“You are equally as wicked, Sir,” Beatrice purred back, dragging her fingers to the still-fastened buttons of his shirt which she began to pull apart, “stoking the fire of temptation in a virginal woman until she has no choice but to beg you for the very thing you promised her.”
Anthony chuckled against the delicate skin of her neck that he had been nipping at, only pausing to shrug off his shirt once it simply hung from his shoulders. As Beatrice’s fingers skimmed over the broadness of his naked shoulders, and her eyes admired the muscles working beneath, Anthony undid the fastenings on her gown.
The chamber was full of panting breaths for a moment, but once she stood before him in her underclothes and shoes, he leaned back to admire her. “Poets and painters have described beauty before, but I have not found one that compares to you, Beatrice,” Anthony complimented, kneeling down to lift Beatrice’s right foot so that it rested upon his thigh. With remarkable swiftness, he slipped her shoe off, smiling up at her as he skimmed his fingers up her leg to Beatrice’s garter.
Her breath hitched when he unlaced the blue string holding up her wool stocking and rolled it down with molasses-like speed. “You are such a tease, Anthony,” Beatrice sighed, struggling to maintain her balance with such distraction occurring. “I can see why the ladies you spend your evenings with enjoy your company.”
He chuckled against the inside of her knee before gently placing her right foot back on the ground to replace it with her left. “They showed me things I would have never thought to do to please a woman,” he said repeating the process of baring her legs to him. “Would you like me to show you?”
Beatrice’s mind raced with a thousand notions of what he could be implying, and she rapidly nodded, “Yes, please, Anthony…show me whatever your heart desires. I…I must admit my knowledge of these things is limited, but–”
He cut her off with a slight open-palmed tap to the inside of her left thigh. “I will have none of that, Beatrice. All I want from you tonight is to tell me what feels good and what does not.” His expression was firm but kind, a demonstration of determination set in the flush of his cheeks and narrowing of his eyes.
Beatrice gazed down, enraptured by Anthony and his innate command of her body, and she found the ability to speak had momentarily left her. He seemed to notice this and rose to stand again, tipping Beatrice’s head back with his fingers beneath her chin. “Do you trust me, my beauty?” The deep timbre of his voice made Beatrice’s pulse throb, and she again nodded.
“No, no, you must use your words,” he tutted, guiding her to lean against his dresser. Beatrice stared up into Anthony’s sky-blue eyes, feeling alight with yearning that she was sure was visible beneath the thin fabric of her underclothes.
With as much surety as she could muster, Beatrice spoke in a clear voice, “Yes, I trust you, Anthony.” At that, he smoothed both her palms against the cool wood and lowered himself again, taking time to mouth at the hardened peaks of her breasts beneath the gauzy fabric. Beatrice let out a whine, a rather loud one, and Anthony shushed her.
“You do not want anyone to find you and I together like this, do you, Beatrice?” he asked coyly, and when she shook her head vehemently, he said, “Then you must be quiet, my dove.” Anthony continued his descent until he was toying with the hem of her shift, and to Beatrice’s shock, he lifted it to disappear beneath.
Now that she could no longer see him, it felt as though every sensation was heightened, from the hot puffs of his breath against her bare flesh to the assertive press of his fingers into her hips as he widened her legs. Beatrice felt embarrassment creeping into her at the thought of Anthony seeing her naked core, and she nearly moved her hands away from the dresser to pull his head away when he explained, his voice muffled, “One of the ladies I used to see taught me how to do this, and it always seemed to delight her. I know you are not used to anyone seeing you in such an intimate way, Beatrice, but please do not feel ashamed.”
“This…” he traced lightly against the seam of her sex, drawing a sharp gasp from Beatrice, “is as much a part of you as your hand or your foot, and I intend to give it as much attention as I have given the rest of you tonight.” With that declaration, Anthony continued his ministrations, rubbing and strumming at her sensitive flesh until Beatrice felt damp at the creases of her thighs.
It was unlike anything she had ever felt before, equal parts thrilling and exhausting, a sensation that forced the breath from her lungs and loosened her limbs exquisitely. Beatrice could not contain the quiet cry that emanated from her when Anthony swiped his tongue through her nectar. “Oh, Anthony, yes! Please…please don’t stop!” Though she was not sure what he was pushing her toward, all Beatrice knew was that his skills were certainly as divine as they were whispered to be. And, that she was lucky to be enjoying them so vigorously.
She could not stop the rapid motion of her right arm as it came down to rest upon Anthony’s head, involuntarily pushing him closer to her which he responded to with a low growl. The sound vibrated against her dripping womanhood, making Beatrice squeeze her eyes shut as though this was all a dream she never wished to wake from. Anthony took her enthusiasm in stride, carefully dipping one of his fingers inside Beatrice to stroke her from within. “I can feel you clenching around me, darling,” he cooed, leaning up to press wet kisses to her lower stomach. “I think you are about to lose yourself in me.”
Beatrice could hardly care for the confusion that arose in her at those words, for the basest part of her somehow knew what gratification was racing toward her. “I believe you are right, my love,” Beatrice whimpered, gnawing at her bottom lip to keep quiet, “though I must admit, I would rather stay in this suspended state forever.”
That earned a laugh from Anthony as he resumed laving at the sensitive bundle of nerves near the top of her core. “Perhaps, someday, I shall spend an entire afternoon here,” he mused through mouthfuls of her. “It would certainly be my favorite way to spend the hours with you, Beatrice.”
She giggled then, rocking her hips against him wantonly, and allowed the sensations to crest over her like the first breath of spring. At first, Beatrice thought she would topple over, but Anthony’s bruising grip kept her upright as darkness overtook her vision. Then she pulsed everywhere, from her temples to her heart to her sex, and the intensity of it curled her toes against the plush rug Anthony knelt upon. And when she finally returned to her body, Beatrice nearly whined at the way his lips kept moving against her, drawing out every drop of her essence so that he could drink it like the finest wine.
With a final kiss to her overstimulated nub, Anthony withdrew from beneath her skirt and stared up at her in awe from his place on the floor. “Never have I met a woman so violently affected by my mouth,” he chuckled, wiping her away with the back of his hand. “I am afraid I may become addicted to it, dear Beatrice.”
The young lady smiled tiredly down at him, offering the hand that was upon his head so that he could stand again. His fingers were damp where they caressed her knuckles, and Beatrice felt her blood warm once more. “Is…is there more for you to show me tonight?” she asked tentatively, eyeing the significant bulge in his trousers. Beatrice knew, of course, that he had every intention of eventually taking her just as he did that morning by the lake, but she did not wish to assume that he would not rather satisfy himself some other way.
The gentleman slowly walked back toward his bed, leading Beatrice by her hand. “Of course there is, my heart,” he murmured with a smile, directing her to sit upon his silky sheets. “All you need to do is ask.”
He began divesting himself of his remaining clothes, starting with his boots which were neatly placed behind him. Beatrice tried to focus but found it nearly impossible as every inch of him was bared to her once more. Though she had seen it all when he was swimming, at this moment it felt more passionate and sincere as though Anthony wanted her to study every aspect of his masculinity.
He at least allowed her the time it took to remove everything but his trousers before he stopped, looking down at her expectantly. Beatrice blinked, opting for the simplest form of the question, afraid that she could not say much else. “Please, make me yours tonight, Anthony.” As an added incentive, Beatrice spread her thighs, rucking her shift up to lie crumpled in her lap so that her lover could see her arousal for himself.
It was a bold move, and one that seemed to work, for Anthony’s eyes darkened to a stormy blue, and he rushed to tug at what covered his lower half. The moment his trousers were kicked off his feet, he advanced upon Beatrice, taking her hand once more to pull her into his embrace.
She could feel the hard length of him pressing against the softness of her belly and could scarcely imaging how something so thick could fit inside her. While Beatrice was occupied with visions of what was to come, Anthony took it upon himself to finish the task of undressing her until what remained was left pooling at her feet.
For a moment, while good cheer echoed from downstairs, the pair enjoyed their forbidden fruit. Beatrice cautiously reached up to touch his manhood, wondering aloud, “I doubt this will fit, Sir,” with a lopsided grin.
Anthony ran his thumbs along the plushness of her breasts as he smugly replied, “Do not worry, Miss; I will make your sweet flower take all of it.” His brazen vow pulled Beatrice from her stupor, and she leaned away from him to lie back upon his bed.
The crisp sheets cooled her heated form but did nothing to stop Beatrice’s fiery dare. “What are you waiting for then, Anthony?” Her shyness, though still present, was slightly assuaged by his apparent eagerness which made her feel less concerned about pleasing him. And that seemed to be all he needed to hear, for, in the very next second, he was on top of her, caging her in with his hands much as he had on their first night in the library.
Beatrice arched beneath him, moaning softly at the delicious scrape of his chest hair against her nipples, and Anthony swallowed the sound with his mouth. Between her splayed thighs, Beatrice could feel the weight of Anthony’s pelvis against her own, and it excited her to such an extent that she searched for some sort of friction against him.
Above her, Anthony snickered in her ear, “I can feel you dripping, my girl. Tell me, who made you ache like this?” Beatrice’s eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by his voice and his scent and the unyielding pressure against her core.