An Introduction to Pleasure (21 page)

Lysandra looked down and darted out her tongue to lick the head of his cock as it plunged out between her breasts, once, twice, three times.

Andrew groaned and then released her breasts, grabbing for her wrists to yank her over top of him.

“I’ll spray everywhere if I keep doing that,” he panted. “And I want you over me, around me, when that happens.”

Lysandra shivered as she spread her legs and maneuvered herself into position over him. Her pussy was slick with anticipation and pleasure as she glided him against the entrance to her body in a few readying strokes. He lifted his hips and half his length disappeared within her, stretching her deliciously as she arched her back against a wave of pleasure. She shifted and took the rest of his length inside of her, then held still as she utterly enjoyed the feel of their two bodies merged as one aroused entity.

She leaned back against her arms and watched his face as she began to ride him in long, slow stokes. She stroked against him, rubbing her pelvis in small circles and gasping as her clit pulsed and throbbed in reaction.

He opened his eyes and stared, so she gave him the best show she could, arching her back so her breasts were on display, biting her lip as she tried to hold back the mounting pleasure that started between her legs and spread like flame to the rest of her body. Her orgasm built with every smooth stroke of her hips, and she slowed down to hold off the explosion as long as she could. She wanted to drag out the pleasure tonight. To make them both pant and sweat and beg.

But pleasure mobbed her, crushing her will and her plans, making her ride ever harder, ever faster. She gasped as the first spasms hit, and careened forward to crush her mouth to his. She sucked his tongue as she came, jerking her hips forward and back with no finesse, no control, nothing but pure ecstasy guiding her heated movements.

“Fuck!” Andrew bellowed and in an instant, he flipped her on her back and drove into her so hard and so fast that the orgasm that had just begun to fade doubled in intensity, until she screamed, until she wept with sweet release.

Andrew strained, his neck tightening as he dug his fingers into her hips. He was probably hurting her, bruising her tender flesh, but at that moment he had no control over his actions. His cock was in control and it beat out one drumbeat of an order:

Claim. Take. Mine.

Pleasure overtook him, and he poured hot seed deep within her clenching sheath. He collapsed on top of her, panting with exertion and utter pleasure. Spent.

She shifted beneath him to wrap her arms around him. When he tried to move, she held him close, smoothing her fingers down his sweaty back.

“I’ll crush you,” he whispered, fearful to speak at full voice in the dark, as if he might break the spell created by their erotic coupling.

She looked up at him, dark blue eyes shining in the candlelight. “I like your weight.”

He stared at her for a moment, her hair tangled around her face, her cheeks flushed. He had never seen another woman so beautiful in all his life. She could stand toe-to-toe in her night rail with any supposed Diamond of the First Water and win the battle of beauty.

He kissed her once and then rolled to his side, moving her with him so that her head rested against his shoulder. She pressed a hand to his chest and began to trace a pattern on the muscles there.

It had been some time, he couldn’t have said how long, before she spoke again. “Why?”

He blinked down at her. “Why what?”

“When you came here, you said you hadn’t been with a woman in a long time. Why?”

He closed his eyes briefly. He’d still been tipsy when he arrived. Liquor had loosened his tongue before passion sobered him. Once again, he had said too much. But now that it was out there, he couldn’t exactly take it back, especially since he had no desire to push her away and leave. Not tonight.

“I was once a…” He hesitated as he tried to think of a description. “…a different man. I was wild. I was a rake.”

She smiled, but there was no mocking in the expression, even when she said, “Vivien said that to me once. But you are so somber now, it is hard for me to picture you as a rogue. Though the image I do have is most interesting.” She tilted her head. “What changed?”

“I got married,” he said, his tone flat and emotionless, although his mind was anything but. On the contrary, it was a tangled mass of thoughts he normally tried to suppress.

She continued to stare at him, her expression unreadable, though he could well imagine her thoughts. He never spoke of his wife; she had to be curious.

“The fact that they are married stops few men from pursuing their pleasure, it seems,” she said softly.

Andrew sent her a side-glance, wondering if she was thinking of the unwanted advances of Lord Culpepper, a married man of the utmost respectability. At the very least, he hoped she did not compare him to that bastard.

“I loved her,” he found himself admitting, perhaps for the first time to anyone but Rebecca herself. “I changed for her. When she died… I didn’t know what kind of man to be.”

There was a long moment of quiet and he held his breath. This was the point where most people would remind him that Rebecca had been gone for far past the usual mourning period and suggest he fuck a courtesan or marry a chit ten years his junior and move on with the life everyone expected him to lead. His grief, his continued struggle, made them all uncomfortable and they wanted it to stop.

But Lysandra simply touched his cheek. “She has only been gone a few years, yes?”

He nodded but did not speak. He didn’t trust himself to do so.

She smiled. “I can understand that it would take a long time to recover from such a loss. To re-establish yourself as a man, as a person.”

He drew back at that reaction. No one else had ever put it so succinctly. Even his brother, who gave him the most leeway in his grief, had never been able to fully understand his reaction and was forever trying to gently prod him toward a return to his “normal” life.

“You are the only one who thinks so,” he said softly.

He shook his head, thinking of his father that afternoon. The old man would have his way by one means or another if they remained together. He would find a way to take this affair from Andrew in the name of his “own good” since Andrew wouldn’t surrender Lysandra willingly.

Suddenly, he sat up on his elbow and looked at her as a thought struck him. “Lysandra, we should go to the country.”

She drew back at his sudden change of tone and subject. “The country?”

He nodded, excitement for this notion building with every word he spoke.

“Yes. My estate is only a day and a half’s travel from London, and there is a pleasant inn along the road that would be suitable for a stop. We could conclude your training there.”

She wrinkled her brow, a look of continuing confusion on her face. “Why?”

“There will be no distractions there,” he explained, again thinking of his father, of the Society that had apparently taken a new interest in him, even of his brother and the happy union he was building. He was finished with it all. At least for a little while.

“There is great privacy so I can tutor you even further,” he continued as he shoved those thoughts aside.

God, what he could do to her there, when he had her in his home, in his bed. He could possess her in every way and surely
that
would purge this desire he continued to feel for her. And at home, his
real
home, he would feel more himself.

Lysandra nodded slowly. “Now that my mother is safe and happy away from my cousin and his moods, I see no reason why I couldn’t leave the city for a time. I will go to her tomorrow and make some excuse about my disappearance.”

He smiled. “Then you will come with me?”

She nodded, but he sensed a hesitation that he chose to ignore. Instead, he leaned over her and kissed her, deep and hot and heavy. She relaxed at the onslaught of his passion and he lowered her back onto the pillows.

“After you talk to her,” he whispered, “we’ll depart. In two days we will be there. And everything will be different.”

But as he let his fingers travel down to the place where her legs met and began to gently stroke her, he tried to ignore the loud, insistent voice in his head. The one that told him he was running. The one that said he could never truly make anything different.

Not even with this woman.

Chapter Nineteen

Lysandra sat perched on the edge of a pretty little settee, preparing tea as she waited for her mother to join her. She looked around with a contented sigh. The house was small but perfect for her mother. The rooms were pretty, the servants were kind. For the first time, she felt like everything she was doing, everything she had sacrificed, was worth it.

The door to the parlor opened, and she stood as her mother stepped into the room.

“Dearest,” she said, pressing two kisses to Lysandra’s cheeks. She looked at her, and Lysandra shifted.

Her new gowns had been delivered that morning. Not one, as she had requested, but five. Andrew had intervened with Madame Bertrande and chosen the fabric himself.

They were beautiful gowns, ranging from everyday outfits to riding frocks, and of course her gorgeous evening gown that was probably being packed up by her servants as she stood here.

What they were not, however, were the gowns of a servant. Even a high-ranking one, as Andrew had explained to her mother that she was.

“Sit down, Lysandra,” her mother said, her tone soft. “We’ll share tea.”

She nodded. “How do you like your new home?”

Her mother smiled. “It is lovely. I’ve actually had friends to visit in the last week. Imagine, actually seeing a friend without having to ask permission.”

Lysandra shut he eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mama. I didn’t fully realize how terrible a situation it was for you at August and Marta’s home. If I could have taken you away sooner—”

Her mother shook her head and covered her hand briefly. “Lysandra, you did not create this situation. You must stop blaming yourself for it and taking responsibility for fixing it. Your father made bad choices. Perhaps I should have been more aware of those choices. But it was never your duty to save me.”

“I didn’t do a good job of it, even if it was. I plopped you in the middle of a home where there was no warmth or care for you.” Lysandra sighed. “But you are out of there now.”

“At what seems to be a high cost,” her mother said, looking at her gown again.

Lysandra gripped her hands at her sides and then ignored the comment. “This will have to be a very quick tea,” she explained. “I came to tell you I’m leaving Town for a little while.”

Her mother hesitated before she drew a cup toward herself. “I see. Where are you going?”

Lysandra cleared her throat and took a sip of tea to wet her suddenly dry throat.

“Lord Callis has decided to return to his country home for a short time. And so he’s packing up his household.”

“And bringing the servants with him?” her mother asked. “I would have thought he’d have a whole other set of them awaiting him in the countryside.”

Lysandra hesitated. Blast! In her excitement to leave London and escape to the country with Andrew, she hadn’t actually thought that part of her story out so very well.

“S-since I’m so new,” she began. “I think he thought I needed training—”

“There are no servants in London who could train you here?” her mother pressed.

Now she was holding Lysandra’s gaze evenly, her grey eyes filled with the same stern quality that they had held when Lysandra was a naughty child.

“You see—that is—” she stammered.

“Please stop, Lysandra,” her mother said on a sigh. “It is evident you are lying. Your cheeks have those two spots they always have gotten when you told a falsehood.”

Lysandra dropped her gaze to the hands clenched in her lap. “I-I’m not lying.”

“How long have you been Lord Callis’s lover?” her mother asked.

Lysandra jerked her gaze toward her mother. In the past few years, Regina Keates had grown withdrawn, almost fragile, but looking at her now was like looking back in time to the woman she had been before her husband’s death. Before she lost everything. Her arms were folded, her jaw set, and grim determination lined her mouth.

“Only a fortnight,” Lysandra said softly.

“I see.” Her mother shook her head. “And what are the intentions of this relationship? I assume he does not plan to marry you, or you two wouldn’t have gone to the lengths to lie to me about you being a servant. Are you his mistress?”

“I’m not comfortable talking about this, Mama,” Lysandra said, rising to her feet and pacing to the window. Her mother had a beautiful view from her bay window of the park across the street. Out there men and women strolled arm-in-arm, and Lysandra flinched at how open they could be with their intentions and affections.

“You had a good position in the Culpepper house,” her mother pressed. “How did things become so desperate?”

Lysandra turned to look at her mother. She seemed…disappointed, and that broke Lysandra’s heart. Anger she could have borne. Sadness would have been better. But disappointed…that was the worst.