Page 7 of At His Lady’s Command

Silence fell. And yet even with his back to her, not in a thousand years would he forget the mouthwatering sight of bed-rumpled, near-naked Lady Portia.

“You know…” she said eventually, her tone now thoughtful. “I touch myself because I read somewhere that it is good for the constitution to start each day with an orgasm.”

Randall’s heart began to pound. “Is that so?”

“Yes. But today I am struggling. I’m so wet, yet I cannot climax. And if I cannot climax I shall be cross all day, and God help everyone.”

“I…er…”

He’d actually lost the ability to speak. It sounded like she wanted his assistance, yet surely that was wishful thinking. Last night she had bloody well apologized for kissing him!

“Really, Denham, must I beg?” she asked, and the teasing tone laced with such imperiousness wound its way around his engorged cock and squeezed hard. “Very well. Should you like to do a public service and make me come, please march over here.”

This is wrong. Halstead would call you out if he knew.

This is right. A chance—probably the one and only— to pleasure Lady Portia!

In a split second, his cock took command of his entire body and ordered his feet to fucking move, for they sped toward her bed so fast they nearly caused sparks on the polished wood floor. “Yes, my lady.”

“Excellent,” she purred as she spread her thighs wider and continued to circle her swollen clitoris. With no bush to hide the succulent pink flesh…

Say something, you witless fool!

“No hair,” he said hoarsely. Christ. He truly was cunt-struck.

Lady Portia laughed. “Ah, you noticed that? I found a recipe in the French courtesan’s diary. A trifle messy to apply the sticky concoction, and my word it hurt to remove with the cloth strips…but the smoothness feels divine. Come and see for yourself. Oh, and do not fret about us being disturbed. I told Marie to return at ten o’clock.”

Surely he had to be dreaming. Fantasies like this didn’t happen when a man was awake. And yet the bed felt real enough as he perched on the edge, as did Lady Portia’s damp fingers as she took his hand and guided it between her legs.

Randall groaned at the hot, wet petal-softness of her mound, and his cock began to seep moisture, dampening the flap of his trousers. “It does feel divine.”

“Unbutton them.”

He frowned, too absorbed in caressing her. “Beg pardon?”

“Your trousers,” she said impatiently. “You cannot be comfortable right now, and I feel it only fair that I see your cock when you are touching my quim.”

It took longer to unfasten the buttons with one hand, but his other hand absolutely refused to move from its new favorite place. The relief when his engorged cock sprang free of its fabric prison was indescribable, and the sound of Lady Portia’s indrawn breath went some way to restoring his pride, considering he had so far demonstrated all the finesse of a green lad seeing his first naked woman.

“Oh my,” she murmured, licking her lips as she stared at his cock. “Aren’t you splendidly thick. Well, Denham, we have ourselves a situation. I require an orgasm. And so do you it seems. In the spirit of friendly cooperation, I propose we make each other come.”

“But last night…you regretted the kiss. Apologized for it,” Randall said gruffly, even as his cock yelled at him to shut his damn fool, fact-listing mouth.

Lady Portia nodded. “A poor choice of location, we were close to the townhouse and could have been seen by others. But we won’t be disturbed here. And I thought about that kiss all night. Or more accurately, I touched myself…oh yes, I adore doing so. It feels wonderful and relaxes me. Why shouldn’t I? I’m quite sure men take their cocks in hand regularly. Don’t you?”

His mind whirled like a spinning top, struggling to comprehend her blunt reply, measuring and assessing the possible repercussions of their actions as military men always did. But as she’d said: they were alone. She wanted him, he wanted her, they had both endured a sleepless night of unfulfilled lust thinking of the other, and now both desperately wanted to come.

Propriety and rules be damned.

* * *

She could practically see Denham’s mind churning, weighing her offer against his own needs, his sense of honor and duty, the possible risks. Once a soldier, always a soldier.

But Portia stared at him, willing him to surrender again like he had to her kiss in the carriage, to move that big hand of his against her quim, penetrate her with those strong fingers, let her stroke his fully erect cock, until they both orgasmed. After a very frustrating night in bed, where her contrary body craved release and continually made it to the precipice only to disallow a glorious finish, she needed this more than her next breath. And it seemed only he would do, not her fingers or her little collection of polished jade dildos.

Please say yes.

“Well?” she said too-sharply, unable to moderate her tone at the thought of being rejected, when her mind had finally made the leap from seeing Denham as a forbidden attraction, to the man she must have in her bed.