Page 25 of Lady Beast's Bridegroom
It did not help to give his mind another direction when he swapped hands, for her other breast responded as sweetly as the first, the nipple tightening and hardening under his ministrations. When she began to touch him in her turn, sliding her hands under his robe to explore his chest, he almost lost his control again.
He was desperate for more. He began to back her towards the bed without breaking the kiss until they reached that destination, and she turned her head as he began to lift her.
The single candle had performed the office she desired. As she lay back against the sheets, the stark white mask hid the worst damage on her face, and the dim light disguised the rest, so the visible part of her face appeared unblemished. Beautiful, too: her eye heavy lidded with desire, her lips swollen with his kisses.
He knelt beside her and bent for another kiss, then traced a row of kisses down the line of her jaw, stopping to nibble her earlobe and swipe up behind it with his tongue.
His progress down her neck was halted by the lace that trimmed the top of her night rail. He skipped over it and continued to kiss his way down towards her breasts, hoping enough sensation transmitted through the light cotton to give her pleasure.
Certainly, his attentions to her breasts had pleased her, for as his mouth reached a nipple, she lifted that side—an unspoken plea.
*
Peter’s ministrations werecertainly not making Arial more comfortable. Far from it, and yet the increasing discomfort was somehow wonderful, hinting at an even more marvelous destination. Her body had responded when he spoke about what he wanted to do with her breasts. Her body clearly knew something she didn’t. She could never have imagined that her nipples were somehow directly connected to the place Peter calledthe center of her pleasure.
He spoke of kissing his way to it. As he began to do so, she regretted not removing the nightgown. What he was doing felt wonderful. What would it feel like against bare skin?
His hands quested ahead of his mouth. His thumb brushed over the place to which all these new sensations seemed to be directed. The bolt of pleasure was like nothing she had ever experienced. She pressed up, anxious to experience it again.
He responded by repeating the action, and then his mouth replaced his thumb, and Arial arched so far into the feeling that her buttocks came right off the bed.
When he lifted his mouth, she whimpered. It was only then that she realized his hand was on her knee.
“May I lift your nightgown out of the way? I want to touch your garden of delights.”
“Are you sure?” Arial asked.
He sat back on his heels. She could not be sure, in the dim light, but she thought that was consternation on his face. “Do you not like what I have been doing?”
“Very much! But I thought—I want you to like doing this with me, too, if that is possible.”
He gave a laugh that was close to a groan, and she could feel herself flush. He thought she was ridiculous.
But no. He untied the tie of his robe and shrugged it back off his shoulders. “I like it, Arial. I like it very much. Look.” He gestured to his male organ, huge and upright. “You have done this. Making love to you has made me hard enough to hammer nails.”
Fascinated, she reached for it, then snatched her hand away when he moaned at her touch. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.”
“Touch it, please,” he begged. “It is the kindest hurt in the world, and only you can make it better.”
She did as he asked, wondering at the soft, warm skin over the hard interior.
He allowed her gentle explorations for a minute, and then took her hand and guided it to grasp the thing—as well as she could. Though her fingers were long, they did not quite touch her thumb. He showed her how to move her hand up and down, which made his whole body shudder as he groaned again.
“As firm as you like. You will not hurt it. Ah, that is wonderful. May I lift your hem, and return the favor?”
Absorbed in the feel of him, and in the wonder of his reactions, she did not answer until he said her name. “Arial?”
“Yes,” she said. She had time for a fleeting concern about how high he might raise the night rail, and then his fingers were brushing her inner thighs, so that she squirmed to bring them closer to where she suddenly yearned to feel them.
He must have known. Suddenly, his thumb was back on that tiny nub of sensation, and one finger slipped into another place she had barely been aware of. An entry to her body that she knew from washing and from her monthly courses, but had never realized could feel so plump, so warm, so slick, so utterly entrancing.
“You are wet for me,” Peter said. This must be a good thing, for he sounded delighted.
The second finger joined the first, sliding in and out of her, each thrust a cascade of pleasure. “This is where I shall put my cock,” Peter said.
Arial’s hands stilled.
One part of her mind, ever curious, noted the word. She had heard it before, overhearing the chatter of the maids, but had not realized it referred to a man’s male part. Logical. It reared up, proud as a cock’s neck, and very like in both shape and feel to such a neck when separated from the beast and ready for the cook. Firm but yielding flesh over the solid base, although Peter’s was both thicker and longer than such a neck.
