“What did I tell you?” Richard asked, his voice stern even as his eyes glinted with dark amusement. “You do not move unless I permit you. You just lost the privilege of my touch for...” he glanced at the clock on the mantle, “Two minutes.”
“Two minutes?” Isobel gaped at him. “That is absurd?—”
“Would you like to make it three?”
Isobel clamped her mouth shut, glaring at him even as her body ached for his touch. Richard simply watched her, waiting, his arms crossed over his chest. The two minutes felt like an eternity, every second stretching out as she stood there, her dress disheveled, her body humming with unfulfilled need.
“You are cruel,” she muttered, feeling humiliated and embarrassed, even more so when she realized it did nothing to quell the arousal she was being consumed by.
“I am patient,” he corrected. “And I am teaching you to be the same.”
It felt like an eternity had gone by when the time had finally elapsed. He moved toward her again, but slowly, deliberately.“Now, let us try this again. Keep your hands at your sides unless I tell you otherwise.”
Isobel wanted to argue, to refuse and make demands, or simply put an end to it, but the promise in his eyes kept her silent. She lowered her hands to her sides, her fingers curling into her skirts.
“Much better,” Richard praised, and the approval in his voice sent another flush of warmth through her.
This time, when his hands touched her, she forced herself to remain as still as she could be. It was torture – sweet, exquisite torture – as his fingers traced patterns over her skin, as his mouth followed the path his hands had blazed. When he kissed the curve of her breast through the thin chemise, she whined low in her throat, her fingers tightening on her skirts.
“Good,” Richard murmured against her skin. “You are learning.”
His hands slid down to her hips, then lower, gathering her skirts slowly. Isobel's breath came faster as she realized his intention, but she did not move, did not protest. When his hand finally found the bare skin of her thigh above her stocking, she gasped, her knees threatening to buckle.
“Steady, there,” Richard tutted, his voice commanding as his arm wrapped around her waist to support her. “I have you.”
And she believed him. Despite everything – despite his harsh behavior when they had meant and his criticisms. In that moment, with her in an increasing state of nakedness, she trusted him completely.
His fingers trailed higher, and when they finally brushed against her most intimate place, Isobel cried out, unable to contain the sound. Richard groaned in response, his mouth finding hers again as his fingers began to explore and tease, eager to learn more about her body.
“So wonderful,” he murmured against her lips. “So ready for me. Do you feel that, Isobel? Do you feel how much you want this?”
“Yes,” she whimpered, past the point of embarrassment, utterly consumed by her desire. “Please, Richard, I need?—”
“What do you need?” he asked, his fingers circling her entrance but never quite reaching where she needed them most. “Tell me.”
“I do not – I cannot – ” She could not find the words, could barely think past the overwhelming sensations.
“Then let me show you,” Richard said, and finally, finally, his fingers slipped past her folds and set her ablaze.
Isobel's hands flew up to grip his shoulders, and this time he did not reprimand her. Instead, he held her closer as his fingersworked magic, building a pressure within her that she did not quite understand but needed desperately to reach.
“That is it,” Richard encouraged, his voice rough. “Let go, Isobel. Trust me.”
She was not sure what she was supposed to let go of, but then his fingers pressed harder, moved faster, and suddenly something within her shattered. Pleasure crashed over her in waves, so intense she thought she might faint from it. Her body shook in his arms, her voice crying out his name as she fell apart.
Richard held her through it, his mouth pressing kisses to her temple, her cheek, her lips, murmuring praise that she barely registered through the haze of sensation.
When she finally regained her senses, she found she was trembling, her forehead resting against his chest as she struggled to catch her breath. Richard's hand stroked her hair and back soothingly, his other hand gently smoothing her skirts back into place.
“Good girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You did so well.”
Isobel felt a flush of pride at his words, mixed with lingering pleasure and a strange sort of vulnerability. She had just... she had never...
“What was that?” she finally managed to ask, her voice muffled against his chest.
She felt him chuckle, the sound rumbling through her. “That, my dear, was raw pleasure. Perhaps the first of many, even, if you continue to be such an apt pupil.”
Isobel pulled back to look up at him, her cheeks burning. “You are insufferable.”
