“Doubt yourself? Permit me to show you there is no reason for it.”
She hesitated, and this was all the time he required to cover the distance between them. He caught her arm and pulled her to him.
“Come,” he urged. “You came to Chateau Follet with one intention. Let us fulfill it.”
HE TIGHTENED HIS GRASP on her. One hand held her arm; the other was at the small of her back, pressing her to him. Her struggles were timid, as if she feared too much resistance would be impolite. She could fall into the submissive role all too easily.
“Is this not what you seek, my dear?” he murmured into her neck. As his lips grazed her, he felt roguish and wicked, but he could not desist. It was not merely charity or a desire to bolster her vanity that compelled his seduction. An unexpected titillation manifested in the charade he played. To his surprise, he found he wanted to possess Trudie for his own.
She gasped, leaning away from him, away from his lips. Her hands pressed against his chest, but they did little to keep him at bay. He moved his hand to her upper back. His head lowered over her chest, he kissed the small indenture at the base of her neck. Her cry turned into a groan.
His cock throbbed. Had she always felt this lush in his hands? Always smelled this enticing? Or was it the prospect that she had intended to give herself to another man that suddenly made her more alluring?
Jealousy was a common device used by women to encourage more affection from their lovers, and he abhorred the tricks that such women employed. But Trudie had no wiles. Yet she had intended to commit adultery without his knowledge. He knew not which he preferred.
He kissed the area about her collarbone then trailed lower, to the tops of her breasts. “Come. Let us realize the intention of your journey.”
She could have done more to hamper his advances—slap him, strike him, claw him—but she either knew not how or had no wish to. He did not doubt that his wife had never before found herself in such a situation, being manhandled by a stranger. She had no practice in such affairs.
Her effort to distance her bosom as far as she could from his preying mouth pushed her hips at him. He could feel her skirts surround his legs. He pressed his pelvis toward her. She leaned too far back and lost her balance. They stumbled backwards, but he guided their fall toward the settee. Now she was trapped.
He saw fear shining in her eyes—but also the glow of arousal. Blood surged through his cock.
“Please,” she tried once more, like a mouse pleading to a cat for mercy.
He paused, his conscience willing him not to torment his wife. But how many men had an opportunity to ascertain the strength of their wives’ fidelity? A part of him still hoped she would remain true to her marital vows, but her crimes might lessen the guilt he felt. And his seduction must surely flatter her.
He had one leg between hers, and the other knelt upon the settee against the outside of her thigh. She could not escape unless he allowed her.
“Please, what?” he inquired. “All I do is what you desire me to do.”
He dropped his head and softly kissed the side of her neck. She did not fight him this time, and her dramatic breaths were not wholly the result of exertion. They held anticipation, too.
“No,” she said feebly as he continued to nestle her neck. “I think—I think I erred in coming here.”
“Allow me to show you that you did not.”
She moaned when he put his hand upon a breast and gently slid his palm where he thought the nipple to be. He wanted the orbs bared, but her attire did not aid in his seduction. He continued to caress her neck and her décolletage till her neck arched over the back of the settee. She had a lilting pant. For the most part, she had avoided his gaze, but when he moved his hand to her ankle, she started.
“Shhh, there is naught to fear,” he assured.
But her body had stiffened in alarm.
“What did your friend promise you would happen here?” he asked to distract her.
“Acts of d-depraved debauchery.”
“And this appealed to you?”
“She—she said the desires of the fair sex do not differ from men, though we are taught to believe otherwise.”
She lowered her eyes farther. “I am not without lust. I suppose I am a weaker member of my sex.”
He grasped her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “Desire is as natural to our bodies as hunger. You need not be ashamed. At Chateau Follet, these desires are exalted and fulfilled without censure. Avail yourself of the most sublime pleasure. I vow it will rival Mozart’s finest concerto.”