Being Wicked. Lacy Danes
At the end, he pushed open a door and carried her into the center of the room. The dark wood floor, the only thing before her eyes, was a stark contrast to the whites of his stockings.
He tilted her and lowered her down his body. Every pore of her being sparked and jittered, as if igniting the coals in a fire grate. Her slippers hit the floor.
Winston stood, his body still pressed to hers. He raised his hand and skimmed fingertips above her ear and into her up-done hair. “Not speaking, Grace?”
Grace kept her head tilted down and looked up at him through her eyelashes. His eyes, clear blue water, flowed with desire and his lips curved up with confidence. Winston’s expertise was evident in the way he held her; in the way he pressed her to the wall in the entry; simply in the way he brushed his fingertips along her skin.
“Very well, you will be making noise soon enough.” His fingers traced her collarbone and the hairs on her nape stood. He turned and walked toward the other side of the room.
She inhaled a breath and savored the feel of his finger on her skin, then glanced about the room.
Amazing! The stories of this house said each of the rooms glittered with decadence, scandalous art, and erotic delights. But this room glowed with warmth and calmness.
This room reminded her of what she had read in books of India: the heat, the lazy afternoons lounging about, because the sun shone so bright, it made everything feel red and gold, like the walls in this room. Each wall was covered in a rich red, with golden and yellow patterns of birds and flowers.
She spun about, and on the far wall, opposite from where Winston now stood, was a large copper tub set into the floor. Surrounding the tub lay red and black carpets. A stack of towels and containers perched on the edge. Three large candelabrums stood about the tub with unlit candles. She inhaled, and humid scents filled her nose. What scent was that? Cloves and…She could not place it. She inhaled again—a soothing aroma nonetheless.
Turning back toward Winston, she gazed at the bed. The carved platform stood only three paces from the tub. It was low to the ground and covered in the same rich crimson as the walls.
At each corner of the bed frame, there resided an elephant head carved with elaborate detail. Their smooth, wide ears tapered down to a ridged and looped trunk. Images of ankles and wrists tied to each of the four elephants’ trunks as Winston’s fingertips trailed her body in a fire that engulfed her and made her eyes widen. Winston. She glanced across her shoulder at him.
He stood with no shirt on, no shoes, and only his trousers. His smooth chest held no hair, not like Oscar’s. His nipples peaked on rounded muscles. Grace’s fingertips pinched together as if rolling the sensitive flesh that tapered down his flat stomach to the edge of his pantaloons.
“Undress, Grace.”
He didn’t move, but his stomach muscles visibly tensed.
“Undress…” Reaching up, she pulled the tie to her shift and the shoulders loosened.
Oscar had never asked her to undress for him. He had always been the one to disrobe her. Doing so was one of the intimacies he could do, and she had savored every brush of his fingers, hands, and lips on her skin as he did so. She worried the inside of her cheek. How should she go about undressing for a man?
How would Oscar have wanted her to undress?
Like a cat playing with its food, she would tease Winston just a bit…before doing as he wished.
His eyes darkened and he stared at her, unmoving.
She rotated her hips and kept her fingers tightly on the strings to her shift. In her mind, music as exotic as the ladies of India, with their dark skin and hair, drifted in the air. Their bodies, covered in rich red and green silks embroidered with gold and silver threads, danced with her.
She pressed the balls of her feet into the floor and bent her knees slightly, then rocked her hips, as Emma had been doing in the ballroom below. With each rock of her hips, she slowly turned around in a circle.
Her hands rubbed the skin of her breasts, hard nipples poked the palms of her hands. In her mind, the women of India rubbed her breasts, then trailed hot hands along her naked thighs.
“Grace!”
Grace’s eyes opened, and the beautiful, exotic images faded.
“You are a delightful dancer, Grace. I wish you to undress for me.”
Her fingers shook on the strings to her shift. Take a deep breath, Grace, and relax. She swallowed and lowered her eyes from his.
“Grace. Undress now.” The words were soft but firm, a reminder to listen to him.
She held in a frown. He didn’t wish for her seduction. He wanted her to listen to him. She did want to please him. She simply had no idea how to go about such an act. Oscar’s wishes were all she understood. Yet, Oscar had said all men at their base were the same. So why wasn’t he enjoying the tease? He had not enjoyed the teasing in the ballroom with Emma, either.
She closed her eyes and slid her fingers beneath the gathered shoulder of her shift. She would do as he asked. Her fingers glided along her skin in a light trace, which left goose bumps in their wake.
She imagined her fingers were Winston’s slipping the cotton fabric down her shoulder as her body trembled and her pussy clenched.
Oh, how she wanted him. Wanted his hands doing so to her body. The masculine trail of his heat on her skin. She trembled and shook with intense lust. Lust for Winston. She could not deny how he created passion in her.
She licked her lips but didn’t dare open her eyes. Her heart beat in her throat as she slipped the other shoulder down to her elbow. She wished he would come show her what he wanted or would tell her from where he stood.
The crisp cotton caught on the pebbled flesh of her nipples, then slipped down to pool at her waist. The humid air caressed her naked breasts, as if his breath washed across her flesh.
She swallowed hard and pulled the sleeves down her wrists and off her fingers. The shift slid in a hushed whirl down her legs to pool at her feet. She flinched at how quickly the fabric left her body, leaving her breasts and sex exposed to his view.
She kept her head tilted down. Her eyes firmly shut. She stood and trembled, yet she was not cold. Not at all. Relax, Grace.
“The garters, Grace.” His voice came from closer to her and off to her side.
He had moved!
She swallowed. Oh. Oh, what was he doing? She should look. Open her eyes and see where he was and what his expression was, but she couldn’t. Her shoulders slumped. Her eyelids simply would not open so she could gaze upon him.
A fevered ache spread through her body. She didn’t wish to know what he thought of her naked form. Her arms jumped as she fought the urge to cross her forearms over her breasts.
Why did she struggle so? On the one hand, she was shy because this was Winston; on the other, she wished him to devour her every inch. She ached for his touch…for his approval of what he saw.
She reached her hands down her belly to the top of her thighs, then slid lower over the soft roundness of her right leg. Reaching the gathered garter below her knee, she unfastened the silk and let the two-inch piece of cloth fall to the floor upon the heap of white that was her shift.
She did the same with her left leg and straightened her body back up to standing.
He cleared his throat, the sound coming from the other side of her. “Grace, roll your stockings down, one at a time. When you reach your slippers, leave them pooled at your ankles.”
Was he circling her? What was he doing? The image of him inspecting her from every angle quickened her breath. She inhaled a shaky yet steadying breath, and then another.
The scented air in the room filled her senses and her muscles relaxed. That is it, Grace. Don’t be shy. Be bold. Be the woman