Page 27 of Portrait of a Lady
“Only if it’s what you truly want,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to feel as if you have to.”
Her response died on her lips as his cock fell free, hard and flushed. It thrust out at her from a nest of coarse black hair, its flared head glistening with the same sort of wetness that now smeared the insides of her thighs. He sucked in a breath when she took hold of it, finding it hot to the touch, the skin soft with hardness like iron beneath it. The contradictory nature of the organ fed her curiosity, making her wonder how he would respond to her ministrations, what his own crisis would look and sound like.
“Is it painful?” she asked, inclining her head and studying the pulsing vein running along its side, thrumming with its own heartbeat.
He issued a snort of laughter. “It will be if I am forced to remain like this for much longer.”
She could see how that might be uncomfortable. He needed relief, and Evelyn was determined that he would have it.
Wrapping her other hand around him, she gave his cock a squeeze, testing him. His head dropped and he let out a tortured sound, as if someone had plunged a dagger into his heart. Evelyn snatched her hands away, horror washing over her as she realized she’d hurt him.
“Oh, I…”
He took hold of her wrist and urged her hand back to his erection. “For the love of God, don’t stop. Please.”
Relief eased her tensed limbs, and she took hold of him once more, realizing now that the sound had been one of pleasure. She stroked him as she’d seen the women do in the drawings she had studied. Tightening her fingers around him, she found a steady rhythm, pulling and caressing with a tentativeness that melted away the longer she stroked his cock. He responded with fervor, groaning and thrusting his hips into the sheath of her hands.
The cords of his neck tensed and stretched as he threw his head back, urging her faster, wrapping one of his hands around hers to help guide her. She learned the amount of pressure he liked, and the rhythm that made guttural sounds emit from deep within his chest. Her gaze fixed onto where his pulse beat hard and fast in his throat, unable to resist for too long before she put her mouth there, kissing and nibbling him like he had done her.
He jerked and stiffened atop her, muttering a string of unintelligible oaths as he reached his crisis, his cock pulsing in her hands and releasing the font of his seed, hot and sticky across her belly.
Hugh glancedup at the woman who had become the subject of his sketchbook once falling into a deep sleep. He had gotten very good at catering to the wants and needs of women while stifling his own urges. With virginal women being a specialty of sorts, he’d grown used to going unfulfilled for as long as it took to prepare them for intercourse. She’d shocked him with her willingness to please him, and now instead of returning home restless and agitated, he sat in a chair near the fire, content to linger until she awakened.
He hadn’t wanted to leave without saying good-bye, and after cleaning her up and tucking her into his arms for a little while she had drifted off. As well, he wanted to ensure he did not leave her feeling confused or ashamed after what they’d done. Reassuring her now would circumvent another incident like the one that had begun the evening. Before he left, he would ensure she understood that things ought to continue happening just the way they had tonight—at the pace she set, and with her steering them in the direction she desired.
With nothing to do but wait, Hugh had recovered his satchel from where he’d dropped it upon entering the room. He’d taken his chair from dinner and positioned himself for ideal lighting—drawing on the glow of the fire as well as a lamp resting on a table nearby. He had begun with a few simple practice sketches of hands, which he executed only a little better than he had earlier this week.
Then, he’d glanced up to take in the sight of Evelyn, finding her to be the perfect subject of the moment. Hair splayed over the pillows, the coverlet pulled up to her chest, head tilted at just the right angle to flaunt her jawline, he couldn’t resist the urge to put her on paper. So, he’d flipped to a fresh, blank sheet and begun; first the bed with its four posters and curtains, then Evelyn and the drape of the bedclothes covering her. He took his time with her limbs, one of which was bent so that a hand lay near her face, the other laid over her middle atop the coverlet.
So intent was he upon his work, he didn’t notice she’d awakened until he heard the rustle of sheets. He winced, not ready to lose that perfect pose before he’d finished, and he was so close.
“Don’t move,” he said without looking up from his sketchbook. “I’m almost done.”
Her voice reached out to him, thickened from sleep. “What are you doing?”
“Sketching you,” he mumbled, glancing up to study the curve of the hand near her face.
He met her gaze and found her watching him with a heavy measure of interest and curiosity. Even so, she remained perfectly still, just as he’d instructed.
“I did not know you were an artist, though that does explain the stains on your fingernails.”
With a frown, he studied the back of one hand, finding smudges of yellow ochre that hadn’t washed off when he’d prepared to come here. “Deuced hard to wash out, but it’s one of my best pigments. And don’t worry, no one ever sees the inside of my sketchbook except my instructors at the Royal Academy, and your face isn’t detailed enough for anyone to recognize you.”
“No one would recognize me, anyway,” she whispered as he went back to his work, biting the inside of his cheek as he worked to get the length of her fingers just right. “No one hardly ever looks at me.”
He paused, charcoal poised above the page, and looked up at her again. For reasons he didn’t understand, the fact that she went about life feeling all but invisible annoyed him. He wanted to sketch her face in full detail, paint it in a way that would show her to her advantage—in the way he saw her. He wanted to hang portraits of her on walls and plaster the outside of buildings with drawings of her and force the world to see what he saw, what they’d been missing by failing to pay her any heed.
“So, you are a student of the Royal Academy,” she said, breaking the tense silence that had fallen between them. “That sounds very exciting. You must be quite talented.”
He smirked. “My instructors might say that the perception of talent is purely subjective. But I like to think I am at least adept at it.”
Something akin to humor lit in her eyes and a small smirk played over her lips. “May I see when you are finished?”
He was usually hesitant to show anyone the contents of his sketchbook. Paintings were different, as no one ever saw them until he felt they were perfect. He was surprised to realize he didn’t mind showing her his sketch in the last.
“Of course…nearly done. You’ve lovely hands by the way. Perfect fingers, long and slender.”
And they weren’t only nice to look at. His cock began stirring again as he thought of the way she’d used those hands on him. Shifting a bit in his chair, he focused on the task at hand. Thinking overlong on what had just happened would drive him back into that bed with her.
