Harriet giggled at the thought, foolish as it was. She sounded almost poetic. “Something amusing?” he asked, leaning back for a moment, then leaning in and grazing his lips along her jaw, his stubble an erotic contrast to her own soft skin.
“Just … well …” She rubbed her legs together, entirely too overcome to speak coherently. Alexander rolled off her and over to his side again. He loosened his grip on her hips and swept his fingers across her stomach, which shut off all thoughts of humor. And then he bit her lightly on the shoulder and she lost the ability to think completely.
“I wouldn’t want to miss out on a good joke,” he said into her neck, giving her a short respite from having his mouth on her.
“It’s …” She shook her head, unable to think of a single other word she could add to the sentence.
“Should I show you then, how I know what to do? With quims and the like?”
Harriet nodded. Or she thought she did. Or perhaps she spoke clearly and coherently and asked him to positively ruin her. She had no idea. All she knew was his hand was finally—finally—reaching the curls above her quim again.
“Spread your legs,” he bid her; the sentence hit her squarely in the chest. Was she supposed to be aroused by indifferent instruction?How much warmer could her body flush? For her own sake, she rushed to obey the command.
“Good,” he replied.
Oh. Oh, that’s how much hotter a body could heat.
He—betraying none of her own undone-ness—slipped his hand farther down, parting her and settling where her own hand had just been. And then he demonstrated precisely where and how he’d intended for her to touch herself.
“Is there … a word … for that …?” Harriet panted, desperately trying to commit this all to memory.
He laughed, which should have embarrassed her, except she couldn’t summon the energy. “Clitoris,” he answered, still smiling as he stroked her.
“Oh,” Harriet choked out, “remind me again tomorrow.” Alexander nodded at her, clearly biting back a grin. She knew other ladies weren’t asking about words in his company; however, this might be her only chance in bed with a man and by God she wasn’t going to miss a single thing.
“You’re quite wet,” he said in a tone Harriet couldn’t read. The word made her clamp her legs together, trapping his hand. It broke any sort of spell she’d just been under. Her heart began racing with uncertainty instead of arousal.
“Sorry. Am I? I’m—”
He brought his other hand to her mouth and traced her lips, quieting her. Why did lips feel so sensitive? Had her lips alwaysfelt so much? Then her mind jumped back to her mortification at being … wet. Wet?Wet?
“It’s good, Harriet. It’s … it’s more than good. It’s necessary.” Harriet glanced down to where his hand was. A mistake. Having him touch her was enough withoutseeingit. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes tightly. This was humiliating on so many levels.
“… it is?” she gritted out.
“Yes, it means you’re ready.”
“For?”
“Relax your legs again,” he instructed, and Harriet did. “For this,” he said, slipping a finger farther back and then slowlyinsideher. Her entire body tensed. Her hand shot out and gripped Alexander’s forearm.
Was he …? That was …? Was this …?
What came out of her mouth, however, was simply “Alexander”—only it came out in a pitch she was certain she’d never used before. It came out as a sob. A plea.
“It’s all right,” he said, his voice deeper and rougher than she’d ever heard. “Let yourself go. Let me in.”
She wanted to. God, she wanted to, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t relax. His finger was working its way inside her. And his palm was still pressing on her clitoris. And God, she felt so … so full. And then when she couldn’t imagine a single other sensation, he began to remove his finger. She opened her mouth to beg him not to, only for him to thrust it back inside. Her legs writhed in pleasure, in agony. She needed … more.
“Alexander,” she pleaded.
“Yes?” he teased.
“Please,” she begged, although she had no earthly idea what she was begging for.
But he did. He seemed to know precisely what she was asking for. His mouth met hers again just as his hand found a perfect rhythm. She ground herself wantonly against him, distantly aware that she’d be embarrassed later, only it felt far too good in the moment to stop.
He broke the kiss to look down and watch her, which only made her feel more exposed, lewder. Then he looked back at her, and she saw his eyes were fiery and hungry and his breath matched hers. He wasn’t unaffected. He wasn’t doing her a favor. He whispered “Harriet” as a plea of his own, then kissed her again and she was utterly lost.
