Page 93 of Doxy for the Ton
“Why not?”
She looked away, and he grew still, letting the silence fill the room—waiting for her to break it. At length, she sighed.
“Because once you’ve tasted pleasure—genuine pleasure—you want nothing else. And so you taste it again, and again, until, each waking moment, youcraveit.”
“Is that so wrong?” he asked. “I find myself craving you each waking moment.”
“But you’re aman.”
“Do we not suffer as your sex does?”
“In one aspect, you’ll never suffer as we do. Some consequences a man will never have to face. There are—” She broke off, her voice cracking, and he placed his hand on her face, caressing her cheek with his thumb.
“I am no fool, Mimi,” he said. “If you are referring to a child, I assure you that I would accept my responsibility if you were to—”
“Stop!” she cried. “Please—do not speak of it. If you care about me as you claim to do, then you’ll desist.”
His heart cracked at the grief in her tone. What had she lost to make her fashion such a thick shell around her heart to hide her despair?
“What do you want of me, Mimi?” he asked.
For a moment, she stared at him, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. Then she blinked and her expression shuttered once more.
“I want to give you pleasure.”
Would it have been too much for her to say that she wanted to trust him? That she wanted him to love her?
He shifted inside her once more, and she curved her lips into a smile.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
A smile was perhaps the best he could hope for. Closing his eyes, he let the image of her smile fill his senses while he withdrew from her, then slipped inside again. He continued to move, letting the pleasure build solely so that he could savor it, until it sparkled and shimmered in his mind, enveloping his soul.
“Oh, Mimi…” he murmured as the pleasure rose, a tide swelling in his mind. “How you unman me.”
She lay back, her breathing growing more uneven, and he felt her body begin to ripple around him.
Sweet Lord—would she come to pleasure at his touch?
Hope swelling within him, he increased the pace as the wave swelled and soared, then it crested, and his body shattered.
“Oh, Mimi—my love!” He cried her name as, with one final thrust, he fell forward, claiming her body, clinging to her as if his life depended on it. He continued to thrust, his movement growing weaker as he drew out every last drop of pleasure. Then, at last, with a sigh, he pulled her close, placing his head on her chest.
She remained still, her heartbeat racing against his ear. He lifted his head to see her lying beneath him, her head tilted back until the tendons in her neck stretched, jaw clenched, brow furrowed in pain.
“Did you…?” His words hung in the air as she opened her eyes.
She shook her head. Her hands, which she’d formed into tight fists, now unfurled, to reveal tiny red marks in her palms where she’d dug her nails into the flesh.
He took her hand and brushed his thumb over the marks, and she winced as a thick red droplet swelled on her skin—evidence of the pain she endured, rather than surrender to pleasure at his touch.
“May I stay here tonight?” he asked. “With you?”
Fear flared in her eyes once more.
“I only want to hold you,” he said, aware of the pitiful tone in his voice. “I-I want to be more than just…”
“We have a business arrangement, Your Grace. But you’re entitled to stay here. After all, you are paying for this house.”
