Dead After Dark (Companion #6.5)(69)
She stroked his body with her hands, making comforting, soothing sounds while he caught his breath. And then she began again. Off and on, and off again just as he was about to explode. It seemed she knew a man’s body, his body, so thoroughly that she was in complete command of it. She hadn’t learned that in a brothel. Brothels held women who went mechanically through the motions of pleasure without taking any pleasure in it themselves, or really caring about their partner’s pleasure. Not this woman. She was perfectly attuned to him, as though they were connected somehow. Perhaps she was a courtesan, trained in some subtle way . . . Or perhaps their connection was even more elemental.
God, she was starting again.
He really was quite virile, this Drew Carlowe, she thought with satisfaction. Her reassurance to him had turned out to be true. It was good to put her talents to giving pleasure, not training men to be Harriers. The difference between work and pleasure. And she knew for certain she had been giving him pleasure for more than an hour. He was trying very hard. She could feel him focusing inward, finding his center. She had not yet had to help him hold himself with a little compulsion, but she could when it was necessary. He was a determined man. It was time for a longer respite, and that meant she would get another orgasm. She liked orgasms. It was one of the few benefits of slaving away to make Harriers at her father’s command.
She waited for the moment when he was just beginning to slide over his brink and pulled away. She wormed her way up toward his chest, kissing him lightly as she went, inhaling the scent of him. His cock was red and throbbing, lying swollen along his belly. He was covered with a light sheen of sweat, courtesy more of her efforts than the hot night.
He gathered her into his arms. “You are a witch,” he murmured, “a witch who deserves pleasure in return.” She expected him to want to plunge his cock inside her. She’d definitely have to hold him with a little compulsion if he did that.
He surprised her by simply holding her in his embrace, his cock hard and pulsing against her thigh. His hands moved over her body. The remains of calluses said he had once labored. A chink in the armor of the man he had created. She didn’t mind. It occurred to her that he had made himself into what he was out of sheer determination, something she was unable to do. She didn’t know who she was, apart from the maker of Harriers her father wanted her to be.
He raised her chin from where she burrowed into his shoulder and kissed her with such slow tenderness it made tears spring to her eyes. It was . . . generous. In all the sex she had engaged in over the years, no one had ever shown her tenderness. She had been a tutor and a demanding one, no more. He worked her mouth open gently, and probed her thoroughly, all the time his hands moved over her, now rubbing her shoulders, now cupping her buttocks. The throb between her legs began to be almost painful. She had come quickly and very forcefully the first time—almost as soon as he began rubbing her. She had been too long without release. But this time he seemed determined to draw out her experience. She smiled into his mouth. Very well.
She let him control the pace. That was new for her. Always before it was she who controlled, whether the Aspirant was the one receiving stimulation or it was her turn. It might be a matter of trust, this deciding to let him control. He suckled at each breast attentively. She wanted his cock thrusting inside her so badly she almost wanted to scream. But she did not. Why did she trust this man? Perhaps because he had written that letter. Perhaps because he had not seized her deed. He rolled her onto her back. But again he surprised her. He slid down between her legs, and she realized that he was going to reciprocate by using his mouth. The very thought made her squirm in anticipation. Who would have thought an Englishman knew how to do that?
But he did. He opened her carefully and lapped across her moist tissues. How glad she was that she had bathed, earlier. He began to tease her point of pleasure with his tongue. She squirmed against him, and tangled her fingers in his hair. He brought her slowly but relentlessly toward climax. He began to hum some sailors’ tune. The vibrations nearly sent her wild. His hands slid up to her breasts, and fondled her nipples as he began to suck in earnest.
The orgasm, when it struck, was savage. It took her and shook her and made her roll her head convulsively from side to side as she shrieked and strained her hips toward his mouth. It broke over her, wave after wave of it, until her hips jerked away of their own accord and she collapsed into a pool of sensation that subsided only slowly.
He crawled up beside her, wiping his mouth. She opened one eye and saw that he looked very satisfied with himself. She smiled. He should. She wasn’t certain she had ever experienced an orgasm like that in all the many thousand thousands in her life. Was it because he was tender? Was it because she trusted him enough for some strange reason to open herself to the full impact of it? What he had done to her was more than just to give her pleasure. He had showed her an emotional closeness she had never known.
That thought brought tears. It felt like a gigantic knot of tension had been released inside her, one that had been building over centuries. He must have felt her crying against his chest, for he rocked her, soothing. No one had ever done that for her. She wanted to give him something in return. She raised her head and smiled at him. It was time. She would love keeping him at the edge of insanity. The sexual act would be an act of giving, not demanding performance. She sat up and pushed him gently to his back. Then she straddled him. She wanted to feel him filling her. And now that she was sated, she could be attentive to just how long he could stand the strokes inside her. How long could he hold his release tonight? She was going to find out.