Page 57 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
One slipped between her folds. Wet and slick, the back of his index finger simply rolled against her. Hard and shocking. She cried out in surprise, and he stilled.
“Do this because you want to. Do this because you trust me not to go too far.”
“Everything is too far.”
“No, Bluebell. This is something you can do yourself in the privacy of your own bed. This is something ladies do for themselves all the time. I am simply showing you how.”
That got her attention. This deep rub of his knuckle against her. The way it made her belly quiver, and her face feel flushed.
“You lie,” she whispered.
“I do not. Do you wish me to show you? To put your fingers where mine are? So you can do this yourself?”
Yes. No. She didn’t know. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. This was wrong and yet… And yet…
He took her hand in his and guided it to where his were. He had straightened up between her, opening her legs so that everything was exposed. Then he pushed her skirt up to her belly. All of her was open to his view.
Her eyes flew open, and she felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment, but what she saw made her pause. His eyes were intense where he looked at her. And his mouth curved in a smile. Not a secret, guilty smile, but one of appreciation as if he looked on something beautiful.
Then his gaze caught hers. He must have understood her confusion because he explained as clearly as if she had asked.
“Look down,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Do you see my hand there? Dark tan against your white skin… I see your tender flesh wet with dew and my fingers entwined with yours. Your curls are springy there, your petals like a ripe peach. It is beautiful, Bluebell. And I will remember this sight until the day I die.”
He meant it. Every word was breathed with honest reverence, and she could not understand it. It was as though he worshiped at the place between her thighs.
She wanted to ask him to explain, but she had no breath. Not as he rocked his knuckle against her. A pulse of reaction burst through her body. A tightening. A gasp.
“Do you feel that?” he asked. Stupid question. She had all but jumped off the chair.
His other hand took hers and guided her fingers to the same spot.
“Put your thumb there.”
She did as he bid. She hadn’t the presence of mind to refuse him.
“Push.”
He did it for her. He pressed her thumb against her, and she cried out. Hard. Hot. Her buttocks clenched and her back arched.
“Play however you like, Bluebell. Push against it. Rub a circle. Up and down. Whatever you want.”
She wanted him to do it. She wanted to feel more now. She pushed again, and it was as if thunder rolled up her spine.
Then she felt his fingers spreading her open. His thumbs pushed her apart, and at his urging, her legs rolled to the outside of the hard chair. She was spread as wide as she could go, but she hardly cared as she rolled a circle over that place.
Oh yes. Yes, that felt good.
Then she felt his fingers push into her. She hadn’t thought she could be more shocked, but she was. This was the act, done with his finger. She knew about male organs and penetration. But not this. Not that it would feel so right to have something pushing inside her.
Deeper. Harder.
She clenched around him, and he groaned.
“Sweet Bluebell,” he breathed.
Then he withdrew, and she whimpered. She did not want him leaving her.
With his free hand, he pressed over hers, using his finger to thrust hers against herself. Her bottom was tightening, pushing her up so that her body and their fingers bumped against where she throbbed.
