Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 58110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
His big hand stills, and for a moment I think he's stopping and…I don't know how I feel about that. My hips wriggle, and a frustrated sound escapes me. His grin splits wider, and then he drags his thumb over that bud again, and I whimper. "Have you ever made yourself come, Iolanthe?"
I bite my lip so hard that it stings. I don't know how to answer that. I know what he's asking, but is there something wrong with me if I say no? All my life, I slept with my sisters in the same bed with me, piled together. When they left to marry their husbands, the housekeeper moved into my room with me. I've never had privacy to explore my body. I've read some books that hinted at lewd things that happen in the bedroom, but they referred to them as an explosion. A wondrous release. But right now, all it feels like is that he's tickling me to the point that I'm going to wriggle off the bed. "I…don't know what to do."
It comes out as a whine, and I'm immediately embarrassed. I grab those fistfuls of skirt and shove them over my face.
He laughs, the sound rumbling and deep, and hearing it fills me with an odd pleasure. I have to fight the urge to smile. "Don't be embarrassed, Iolanthe. Didn't your mother teach you?"
I peek out from under my skirts again, meeting his gaze. "She died when I was ten.”
"Servants, then?" He watches me, his fingers gently brushing along the edge of one fold.
Reluctantly, I shake my head. "Ladies are supposed to be kept pure for their husbands. It wouldn't be their place."
"Mmm. Well, for this husband, I'm a little sad you've never gotten to pleasure yourself. You should indulge every now and then."
His hands are terribly distracting. His voice is reasonable, his words calm, but he keeps tracing and touching, his fingers gliding over my skin, and I have a difficult time concentrating. "We—we're going to be married. Why would I need to?"
Agakor clucks his tongue. "That's the wrong kind of thinking, love. You touch yourself because it feels good. You don't need my permission. Of course, I'll be happy to touch you as much as you want." He gives me a sly grin. "It'd be my pleasure." When I give him a jerky nod, he continues. "Since no one has educated you, let me tell you what's going to happen. Do you know what this little bud is?"
And he touches that tiny spot that's so sensitive. I bite back a whimper and shake my head. I've never named it. I've tried to ignore everything between my thighs, actually. I've always thought of it as married people's territory, and that it was off limits to me, as a maiden.
"This is your clit. Some women like a finger inside them, but most like for this little bit to be teased and sucked. How does it feel when I touch it?" He rubs his thumb against the skin hooding it, and I want to climb off the bed with all the sensation that ripples through me.
I arch, panting and squirming. "Like it's too much."
"It's supposed to feel like too much, love. You lie back and you chase that feeling, all right? It's leading you somewhere. You chase it, and you let me touch you, and you just enjoy." His voice is smooth, deep, hypnotic. Comforting. "I've got you. It's going to build and build, and it's going to keep feeling like too much, but you let it happen. I promise when you do go over the edge, it'll feel so good."
Right. Just lie back and let him touch me. He makes it sound so very easy, but he let me touch him, so I can do the same. I lick my lips—they still taste of oil and his kiss—and try to relax. Agakor watches me, his fingers skimming up and down my slicked folds before he moves back up to the bud—my clit—again. He rubs small circles around it, circles that make me twitchy and breathless, and his eyes are on me the entire time.
The strange, tense feelings intensify, and I whimper, my legs twitching.
"I've got you," he murmurs, and one big hand goes to the back of my thigh and pushes it back, toward my belly. It spreads me even wider, and as it does, his fingers feel more blatant, more obscene. My flesh starts making wet, slick sounds, and I'd be embarrassed, but he looks far too pleased. And it feels…good? I think it does. I shift my hips, desperately needing more pressure from those fingers, and when he finally gives it to me, my breath stutters. "That's it, Iolanthe," he tells me. "Chase that feeling. Follow it. It'll feel so good you'll wonder why you never did this before today."