Page 30 of Counting on a Countess
“I’m not very good at this,” she said, her words tight with frustration.
“You’re doing very well.” He, however, felt like a boy barely out of the schoolroom, ready to spend in his breeches without even being touched.
“I didn’t think I would be this nervous,” she confessed.
“Perfectly logical, given the circumstances.” He offered her a smile, which she tentatively returned. There had to be another way to reach her and break through her fear. “Tamsyn.”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever touched yourself?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “Not like taking hold of your own wrist or scratching your nose. I meantouched yourself.”
Her redhead’s complexion hid nothing as she blushed furiously. But she held his gaze. “No one’s ever asked me that before.”
He reached out, taking her hand between his two palms, and said with humor, “I can tell you that I most assuredly have given myself pleasure. Many, many times.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“Especially when I was fighting,” he admitted. “We’d go weeks without meeting any women, and, as I’m not inclined toward the amorous company of men, I needed to do something or else I’d tear off my uniform and throw myself into a freezing river.”
“That’s understandable.” Her lips curved slightly.
“It’s a natural thing, to touch yourself. Everyone does it.”
She looked dubious. “Everyone?”
“Those who claim they don’t are likely either lying or very unhappy people.”
A laugh escaped her, then she grew more serious. “It’s said to be sinful.”
He shook his head. “The only thing that’s sinful about it is when we deny ourselves. I like to think that our Creator wanted us to feel good, or else why would he give us such delightful toys to play with?”
“A persuasive argument,” she said wryly. After a moment, she said, “I do. In the bath, sometimes. Or when I’m in bed.”
And there went his cock again, rising up with interest. He tried not to picture the pretty Tamsyn slipping her hand between her thighs and fingering her sweet pussy until she came with a soft cry. The image alone would keep him hard for days.
He cleared his dry throat. “You know that exquisite feeling you get when everything breaks apart? That rising pleasure that builds and builds until it explodes?”
A pause. And then, “Yes.”
“I can make you feel that,” he said earnestly, “over and over again. It might even be better than when you’re alone.”
She lifted a brow. “Is that because you’ve done...ita lot?”
How to approach this? “I’m not a stranger to what happens in bed,” he allowed. “Think of my experience as leading up to this moment, ensuring you’ll feel good.”
She was silent for a long while. He made sure to wait, giving her the time she needed. Then she lifted her chin. “I’d like to try again.” She closed her eyes and held her head in such a way that indicated,You may kiss me now.
Go slow, he reminded himself.Take your bloody time.
He stroked his hand up the column of her neck, feeling the hard beat of her pulse, and let his palm rest at the juncture between her throat and her jaw. She was so delicate here, but he reminded himself that, knowing what he did of her, she possessed considerable strength.
He leaned closer, until their lips met. He kissed her lightly, little sips of kisses, until she returned them, and then he went further. His lips made silent promises.This will be so good for us, I swear it.
He’d never made such promises before or felt this surge of protectiveness holding him to his vow.
She seemed to understand the unspoken pledge, and when his tongue slipped into her mouth, she sucked on it lightly. Most likely, she didn’t know what she mimicked, but it was enough to send his already-hot blood to a boil. He cupped her breast and thumbed the nipple to a firm point.
She moaned. Yet the sound seemed to startle her. Frowning, she edged away from his touch.
