Page 43 of Indecently Employed
Christ, she was wet. His fingers slid along her with little resistance, and she bucked against him, crying out.
“No,” he said, speaking as low as possible, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. “Consider this a mere introductory encounter.” He placed two gentle kisses on her throat and slid his fingers in further. Her hands dug into his jacket sleeves, twisting the fabric, and the length of Ajax’s erection ground into the edge of the chair cushion, a poor substitute for her soft warmth. When his thumb grazed her clit, she nearly threw herself against him. Hell, how he wanted to drag it out, but he hadn’t the heart. The girl was untried, almost completely undone, and slicker than he’d expected. “You filthy little thing,” he growled against her mouth, wanting to capture her every groan and gasp as his thumb drew circles on her down below. “There’ll be plenty of time for a proper fucking. But now you need to come, for you’ve your afternoon lessons.”
“Oh,” she gasped. Either his crassness didn’t register with her or she didn’t care. He found it incredibly alluring.
With a gentle hand at the back of her neck, he pulled her in, kissing her as she writhed under him, clearly desperate for a release. He held steady against her, his fingers holding to their own rhythm, until finally she arched her back and fell against him, moaning his name.
Her face, her entire décolletage had gone pink as a sunset. The wave of arousal that hit him almost convinced him to grab her by the hips, turn her around over the arm of the chair, and fuck her senseless right then and there. But he held her against his chest through her shuddering breaths, continuing to coax her with his other hand until she yelped again, quivering uncontrollably against him. He allowed himself the pleasure of bringing her to climax a third time before withdrawing his hand, luxuriating in her little gasps, in the way her fingers dug into his shoulders.
They remained embraced like that, waiting for their breathing to steady, for several minutes. Ajax on his knees before the armchair, cradling Susanna against him, her bare legs flankinghis, her head on his shoulder. A warm, liquid sort of happiness oozed over him and out through his limbs, even though he’d not allowed himself any physical release. He stroked her hair, kissed the top of her head. She smelled heavenly, so clean and feminine. Warm, if warmth were a scent. He wanted to hold on to it and never let go.
After a period that could have been weeks as easily as seconds or minutes, she pulled back, disentangled her arms and legs, and pushed her skirts down as Ajax struggled to his feet.
He reached for her stockings and made to assist her, but she shook her head and opened her hand for them. “No, no; that’s quite kind, but I can manage.”
He reluctantly handed them over. Still, he watched as she pulled the heretofore mundane hosiery back up her legs, feeling somewhat bereft. He pushed the feeling away and fetched her boots, ignoring her when she held her hand out for them. Instead he knelt down and replaced them himself, frowning at how worn the soles were, how dull the leather. Idly he wondered whether she used Sedley’s Satin Black Boot Polish, then was promptly appalled at such a banal and silly thought. But his family was banal and silly, just like the source of their ridiculous wealth.
He ran a hand up her skirts until it reached her hand, and he clasped it. “Susanna,” he breathed, bringing her hand to his mouth and pressing her palm to his lips. “Come to me tonight. Come to my solar.”
She looked away shyly before nodding. “Yes. I’d like that.” Her voice, so tentative and soft, sent another streak of desire through him.
“So would I.” He moved her hand to his cheek and held it there, his eyes shut. Every cell in his body was at peace, with nary a self-loathing thought to torment him. And for thefirst time in a long, long while, Ajax Sedley allowed himself to luxuriate in the silence.
She’d had just enough time to hurry back to her room and set herself to rights. Thankfully, no one had spotted her or her quickened pace, not to mention her loose curls swaying about her shoulders. Sitting before the mirror at the vanity table, she tried to ignore the charming color in her cheeks and the lazy, sanguine look on her face. Her eyes darted to the pretty little porcelain clock on the table, then back to the mirror as her hands made quick work of one plait before coiling it back around her head and affixing it with several pins.
Susanna lowered her hands, dropping a pin to the table with a plink, and took a deep, steadying breath.
She had never known—could not even fathom—how it might be. How true pleasure might be. Even though she’d wondered, and at times attempted it, she’d always retreated in fear. But from what? From this feeling, this light contentedness? It was glorious. What had held her back?
She looked back to her reflection, her hair half down, half up. Susanna the woman, and Miss Abbotts the governess, the parson’s daughter. The eventual spinster, all alone in the world.
And she knew that, even though her behavior was appalling and reckless, she would not stop. In less than three years’ time she would turn thirty, and she refused to continue that solitary, unfulfilling march toward death without knowing something of life and pleasure. Nothing would be the same anymore.
Susanna quickly finished the second plait and pinned it up just as tightly as the first, if not more so. She could hear his voice in her mind.You filthy little thing.Desire reignited within her, startling in its force. She drew in a sharp breath, but it did not stop her memory from replaying his obscene language ashe encouraged her along, lest she be late for her lessons with Charlotte. The heat of embarrassment overtook her, and she dropped her face into her hands.
How could she be expected to face Charlotte now? After she had gone so low as to allow the girl’s father to touch her—no, to bring her to ecstasy?
She had no fear of being found out by servants or strangers, but she mentally steeled herself nevertheless as she slowly made her way across the house to the schoolroom. Charlotte had the perceptive eye of someone fifty years her senior. Susanna found the thought of her pupil ascertaining what had just transpired to be infinitely more humiliating than anything she’d ever endured. She took a deep breath, then smoothed down her bodice before opening the door.
“Good afternoon, Miss Sedley.” Susanna smiled and briskly crossed the room to adjust the curtains against the changing light. “How was your ride?”Oh dear. Her voice sounded tinny, too chirpy to belong to her.
Charlotte stared at her; nothing out of the ordinary, but her giant, nearly black eyes somehow seemed more piercing than usual. Susanna nearly quelled, but managed to hold herself steady.
“Fine,” Charlotte finally sighed. “When might we ride out to find the drowned village? Theo says I’ve improved enough.”
Susanna made a show of rearranging her texts, one on top of another, until she selected the French book and set it aside. Relief came off her in waves, and she gathered herself a bit before speaking once more, this time in a more composed manner. “Oh? While that may be, it is up to your father’s—” She paused, trying to will away the image of him on his knees before her. “It is Mr. Sedley’s decision.”
Charlotte opened her own French book, but looked instead to the window, staring at the Lamplugh’s crest in the stained glass.
“Let’s begin again with irregular verbs,s’il vous plaît.” French suddenly seemed the most hateful thing in the world, and her job teaching it intolerable. She wanted to be with him. She wanted it to be evening. There was so much more of this… feeling to be had, and Susanna was desperate for more. Her cheeks heated, and she tugged gently at her collar. Even waiting alone would be preferable to this toil.
Susanna turned to the correct page, then looked up from the book. Her pupil was now fiddling with the watch fob she wore around her neck, her mind clearly somewhere else altogether. “Miss Sedley?”
“The house is restless. It always has been.”
Susanna felt a cold chill settle upon the back of her neck, dashing the thoughts of Ajax’s mouth upon hers. “I beg your pardon?”
Charlotte fell back into her chair and looked toward the ceiling in a manner that was suspiciously close to an insolent rolling of the eyes. “Nothing. Nothing.” She sighed, then began leafing through the pages of her book. After a moment, though, she stopped and looked up again, meeting Susanna’s gaze with a wry smile.
