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Christopher touched his ear, feeling oddly aware of his lobes.

“It looks velvety soft. Is it soft?” Before she had finished voicing the question, she was touching his ear, exploring the shape with her fingertip. Up and down the outside with featherlight strokes that had him grinding his teeth and clamping his eyes closed. Christ, have mercy. In seconds, he had gone from concerned about her intoxication to hard as stone and resisting the urge to tell her to use her tongue.

Her hand paused in place, a saucy grin pulling at her mouth. “Oh. You like that.”

“I do.” A puff of air escaped from between his lips. “Very much.” And then the little vixen smiled in earnest, a wide mischievous smile as her finger reconvened its lazy meandering.

“Sofia, love. As much as I am enjoying this, and I am vastly enjoying this, I think you should stop. You are in your cups and every second that—” He shuddered and clamped his hand on the arm of the settee. “Every second that you continue, I am having a more difficult time remembering what a terrible idea it is to allow you to go on fondling my ear.” Despite his words, he had melted into his seat and angled his head to allow her easier access.

“It can’t possibly feel that good.” Some of the starch was back in her voice now, and he chuckled that even her weight in whisky couldn’t completely change her disposition. “Do it to me,” she demanded, her chin rising imperiously. Christopher had never considered a crisp command to be an aphrodisiac, but his cock apparently did.

He shook his head. “Another night, darling, I will be happy to show you all the unremarkable places that come alive under the right touch.”

“You’re being ridiculous. It’s my ear. It’s out there for all the world to see. They exist to hold up your hat, not as a precursor for coitus. Next, you’ll tell me that you’d be aroused if I stroked your elbow.”

Christopher was not sure he would ever recover from Sofia’s frank use of the word “coitus,” but he needed to get her to a bed far away from his bed, as swiftly as possible. “How do you even know that word?” He hadn’t meant to ask the question.

“Coitus? Why wouldn’t I know that word? It’s not a secret. It’s in the dictionary. It can’t very well be a secret if it’s in the dictionary.”

He snorted a laugh then shook his head.

“Besides, I grew up with a brother and nearly all my playmates were boys. I learned all kinds of things in my formative years. Oliver used to leave books just laying around his room. Fascinating illustrated books with the most deliciously debauched things. And you are steering the conversation away. Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Christopher.”

When he made to stand, she grabbed his hand, placing his fingers against her ear.

“Touch me.” His cock leapt again at the decisive order, his fingers itching to follow her request. The first stroke of his fingertips brought a deep hum from her throat and he felt oddly victorious. Then that hum turned into a squeak and a giggle as she squirmed away.

“Stop it, that tickles! How can you tolerate that?”

He wasn’t sure what prompted him to move, whether arousal, or foolish pride, or some stubborn determination to prove this little hoyden wrong, but his arms were around her waist hauling her into his lap and his mouth was against her ear before his brain became involved in the situation. Sofia gasped and curled her fingers into his shoulders when he nipped her earlobe, then soothed her skin with his mouth and tongue.

“Still tickle?” His voice had dropped to a low purr against her ear and she squirmed, inadvertently pressing into his straining hardness. His thighs opened to settle her deeper into his lap, his hips angling ever so slightly into the inviting swell of her backside.

“No, it doesn’t tickle. It’s lovely. Just like that,” she said, breathy.

One hand slid down and cupped her lush thigh through the fabric of her dress. He squeezed. “How I’ve dreamt of filling my palms with all your delectable curves.”

Sofia sighed what might have been a response and angled her ear closer to his mouth.

He allowed himself one last, languorous kiss, then drew back. “And darling, for the record, there isn’t a place that you could stroke without my body responding. Including my elbow.” He brushed his lips against the hollow behind her ear, a pitiful fraction of what he longed to do with his mouth, and then angled her face to meet his eyes. “But now it’s time for you to go to sleep. We have a long day ahead of dragging your brother away from the clutches of sin and depravity, and such a task requires a solid”—he glanced up at the clock— “four hours of uninterrupted rest.”

Her mouth drew into an uncharacteristic pout, and then she stretched, exposing the curve of her neck. Rather like dangling a carrot in front of a reluctant pony. Christopher was far from reluctant, so he steeled himself against the urge to throw her bodily onto the settee.

“You are dangerous, Sofia.” He stood, taking her with him and placing her again on her unsteady feet. “And not just with a fencing sword. God help me, if you don’t find my ears this appealing when you are dead sober, I swear I’ll never make another virtuous choice. It will be all unscrupulous villainy, beginning with you. They’ll write about the notorious valet in the London scandal sheets and give me a ridiculous misnomer like Boot-Blackening Blackguard. And if, as the result of all my nefarious acts, my conscience prevents a good night’s sleep, at least I’ll be awake with the sound of your orgasm echoing in my ears.”

“It’s more a moaning, breathy sigh. No echoing. I try not to be dramatic, but there are so few genuine pleasures in life. There. Now you have the best of both worlds—you have both your principles and information about my orgasms.”

His arm fell bonelessly away from her waist. Apparently, it was the only thing holding her upright. He reached to catch her body against his before she had a chance to melt onto the floor.

“You are clearly trying to kill me,” he murmured into her curls.

“Don’t look so astounded. Surely you don’t believe that pleasuring oneself should be reserved exclusively for men. I never took you for a prude.”

He was already vibrating with unslaked lust, and the words ‘pleasuring oneself’ on her lips had solidified his plans for the evening. He would have his cock gripped in his hand and the image of Sofia, back arched, hand between her legs, burned into the backs of his eyelids. He could imagine the relief of his orgasm. Could almost feel it tingling deep in his balls.

“Besides, men have already appropriated all the best things in life for themselves. Riding astride, gaming hells, sexual congress with whomever they please and without concern for discretion, trousers, the ability to have political opinions … opinions at all, really. So that leaves what exactly for women? Needlepoint? Off-balance horseback riding? An occasional game of whist so long as we don’t play with actual money? No grazie. I’ll sacrifice my dreams of comfortable breeches, but you cannot take my orgasms.”

She ended her tirade with a prim nod of the head, her chin raised with an expression of hauteur worthy of any aristocrat.