Educating Aphrodite (3 page)

Shaking, he held her there. Sweat seeped through his shirt.
His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Alexandra held her breath waiting for him to release Daphne,
and when he finally did, she inhaled a great gulp of air and turned toward
Alexandra. “Now you try.”

A proper woman would have run out of the dressing room
screaming. But running was the furthest thing from her mind when Delacroix
spread the tails of his shirt, swiveled his hips, and offered her his manhood.

“A temptress should know how to suck a man’s cock.”
Delacroix’s prodding was unnecessary. She wanted to know what he tasted like,
what he would feel like in her mouth. She wanted to experience the thrill of
stripping a man of his control.

This was one lesson she intended to master.

When she took him into her hands, he trembled.

“Stroke him like this.” Daphne wrapped her fingers around
Alexandra’s and initiated the pumping action. “Now taste him.”

She licked the drop of come off the head and spent a brief
moment enjoying the salty tang. She licked him again, this time she drew her
tongue up the thick vein on the underside of his cock. Daphne had teased him a
bit more, but patience had never been a trait Alexandra possessed. She wanted
to feel his thickness and hear him moan.

She bent his cock down and greedily took half of him into
her mouth, then gently scraped her teeth over him when she pulled back.

“Easy, sweetling.” He winced and gentled her with soft
caresses. “Use your lips and your tongue.”

She toyed with him, licking, sucking, stroking, until his
moans turned to throaty cries of pleasure. Not once did she break his gaze, and
the intensity of it all was nearly too much to bear. Her nether lips grew
thick, heavy. The ache impossible to ignore. Just as she slipped her fingers
into the thick folds of her womanhood, Delacroix pulled out and wiped the sweat
streaming down his temples on his shirt sleeve.

“Now open your mouth wider and stick out your tongue.”

A combination of fear and excitement erupted behind her
breast as she gripped his hips and obeyed.

Delacroix held the back of her head and drove his cock deep
into her throat.

She gagged, and he retracted.

“I don’t like that,” she admitted, gasping for air.

“I know.” Delacroix’s grin was full of pomp, but vanished
when she scowled at him.

“You are wicked!” Daphne’s glare could have melted iron. She
caressed Alexandra’s breasts lovingly and kissed the skin beneath her ear.
“Rise up on your knees and finish him. If he is wicked again, we will leave him
to his own hand.”

With Daphne’s threat hanging over his head, Alexandra took
him back into her mouth. She scraped her teeth up the underside of him purely
for vindication, then pleasured him the way she thought a man should be
pleasured—slow methodic pulls mixed with quick bobs. Her own arousal grew
stronger. Her genitals solidified between her legs, as if she’d been stung. She
whimpered, and Daphne’s skillful fingers were there, stroking her aching flesh.

“He is at your mercy, m’lady,” Daphne whispered into
Alexandra’s ear. “You are in control now.”

Alexandra felt as if she’d lost control. Everything tingled,
her spine, her brain, her sex.

Then without warning, Delacroix shot his hot seed against
the roof of her mouth.

His release triggered her unexpected climax. It coursed
through her body in shuddering waves and spilled over Daphne’s fingers.

Delacroix pulled Alexandra to her feet and kissed her
lustily. He embraced her as if they were old lovers—playful, wistful and free.
“My dearest Alexandra.” His smile was light, easy, familiar. “I daresay your
husband will be pleased with your new skill.”

His odd compliment brought a halfhearted smile to her face.
Guilt held a full grin at bay, but she wasn’t stopping now. “What’s next?”

“We dance.”

“Every move you make must be sensual. You have to love your
body.” Katrina taught Alexandra the art of exotic dancing while eleven other
women, including Daphne, practiced with colored silks on the stage behind them.
A white mask decorated with jewels and feathers hid her identity and allowed her
the freedom she needed to become the temptress. They knew she held rank in
society, but nothing more. Quite honestly, she found it refreshing to be away
from Pendleton’s many servants bobbing curtsies every five seconds.

“Touch yourself with confidence. Show them what they can’t
have.” Katrina curled her arms around her body in demonstration. Her hands
rolled through brilliant red hair, then glided over a sheer mint-green corset
ribbed in deep emerald. “Push back the shoulders and the hips. Bend at the knees.”
Fingers splayed, she slid her hands down the tops of her bare thighs and slowly
lowered herself to the planked floor. Her skirt—if one could call such a risqué
garment a skirt—was made up of two chiffon aprons that hung like drapes to her
ankles. Ribbons tied at her hips held the garment in place. Each of the women
wore similar attire in various colors.

Alexandra wore white. A fitting choice, given the premise of
the performance centered on Aphrodite’s transformation from innocent to sexual
goddess.

Katrina molded herself to Alexandra’s back and pressed
strong fingertips beneath her navel. “Now release your hips and circle your
pelvis. To the side, back, side, forward. Again.”

Alexandra mimicked the movements on her own, falling into
the rhythm as if she’d composed the dance herself.

“Now walk across the stage like I showed you.”

Alexandra’s hips swayed to the beat of a drum and string
instruments. The gas lamps to her left heated the stage to sweltering
proportions, but she focused on making her movements fluid, graceful and
seductive.

“Well done, mum.” The woman’s compliment gave Alexandra
added confidence. “Now face your audience.” Katrina pulled back Alexandra’s
shoulders and buttocks, then pushed the bows at her hips provocatively lower.
“Give every man your attention. Make them see you, and be the one who makes
them turn away.”

Alexandra looked out into the rows of chairs filling the
theater—all empty, save for one. Sitting in the third row was the only
spectator at the Piacere Theatre—Delacroix.

She drew a calming breath and held his stare.

’Tis your desire to become the temptress. Nothing will
prevent you from achieving your goal.

And her goal was to seduce her husband back into her bed,
but there was also a part of her that wanted to please Delacroix, or at the
very least, entice him. Her attraction to him ripened every second she spent in
his company.

The music began anew, spurring her into motion.

You are seductive and beautiful, elegant and enticing.
These words repeated over and over in her head as she searched her inner being
for the temptress hiding inside her.

* * * * *

Alexandra found the minx four days later. Her inhibitions no
longer suppressed her. She felt free and wicked and naughty. During the day,
she practiced with the women, and at night she danced for Delacroix.

“I daresay I’m ready.” Standing in her bedchamber, Alexandra
propped her hands on her hipbones above the ties of her sheer white skirt.
Winded from the dance, she drew in great gulps of plumeria-scented mist and
waited for Delacroix’s response.

“You are
nearly
ready, sweetling.” He pushed out of
the high-back chair and walked toward Daphne who stood beside Alexandra’s bath.
“But there is one act you are not yet prepared for.”

She knew the act he referenced was the finale. He spoke of
it often, reminding her of his role, reminding her he would claim her alongside
her husband. He could have taken her before now, but he hadn’t.

Anticipation is oftentimes more arousing that the act
itself
, he’d said three days past in the carriage returning them to
Pendleton. However, each night he’d lingered in her chamber a little longer.
Each night he watched Daphne bathe her. And each night his seemed to grow a
little less patient.

He set a hand at the small of Daphne’s back and placed a
kiss on her forehead. “Go check on Alex…andra’s son. I’ll bathe the countess
tonight.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. A familiar stirring
coiled like liquid flames in her womb. The man made her wanton, but she
suspected he’d planned it that way when he’d hypnotized her. She’d also come to
realize Delacroix held a certain power over her—a power that stole her ability
to deny him.

Fortunately, Daphne wasn’t quick to obey. In fact, she
glared at Delacroix.

Alexandra didn’t know the depths of their relationship, but
if she had to name the face Daphne now wore, she might call it jealousy. But
was Daphne jealous of Alexandra or of Delacroix?

“Perhaps I should check on Edward,” she suggested, feeling a
pinch of responsibility.

“No,” they said in unison.

“You stay and enjoy your bath, m’lady.” Daphne offered
Alexandra a congenial smile and sauntered toward the door.

“But I haven’t seen him in four days.” Her protest fell on
deaf ears as the door clicked shut.

“And for four days your son has been in the loving arms of his
wet nurse.” Delacroix slid in behind her and caressed her arms. The fight flew
out of her when he pressed his lips to the curve of her neck. “I still have
more to teach you.”

“What?” she asked, all the while knowing he wouldn’t tell
her his plans.

“First the bath. Then the lesson.” He removed her skirt with
the pull of two bows, then untied the laces at her back, freeing her from the
confines of her corset. Modesty no longer had a presence in this odd courtship
developing between them. And if truth be told, her nudity was something she’d
come to enjoy.

Delacroix removed his tailcoat and cravat, but didn’t stop
there as she expected. Instead, he yanked his shirt over his head and heeled
off his boots. Surely the man didn’t intend to—

He unbuttoned his trousers and stepped out of them.

Oh my!
Alexandra swallowed and feasted her eyes on
the beautiful specimen before her. Chiseled muscles covered his arms and chest.
His thighs were thick and lightly sprinkled with dark hair, but what appealed
to her most were the two grooves of muscles near his hipbones that directed her
gaze toward his erection.

“While you’ve already acquainted yourself with my greatest
asset,” he held out his arms in presentation, “I decided it best if you saw all
of me prior to the finale.”

Alexandra nodded, not caring that she ogled him as if he
were strawberries dripping with sweet cream. “Turn around.”

“Why?”

Her eyes narrowed on him. “I want to see
all
of you.”

He pivoted, laced his fingers at the back of his head, and
purposely flexed his tight backside.

The smile tugging the corners of her mouth came easy.
Delacroix gave her the intimacy she yearned for. He chased away the loneliness
and made her feel desirable. This was what she wanted.
With Sebastian
,
she rushed to add mentally, but it was a fool’s game to lie to oneself. She
would give anything just to be held, and Delacroix was offering to give her so
much more.

Emotions tangled up inside her like the rigging of a ship.
She was in love with her husband, but it was Delacroix who made her burn. It
was Delacroix she fantasized about. And Delacroix was the man she wanted in her
bed tonight.

He turned and closed the space between them. “This is not
the expression I’d hoped for.”

“I was thinking.” She didn’t entirely lie.

He tucked a fallen curl behind her ear. “About what?”

“About what happens next?”

He leaned down and shared her air for long seconds before he
cupped her jaw in both hands. “This.” He brushed her lips with soft silky
caresses, suckling them gently, the top first, then the bottom. When she rose
up on her toes and ran her fingers over his chest, his grip intensified.

He spread his mouth wide and invaded. The twisting, twirling
dance between their tongues sent the blood racing through her veins. She
whimpered into his mouth, and ever so slowly, he pulled away.

Labored breathing accompanied heavy anticipation.
What’s
next?

“Now we bathe.” He settled into the tub and offered her his
hand.

“’Tis not the way Daphne bathes me.”

He grinned at the comparison and pulled her between his legs.
“You will find Daphne and I are different in more ways than one. There are the
obvious reasons.” He shifted, positioning his cock in the cleft of her
backside. “I’m far less gentle.” He pushed her head atop his shoulder and
reached for the cake of soap sitting atop a nearby stool. “And I possess a
great deal more stamina.”

He proved his point after spending long minutes washing her
breasts. He toyed with her nipples, plucking them, pinching them, flicking
them, but the torture didn’t stop there. After adding oil to their water, he
glided his strong hands down the curves of her body to knead her thighs and
hips. He was so close. So close…

Pressure, sweet and hot, gathered, waiting, until his
fingers finally found that magical place between her legs.

She closed her eyes and arched her back. “Yes. There. That
spot.”

Chuckling, he kissed her neck, tickling her tender skin with
his short beard. “Here?” He pushed his thumb inside her. “Or here?” His index
finger hooked into her anus, filling the heart of her with tingles and sparks
and spasms.

“Yes,” she hissed and quivered atop him.

He explored her body, returning often to that throbbing
center of her, only to float away. She reveled in the sweet agony, the
unhurried strokes, the slow intoxicating kisses, but she wanted more.

“Are you enjoying your bath?”

“Very much.” She rolled over, luxuriating in the slide of
limbs and skin. “But I fear I’m starting to prune.” She straddled his thighs
and arched her hips, grinding her pelvis up the side of his cock. Everything
ached, felt swollen. She needed relief. She needed his cock inside her fast and
hard. And she needed it now. “Perhaps we should finish.”

“Very well.” He rose out of the water, bringing her with
him, and stepped out of the tub.

Frustration puckered her face as he towel dried her skin,
then his. “I have a gift for you.”

“A gift?” Her sour disposition improved immediately.

He returned from the dressing table with a cherry wood box.
“Sunday is your birthday. Or have you forgotten?”

She hadn’t forgotten. “You know when my birthday is?”

“I know more about you than you realize.” He raised the lid
and pulled out a necklace. Three gold balls of varying size dangled from its
center. “I want you to wear this tomorrow during the performance.”

It wasn’t exactly fashionable, but Alexandra couldn’t recall
the last time Sebastian had given her a bauble and was quick to try it on.
“’Tis lovely.”

Delacroix chuckled and lifted the chain back over her head.
“’Tis not for your neck.”

“Then what’s it for?”

“Your hips.” He moved to her back, circled her with his
arms, and laid the gold rope over her hipbones. Pulling it tight around her
waist, he set a clasp, then bent her over the arm of the chair. “Relax.”

Daphne had used that word often enough for Alexandra to know
what he intended.

The smallest of the three balls slipped into her rectum. She
sucked in an audible breath. It was cold, but not entirely unpleasant. He
barely gave her time to adjust to the unfamiliar sensation before he inserted
the second and third.

A jolt of hot energy streaked through her when she stood
upright. “Oh my good heavens.” She squirmed, testing its purposefulness.

“This will be the last thing the audience sees you in before
Warwick and I take you.” He held her hand and took her for a turn about the room.
The balls rolled inside her with each stride, clicking against one another like
a hammer to an anvil. She pivoted and humming vibrations zinged up her spine.
“Oh God!”

“Do you like it?” he asked, pride lifting his tone.

She squeezed her knees together and cupped herself. “’Tis
extremely—” she whimpered then swallowed, “arousing.”

He tugged on the rope.

She shivered, released his hand, and clung to the bedpost.
Her eyes fluttered shut. Her pulse tapped against her clit, once, twice, three
times. “Delacroix.” She panted, stretched beyond her limits. “If you are
finished torturing me, would you please send Daphne back?”

“I’m only getting started, sweetling.” He scooped her off
her feet and laid her atop the cool bedding. Wrapping his hands around the
backs of her knees, he spread her wide, then blew on her burning flesh. “What
do you want, Alexandra?”

Pleasure tightened, clawed at her. He would make her beg.
She knew it and lacked the endurance to play his game. “I want you to lick my
cunt.”

One long swipe of his tongue was all the bastard gave her.

“Again, please,” she cried, and this time was rewarded.

He molded his mouth to her sensitive lips and groaned. Her
hips came off the bed. She clenched the coverlet and screamed her pleasure.

Her climax hit her in rolling waves.

Delacroix drank down the first, then speared her with his
tongue in search of a second. He found it hiding beneath the frills of flesh at
the apex of her womanhood. He pulled back the hood and flicked her clit. “Come
for me again.”

She gripped fistfuls of his hair as spasms attacked her
body. A second wave, more powerful than the first, washed through her. But he
was not yet finished devouring her. He released her legs and separated her
folds between two fingers, then gave the rope a quick tug.