19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

“The very essence of instinct is that it’s followed independently of reason.” Charles DarwinHenrique endured her timid ravishing for a total of five seconds. Groaning, he plowed his fingers through her hair and pulled away. He stared at flashing green eyes, breathing her breaths. Heart racing, he kissed her like a man possessed, like a lusty god, like a crazed animal. Drinking her mewls and moans, he tilted her head for better access and explored her, his tongue sweeping inside. She relaxed the strain in her neck, and the snare gave way an inch. Impatiently, he shoved his hand into the wood plank behind her and maneuvered the trap, freeing her. He tugged lumps of hair from her ruined coiffure. When he finished, her mane hung around her face in a snarled mess.

He sniffed the strands and rubbed them against his cheek. It was silk. It was soft. Glorious. “I care not for politics, but I would learn it just to pass a law forbidding you to confine your hair in braids.”

She gasped. “That’s hardly useful—”

He hushed her with his lips. Spanning her waist, Henrique rolled her atop him, her legs straddling his lap. He never left her mouth.

She’d kissed him. Isabel had placed her hands on his lapels and pulled him in for this. He knew she hid a passionate side. But this? This wild fusing of mouths stunned him. What had she called him? A sinvergüenza. Oh, yes. That he was. His honor had washed away and now swirled in the mud as she strained against him, her inexperienced kiss inflaming his lips.

He dug his fingers into her bodice, knowing there was no hope of opening the tiny buttons but needing to. If he didn’t have to worry about returning her later, he would peel the layers one by one until he found bare skin.

He settled for tugging her dress up, revealing her muddied stockings. When he placed his palm atop her thigh, she shuddered.

He had planned a theoretical education, but his body had overruled good intentions. Practical, it would be. "I’ll show you a hint of pleasure."

She gazed at him, her green eyes troubled.

He drew small circles below her knees. "I won’t breach your maidenhead, love. A lesson in pleasure, no consequences."

Biting her swollen bottom lip, she nodded. Her trust raced through his system, and a bolt of lust shot through his spine. Clenching his jaw, he reined in his desire. He could do this. Show her how wondrous a man’s touch could be.

After pulling her skirts as far as they would go, he arrived at the naked skin above her garter. She panted, her gaze following his hands. A groan escaped his chest when he found the entrance to her pantalets. Her desire and dew coated the pad of his finger, and his hand shook when he traced her swollen outer lips. He needed a plan for this. Hopping in bed—or muddy ground, for that matter—without a strategy was a recipe for losing control. And without control, feelings and expectations could get out of hand. Surface caresses, no penetration. There. That would have to suffice. He moistened his fingertip on her desire and circled her clitoris slowly, gently. Her eyes closed, and she sighed.

He caressed her, sometimes giving her more friction, sometimes tantalizing her with the promise of more. Color rose on her neck and cheeks, her lips parting.

"God, you are so beautiful."

He brought her closer and licked her lips, moving his tongue in tandem with his finger. He always thought of the kissing and the preliminaries as necessary steps on a ladder, a ladder leading to his ultimate pleasure. But not with Isabel. Kissing Isabel had intrinsic value, and pleasuring her? Pleasuring her became his sole vocation. He would commit to studying all the ways he could achieve it.

She tilted her hips, seeking more friction, her breathing shallow.

"Easy, love."

Arching her back, she splayed her hands over his thighs, and her legs opened, revealing her sex. Henrique groaned, brushing his thumbs over her labia reverently. Having her in his arms, pliant, fragrant, uninhibited, unleashed something within him, a pleasure so acute it bordered on pain. She panted, her pelvis undulating. Her response electrified him. Plans be damned. He wanted to feel her pulsing against him.

Henrique licked rain from her skin, tasting her sweetness, and hand trembling, pushed a finger inside her. Her inner walls contracted, milking him, but her barrier curbed his penetration. Curse the blasted membrane. Some age-old instinct screamed for him to open his trousers and shove himself deep, claiming her as his. With a firm leash on himself, he curbed the impulse. Her pleasure would have to be enough for both of them.

Her hair tumbled down her shoulders in perfect disarray. She shuddered, and a glorious cry escaped her parted lips.

The orgasm transformed her. She was a goddess, and he, a mere mortal who dared touch her. Her bliss was his ache. And he would gladly sacrifice his needs at her altar.

Henrique savored the last waves of pleasure on his fingers and withdrew. Breathing heavily, he leaned his forehead on her breastbone, disoriented, not ready to put into words what had happened. What they shared went beyond the physiological consequence of friction, skin, and moist membranes. A fanciful bastard like Dio would start linking their experience with a mythical joining, earth meeting sky, and such nonsense. Henrique would have to observe and collect data and devise a replication model. Yes, experimentation and method—that’s what he needed.

She dropped her face on his neck. Her breaths fanned his earlobe. He was painfully hard, but held still, listening to her heart, caressing her back with long, long movements. He liked her draped on his chest, the mythical princess exhausted by his lovemaking. He liked the sweet scent of her arousal mingling with the wet earth.

His mind raced, thinking of plausible ways to keep her in the shag. If he chopped wood, he could build a nest around the old blind. He would teach her all about pleasure. Just the two of them, no foppish prince, no string of courtiers.

Minutes or hours passed, he lost count. She stirred and splayed her hands over his shoulders. Now she would kiss him again, ask him to take her, to extend this. He wouldn’t be strong enough to say no.

She pecked his cheek as if he were an aunt, not her lover. "We should go. If we hurry, the guests won’t notice our absence, and we can change before dinner."

Using him for balance, she rose.

Guests? Dinner? Henrique stared as she primped herself into a semblance of order. She didn’t meet his eyes. Without her straddling him, he became aware of the mud surrounding them, of his ruined coat and the bulge inside his trousers.

"I’ll give you a moment to recompose," she said.

Grumbling to himself, he pushed to his feet.

She took her muddied skirt in her hands and whirled to leave. Then she stopped. "Henrique?"

He shot to attention. "Yes?"

A mischievous smile played at the corner of her lips. "Thank you for the lesson."