Page 15 of Madcap with a Marquess
Well, that seemed like a load of donkey dung. Men and their hypocrisy.
“I fail to see the problem,” she continued. “Isn‘t that the whole point of the wedding night? We’ll fumble about. You’ll insert yourself”—he made an odd choking noise—“and flop around on me, and voila. Consummation.”
“F-flop?” He managed to get out. His voice was back to high-pitched twelve-year-old Rupert.
“Or I don’t know. Thrust, I suppose.”
He shook his head wildly, a wheezed breath expelling from him. He cleared his throat. Swallowed. Cleared his throat again. “It is a problem because I am supposed to come to the marriage bed with experience,” he finally managed to get out. “With knowledge to instruct you with. And goodness, there should be noflopping. But I have very little knowledge. I do not want to hurt you, and I do not know…” He turned away, his words trailing off.
An idea struck her. “It’s no matter, Rupert. I can show you what I like, and you can show me what you like. We will figure it out together!” She smiled at him, nodding encouragingly.
This would work out perfectly. Neither had the advantage of more experience. They would learn together. And since Rupert had never done this before, he couldn’t possibly come up with any of his usual righteous reprimands. He couldn’t chastise her for not following the rules when he didn’t know them himself.
His eyes narrowed, his heavy dark brows pinching. “What you like? How do you know what you like if you’ve never done this before?”
She snorted. “It’s not as though I haven’t touched myself, Rupert. Goodness, I’ve been with my own body for twenty years.” If only he knew how well-read she was. She had found the largest stash of pamphlets under her eldest brother’s bed when she was thirteen. The artists had been quite talented.
“You—You’ve…” He waved his hand in the direction of her thighs.
She bit her lip. “Well, yes. Haven’t you? I know I’ve read about men—what was it?—frigging themselves or some such?”
“Ladies don’t do such things,” he said faintly, his cheeksveryrosy now. “It’s not proper.”
She snorted. His lips flattened, and he turned a glare on her.
“Of course it isn’t proper, Rupert,” she said, glancing heavenward. “It’s much too delicious to be proper. All the best things are.” She smiled cheekily at him and winked.
His eyes slammed shut, and his mouth moved, curving around silent words. Franny’s gaze narrowed in on his lips. She had never paid much attention to Rupert’s lips before. She reached out and ran the pad of her forefinger over his bottom lip. Soft.
He jolted, eyes flying open, and their gazes locked. She continued to rub her finger over his lip. His silky, soft lip. His mouth dropped open the smallest amount. He didn’t push her away.
Progress.
She took his hand and pulled until he rolled onto his side, facing her. She slowly brought his hand to her breast. He sucked in a breath but otherwise didn’t move. Tension radiated from him like the drawn string of a bow just before the arrow was to be released.
She let go of his hand and slowly drew her own down her body.
“How about,” she said, her words breathy and soft as she stared into his deep brown eyes. “We begin with me showing you what I like. You watch me. And take over whenever you’re ready.”
She waited. Saw the indecision flicker in his eyes. She couldn’t begin to understand why. But then he dipped his chin in the smallest semblance of a nod.
Progress.
His gaze was glued to hers, darkening by the second. This was much different from alone in her chambers under the bedcovers.Courage, don’t desert me now.
Heart thundering through her, she dipped her hand between her thighs. She paused, nerves skittering through her veins. But her husband’s eyes gleamed like walnut brown leather. Leather that lashed her skin with the searing heat that resided in those brown depths. Searing courage back into her. Her core pulsed agitatedly against her fingers, growing stronger the longer his heated stare bore into her.
She massaged in slow circles, and all hesitation scattered and fled, light streaks of pleasure chasing it away. There was something heady about his heavy-lidded, hungry gaze on her. Being watched. Unable to resist, she pressed harder, faster, and sucked in a sharp breath, her hips involuntarily canting into her hand.
She could get used to his gaze on her.
His stare dropped to her hand, and he squeezed her breast. A faint moan fled her lips.Oh,well, that is quite nice, isn’t it?
She could get used to his hands on her.
She strummed her fingers faster, and his hand continued to flex over her breast. She wasn’t certain he was even aware he was doing it, his attention so focused between her thighs. There was something almost overwhelming about the ferocity of the attention he directed at her. Intoxicating. No one had ever looked at her like that before.
His harsh breaths erupted like gunshots through his parted lips, mixing with the soft moans getting caught in her throat. The muscles in his neck strained so severely she feared he might break. Her blood was on fire, and it pooled between her thighs, the delicious pressure growing. Would he touch her? She needed him to touch her. To know the feel of his hands, not her own.
