Mastering the Marquess (5 page)

Ruby had been adamant.

It would only work if he were willing to give his all.

He’d considered and had accepted that she had a valid point. Having asked others to trust, he had to live up to his own standards.

Ruby was correct—he could not ask Grace to trust him if he was lying to her.

And so the mask. This stupid heavy thing that left him unable to breathe—or to see. And God he wanted to see her. He’d never experienced anything like it. He could feel her move, and then withdraw. She was so tentative, but so willing to take him on.

And her voice. Her soft, whispery voice was driving him crazy. Her words wrapped about him, painting a picture that could not possibly be true. He almost wished that he would never see her so that she could stay a perfect mystery in his thoughts. No reality could match this.

And her touch. Small soft hands, soft hands that stopped to examine every inch, to savor, to enjoy. It was almost too much. She’d barely touched him and yet he felt he knew her, knew what she wanted, what she needed. And he was all too ready to show her, to teach her.

God he wanted to teach her.

Even as she taught him. He’d never imagined how much pleasure he could find in his arm.

A quiet cough brought him back to the moment, although how he’d gotten lost in thought when—

“Are you going to show me your back? I thought you’d agreed.” Her breath heated the upper curve of his biceps.

She was so close he’d only have to reach out and …

“Yes, of course. I am sorry.” He turned so that he faced where he imagined the door must be.

“You’re beautiful, like a gift from the gods. I never knew a man could be beautiful. You look like those sculptures I wasn’t supposed to see. Mother never understood the beauty of an unclothed body. Granted, I am not really sure Mother understood beauty at all.”

He could feel her, feel the movement of the air, sense her very presence. His groin tightened further.

“I am going to touch you now,” she whispered.

And then her fingers were on him, only two—her pointer fingers, he imagined. One finger at the top of each shoulder. She ran them outward, tracing the lines of his body, and then downward, defining shoulder blade to spine. And down his spine, delicious trails of sensation.

He felt her lean forward—and then her lips were upon him. Just a gentle kiss, a taste, right below his neck. And then another taste, a little lower, and then another.

He squeezed his thighs tight and thought of Mother England—anything to hold off, to stay distracted, to not …

Her hands were still on him, moving in pattern with her mouth, feeling everything, squeezing, testing, petting. It was a massage and more—the most erotic thing he had ever experienced.

Her mouth paused just above the edge of his trousers, her tongue moving to the edge of the fabric and then retreating. His hands clenched into fists, his nails biting deep into flesh.

He’d never cared much for anal play, never quite understood the attraction. He was more than happy with a woman’s pussy, damp and sweet.

And anal play upon himself … the thought was repulsive.

But now, as Grace’s mouth moved lower, all sorts of forbidden thoughts entered his mind.

She didn’t know anything. She’d believe whatever he said was customary.

Only …

Only if he was going to have her put her mouth someplace, he could think of places he would rather her lips be.

He groaned.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked, drawing back.

“No—or only in the best of ways. It feels so good it’s hard to hold back.”

He felt the question she did not ask.

“I will explain later. For now, know that if you do something I do not like I will tell you, very clearly but without anger,” he continued. “If I do not ask you to stop I do not want you to. And the same will be true later. Anytime you request that I stop or that you say no, I will obey. Instantly.”

“Oh.”

He couldn’t see her. She wasn’t touching him and yet he knew her thoughts, knew she wondered what he might do to her, might expect her to do.

“Touch me,” he said. “I want your hands on me. I feel bereft with them gone.”

Instantly her soft palms found his waist, her fingers kneading his flesh. “Like this?”

“Yes.” He allowed a small sigh of satisfaction to pass his lips. “And your mouth. I love the feeling of your mouth upon me, the feeling of your tasting me.”

“You do?” Her voice was filled with question—and delight.

He groaned as her tongue once again delved along the edge of his trousers. “Very definitely. I could stay like this forever.” Well, actually he wasn’t sure that he’d manage more than another minute, but she didn’t need to know that. “Although, if you’re curious I could show you more. Your tongue seems very eager to find my secrets.”

He heard her swallow, loud and not very ladylike. It charmed and thrilled him.

“I do believe I would like that.” Her hands moved about his waist, reaching for the front fasteners of his trousers, brushing against his erection.

He caught her hands and held them. He felt her stiffen, her fingers instantly stopping their progression. Damn, she was skittish. “Let me do it. I don’t want things to happen too fast.”

Her hands tried to pull away.

“Do you understand what I mean by ‘too fast’?”

“Yes, of course,” she answered, fast and breathless.

“I do not believe you. This will only work if you trust me, are honest with me. Do you know what I mean?”

“No.”

“That is as I thought. Thank you for your honesty. I will do my best to reward it—but I imagine you don’t know what I imply by that either.”

Another soft “No.”

“I will have to show you, but we will save that for later. For now I ask again for your trust in me. I will tell you if I do not like something you are doing or I wish you to stop. If I do not say something, do not make assumptions. Am I understood?”

“Yes.” She leaned forward and placed her face against him, hiding from he knew not what, but choosing him as her place of safety. Something within his chest swelled with satisfaction.

“Now, would you like me to remove my trousers?”

He felt her nod.

With shaking fingers, he released himself, pushing his trousers down. They caught where she pressed against him and then fell to the floor as she pulled away.

“Oh.” She’d said it before, but never with quite that inflection.

He felt her breath against the crease of his ass. Was she really that close? “Do you like?” he asked.

Another breath, hot and arousing. “Very much. You are so different and yet so the same. You have the same parts, but not the same. Legs. Feet. Buttocks.” She placed a hand upon his ass and squeezed. “You are not soft—but you are smooth. I suppose skin is skin.”

Not soft. If she’d been looking at his front she certainly would have known the truth of that statement. And given that she saw only his backside, he’d forgive her comment about “the same parts.”

He felt her pull back, felt the flow of air between them. “Why …?” He let his question trail off.

“I want to see you.” She shuffled farther back along the floor. “You are so tall, your legs so long. And your shape—I thought you were attractive within your clothing, but without it you truly are perfection.”

He laughed, hard and deep. Perfection. God, he hoped not. He’d never wanted to be perfect. He had to admit, however, that he didn’t mind her thinking he was—not that she had much to compare him with. Perhaps there really was something to innocence. For the first time, the thought of a well-bred wife did not fill him with fear.

“Why do you laugh?” she asked. “Did I say something humorous?”

“A man is not used to being described in such a way. Next you will be telling me I am beautiful again.”

“But, you are.” She scurried forward, and he felt her hand run up his inner thigh. “You are all fine lines and hard muscle. What is not beautiful about that?”

How could a man answer that? “Again I will say, a man does not normally hear such things expressed. Men give the compliments. They do not receive them.”

“Then they should.” Her hand was approaching the top of his thigh, and he had to reach down and stop it.

She paused, but did not retreat. She was beginning to learn, to trust.

He said with care, “What I said before about not wanting it over too fast. It still holds true. The top of a man’s thigh, the space between his upper legs is very sensitive. He can only be touched there so much before … before it is too much.”

“Before he comes?”

“Well, yes. You know about coming?”

“Madame Rouge explained. It is when a man releases his seed.”

“Yes, I suppose that is fair, although perhaps there is a bit more to it.”

“I don’t quite understand.”

Should he show her, or would that be too much?

Too much, he thought. That would have to wait. “You will just have to trust for now.”

She did not answer, but she pulled her hands free and ran them back down his legs, examining textures and surfaces. He felt her lean forward, warm breath and curiosity. Her lips hit him just below his ass, first a kiss and then a taste.

He grabbed his prick, squeezing hard at the base, working to hold back his release.

Perhaps he should just show her, let her know what it was all about?

Pressing tighter, he held back. No. It was not time. He was in control.

He would remain in control.

“Can I see your front again?”

Damnation. She truly was going to kill him.

“Are you done with the back? With my ass?” He used the word deliberately, trying to push back against the growing intimacy.

“Your ass. I like that word,” she said, and he could hear delight in her voice.

Bloody hell. Would she never act as expected?

“Yes, I am done with your—with looking at—your ass … at least for now. I would like to see your front, to see your … penis.” She spoke the last word with care.

He pulled in a deep breath, filling his lungs to capacity. “You do realize that once you are done with your examination it will be my turn. You will not get to look again.”

She moved back, her hands leaving him, but still he felt her gaze upon him, caressing him, memorizing him. Once again he understood her actions without being able to see the expression upon her face.

“Will you let me touch you again later—touch your ass? I do believe I will always remember what you look like, but I would rather like to touch you more.”

“I think that can be managed—although only when I want.”

“If that is how it works.”

“It is.” At least for him.

“Then would you turn, please?”

Deep cleansing breath. Relax. Concentrate on not thinking.

He turned.

She swallowed again, quite loudly.

And then there was silence.

Such complete silence that he wondered if she had left the room—only he knew she had not. He could feel her presence even when there was not a sign—or sound—of it.

Finally she spoke. “Does it really fit?”

He allowed an expression of mirth to cross his face, knowing that she would not see it. “Yes, it fits. I have never heard of a single case where it did not.”

“You are very different from a sheep or a pig.”

“I rather hope so.”

“Why don’t I see a man’s … a man’s … penis—it is so hard to say that word—when he is wearing clothing? It seems rather hard to hide. I mean I have seen a bump, but nothing like—like that.” He felt her gesture even if he could not see it.

Humor was good. Humor helped him to hold on, to wait. “The penis—I call it the cock or prick—is normally smaller and softer. It is only when a man sees a woman whom he desires that it grows like this. It is called an erection.” He ran a hand along his shaft, felt himself jump in response.

“But you can’t see me. Why are you—why are you large if you cannot see me?”

“I misspoke. It does not require actual sight. It can be a touch or a scent—and I’ve always loved the smell of roses. Sometimes even just a memory or imagined image. Men are in truth animals—even if not pigs or sheep. We can become aroused—‘erect’ is the word you want—at almost anything. When I was a young man I once got an erection while putting on my stockings. It truly does not take much. And if you have never observed such a thing—an erection—beneath a pair of inexpressibles I can only imagine you have not looked that often.”

“Oh. A scent, you say? Is that why I like to smell you? Why my belly quivers when I press my nose against you and smell that scent that comes from no cologne bottle?”

He stopped stroking, and again squeezed hard at his cock’s base. “Your belly quivers when you smell me?”

“I don’t know another word to use, but yes. And when I touch you it feels as if my legs tighten without my moving. Is this what I am supposed to feel?”

It might be easier to die than to withstand this; he fought the impulse to just toss her on the bed and be done with it. “I do not think there is any ‘supposed to.’ A woman—or a man—feels what they feel; everyone is different. Your response pleases me, however—assuming that it pleases you, that it feels good.”

“I think it does. It is not a familiar sensation, and so hard to judge. It is almost like riding a horse at full gallop, but not. I do not have words for the feelings.”

He had wanted trust and honesty and she was giving it to him—more than he could ever have imagined. Ruby had been very right about the mask. A lack of sight—or of watching himself being seen—opened new doorways. “We can discuss feelings and sensations more deeply later, when you have more experience with them, when you have felt more. Now it is time for …”

“… for me to touch you.” The air about his cock moved, and then her hand was upon him.

He grabbed it quickly and held tight. “I was going to say for us to trade places, for me to teach you about those feelings and more. I do believe I have a specific task I must complete this night.”

“But I want to touch you.” Beneath his hand her fingers moved.

He sucked in air, held it. “I will allow you, but only for a moment. Then it is time to progress. Do you understand?”