Lady Scandal (9 page)

“I cannot help it,” she admitted with breathless abandon, motioning toward his randy rooster. “You appear so very…
decisive
where Letheridge was…was nothing but a wan imitation.” She lowered her voice as though confiding the veriest of secrets. “He really possessed a wimpy winkle, if you must know.”

A growl scraped up his throat. He didn’t. He didn’t need to know.

“Please?” So earnest, so innocently excited in her entreaty. As he stood there, wavering, her eyes grew big and round. “I have it! I’ll trade you my petticoats for a glimpse of your masculine protrusion,” she finished on an embarrassed, brazen whisper.

But Zeus could no longer appreciate her adorably inviting and horribly inappropriate offer. He was too busy appreciating the delicate length of leg visible beneath her shift as she hastily untied and shucked the layers of petticoats bound round her waist.

Allowing the last one to fall free on either side of her now discernible hips, she beamed up at him, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked. “There! I’ve done it. ’Tis your turn now. Show me your manly projection. Your—”

Afraid of what she might call it next, Zeus interrupted. “Good God, will you stop? My male part. My manly projection. My masculine
protrusion
? So you want to see my cock? If you want to see it, you damn well better be able to say—”

“Aye!” she stared at him defiantly, determinedly, as if his crude language didn’t put her off in the least. “Your cock. Your pr-prick! Your phallus. Your sword, bayonet, yard, bodkin, dagger, dirk. Your
penis
,” she enunciated clearly, her fingers knotting over themselves in her bid to appear unaffected, “and if you want me to say more, then I’m afraid I shall disappoint because I’m completely out of euphemisms or naming knowledge in that particular arena. But I do so still desire to
see
it.”

“Fine!” His hands went to the fall of his buckskins. “Fine! Good Lord, woman—” Fast, furious, his fingers undid the buttons on either side. “Fine, I say! Do not ever let it be thought I am not an accommodating applicant! By God, you’d try the patience of a saint.” Bracing his legs, he reached past his drawers to grasp his turgid rod. Keeping hand and dirk concealed, giving himself a sharp squeeze—and his brain one more chance to reconsider—he hesitated. He stood there and he stalled, nostrils flared, mind striving for the right course, lungs heaving as if he were a stallion scenting a mare. His mare. And perhaps he was.

“A saint,” he pondered aloud, contemplating,
Do I leave now, abandon all hope of gaining Amherst and the lovely lady who possesses it but walk away with a modicum of pride intact? Or do I remain and bare all…in every sense imaginable? The truth, my body, my longing…
The urges storming his staff anything but saintly, Zeus concluded, “And yet, I have never been accused of being one of their exalted number.”

She watched him, eyes flared, the hard point of her nipples thrusting upward with each of her ragged inhalations, the tiny beads visible through the thin lawn, that deuced corset cinched round her middle only enhancing the gentle swells.

Every speck of her attention centered on his wrist where his hand had disappeared beneath his waistband. His straining erection grew impossibly thicker, stiffened to the point of pain when the tip of her tongue darted out as she licked her lips, giving him but a glimpse of one part of her he intended to explore thoroughly—the tempting cavern of her mouth.

Her squeak of excitement was nearly his undoing. At the sound, his damn shaft jumped within the confining circle of his fingers and nearly poked a hole in his buckskins. But it was her hoarse cry of, “Please. Please do not make me wait any longer. I so crave the sight of you,” that convinced him to stop debating the merits of morality versus the sins of sexuality and release the death grip on his dagger after one final near strangulation at the root. Using both hands, he shoved down his drawers and buckskins.

“
There!
”

Throwing back his shoulders and anchoring fists at his waist, he balanced in place, proudly, awkwardly, awaiting her reaction.

Her prim nod of approval, her scream of outrage or possibly a graceful swoon—none of those would have surprised him at this point. Of course she wouldn’t respond as one might predict, not his Lady Scandal.

As he weaved on unsteady feet, his engorged dirk jutting toward her position on the settee like a dowsing rod divining heaven, what did she do but sweep both palms to her flushed cheeks, open her eyes as wide as they’d go, and breathlessly exclaim, “Oh my. Oh-oh-my. It’s— You’re—much more
solid
than I expected.”

Hands hiding the bulk of her awed expression, she cocked her head as if that slight tilt would enable her to view him better. His damn hips preened under the unexpected admiration, twisting to the side so she could view him in partial profile.

“Longer too,” she murmured appraisingly, regaining her voice in light of his willingness—stupidness?—to allow her to look her fill. “Undeniably longer when not constrained. Mercy. Definitely bigger. Gracious me.” She finally tore her eyes from his bobbing bauble and blinked up at him. “I must admit, your virile attribute is decidedly more…intriguing than I… Just…
Oh!
” And there she went, flailing her hands in front of her face as though to prevent that swoon he’d been expecting all along.

Virile attribute? At least she’d progressed from the mouthful of Ms and Ps she’d massacred and pelted his anatomy with moments before.

Buckskins bunched just above his knees, a draft threatening to wilt his erection, he braved her scrutiny. Draft? Nay, more likely
daft
, the foolishness of this entire encounter superseding any errant air currents whistling through the drafty abode.

He was daft to be standing here when she was so far away, that was a certainty. Ready to remedy that and quickly, Zeus took one bungling step toward her.

“Nay! Not yet.” She scooted back, trying to merge into the settee, exhibiting another unmistakable hint of shyness. One of very few, his beleaguered brain had to concede.

She pointed to the floor where he stood. “Please stay there, where you are.” Her fingertips flew to cover her mouth then she brought them down and tangled them together. “I desire to look from…from afar.”

“Bloody amazing.” How she could sit there, cheeks blazing, eyes glued to his dirk, hands now working frantically at the loose fabric of her shift as though they wanted to be on
him
and, conversely, she was doing everything humanly possible to occupy them elsewhere? Anxiety, boldness and bashfulness, all wrapped up in the most delightful package to ever cross his path.

Damn daftness aside, how could he be so bloody hot, boiling on the inside, standing there nearly naked in her drafty abode? It had to be her enticing company, for it certainly wasn’t their surroundings. So she wanted to look from afar? Didn’t yet want to touch? Maybe he could hurry her along…

“Why don’t you stroke me—with your mouth?”

“Stroke you with…my…mouth?” she repeated in a whisper as if she was working through what he meant. He knew the second realization dawned. “Really? Touch it—with my lips? My tongue?”

Though her forehead creased in dismay at the idea, Zeus caught the swift licking of her lower lip, that pink tongue slipping out to slick over it before venturing toward the tiny vee centered on the top. Her lips glistened after its journey; his dagger grew heavier still. Her mind might be rebelling at the thought of trying something so very wanton, so womanly, but the rest of her was obviously intrigued, her ladylike sensibilities unable to stifle the carnal awareness arcing between them.

“Aye. One of the many varied sexual pleasures we can share in the marriage bed or out of it—I’m not particular
where
I taste your charms—has to do with licking each other.”

“Licking each other…” Uttered as though the idea was completely foreign. “Where exactly? Just…there?”

“Certainly here.” His fingers found their way back to his staff. He supported its weight, palm up, as though humbly giving her an offering.

The heat of his shaft seared through the silk stocking wrapped about his hand. Zeus steeled himself not to groan at the sight. His hardened, elongated flesh displayed upon pale pink, served up for her approval—or disapproval—like a trophy presented before a queen.

Watching him with rapt attention, she gave an involuntary whimper when he circled his fingers and pumped himself.

“You could lick me all along here,” Zeus pointed out, easing his tightened fist along his erection with excruciating slowness, the whispered hiss of silk against his skin echoed by his mouth.

Like a lightning strike, the unexpected decadence of her sultry stocking caressing his flesh ripped through him. Flashed white-hot through his being and ballocks. When he reached the tip, he grazed his thumb across the slit, barely avoiding a whimper of his own. “Here too. But there are other places I might enjoy being licked or might enjoy licking you.”

“Such as?”

“The side of your neck.”

As though feeling his tongue upon her person, she brought one restless hand up to her neck and caressed several fingers down the side. “Mmmm.”

“Behind your ear. The inside of your dainty wrist. Your breasts…your nipples.”

With each place he mentioned, her own fingers trailed behind, caressing the spots in lieu of his tongue, but just before alighting upon one of her breasts, they fluttered in the air. Again she brought them to her sides and bundled them in her shift. Her gaze skittered away from his. “All right, but not yet. I’m not ready to lick you. Not right now.”

“Very well. I can be patient. Enjoy the anticipation.” If it didn’t do him in.

That brought her eyes back to his, one sunset brow arched in surprise. “You can? I thought
impatience
was one of your strengths, not the other way around.”

“When it comes to tasting and savoring your body? Or offering mine up for your dining pleasure? Consider me Job, my lady.”

A shy smile toyed with her lips before she chastised, “For shame, Mr. Tanner, bringing a scion of the Good Book into this wicked interlude.”

“’Tis not wicked if we wed. And did I not already tell you—I’m no saint.” To emphasize his claim, his fist pumped faster along his pained shaft, drawing her attention back to what she’d asked to see.

She stared intently at his actions a moment then bounced her focus up to his chest. “Nay, one would never be charged with accusing you of behaving saintly.”

“Then we’re agreed?”

She gave a light laugh, once again meeting his gaze. “On what? That you’re an impatient wretch?”

“That I may step forth and begin my licking exploration of you, but that yours of me may be postponed.”
Pray God, let us be agreed.

The smile faltered then fell. “We certainly are not agreed upon that, nothing of the sort!”

“Pity. I’d hoped we’d reached such an accord, but alas,” he gave a hearty sigh, “as we have not, I refuse to stand here, such as I am, any longer.”

The moment he released his beleaguered bauble and reached for his buckskins, she exclaimed, “No, wait!”

“Aye?” Without making any effort to rise or continue the motion of modesty, he held his position, knowing the extended length of his deuced “male part” continued to fascinate her, the constant glimpses she attempted to sneak at his primed penis despite her own modest restraint obvious indeed. “If exchanging intimate kisses is not on your immediate agenda, then there exists no need for me to remain in such a state of…
déshabillé
.”

Intentionally, he tossed the feminine word at her. Let her think standing there made him uncomfortable. Let guilt begin to creep over her at the way she treated him. No need to grant her the knowledge of how very much posing brazenly before her—his prim little lady—nearly nude and at her mercy, had excited and aroused. Had banished his initial discomfort to the dungeons. Definitely no need for her to see how close to eruption her uninhibited appreciation of his anatomy made him.

“There does!” Juliet exclaimed, seeking the words to convince him. “There exists every need to remain as you are.”

She couldn’t bear for him to mask the masculine attributes she was only now growing bold enough to stare at without flushing. “There exists every reason, I assure you!”

“Is that the way of it, eh?” The beautiful scoundrel remained hunched, poised to return his clothing to their rightful, respectful place. Close to laughing at her if she wasn’t mistaken. “Then why, pray, am I not hearing a litany of convincing ones? Your mouth remains mighty mute on the subject at hand, my lady.”

Mayhap so, but Juliet definitely noticed the change in timber, the slight wavering of his voice, as he’d just murmured
at hand
. She’d caught the subtle tightening of his now empty fists and the way the thick column of his majestic male part gave a tiny jump toward her, as though defying his efforts to tuck it away.

Aye, he might bait and banter, might hint at wanting to end his current salacious Situation, but Juliet suspected he found their illicit exchange as invigorating as she did. Nevertheless, because she knew by now he was a man who appreciated a good and hearty debate, she granted him her rationale. Anything to prolong the splendidly wicked view. “Reason one, I have yet to look my fill. Stand up straight again, if you would,” she commanded as imperiously as she’d been taught, “so I may see it—you—more clearly. Aye, like that. Reason two, the concept of…of…intimate lickage might be one with which I was previously unaware so my reticence is understandable, nay expected. I am a lady, you know.” Oh, but surely she was not acting as one.

Juliet was swiftly discovering the joys to be had in forsaking the restrictive upbringing she’d been smothered with since birth. Bah, other than talent with a needle and foreign languages, what had her unsolicited birthright into high society ever gained her? Only an even more restrictive spouse and lonely existence, accompanied by a mountain of debt when he’d choked and croaked.

That and several unwanted, up-close visuals of Leth’s pasty groin and floppy appendage before he’d moved on and taken up residence in his new underground abode.