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He held her tightly. She held her breath.
The beginning of pleasure, soft notes at first and then louder, more insistent ones, pleasure spilling around and inside her and her inner muscles fluttering.
The sensation was already waiting for her. All she had to do was allow it to take her.
She imagined that she was floating in a warm ocean, the one he’d told her about, the sun lighting a sparkling path down her body from the crown of her head over her throat and belly, between her legs and down to the tips of her toes.
She didn’t want to break the spell, the mellow, sun-dappled feeling in her belly, still warming her.
She listened and what she heard was stillness, the absence of thought, of worry.
No need to define what she was feeling. All she had to do was float, weightless, and allow thepleasure to flood her body until it subsided, and her heartbeat slowed.
He emerged from her skirts.
She was suddenly shy.
“Well?” He wiped his lips with his sleeve. “Did that satisfy your curiosity? It’s done. And done well, I might add.”
“Arrogant rogue.” She laughed shakily. “I’m satisfied.”
“Then my work here is finished.” He smiled teasingly. “I think you’ll sleep well tonight.” He held out his hand.
She didn’t want to leave yet. “There was another word.” She slid closer to him and whispered the word she’d read in his ear.
His face went still.
“Will you teach me that one, as well?” she asked.
She slipped her hand across his chest, over his heart and down the center of his abdomen.
Feeling brave, she moved lower. She dipped her hands underneath his undergarments and her fingers closed around something long, hard, and cylindrical.
“Got a big tallywhacker, ’ave you?” she asked in a guttural male voice.
He choked on a laugh. “It’s above average.”
“I have nothing to judge you against, that’s all.”
“You’ll have to trust me on this one.”
She did trust him.
She trusted him enough to allow him to see the woman she was becoming. Wilder. More free. A woman who lived inside her body, as well as her mind.
His staff rose to meet her touch, growing harder and thicker with each stroke of her fingers.
“Does he like to be touched?”
He made a strangled noise that Beatrice took for a yes. She circled the head with her fingertips.
His hand closed over hers, guiding her around his stiff length and showing her how to move up and back down.
Soon she had learned the correct method, judging by the quickness of his breathing and the soft moans he made.
They lay side by side on the bed. He reached between her thighs and she parted her legs.
As she stroked him, he touched her in slow, luscious circles.
