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“But you ought not advise me to adhere to expectations you yourself have not fulfilled.”
“Your prospects, Josephine, are much greater than mine.”
“Yes, yes, but it is so much more pleasurable to succumb.”
Heloise sighed in agreement. She sat down on the bed, and the two shared a moment of silence.
“There is no purpose in protecting me, Heloise. I had surrendered my maidenhead a year ago.”
Now it was Heloise’s turn to be surprised. “Of your own volition? Did you consider the consequences?”
“Did you?” Josephine retorted.
“Touché.”
“Where is the harm if no one knows?”
“I wish we had shared our confidences earlier. Perhaps all this could have been avoided.”
“Perhaps. But then you would not have experienced the embrace of Lord Cadwell.”
Heloise thought of the desire that had been stoked to life by the earl. The hunger had lain dormant these years—suppressed—and she had lamented its awakening at first. But perhaps she could exalt in its vigor instead? Why should the thrill of it turn sour simply because she could not be with Lord Cadwell?
Looking at her cousin, she saw that Josephine’s countenance had softened. “I hope that someday you may forgive me, Josephine.”
“I may be cross with you still,” Josephine said, but a faint smile tugged at one corner of her lips. “But I do prefer the Heloise I know now.”
Heloise felt as if a boa had loosened its hold of her chest.
Josephine leaned in. “Now tell me everything about the Château Follet…”
Chapter Five
Closing his eyes, Sebastian imagined the plush lips of Heloise Merrill wrapped about his cock, the look of lust shimmering in her eyes as he pushed his erection deeper into her mouth.
He had bound her arms behind her to call more attention to her breasts. Naked and upon her knees, she was far too delectable a vision not to fuck. The only dilemma was which orifice to take first. But he had taken notice of her mouth ever since their encounter at the theater, when her bottom lip had dropped in astonishment over something he had said. He had been tempted then to run his thumb over her succulent lips.
Her mouth, a rose to be plundered, willingly took in his thickness. He sawed his cock in and out of her, felt the velvet of her tongue grazing his length, throbbed when she sucked the crown of his penis. Was there a heaven greater than that of her moist warmth encasing him?
Wrapping a hand behind her head, he pushed her farther on to his cock until his tip brushed the back of her throat. She gagged at first but relaxed when he rubbed the base of her head. Soon her lips were touching the hairs of his pelvis, her chin pressed against his scrotum. A few more thrusts and the fire in his blood, the roiling in his sac could not be contained.
The stream of his desire shot from his cock as the screams of the woman beneath him jolted him from his reverie.
He climbed off her before the last of his seed had emptied. Stumbling, he leaned against the wall for support and took in a deep breath. He was not in the Empress Room of Château Follet but the boudoir of an opera dancer, and the woman sprawled upon the bed with her skirts thrown above her waist was not Miss Merrill but a woman whose name he could barely recall. Three days had passed since he had left the château and still he could not quiet the humming in his body whenever he thought of Miss Merrill. Perhaps he should not have dismissed her quite so soon from Château Follet. There was muc
h he wanted to show her, much he wanted to do with her body. Would she enjoy being bent over the back of a chair, tied to the posts of the bed, or suspended in bondage? He wondered which position he would most favor with her—throwing her legs over his shoulders, pressing her against the wall, or taking her from behind as she knelt on all fours?
The answer would surely prove to be all of them.
Despite having just spent, he felt desire welling once more in his groin. He glanced at the woman, now asleep, in the bed before him. For a moment he considered climbing back onto her, but she looked far too tranquil in her slumber, and he suspected that pounding himself senselessly into her would not dispel his thoughts of Miss Merrill.
An hour later he found himself at Brooks’s, but neither cards nor drink proved an effective distraction. He longed not only for her body but her company. There was so little he knew of her, save that Jonathan Merrill had become her guardian upon the death of her parents. He wanted to know what she thought of Château Follet after her experience with him? He would like to believe that he had surpassed the depths of any encounters she had had with previous lovers.
“Go to her,” Marguerite had urged.
He imagined the possibilities of a second encounter with Miss Merrill. The grounds of the château possessed a bucolic charm, and he would have liked to take her on a stroll and engage her in a less confrontational situation. He sensed that he could speak to her as a peer and on a world of topics. Some women had a most annoying practice of feigning ignorance or appearing stupid to please the vanity of the men in their company, but Heloise was as likely to challenge him. Of course he could always silence any argument from her by smothering her mouth with his own.
A second assignation would provide him an opportunity to make amends for his abrupt departure from her. The look of surprise, the slight frown of her brows had indicated her disappointment when he had taken his leave. He had no doubt she had the fortitude to recover, though he half wished, selfishly, that her recovery would not be too swift. He wondered if he occupied her thoughts as much as she did his. He hoped, for her sake, that it would not be the case. Or did he?
