Page 8 of Touched By a Traitor
“Here is your pleasure center,” he said. “Massage it to stimulate it. If you haven’t felt it before, the pleasure can be surprising, overwhelming…”
Once she had her finger on her clitoris, he released her hand. He watched her for a moment, before replacing her hand with his own and stroking to demonstrate. Soft moans left her lips while he stroked her bud. He chuckled quietly when she protested upon him removing his finger. She then resumed the ministration, moaning faintly. With his arousal surging, he reached into his breeches and gripped the thick shaft swelling along his thigh.
Charlotte paused her movements to watch his member come into view. Her eyes opened wide and fixed on his length as he stroked it slowly. Pulling her to him, he took her mouth in his once more and pulled in her tongue. They consumed each other’s breaths and moans as Andrew laid her on the divan. Spreading her knees apart, he knelt between her legs and stroked himself while his eyes fixed on her cunny.
“Christ, you’re exquisite,” he said, meeting her shy eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, and she began to lift her hips, the musclesin her inner thighs flexing and releasing. “Good. That’s it. Come for me. I want to see your cunny weep.”
He spread her legs wider apart, his knees touching her ass as she opened wider for him. He bunched up her shift higher to just below her breasts so he could spend on her stomach.
“Andrew…” she moaned. “Is this…?”
A smile curved his lips briefly before he was overwhelmed by his climax cresting. “Not if you can speak, sweetheart.”
Then with a sharp intake of her breath, she lifted her hips off the divan, the muscles in her thighs stiffening. A moan scraped out of her throat, her eyes closed shut and her mouth opened wide as she rode her first orgasm. The passion behind her moans thrust him into his own climax as he lurched forward, the hot and creamy liquid spilling onto her stomach, then dripping down her quim.
With one hand braced against the arm of the divan, Andrew remained still for a long time, a mix of elation and despair mingling in his chest.
Finally, he opened his eyes to gaze upon the woman who had rewritten his world in a single evening. Her eyes remained closed, her breathing soft and steady.
*
As they caughttheir breaths in each other’s arms, Charlotte found herself laughing softly at her own responses, amazed by the pleasure he coaxed from her inexperienced form. “I never knew,” she breathed. “I never imagined it could feel like this.”
“Like what?” he asked, his own breathing shallow.
“Like joy,” she whispered, the sentiment startling her.
As they lay entwined afterward, Charlotte traced patterns on Andrew’s chest, her mind reeling from what had transpired. She understood now why this felt different—why he wasn’t likethe other men who had pursued her with calculating eyes and grasping hands. Here was a man who had raised his sister from childhood, who had built an empire from nothing but determination and calloused hands. A man who offered rather than demanded.
“I don’t understand how you can be so generous,” she said quietly. “Offering to fund my education with no guarantee I’ll return to you.”
“Because it is what you need,” Andrew replied, his arms tightening around her. “Because you matter to me in ways I’m only beginning to understand. Please Charlotte. Stay and let us discover what we can be to each other.”
Charlotte felt her heart fracture. The temptation was overwhelming—to sink into his strength, to let him shelter her and provide for her. But the reality of marriage loomed stark in her mind. As his wife, she would become his property entirely. Her money, her body, her very existence would belong to him. If he tired of her, if he took a mistress, if he simply decided she was no longer worth providing for, she would have no recourse, no escape.
“I wish I could,” she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I wish I were brave enough to trust that your kindness would last a lifetime. But I’ve seen what becomes of women who depend entirely on a man’s goodwill.” She met his eyes. “If I don’t pursue my studies now, I may never have another chance. And if I don’t become the woman I’m meant to be—one who can stand on her own—I’ll have nothing to offer you but my dependence. I cannot put myself in that vulnerable position.”
The words tasted bitter, but they were true. How could she trust a man she’d known for mere hours with her entire future, no matter how gentle his touch or sincere his promises?
Andrew’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he pulled her closer, tightening his arms around her. “Then go,”he said roughly. “Become the brilliant barrister you’re meant to be. But know that what we shared tonight was real, Charlotte. Whatever happens, that was real.”
As dawn broke, Charlotte dressed with shaking hands, her heart breaking with every moment that brought her closer to leaving. She paused at the door, looking back at Andrew still lying languidly upon the settee, and nearly lost her resolve.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For seeing me. For helping me. For giving me a choice.”
“Charlotte,” he called as she reached for the door handle. When she turned, he said simply, “You’re worth fighting for. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.”
She nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat, and slipped away into the morning light—carrying with her not just the means to pursue her dreams, but the knowledge that she was worthy of love, even if she couldn’t claim it yet.
Lady Daisy
30 September 1836—London
Almost six yearsafter that fateful night when Andrew had bargained for Charlotte Grace’s future, he found himself again at the negotiating table—though this time as the Earl of Carlisle, and with his beloved sister’s fate hanging in the balance. His fingers bit into the polished mahogany of his desk, knuckles blanching white as he wrestled with an impulse toward violence that would have scandalized his newfound peers in the peerage. This negotiation, unlike the intoxicating parley with Charlotte, left nothing but ash and bile in his mouth.
“You dare speak such filth in my presence?” His voice emerged as a predator’s growl; wolfish eyes boring into Viscount Byron’s carefully composed face. The nobleman held still, but his quivering throat betrayed his fear.
“I wish I spoke falsely, but the doctor has confirmed your sister’s… compromised state.”
