Patience (33 page)

He drew a slow breath then raised his brows. “Naturally, any such agreement would necessitate your canceling certain travel plans. For though I have always considered myself satisfactorily endowed, I can assure you that my cock, on its most randy of days, is incapable of reaching London from here.”

Patience’s frown eased and a small smile briefly turned her lips. Then she shivered and her nipples stuck out like hard little fingers as Matthew made a show of adjusting himself in his trousers.

“Are you cold?” he asked casually.

“Yes—no.” Patience shook her head. “I mean, I don’t know.”

Matthew held back a smile and, stepping forward, soaped his hands again. “Let’s see, where was I?”

“The maid,” Patience said.

He met her gaze. “I meant, where was I on your body?”

Patience’s lashes fluttered. “Oh.”

“Turn around.”

Patience obeyed, and Matthew’s cock throbbed strongly as he stared at her reddened bottom. It was bright and beautiful, and, though it showed no signs of serious punishment, it was blushing vividly both on top and beneath. The contrast against the rest of her pale skin was dramatic and alluring. “Ah, Patience, don’t you look lovely.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, and he could see that a flush was pinking her cheekbones as well. Eagerly, he smoothed his soapy hands over her bottom. He could feel the heat radiating from her, but it only made him long to throw her over his knee and spank her more. His voice caught a little in his suddenly dry throat. “I think, my beauty, that you will find it all too easy to earn punishment.” Patience sighed as he laid a string of kisses along her soft shoulder. “No doubt, this will spoil you terribly,” he breathed. “But how can I resist such temptation? Especially when it serves you so well.” Her back arched and she moaned softly as he grabbed her bottom and pressed his fingers into her firm flesh, squeezing and massaging it.

Christ, though he’d come twice and was exhausted from lack of sleep, his cock was at half-stand. He needed to stop, or he would find himself having another go at her. He smoothed his hands up her back and then down her arms. “Turn,” he murmured.

Patience faced him, and he could see in her eyes that his words had stoked her desire. He slid his soapy fingers over hers, and took a moment to admire the long, fine bones of her hands. They were lovely hands, cellist’s hands.

“Are you going to finish telling me about the maid?”

Matthew raised his eyes to hers and sighed at her persistence. “There isn’t much else to tell. Later, I found out that she was fellating Mark before supper. We thought we were quite the young masters until we discovered that she had a daily schedule of fucks and sucks that included the chef, the underbutler, the second footman, and the steward.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I was only twelve when these morning pleasures began, so I suppose that explains my preference for sucking over fucking. Although, if I’m being exact, I actually prefer irrumatio to fellatio.” He rinsed his hands in the water. “You may sit.”

A curious frown turned Patience’s brow as she sat back down and idly scooped water over her soapy shoulders. “What’s irrumatio?”

Matthew regarded her for a moment as his cock throbbed. He may be exhausted, but he really couldn’t resist giving her a brief education. Unbuttoning his trousers, he removed them along with his undergarment. Half hard, his penis swayed and felt heavy. He met Patience’s avid gaze. “Come.”

She swallowed then immediately came to lean against the side of the tub. Her tongue flicked out over her lips as she faced his bobbing prick. His blood raced. “Go ahead.”

Without pause, she gripped the edge of the tub and took him into her moist mouth. He drew in his breath as he watched her full lips slip repeatedly over his shaft and glans. His legs tensed, but he didn’t move. Her soft tongue stroked around the rim of his knob, and then pressed firmly against the swelling underside of his shaft. Turning her big green eyes up to him, she began to slide her lips back and forth on his growing member. As usual, one of her heavy red curls fell over her brow, bouncing as her head bobbed on his ever-thickening cock.

Matthew bit back a moan at the beautiful deference with which she pleasured him. But his muscles had begun to quiver and his hands were twitching. He pulled back from her and touched his finger to her pouty lower lip. “
That
is fellatio. Now”—he set his legs farther apart—“let’s begin again, shall we?”

Patience leaned forward eagerly, but, this time, he curled his fingers in her hair and held her immobile while he pushed into her warm mouth. He groaned and withdrew slightly before pushing back in more deeply. Then, with a shudder, he began to pump into her in long, slow strokes until he could feel the wall of her throat.

Sucking in his breath he paused there, and looking into Patience’s lust-filled eyes, he held her captive as he withdrew and thrust and withdrew and thrust, each time feeling the pressure against his eager glans as he pushed farther down the tight corridor of her throat. He grunted at the delicious depths to which she took him—swallowing his meaty thickness so deeply that his balls churned and boiled at the feeling. God, he could come again. And he could feel by her saliva-filled mouth that she wanted it. But she, and he, would have to wait. This was, after all, only a vocabulary lesson. Tightening his hands in her hair, he allowed himself a final volley of deep thrusts before pulling out.

Patience sucked in a ragged breath. He tipped up her face. She was flushed and her long lashes fluttered over her glistening eyes. “And
that
is irrumatio,” he said, his voice rough. He traced the curve of her red gold eyebrow. “Two words, referring to the same act, but separated by the very significant distinction of who moves.” He traced the full curves of her wide mouth. “Few people even know what irrumatio is. They lump every beautiful and subtle variation of
coitus per os
under the term
fellatio
. I, however, am a connoisseur. And you, as a French artist par excellence, should also know the proper terms of that which you perform so magnificently.”

As he drew back, Patience smiled up at him. “Do I? Perform it magnificently?”

Matthew’s heart quickened at the brilliance of her smile. It was genuine and . . . happy. He found his own mouth turning up as he drew the stool to the side of the tub and sat down. “You, my beauty, are masterful.” He touched her lower lip. “Your mouth is wide and your throat is deep. But more importantly, you truly enjoy it. And
that
is what makes you extraordinary.” He handed her a small washcloth. “For your face, my lady.”

Patience took it, and her smile widened. “I do enjoy it. And I guess all that practice really made perfect.”

“What?” Matthew tensed, and in an instant, searing jealousy flooded him. “You told me you’d never done it before.”

Patience nodded. “That’s right. But I’ve fellated more cucumbers than you can imagine.”

Matthew’s brows shot up. “Cucumbers?” His body relaxed, and he felt laughter rising.

“Yes.” Patience soaped the cloth. “And I’ll have you know I became very expert at not scoring the skin.”

She looked so adorable and proud of herself. Matthew felt a warm flutter in his gut and he laughed out loud. “Well, that’s very good, miss.” He spoke around his laughter. “You must show me this trick of yours some day. In fact, I’m very anxious to see it.”

“Yes.” Patience raised her brows saucily. “I’m sure you are.”

Matthew laughed as she lifted the washcloth and scrubbed her face. But his laughter faded as, once again, that gentle, yet inescapable, wave of something wondrous welled up within him. He gazed at her with her lovely red curls falling all around her shoulders and down her back. The wet end of one long tendril was affixed to her breast, right above her delectable nipple. It made his heart ache to look at her.

She splashed water on her beautiful face.

He put a towel into her searching hand.

She patted her cheeks dry and then raised her sweet, smiling face to him.

He stared into her grass green eyes. His heart felt like it was going to burst in his chest. Could he breathe?

Patience’s smile slowly faded. “What?”

Matthew drew a shuddering breath.

Patience stared at him, and her eyes looked like polished glass. “What is it, Matthew?” She spoke in a whisper.

Lowering his eyes, he leaned down to her and brushed his lips softly against hers. “Nothing,” he whispered.

Then he stepped into the tub and, sinking into the warm water, gathered her into his arms. “Nothing at all.”

SONG OF SOLOMON 5:2

 

 

 

 

Patience’s eyes flew open as her arms tightened—not around a dream, but around flesh and form.

Her heart constricted as she stared down at him asleep upon her breast.
Finally.
Finally, she did not wake alone. All thoughts of her panicked dream faded. He was with her. And the reality of him was stronger than any dream, for she could feel the weight and warmth of him. She could feel the touch of his breath and the softness of his hair upon her skin.

Her heart welled with an old pain and a new happiness.

He was with her . . .

She glanced around the comfortable bedroom. It was a large chamber built into an odd little tower at the rear of the house. Matthew said it was the only part of the old Tudor manse that rose above the forest around it, and that, on a clear day, you could see Hawkmore House from the bay of mullioned windows. A fire crackled in the wide hearth and two overstuffed chairs sat cozily before it. She and Matthew were snuggled into a high four-poster bed covered with old velvet quilts and, above them, dark beams crisscrossed to support the canted roof. The storm sounded loud, as there was no attic above.

She sighed. It was a heavenly room.

A small bedside clock chimed twice. She’d napped for a little over an hour, but she had no desire to rise.

She drew her arms more tightly around Matthew and, breathing in the smell of him, pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead. With his cheek pressed to her chest, his arm snug around her waist, and his leg tossed over both of hers, he captured her even whilst he slept. A tear of happiness slipped into her hair. It was the most comforting confinement she’d ever felt.

What would it be like—?

She closed her eyes against more tears. She shouldn’t think of it. But, God, she couldn’t help it. What would it be like to feel this warm contentment—this sweet serenity—all the time?

Opening her eyes, she studied the curves and angles of Matthew’s face. What would it be like to give herself to him? To belong to him—forever?

At the moment, nothing seemed as important, or meaningful. At the moment, her carefully constructed plan for her life seemed ill conceived and contrived—Cavalli, an obstruction, not an opportunity. With Matthew pressed to her breast, dreams of an entirely different life filled her head—dreams of husband and home, dreams of children and laughter. She gazed at him and gently smoothed his thick, gold-tipped hair back from his brow. Dreams of pleasure and punishment.

But unlike ever before, her dreams now had form and substance. She stroked her fingers across Matthew’s cheek. Now, her dreams came with the eyes of a dove, the face of an angel, and the strong hand of a pagan god.

“What are you doing to me, Matthew?” she whispered softly. His dark lashes twitched. “Are you really my prince?”

He lay still and quiet as the question echoed in her mind. Could it be true? Her heart yearned to believe it, but did she dare? She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. What would happen if she did?

 

 

What would happen if he proposed to her right now?

Matthew stood quietly in the doorway to the large kitchen. He had donned fresh trousers and a shirt, and was holding a dressing gown that he had slipped from Patience’s closet that morning. But looking at her now, he dropped it on the upholstered bench that sat just outside the entry to the kitchen.