“Everything.”
She nodded, inhaling as if bracing herself, then reached for the fall of his breeches. He placed his hands on her shoulders as she worked, watching the top of her head rather than where her hands were. She knelt to pull down his breeches, and he stepped out of his shoes and stockings as well. When she reached for his smallclothes, her hands shook.
“Are you frightened?” he murmured.
She paused and looked at him. “No.”
And he had to clench his jaw. That frankness, those wide gray eyes above freckled cheeks, looking at him so innocently, without guile or disguise, nearly undid him.
She took off his smallclothes, and he kicked them aside, entirely nude now.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked.
He looked at her, kneeling at his feet, her face so close to his crude erection, and several thoughts came to his mind, but in the end, he held out his hand to her. “Come here.”
She rose, placing her hand in his, and he led her to the bed. He threw back the covers and laid himself down on his back, propped against several pillows. He pulled her down beside him so she was sitting on the bed, her gown bunched around her folded legs. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“I am.”
He wanted to smile but found that the rigidity of his muscles prevented him. “Then touch me.”
“Here?” She placed her palm on his chest, trailing her fingers through his chest hair.
“Yes.” He watched her face as she explored, circling a nipple. She looked intent, solemn like a little girl mastering a needlework stitch.
“Does it feel sensitive? Like mine?” she asked.
He half closed his eyes. “It’s sensitive.”
She nodded and stroked lower, following the trail of his body hair to below his navel. Here she hesitated again, looking uncertain.
He waited, not prompting her anymore. Slowly she ran her fingers through his pubic hair, drawing ever closer to his cock. When at last she touched him—too delicately, too softly—he let out a sigh.
Her eyes darted to his face, watching him as she traced up his shaft. He held her gaze, though he wanted to close his eyes at the sensation of her warm fingers on his flesh. When she reached the head of his cock, she looked down again, bending closer as if fascinated.
“It’s so hard,” she murmured, circling the helmet. “Does it hurt?”
“No.” His mouth twisted. “Not as long as it’s eventually assuaged.”
Her eyes rounded. “You mean it stays like this until—”
He laughed rustily—it was that or howl. “No. It, ah, goes away after a bit if there’s no stimulation.”
“Stimulation.” Her brows drew together as she watched her fingers wrap about his length.
“The sight of a pretty woman, the sound of her voice, the feel of her hand,” he said.
“Any pretty woman?” She frowned.
Ah, it wasn’t funny, not with his cock in her small, sweet hands, but his mouth quirked. “Some more than others.”
“Hmm.”
He cleared his throat. “You can stroke it.”
She tentatively rubbed him with her fingers.
“More firmly,” he murmured, and wrapped his hand about hers to show her. He brought both their hands up his cock, strongly enough to move his skin over the stony flesh beneath, and then down again. He let go of her hand.