Page 48 of A Lady Most Wayward
‘Touch yourself. Show me what you like,’ Philippa demanded. Her fingers dug into Olivia’s hips as she dragged her harder against her strong thigh. Olivia lifted her hands, cupping her breasts and kneading them, imagining Philippa’s hands instead of her own. She pinched each nipple, rolling one, then the other, gasping at the sharp, sweet pleasure that pulsed in her clitoris and rode Philippa with barely controlled frenzy. Looking down at the erotic display, her pink nipples turning dark rose as she tortured herself for her own pleasure, Olivia felt alive and free and so powerful.
‘My turn with those pretty nipples.’ Philippa brushed Olivia’s hand aside and bent her head, her crimson lips pressing a soft kiss against the tightened tip of Olivia’s breast before she sucked the bud into her wet depths, using her teeth and tongue to push Olivia over the precipice of pleasure and pain. A small orgasm rippled through her, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted everything.
‘You make me wild.’ Olivia struggled to keep her voice low.
‘I want to taste you as you come. Will you let me?’ Philippa’s voice, husky with need, created a resonating shiver through Olivia. The images her words conjured made Olivia drunk with desire.
Pulling back, Olivia wanted to memorise Philippa’s raw expression. She doubted many had seen her quite so undone. Lifting her chin, imperious as a queen, she gathered her courage. ‘On your knees, Duchess.’
Philippa didn’t move, but her eyes touched every inch of Olivia’s exposed skin. Where her gaze landed, heat bloomed as flames licked over Olivia. ‘I don’t remember the last time someone dared to command me.’
Olivia tightened her hands to stop the trembling. Had she gone too far?
Or perhaps, not nearly far enough.
‘You will always remember me, Philippa.’
14
Philippa was burning. Between her thighs, the tips of her breasts, her lungs, her heart. Everything was aflame, and she didn’t know whether to flee from the fire or pour oil onto the conflagration and let it incinerate everything she knew until she emerged like a phoenix from the ashes, renewed.
‘Come.’ She took Olivia’s hand and led her to the settee. Pushing her down onto the cushions, Philippa bent to grab a pillow and drop it on the floor between Olivia’s slippered feet. Olivia’s eyes widened, and the wild wish to possess the talent of a painter swept through Philippa. To capture the beauty of Olivia’s flushed skin, her long legs, her pale breasts tipped with nipples reddened by Philippa’s mouth. To find the exact shade that might match the shine of Olivia’s wild curls glowing in firelight, the right line to trace the arc of her neck, the brushstroke that would immortalise the emerald depths of her eyes. But her talents lay in destruction, not creation.
So I will destroy her for any other woman.
It was a brutal sentiment, but Philippa was feeling ruthless. Something about Olivia’s demand called to the uncontainable heat simmering in Philippa’s blood. She wanted to take Olivia to heights neither of them had ever reached. Claim the woman who infiltrated her mind like a cunning criminal. Stole her thoughts like a skilled thief. Whittled away her control over desires Philippa long since buried.
It is only fair Olivia should feel the sharp edge of my need.
Philippa kept her eyes locked onto Olivia as she slowly lowered herself to her knees. Olivia’s unbound breasts rose and fell with each inhalation. The impetuous marchioness bit her lower lip.
Ah. Not as confident as you pretend to be.
They hadn’t discussed their past experiences. She didn’t know how far Olivia had taken things with her maid. What paths they had wandered down in their quest for pleasure. Olivia had only been with one other woman, but that told Philippa nothing.
I have only been with Liza.
Guilt rippled, but it was eclipsed by something else. Didn’t Olivia deserve a moment of softness? Didn’t Philippa? That is what this was between them. Two women finding strength within each other. It wasn’t anything like her sweet discoveries with Liza. They had been the best of friends, slipping from laughter into love like spring warms into summer. Learning how to pleasure each other through fumbled explorations and breathless experiments. What they lacked in sophistication and knowledge, they gained in the joy of experiencing physical bliss with total trust and deep connection.
But I am no longer a young girl on the cusp of sexual awakening.
She was a woman grown and confident in her desires. She had read widely and imagined all manner of wicked pleasure to be had between the thighs of a willing partner, even though she remained celibate after losing Liza. But tonight, she gave herself permission to play. Because this wasn’t love. It wasn’t betrayal. She didn’t know what it was, but she knew she wanted Olivia with a fierceness that defied logic.
‘Lift your skirts.’ Philippa could have helped, but instead, she rocked back on her heels and watched as Olivia gathered the layers of cloth, dragging them up her calves, exposing stockings tied at her knees in little blue bows. The hemline riveted Philippa as it moved slowly higher. She couldn’t decide if Olivia was being intentionally coy or if the woman who so casually commanded the attention of dukes, viscounts, and barons alike was suddenly shy. Flicking her gaze up, she saw the tremble in Olivia’s lips. ‘Are you frightened?’
Olivia shook her head quickly. Too quickly.
‘Exactly how much experience have you had with another woman?’
Olivia’s blush told Philippa all she needed to know. ‘There was kissing. And touching, of course. She was quite skilled with her hands. But… we never. I mean to say, she spoke about how good it could be when one used their mouth and tongue, but Percy discovered us before we could ever progress to… umm. Yes. Well.’
Philippa raised a brow. With all of Olivia’s charm and sophistication, her practised flirting at balls, her confidence while twirling on the dance floor in the arms of any number of men, she never would have guessed the woman to be so inexperienced. But then, mayhap that was Olivia’s game. To keep everyone at arm’s length by making them believe she was far too experienced to ever dally with a bed partner unmatched to her in sophistication.
It bloody well worked.
Until now.
‘I doubt your husband was very generous in his lovemaking.’
