Page 59 of The Truth About Myths
He is making me lose my mind.
She gulped, her mouth dry. "That seems hardly the practice of a gentleman."
"Shove your breastplate at his head if he doesn't." His voice sounded strained, and he leaned closer. "This little hood is called the clitoris. Your body is especially sensitive here." He circled there once, twice.
A languidness coursed through her limbs, and she could not wrench her gaze from his fingers. Her legs relaxed, parting under his weight, and he settled closer in her lap. His hardness pressed against her, and her hips had an urge to brush against him.
Now, Isabel, leave now.
"And then?"
"When she is pleasured, her inner muscles will relax, and penetration will not only be possible but pleasurable." He inserted his fingertip in the cavity below the flower's inner petal.
Isabel cried out, her tummy tensing. Overheated, thirsty, she splayed her hands over his chest.
Push him away.
Gaze hot on her face, his eyes flicked from her lips to her eyes and back. The muscles below her palms contracted. Isabel tensed her arms. A cicada called outside, and then another. They were preparing for their flight.
Isabel grabbed his lapels and kissed him.
Chapter 19
“The very essence of instinct is that it's followed independently of reason.” Charles Darwin
Henriqueenduredhertimidravishing for a total of five seconds. Groaning, he plowed his fingers through her hair and pulled away. He stared at flashing green eyes, breathing her breaths. Heart racing, he kissed her like a man possessed, like a lusty god, like a crazed animal. Drinking her mewls and moans, he tilted her head for better access and explored her, his tongue sweeping inside. She relaxed the strain in her neck, and the snare gave way an inch. Impatiently, he shoved his hand into the wood plank behind her and maneuvered the trap, freeing her. He tugged lumps of hair from her ruined coiffure. When he finished, her mane hung around her face in a snarled mess.
He sniffed the strands and rubbed them against his cheek. It was silk. It was soft. Glorious. “I care not for politics, but I would learn it just to pass a law forbidding you to confine your hair in braids.”
She gasped. “That’s hardly useful—”
He hushed her with his lips. Spanning her waist, Henrique rolled her atop him, her legs straddling his lap. He never left her mouth.
She'd kissed him. Isabel had placed her hands on his lapels and pulled him in for this. He knew she hid a passionate side. But this? This wild fusing of mouths stunned him. What had she called him? Asinvergüenza. Oh, yes. That he was. His honor had washed away and now swirled in the mud as she strained against him, her inexperienced kiss inflaming his lips.
He dug his fingers into her bodice, knowing there was no hope of opening the tiny buttons but needing to. If he didn't have to worry about returning her later, he would peel the layers one by one until he found bare skin.
He settled for tugging her dress up, revealing her muddied stockings. When he placed his palm atop her thigh, she shuddered.
He had planned a theoretical education, but his body had overruled good intentions. Practical, it would be. "I'll show you a hint of pleasure."
She gazed at him, her green eyes troubled.
He drew small circles below her knees. "I won't breach your maidenhead, love. A lesson in pleasure, no consequences."
Biting her swollen bottom lip, she nodded. Her trust raced through his system, and a bolt of lust shot through his spine. Clenching his jaw, he reined in his desire. He could do this. Show her how wondrous a man's touch could be.
After pulling her skirts as far as they would go, he arrived at the naked skin above her garter. She panted, her gaze following his hands. A groan escaped his chest when he found the entrance to her pantalets. Her desire and dew coated the pad of his finger, and his hand shook when he traced her swollen outer lips. He needed a plan for this. Hopping in bed—or muddy ground, for that matter—without a strategy was a recipe for losing control. And without control, feelings and expectations could get out of hand. Surface caresses, no penetration. There. That would have to suffice. He moistened his fingertip on her desire and circled her clitoris slowly, gently. Her eyes closed, and she sighed.
He caressed her, sometimes giving her more friction, sometimes tantalizing her with the promise of more. Color rose on her neck and cheeks, her lips parting.
"God, you are so beautiful."
He brought her closer and licked her lips, moving his tongue in tandem with his finger. He always thought of the kissing and the preliminaries as necessary steps on a ladder, a ladder leading to his ultimate pleasure. But not with Isabel. Kissing Isabel had intrinsic value, and pleasuring her? Pleasuring her became his sole vocation. He would commit to studying all the ways he could achieve it.
She tilted her hips, seeking more friction, her breathing shallow.
"Easy, love."
