The man had comforting hands.
They were sturdy hands in which a woman could be confident in placing herself.
Perhaps this was a good thing, given the unconventionality of their circumstances. It was nearly painful to remind herself that it was likely all an act anyway… This was a man who knew how to treat a woman—he made a living from it.
Ariel held her breath and opened the door to her bedchamber.
A sconce remained lit, casting a small orb of golden light in the dim room.
The man followed her in and pressed the door closed behind them.
The silence was so heavy she swore he could hear her heartbeat as loud as a drum.
They stood there, staring, sizing one another up for what felt like an eternity before he spoke. “You needn’t do this, Ariel.” His words were quiet and he held himself unnaturally still. She might have believed him to be a shadow if it were not for the flash of his eyes and the glimmer of white teeth.
What he didn’t understand was that shedid. She did need to do this. She needed to know what it felt like, even just once. She wanted to feel desired and experience passion. It wasn’t as if she was going to wear a sign broadcasting what she’d done for all to see. This was purely for her edification; for her to file away for however many decades of spinsterhood she had remaining. It was a lot of weight to place upon the shoulders of a strange man, but he was a professional.
“I must—Iwantto,” she whispered and he inclined his head after a slight hesitation.
“If I do anything you do not desire—anything that does not bring you the utmost pleasure—youmusttell me. It is theonlyrule.”
Ariel bit the inside of her cheek so hard it made her eyes water; her knees practically buckled. She nodded in agreement.
“It is my job to give you nothing but pleasure, Ariel.” He closed the gap between them, watching her all the while as if she were a hare who might bolt into the tall grass until he stood close enough that the toes of his boots brushed the hem of her skirts.
It was so novel to look up into a man’s face; her unnatural height often left most men of thetonat a disadvantage when speaking to her. It made Ariel feel unexpectedly feminine…and excited.
She was engulfed in his masculine scent of starch, a hint of a woodsiness, and the musk of male skin. His hands skimmed up her arms; one paused at her shoulder and the other cupped the back of her head. A shiver skittered up and down her spine. “Have you been kissed before, Ariel?” It was of the utmost foolishness given their situation, but she was quickly becoming enamored of the way he said her name with his American accent—harder and more forceful, a manner uniquely his.
“No,” she breathed. Her eyes flew to the elegant lines of his mouth, now tilting charmingly up at the corners.
“Perfect.”
His head began to descend, her eyes fluttered closed, and then a thought struck her just before his lips touched hers. Her eyes flew open once more and one of her hands closed around his—very firm, very sizeable—forearm.
“Wait!”
To his credit, he froze so successfully that she wasn’t sure he still lived.
“W—What is your name?” He didn’t make her explain why she needed to know; she didn’t need to mortify herself by admitting that it didn’t feel right to receive her first kiss from a man whose name she did not know.
Instead, he simply answered her: “Charles.”
“Thank you, Charles.” She closed the small space between their lips and took her first kiss from a man.
Her first thought was how soft his lips were.
Her second was that, while this was nice and it was thrilling to be kissed, she was disappointed that this was all there was to it. The experience seemed rather incongruous with everything her friends had described. She hoped the rest of the evening was more in line with her expect—
“Here,” the man called Charles murmured kindly against her mouth. She might have mistaken the sound of a smile in his tone… His other hand reached up and he cupped her face gently and tilted it ever so slightly before slanting his mouth over hers in a vastly different way. And his lips moved.
Oh yes, this was better.
She nearly jumped when she felt the tip of his tongue trace the seam of her lips. By all accounts, it should have been repulsive…instead, she sighed and allowed him access. She parted her lips and kissed him back, meeting the slow attack and retreat of his lips and tongue. He patiently demonstrated the rhythm, slowing her down when she would have been too eager in her ignorance. She must have been doing something right because a low growl rumbled up from deep in his throat like the rush of a tide when she touched her tongue to his.
He tasted of something sweet and smoky. The only word that came to mind was cherrywood—seductively rich and warm and comforting.
All at once, she became aware that the length of her body was pressed to his. She wasn’t sure which of them had closed the gap between them, but she was well past the point of questioning the situation, wasn’t she? What mattered was that every inch of the front of her was touching every inch of the front of him. Her breasts were pressed to the hard wall of his chest. One ofhis giant palms cupped the ample curve of her hip; his thumb caressed her through the fabric of her dress on its way to wrap around her waist. An expertly placed thumb canted her head back, allowing him to deepen the kiss, to devour her. Ariel’s legs began to tremble and she was practically propped up by the impressive strength of his arms; what was more, she had no fear of falling.
