Page 62 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
He pushed into her hand. She didn’t resist, but went upward with him. So he wrapped his hand around hers, showing her where to squeeze, how to stroke, what to do.
It was the most exquisite torture he’d ever had. Holding himself back while he instructed her. He tried to keep things dispassionate. He tried to think of anything but the wonder of her hand on him.
Then she began to knead him. Not hard, more like the rolling squeeze of a woman who had milked many a cow. It was an unflattering thought, but oh how it felt!
His hips jerked in reaction. He let go of her hand to grip the edges of the chair. And he thrust into her hand.
Over and over, while she watched and smiled.
It was her smile that got him. She was delighted to do this for him. She was happy.
To do this.
For him.
“Ahhhh!”
He exploded. His mind went white, his hips bucked uncontrolled, and he released everything like a shot from a gun.
Everything.
Pulse after pulse.
Yes. God yes.
It was some moments before he had control of himself enough to open his eyes. When he finally did, he saw her grinning. She hadn’t let go of him, but was still holding his shrinking cock, his cum covering her hand. He didn’t want to look to see where else it had gone. It was enough to see it there on her and him.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Thank him? The best orgasm of his life, and she was thanking him.
“Was it what you wanted?” he asked.
“Yes.” She looked at him as if waiting for a sign. He had no idea what she meant, but then she glanced back at her hand. “I should let go now?”
God no. He was already starting to swell again. How could he not, with her looking so happily intrigued? But honesty forced him to nod.
“That is the essence of it,” he finally managed. “There is endless variety, of course, between a man and a woman. But that is the main part.”
She released him slowly, uncoiling one finger after another. Then she straightened, refilling the basin quickly, and returning with water and cloth. He had meant to put himself away by then, but languor was making his thoughts and his movements slow.
And then she was there with a gentle stroke on an organ all too willing to come to life again. She cleaned him, and he had to grasp her wrist or demonstrate again.
“Too soon?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Too hungry for more.”
Her smile was wicked. “I understand.”
She…what?
“You…um…” How to ask? “You wish to do that again?”
She laughed, the sound light and free. “Of course. Now I understand why women rush to the altar. It is not completely about money or even love. It is to enjoy that, yes?”
He cleared his throat. “Most women do not have such pleasure in their bed. That is why they do it alone. In secret.”
She nodded as if that made sense. “Then I will have to be careful when selecting my husband.”
