Page 44 of Impassioned
She’d moved closer again because he felt the whisper of her breath against his jaw. A shiver of need tripped up his spine, awakening his body. “Tell me about your wife. What do you think she would like?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. I don’t even know if she wantsme. She wants a child, but that can be accomplished without, ah, fanfare.”
“Fanfare? What an interesting way to describe it—pleasure, I think you mean?” She didn’t wait for him to respond before continuing. “You could keep things simple and straightforward, lackluster, if you will, but if you were content to do that, you wouldn’t be here. Have you spoken to her about what she wants now? Lord Lucien indicated you aren’t newlyweds.”
“Our relationship is a bit, er, strained.”
“I gather that’s why you’re here.”
“I’m here because apparently I’ve got the completely wrong idea of how to behave with my wife. In my defense, she is incredibly reserved and apprehensive. At least she used to be.”
“She’s not anymore?”
“She’s trying not to be, but when it comes to the bedchamber, I have no idea. We, ah, shared a bed the other night and Ithinkshe orgasmed, but I can’t be sure.”
“Why not ask her?”
“She seemed alternately horrified and…responsive during the act. Honestly, it was incredibly confusing.”
“Perhaps she simply didn’t know what to do,” she said softly. “That’s possible, isn’t it?”
It wasn’t only possible, it was probable. He couldn’t expect that her mother had discussed the matter with her. Who else would teach her then, but him? “I’m going to have to talk to her to make seduction work, aren’t I?”
“I think you must, yes. Would that be so bad? Talking can be somewhat…arousing, can’t it?”
“I hadn’t considered it, actually. But I will, if it will help my wife relax.”
“Oh my.” She laughed softly. “If you wish your wife to relax, perhaps you should offer her a glass of sherry or port. And if a modicum of pleasure is all you desire, we can be finished in short order. I would assert, however, that you try for something more than amodicum. Why not aim for a satisfactory amount? Or, if you’re feeling adventurous, you might even set your goal at, say, anexcess.” She hissed the last word, and another frisson of need danced across his flesh.
Constantine wanted an excess of pleasure. So much.
Her fingers grazed his hand, and she abruptly withdrew. “My apologies. May I take your hand?”
He wanted to say no, to deny the burgeoning desire igniting inside him. He did not. “Yes.”
She curled her hand around his. “Sometimes it’s nice to just touch someone like this. No expectations, only an intimate moment shared between two people. Perhaps you could hold your wife’s hand.”
Her flesh against his teased his senses, making the darkness even more profound as everything else worked to compensate. He didn’t want this intimacy—not with her. He imagined his wife instead and immediately felt calmer.
“You could also stroke her arm as you sit together—in your coach, perhaps, as you ride somewhere. Your touch outside the bedchamber might ease her anxiety. Then, when you are alone together, you can caress her neck, her back…”
With the inability to see anything, Constantine’s mind filled in the void. He recalled the alluring expanse of Lady Aldington’s back.Lady Aldington?Her name was Sabrina. If he first-named her, that would certainly break down some of the wall, wouldn’t it?
His hand lifted, without direction from him, and he imagined trailing his fingertip down Sabrina’s spine. His finger met flesh, and the woman’s soft gasp cloaked him, drawing him closer in thought, if not in actuality.
He pulled his hand back, realizing somewhat stupidly that thiswasn’this wife. “I didn’t mean to touch you. I didn’t realize you were so close.” He wondered what he’d touched. “Where did I—?” He cut himself off, thinking it best if they didn’t discuss that. “Never mind.”
“You touched me just above the bodice of my gown. If you’d been an inch lower, you would have found my breast.”
He swallowed. This was becoming dangerous. He wished hehadtouched her breast. No, not hers, Sabrina’s. “I tried to do that to my wife the other night. She didn’t seem to like it.”
“Perhaps she was merely startled. Try telling her what you’re going to do—that you want to caress and fondle her, to put your mouth on her there.”
Lust pooled in his loins, a great thirst he feared couldn’t be slaked. Not tonight anyway. He hadn’t wanted to frighten Sabrina, so he’d taken things incredibly slowly. But he could have communicated to her what would happen, prepared her so as to alleviate her fear.
Regret cascaded through him in a torrent. “I’m sorry,” he whispered before realizing, again, that this wasn’t Sabrina. He was struggling to distinguish this woman before him from the one in his head.
“Don’t be. Do you want to touch me? Show me how you would touch your wife. If you like.”
