Read Online The Awakening, Zuleika and the Barbarian by Bertrice Small - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Bertrice Small
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fuck you," he told her frankly. "Tonight, and tomorrow, and perhaps even the evening after that we shall get to know one another better. You are very beautiful, mademoiselle . Look about you. All the gentlemen are eager to fuck you, but your aunt has said I shall be the first." He smiled at her winningly. "Now, mademoiselle , bring your pretty tune to an end. We are going to walk together, you and I, and I am going to see how well you can kiss."
"Monsieur le Duc," Marguerite protested faintly, "my aunt has said that—"
"I know what Renée has promised you, my dear. I have promised her in turn that I will not force you to my will, and I will not. You have chosen a courtesan's life, mademoiselle , and it is advisable that sooner than later you spread your thighs to accept a sturdy cock. The longer you wait, the more your respectable nature will battle with the magnificent demimonde you are going to become," the duke said.
"I don't know . . . " she tried again to speak.
"I know you don't," he replied with a small chuckle, "but I promise you are going to learn, mademoiselle , and you are going to be very surprised by what you learn. Or are you really a little coward, and are going to allow Renée to continue to support you?"
"I am not a coward!" Marguerite replied indignantly, bringing her tune to a noisy end and standing up. "Lead on, Monsieur le Due! I will follow, and I believe I kiss very well."
"We shall see," he responded, laughing, as he led her over into a secluded corner of the salon where they might sit upon a pale rose satin loveseat together. He put his arm about her waist in order to draw her closer.
Marguerite felt her heart begin to hammer erratically, particularly when he bent his head to kiss the tops of her breasts. "Ohh!" she exclaimed.
"Do not tell me no one has ever kissed your bosom before?" the duke said, surprised by her reaction.
"My husband. Sometimes. But certainly not when I was fully clothed, or in a public salon," Marguerite told him.
"My dear beautiful mademoiselle , I am astounded," the duke told her. "You are a most exquisite creature, and to realize that no one has ever appreciated your deliciousness is very amazing," the duke told her. "I shall worship each and every inch of you when the moment comes."
"Monsieur le Duc , I do not know what to say to such an extravagant bouquet of compliments," Marguerite said, her pale cheeks pink once more. "Do you always speak to women in such a fashion?"
"Non," he admitted, "but you bring out the poet in me, my lovely mademoiselle." Then he kissed her.
She had not seen it coming, although she realized that she should have. Did he not say he was going to kiss her? His lips were warm and firm against hers. For a moment she wasn't certain what to do, for no one other than Charles had ever kissed her. She felt guilty.
"You are holding back," he murmured against her mouth. "Are you feeling sinful, ma petite courtesan? Do not. Yield yourself to me, Marguerite. Now!"
His lips closed back over hers again, and to her surprise she felt a distinct thrill race down her backbone. Charles was dead . She was free to enjoy the addresses of this man, or any man who desired her for that matter. She let herself relax, and her lips softened against his, even as his fingers caressed the curve of her jaw and slid down the silky column of her throat.
"Much better," he approved, tipping her heart-shaped face up to meet his gaze. "Next, ma petite , you will give me your tongue."
"What?" What on earth did he want with her tongue?
César d'Aubert laughed, genuinely amused. It was practically like instructing a virgin, which he had done once or twice in his life. "I want you to put your tongue in my mouth, and I shall put mine in yours," he explained. "You will find it exciting. Later on I shall show you the many other things a tongue can do to amuse lovers." He drew her close again, his lips meeting hers, his tongue swiftly darting past her teeth and into the warm
"Monsieur le Duc," Marguerite protested faintly, "my aunt has said that—"
"I know what Renée has promised you, my dear. I have promised her in turn that I will not force you to my will, and I will not. You have chosen a courtesan's life, mademoiselle , and it is advisable that sooner than later you spread your thighs to accept a sturdy cock. The longer you wait, the more your respectable nature will battle with the magnificent demimonde you are going to become," the duke said.
"I don't know . . . " she tried again to speak.
"I know you don't," he replied with a small chuckle, "but I promise you are going to learn, mademoiselle , and you are going to be very surprised by what you learn. Or are you really a little coward, and are going to allow Renée to continue to support you?"
"I am not a coward!" Marguerite replied indignantly, bringing her tune to a noisy end and standing up. "Lead on, Monsieur le Due! I will follow, and I believe I kiss very well."
"We shall see," he responded, laughing, as he led her over into a secluded corner of the salon where they might sit upon a pale rose satin loveseat together. He put his arm about her waist in order to draw her closer.
Marguerite felt her heart begin to hammer erratically, particularly when he bent his head to kiss the tops of her breasts. "Ohh!" she exclaimed.
"Do not tell me no one has ever kissed your bosom before?" the duke said, surprised by her reaction.
"My husband. Sometimes. But certainly not when I was fully clothed, or in a public salon," Marguerite told him.
"My dear beautiful mademoiselle , I am astounded," the duke told her. "You are a most exquisite creature, and to realize that no one has ever appreciated your deliciousness is very amazing," the duke told her. "I shall worship each and every inch of you when the moment comes."
"Monsieur le Duc , I do not know what to say to such an extravagant bouquet of compliments," Marguerite said, her pale cheeks pink once more. "Do you always speak to women in such a fashion?"
"Non," he admitted, "but you bring out the poet in me, my lovely mademoiselle." Then he kissed her.
She had not seen it coming, although she realized that she should have. Did he not say he was going to kiss her? His lips were warm and firm against hers. For a moment she wasn't certain what to do, for no one other than Charles had ever kissed her. She felt guilty.
"You are holding back," he murmured against her mouth. "Are you feeling sinful, ma petite courtesan? Do not. Yield yourself to me, Marguerite. Now!"
His lips closed back over hers again, and to her surprise she felt a distinct thrill race down her backbone. Charles was dead . She was free to enjoy the addresses of this man, or any man who desired her for that matter. She let herself relax, and her lips softened against his, even as his fingers caressed the curve of her jaw and slid down the silky column of her throat.
"Much better," he approved, tipping her heart-shaped face up to meet his gaze. "Next, ma petite , you will give me your tongue."
"What?" What on earth did he want with her tongue?
César d'Aubert laughed, genuinely amused. It was practically like instructing a virgin, which he had done once or twice in his life. "I want you to put your tongue in my mouth, and I shall put mine in yours," he explained. "You will find it exciting. Later on I shall show you the many other things a tongue can do to amuse lovers." He drew her close again, his lips meeting hers, his tongue swiftly darting past her teeth and into the warm
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