Chapter Two

The Scot made undressing a woman an art.

That was Jade's conclusion, as she realized her prim, businesslike blouse was somehow hanging open about her shoulders. When had that happened? Somewhere between his kisses and caresses, presumably, and she didn't care one bit.

At one point, she realized she'd dropped her empty glass and was all but straddling the man's lap as his lips worked on her neck, his fingers easily slipping her buttons from their moorings. And a part of her thought You should be mortified.

She should. She really should.

And she likely would.

After…

Because right now… Right now, she couldn't think, couldn't reason, couldn't doubt her plan. All she could do was feel. And ai-ya, but this man's lips, his hands, felt more incredible than anything she could've imagined before.

A Harlot's Guide had mentioned pleasure, but not this all-consuming pulse which threatened to overwhelm her. It was all she could do to remember to breathe!

His teeth nipped at her throat, his deft fingers already working on her corset.

She was about to give this nameless stranger her virginity, and although she should be ashamed at that thought, all she knew now was an eagerness.

As his lips worked along her shoulder, Jade dropped her head back with an encouraging moan, her hands reaching for his upper arms. Dear Lord, his arms were as hard as the rest of him. She ran her hands down them until they reached his forearms, which were revealed as the banyan fell back. She flexed her fingers outward, allowing his coarse hairs to rub against her palms, and his movements slowed.

"Too fast, Treasure?" he murmured against her shoulder.

She didn't have to think about it. "Too slow."

He smiled and, placing a quick kiss on her skin, turned his attention to his fingers' task.

She was breathless with anticipation by the time he peeled her blouse and corset from her. Now she sat on his lap in only her chemise and skirt, as he turned his attention to her boots. Of course, this required him bending, and Jade found it the most natural position in the world to grip his shoulders, then pull his head closer.

As his cheek settled against her breasts, she thought he made a little sound of satisfaction, and that—along with the hardness still pressed against her hip—told her he was enjoying this encounter as much as she.

The realization made her feel bold. Desirable.

This was the right decision.

Tomorrow, next week, next year, she might have to defend it. But now she knew she'd never have to defend this decision to herself, because this was exactly what she needed.

His large hands closed around her waist and lifted her. Sucking in a breath, she steadied herself on his shoulders until they were both standing, and then he was unclasping her skirt.

When she felt the heavy material sag around her knees, he stepped back.

She was left alone, confused. For lack of something else to do, she wriggled her hips until her skirt fell to the ground, and stepped out of it.

Still, he said nothing, and she forced herself to really look at him.

He was studying her. Not judgmentally, but with a look of…awe?

Suddenly self-conscious, Jade made to cover her bare arms, but he stopped her.

"Nay, lass," he whispered, reaching for her hand.

And when he led her toward the bed, all she could do was follow. Her stomach felt jumbled, the way it did before a bout, but this was…something else. Something anticipatory, special. The bed was beautiful, looming too large, covered in more pillows than anyone could use.

He led her past it.

To the little sitting area, and the large mirror.

Confused, she twisted her neck to keep the bed in her focus. Surely that was the natural progression of the evening?

Step One: Unbelievably arousing kisses.

Step Two: Removal of clothing.

Step Three: Passionate lovemaking atop that bed.

Although they'd likely have to remove some of the extraneous pillows. She could imagine getting lost among them.

But then he tugged her toward the large mirror, and she dragged her attention from the bed. Although she'd spent years in control—of herself and her father's empire—tonight she was learning to follow. To follow him.

And interestingly, she trusted him, this nameless stranger who made her want things she'd never before understood.

"Here," he murmured, settling her in front of the mirror, his hands on her shoulders as he stood behind her. "What do ye see?"

Was this a game? Part of the seduction? Jade frowned as she glanced at herself in the mirror, her eyes instinctively flowing past her features to his.

He held her gaze in the glass. "Well?"

"I see me."

"Nay, ye dinnae." His lips twitched wryly. "Ye're looking at me."

Rolling her eyes slightly, she lifted a hand to her hip and cocked her brow at him. "You are saying you're not worthy of being looked at?"

His grin grew. "I'm imminently admirable, and devilishly handsome." He was. "But ye've looked at me long enough, lass. Look at yerself."

With another little huff of exasperation—why wouldn't the man just get on with the lovemaking? Her body was already humming with need, thanks to him!—Jade turned her attention back to her own features in the mirror.

She looked…just as she always looked in a chemise. Skinny, tall. A little awkward, without her armor against the outside world.

He leaned in, his breath tickling her ear. "Look closer."

Squinting, she tried to see what he was talking about.

Lanky limbs, legs encased in stockings. Her black hair, which she'd inherited from her mother, was beginning to fall from its careful bun, thanks to his touches. She wore no cosmetics, but the changeable colors of her eyes—unusual in those with Chinese blood, her mother told her—seemed brighter somehow. Perhaps a result of what he'd done to her.

Her tongue darted out across her lower lip, and her thighs instinctively pressed together, trying to assuage the ache he'd raised in her core. Just through his kisses.

Under her thin chemise, Jade felt her nipples tighten, and her gaze dropped to them to discover they were visible through the linen. Her breasts were heaving, and it took a dazed moment to realize it was because she was breathing heavily. She peeked lower, wondering if her arousal was visible any other way.

"Aye," he chuckled softly in her ear, and her gaze snapped back up to his in the mirror. "That is how I meant."

"What—"" She couldn't seem to form words.

He shifted closer, his hands still on her shoulders, his gaze still holding hers, until she could feel the long length of his hardness pressed against the cleft of her rear end. Instinctively, she flexed back against him, cradling him, aching for him.

"This treasure," he whispered, his hands skimming slowly down her arms. "This is what I see when I look at ye."

Her gaze switched back to herself in the mirror, just in time to see him shift his hold to her chemise, and lift it over her head in one swift move.

When she fought her way free of the linen, it was to see her reflection, nude except for her stockings. And she forgot how to breathe.

He reached for her hair, plucking the pins from her coiffure one by one. It was half-collapsed anyhow, and it took him no time at all before he was slipping her pins into the pocket of the banyan he was still wearing. Then, almost reverently, he ran both sets of fingers through her tresses, pulling them away from her neck, letting them fall forward around her face and shoulders.

"Beauty," he murmured as her eyes followed every move his hands made. "This is what I see."

His hands went back to her arms. "This power. This strength." His touch moved to her elbows, her forearms, as he pulled them away from her sides, displaying her before both of their gazes in the mirror.

"This is confidence, Treasure," he murmured, stepping forward once more so she could feel his arousal pressing against her. His hands skimmed up her sides until he cupped her breasts and she sucked in a dizzying gasp. "This is assurance. Ye are beautiful. Ye are magnificent."

She couldn't seem to tear her gaze away from his hands on her skin. She'd always known she had small breasts—it was what allowed her access to the sporting club, after all—but seeing them cupped so softly in such large hands…

She swallowed.

And then his thumb and forefinger found her nipples, rolling them each gently as she watched.

Her knees buckled, and she fell back against him.

When he huffed a little laugh, her gaze flew to his, but his attention was on his hands as well, that look of rapt awe back on his face.

Dimly, through her all-consuming need, she wondered how many times he'd done this. How many women he'd said these words to, how many women he'd touched like this. She was just one of many, to him, but to her…

This was special.

She swallowed, her hands falling to his forearms to support herself. He was tugging at her nipples now, the gentle caress seemingly tied directly to her core. Even without stroking herself, she could feel how wet she was, how ready.

Ready for what?

A Harlot's Guide had plenty of suggestions, and for the first time, Jade was going to experience at least one of them.

Her breaths were coming shorter, harsher, and he nudged her hair out of the way with his chin and began to drop kisses to her shoulder. One of his hands left her breast and slid down her belly. She was still holding his forearm, but somehow, he reversed their positions…

And when their linked fingers reached her wispy curls at the junction of her thighs, hers were the ones to touch her arousal first.

"Do ye feel that, lass?" he murmured, his lips finding that sensitive spot beneath her ear. "Do ye feel how wet ye are? Wet for me, wet with need."

He pressed her fingers through her curls, and she made a vague sound of approval, agreement. Hunger.

"Aye, my Treasure. Ye feel it?"

"Yes," she managed to whimper, her eyes fluttering closed, as if that would help hide her from the sensations which threatened to overwhelm her.

"Good."

The only warning she received was when his hand dropped away from her wetness. Her eyes flashed open in time to see him stepping away from her, his hand closing around her wrist.

She stumbled when he pulled her gently backward, and he caught her. Instead of helping her upright, though, he settled her in one of the wing-backed chairs, with the plush arms and seat.

As she sat, he lifted—both her and the chair—and it wasn't until he'd placed it in front of the mirror that she processed the strength that must have required. But she didn't have time to consider it, because he caught her attention again when he dropped his hands to the chair's arms—standing between her and the mirror—and leaned in.

She was close enough to see the circle of dark blue around the rims of his irises…close enough to feel his breath on her forehead. Close enough to kiss him.

He grinned. "Ye've come to learn about pleasure. To lose yer virginity on yer own terms. Right, Treasure?"

Why was he still calling her that? Confused, she nodded.

With a curt nod of his own, he straightened. "And ye trust me?"

"I…shouldn't."

His grin flashed. "I ken that, but ye do, aye? I swear I'll make this a memorable night for ye."

She swallowed and rested her head back, one set of fingers trailing unbidden along the bare skin of her stomach, trying to recapture the sensation of his touch. "You already have," she whispered.

"Aye," he murmured, as he whirled about and stalked toward an armoire. She didn't have to twist her head to see him open the top drawer and pull something out, because she could see him in the tall mirror.

The tall mirror in front of which she sat, all her bare skin on display.

She studied herself, trying to see what he had seen. Strength. Power. Confidence. He'd seen that in her, and he didn't even know her.

Her other hand rose to join the first, and she watched them—watched herself as if apart, somehow—cup her breasts, roll the nipples between her fingers, the way he'd done. The sensation wasn't quite the same, but the ache between her thighs intensified, and she allowed her stocking-clad legs to fall open, until she was staring at the very heart of her.

Aching. Dripping. Needing.

It felt so wrong, to be watching herself like this, but… He was right. It was empowering.

And then her vision of that most intimate part of her was obscured—by him. The Scot leaned over her again, closer, his lips claiming hers. His kiss was hard and fast and desperate, and left her panting as he pulled away.

She didn't have time to understand what had happened, before he'd planted his hands on the arms of the chair and was kissing his way down her body. "I'm glad to see ye were busy without me," he murmured in between kisses.

And then his lips captured her nipple, and she jerked upright. But as he worried it gently between his teeth, she exhaled, relaxing into a puddle of desire, and he huffed quietly in laughter.

One of his hands found her core, his fingers sliding easily along her wet cleft, settling against the bud of her pleasure, which she'd occasionally examined herself.

As he switched his ministrations to her other nipple, she realized he'd done quite a lot of examining himself.

Once more, her eyes met her own gaze in the mirror, over his banyan-clad bent back and blond curls. Was that really her? Miss Jade Thacker, allowing some stranger to sup at her breasts and fondle her clitoris? The thoughts were vague, disjointed, distracted by the pleasure he was bringing her body.

Almost in a trance, she lifted her fingers to twine through his curls, and was rewarded by a grunt of approval from him, which reminded her of the sound he'd made earlier when she'd cradled him against her.

But before she had a chance to try that again, he was moving down her body, settling on his knees between her thighs. Without looking up, without ceasing his gentle strokes, The Scot lowered his mouth to her core.

Oh.

Oh, hell.

Oh, heaven.

In the mirror, Jade saw her eyes go wide, but her entire attention was on the way this man's mouth made her feel.

Slowly, she eased back against the chair, her fingers digging into his scalp, trying to hold him in place. Jade allowed her eyes to flutter shut, too overwhelmed by what he was doing to her to have to worry about seeing as well.

She felt his tongue drag along her cleft, before settling over the bud of her pleasure, teasing it with his tongue and then teeth. One of his fingers slid along her wetness, the way hers did when she needed release…but it didn't feel anything like that.

His hands were large and capable, and she instinctively opened her legs to allow him more space. He made a sound of approval, but didn't look up.

But that hum… That hum of appreciation was more than she could stand. Whether it was the fluttery sensation in her stomach at the thought of his approval, or the vibrations against her most intimate part…

Jade moaned as she felt her orgasm finally—finally—burst upon her. Her rear end arched off the chair, her heels taking her weight as she pushed herself upward, against his lips. He hummed again, and ai-ya! She couldn't breathe.

But the way her core pulsed wasn't enough. Moaning low in her throat, she pushed higher, closer to him, needing…needing something.

His gentle ministrations eased, as her pulsing pleasure did. It wasn't until she opened her eyes that she'd realized she'd closed them. She was slumped back against the chair, chest heaving, and he was staring up at her.

From here, she could see the evidence of her arousal in the shininess around his lips and chin, her wetness clinging to his faint stubble making him look far more wonderful than he should.

He smiled.

She frowned. "Was that it?"

His laugh was a rumble, little more than a chuckle, and his alluring eyes crinkled at the corners as he held her gaze. Ai-ya, the man was handsome enough, desirable enough, to make an angel weep!

"Not enough for you, Treasure?"

She was flustered by her response to him, and her body—her core, still open and displayed to him—was still pulsing with desire which hadn't diminished. That was the only reason she shook her head at the same time saying, "I could have done this myself."

His laughter increased. "All by yourself?"

When he dragged his tongue across his upper lip, making a show of tasting her desire, she found herself breathless once more.

"That's what I thought," he murmured. He shifted his weight, and she wondered if he was comfortable kneeling at her feet. "Well, let us continue."

It wasn't until he lowered his face toward her curls that she realized what he meant, and she tightened her fingers in his hair to stop him.

He froze, blue flashing up toward her. "No?"

"I…" She shook her head, fighting the urge to press her thighs closed, trapping him between them. "I thought I was here for sex."

"Ye're here to lose yer virginity on yer terms," he reminded her. "Now, ye'll have to trust me to do this correctly."

Trust him? She didn't know him. And yet…

She exhaled, loosening her hold on him as her knees fell apart once more.

This time…well, there wasn't a time. It seemed to her as if time was standing still, each of his licks, suckles, caresses taking place at the same moment, and yet drawn out over the course of several years. Her heartbeat pumped in time to his murmurs, praises, hums, as she alternated between watching him, watching herself in the mirror, and allowing her eyes to close so she could just feel.

This time, he touched her everywhere. His lips traced parts of her body she'd never considered baring to another human, much less a stranger still partially dressed. And through it all, the beat of hunger, of need grew steadily harsher and more demanding.

It was as if, now that her body had felt pleasure once, it was unwilling to settle for anything less.

And then…he sat back on his heels, his hand still spread across her curls, his thumb still maddeningly teasing her pearl, the heel of his palm pressed where she needed the pressure the most. But she wanted more. She wanted him inside her.

"Ye're close, Treasure."

"I'm ready," she gasped.

He nodded, and stood. As her eyes followed him upward, she saw his robe had become untied, the beautiful blue silk opening to reveal his untucked shirt and trousers tented by his obvious desire. Unconsciously, she licked her lips, her gaze fastened on that bulge, knowing it would soon be inside her.

But instead of reaching for that bulge, he thrust his hand into the pocket of his banyan, and emerged holding…something long and smooth and tapered. A phallus.

Her gaze landed on it in confusion.

"Do ye ken what this is?"

It looked like… Her gaze slammed back to his, but there was no mocking or teasing in his eyes.

"The French call this godemichet, and there are plenty here who ken it as a dildo. A replacement for an erect cock."

He was being so…matter-of-fact about it. She swallowed, her fingers itching to feel it, but battered by confusion.

He seemed to sense it, and reached down to take her hand. He wrapped it around the smooth object, and she identified it as being made of ivory. But then he was guiding her hand—and it—to her weeping entrance.

She tensed, knowing what would happen, but…he released her, straightening, stepping to the side. Her hand—and the dildo—poised at her core, she followed his movements in the mirror.

He pulled the other chair closer to her— No, not to her. He pulled it toward the mirror, settling the chair beside hers, and a little behind. She watched in confusion, frozen, every inch of her body attuned to his movements and the pleasure he'd brought her.

Until he settled into the chair, his gaze finding hers in the mirror.

"I don't understand," she breathed.

"Aye, Treasure, I think ye do." His grin wasn't wry this time, but gentle.

When he slid his penis—nay, his cock, he'd called it—from his trousers, her lips parted in a silent exclamation.

It was so close to her. If she reached out, she might be able to touch it, as he sat so near. But instead, she stared at it—at him—in the mirror. The mirror made it more bearable, less overwhelming.

Then, his movement casual, he began to stroke himself. "Look what ye've done to me, lass," he murmured in that low baritone, the one which wrapped around her heart and pulled. "I'm so hard, so ready, and it's all because of ye."

Her hand, the one holding the dildo at her weeping entrance, began to tremble.

"Ye need this," he spoke again, his words measured and calm, as calm as his strokes. "Ye need something hard inside ye. Something like this, aye?"

She whimpered, her gaze still on his cock.

"Do it," he whispered. "Claim yerself."

She could no more refrain from following his order than she could order her heart to cease beating.

Nostrils flaring with her inhale, she pushed the dildo inside of her. Miss Jade Thatcher took her own virginity.

She whimpered as the device stretched her, but it was nothing compared to the groan of satisfaction he made, accompanying a heavy sigh, as if he hadn't been certain she'd do it.

Unmoving, trying to adjust to the sensation of something inside her, Jade watched his strokes increase in pace, becoming more frantic.

And…she remembered she didn't know this man. She wouldn't know him tomorrow, or next year, but she would know herself.

Her free hand dropped to her breast, and she pinched her nipple the way he'd taught her to.

"Aye," he gasped, his breath hitching, his gaze fastened to the place where the dildo disappeared inside her. "Like that."

It was his approval which broke through her hesitation, more than anything else. He'd done so much for her, and she realized she could do something for him.

Feeling bold now, she lifted one leg, shifted, and draped it across the armrest nearest to him. She was splayed open now, and from his hungry gaze in the mirror, he couldn't get enough of it.

Tentatively, she pushed the dildo in just a bit farther, and was rewarded twice; once by his groan of approval, and once by the sudden sharp bite of pleasure which sparked through her. It was a different feeling than the one which had consumed her earlier, but…better somehow.

This time, she pulled the smoothness from her an inch or two, before pushing it slowly back in, and in the mirror, his eyes flashed in hunger. Emboldened by his obvious approval, she did it again, nearly whimpering from her own satisfaction.

It wasn't long before she found her rhythm. Her thrusts weren't as energetic as his strokes, but each one sent a bolt of bliss through her, especially after she dropped her hand to her clitoris, trying to mimic the movement of his tongue with her fingers.

"Jesus Christ, lass, do ye have any idea how—" He bit off the blasphemy with a groan as she brought her finger to her lips, intrigued by the salty-sweetness.

They sat, splayed open for each other's amusement, staring openly through the mirror, each heartbeat matching the other. She was panting, and his lips were open greedily as he followed the movements of her hands.

"Come for me, lass," he rasped. When she met his eyes in the mirror, he nodded. "Come for me, now."

She wasn't used to being commanded, but at that moment, she realized what she'd been missing. At the harshness of his words, Jade sucked in a gasp, and felt her inner core tightening around the smooth dildo.

And then he groaned and dropped back against the chair, his gaze flashing to hers in the glass as something erupted around the top of his pumping hand.

With a groan, she pressed the base of her hand against her pelvis, providing the pressure she was desperate for, as she slid the dildo in and out at a greater speed.

Ai-ya, but this was… This was…

With a wordless keen, Jade fell over the edge and into the abyss.

It was much later—or possibly all too soon—when she came back to herself, chest heaving, to find him kneeling before her again. She ignored the wanton in the mirror, and instead focused on him. When had he cleaned up and tucked himself back in?

In bemusement, she watched him gently slip the device from her core, placing it to one side as he cleaned her with a warm cloth. Then he shifted forward and slipped one arm around her, pulling her toward him and upright.

Before she could understand, she was standing, and he was…he was pulling the blue robe from his shoulders and slipping it around hers. The silk felt decadent against her bare skin, which tingled from its recent pleasure.

He led her to the bed—finally!—and pulled down the counterpane before urging her to climb in. He joined her, and once there, pulled her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin and settling back against the too-many pillows with every impression of relaxation.

And it was relaxing. Her body still hummed, and her thighs felt tight, but not for long. His heart beat steadily beside her ear as she slowly allowed herself to just…be. No thinking about the future, no thinking about what just happened. Just…be.

After a long while—long enough for Jade to assume he'd fallen asleep, The Scot rumbled softly, "I trust ye'll remember tonight's lesson, Treasure?"

She was tired. Tired and sated and boneless. But even so, she roused herself to answer him. "That I am powerful." She'd taken her own virginity, with his help.

"Aye," he chuckled, and she felt it throughout her chest. "Ye are. And beautiful, and worthy. Ye can do anything ye wish."

"Aye," she mimicked, then interrupted herself with a yawn.

He huffed again, which might've been a laugh, as he began stroking her hair.

It was too alluring to resist.

For this moment, she was safe. Safe and confident and beautiful. The Scot—a surprisingly thoughtful stranger—was caring for her, and she…she could relax.

A smile tugged at her lips, and Jade fell asleep in his arms.