Page 63 of Just a Little Daring

Vivien giggled and tugged at her skirts, pulling them higher with maddening slowness. August watched, holding his breath as she revealed her dainty ankles, slender silk clad calves, pink garters tied in a bow, and then—praise be—the smooth golden skin of her thighs.

“I want to touch you,” he managed, though his ability to speak full sentences seemed to diminish in proportion to the amount of skin she exposed.

“Yes, yes,” she replied breathlessly, reassuring him she was similarly afflicted. He reached for her, his touch reverent. August sighed as he discovered her skin, impossibly silky, warm and, as he leaned closer, she enveloped him in her scent, a faint trace of orange blossom and the heady perfume of a woman who desired him. He pushed her skirts higher, tantalised by the first glimpse of silky dark curls.

“Lay back.”

She obeyed him this time and August pressed his mouth to her inner thigh, kissing a path until he could nuzzle the tender skin on either side of her sex. Her breathing hitched.

“You’re so lovely, Vivien. So perfect. I am the luckiest man alive.”

She gave a nervous laugh, and he decided not to tease her, for she was anxious despite her bold words before, and he only wanted to bring her pleasure. Carefully, he searched the springy thatch of curls with a finger, his own breathing increasingly ragged as he parted the delicate folds. August leaned in, continuing his exploration with his tongue until he found the tender peak of her sex.

Vivien gasped, her hips bucking as his touch made her body leap beneath his mouth.

August smiled. “Be still, love.”

The command was gentle but firm and Vivien stilled, so he settled to his work, caressing and circling and occasionally sucking gently on the small bud until her hips rose again but this time in search of more, undulating, seeking and demanding he pleasure her. He smiled, pleased, and encouraged her.

“Tell me if I please you, love. Tell me the things you like.”

“C-Can’t speak,” she stammered. “Don’t stop!”

He huffed out a laugh, his warm breath sending goosebumps skittering over her. She was so perfectly delicious, and he wanted to spend the rest of the day exploring her, showing her the pleasure he could bring her, but he did not dare. The idea of her father or brother coming to find her was not a happy one, and Viv would be mortified. August suspected Ash would be more likely to murder him than Silas would, and so this perfect interlude must come to an end.

August found the opening to her body, slick with desire now as he gently slid one finger inside her and applied his mouth again, licking slowly but with increasing pressure. He caressed her intimately, his touch languid as Vivien moaned, quivering beneath him and clutching at the bedcovers. A second finger joined the first, working in measured thrusts as he suckled the taut little pearl beneath his tongue and she reacted at once, her inner muscles clenching around him as she cried out. It was all he could do not to spend himself, the sounds she made, and the taste of her pleasure were so erotic. Slowly he eased her through the climax, careful to ensure he wrung every last shudder of release from her body until she was panting and boneless, sprawled on his bed in a pose of utter abandon.

“Are you well, love?” he asked her, wondering what she’d made of it.

“Well?” she replied faintly. “Well? No. You’ve killed me. I… I’m… I hardly know what.”

August chuckled, pressing tender kisses to her thigh before he straightened her skirts and began putting her back to rights. He sat on the bed beside her, staring down at her flushed countenance with such a sense of rightness he could not stop smiling.

“The French call it the little death for a reason,” he said, feeling rather pleased with himself.

“Le petite mort,” she murmured dazedly. “Yes, I understand why.”

August helped her to sit up and began doing up everything he’d undone as Viv seemed incapable of lifting a finger, much to his amusement. Once she was back to rights, he lent down and kissed her neck and she leaned into him.

“That was splendid,” she said with a sigh. “Is that what making love with you will be like?”

“Consider that an amuse-bouche. A little taste of what is to come, before the main course,” he murmured.

Vivien snorted, giving him a wry look over her shoulder. “You’ve been spending too much time with the Comte de Villen,” she teased him.

August grinned and hoped his still obviously unfulfilled lust would subside if they continued their tour of the house, for he could not return her to her family like this.

Vivien’s gaze snagged on his falls, and she bit her lip, which didn’t much help. “Poor August,” she said with sympathy. “Can I help?”

August groaned. “No!” he muttered, and grasped her hand, towing her from the bedroom and any further temptation.

26th April 1841, Rother House, Burwash, Etchingham, East Sussex.

By the time August was in a fit state to return to the parlour, the two families were obviously getting on like a house on fire as the conversation was loud, full of laughter, and unrestrained. Either their absence had been unremarked, or everyone had ignored them slipping away to allow them a little privacy. Vivien heaved a sigh of relief, for though she did not believe her parents would have been angry with August, it would have been embarrassing all the same.

She sat down again, glancing at her brother, who was beside her. Of everyone, he was uncharacteristically quiet.

“Ash? What’s wrong?”