The Duchess War

When he was finished he disengaged from her and lay down, trailing his fingers along her ribs.

So. One more romantic, idealized dream, fallen prey to reality. No sense crying over that. And…and it couldn’t always be like that for her, could it? He hoped not. He almost wished he had asked Oliver for advice.

Beside him, Minnie turned to him. He still couldn’t look her in the eyes. Slowly, she set her hand on his arm. “I don’t wish to alarm you.” Her voice was a little cool; he tipped his head to one side and looked at her as best as he could in the failing light.

“What is it?”

“I think we were doing it wrong.”

His whole body grew tense. If she hadn’t said it, they could have pretended. He pushed subtly away from her. “The first time, I hear, is the worst. For women. It will get…better.” It had to.

“No,” she repeated more gravely. “We were doing it wrong. I know what it’s supposed to feel like, at the end. And what happened for you? It didn’t happen for me.”

“I know,” he snapped. “God. You don’t have to tell me that. You could barely tolerate the act. You don’t need to rub in the fact that I couldn’t bring my wife to orgasm. I’m well aware of the truth.”

This outburst was met with silence, and Robert let out a shaky breath.

“I’m not trying to criticize,” she finally said. She sounded astoundingly reasonable, under the circumstances, and that made him want to snap at her more. “It’s just—the way we were doing it, it wasn’t ever going to happen for me. And…well, I had rather hoped that it would.”

“What do you mean, it wasn’t going to happen? How would you know?”

She simply looked at him, and he realized he was snapping at his wife because he’d not brought her to ecstasy. Because he’d had a better time of it than she had.

Excellent work, Robert.

“I’m sorry.” He let out a sigh. “I shouldn’t yell at you. It’s not your fault.” He took a deep breath.

Minnie took his arm. “We’re intelligent. We’ll figure it out. We have ten days in Paris to get it right.”

Hell. Ten nights like this one? He really would beg off first.

“Nine,” he corrected. “One down.”

“This one isn’t over.” Minnie bit her lip. “I have no experience with men, but… Do you want me to show you?”

“Show me?”

Her cheeks went slightly pink. “You know. Show you what I would do on my own.”

After the debacle he’d made of the night, it was impossible that he should want her again. And yet those words set in motion a tickle at the back of his mind, a hint of interest. He cleared his throat. “I don’t have anything else planned for the evening.”

She let out a little laugh. “I suppose. It starts here.” Her hand crept between her thighs.

“I started there.”

“A little higher up.” She did something with her hand—something he couldn’t see until he sat up and focused on her fingers. They slid, not into her passage, but higher, focusing on the glistening nub between her legs. Her strokes were light and swift. Her breath caught once and then evened out.

So did his. “What are you thinking about?”

She met his eyes. “You. Do you remember when you threw the paste at me?”

“Mmm.”

“That night, I went home and thought of you taking off my gown.”

He’d just spilled his seed in her. He shouldn’t have been capable of an erection for a good long while. But blood was flowing to his cock. “Funny,” he said hoarsely. “I thought something similar that night.”

“I thought about you a lot at night,” Minnie said. “It was…embarrassing.”

“There was a point, there, where I thought my left hand had your name branded on it. All I had to do was touch my c**k and think of you…”

Her body was spread before him, her hair a great mass on the pillow.

He nudged her knees apart so he could see what she was doing. As he did, his throat grew dry. Her skin appeared to soften as she touched herself. She was a deep pink between her legs, her nether lips unfolding like a flower in the rosy lamplight. That dark rose beckoned him in, inviting his touch.

Her hands pressed into her flesh in a smooth, practiced motion, and he could see her passage glisten. He could smell the difference in the air—the scent of her growing arousal.

“All I had to do,” he said fiercely, “was think of you, and I’d be hard as a rock. God, Minnie, keep doing that.” He’d never thought of her doing this—pleasuring herself—but it was by far more arousing than any of the scenarios he’d dreamed up.

“I need a little more.” Her eyelashes fluttered. “Would you like to help?”

His throat was dry. “I’d love to. How?”

“Touch me.” She curved her hand around one breast. “Here.”

He leaned down and cupped her breast, slid his finger along the curve of it.

“More. Harder,” she urged him.

So he took the coral bud of her nipple in his mouth. She let out a little moan as he did so, her whole body arching next to his. That moan—that brought his arousal roaring back to life. His c**k went from mildly interested to fully engaged.

“Yes,” she moaned. “Please. Just like that.”

He licked her first and then nibbled lightly at her. Her moans grew louder.

He set his other hand over hers, on her sex. He could feel her touching herself, could feel the bed swaying with the rhythm of her fingers. She’d been lightly moist when he entered her; she was wildly slick now. Slick and glorious. Her fingers were pushing harder; harder; his own played alongside hers, glorying in the smooth silkiness.

“Do you want to know the first time I thought about you?” he asked. “That first night we met. God, that encounter played out so differently when I imagined it again. A woman with a voice like yours, a figure like yours, encounters me alone behind a davenport? I thought about you on your knees, fastening those clever lips of yours around my cock. And I wanted you.”

She came with a fevered cry. Her whole body shuddered in waves of pleasure. For a moment, it felt as if those waves were traveling through him, too. When she was done, he could hardly think. His entire body screamed in demand. He didn’t ask. He didn’t talk. He simply spread her legs farther apart and pushed inside her.