Page 18 of In a Rake's Embrace
What is this?
His hand inched closer, the heat of his palm nearing the most private part of her body, sending waves of warmth rippling through her.
“Open your legs wider,” he commanded.
It felt as if a flame had bloomed through her. Agatha’s body grew languorous, moving as though it no longer obeyed her will. When Thomas’s hand finally touched the soft, secret flesh between her thighs, she jolted. It was better than when her curious fingers lingered last night.
“This,” he murmured, his fingers lightly grazing her through the thin fabric of her drawers, “this is your pussy. Some call it your quim. Others say cunt, cunny, honey pot, velvet sheath.” His eyes darkened as he added, “Every man who lays eyes on you will want to bow before you just to sink his cock right here.”
Agatha’s throat felt tight, and words abandoned her. Her body thrummed with sensitivity, every nerve on edge as her heart raced uncontrollably.
“Look down,” he instructed, his voice a low rumble.
She did as he asked, her gaze dropping to the front of his trousers, where she saw the unmistakable thick bulge straining against the fabric.
“That,” he said, his tone heavy with meaning, “is my cock.”
“Oh,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “My ...”
“Yes.” His eyes remained locked on hers. “Don’t act shy. Tell me.”
“My breasts,” she said softly, her voice almost trembling. “They ache.”
He swiped his thumb across her bottom lip, his eyes darkening further, the air between them thick with tension. She was acutely aware of his fingers teasing her sex through her drawers, the pressure faint but maddening. Every stroke sent a sharp ache building deep between her thighs, the sensation almost unbearable in its intensity.
Was this desire?
CHAPTER 7
Agatha almost reached out to touch the thick bulge in his trousers, but thankfully, a bit of good sense reasserted itself just in time.
“A man and a woman can come together in different positions,” Thomas continued, his voice low and steady. “You could be on your back while he mounts you, spreading your legs and taking you.”
“Taking me means putting his cock inside … to mate.”
“Yes.”
Silence fell as she looked at the thick bulge at the front of his trousers, wondering at the possibility of something like that actually entering her body. Anxiety seared her, and she now understood why it must hurt. Agatha thought about the stirring of need inside her body, deducing that beyond the hurt, there is this feeling that people chased. “Go on,” she murmured.
“As I said, a man can climb atop your body to claim you. Or, as you are now, sitting on my lap, I could position you to straddle my thighs like one would a horse. You can take the lead and clasp his cock, tuck it at your pussy and sink down, controlling the depth and force of his entry. Or he can be the one to sheath youon his length. He can do it in a slow glide, or he could he rough and hard. You ride him to fulfillment once he is fully inside you. Or you can start before that.”
Agatha’s cheeks went hot, then her throat and belly. The provocative images swirled inside her thoughts.
“I’ve never ridden a horse,” she blurted out, her voice a little too high-pitched.
Good humor gleamed in the earl’s eyes. “I can teach you to ride a horse ... or let you practice riding me.”
Her throat tightened, and she cleared it quickly before responding.
“Both, please,” she said, as casually as if they were discussing a stroll through Hyde Park.
“You can also go onto your knees and elbows for a lover,” he continued, his tone never faltering, “arching your hips and derriere into the air while he takes you from behind. You can lay on your side, and your lover molds his body behind yours, and either lifts your legs to enter you or keeps them closed for a tighter fit. There are many varied positions.”
“How many?”
“Dozens. There is a book that says there are over sixty variations.”
“Goodness.”
