His Desirable Debutante. Lynne Silver
She couldn’t quite meet his eye on the word innocent.
His shock and doubt were understandable. After all, a true innocent would never have done what she had; touching herself in that bathtub, giving in to her unnatural urges. But he didn’t know what she’d done and had simply made assumptions based unfairly on whispers and innuendo circling the Ton.
All those long-suppressed urges flooded back into her limp body with Pierce’s large body so close to hers. For the first time, she felt grateful her hands were bound, for if they were not, they might have moved of their own volition to the junction of her legs and rubbed till she gained release from this building pressure. But she couldn’t. That way led to ruin and was unnatural, or so she’d been told by the vicious laughter of the other debutante who’d caught her in the bath at the house party three years ago.
Pierce continued to watch her with curiosity etched on his face. “There’s one way to discover if you’re speaking the truth, but I don’t think you’re ready yet, much as I want you. If you are a virgin, this changes my plans somewhat. Slows the pacing down.” He bit his lip in thought.
“What plans?” Helene asked, unable to maintain stoicism.
“An education. A slow initiation into sexual pleasure unlike my own abrupt freefall into decadence.” For a moment, his mind wandered to a place distant from this room, and then with a low chuckle he refocused on her. “For now, though, some food. Since your hands are tied, I will have the honor of feeding my bride.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he spooned a small helping of poached salmon glazed with the most delicate yet delicious of sauces. She chewed, keenly aware of his heated stare on her lips. A slight drizzle of sauce glistened on the corner of her mouth, and he leaned closer till their faces were mere inches from each other. His masculine scent mingled with the delicate fish sauce adding a spiciness she’d not tasted before.
He leaned in as if to lick the errant drop of sauce away, but at the last moment swept it up with a broad index finger then touched the finger to her parted lips. A deep smile of satisfaction covered his mouth when her tongue darted out to lick the drop on his finger.
She couldn’t believe she was so daring, but inside his candlelit bedroom it was like all the rules had disappeared. Society as a whole was gone, and the world was just Pierce and Helena. They continued in that vein for some minutes with Pierce carefully feeding her, but allowing measured drops of food to fall on her mouth, her chin, and finally, her bosom.
He spared a rapid glance down at her pale, smooth skin marred only by a glistening drop of sauce. Much as he wanted to bend his head and apply his tongue to the task of removing it, he forced his gaze back up to return Helene’s wide-eyed stare. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts had revealed how affected she was by his treatment. Poor little virgin. When she’d laid claim to innocence, he’d had one tiny doubting moment, but he firmly believed her now. Only a true innocent would be so affected by the simple act of feeding her.
Not that he could claim to be unaffected himself. He was hard as stone and had been since entering the room and viewing his wife laid out like a feast for his dining pleasure. Her dusky nipples peeked out of the lacy gown he’d dressed her in and if he added some more candles, he knew he’d be able to see the dark shadow of hair at her sweet cunt.
Though that path was barred to him. Not until she begged and he knew she wanted it as much as he did. His wife should be a willing participant, the opposite of his first bedroom experience. But he was a long way from that scared little boy in the whore’s boudoir, and with a return to concentration, Pierce swiped the last drop off the rise of her breast taking care to brush the hardened, sensitive nub.
With a hidden smile he lifted the tray off the bed and bid her adieu. “Good night, sweet Helene. I’ll send someone along for the tray shortly.” And without a backward look for his wife, he left, wondering how long he’d manage to stay away.
How dare he? Helene kicked aside the blankets in a fit of fury, pretending it was her husband’s solid body instead. How could he leave her like this? Bound and aching. She couldn’t possibly be expected to sleep like this.
“Bastard!” Her yell at the closed door did little to vent her frustration.
“Well,” an older, sensible-looking woman huffed as she swung through the doorway. “Oh. Oh, my.” She bustled over to the bed clucking her commiseration. “So it’s true then? He’s gone and married. And it’s no wonder you’re shouting up a storm, tied up the way you are. It’s been more than twenty years since I swatted his bottom, but if that’s what it takes to make him treat his wife with the respect she deserves, I’ll do it.”
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