How to Marry a Marble Marquis(33)

Eleanor stiffened. She did not want to kiss him. She would not tempt herself in such a way, would not allow herself to fall under his spell once more. “All right, I missed that step. Dinner, dancing, we slipped out, and now we’ve kissed. What should I expect next?”

He abruptly spun on his heel, moving to sit beside her. “Depending on the audacious of your suitor, I believe this is the part where you become dessert, Miss Eastwick.”

He lifted her gloved hand from the bench, stroking her satin-encased fingers, raising her knuckles to his lips. Eleanor closed her eyes. If she did not see, she would not have to think about the other times they had kissed. Over her knuckles, the top of her hand, turning her arm slowly so that he could press a hot kiss to the inside of her wrist. And then up her arm, up up to the edge of her glove, his fangs nipping at the bare skin above her elbow.

“You smell absolutely intoxicating, Miss Eastwick. Has anyone ever told you that before?” His mouth continued up her bare arm until it reached the sleeve of her dress and then over her collarbone, his tongue a hot glide against her decollete, his nose pressing into the space between her breasts and inhaling deeply. “Now, you must remember your lessons, my dear. These are not mere men. Their appetites for pleasure are far greater than what you would be used to.” She held her breath as he stripped off her gloves slowly. “You will need to be an active participant in these little games.”

He placed her hand on the bulge at the front of his breeches, and she was right — the buckskin was incredibly soft. As he continued to kiss over the tops of her breasts, Eleanor allowed her fingers to move over the clothed shape of him. His cock was stiff, curving upward on the right side of his trouser leg. His fat bollocks, on the other hand, were being bisected by the seam, and she massaged each side of the abused sac. She was able to trace the curve of his shaft and could feel the flare of his cock head, even through his trousers.

When he pushed her hand away for a brief moment, it was only to unfasten his buttons. It wasn’t the act he’d had in mind at the start of the night, but this would do, Eleanor decided. And no further tonight. In the cool night air, his cock was wilder than she remembered. Black as pitch, like the rest of him, shot through in white veins, thick and straining as she closed her palm around his head.

As her thumb stroked the slit in his tip, pulling back his sheath to reveal the shiny-smooth head, it jerked in her hand, a mind of its own, stronger than she’d expected. It was like petting a wild animal, she thought. “Show me how to pleasure you this way, my Lord.”

Silas Stride took her hand in his own, covering it, guiding it. An unexpected detour to his lips, where he kissed her knuckles once more, and she gritted her teeth. She had no more patience for his gentle seduction. This would actually be time well spent, she considered, forcing their joined hands back to his cock. A useful vocation, but no matter what sort of monstrous lord she landed, he would undoubtedly enjoy her teasing and play with him in such a way.

“A firm grip and a long stroke, that’s what you want to remember, little moth. Your touch will be most pleasurable here” — he pulled his sheath back completely, freeing his cockhead and the thick ridges beneath it before directing her fingers to stroke against them — “at the base of the head. That’s almost universally true. But as you stroke, the most comprehensive pedagogy would instruct the hand to involve the entire shaft. I enjoy a bit of pressure into the root . . .”

He groaned as her hands did exactly that, and Eleanor swallowed hard, pressing her thighs together in an effort to ignore the tingle between them.

“. . . While still others prefer the pressure on the midsection. A firm grip and a long stroke is the most comprehensive form you can master.” He directed her to grip his shaft, squeezing her fingers until her hold on him was firm. “Just like that. Now – stroke.”

She focused on the way he felt, hot and alive beneath her palm. A core of steel ran through his shaft, and she felt it every time she squeezed. His eyes were closed, and his head tipped back, and if it weren’t for the occasional grunts of pleasure, she might have thought he’d nodded off. This rakehell was seen leaving a pleasure house . . . Eleanor pursed her lips, remembering why she was there.

“What will I need to do differently for, say, an Orcish Lord, Lord Stride?”

His eyes had been closed, but at that, they popped open, brows drawn together in a furrow. A thrill moved through her. Good. Remind him that this is for some other lord’s benefit.

“The exact same thing, my dear. The only time you might be venturing into situations of completely different anatomy is with your reptilian and aquatic nobility and occasionally the insectoid. Otherwise, we all have more or less the same equipment. There may be different accoutrements — some have ridges, some have frills, some have differently shaped heads, but the general shape is the same, and so, my dear, the motion is the same.”

She was getting the hang of the motion, she thought. The loose sheath of skin that covered his head aided in stroking him this way, and she found that those thick ridges were just as pleasurable for him as they were within her. “And your knot, my Lord?”

He adjusted himself then, shucking the trousers a bit further down his hips until he was able to completely free both cock and balls. That fat knot at the base of his cock intrigued her still. She knew his kind were not the only ones to possess such an accessory and knew that werewolves and some shifters possessed something similar. His was the very first she had ever seen, certainly the very first she had ever touched, but her time at the stage door had not left her completely innocent.