Page 8 of At His Lady’s Command

At last he moved, reaching over to take her hand and place it on the smooth, rock-hard cock that reared up from its nest of coarse black hair, and she almost cheered.

“Yes,” he said simply.

Inhaling unsteadily as his thumb brushed her clitoris and sent a jolt of delight through her body, Portia shuffled up onto her knees so she could get closer, and attempted to close her fingers around his girth. She couldn’t!

A soft moan of delight escaped. Bracing her free hand on his shoulder, she began to squeeze and stroke his cock with the other, using the pearly moisture seeping from the swollen head to ease her way. All while his callused fingertips caressed the soaked folds of her labia, and teased her entrance with brief, shallow thrusts guaranteed to make her lose her mind.

Hmmm. He thought to torment her, did he?

Portia changed her grip from firm to feather-light, dancing her own fingertips along the length of him, brushing the head, darting down to play with his heavy balls.

His breath hissed between his teeth. “Please.”

“Please what, Denham?” she replied ruthlessly, deliberately not giving him what he wanted. “Tell me plainly.”

“Harder. I need it harder,” he groaned, his hips jerking upward in an attempt to push his cock back into her palm.

“And why should I do that when your fingers aren’t deep inside my quim where I need them?”

Denham met her gaze, his dark eyes heavy-lidded with arousal. And then, very, very quietly he said: “I have yet to receive specific orders, my lady.”

Portia froze. On the way to Halstead’s estate, he had said he preferred taking orders, and she’d wondered if that might extend to the bedchamber. It appeared the answer was a resounding yes. And yet all her experience of Englishmen, especially older men, told her they resented and disliked women taking the lead because it offended their masculine sensibilities and defied the biblical order of things.

“Am I to understand,” she said carefully, because the thought of having this brawny, handsome man submit to her was so heady she could barely articulate the words, “that if I give you an instruction on how I wish to be pleasured, you will follow it exactly?”

Denham shuddered, and more pearly fluid trickled from the head of his cock into her hand. “Yes, my lady.”

Excitement surged through her. Thankful for the softness of the bed cradling her knees, and the well-stoked fire keeping the room a reasonable temperature, Portia brushed a light kiss of approval across his lips. Then she tugged at her chemise until it fully bared both breasts. “Suck my nipples, Captain. Suck them hard until they are as red as holly berries. Immediately.”

Denham made a primitive sound, and his hot mouth engulfed one tender nipple, drawing firmly on it with his lips, even scraping it with his teeth, making her whimper as the delicious pleasure-pain sensation darted straight to her throbbing, aching core.

With one hand Portia commanded, cupping his neck to push his head closer, encouraging him to take more of her breast in his mouth. With the other hand she rewarded, sliding up and down his cock and sporadically squeezing. Once her nipple turned dark red and so sensitive she could scarcely bear the exquisite pressure, Portia twisted her shoulders a little so he would move and lavish attention on its twin.“Mmmmm. Oh yes! Just like that.”

“Tell me what else,” he gritted out. “Order me to pleasure you.”

Her head swimming with lust, Portia ran her fingers through his short military-cropped hair, and tugged his head back so she could plunder his mouth with her tongue. Then she trailed her lips along his slightly rough jaw until she reached his ear and nipped the fleshy lobe.

“Can you feel how wet I am?” she whispered, slowly rubbing her quim against his hand.

Denham took a ragged breath, his pulse thundering under her teasing mouth. “Yes. Fuck. All over my fingers.”

“Then you know I need to come at once. So you must first ease one finger inside me, then a second.”

“Yes, my lady,” he replied, as his fingers glided over her labia, before one gently pushed inside her. Soon he penetrated her with a second finger, and began a lazy, expert twist deep inside her quim. Oh, there was a great deal to be said for a man of experience.

Portia bit her lip, but couldn’t halt a needy wail as he toyed with that tiny rough ridge that nearly made her explode like a fireworks display at Vauxhall. The time for play was done. She needed to climax right now. “Faster,” she commanded harshly, even as she firmed her grip on his cock and massaged the head. “Fuck me with your fingers until I come all over them.”

Then she couldn’t think at all, as Denham’s blunt fingers thrust and withdrew, his thumb worked her clitoris, and he rubbed his cheek against hers in a gesture so unexpectedly sweet that it hurled her over the edge. Reclaiming his lips in a fierce kiss to muffle her scream of ecstasy, she soared to the stars, her orgasm made even better when he came all over her hand, his spurting seed sticky and warm, his guttural groan a symphony to her ears.

Utterly boneless, her knees unable to support her for a moment longer, Portia eased his fingers from her quim and collapsed back onto her pillows. One couldn’t argue with her opinion; an orgasm was the perfect start to the morning. “Denham.”

He leaned back against the post at the left end of her bed, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling, his well-emptied cock now resting benignly against his thigh. “I have temporarily lost the ability to think. That was…”

“Quite satisfactory,” she replied, her words altogether ruined by the wayward grin tugging at her lips. “Yet you must think and move, for I require a cloth and warm water. You quite covered my hand, as I’m sure I covered yours. I would use my nightgown, but that would be hard to explain away to Marie.”

Denham nodded, and ambled across the room to where a ceramic bowl of water and two neatly folded cloths sat. He wet both then returned, and they attended to themselves. All the while she could feel his gaze on her, unsure, waiting for her next instruction. That vulnerability from her stoic captain made her heart clench, reminding her that she had behaved badly the previous evening, blurting that apology and allowing him to walk away without explaining her thoughts like the mature, worldly woman she was.

“Next time,” she mused, “You shall lick my quim clean, and I’ll suck your cock. Then there is no evidence at all.”