Page 60 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
Well, there was a great deal more possible, but he supposed from her perspective, she had.
“So show me!” It was as much an order as a plea.
How could he refuse? His hands went to the buttons on his clothes. When she realized what he was doing, her smile was brilliant. Gratitude shone on her face, but mostly, he saw an excited curiosity. And as he let his pants drop and set about opening his falls, she raised her hands off her hips, only to hold them nervously in front of her.
“Will you sit down?” she gestured awkwardly. “In the chair?”
The one she had just vacated? It seemed fitting. Especially as she would likely settle on the stool he had used. It did, after all, afford the best view.
He moved awkwardly, neither fully in, nor out, of his clothes. And when he sat down, she did as he expected, resting on the stool at his knees. She appeared like a student before a master, her expression eager. It was unsettling.
“Bluebell…” he said, but she shook her head.
“Do I help? What should I do?”
All at once, he was seized by the unreality of the situation. Imagine a woman asking to see this? Even at the height of his adolescent imagination, he had never imagined this. So why not enjoy it?
He leaned back in his chair and extended his legs to either side while he freed himself. And there he was, tall and proud, directly before her eyes, which were as huge as saucers.
“Are you sure you want to learn?” His voice was casual, but inside, his blood pounded with hungry excitement.
“Oh yes,” she said as she shifted on the stool. Apparently, she wished to see him from all angles. “You are not exactly straight.”
He nodded. A small hitch to the left. “Most men are not ruler straight.”
“But there is more, yes? The sac?”
So her country education was not completely lacking. “Do you wish to see everything?”
“I thought I’d made that clear already.”
Of course she had. So he divested himself of all coverings from the waist down. The chair felt cold on his bare bum, but stranger was the way she impatiently unbuttoned the lower fastenings of his shirt, enough to drape it open but not fully wide. Like a stage curtain to frame the main show.
It was a truly uncomfortable thought.
He looked at her red lips, still dark from excitement. “Will you kiss me?” he asked.
She hesitated. She had cast this as a sharing of information. Kissing would make it too intimate. But it was something he wanted desperately.
“It is what men imagine before they begin.”
“Kissing?”
“And more.”
She shook her head. “There will not be more.”
As if what they had already done wasn’t intimate enough. “I know,” he said, keeping his voice level. “But a kiss would be welcome.”
She nodded, straightening as gracefully as any queen from her throne. Then she stretched forward over his organ, leaning in such that he could smell her scent—spiced with arousal—and see the bob of her breasts.
“Just a kiss?” she asked.
“A slow one. With your mouth open.”
She agreed with a nod. They connected, lip to lip, a teasing press at first where the heat of her breath coiled with his. Then he angled his mouth one way, and she, the other. Her tongue was tentative, extended into him on a shy quest. It was novel, this exploration she did, and he let her find her way around teeth and tongue.
But all too soon, his hunger took over. Where he had meant to play with her lightly, his need surged forward to make him dominate. She was leaning over him, but he boldly thrust his tongue into her mouth. In and out. Dominance and submission.
