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"It can be enjoyable, you know."
"I know that," she snapped, before dropping down beside him.
"Was it?"
"No," she huffed.
He stiffened beside her. "He wasn't rough?"
"Oh, no! He was only ... unimpressive." As soon as the word left her mouth, Marissa realized how inappropriate it was. How should she know of such things? "I mean—"
But Jude was laughing beside her. "Unimpressive, eh? Well, that is a tragedy, but perhaps a welcome one for a lady's loss of innocence."
"How so?"
Jude leaned back and stretched his arms across the back. "It can be painful, and I would hate to think of you in pain."
"Well, there was a bit of discomfort, but I rather think that was due to him squishing me." She snuck a glance at Jude. "Now that I think of it, you look unfortunately heavy."
He tilted his head in such gracious acknowledgment that she felt churlish. "I can assure you I've not yet squished a lady. Not even once."
Interest prickled through her with a feeling like all the hair on her body standing at attention. "So ... are you very experienced, then?"
"Experienced enough."
"What does that mean? Among gentlemen, I mean. There is an entirely different standard from what I can gather."
He settled one ankle on
his knee, and his thigh ended up very near her hand. "It means that I have had practice at bringing women pleasure."
Pleasure. The very prize she'd been seeking to reclaim ever since that fateful night two years before. Pleasure. And aching. And surprise. A knot low in her belly seemed to acquire weight. She squeezed her thighs together. She hadn't thought Jude Bertrand could make her feel that way with his inelegant largeness.
But his words were so ... plump with confidence. Not arrogance. Just assuredness. He had no doubt he knew how to bring pleasure, and so she had no doubt as well.
"Is it—" Her voice emerged a bit cracked, so she cleared her throat and tried again. "Is it a secret then? The way to bring a woman pleasure?"
"From what I've heard from women, yes. It seems a knowledge gained by only a happy few. Still, I'd say it's a more important skill than jumping a hedge, for instance, and yet so many husbands spend far more time learning of horses. You wouldn't want one of those husbands, would you. Miss York?"
"I-I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
"Really? I'm sure you do." He settled more firmly against the back, stretching enough that his thigh inched closer to her, his knee brushing her skirts. "There is more than one way, you know."
"More than one way to what?"
"Pleasure a woman."
Her pulse took up residence between her legs. "Is there?" she squeaked.
"Indeed. And of course men are pleased in countless ways. We are easily deciphered creatures. No depth to us at all."
Oh, but that wasn't true. She did not know any more of men's pleasure than she knew of her own. Did they like the same things? Did they feel the same sensations? Marissa stared straight ahead, hands fisted in her lap. She should not encourage him. She should not lay a hand on his thigh oilcan toward him for a kiss. Then he might think she truly desired his attentions, when all she really wanted was pleasure.
The faint shush of fabric behind her told her he had moved his hand. And when he dragged one finger down her neck, Marissa shivered and closed her eyes, trying to hold back a sharp sigh.
"May I call you Marissa when we are alone? We are pretending, after all." His touch circled to the side of her neck as his thumb brushed her spine.
Marissa felt the tightening of her nipples as gooseflesh flowed down her body. She knew that was a place that men might touch during lovemaking. "Yes, of course."
