Caversham's Bride (The Caversham Chronicles - Book One) by Sandy Raven Page B

decide if that was a request or a command. If she did not comply, what would he do? Her pulse began to race, and the room started to feel warmer as she contemplated her next move.
    “I asked you to disrobe, Lia.” In the dimly lit room, she trembled at his request. She wasn’t afraid, and it wasn’t particularly cool out, so she didn’t understand her body’s reaction to his words.
    She began to move, slowly at first, taking the hem of the tunic in her hands and lifting it upward. Disrobing would be fast, as she wore nothing beneath the outfit. She removed her tunic, exposing her breasts to his gaze. She watched his expression and thought she saw the corner of his lips curve, revealing a dimple.
    Lia could now see some truth in the old whoremaster’s words. A willing woman could ask her man for the moon and he would attempt to give it to her. Only old Ashraf never said the power a woman held over a man would thrill her to the point it made her want to please him.
    Once the tunic was on the floor, her hands went to the drawstring waist of the pantalettes and untied them. “Let me,” he whispered before she lowered them.
    Eyes lowered as instructed she felt a warm excitement in her breast. “Look at me.” She did as she was told, fighting a strange desire to smile at him. His hands raked her skin as he placed two fingers into the waist of her pantalettes, his rough palms grazing over her sensitive flesh, and pulled the drawstring loose. Removing his hands, he let the silken garment fall to the ground.
    Lia stood before him, naked except for the sandals on her feet. His hands reached out to touch her breasts, and she leaned into them, wanting his touch on her body. She held his gaze. His hands moved lower, coming to rest over her belly, sending rivulets of fire through her veins. One hand turned and he cupped the smooth, hairless skin of her femininity. He looked into her eyes, and she understood his question.
    “I have been denuded for your pleasure, Your Grace,” she said in a quivering voice, while willing her knees not to give out.
    “I’d not thought to ask before now, but how old are you?”
    “I am nineteen.” She wondered if the fact that she were so old would repulse him.
    “That is good.” His fingers parted her and one slid over her nub, causing her to moan, then buckle slightly at his invasion, her hands reached out to his shoulders to steady herself.
    “Relax, Lia,” he whispered, his warm breath caressing her neck. “Enjoy what you are feeling.”
    “I....” She couldn’t speak because the clenching sensation in her womb began to spread through her entire body, sending a flood of liquid warmth flowing to her core. An aching need to be filled began and she rocked back and forth over his hand, pleasuring herself on him.
    The Englishman chuckled softly, and removed his hand. “Not so fast, my sweet one, we have all night.”
    His hands traveled down the inside of her thighs, to her knees. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts, perplexing her. “I was taught to pleasure my master. No one told me I would find such pleasure in my master’s touch.”
    He lifted one of her feet and placed it between his knees on the chair. “Then your instructor did you a grave disservice.” His hands caressed her calf and lower, to her ankle, where he untied and removed the gold sandal she wore. When he finished, he did the same with her other leg. Once the second sandal was removed, he allowed her foot to remain between his thighs as his hands roamed upward again. His touch trailed sweet excitement and torture over the inside of her calf, knee, and inner thigh, to continue his exquisite exploration of her most private place.
    “No man has ever touched you?”
    “Never, Your Grace.”
    “Ren,” he corrected.
    Lia groaned his name as his fingers found her sensitive nub again and began to rub over it with a gentle touch and rhythm that caused a moan to slip from her mouth. Her eyes had long ago closed,