Notorious Pleasures (Maiden Lane #2)(59)

Then he was surging up her, catching her about her waist and setting her on the settee. He threw her clothes on top of her, and before she could wonder what he was about, he lifted her high against his chest.

She clutched at his shoulders as he strode to the library door, and she realized what he meant to do. “You can’t!”

“Watch me,” he replied.

She feared servants, but no one was about as he ran across the short hallway and up the stairs. He strode down an upper hall and shouldered open a door at the far end. She just had time to see a full bath, a few crumpled towels, and a huge bed with atrocious flaming orange drapes, and then she was bouncing on the bed.

Griffin flung her clothes rather cavalierly to the floor, stripped off her slippers, and then stood looking down at her.

She held her breath, wondering what he expected of her. She’d never done this, hadn’t planned it, and was in no way prepared. She started to prop herself on one elbow, but he slowly shook his head.

“Stay there.” He raised his hands over his shoulders, grasping the back of his shirt. “Stay still.”

He drew his shirt off over his head and doffed his breeches.

She’d seen naked males before. Statues, pale and entirely denuded of hair. A few living boys or even young men, their shirts removed for labor.

She’d never seen this man nude, though. He was brown all over. What she’d taken for skin tanned by the sun was instead naturally olive toned. His shoulders were wide and square, and in contrast to those unliving statues, there was hair upon his body. Sprinkles of it, dark and curling, from one brown nipple to the other, a bare patch between chest and belly and then a gradually widening line of dark hair from his navel to the bush about his genitals. The hair there was thick and black, and his penis rose ruddy and dark from it, a strange, foreign, male thing.

She looked and looked and felt herself clench internally at the sight, the wonder, of being free to inspect his nude body. She’d held that part of him in her hands, but she’d never seen it. It rose almost vertical to his belly but stood away from his body. Thick veins twined about its length, leading to a fleshy cap, swollen past his foreskin. It gleamed faintly in the candlelight, reddish purple and ready. It was the most magnificent thing she’d ever seen in her life—and the most frightening.

“Do you like it?” he asked, grasping himself.

She watched, mesmerized, as he pulled the skin down the shaft and then up again, cupping the head in his palm. Her eyes rose to his, and she could only speak the truth. “Yes.”

A corner of his mouth kicked up, though he looked far from amused. “Good. I’ve heard of virgins running screaming from the sight.”

She bit her lip at the word virgin.

“You are, aren’t you?” he said in a voice that in any other man she might think gentle. “A virgin?”

She nodded. A virgin. She was about to lose her virginity. This was wrong. This was a sin. This was—

“Don’t think,” he ordered. He stepped forward to place a knee on the bed, making it dip beneath his weight. “Don’t think, don’t wonder, don’t worry. Only feel.” He lowered himself, his hands on either side of her head, his body suddenly heating hers. “Feel me.”

And she did. He pressed his legs between hers, widening her thighs until there was a place for his hips, and settled himself on her. She could feel the rough hair of his legs sliding along hers, the hard slab of his belly, and above all, the hot iron rod lying across her mound.

She looked up at him as he lowered his head toward hers, murmuring, “Feel me.”

His lips were gentle but not soft. He inserted his tongue into her mouth, and she knew now how to suckle upon it, how to tilt her head so that their mouths fitted together perfectly. His hands were in her hair, pulling pins out, burrowing beneath the tresses to palm her scalp, and she realized suddenly that she could explore as well.

She lifted her hands along his sides, stroking, touching his warm skin. His back was smooth, a little damp now from his bath or perhaps the heat they made between them. She skated up and felt the muscles of his shoulders move beneath her palms. This was so intimate, so quietly special: to touch a man’s naked back, to feel him as he made love to her.

He muttered something and lifted away from her, breaking their kiss. He rocked to the side a bit and reached between them. She felt his fingers sliding through her maidenhair. Then he was pushing his penis against her folds, swirling the head in her wetness, pressing against her apex. She watched his face, seeing the grim set of his mouth, the slight furrow between his brows. Sweat shined on his forehead, and it occurred to her that though he’d no doubt done this innumerable times before, he was taking this time very seriously.

That gave her comfort.

Then he shifted and looked up, and at the same time she felt the tip of his cock at her entrance.

She gripped his shoulders in sudden doubt.

He ducked his head, catching her eyes. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

And he flexed his hips.

She expected pain, but there was only a strange sort of pinch. She panted, waiting for more—pain or pleasure, she wasn’t sure.

He slid a little way out and then farther in.

Her lips parted as she realized that he was not fully sheathed in her.

“Relax,” he whispered against the corner of her mouth.

He withdrew and shoved again, this time only a little more inside. The pinch had lessened, but the stretching, the pressure was still there, not a painful sensation, but not entirely pleasant either. He shifted then and brought her legs up, wrapping them about his waist. Suddenly there seemed to be more room. He slid partly out, his penis rubbing against her, and then shoved forcefully, his hip bones meeting hers.