Page 66 of Pride, Prejudice & Wicked Pleasure

“Do you recall it?”

She did not, but when he paused, she scrambled to find the word. She needed him to continue.

“I shan’t need it,” she insisted.

“Montreal,” he supplied. “Repeat it.”

She felt ready to burst and panted, “Montreal, Montreal, Montreal.”

He sank another finger into her and seemed to meet a resistance. His breath caught as her molten desire coated him, lubricating a path for his fingers. Sensing his hesitation still, she ground herself into his hand. There was a flare of discomfort as his fingers breached the resistance inside. She gasped. He stilled. Then his thumb circled her clitoris, recalling the beautiful sensations. He sank a finger into her. Her cunnie clutched at him greedily.

She groaned her pleasure, but her climax remained at bay. More of him was required. She reached once more for his groin.

“No,” he refused harshly.

But she ignored him. If he was not aroused, he would not possess such stiffness there. Thus, he must have some level of desire for her. She rubbed her right hand along the knob. When he pulled her hand away, she used her left, determined to stoke his arousal. Grabbing her wrists, he pinned her arms above her head. Undeterred, she gyrated her hips against him.

“Stop.”

She would have protested, but her body spoke more forcefully. Wrapping her legs around him as she had seen done in so much of the artwork in Trenwith House, she pressed her cunnie against him.

He groaned. “You know not what you do.”

That she could undo the resistance of a practiced mentor was exhilarating. If she had been in an impassioned state of mind, she might marvel at what little flair was required to seduce a man, and that one as inexperienced as she could yet cultivate the primal urges in the opposite sex. Pulling a hand free from his grasp, she reached for the buttons of his fall. This time he did not brush away her hand. She slid her hand between the fabric and…oh my. The appendage really was as hard as intimated. But smooth to the touch.

He pulled away from her. “I cannot. I am ill prepared.”

But she grabbed both his arms. Her heart was pounding in her ears. He held the key to quench the burning deep inside of her.

“Perhaps you could simply rub it against me,” she suggested and shifted her hips so that her thigh skimmed his erection. Without waiting for his reply, she ground herself against the full length of his desire.

“You must desist,” he grunted.

She paid him no heed. The feel of his cock against her cunnie, bumping, sliding between her legs, enflamed her craving even more. She wanted it. She wanted to experience the ecstasy forbidden to women of her state.

“Desist,” he repeated.

“Are instructors granted safety words as well?” She could not resist, for she felt the balance of power tilted in her favour.

“You will rue this moment,” he warned. “The aphrodisiac, not your will, prompts your actions.”

“I wish to have the full extent of this education.”

He shook his head. “But have you before—”

She bucked her hips against him. Her clitoris struck the head of his cock over and over. It felt delicious. She wanted more. She could feel his resistance ebbing.

“Please,” he begged.

She grabbed his head between her hands and crushed her lips to his without mercy. “Take me. Take me, please! Now!”

Never had she been so demanding, but she thought she would go mad if she could not be satisfied. With a relenting groan, he pushed his cock at her hot, wet opening. She gasped loudly upon its entry. He stilled.

Sensing he was about to withdraw, she tightened her hold of him. “No.”

She took a fortifying breath. He felt much larger than she had expected. Undeterred by the discomfort, her lust throbbed hot and wet about him. He slid a little farther.

Good God.