Page 89 of The Governess and the Brooding Duke
And she did exactly as she was instructed.
‘Good. Touch yourself. As you like.’
She froze. She had no idea how she liked to be touched. And the idea of putting her own hands on her slick flesh seemed a heresy.
‘Do as I command you,’ he said, undoing his sleeves. Moving to his white shirt and opening it, showing her his well-muscled chest, and the hair that covered it, which fascinated her.
Her mouth was dry with need, and she knew that she could ill afford to disobey him.
More than that, she did not wish to disobey him.
So slowly, very slowly, she sneaked her fingers between her legs and touched herself, finding a pleasure there that was like a streak of lightning through a night sky.
She was so wet it was nearly an embarrassment, and yet she did not see why she should be. He was looking at her with open desire. His need was naked, even though he was not.
And so she began to stroke herself, pursuing more and more of that sensation. Inviting in a feeling that she had kept the door firmly closed on for all these years.
For any time she had been lying in bed at night and felt errant desire roll through her, she had denied it.
She had never encouraged it. Never touched herself.
Never continued down that path, because it was a path that led only to ruin.
And now she was running towards ruin. Towards him.
‘Yes,’ he said, his breath hissing through his teeth.
He began to undo the falls on his breeches, kicking his boots off as he did.
And he exposed himself to her.
He was... He was beautiful. But far too big. Thick and imposing, even as he was a sincere work of art.
She had never seen a naked man.
And his every line, every cord of muscle, every hard delineation, was a triumph in divine artistry. His thighs were large and heavily muscled, his masculine member hanging heavy between them. There were deep grooves cut into that place just above his member, and his stomach was entirely ridged, his chest deep and broad.
Her mouth went dry, and between her thighs she only grew wetter.
It felt easy now to stroke herself, to find her pleasure.
He wrapped his own fists around his masculinity, and she found herself staring at him with rapt focus.
It was such a gift, to be able to look at him like this. To allow her gaze to take ownership of each and every part of him. Education, she had always found, helped her with any fear or heartbreak or horror she had yet endured.
And it was like he was giving her a moment.
To familiarise herself with the feelings. To control them for a moment.
To find her way with a tour of his body.
He did not know it, but he was granting her the opportunity to have everything she needed from this encounter, and she wished to jump up off the bed and wrap her arms around him, kiss his face for it.
And in fact she didn’t see why she could not. She moved then, getting up to her knees and moving to the end of the mattress, wrapping her arms around him and pulling her to him, her bare breasts brushing his chest. She kissed his cheek, down his jaw, and to the corner of his mouth.
He let out a sound that could best be described as feral. Her hand began to move down his chest and he gripped her wrist, stilling her movement.
‘No. This will be over before it begins, and I have a need to enjoy myself. To draw this out.’
