He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Great. Then we’re just supposed to have at it?”
She scowled at him. “Have at it?”
“Oh, I'm sorry, did I ruffle your sensibilities? This is after all purely academic.”
She lifted her chin. “That's right.” Her anger and irritation blunted her raw vulnerability, and somehow it made things easier. “I'd still like to review kissing and no more,” she said.
“No more,” he agreed.
“Perhaps we ought to stay away from the table,” she suggested.
He straightened, rolling his shoulders. “And also the chair, the bookshelves, the floor, the stairs.”
She blinked. The stairs?
“What are we supposed to do, levitate?”
He chuckled, turning away and sliding his hand along the railing. “Did you close and lock the door?” He nodded toward the door leading to the balcony.
“Yes,” she said.
“Good.”
“Again, where are we supposed to do this?”
He sighed, surveying the area. “I guess there really is no safe place. I'll just have to stay in control.”
“I as well.”
“Good, then we agree,” he said. “We both need to be in control.”
“Yes.”
“Why don't we sit here?” He waved a hand to the chaise lounge.
Josie sat on the edge, fixing her skirts and smoothing them over her lap, folding her hands together as if she were having tea with the dowager duchess.
He sat down next to her, just as rigid.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“This time we will go slow. There is an art to kissing.”
She immediately thought of her book, Soul Kissing. She’d just finished it last night.
What had intrigued her were the various types of kissing: soft, light, deep, rough, commanding. There were too many adjectives to describe kissing. She took a deep breath, gathering her courage to make a request for this session.
“I want to focus on kissing,” she said. “Light kissing, gentle kissing.”
The blue light coming in from the stained glass window matched his eyes. Abnormally bright with little fissures of cream, as if sand cut through the deep ocean in his irises. His pupils dilated, and she couldn't look away from the black depths, feeling as though she was falling forward. She put her hand down between them to stop herself.
“Light kissing… I think I can manage that.”
“Good,” she replied, breathless.
They both leaned in.
“I feel like I'm about to have my first kiss,” he murmured.
She stopped and then reversed direction. “I beg your pardon?”
“My first kiss. It was awkward.”
“Really? Mine was just yesterday.”
He smirked. “I know.”
She wanted to swat him but she was afraid to touch him, unsure if she'd hurt him or leap into his arms.
“What was your first kiss like?” she asked.
“Do you truly wish to know?”
“For research purposes. You know what mine was like. ’Tis only fair,” she quipped.
His smirk spread into a real smile. “I do. I want you to know I am honored to share this experience with you.”
His words managed to not melt, but at least warm and soften the steel of her spine.
“How did it compare with your first?” she asked, holding her hands in her lap.
“Promise you won't get jealous?” he asked with a teasing smile.
“I promise. Remember, I care nothing for you.” She said it lightly because it was mostly a lie. She definitely cared something for him or he wouldn't affect her as he did.
“My first kiss was with an older woman, and she is no other than the Countess of Swinton.”
“Oh.” Josie pretended to be impressed, though she couldn't help feeling the bite of jealousy.
“Was this countess beautiful?” She struggled to find a light teasing tone that would mask her jealousy.
“I thought so at the time. She has since had eight children.”
Josie drew back. “The poor dear. My mother is carrying her tenth.”
His eyes widened. “Your family is fruitful.”
“That's a very kind way of putting it, but I rather see it as my father is insatiable.”
He coughed into his hand, but the cough turned to laughter.
“Go head and laugh, many do. Being one of the infamous Northumberland Nine is quite amusing to most people.”
“I'm sorry,” he said between chuckles. He cleared his throat. “I’m sure with your father's small estate, it is difficult to provide for so many children.”
“It is. Especially when he mostly isn't there.”
“Hunting for husbands for the lot of you,” he said.
“Yes but I often wonder if that was ever true. He only ever brought one man home.”
“Mr. Hart, yes, I met him. Frankly, I'm surprised he’s still here.”
“I as well, but he and the duke have an arrangement, and he is educating some of the staff.”
Patrick's eyes lit. “Is he now? That's wonderful.”
“I agree. Even some of the small children from the tenants come for lessons, and he reviews reading, writing, and arithmetic with them one day a week.”
“Exceptional. I will have to talk more with him.”
“I would do so now. I know he's planning to leave at the end of the party. He must find a more permanent form of employment.”
“I might have need of him at the orphanage I support. The sisters are stretched thin as it is.
She cocked her head. “You sponsor an orphanage?”
He tilted his head, matching her angle. “Have we not talked about this?”
“No, we haven't talked about this.”
“I am a beneficiary of St. Arthur's orphanage in London. I provide the necessaries to keep it running, but a substantial portion of my funding goes to the education of the children. A set of classrooms, giving them books, pencils, chalkboards, and I helped hire more staff, so the nuns could focus on caring for the children and the tutors could do the teaching. I’m sure the bible has many lessons to be learned, but arithmetic isn't one of them. They can’t all be priests and nuns,” he said.
Her mouth had fallen open slightly. A knot in her chest seemed to unravel itself, releasing warmth and sparkles of desire throughout her.
“You’re funding their education?” she asked.
“Of course. Someone has to. They can never better themselves if they are not given the tools. The solution to poverty is not separating people by classes and keeping everyone in their designated space. It is education that will lift them from poverty into good jobs. They can start families or pursue careers, earning good money that in turn they will spend, which boosts the economy benefiting everyone. It's not a completely selfless endeavor. I find great satisfaction in their improvement, in the joy they find in books or accomplishments.
"I also can go to sleep at night knowing I am doing something to improve their lives and in turn improve the lives of others. It's a domino effect. I am making London, England, perhaps even the world a little better for every child I help.”
She swayed toward him, her spine completely melted, now a molten puddle pooling low in her body at the juncture of her thighs.
“I see and I agree,” she said. “You are doing a great thing.”
“I am grateful I have the ability to do it at all because of my good fortune in life and my wealth,” he said.
There was only a hand’s breadth between them. He cupped her cheek, his fingers sliding deep into her hair until he cradled half her head.
“St. Arthur's could use the influence of a woman like you. With our two minds, we could do even more.”
Her eyelids fell and his lips brushed hers so gently, so lightly, like the touch of a feather.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Yes to this kiss, so p
erfect instead of the hungry, savage heat they had yesterday. This was exactly what she needed. Her stretched nerves loosened, turning from piano strings to slack ribbons as his other hand pressed at the middle of her upper back until their chests met. Her head fell back, but still he only kissed her softly, brushing his lips over hers, teasing them apart. This was not the fire and brimstone she always experienced at his hands, but something delicate and more intoxicating.
She was sinking into a hot bath of sensation, invisible oils, and bubbles teasing her skin. Her limbs grew heavy, weighted with lazy desire, her muscles turning to sand and anchoring her against him. He cupped her head with both hands, moving her this way and that as he deepened the kiss, his tongue gradually grazing hers, a haphazard duel if there ever was one. As they idly stroked, teased, and caressed with their mouths, they traded soft, slow breaths. She could do this for hours, she hazily thought.
He drew back.
Josie fought to open her eyes, staring into the deep blue of his, as bright as a sapphire winter sky. She lost herself in them. He brushed his lips along her cheek. She braced her hands on his shoulders and then moved them to his neck. His skin was so hot, the barest hint of thick stubble just under his skin, tickling her palms as she ran her hands under his jaw, exploring.
He kissed her jaw, trailing his lips behind her ear and Josie sighed.
“Yes, this is perfect,” she whispered.
“You didn't specify where I could kiss you,” he said.
“What?” Josie asked, her mind struggling to follow his words when her body was as limp and languid as willow branches drifting in a stream.
“You didn’t specify where I could kiss you,” he repeated.
“Anywhere,” Josie murmured, delighting in the soft caress of his lips and tongue to the sensitive skin behind her ear. He took her earlobe into his mouth.
“Do you like this?” he asked, his hot breath fanning her ear.
“Oh, God, yes,” she said.
“What about this?” He flicked her earlobe with his tongue.
Goose bumps assaulted her flesh. She grabbed the edges of his cravat in her hands, tugging him closer to her.
“Good,” he said.
And then her bodice loosened.
How had her dress become undone? He tugged the edges down, running his tongue along the ridge of her collarbone and then lower, licking the valley between her breasts. Josie couldn't fight the swell of need inside her. Control, they had said, but she had no hope of controlling her wild, wanton needs. Now he could do whatever he wished as long as he didn't stop this decadent torture.
He dragged it lower. Her nipples objected to being exposed to the chill, but then his mouth, scalding velvet, closed over one rose bud and a squeak escaped her throat.
She sucked in a breath. “Oh, my God,” she whispered.
Such a lovely sensation, his tongue rasping against her flesh. He moved to her other breast. She clung to him now, desperate for every touch, losing herself in sensation. He drew her back, nudging her bodice lower so both breasts were freed. She lay back, surrendering to him, at his mercy.
Her back arched over the curve of the foot of the chaise lounge. He adjusted her until she was centered on the chair and her legs parted, draping them on either side as he pushed up her skirts.
His hands free of gloves, the tactile pads of his fingers wandered over her knees to the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. He pushed them wider, moving her skirts up with them. She knew in her mind, drunk with desire, this was too far. The control they had spoken of earlier had flown the coop, but she couldn't find the will to tell him to stop. Not when his hands and his mouth were heaven, and she was a wanton angel.
His thumbs skimmed over the ticklish line between her hip and her lower stomach and she twitched.
“That tickles,” she murmured.
His only answer was a brief chuckle and then cool air touched her most private part, and she was bared to him. She blushed, unwilling to open her eyes, cowardly though it was. The chair squeaked as he scooted away from her. Just as she was about to protest his absence, she sensed his weight returning and his hands stroked her thigh, perilously close to her bare flesh. His hot breath blew over her private curls.
Now she had to look.
She peeked at him and gasped.
He studied her womanhood with the expression of a man eyeing a feast after days of starvation.
She licked her dry lips. “Is this too much? Didn't we talk about kissing only?”
His thumb brushed through her wet curls, sliding over a part of her so sensitive she shuddered at the touch.
“This is a kiss, darling. The best kind. I promised gentle and light,” he said, dipping his fingers to explore her folds, the touch sending bolts of lightning bliss through her limbs.
She squeezed her eyes closed. “Yes, you did,” she said.
He chuckled and then she felt him move closer, his nose and mouth nuzzling the tender skin of her inner thigh, and his tongue flicked out like a flame and touched her. Her legs jerked, but he held them down with his forearms, keeping her thighs spread wide. His tongue and fingers searched her intimately, finding the sweetly painful spots in the hood of her sex. Rendering her speechless and turning her muscles from rock to sand with a steady onslaught of pleasure, the same way the waves eroded the bluffs and pounded seashells to dust, with the same patient skill that he'd kissed her mouth with and her skin, her ear, her breasts. He shredded her composure, unlocking wave after wave of ecstasy inside her until she thought she might die.
The racing of her heart too fast, her breathing too shallow, and yet she welcomed the release that was barreling toward her, striking her like a rogue wave.
A cry thrust from her throat, all her muscles locking at once and then unraveling into liquid heat as stars burst behind her eyelids. This must be the soul kiss she’d read about. There was no other way to describe what she was feeling, except that he had touched her soul, altering her, filling her with new golden light.
She opened her eyes, her lids heavy as he replaced her skirts and gathered her up, lifting her and maneuvering them until they both lay back on the chaise lounge. Her head rested on his chest.
“How was that for gentle and light?” he said.
“You’re a madman,” she replied.
He chuckled. “But you enjoyed it.”
“I did.” She couldn't deny it. She'd never felt something so wonderful. She felt like she needed to sit and reevaluate her life choices. This was not something to be disregarded as academic.
She gazed at him. His hair was a wreck. His cravat askew.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
He smirked as he ran a hand through his hair. “You happened to me.”
“What?”
“You didn't notice? You were pulling on my hair, tugging on my neck cloth as I was pleasuring you.”
She didn't remember that at all.
“It's all right. It's all part of the experience for me and you.”
“That was…” She couldn't think of a word to describe it.
“The proper term is orgasm. I don't think you'd be impressed with all the flowery euphemisms.”
“I'm sure there are many,” she said. “There should be whole poems written to it.”
He laughed. “There are indeed and all of them don't do it complete justice, but we pitiful humans try. How can we not? It is a thing of beauty.”
“I’m going to have to adjust my experiment,” she said. “Are there any books you can recommend that discuss orgasms more in-depth?”
He sighed and covered his eyes with his hands. “You can't be serious.”
“I am most serious about this. I need to understand what happened to me.”
“I can explain it to you,” he said.
“I don't need you to explain it to me. I want to hear it from an expert.”
“I consider myself an expert,” he said.
She scoffed. “Of course you would.”
>
“You’ve had one orgasm. I've had many.”
“I don't want just your perspective.”
“Don't go asking the other men,” he said.
“Then will you?” she asked. “And take notes and report back to me.”
He rumbled with laughter under her ear. “You can't be serious.”
“I don't know how to appropriately convey just how serious I am, Patrick.”
“Very well, I'll see if there are some books that you can read, but I'm not going to query the other gentleman about their orgasms. Please spare me the indignity.”
“Fine,” she muttered.
He eased her off his chest and stood, stretching his legs, adjusting the bulge is in his breeches.
“What about you?” she asked.
“I beg your pardon?” He turned, rubbing the back of his neck.
She pointed at the bulge in his breeches. “Did you experience an orgasm?”
“No.”
“Don't you want to?”
“Always.”
“Then…is there not an equal kiss that I can give you?” She had the delight of watching red color climb his neck to his cheeks, his skin turning blotchy as was typical of fair-skinned people. He must have Irish or Scot in his lineage. She glanced at the bulk again, and it seemed to grow larger.
He turned away, leaning on the balustrade and dropping his head.
“I can't.”
“Do you mean you can't, you are physically incapable?”
He scoffed. “No, I mean I won’t.
“Is there a kiss that I can give you? Don't lie to me,” she said.
He twisted to face her, his expression tortured as if she was asking him to murder someone on her behalf.
“Yes,” he said.
“Explain it to me.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Josie, it is not appropriate for a young woman. It is something only…women of the night do.”
“I believe you once advised me to pursue the profession. Why not show me?”
He huffed in aggravation. “I can't. I don't know how to explain it to you.”
“It can’t be that difficult. All your nerve endings are on the outside of your body.”
He shook his head at her. “That is true, but when a woman services a man it is somewhat degrading on her part.”
“Degrading how?”
The Five Second Rule For Kissing: The Northumberland Nine Series Page 11