Her flesh against his teased his senses, making the darkness even more profound as everything else worked to compensate. He didn’t want this intimacy—not with her. He imagined his wife instead and immediately felt calmer.
“You could also stroke her arm as you sit together—in your coach, perhaps, as you ride somewhere. Your touch outside the bedchamber might ease her anxiety. Then, when you are alone together, you can caress her neck, her back…”
With the inability to see anything, Constantine’s mind filled in the void. He recalled the alluring expanse of Lady Aldington’s back. Lady Aldington? Her name was Sabrina. If he first-named her, that would certainly break down some of the wall, wouldn’t it?
His hand lifted, without direction from him, and he imagined trailing his fingertip down Sabrina’s spine. His finger met flesh, and the woman’s soft gasp cloaked him, drawing him closer in thought, if not in actuality.
He pulled his hand back, realizing somewhat stupidly that this wasn’t his wife. “I didn’t mean to touch you. I didn’t realize you were so close.” He wondered what he’d touched. “Where did I—?” He cut himself off, thinking it best if they didn’t discuss that. “Never mind.”
“You touched me just above the bodice of my gown. If you’d been an inch lower, you would have found my breast.”
He swallowed. This was becoming dangerous. He wished he had touched her breast. No, not hers, Sabrina’s. “I tried to do that to my wife the other night. She didn’t seem to like it.”
“Perhaps she was merely startled. Try telling her what you’re going to do—that you want to caress and fondle her, to put your mouth on her there.”
Lust pooled in his loins, a great thirst he feared couldn’t be slaked. Not tonight anyway. He hadn’t wanted to frighten Sabrina, so he’d taken things incredibly slowly. But he could have communicated to her what would happen, prepared her so as to alleviate her fear.
Regret cascaded through him in a torrent. “I’m sorry,” he whispered before realizing, again, that this wasn’t Sabrina. He was struggling to distinguish this woman before him from the one in his head.
“Don’t be. Do you want to touch me? Show me how you would touch your wife. If you like.”
He was almost desperate with wanting to touch her, but not her. He wanted Sabrina. He wanted to do as the tutor suggested—caress her neck, her back, her breasts. His cock, fully aroused now, strained in his smallclothes.
Would it be terrible if he took this woman to bed? Most other men in his position would do it without thought. Furthermore, if Sabrina didn’t want him for more than having a child, would she even care?
“Fuck.”
“Excuse me?” She sounded shocked, which meant he’d said that aloud.
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to say that. Outside of my head anyway. My wife only wants a child,” he blurted as it seemed all his thoughts wanted to break free. “She’s been very clear. Demanding, even. It was quite shocking,” he added in a murmur. But maybe a little arousing too. A commanding woman, especially one’s wife, was a heady thing.
“Then perhaps you should be demanding about what you want. Tell her what you desire.”
The blindfold was suddenly constricting. He wanted to throw it off and see this woman, to differentiate her from Sabrina. “What color is your hair?”
“Dark brown.”
He relaxed slightly. “Your eyes?”
“Er, blue.”
Damn. He’d hoped they would be brown instead of the same color as Sabrina’s.
“If you’re trying to conjure an image of how I look, why not touch me and let your hands inform you?”
The temptation was so great. He clenched his hands into tight fists at his sides lest he reach for her.
She exhaled softly, a sigh of disappointment. “I shall hope you touch your wife instead then. Stroke her and perhaps kiss her skin. Have you done that?” She hesitated a bare moment before adding, “Have you put your mouth on her?” This last question climbed, as if she were also aroused.
“No,” he croaked.
“Then you should. She will likely enjoy your mouth on her breasts, at her sex—”
“Stop.” He couldn’t endure another moment. “You need to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because you should.” His voice was tight, thin, as if he were being relentlessly squeezed.
“I’m not sure I’ve made any progress. You haven’t touched me, and you haven’t said how you plan to seduce your wife. Might I suggest you strip her clothing from her and ply your tongue along her breast—”
“Bloody hell, woman, if you don’t go now, you’re going to have to watch me frig myself.” His hands were already on the buttons of his fall.
“I would like to.” Now, her voice had dropped to an almost guttural level. The sound was as intoxicating as the notion that she would watch him.
“No.” Though he refused her, his body yearned for him to say yes. He hesitated, his fall half open.
“Please, may I stay?”
He surrendered to his basest needs, barely whispering, “Yes.”
“Show me what you want your wife to do.” It was a soft but devastating command.
Mindless, he freed the last buttons and slid his cock from his smallclothes. Grasping the base, he let his head fall back as blood rushed straight to his prick.
He moved his hand up, slowly at first. Delicious sensation rocketed through him. His muscles tightened as pleasure ignited and built.
Her breathing rasped in the quiet of the room, the sound deepening his arousal. He could imagine her touching herself. Was she? He couldn’t bring himself to ask.
His legs wobbled, and he reached out with his left hand for the bedpost for stability. Otherwise, he feared he might collapse, especially when he came.
“How tightly do you hold yourself?” The question jarred him, and his hand slipped.
He struggled to speak. “Not too tight, but not too loose either.” He was tempted to show her, to ask her to finish him. But he’d already gone too far—doing this in front of her.
“Tell me how it feels. Practice so that you can tell your wife how it feels when she does this to you.”
The thought of Sabrina holding his cock, of her driving him to rapture sent a new surge of lust into his cock. He stroked his hand faster, and the tutor’s rapid, shallow breathing joined his in a reckless, sensual symphony. He imagined it was Sabrina, her sweet, soft hand cradling him, and he came undone.
Every muscle in his body clenched just before his release tore through him. He cried out, a low, awful sound he didn’t think he’d ever made before. But then he didn’t think he’d ever come that hard before either.
He cast his head back and gripped the bedpost as though his very life depended on him not letting go. It wasn’t that dire, of course, but he was certain he’d collapse if not for the post.
At last, his orgasm subsided, and he fought to regain control over his body, taking deep breaths, as he tucked his slackening cock into his smallclothes. With shaking fingers, he rebuttoned his fall.
“My apologies,” he said when his breeches were closed once more. “I should not have allowed you to watch.”