each thrust, whimpered at each withdrawal even as she knew he was only reloading. Literally. His long hands wrapped around hers while his firm body pinned her against the basin edge, his cock an anchor into her flesh. Potent shoves that rattled the pipes followed. Self-forgetting, frenzy. She shook from pleasure. Felt drunk. Lost. Deaf. Blinded by exultation. On a scream that deflated her lungs almost to the point of pain, she climaxed again. Behind her Leeford pushed one last time then wrapped an arm around her so they could lie on their sides, more or less comfortable along the bottom of the coffin-sized basin. Despite the shattering orgasms he had given her, she had not felt him achieve his own.
“Have you not released?” she murmured against the back of his hand, which she had pulled to her for a quick kiss.
“A short…reprieve,” he panted, reached over her shoulder to shut the water jets. “A proper bed…then I will make love to your breasts.”
Thrill needled her clitoris. After a series of quick pulsations, the vestiges of her pleasure drifted away, replaced with sweet, sweet throbbing.
Before she could protest, he stood, managed to scoop her in his arms and made his way into the bedchamber where he used his thigh to keep her up while he yanked the duvet off the bed. She yelped a laugh when he let her roll onto the mattress. A few feathers puffed out due to the sudden weight. A corner of the sheet stuck to her wet shoulder. She rolled onto her back, bent a leg that she let fall to one side. Her sex still pulsated from his handling.
He looked at it, made her feel beautiful and feminine in an unbelievable way then stood by the edge of the bed. Towered over her.
“Now,” he said, licking his lips and bouncing his eyebrows. “We pay proper attention to these fine gems.” He gestured to her breasts before leaning over and sucking one. “Mmm.”
Her toes curled up. She arched off the bed, gathered her breasts and squeezed them together for him to suck at his leisure. And he did. With much noise and greed, he massaged and rolled, licked and sucked her nipples until they were sensitive enough to respond to a mere breath. She moaned deep in her throat.
“You enjoy this?” he asked. “How about this?”
Fisting his cock, he curled his spine so he could press his silken glans in the gap between her breasts. Pushed slowly while she kept them compressed around his shaft. When the head popped out, she gave it a lick.
“Oh, you need to do that again,” he murmured.
While he retreated, Eleanor spared a hand so she could for a moment stoke her own fire before making his penis a home between her breasts. He seemed to enjoy watching her for his eyes narrowed, his mouth parted. His glistening cock reappeared above her breasts, but this time, she did not only lick the head, she wrapped her lips around it and sucked. He remained thus, curled over her with a hand against the headboard for support, his member snug in her ampleness, belly contracted with the effort of keeping the position. Muscles played under the smooth skin and a patch of dark blond hair parted his chest in halves. With one of his, he replaced her hand on her breast, each of them now squeezed one. A team effort. She resumed fingering her pussy with renewed energy.
Down between her legs, her fingers found the hard little pearl and started rubbing it. ’Round and ’round. She dipped her middle finger inside. So much honey there.
He groaned when she bared her teeth and pressed them on his cock. With a wet pop she sucked then released him.
Hips working quicker, he retreated, pushed back in. “Mmm. Keep your mouth open.”
Eleanor opened wide for him while
he simultaneously made love to her breasts and her mouth, her fingers working hard, in and out, two at a time, thrust, thrust, tease her clitoris, push back in. Her thighs trembled as she spread herself wider. He watched while he penetrated the valley of her breasts and welcoming mouth. Pre-cum tasted salty against her tongue. She “Mmm-ed” loud, moaned and whimpered and sucked whenever his cock would pop out from her compressed flesh. Honey gathered in her folds. She used it to make her breasts slicker. His essence and hers filled her nose, her mouth.
“Harder,” she groaned. “Harder.”
Leeford bucked. With her mouth she made a home for him. His expression tensed. He retreated.
“No!” She abandoned her pussy to claw at his backside and forced him back into her mouth. Her pussy throbbed in demand. “Come back.”
So she could have her hands free to spread her sex and pleasure herself with a vengeance, she made Leeford capture her breasts and squeeze them hard together, make them a sheath for his cock. By increments, he introduced his shaft into her waiting mouth. Pre-cum, her saliva and remnants of her own nectar rendered his rod glistening smooth, one she welcomed and anticipated. One she needed.
“Eleanor.”
She sank fingers into herself when she heard the warning note in his voice. “Come,” she growled each time he retreated from her mouth. “Come, come.”
His fingers digging into her, he pushed deeper. Eleanor opened mouth and legs wide. Just as his semen jetted out of him in thin strands, she drove her fingers in to the knuckles. A fiery peak made her cry out. His cum landed on her lips and chin. While she eagerly licked the hot nectar, Leeford pulled out and dove for her pussy. His mouth a conqueror as he shoved between her legs.
Mechanical Rose Page 10