Ruining Miss Wrotham by Emily Larkin

Author:Emily Larkin
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Emily Larkin
Published: 2017-05-24T18:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

WHEN CÉCILE HAD taken him as her lover, the first thing she’d done was teach Mordecai about his own body. She’d shown him things he hadn’t known about his balls and his cock, but also about parts of himself that he’d never associated with erotic pleasure before. She had let him conquer his virgin’s shyness, his fear of being laughed at—and once he’d been completely confident she’d expanded his sexual education, introducing him to the more adventurous positions, challenging him to learn skills that required practice: pattes d’araignées, langue exercée, faire postillion.

That was how he intended to teach Eleanor Wrotham: confidence first, then skills.

But before that, he had to divest her of her virginity.

There wasn’t a lot of preparation he could do—except for one very important task: If he was to have the self-restraint he needed tonight, he needed to dampen down his own arousal.

Mordecai took care of that task as soon as Walter had gone, stroking himself briskly to a climax. That done, he washed his hands and waited.

Five minutes passed. Ten minutes. Mordecai was beginning to think that Eleanor had changed her mind when someone knocked quietly on his door.

His heart gave a leap in his chest. He crossed to the door, and opened it.

Eleanor Wrotham stood there, dressed in a nightgown. She wasn’t wearing the spectacles, nor was she wearing a wig. She was herself, her hair drawn back in a simple braid.

It was a long time since Mordecai had seen her hair, and he suddenly realized how much he’d missed it: that rich brown with the mahogany glints in it.

Eleanor hesitated a moment, and stepped into his room. She looked paler than she usually did and even more like a duchess—and slightly taller, too, as if she was holding herself tightly upright.

She’s nervous. And probably a little afraid.

“Nell . . .” Mordecai gently took her hands. The evening was warm, but her fingers were cool. “You can change your mind, if you wish.”

Her chin lifted. Her shoulders braced. She seemed to stand even taller. “No.”

He understood that the lifted chin and braced shoulders weren’t aimed at him; they were aimed at herself. She was trying to conquer her nervousness.

Mordecai gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He locked the door and drew her across to the four-poster. “Sit,” he said gently.

They sat on the edge of his bed, holding hands. After a moment, Mordecai turned her hand over, lifted it to his lips, kissed her palm softly—and then he licked, tasting her skin with his tongue, and felt Eleanor Wrotham shiver. He licked again, nipped lightly, then drew her closer and kissed her mouth.

The kiss started a little awkwardly, their mouths not quite matching, but then the awkwardness passed and their mouths did match and some of Eleanor’s tension fell away. Mordecai kissed her—and kissed her—and kissed her, until she was warm and soft and pliant in his arms, and then he shucked his dressing gown and lay down on the coverlet and drew Eleanor to lie alongside him, their bodies not quite touching.

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